V. ARGUMENT
The Council-hall in Carduel--The twelve Knights of the Round Table described, viz., the three Knights of Council, the three Knights of Battle, the three Knights of Eloquence, and the three Lovers--Merlin warns the chiefs of the coming Saxons, and enjoins the beacon-fires to be lighted--The story returns to Arthur--The dove has not been absent, though unseen--It comes back to Arthur--The Priest leads the King through the sepulchral valley into the temple of the Death-god-- Description of the entrance of the temple, with the walls on which is depicted the progress of the guilty soul through the realms below--The cave, the raft, and the stream which conducts to the cataract--Arthur enters the boat, and the dove goes before him--AEgle awakes from her swoon, and follows the King to the temple--Her dialogue with the Augur--She disappears in the stream--Meanwhile Lancelot wanders in the valleys on the other side of the Alps, and is led to the cataract by the magic ring--The apparition of the dove--He follows the bird up the skirts of the cataract--He finds Arthur and AEgle, and conveys them to the convent--The Christian hymn, and the Etrurian dirge--Arthur and Lancelot seated by the lake--The Lady of the Lake appears in her pinnace to Lancelot--The King's sight is purged from its film by the bitter herb, and he enters the magic bark.
In the high Council Hall of Carduel, 1 Beside the absent Arthur's ivory throne (What time the earlier shades of evening fell), Wan-silvering through the hush, the cresset shone O'er the arch-seer,--as, 'mid the magnates there, Rose his large front, august with prophet care;
Rose his large front above the luminous guests, 2 The deathless TWELVE of that heroic Ring, Which, as the belt wherein Orion rests, Girded with subject stars the starry king; Without, strong towers guard Rome's elaborate wall; Within is Manhood!--strongest tower of all.
First, Muse of Cymri, name the Council three[1] 3 Who, of maturer years and graver mien, Wise in the past, conceived the things to be, And temper'd impulse quick with thought serene; Nor young, nor old--no dupes to rushing Hope, Nor narrowing to tame Fear th' ignoble scope.
Of these was Cynon of the highborn race, 4 A cold but dauntless--calm but earnest man; With deep eyes shining from a thoughtful face, And spare slight form, for ever in the van When ripening victories crown'd laborious deeds; Reaper of harvest--sower not of seeds;
For scarcely his the quick far-darting soul 5 Which, like Apollo's shaft, strikes lifeless things Into divine creation; but, the whole Once rife, the skill which into concord brings The jarring parts; shapes out the rudely wrought, And calls the action living from the thought.
Next Aron see--not rash, yet gaily bold, 6 With the frank polish of chivalric courts; Him from the right, no fear of wrong controll'd; And toil he deem'd the sprightliest of his sports; O'er War's dry chart, or Wisdom's mystic page, Alike as smiling, and alike as sage;
With the warm instincts of the knightly heart, 7 That rose at once if insult touch'd the realm, He spurn'd each state-craft, each deceiving art, And rode to war, no vizor to his helm; This proved his worth, this line his tomb may boast-- "Who hated Cymri, hated Aron most!"
But who with eastern hues and haughty brow, 8 Stern with dark beauty sits apart from all? Ah, couldst thou shun thy friends, Elidir!--thou Scorning all foes, before no foe shalt fall! On thy wrong'd grave one hand appeasing lays The humble flower--oh, could it yield the bays!
Courts may have known than thou a readier tool, 9 States may have found than thine a subtler brain, But states shall honour many a formal fool, And many a tawdry fawner courts may gain, Ere King or People in their need shall see A soul so grand as that which fled with thee!
For thou wert more than true; thou wert a Truth! 10 Open as Truth, and yet as Truth profound; Thy fault was genius--that eternal youth Whose weeds but prove the richness of the ground-- And dull men envied thee, and false men fear'd, And where soar'd genius, there convention sneer'd.
Ah, happy hadst thou fallen, foe to foe, 11 The bright race run--the laurel o'er thy grave! But hands perfidious strung the ambush bow, And the friend's shaft the rankling torture gave-- The last proud wish its agony to hide, The stricken deer to covert crept and died.
Next came the Warrior Three.[2] Of glory's charms 12 (Glory, the bride of heroes) nobly vain, Dark Mona's Owaine[3] shines with golden arms, The Roland of the Cymrian Charlemain, Scath'd by the storm the holy chief survives, For Fame makes holy all its lightning rives.
Beside, with simplest garb and sober mien, 13 Solid as iron, not yet wrought to steel, In his plain manhood Cornwall's chief[4] is seen, Who (if wild tales some glimpse of truth reveal) Gave Northern standards to the Indian sun-- And wreaths from palms that shaded Evian won.
Lo, he whose Fame outshines the Fabulous! 14 Sublime with eagle front, and that grey crown Which Age, the arch-priest, sets on laurell'd brows; Lo, Geraint, bending with a world's renown! Yet those grey hairs one ribald scoffer found;-- The moon sways ocean and provokes the hound.
Next the three Chiefs of Eloquence;[5] the kings 15 Whose hosts are thoughts, whose realm the human mind, Who out of words evoke the souls of things, And shape the lofty drama of mankind; Wit charms the fancy, wisdom guides the sense; To make men nobler--that is Eloquence!
As from the Mount of Gold, auriferous flows 16 The Lydian wave, thy pomp of period shines, Resplendent Drudwas--glittering as it goes High from the mount, but labouring through the mines, And thence the tides, enriching while they run, Glass every fruit that ripens to the sun.
But, like the vigour of a Celtic stream, 17 Eliwlod's rush of manly sense along, Fresh with the sparkles of a healthful beam, And quick with impulse like a poet's song. How listening crowds that knightly voice delights-- If from those crowds are banish'd all but knights!
The third, though young, well worthy of his place, 18 Was Gawaine, courteous, blithe, and debonnair, Arch Mercury's wit, with careless Cupid's face; Frank as the sun, but searching as the air, Who with bland parlance prefaced doughtiest blows, And mildly arguing--arguing brain'd his foes.
Next came the three--in mystic Triads hight 19 "The KNIGHTS OF LOVE;"[6] some type, the name conveys, For where no lover, there methinks no knight; All knights were lovers in King Arthur's days: Caswallawn; Trystan of the lion rock;[7] And, leaning on his harp, calm Caradoc!
Thus class'd, distinct in peace,--let war dismay, 20 Straight in one bond the divers natures blend-- So varying tints in tranquil sunshine play, But form one iris if the rains descend; And, fused in light against the clouds that lower, Forbid the deluge while they own the shower!
On the bright group the Prophet rests his gaze, 21 Then the deep voice sonorous thrills aloud-- "In Carduel's vale the steers unheeded graze, To jocund winds the yellowing corn is bow'd, By hearths of mirth the waves of Isca flow, And Heaven above smiles down on peace below.
"But far looks forth the warder from the tower, 22 And to the halls of Cymri's antique kings A soul that sees the future in the hour The desolation of its burthen brings; Hollow sounds earth beneath the clanging tread: Yon fields shall yield no harvest but the Dead!
"And waves shall rush in crimson to the deep, 23 The Meteor Horse shall pale autumnal skies-- From RAURAN'S lairs the joyous wolves shall leap-- From EIFLE'S crags the screaming eagles rise-- Yea! while I speak, these halls the havoc nears! Red sets the sun behind the storm of spears!
"The Sons of Woden sound no tromp before 24 Their march! No herald comes their war to tell! No plea for slaughter, dress'd in clerkly lore, Makes death seem justice! As the rain-clouds swell, When air is stillest, in BAL HUAN'S halls; The herbage waves not till the tempest falls!
"Of old ye know them; ye the elect remains 25 Of perish'd races--rock-saved; anchoring here The ark of empire! For your latest fanes, For your last hearths, for all to freemen dear, And to God sacred; take the shield and brand! Accurst each Cymrian who survives hisland!"
"Accursed each Cymrian who survives his land!" 26 Echo'd deep tones, hollow as blasts escaped From Boreal caverns, and in every hand The hilts of swords to sainted croziers shaped Were grimly griped--as by that symbol sign Hallowing the human wrath to war divine.
The Prophet mark'd the deep unclamorous vow 27 Of the pent passion; and the morning light Of young Humanity flash'd o'er the brow Dark with that wisdom which, like Nature's night, Communes with stars and dreams; it flash'd and waned, And the vast front its awful hush regain'd.
"Princes, I am but as a voice; be you 28 As deeds! The wind comes through the hollow oak, And stirs the green woods that it wanders through, Now wafts the seeds, now wings the levin-stroke, Now kindles, now destroys:--that Wind am I, Homeless on earth; the mystery of the sky!
"But when the wind in noiseless air hath sunk, 29 Behold the sower tends and rears the seeds; Behold the woodman shapes the fallen trunk; The viewless voice hath waked the human deeds; Born of the germs, flowers bloom and harvests spring; The pine uprooted speeds the Ocean King.
"Warriors, since absent (not from wanton lust 30 Of errant emprize, but by Fate ordain'd, For all lone labouring, worthy of his trust) He whose young lips in thirst of glory drain'd All that of arts Mavortian elder Rome Taught, to assail the foe, or guard the home;
"Be ye his delegates, and oft with prayer 31 Bring angels round his wild and venturous way; As one great orb gives life and light to air, So times there are when all a people's day Shines from a single life! This known, revere The exile; mourn not--let his soul be here.
"Yours then, high chiefs, the conduct of the war, 32 But heed this counsel (won or wrung from Fate), Strong rolls the tide when curb'd its channels are, Strong flows a force that but defends a state; In Carduel's walls concentre Cymri's power, And chain the Dragon to this charmed tower.
"This night the moon should see the beacon brand 33 Link fire to fire from Beli's Druid pile; Rock call on rock, till blazes all the land From Sabra's wave to Mona's parent isle! Let Fredom write in characters of fire, 'Who climbs my throne ascends his funeral pyre!'"
The Prophet ceased; and rose with stern accord 34 The warrior senate. Sudden every shield Leapt into lightning from the clashing sword; And choral voices consentaneous peal'd-- "Hail to our guests! the wine of war is red; Fire fight the banquet--steel prepare the bed!"
While thus the peril threat'ning land and throne, 35 Unharm'd, unheeding, dreaming goes the King, Where from the brief Elysium, Acheron Awaits the victim whom its priest shall bring. And where art thou, meek guardian of the brave? Though fails the eagle, still the dove may save!
When, lured by signs that seem'd his aid to implore, 36 From his good steed the lord of knighthood sprung, [And left it wistful by the dismal door, Since the cragg'd roof too low descending hung For the great war-horse in its barb'd array; And little dream'd he of the long delay,--]
His path the dove nor favour'd nor forbade; 37 Motionless, folding on sharp rocks its wing, With its soft eyes it watch'd, resign'd and sad, Where fates, ordain'd for sorrow, led the King; Nor did he miss (till earth regain'd the day) The plumed angel vanish'd from his way.
Then oft, in truth, and oft in blissful hours, 38 Miss'd was that faithful guide through stormier life. Ah common lot! how oft, mid summer flowers, We miss the soother of the winter strife; How oft we mourn in Fortune's sunlit vale Some silenced heart with which we shared the gale!
But absent not the dove, albeit unseen; 39 In some still foliage it had found its nest: At night it hover'd where his steps had been, Pale through the moonbeams in the air of rest; By the lull'd wave and shadowy banks it pass'd, Lingering where love with AEgle linger'd last.
And when with chiller dawn resought the lone 40 And leafy gloom in which it shunn'd the day, Beneath those boughs you might have heard it moan, Low-wailing to itself its plaintive lay; Till with the sun rose all the songs that fill Morn with delight; and then the dove was still.
But now, as towards the Temple of the Shades 41 The King went heavily--a gleam of light Shot through the gloaming of the cedarn glades, And the dove glided to his breast: the sight Came like a smile from Heaven upon the King, And his heart warm'd beneath the brooding wing.
Strange was the thrill of joy, beyond belief, 42 Sent from the soft touch of those plumes of down! He was not all deserted in his grief, The brows of Fate relax'd their iron frown; And his soul quicken'd to that glorious power Which fronts the future and subdues the hour;
The joy it brought, the dove refused to share; 43 As it it felt the tempest in the sky, Trembling, it nestled to its shelter there, Nor lifted to the light its drooping eye. Not, as its wont, to guide it came; but brave With him the ills from which it could not save.
Now lost the lovelier features of the land, 44 Dull waves replace the fount, dark pines the bowers, Grey-streeted tombs, far stretch'd on either hand, Rear the dumb city of the Funeral Powers. Massive and huge, behold the dome of dread, Where the stern Death-god frowns above the dead.
Hewn from a rock, stand the great columns square, 45 With triglyphs wrought and ponderous pediment; Such as yet greet the musing wanderer, where, Near the old Fane to which Etruria sent Her sovereign twelve, the thick-sown violet blooms, In Castel d'Asso's vale of hero-tombs.[8]
Passing a bridge that spann'd the barrier wave, 46 They reach'd the Thebes-like porch;--the Augur here, First entering, leaves the King. Within the nave Now swell the flutes (which went before the bier What time the funeral chaunt of Pagan Rome Knell'd some throne-shatterer to his six-feet home).
Jar back the portals--long, in measured line, 47 There stand within the mute Auruspices, In each pale hand a torch; and near the shrine Sit on still thrones, the guardian deities; Here SETHLANS,[9] sovereign of life's fix'd domains-- There fatal NORTHIA with the iron chains.
Between the two the Death-god broods sublime; 48 On his pale brow the inexorable peace Which speaks of power beyond the shores of time; Calm, not benign like the sweet gods of Greece,-- Calm as the mystery which in Memphian skies Froze life's warm current from a sphinx's eyes.
With many a grausame shape unutterable, 49 Limn'd were the cavernous sepulchral walls; Life-like they stalk'd, the Populace of Hell, Through the pale pomp of Acherontian halls; Distinct as when the Trojan's living breath Vex'd the wide silence in the wastes of death.
Shown was the Progress of the guilty Soul 50 From earth's warm threshold to the throne of doom; Here the black genius to the dismal goal Dragg'd the wan spectre from the unshelt'ring tomb; While from the side it never more may warn The better angel, sorrowing, fled forlorn.
Hideous with horrent looks and goading steel 51 The fiend drives on the abject cowering ghost Where (closed the eighth) sev'n yawning gates reveal The sev'nfold anguish that awaits the Lost; By each the gryphon flaps his ravening wings, And dire Chimaera whets her hungry stings.
Here, ev'n that God, of all the kindliest one, 52 Life of all life (in Tusca's later creed Blent with the orient worship of the Sun, Or His who loves the madding nymphs to lead On the Fork'd Hill), abjures his genial smile,[10] And, scowls transform'd, the Typhon of the Nile.
Closed the eighth gate--for there, the happy dwell! 53 No glimpse of joy beyond makes horror less. But that closed gate upon the exiled hell Sets hell's last seal of misery--Hopelessness! Nathless, despite the Daemon's chasing thong, Here, as if hoping still, the hopeless throng.
Before the northern knight each nightmare dream 54 Of Theban soothsayer or Chaldean mage, Thus kindling in the torches' breathless beam, As if incarnate with resistless rage, And hell's true malice, starts from wall to wall; He signs the cross, and looks unmoved on all.
Before the inmost Penetralian doors, 55 Holding a cypress-branch, the Augur stands; The King's firm foot strides echoless the floors, And with dull groan the temple veil expands; Slow-moving on the brandish'd torches shine Red o'er the wave that yawns behind the shrine;
Red o'er the wave, as, under vaulted rock, 56 Dark as Cocytus, the false smoothness flows; But where the light fades--there is heard the shock As hurrying down the headlong torrent goes; With mocking oars, a raft sways, moor'd beside-- What keel save Charon's ploughs that dismal tide?
Proud Arthur smiled upon the guileful host, 57 As welcome danger roused him and restored.-- "Friend," quoth the King, "methinks your streams might boast A gentler margin and a fairer ford!" "As birth to man," replied the priest, "the cave, O guest, to thee! as death to man the wave.
"Doth it appal thee? thou canst yet return! 58 There love, there sunny life;--and yonder"--"Fame, Cymri, and God!" said Arthur. "Paynim, learn Death has two victors, deathless both--THE NAME, THE SOUL; to each a realm eternal given, This rules the earth, and that achieves the heaven."
He said, and seized a torch with scornful hand; 59 The frail raft rock'd to his descending tread; Upon the prow he fix'd the glowing brand, And the raft drifted down the waves of dread. So with his fortunes went confiding forth The knightly Caesar of the Christian North.
Then, from its shelter on his breast, the dove 60 Rose, and sail'd slow before with doubtful wing; The dun mists rolling round the vaults above, Below, the gulf with torch-fires crimsoning; Wan through the glare, or white amidst the gloom, Glanced Heaven's mute daughter with the silver plume.
Meanwhile to AEgle: from the happier trance, 61 And from the stun of the first human ill Labouring returns her soul!--As lightnings glance O'er battle-fields, with sated slaughter still, The fitful reason flickering comes and goes O'er the past struggle--o'er the blank repose.
At length with one long, eager, searching look, 62 She gazed around, and all the living space With one great loss seem'd lifeless!--then she strook Her clench'd hand on her heart; and o'er her face Settled ineffable that icy gloom, Which only falls when hope abandons doom.
Why breaks the smile--why waves the exulting hand? 63 Why to the threshold moves that step serene? The brow superb awes back the maiden band, From the roused woman towers sublime the queen. She pass'd the isle--and beam'd upon the crowd, Bright as the May-moon when it bursts the cloud.
Brief and imperious rings her question; quick 64 A hundred hands point, answering, to the fane. As on she sweeps, behind her, fast and thick, Gather the groups far following in her train. Behind some bird unknown, of glorious dyes, So swarm the meaner people of the skies.
Oh, the great force, that sleeps in woman's heart! 65 She will, at least, behold that form once more; See its last vestige from her world depart, And mark the spot to haunt and wander o'er, Rased in that impulse of the human breast All the cold lessons on its leaves impress'd;--
Snapp'd in the strength of the divine desire 66 All the vain swathes with which convention thralls;-- Nature breaks forth, and at her breath of fire The elaborate snow-pile's molten temple falls; And meaner priestcrafts fly before that Truth, Whose name is Passion, and whose altar, Youth!
Unknown the egress, dreamless of the snare, 67 Sole aim to look the last on the adored: She gains the fane--she treads the aisle--and there The deathlights guide her to the bridal lord; On, through pale groups around the yawning cave, She comes--and looks upon the livid wave.
She comes--she sees afar amidst the dark, 68 That fair, serene, undaunted, godlike brow-- Sees on the lurid deep the lonely bark Drift through the circling horror;--sees, and now On light's far verge it hovers, wanes, and fades, As roars the hungering cataract up the shades.
Voiceless she look'd, and voiceless look'd and smiled 69 On her the priest: strange though the marvel seem, The old man, childless, loved her more than child; She link'd each thought--she colour'd every dream; But Love, the varying Genius, guides, in turn, The soft to pity, to revenge the stern.
Not his the sympathy which soothes the woe, 70 But that which, wrathful, feels, and shares, the wrong. He in the faithless view'd alone the foe; The weak he righted when he smote the strong: In one dread crime a twofold virtue seen, Here saved the land, and there avenged the queen.
So through the hush his hissing murmur stole-- 71 "Ay, AEgle, blossom on the stem of kings, Not to fresh altars glides the perjurer's soul, Not to new maids the vows still thine he brings! No rival mocks thee from the bloodless shore, The dead, at least, are faithful evermore."
As when around the demigod of love, 72 Whom men Prometheus call, relentless fell The flashing fires of Zeus, and Heaven above Open'd in flame, in flame expanded Hell; While gazing dauntless on the Thunderer's frown, Sunk from the Earth, the Earth's Light-bringer down;
So, while both worlds before its sight lay bare, 73 And o'er one ruin burst the lightning shook, Love, the Arch-Titan, in sublime despair, Faced the rent Hades from the shatter'd rock; And saw in Heaven, the future Heaven foreshown, When Love shall reign where Force usurps the throne.
The Woman heard, and gathering majesty 74 Beam'd on her front, and crown'd it with command; The pale priest shrunk before her tranquil eye, And the light touch of her untrembling hand-- "Enjoy," she said, with voice as clear as low, "Enjoy thy hate; where love survives I go.
"Sweetly thou smilest--sweetly, gentle Death, 75 Kinder than life;--that severs, thou unitest! To realms He spoke of goes this living breath, A living soul, wherever space is brightest-- Fair Love--I trusted, now I claim, thy troth! Blest be thy couch, for it hath room for both!"
She said, and from each hand that would restrain 76 Broke, in the strength of her sublime despair; Swift as the meteor on the northern main Fades from the ice-lock'd sea-kings' livid stare-- She sprang; the robe a sudden glimmer gave, And o'er the vision swept the closing wave.
Return, wild Song, to Lancelot! Behold 77 Our Lord's lone house beside the placid mere! There pipes the careless shepherd to his fold, Or from the crags the shy capellae peer Through the green rents of many a hanging brake, Which sends its quivering shadow to the lake.
And by the pastoral margins mournfully 78 Wanders from dawn to eve the earnest knight; And ever to the ring he turns his eye, And ever does the ring perplex the sight; The fairy hand that knew no rest before, Rests now as fix'd as if its task were o'er.
Towards the far head of the calm water turn'd 79 The unmoving finger; yet, when gain'd the place, No path for human foot the knight discern'd-- Abrupt and huge, the rocks enclosed the space. His scath'd front veil'd in everlasting snows, High above eagles Alpine Atlas rose.
No cleft! save that a giant torrent clove, 80 For its fierce hurry to the lake it fed; Check'd for a while in chasms conceal'd above, Thence all its pomp the dazzling horror spread, And from the beetling ridges, smooth and sheer, Flash'd in one mass, down-roaring to the mere.
Still to that spot the fairy hand inclined, 81 And daily there with wistful searching eyes Wander'd the knight; each day no path to find. What step can scale that ladder to the skies? What portals yawn in those relentless walls?-- Still the hand points where still the cataract falls.
One noon, as thus he gazed in stern despair 82 On rock and torrent;--from the tortured spray, And through the mists, into cerulean air, A dove descending rush'd its arrowy way; Swift as a falling star, which, falling, brings Woe on the helmet-crown of Dorian kings![11]
Straight to the wanderer's hand bore down the bird, 83 With plumage crisp'd with fear, and piercing plaint; Oft had he heedful, in his wanderings, heard Of the great Wrong-Redresser, whom a saint In the dove's guise directed--"Hail," he cried, "I greet the token--I accept the guide!"
And sudden as he spoke, arose the wing, 84 (Warily veering towards the dexter flank Of the huge chasm, through which leapt thundering From Nature's heart her savage); on the bank Of that fell stream, in root, and jag, and stone, It traced the ladder to the glacier's throne.
Slow sail'd the dove, and paused, and look'd behind, 85 As labouring after, crag on crag, the knight (Close on the deafening roar, and whirling wind Lash'd from the surges), through the vaporous night Of the grey mists, loom'd up the howling wild; Strong in the charm the fairy gave the child.
With bleeding hands, that leave a moment's red 86 On stone and stem wash'd by the mighty spray, He gains at length the inter-alpine bed, Whose lock'd Charybdis checks the torrent's way, And forms a basin o'er abysmal caves, For the grim respite of the headlong waves.
Torrents below--the torrents still above! 87 Above less awful--as precipitous peak And splinter'd ledge, and many a curve and cove In the compress'd, indented margins, break That crushing sense of power, in which we see What, without Nature's God, would Nature be!
Before him stretch'd the maelstrom of the abyss; 88 And, in the central torrent, giant pines, Uprooted from the bordering wilderness By some gone winter's blast--in flashing lines Shot through the whirl--then, pluck'd to the profound, Vanish'd and rose, swift eddying round and round.
But on the marge as on the wave thou art, 89 O conquering Death!--what human, hueless face Rests pillow'd on a silenced human heart? What arm still clasps in more than love's embrace That form for which yon vulture flaps its wing? Kneel, Lancelot, kneel, thine eyes behold thy King!
Alas! in vain--still in the Death-god's cave, 90 Ere yet the torrent snatch'd the hurrying stream, Beside a crag grey-shimmering from the wave, And near the brink by which the pallid beam Show'd one pent path along the rugged verge, By which to leave the raft and 'scape the surge,--
Alas! in vain, that haven to the ark 91 The dove had given!--just won the refuge-place, When, thrice emerging from the sheeted dark, White glanced a robe, and livid rose a face! He saw, he sprang, he near'd, he grasp'd the vest! And both the torrent grappled to its breast.
Yet in the immense and superhuman force, 92 Love and despair bestow upon the bold, The strong man battled with the Titan's course, Grip'd rock and layer, and ledge, with snatching hold, Bruised, bleeding, broken, onwards, downwards driven, No wave his treasure from his grasp had riven
Saved, saved--at last before his reeling eyes 93 (Into the pool, that check'd the Fury, hurl'd) Shone, as he rose, through all the hurtling skies, The dove's white wing; and ere the maelstrom whirl'd The madden'd waters to the central shock, Show'd the gnarl'd roots of the redeeming rock.
Less sense than instinct caught the wing that shone, 94 The crags that shelter'd;--the wild billows gave The failing limbs a force no more their own, And as he turn'd and sunk, the swerving wave Swoop'd round, dash'd on, and to the isthmus sped, Still breast to breast, the living and the dead!
Long vain were Lancelot's cares and knightly skill, 95 Ere, through slow veins congeal'd, pulsed back the blood; The very wounds, the valour of the will, The peaks that broke the fury of the flood Had help'd to save; alas, the strong to save! For Strength to toil, till Love re-opes the grave.
Twice down the dismal path (the dove his guide) 96 The fairy nursling bore his helpless load; A chamois-hunter, in the vale descried, Aided the convoy to the house of God. Dark--wroth--convulsed, the earth-bound spirit lay; Calm from the bier beside it, smiled the clay!
O Song--for Lydian elegy too stern, 97 Song, cradled in the Celt's rough battle-shield; Rather from thee should man, the soldier, learn To hide the wounds--heroic while conceal'd; From foes without the mean the palm may win, What tries the noble is the war within!
Let the King's woe its muse in Silence claim, 98 When sense return'd, and solitary life Sate in the Shadow!--shade or sun the same, Toil hath brief respite; man is made for strife, Woman for rest!--rest, bright with dreams, is given, Child of the heathen, in the Christian heaven!
And to the Christian prince's plighted bride, 99 The simple monks the Christian's grave accord, With lifted cross and swinging censer, glide To passing bells--the hermits of the Lord; And at that hour, in her own native vale, Her own soft race their mystic loss bewail.
Methinks I see the Tuscan Genius yet, 100 Lured, lingering by the clay it loved so well, And listening to the two-fold dirge that met In upper air;--here Nazarene anthems swell Triumphal paeans!--there, the Alps behind, Etrurian Naeniae,[12] load the lagging wind.
Pauses the startled genius to compare 101 The notes that mourn the life, at best so brief, With those that welcome to empyreal air The bright escaper from a world of grief? Marvelling what creed, beyond the happy vale, Can teach the soul the loathed Styx to hail!
THE ETRURIAN NAENIAE.
Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost? No funeral rites appease thy tombless clay; Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast, O exile from the day?
There, where the voice of love is heard no more, Where the dull wave moans back the eternal wail, Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore, Thine own melodious vale?
Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors, And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face; What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors? What child renew the race?
Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades, Of all thy groves what rests?--the cypress tree! As from the air a strain of music fades, Dark silence buries thee!
Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires, Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home, Where the stars light the AEsars' nuptial fires In Tina's azure dome;
From the fierce wave the god's celestial wing Rapt thee aloft along the yielding air; With amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring, Bright Cupra[13] braids thy hair,
Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn, Far are the AEsars' joys from human woe: But not the less forsaken and forlorn Those thou hast left below!
Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee, The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth; Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee-- Art thou less lost to earth?
Slow swells the sorrowing Naeniae's chanted strain: Time, with slow flutes, our leaden footsteps keep; Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain, Hath but a loss to weep.
THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMN
Sing we Halleluiah--singing Halleluiah to the Three; Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging? Where, O Grave, thy victory?
As a sun a soul hath risen, Rising from a stormy main; When a captive breaks the prison, Who but slaves would mourn the chain
Fear for age subdued by trial, Heavy with the years of sin: When the sunlight leaves the dial, And the solemn shades begin;--
Not for youth!--although the bosom With a sharper grief be wrung; For the May wind strews the blossom, And the angel takes the young!
Saved from sins, while yet forgiven;-- From the joys that lead astray, From the earth at war with heaven, Soar, O happy soul, away!
From the human love that fadeth, In the falsehood or the tomb; From the cloud that darkly shadeth; From the canker in the bloom;
Thou hast pass'd to suns unsetting, Where the rainbow spans the flood, Where no moth the garb is fretting, Where no worm is in the bud.
Let the arrow leave the quiver, It was fashioned but to soar; Let the wave pass from the river, Into ocean evermore!
Mindful yet of mortal feeling, In thy fresh immortal birth; By the Virgin mother kneeling, Plead for those beloved on earth.
Whisper them thou hast forsaken, "Woe but borders unbelief!" Comfort smiles in faith unshaken: Shall thy glory be their grief?
Let one ray on them descending, From the prophet Future stream; Bliss is daylight never ending, Sorrow but a passing dream.
O'er the grave in far communion, With the choral Seraphim, Chaunt in notes that hail reunion, Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;--
Singing Halleluiah--singing Halleluiah to the Three; Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging? Where, O Grave, thy victory?
So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's, 102 In our Lord's holy ground--between the walls Of the grey convent and the verdant creeks Of the sequester'd mere; afar the falls Of the fierce torrent from her native vale, Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale.
Survives that remnant of old races still, 103 In its strange haven from the surge of Time? There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill, At the same hour when here, the vesper chime Hymns the sweet Mother? Ah, can granite gate, Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate?
World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth 104 What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken! But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth? Life but repeats its triple tale to men. Three truths unite the children of the sod-- All love--all suffer--and all feel a God!
By AEgle's grave the royal mourner sate, 105 And from his bended eyes the veiling hand Shut out the setting sun; thus, desolate, He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land, And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words, Vain to the oak, bolt-shatter'd, sing the birds!
Vain is their promise of returning spring! 106 Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core? Comfort not sorrow--sorrow's self must bring Its own stern cure!--All wisdom's holiest lore, The "KNOW THYSELF" descends from heaven in tears; The cloud must break before the horizon clears.
The dove forsook not:--now its poised wing, 107 Bathed in the sunset, rested o'er the lake; Now brooded o'er the grave beside the King; Now with hush'd plumes, as if it fear'd to wake Sleep, less serene than Death's, it sought his breast, And o'er the heart of misery claim'd its nest.
Night falls--the moon is at her full;--the mere 108 Shines with the sheen pellucid; not a breeze! And through the hush'd and argent atmosphere Sharp rise the summits of the breathless trees. When Lancelot saw, all indistinct and pale, Glide o'er the liquid glass a mistlike sail.
Now, first from Arthur's dreams of fever gain'd, 109 And since (for grief unlocks the secret heart) Briefly confess'd, the triple toil ordain'd The knightly brother knew;--so with a start He strain'd the eyes, to which a fairy gave Vision of fairy forms, along the wave.
Then in his own the King's cold hand he took, 110 And spoke--"Arise, thy mission calls thee now! Let the dead rest--still lives thy country!--look, And nerve thy knighthood to redeem its vow. This is the lake whose waves the falchion hide, And yon the bark that becks thee to the tide!"
The mourner listless rose, and look'd abroad, 111 Nor saw the sail;--though nearer, clearer gliding, The Fairy nurseling, by the vapoury shroud And vapoury helm, beheld a phantom guiding. "Not this," replied the King, "the lake decreed; Where points thy hand, but floats a broken reed!
"Where are the dangers on that placid tide? 112 Where are the fiends that guard the enchanted boon Behold, where rests the pilgrim's plumed guide On the cold grave--beneath the quiet moon! So night gives rest to grief--with labouring day Let the dove lead, and life resume, the way!"
Then answer'd Lancelot--for he was wise 113 In each mysterious Druid parable:-- "Oft in the things most simple to our eyes, The real genii of our doom may dwell-- The enchanter spoke of trials to befal; And the lone heart has trials worse than all!
"Weird triads tell us that our nature knows 114 In its own cells the demons it should brave; And oft the calm of after glory flows Clear round the marge of early passion's grave!" And the dove came ere Lancelot ceased to speak, To its lord's hand--a leaflet in its beak,
Pluck'd from the grave! Then Arthur's labouring thought 115 Recall'd the prophet words--and doubt was o'er; He knew the lake that hid the boon he sought Both by the grave, and by the herb it bore; He took the bitter treasure from the dove, And tasted Knowledge at the grave of Love,
And straight the film fell from his heavy eyes; 116 And moor'd beside the marge, he saw the bark, And by the sails that swell'd in windless skies, The phantom Lady in the robes of dark. O'er moonlit tracks she stretch'd the shadowy hand, And lo, beneath the waters bloom'd the land!
Forests of emerald verdure spread below, 117 Through which proud columns glisten far and wide, On to the bark the mourner's footsteps go; The pale King stands by the pale phantom's side; And Lancelot sprang--but sudden from his reach Glanced the wan skiff, and left him on the beach.
Chain'd to the earth by spells, more strong than love, 118 He saw the pinnace steal its noiseless way, And on the mast there sate the steadfast dove, With white plume shining in the steadfast ray-- Slow from the sight the airy vessel glides, Till Heaven alone is mirror'd on the tides.
NOTES TO BOOK V.
1.--Page 273, stanza iii.
First, Muse of Cymri, name the Council Three.
Three counselling knights were in the court of Arthur, which were Cynon the son of Clydno Eiddin, Aron the son of Kynfarch ap Meirchion-gul, and Llywarch hen the son of Elidir Lydanwyn, &c.--Note in LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST'S edition of the Mabinogion, vol. i. p. 93. In the text, for the sake of euphony to English ears, for the name of Llywarch is substituted that of his father, Elidir.
2.--Page 275, stanza xii.
Next came the Warrior Three. Of glory's charms.
Three knights of battle were in the court of Arthur; Cadwr the Earl of Cornwall, Lancelot du Lac, and Owaine the son of Urien Rheged; and this was their characteristic, that they would not retreat from battle, neither for spear, nor for arrow, nor for sword; and Arthur never had shame in battle the day he saw their faces there, &c.--LADY C. GUEST'S Mabinog., vol. i. p. 91. In the poem, for Lancelot of the Lake, whose fame is not yet supposed to be matured, is substituted the famous Geraint, the hero of a former generation.
3.--Page 275, stanza xii.
Dark Mona's Owaine shines with golden arms.
Owaine's birth-place and domains are variously surmised: in the text they are ascribed to Mona (Anglesea). St. Palaye, concurrently both with French fabliasts and Welch bards, makes this hero very fond of the pomp and blazonry of arms, and attributes to him the introduction of buckles to spurs, furred mantles, and the use of gloves.
4.--Page 275, stanza xiii.
In his plain manhood Cornwall's chief is seen.
Cadwr.
5.--Page 275, stanza xv.
Next the three Chiefs of Eloquence; the kings.
There were three golden-tongued knights in the court of Arthur--Gwalchmai (Gawaine), Drudwas, and Eliwlod.[D]--LADY C. GUEST'S Mabinog., note, vol. i. p. 118.
6.--Page 276, stanza xix.
"The KNIGHTS OF LOVE;" some type the name conveys.
The three ardent lovers of the island of Britain--Caswallawn, Tristan, and Cynon (for the last, already placed amongst the counselling knights, Caradoc is substituted).--LADY C. GUEST'S Mabinog., vol. i. note to p. 94.
7.--Page 276, stanza xix.
Caswallawn; Trystan of the lion rock.
Trystan's birth-place, Lyonness, is supposed to have been that part of Cornwall since destroyed by the sea. See Southey's note to Morte d'Arthur, vol. ii. p. 477.
8.--Page 279, stanza xlv.
In Castel d'Asso's vale of hero-tombs.
Castel d'Asso (the Castellum Axia, in Cicero), the name now given to the valleys near Viterbo, which formed the great burial-place of the Etrurians. Near these valleys, and, as some suppose, on the site of Viterbo, was Voltumna (Fanum Voltumnae), at which the twelve sovereigns of the twelve dynasties, and the other chiefs of the Etrurians, met in the spring of every year. Views of the rock-temples at Norchea, in this neighbourhood, are to be seen in INGHIRAMI'S Etrusc. Antiq.
9.--Page 280, stanza xlvii.
Here SETHLANS, sovereign of life's fix'd domains.
Sethlans, the Etrurian Vulcan. He appears sometimes to assume the attributes of Terminus, though in a higher and more ethereal sense--presiding over the bounds of life, as Terminus over those of the land.
10.--Page 280, stanza lii.
On the Fork'd Hill), abjures his genial smile.
Tinia, the Etrurian Bacchus (son of Tina), identified symbolically with the god of the infernal regions. In the funeral monuments he sometimes assumes the most fearful aspect. The above description of the Etrurian Hades, with its eight gates, is taken in each detail from vases and funeral monuments, most of which are cited by MICALI.
11.--Page 285, stanza lxxxii.
Woe on the helmet-crown of Dorian kings!
In moonless nights, every eighth year, the Spartan Ephors consulted the heavens; if there appeared the meteor, which we call the shooting-star, they adjudged their kings to have committed some offence against the gods, and suspended them from their office till acquitted by the Delphic oracle, or Olympian priests.--PLUT. Agis, 11; MULLER'S Dorians, b. iii. c. 6.
12.--Page 287, stanza c.
Etrurian Naeniae, load the lagging wind.
Naeniae, the funeral hymns borrowed by the Romans from the Etrurians.
13.--Page 288, stanza vi.
Bright Cupra braids thy hair.
Cupra, or Talna, corresponding with Juno, the nuptial goddess.
[D] The w is to be pronounced as oo.
VI. ARGUMENT
Description of the Cymrian fire-beacons--Dialogue between Gawaine and Caradoc--The raven--Merlin announces to Gawaine that the bird selects him for the aid of the King--The knight's pious scruples--He yields reluctantly, and receives the raven as his guide--His pathetic farewell to Caradoc--He confers with Henricus on the propriety of exorcising the raven--Character of Henricus--The knight sets out on his adventures-- The company he meets, and the obligation he incurs--The bride and the sword--The bride's choice and the hound's fidelity--Sir Gawaine lies down to sleep under the fairy's oak--What there befalls him--The fairy banquet--The temptation of Sir Gawaine--The rebuke of the fairies--Sir Gawaine, much displeased with the raven, resumes his journey--His adventure with the Vikings, and how he comforts himself in his captivity.
On the bare summit of the loftiest peak-- 1 Crowning the hills round Cymri's Iscan home, Rose the grey temple of the Faith Antique, Before whose priests had paused the march of Rome, When the Dark Isle reveal'd its drear abodes, And the last Hades of Cimmerian gods;
While dauntless Druids, by their shrines profaned, 2 Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush, their swordless hands,[1] And dire Religion, horror-breathing, chain'd The frozen eagles,--till the shuddering bands Shamed into slaughter, broke the ghastly spell, And, lost in reeks of carnage, sunk the hell
Quiver'd on column-shafts the poised rock, 3 As if a breeze could shake the ruin down; But storm on storm had sent its thunder-shock, Nor reft the temple of its mystic crown-- So awe of Power Divine on human breasts Vibrates for ever, and for ever rests.
Within the fane awaits a giant pyre, 4 Around the pyre assembled warriors stand; A pause of prayer;--and suddenly the fire Flings its broad banner reddening o'er the land. Shoot the fierce sparks and groan the crackling pines, Toss'd on the Wave of Shields the glory shines.
Lo, from dark night flash Carduel's domes of gold, 5 Glow the jagg'd rampires like a belt of light. And to the stars springs up the dragon-hold, With one lone image on the lonely height-- O'er those who saw a thrilling silence fell; There, the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel!
Forth on their mission rush'd the wings of flame; 6 Hill after hill the land's grey warders rose; First to the Mount of Bards the splendour came, Wreath'd with large halo Trigarn's stern repose; On, post by post, the fiery courier rode, Blood-red Edeirnion's dells of verdure glow'd;
Uprose the hardy men of Merioneth, 7 When, o'er the dismal strata parch'd and bleak, Like some revived volcano's lurid breath Sprang the fierce fire-jet from the herbless peak; Flash'd down on meeting streams the Basalt walls, In molten flame Rhaiadyr's thunder falls.
Thy Faban Mount, Caernarvon, seized the sign, 8 And pass'd the watchword to the Fairies' Hill; All Mona blazed--as if the isle divine To Bel, the sun-god, drest her altars still; Menai reflects the prophet hues, and far To twofold ocean knells the coming war.
Then wheeling round, the lurid herald swept 9 To quench the stars yet struggling with the glare Blithe to his task, resplendent Golcun leapt-- The bearded giant rose on Moel-y-Gaer-- Rose his six giant brothers,--Eifle rose, And great Eryri lit his chasms of snows.
So one vast altar was that father-land! 10 But nobler altars flash'd in souls of men, Sublimer than the mountain-tops, the brand Found pyres in every lowliest hamlet glen Soon on the rocks shall die the grosser fire-- Souls lit to freedom burn till suns expire.
Slowly the chiefs desert the blazing fane, 11 (Sure of steel-harvests from the dragon seed) Descend the mountain and the walls regain; As suns to systems, there to each decreed His glorious task,--to marshal star on star, And weave with fate the harmonious pomp of war.
Last of the noble conclave, linger'd two; 12 Gawaine the mirthful, Caradoc the mild, And, as the watchfires thicken'd on their view. War's fearless playmate raised his hand and smiled, Pointing to splendours, linking rock to rock;-- And while he smiled--sigh'd earnest Caradoc.
"Now by my head--(an empty oath and light!) 13 No taller tapers ever lit to rest Rome's stately Caesar;--sigh'st thou, at the sight, For cost o'er-lavish, when so mean the guest?" "Was it for this the gentle Saviour died? Is Cain so glorious?" Caradoc replied.
"Permit, Sir Bard, an argument on that," 14 True to his fame, said golden-tongued Gawaine, "The hawk may save his fledglings from the cat, Nor yet deserve comparisons with Cain; And Abel's fate, to hands unskill'd, proclaims The use of practice in gymnastic games.
"Woes that have been are wisdom's lesson-books-- 15 From Abel's death, the men of peace should learn To add an inch of iron to their crooks And strike, when struck, a little in return-- Had Abel known his quarterstaff, I wot, Those Saxon Ap-Cains ne'er had been begot!"
More had he said, but a strange, grating note, 16 Half laugh--half croak, was here discordant heard; An ave rose--but died within his throat, As close before him perch'd the enchanter's bird, With head aslant, and glittering eye askew, It near'd the knight--the knight in haste withdrew.
"All saints defend me, and excuse a jest!" 17 Mutter'd Sir Gawaine--"bird or fiend avaunt: Oh, holy Abel, let this matter rest, I do repent me of my foolish taunt!" With that the cross upon his sword he kist, And stared aghast--the bird was on his wrist.
"Hem--vade Satanas!--discede! retro," 18 The raven croak'd, and fix'd himself afresh; "Avis damnata!--salus sit in Petro," Ten pointed claws here fasten'd on his flesh; The knight, sore smarting, shook his arm--the bird Peck'd in reproach, and kept its perch unstirr'd.
Quoth Caradoc--whose time had come to smile, 19 And smile he did in grave and placid wise-- "Let not thine evil thoughts, my friend, defile The harmless wing descended from the skies." "Skies!!!" said the knight--"black imps from skies descend With claws like these!--the world is at an end!"
"Now shame, Gawaine, O knight of little heart, 20 How, if a small and inoffensive raven Dismay thee thus, couldst thou have track'd the chart By which AEneas won his Alban-haven? On Harpies, Scylla, Cerberus, reflect-- And undevour'd--rejoice to be but peckt."
"True," said a voice behind them,--"gentle bard, 21 In life as verse, the art is--to compare." Gawaine turn'd short, gazed keenly, and breathed hard As on the dark-robed magian stream'd the glare Of the huge watch-fire--"Prophet," quoth Gawaine, "My friend scorns pecking--let him try the pain!
"Please to call back this--offspring of the skies! 22 Unworthy I to be his earthly rest!" "Methought," said Merlin, "that thy King's emprize Had found in thine a less reluctant breast; Again is friendship granted to his side-- Thee the bird summons, be the bird thy guide."
Dumb stared the knight--stared first upon the seer, 23 Then on the raven,--who, demure and sly, Turn'd on his master a respectful ear, And on Gawaine a magisterial eye. "What hath a king with ravens, seer, to do?" "Odin, the king of half the world, had two.
"Peace--if thy friendship answer to its boast, 24 Arm, take thy steed and with the dawn depart-- The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast; Strange are thy trials, stalwart be thy heart." "Seer," quoth Gawaine, "my heart I hope is tough Nor needs a prop from this portentous chough.
"You know the proverb--'birds of the same feather,' 25 A proverb much enforced in penal laws,[2]-- In certain quarters were we seen together It might, I fear, suffice to damn my cause: You cite examples apt and edifying-- Odin kept ravens!--well, and Odin's frying!"
The enchanter smiled, in pity or in scorn; 26 The smile was sad, but lofty, calm, and cold-- "The straws," he said, "on passing winds upborne Dismay the courser--is the man more bold? Dismiss thy terrors, go thy ways, my son, To do thy duty is the fiend to shun.
"Not for thy sake the bird is given to thee, 27 But for thy King's."--"Enough," replied the knight, And bow'd his head. The bird rose jocundly, Spread its dark wing and rested in the light-- "Sir Bard," to Caradoc the chosen said In the close whisper of a knight well bred:
"Vow'd to my King--come man, come fiend, I go, 28 But ne'er expect to see thy friend again, That bird carnivorous hath designs I know Most Anthropophagous on doom'd Gawaine; I leave you all the goods that most I prize-- Three steeds, six hawks, four gre-hounds, two blue eyes.
"Beat back the Saxons--beat them well, my friend, 29 And when they're beaten, and your hands at leisure, Set to your harp a ditty on my end-- The most appropriate were the shortest measure: Forewarn'd by me all light discourses shun, And mostly--jests on Adam's second son."
He said, and wended down the glowing hill. 30 Long watch'd the minstrel with a wistful gaze, Then join'd the musing seer--and both were still, Still 'mid the ruins--girded with the rays: Twin heirs of light and lords of time, grey Truth That ne'er is young--and Song the only youth.
At dawn Sir Gawaine through the postern stole, 31 But first he sought one reverend friend--a bishop, By him assoil'd and shrived, he felt his soul Too clean for cooks that fry for fiends to dish up; And then suggested, lighter and elater, To cross the raven with some holy water.
Henricus--so the prelate sign'd his name-- 32 Was lord high chancellor in things religious; With him church militant in truth became (Nam cedant arma togae) church litigious; He kept his deacons notably in awe By flowers epistolar perfumed with law.
No man more stern, more fortiter in re, 33 No man more mild, more suaviter in modo; When knots grew tough, it was sublime to see Such polish'd shears go clippingly in nodo; A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick, Ne'er smooth'd a band, nor burn'd a heretic.
He seem'd to turn to you his willing cheek, 34 And beg you not to smite too hard the other; He seized his victims with a smile so meek, And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother, No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup, You vex'd his stream--he grieved--and eat you up.
"Son," said Henricus, "what you now propose 35 Is wise and pious--fit for a beginning; But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose, In sin, perverted appetite for sinning; Hopeless to cure--we only can detect it, First cross the bird and then (he groan'd) dissect it!"
Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair 36 Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze, And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to care For threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes, But when the priest the closing words let drop He hopp'd away as fast as he could hop.
Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes, 37 Tracts against Arius--bulls against Pelagius, The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's-- Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious, For there, with open beak and glowering eye, The bird seem'd croaking forth, "Dissect me! try!"
This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan 38 Relax'd; he gazed, recoil'd, and faltering said, "'Tis clear the monster is the foe of man, His beak how pointed! and his eyes how red! Demons are spirits;--spirits, on reflexion, Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection."
"Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, "but the holy water!" 39 "No," cried the Prelate, "ineffective here. Try, but not now, a simple noster-pater, Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not interfere; Act for yourself--and say your catechism; Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism."
"A schism!"--"The church, though always in the right, 40 Holds two opinions, both extremely able; This makes the rubric rest on gowns of white, That makes the church itself depend on sable; Were I to exorcise that raven-back 'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.[3]
"Depart my son--at once, depart, I pray, 41 Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease, And call that creature--no, the other way-- When fairly out, a credo, if you please;-- Go,--pax vobiscum;--shut the door I beg, And stay;--On Friday, flogging,--with an egg!"
Out went the knight, more puzzled than before; 42 And out, unsprinkled, flew the Stygian bird; The bishop rose, and doubly lock'd the door; His pen he mended, and his fire he stirr'd; Then solved that problem--"Pons Diaconorum," White equals black, plus x y botherorum.
So through the postern stole the troubled knight; 43 Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale, Rung lively horns, and in the morning light Flash'd the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail, The welcome guests of War's blithe festival, Keen for the feast, and summon'd to the hall.
Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay, 44 And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind, Oft asking, "if he did mistake the way?"-- Or hinting, "war was what he left behind;" As noon came on, such sights and comments cease, Lone through the pastures rides the knight in peace.
Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine-- 45 The bird went first in most indecent glee, Now lost to sight, now gamb'ling back again-- Now munch'd a beetle, and now chaced a bee-- Now pluck'd the wool from meditative lamb, Now pick'd a quarrel with a lusty ram.
Sharp through his visor, Gawaine watch'd the thing, 46 With dire misgivings at that impish mirth: Day wax'd--day waned--and still the dusky wing Seem'd not to find one resting-place on earth. "Saints," groan'd Gawaine, "have mercy on a sinner, And move that devil--just to stop for dinner!"
The bird turn'd round, as if it understood. 47 Halted the wing, and seem'd awhile to muse; Then dives at once into a dismal wood, And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues, To hear (and hearing, hope once more revives), Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clashing knives.
An opening glade a pleasant group displays; 48 Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast; Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze; To earth leaps Gawaine--"I shall dine at least." His casque he doffs--"Good knights and ladies fair, Vouchsafe a famish'd man your feast to share."
Loud laugh'd a big, broad-shoulder'd, burly host; 49 "On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he; "Before one dines, 'tis well to know the cost-- Thou'lt wed my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me." "Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretch'd his platter, "I'll first the pie discuss, and then--the matter."
The ladies look'd upon the comely knight 50 His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found; The men admired that vasty appetite, Meet to do honour to the Table Round; The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn, Brimm'd with pure drinks distill'd from barley corn.
Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead, 51 But long familiar to Milesian lays, So huge that draught, it had dispatch'd with speed Ten Irish chiefs in these degenerate days: Sir Gawaine drain'd it, and Sir Gawaine laugh'd, "Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught;
"But, pray you pardon (sir, a slice of boar), 52 Judged by your accent, mantles, beards, and wine, (If wine this be) ye come from HUERDAN'S[4] shore, To aid, no doubt, our kindred Celtic line; Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at night And march to Carduel? read I, sirs, aright?"
"Stranger," replied the host, "your guess is wrong, 53 And shows your lack of history and reflection; Huerdan with Cymri is allied too long, We come, my friend, to sever the connection: But first (your bees are wonderful for honey), Yield us your hives--in plainer words your money."
"Friend," said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought 54 Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours." "True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought! But shall Milesians waste in work their powers? Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking," "Faith," said Gawaine, "gold's easier got by asking."
Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire-- 55 Unsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted; High rose the din, than all the din rose higher The croak of that curs'd raven quite delighted; Sir Gawaine finish'd his last slice of boar, And said, "Good friends, more business and less roar.
"If you want peace--shake hands, and peace, I say, 56 If you want fighting, gramercy! we'll fight." "Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay-- The two conditions."--"Host, you're in the right, To fight I'm willing, but to wed I'm loth: I choose the first."--"Your word is bound to both:
"Me first engaged, if conquer'd you are--dead, 57 And then alone your honour is acquitted: But conquer me, and then you must be wed; You ate!--the contract in that act admitted." "Host," cried the knight, half-stunn'd by all the clatter, "I only said I would discuss the matter.
"But if your faith upon my word reposed, 58 That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind." Few moments more, and host and guest had closed-- For blows come quick when folks are so inclined: They foin'd, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd, and hew'd-- Paused, panted, eyed each other and renew'd;
At length a dexterous and back-handed blow 59 Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee. "Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe; "But for thy dinner wolves should dine on thee; Yield--thou bleed'st badly--yield and ask thy life." "Content," the host replied--"embrace thy wife!"
"O cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan, 60 "To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried! My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown-- I sate to dine, I rise--and I am married! O worse than Esau, miserable elf, He sold his birthright--but he kept himself."
While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain 61 Mourn'd the lost knight, the host his daughter led, Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine-- "Joy be with both!"--the bridegroom shook his head! "I have a castle which I won by force-- Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course:
"Page, bind my scalp--to broken scalps we're used. 62 Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit; No man alive has Erin's maids accused, And least that maiden, of a want of spirit; She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir, When out of hand, just try your hand on her."
Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes, 63 To mark the bride by partial father praised, But mounts his steed--the gleesome raven flies Before; beside him rides the maid amazed: "Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice, "I hope your musings do not blame your choice?"
"Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue, 64 As with some effort be replied at all, "Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung, My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall; Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife, I doom a widow where I make a wife.
"And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms 65 Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius, To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms; Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious-- Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever, Till my return."--"Return! that may be never:
"What if you fall? (since thus you tempt the Fates) 66 The yew will flourish where the lily fades; The laidliest widows find consoling mates With far less trouble than the comeliest maids; Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind, Whate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd."
That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet, 67 But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear, But while devising still some vile retreat, The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near; Just as the witching night begins to fall They pass the gates and enter in the hall.
Soon in those times primaeval came the hour 68 When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair, They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower, Unbraced his mail, and left him with the fair; Then first, demurely seated side by side, The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride.
No iron heart had he of golden tongue, 69 To beauty none by nature were politer; The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young, And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter; "'For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse, Sith now no better--let me brave the worse."
With that he took and kiss'd the lady's hand, 70 The lady smiled, and Gawaine's heart grew bolder, When from the roof by some unseen command, Flash'd down a sword and smote him on the shoulder-- The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke, While from the lattice caw'd the merriest croak!
Aghast he gazed--the sword within the roof 71 Again had vanish'd; nought was to be seen-- He felt his shoulder, and remain'd aloof. "Fair dame," quoth he, "explain what this may mean." The bride replied not, hid her face and wept; Slow to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept.
"Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch--no more," 72 He bent to kiss the dew-drops from his rose, When presto down the glaive enchanted shore-- Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose. "Ah, cruel father," groan'd the lady then, "I hoped, at least, thou wert content with ten!"
"Ten what?" said Gawaine.--"Gallant knights like thee, 73 Who fought and conquer'd my deceitful sire; Married, as thou, to miserable me, And doom'd, as thou, beneath the sword to expire-- By this device he gains their arms and steeds, So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds."
"Foul felon host," the wrathful knight exclaims, 74 "Foul wizard bird, no doubt in league with him! Have they no dread lest all good knights and dames Save fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb? But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner, Thou keep the couch, and I--yon farthest corner!"
This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing 75 Went from his bride as far as he could go, Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling; Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow-- So watch'd Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept, Perch'd on the lattice-sill the raven slept.
Blithe rose the sun, and blither still Gawaine; 76 Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door-- "Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the twain, Amazed to see that living guest once more.-- "Did you sleep well?"--"Why, yes," replied the knight, "One gnat, indeed;--but gnats were made to bite.
"Man must leave insects to their insect law;-- 77 Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all-- Depart I must,"--the raven gave a caw. "And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall. "Nay," said Gawaine, "I wend on ways of strife." "Sir, hold your tongue--I choose it; I'm your wife."
With that the lady took him by the hand, 78 And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair; Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand, Brimm'd full the goblet, nor disdain'd to share-- The host saith nothing or to knight or bride; Forth comes the steed--a palfrey by its side.
Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board 79 His manchet to a hound with hungry face; Sprung to his selle, and wish'd, too late, that sword Had closed his miseries with a coup de grace. They clear the walls, the open road they gain; The bride rode dauntless--daunted much Gawaine.
Gaily the fair discoursed on many things, 80 But most on those ten lords--his time before, Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings, Had gone, "Proiapsoi," to the Stygian shore; Then, each described and praised,--she smiled and said, "But one live dog is worth ten lions dead."
The knight prepared that proverb to refute. 81 When the bird beckon'd down a delving lane, And there the bride provoked a new dispute: That path was frightful--she preferr'd the plain. "Dame," said the knight, "not I your steps compel-- Take thou the plain!--adieu! I take the dell."
"Ah, cruel lord," with gentle voice and mien 82 The lady murmur'd, and regain'd his side; "Little thou know'st of woman's faith, I ween, All paths alike save those that would divide; Ungrateful knight--too dearly loved!"--"But then," Falter'd Gawaine, "you said the same to ten!"
"Ah no; their deaths alone their lives endear'd 83 Slain for my sake, as I could die for thine;" And while she spoke so lovely she appear'd The knight did, blissful, towards her cheek incline-- But, ere a tender kiss his thanks could say, A strong hand jerk'd the palfrey's neck away.
Unseen till then, from out the bosky dell 84 Had leapt a huge, black-brow'd, gigantic wight; Sudden he swung the lady from her selle, And seized that kiss defrauded from the knight, While, with loud voice and gest uncouth, he swore So fair a cheek he ne'er had kiss'd before!
With mickle wrath Sir Gawaine sprang from steed, 85 And, quite forgetful of his wonted parle, He did at once without a word proceed To make a ghost of that presuming carle. The carle, nor ghost nor flesh inclined to yield, Took to his club, and made the bride his shield.
"Hold, stay thine hand!" the hapless lady cried, 86 As high in air the knight his falchion rears; The carle his laidly jaws distended wide, And--"Ho," he laugh'd, "for me the sweet one fears, Strike, if thou durst, and pierce two hearts in one, Or yield the prize--by love already won."
In high disdain, the knight of golden tongue 87 Look'd this way, that, revolving where to smite; Still as he look'd, and turn'd, the giant swung The unknightly buckler round from left to right. Then said the carle--"What need of steel and strife? A word in time may often save a life,
"This lady me prefers, or I mistake, 88 Most ladies like an honest hearty wooer; Abide the issue, she her choice shall make; Dare you, sir rival, leave the question to her? If so, resheath your sword, remount your steed, I loose the lady, and retire."--"Agreed,"
Sir Gawaine answer'd--sure of the result, 89 And charm'd the fair so cheaply to deliver; But ladies' hearts are hidden and occult, Deep as the sea, and changeful as the river. The carle released the fair, and left her free-- "Caw," said the raven, from the willow tree.
A winsome knight all know was fair Gawaine 90 (No knight more winsome shone in Arthur's court:) The carle's rough features were of homeliest grain, As shaped by Nature in burlesque and sport; The lady look'd and mused, and scann'd the two, Then made her choice--the carle had spoken true.
The knight forsaken, rubb'd astounded eyes, 91 Then touch'd his steed and slowly rode away-- "Bird," quoth Gawaine, as on the raven flies, "Be peace between us, from this blessed day; One single act has made me thine for life,-- Thou hast shown the path by which I lost a wife!"
While thus his grateful thought Sir Gawaine vents, 92 He hears, behind, the carle's Stentorian cries; He turns, he pales, he groans--"The carle repents! No, by the saints, he keeps her or he dies!" Here at his stirrups stands the panting wight-- "The lady's hound, restore the hound, sir knight."
"The hound," said Gawaine, much relieved, "what hound?" 93 And then perceived he that the dog he fed, With grateful steps the kindly guest had found, And there stood faithful.--"Friend," Sir Gawaine said, "What's just is just! the dog must have his due, The dame had hers, to choose between the two."
The carle demurr'd; but justice was so clear, 94 He'd nought to urge against the equal law; He calls the hound, the hound disdains to hear, He nears the hound, the hound expands his jaw; The fangs were strong and sharp, that jaw within, The carle drew back--"Sir knight, I fear you win."
"My friend," replies Gawaine, the ever bland, 95 "I took thy lesson, in return take mine; All human ties, alas, are ropes of sand, My lot to-day, to-morrow may be thine; But never yet the dog our bounty fed Betray'd the kindness, or forgot the bread."[5]
With that the courteous hand he gravely waved, 96 Nor deem'd it prudent longer to delay; Tempt not the reflow, from the ebb just saved! He spurr'd his steed, and vanish'd from the way. Sure of rebuke, and troubled in his mind, An alter'd man, the carle his fair rejoin'd,
That day the raven led the knight to dine 97 Where merry monks spread no abstemious board; Dainty the meat, and delicate the wine, Sir Gawaine felt his sprightlier self restored; When towards the eve the raven croak'd anew, And spread the wing for Gawaine to pursue.
With clouded brow the pliant knight obey'd, 98 And took his leave and quaff'd his stirrup cup; And briskly rode he through glen and glade, Till the fair moon, to speak in prose, was up; Then to the raven, now familiar grown, He said--"Friend bird, night's made for sleep, you'll own.
"This oak presents a choice of boughs for you, 99 For me a curtain and a grassy mound." Straight to the oak the obedient raven flew, And croak'd with merry, yet malignant sound. The luckless knight thought nothing of the croak, And laid him down beneath the Fairy's Oak.
Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree, 100 Yet styled "the hollow oak of demon race;"[6] But blithe Gwyn ab Nudd's elfin family Were the gay demons of the slander'd place; And ne'er in scene more elfin, near and far, On dancing fairies glanced the smiling star.
Whether thy chafing torrents, rock-born Caine, 101 Flash through the delicate birch and glossy elm, Or prison'd Mawddach[7] clangs his triple chain Of waters, fleeing to the happier realm, Where his course broad'ning smiles along the land;-- So souls grow tranquil as their thoughts expand.
High over subject vales the brow serene 102 Of the lone mountain look'd on moonlit skies; Wide glades far opening into swards of green, With shimmering foliage of a thousand dyes, And tedded tufts of heath, and ivyed boles Of trees, and wild flowers scenting bosky knolls.
And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe,[8] 103 Or Iran's shy gazelle, on sheenest places, Group'd still, or flitted the far alleys through; The fairy quarry for the fairy chaces; Or wheel'd the bat, brushing o'er brake and scaur, Lured by the moth, as lures the moth the star.
Sir Gawaine slept--Sir Gawaine slept not long, 104 His ears were tickled, and his nose was tweak'd; Light feet ran quick his stalwart limbs along, Light fingers pinch'd him, and light voices squeak'd. He oped his eyes, the left and then the right, Fair was the scene, and hideous was his fright!
The tiny people swarm around, and o'er him, 105 Here on his breast they lead the morris-dance, There, in each ray diagonal before him, They wheel, leap, pirouette, caper, shoot askance, Climb row on row each other's pea-green shoulder, And point and mow upon the shock'd beholder.
And some had faces lovelier than Cupido's, 106 With rose-bud lips, all dimpling o'er with glee; And some had brows as ominous as Dido's, When Ilion's pious traitor put to sea; Some had bull heads, some lions', but in small, And some (the finer drest) no heads at all.
By mortal dangers scared, the wise resort 107 To means fugacious, licet et licebit; But he who settles in a fairy's court, Loses that option, sedet et sedebit; Thrice Gawaine strove to stir, nor stirr'd a jot, Charms, cramps, and torments nail'd him to the spot.
Thus of his limbs deprived, the ingenious knight 108 Straightway betook him to his golden tongue-- "Angels," quoth he, "or fairies, with delight I see the race my friends the bards have sung Much honour'd that, in any way expedient, You make a ball-room of your most obedient."
Floated a sound of laughter, musical-- 109 As when in summer noon, melodious bees Cluster o'er jasmine roofs, or as the fall Of silver bells, on the Arabian breeze; What time with chiming feet in palmy shades Move, round the soften'd Moor, his Georgian maids.
Forth from the rest there stepped a princely fay-- 110 "And well, sir mortal, dost thou speak," quoth he, "We elves are seldom froward to the gay, Rise up, and welcome to our companie." Sir Gawaine won his footing with a spring, Low bow'd the knight, as low the fairy king.
"By the bright diadem of dews congeal'd, 111 And purple robe of pranksome butterfly, Your royal rank," said Gawaine, "is reveal'd, Yet more, methinks, by your majestic eye; Of kings with mien august I know but two, Men have their Arthur,--happier fairies, you."
"Methought," replied the elf, "thy first accost 112 Proclaim'd thee one of Arthur's peerless train; Elsewhere alas!--our later age hath lost The blithe good-breeding of King Saturn's reign, When, some four thousand years ago, with Fauns, We Fays made merry on Arcadian lawns.
"Time flees so fast it seems but yesterday! 113 And life is brief for fairies as for men." "Ha," said Gawaine, "can fairies pass away?" "Pass like the mist on Arran's wave, what then? At least we're young as long as we survive; Our years six thousand--I have number'd five.
"But we have stumbled on a dismal theme, 114 As always happens when one meets a man-- Ho! stop that zephyr!--Robin, catch that beam! And now, my friend, we'll feast it while we can." The moonbeam halts, the zephyr bows his wing, Light through the leaves the laughing people spring.
Then Gawaine felt as if he skirr'd the air, 115 His brain grew dizzy, and his breath was gone; He stopp'd at last, and such inviting fare Never plump monk set lustful eyes upon. Wild sweet-briars girt the banquet, but the brake Oped where in moonlight rippled Bala's lake.
Such dainty cheer--such rush of revelry-- 116 Such silver laughter--such arch happy faces-- Such sportive quarrels from excess of glee-- Hush'd up with such sly innocent embraces, Might well make twice six thousand years appear To elfin minds a sadly nipp'd career!
The banquet o'er, the royal Fay intent 117 To do all honour to King Arthur's knight, Smote with his rod the bank on which they leant, And Fairy-land flash'd glorious on the sight; Flash'd, through a silvery, soft, translucent mist, The opal shafts and domes of amethyst;
Flash'd founts in shells of pearl, which crystal walls 118 And phosphor lights of myriad hues redouble; There, in the blissful subterranean halls, When morning wakes the world of human trouble, Glide the gay race; each sound our discord knows, Faint-heard above, but lulls them to repose.
O Gawaine, blush! Alas! that gorgeous sight, 119 But woke the latent mammon in the man, While fairy treasures shone upon the knight, His greedy thoughts on lands and castles ran. He stretch'd his hands, he felt the fingers itch, "Sir Fay," quoth he, "you must be monstrous rich!"
Scarce fall the words from those unlucky lips, 120 Than down rush'd darkness, flooding all the place; His feet a fairy in a twinkling trips; The angry winglets swarm upon his face; Pounce on their prey the tiny torturers flew, And sang this moral while they pinch'd him blue:
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.
Joy to him who fairy treasures With a fairy's eye can see; Woe to him who counts and measures What the worth in coin may be.
Gems from wither'd leaves we fashion For the spirit pure from stain; Grasp them with a sordid passion And they turn to leaves again.
CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES.
Here and there, and everywhere, Tramp and cramp him inch by inch; Fair is fair,--to each his share You shall preach, and we will pinch.
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.
Fairy treasures are not rated By their value in the mart; In thy bosom, Earth, created For the coffers of the heart.
Dost thou covet fairy money? Rifle but the blossom bells-- Like the wild bee, shape the honey Into golden cloister-cells.
CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES.
Spirit hear it, flesh revere it! Stamp the lesson inch by inch! Rightly merit, flesh and spirit, This the preaching, that the pinch!
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.
Wretched mortal, once invited, Fairy land was thine at will; Every little star had lighted Revels when the world was still.
Every bank a gate had granted. To the topaz-paven halls-- Every wave had roll'd enchanted, Chiming from our music-falls.
CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES.
Round him winging, sharp and stinging, Clip him, nip him, inch by inch, Sermons singing, wisdom bringing, Point the moral with a pinch.
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.
Now the spell is lost for ever, And the common earth is thine; Count the traffic on the river, Weigh the ingots in the mine;
Look around, aloft, and under, With an eye upon the cost; Gone the happy world of wonder! Woe, thy fairy land is lost!
CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES.
Nature bare is, where thine air is, Custom cramps thee inch by inch, And when care is, human fairies Preach and--vanish, at a pinch!
Sudden they cease--for shrill crow'd chanticleer; 121 Grey on the darkness broke the glimmering light; Slowly assured he was not dead with fear And pinches, cautious peer'd around the knight; He found himself replaced beneath the oak, And heard with rising wrath the chuckling croak.
"O bird of birds most monstrous and malific, 122 Were these the inns to which thou wert to lead! Now gash'd with swords, now claw'd by imps horrific; Wives--wounds--cramps--pinches! Precious guide, indeed! Ossa on Pelion piling, crime on crime: Wretch, save thy throttle, and repent in time!"
Thus spoke the knight--the raven gave a grunt, 123 (That raven liked not threats to life or limb!) Then with due sense of the unjust affront, Hopp'd supercilious forth, and summon'd him-- His mail once more the aching knight indued, Limp'd to his steed, and ruefully pursued.
The sun was high when all the glorious sea 124 Flash'd through the boughs that overhung the way, And down a path, as rough as path could be, The bird flew sullen, delving towards the bay; The moody knight dismounts, and leads with pain The stumbling steed, oft backing from the rein.
One ray of hope alone illumed his soul, 125 "The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast," The wizard's words had clearly mark'd the goal; The goal once won--of course the guide was lost; While thus consoled, its croak the raven gave, Folded its wings and hopp'd into a cave.
Sir Gawaine paused--Sir Gawaine drew his sword; 126 The bird unseen scream'd loud for him to follow-- His soul the knight committed to our Lord, Stepp'd on--and fell ten yards into a hollow; No time had he the ground thus gain'd to note, Ere six strong hands laid gripe upon his throat.
It was a creek, three sides with rocks enclosed, 127 The fourth stretch'd, opening on the golden sand; Dull on the wave an anchor'd ship reposed; A boat with peaks of brass lay on the strand; And in that creek caroused the grisliest crew Thor ever nurst, or Rana[9] ever knew.
But little cared the knight for mortal foes. 128 From those strong hands he wrench'd himself away, Sprang to his feet and dealt so dour his blows, Cleft to the chin a grim Berseker lay, A Fin fell next, and next a giant Dane-- "Ten thousand pardons!" said the bland Gawaine.
But ev'n in that not democratic age 129 Too large majorities were stubborn things, Nor long could one man strive against the rage Of half a hundred thick-skull'd ocean kings-- Four felons crept between him and the rocks, Lifted four clubs and fell'd him like an ox.
When next the knight unclosed his dizzy eyes, 130 His feet were fetter'd and his arms were bound-- Below the ocean and above the skies; Sails flapp'd--cords crackled; long he gazed around; Still where he gazed, fierce eyes and naked swords Peer'd through the flapping sails and crackling cords--
A chief before him leant upon his club, 131 With hideous visage bush'd with tawny hair. "Who plays at bowls must count upon a rub," Said the bruised Gawaine, with a smiling air; "Brave sir, permit me humbly to suggest You make your gyves too tight across the breast."
Grinn'd the grim chief, vouchsafing no reply; 132 The knight resumed--"Your pleasant looks bespeak A mind as gracious;--may I ask you why You fish for Christians in King Arthur's creek?" "The kings of creeks," replied that hideous man, "Are we, the Vikings and the sons of Ran!
"Your beacon fires allured us to your strands, 133 The dastard herdsmen fled before our feet, Thee, Odin's raven guided to our hands; Thrice happy man, Valhalla's boar to eat! The raven's choice suggests it's God's idea, And marks thee out--a sacrifice to Freya!"
As spoke the Viking, over Gawaine's head 134 Circled the raven with triumphal caw; Then o'er the cliffs, still hoarse with glee, it fled. Thrice a deep breath the knight relieved did draw, Fair seem'd the voyage--pleasant seem'd the haven; "Bless'd saints," he cried, "I have escaped the raven!"
NOTES TO BOOK VI.
1.--Page 293, stanza ii.
Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush their swordless hands.
See Tacitus, lib. xiv. cap. 30, for the celebrated description of the attack on the Druids, in their refuge in Mona, under Publius Suetonius.
2.--Page 296, stanza xxv.
_"You know the proverb--'birds of the same feather,' A proverb much enforced in penal laws._
In Welch laws it was sufficient to condemn a person to be found with notorious offenders.
3.--Page 299, stanza xl.
'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.
If the celebrated controversy between Black and White, which divided the Cymrian church in King Arthur's days, should seem to suggest a parallel instance in our own,--the Author begs sincerely to say that he is more inclined to grieve than to jest at a schism which threatens to separate from so large a body of the upholders of the English church the abilities and learning of no despicable portion of the English clergy. There is a division more dangerous than that between theologian and theologian--viz., a division between the Pastors and their flocks--between the teaching of the pulpit and the sympathy of the audience. Far from the Author be the rash presumption to hazard any opinion as to matters of doctrine, on which--such as Regeneration by Baptism--it cannot be expected that, for the sake of expediency or even concord, the remarkable thinkers who have emerged from the schools of Oxford should admit of compromise;--but he asks, with the respect due to zeal and erudition, whether it be worth while to inflame dispute, and risk congregations--for the colour of a gown?
4.--Page 300, stanza lii.
(If wine this be) ye come from HUERDAN'S shore.
Huerdan, i. e. Ireland, pronounced, in the Poem, as a dissyllable.
5.--Page 306, stanza xcv.
_But never yet the dog our bounty fed Betray'd the kindness or forgot the bread._
The whole of that part of Sir Gawaine's adventures, which includes the incidents of the sword and the hound, is borrowed (with alterations) from one of LE GRAND'S Fabliaux.
6.--Page 307, stanza c.
_Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree, Yet styled the "hollow oak of demon race."_
In the domain of Nannau (which now belongs to the Vaughans) was standing, to within a period comparatively recent, the legendary oak called Derwen Ceubren yr Ellyll--the hollow oak, the haunt of demons.
7.--Page 307, stanza ci.
Or prison'd Mawddach clangs his triple chain.
Mawddach, with its three waterfalls.
8.--Page 308, stanza ciii.
And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe.
The deer in the park of Nannau are singularly small.
9.--Page 312, stanza cxxvii.
Thor ever nursed, or Rana ever knew.
Ran, or Rana, the malignant goddess of the sea, in Scandinavian mythology.
VII. ARGUMENT
Arthur and the Lady of the Lake--They land on the Meteor Isle--which then sinks to the Halls below--Arthur beholds the Forest springing from a single stem--He tells his errand to the Phantom, and rejects the fruits that It proffers him in lieu of the Sword--He is conducted by the Phantom to the entrance of the caves, through which he must pass alone--He reaches the Coral Hall of the Three Kings--The Statue crowned with thorns--The Asps and the Vulture, and the Diamond Sword--The choice of the Three Arches--He turns from the first and second arch, and beholds himself, in the third, a corpse--The sleeping King rises at Arthur's question--"if his death shall be in vain?"--The Vision of times to be--Coeur de Lion and the age of Chivalry--The Tudors--Henry VII.--the restorer of the line of Arthur and the founder of civil Freedom--Henry VIII. and the Revolution of Thought--Elizabeth and the Age of Poetry--The union of Cymrian and Saxon, under the sway of "Crowned Liberty"--Arthur makes his choice, and attempts, but in vain, to draw the Sword from the Rock--The Statue with the thorn-wreath addresses him--Arthur called upon to sacrifice the Dove--His reply--The glimpse of Heaven--The trance which succeeds, and in which the King is borne to the sea shores.
As when, in Autumn nights and Arctic skies, 1 An angel makes the cloud his noiseless car, And, through cerulean silence, silent flies From antique Hesper to some dawning star, So still, so swift, along the windless tides Her vapour-sail the Phantom Lady guides.
Along the sheen, along the glassy sheen, 2 Amid the lull of lucent night they go; Till, in the haven of an islet green, Murmuring through reeds, the gentle waters flow: The shooting pinnace gains the gradual strand, Hush'd as a shadow glides the Shape to land.
The Cymrian, following, scarcely touch'd the shore 3 When slowly, slowly sunk the meteor-isle, Fathom on fathom, to the sparry floor Of alabaster shaft and porphyr-pile, Built as by Nereus for his own retreat, Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet.[1]
Far, through the crystal lymph, the pillar'd halls 4 Went lengthening on in vista'd majesty; The waters sapp'd not the enchanted walls, Nor shut their roofless silence from the sky; But every beam that lights this world of ours Broke sparkling downward into diamond showers.
And the strange magic of the place bestow'd 5 Its own strange life upon the startled King, Round him, like air, the subtle waters flow'd; As round the Naiad flows her native spring; Domelike collapsed the azure;--moonlight clear Fill'd the melodious silvery atmosphere--
Melodious with the chaunt of distant falls 6 Of sportive waves, within the waves at play, And infant springs that bubble up the halls Through sparry founts (on which the broken ray Weaves its slight iris), hymning while they rise To that smooth calm their restless life supplies,
Like secret thoughts in some still poet's soul, 7 That swell the deep while yearning to the stars:-- But overhead a trembling shadow stole, A gloom that leaf-like quiver'd on the spars, And that quick shadow, ever moving, fell From a vast Tree with root immoveable;
In link'd arcades, and interwoven bowers 8 Swept the long forest from that single stem! And, flashing through the foliage, fruits or flowers In jewell'd clusters, glow'd with every gem Golgonda hideth from the greed of kings; Or Lybian gryphons guard with drowsy wings.
Here blush'd the ruby, warm as Charity, 9 There the mild topaz, wrath-assuaging, shone Radiant as Mercy; like an angel's eye, Or a stray splendour from the Father's throne The sapphire chaste a heavenly lustre gave To that blue heaven reflected on the wave.
Never from India's cave, or Oman's sea 10 Swart Afrite stole for scornful Peri's brow, Such gems as, wasted on that Wonder-tree, Paled Sheban treasures in each careless bough; And every bough the gliding wavelet heaves, Quivers to music with the quivering leaves.
Then first the Sovereign Lady of the deep 11 Spoke;--and the waves and whispering leaves wore still, "Ever I rise before the eyes that weep When, born from sorrow, Wisdom wakes the will; But few behold the shadow through the dark, And few will dare the venture of the bark.
"And now amid the Cuthites' temple halls 12 O'er which the waters undestroying flow, Heark'ning the mysteries hymn'd from silver falls Or from the springs that, gushing up below, Gleam to the surface, whence to Heaven updrawn, They form the clouds that harbinger the Dawn,--
"Say what the treasures which my deeps enfold 13 That thou would'st bear to the terrestrial day?" Then Arthur answer'd--and his quest he told, The prophet mission which his steps obey-- "Here springs the forest from the single stem: I seek the falchion welded from the gem!"
"Pause," said the Phantom, "and survey the tree! 14 More worth one fruit that weighs a branchlet down, Than all which mortals in the sword can see. Thou ask'st the falchion to defend a crown-- But seize the fruit, and to thy grasp decreed More realms than Ormuzd lavish'd on the Mede;
"Than great Darius left his doomed son, 15 From Scythian wastes to Abyssinian caves; From Nimrod's tomb in silenced Babylon To Argive islands fretting Asian waves; Than changed to sceptres the rude Lictor-rods, And placed the worm call'd Caesar with the gods!
"Pause--take thy choice--each gem a host can buy, 16 Seize--and yoke kings to War's triumphant car! The Child of Earth, no Genii here defy, The fruits unguarded, and the fiends afar-- But dark the perils that surround the Sword, And slight its worth--ambitious if its Lord;
"True to the warrior on his native soil, 17 Its blade would break in the Invader's clasp; A weapon meeter for the sons of Toil, When plough-shares turn to falchions in their grasp;-- Leave the rude boor to battle for his hearth-- Expand thy scope;--Ambition asks the Earth!"
"Spirit or Sorceress," said the frowning King, 18 "Panic like the Sun illumes an Universe; But life and joy both Fame and Sun should bring; And God ordains no glory for a curse. The souls of kings should be the towers of law, We right the balance, if the sword we draw!
"Not mine the crowns the Persian lost or won, 19 Tiaras glittering over kneeling slaves; Mine be the sword that freed at Marathon, The unborn races by the Father-graves-- Or stay'd the Orient in the Spartan pass, And carved on Time thy name, Leonidas."
The Sibyl of the Sources of the Deep 20 Heard nor replied, but, indistinct and wan, Went as a Dream that through the worlds of Sleep Leads the charm'd soul of labour-wearied man; And ev'n as man and dream, so, side by side, Glideth the mortal with the gliding guide.
Glade after glade, beneath that forest tree 21 They pass,--till sudden, looms amid the waves, A dismal rock, hugely and heavily, With crags distorted vaulting horrent caves; A single moonbeam through the hollow creeps: Glides with the beam the Lady of the deeps.
Then Arthur felt the Dove that at his breast 22 Lay nestling warm--stir quick and quivering, His soothing hand the crisped plumes caress'd;-- Slow went they on, the Lady and the King: And, ever as they went, before their way O'er prison'd waters lengthening stretch'd the ray.
Now the black jaws as of a hell they gain; 23 The Lake's pale Hecate pauses. "Lo," she said, "Within, the Genii thou invadest reign. Alone thy feet the threshold floors must tread-- Lone is the path when glory is the goal;-- Pass to thy proof--O solitary soul!"
She spoke to vanish--but the single ray 24 Shot from the unseen moon, still palely breaketh The awe that rests with midnight on the way; Faithful as Hope when Wisdom's self forsaketh-- The buoyant beam the lonely man pursued-- And, feeling God, he felt not Solitude.
No fiend obscene, no giant spectre grim 25 (Born or of Runic or Arabian Song), Affronts the progress through the gallery dim, Into the sudden light which flames along The waves, and dyes the stillness of their flood To one red horror like a lake of blood.
And now, he enters, with that lurid tide, 26 Where time-long corals shape a mighty hall: Three curtain'd arches on the dexter side, And on the floors a ruby pedestal, On which, with marble lips, that life-like smiled, Stood the fair Statue of a crowned Child:
It smiled, and yet its crown was wreath'd of thorns, 27 And round its limbs coil'd foul the viper's brood; Near to that Child a rough crag, deluge-torn, Jagg'd, with sharp shadow abrupt, the luminous flood; And a huge Vulture from the summit, there, Watch'd, with dull hunger in its glassy stare.
Below the Vulture in the rock ensheathed, 28 Shone out the hilt-beam of the diamond glaive; And all the hall one hue of crimson wreathed, And all the galleries vista'd through the wave; As flush'd the coral fathom-deep below, Lit into glory from the ruby's glow.
And on three thrones there sate three giant forms, 29 Rigid the first, as Death;--with lightless eyes, And brows as hush'd as deserts, when the storms Lock the tornado in the Nubian skies;-- Dead on dead knees the large hands nerveless rest, And dead the front droops heavy on the breast.
The second shape, with bright and kindling eye 30 And aspect haughty with triumphant life, Like a young Titan rear'd its crest on high, Crown'd as for sway, and harness'd as for strife; But, o'er one-half his image, there was cast A shadow from the throne where sate the last.
And this, the third and last, seem'd in that sleep 31 Which neighbours waking in a summer's dawn, When dreams, relaxing, scarce their captive keep; Half o'er his face a veil transparent drawn, Stirr'd with quick sighs unquiet and disturb'd, Which told the impatient soul the slumber curb'd.
Thrill'd, but undaunted, on the Adventurer strode 32 Then spoke the youthful Genius with the crown And armour: "Hail to our august abode! Guardless we greet the seeker of Renown. In our least terror cravens Death behold, But vainly frown our direst for the bold."
"And who are ye?" the wondering King replied, 33 "On whose large aspects reigns the awe sublime Of fabled judges, that o'er souls preside In Rhadamanthian Halls?" "The Lords of Time," Answer'd the Giant, "And our realms are three, The WHAT HAS BEEN, WHAT IS, and WHAT SHALL BE!
"But while we speak my brother's shadow creeps 34 Over the life-blood that it freezes fast; Haste, while the king that shall discrown me sleeps, Nor lose the Present--lo, how dead the Past! Accept the trials, Prince beloved by Heaven, To the deep heart--(that nobler reason,) given.
"Thou hast rejected in the Cuthites' halls 35 The fruits that flush Ambition's dazzling tree, The Conqueror's lust of blood-stain'd coronals;-- Again thine ordeal in thy judgment be! Nor here shall empire need the arm of crime-- But Fate achieve the lot, thou ask'st from Time.
"Behold the threefold Future at thy choice, 36 Choose right, and win from Fame the master-spell." Then the concealing veils, as ceased the voice, From the three arches with a clangor fell, And clear as scenes with Thespian wonders rife Gave to his view the Lemur-shapes of life.
Lo the fair stream amidst that pleasant vale, 37 Wherein his youth held careless holiday; The stream is blithe with many a silken sail, The vale with many a proud pavilion gay, And in the centre of the rosy ring, Reclines the Phantom of himself--the King.
All, all the same as when his golden prime 38 Lay in the lap of Life's soft Arcady; When the light love beheld no foe but Time, When but from Pleasure heaved the prophet sigh, And Luxury's prayer was as "a Summer day, 'Mid blooms and sweets to wear the hours away."
"Behold," the Genius said, "is that thy choice 39 As once it was?" "Nay, I have wept since then," Answer'd the mortal with a mournful voice, "When the dews fall, the stars arise for men!" So turn'd he to the second arch to see The imperial peace of tranquil majesty;--
The kingly throne, himself the dazzling king; 40 Bright arms, and jewell'd vests, and purple stoles; While silver winds, from many a music-string, Rippled the wave of glittering banderolls: From mitred priests and ermined barons, clear Came the loud praise which monarchs love to hear!
"Doth this content thee?" "Ay," the Prince replied, 41 And tower'd erect, with empire on his brow; "Ay, here at once a Monarch may decide, Be but the substance worthy of the show! Show me the men whose toil the pomp creates, Pomp is the robe,--Content the soul, of States!"
Slow fades the pageant, and the Phantom stage 42 As slowly fill'd with squalid, ghastly forms; Here, over fireless hearths cower'd shivering Age And blew with feeble breath dead embers;--storms Hung in the icy welkin; and the bare Earth lay forlorn in Winter's charnel air.
And Youth all labour-bow'd, with wither'd look, 43 Knelt by a rushing stream whose waves were gold, And sought with lean strong hands to grasp the brook, And clutch the glitter lapsing from the hold, Till with mad laugh it ceased, and, tott'ring down, Fell, and on frowning skies scowl'd back the frown.
No careless Childhood laugh'd disportingly, 44 But dwarf'd, pale mandrakes with a century's gloom On infant brows, beneath a poison-tree With skeleton fingers plied a ghastly loom, Mocking in cynic jests life's gravest things, They wove gay King-robes, muttering "What are Kings?"
And through that dreary Hades to and fro, 45 Stalk'd all unheeded the Tartarean Guests; Grim Discontent that loathes the Gods, and Woe Clasping dead infants to her milkless breasts; And madding Hate, and Force with iron heel, And voiceless Vengeance sharp'ning secret steel.
And, hand in hand, a Gorgon-visaged Pair, 46 Envy and Famine, halt with livid smile, Listening the demon-orator Despair, That, with a glozing and malignant guile, Seems sent the gates of Paradise to ope, And lures to Hell by simulating Hope.
"Can such things be below and God above?" 47 Falter'd the King;--Replied the Genius--"Nay, This is the state that sages most approve; This is Man civilized!--the perfect sway Of Merchant Kings;--the ripeness of the Art Which cheapens men--the Elysium of the Mart.
"Twixt want and wealth is placed the Reign of Gold; 48 The reign for which each race advancing sighs, And none so clamour to be bought or sold As those gaunt shadows--Trade's grim merchandize. Dread not their curse--for their delirious sight Hails in the yellow pest 'The march of Light.'"
"Better for nations," cried the wrathful King. 49 "The antique chief, whose palace was the glen, Whose crown the plumage of the eagle's wing, Whose throne the hill-top, and whose subjects--men, Than that last thraldom which precedes decay, For Avarice reigns not till the hairs are grey.
"Is it in marts that manhood finds its worth? 50 When merchants reign'd--what left they to admire? Which hath bequeath'd the nobler wealth to earth, The steel of Sparta, or the gold of Tyre? Beneath the night-shade let the mandrakes grow-- Hide from my sight that Lazar-house of woe."
So, turn'd with generous tears in manly eyes 51 The hardy Lord of heaven-taught Chivalry; Lo the third arch and last!--In moonlight, rise The Cymrian rocks dark-shining from the sea, And all those rocks, some patriot war, far gone, Hallows with grassy mound and starlit stone.
And where the softest falls the loving light, 52 He sees himself, stretch'd lifeless on the sward, And by the corpse, with sacred robes of white Leans on his ivory harp a lonely Bard; Yea, to the Dead the sole still watchers given Are the Fame-Singer and the Hosts of Heaven.
But on the kingly front the kingly crown 53 Rests;--the pale right hand grasps the diamond glaive; The brow, on which ev'n strife hath left no frown, Calm in the halo Glory gives the Brave. "Mortal, is this thy choice?" the Genius cried. "Here Death; there Pleasure; and there Pomp!--decide!"
"Death," answer'd Arthur, "is nor good nor ill 54 Save in the ends for which men die--and Death Can oft achieve what Life may not fulfil, And kindle earth with Valour's dying breath; But oh, one answer to one terror deign, My land--my people!--is that death in vain?"
Mute droop'd the Genius, but the unquiet form 55 Dreaming beside its brother king, arose. Though dreaming still: as leaps the sudden storm On sands Arabian, as with spasms and throes Bursts the Fire-mount by soft Parthenope, Rose the veil'd Genius of the Things to be!
Shook all the hollow caves;--with tortur'd groan, 56 Shook to their roots in the far core of hell; Deep howl'd to deep--the monumental throne Of the dead giant rock'd;--each coral cell Flash'd quivering billowlike. Unshaken smiled, From the calm ruby base the thorn-crown'd Child.
The Genius rose; and through the phantom arch 57 Glided the Shadows of His own pale dreams; The mortal saw the long procession march Beside that image which his lemur seems: An armed King--three lions on his shield[2]-- First by the Bard-watch'd Shadow paused and kneel'd.
Kneel'd there his train--upon each mailed breast 58 A red cross stamp'd; and, deep as from a sea With all its waves, full voices murmur'd, "Rest Ever unburied, Sire of Chivalry! Ever by Minstrel watch'd, and Knight adored, King of the halo-brow, and diamond sword!"
Then, as from all the courts of all the earth, 59 The reverent pilgrims, countless, clustering came; They whom the seas of fabled Sirens girth, Or Baltic freezing in the Boreal flame; Or they, who watch the Star of Bethlem quiver By Carmel's Olive mount, and Judah's river.
From violet Provence comes the Troubadour; 60 Ferrara sends her clarion-sounding son; Comes from Iberian halls the turban'd Moor With cymbals chiming to the clarion; And, with large stride, amid the gaudier throng, Stalks the vast Scald of Scandinavian song.
Pass'd he who bore the lions and the cross, 61 And all that gorgeous pageant left the space Void as a heart that mourns the golden loss Of young illusions beautiful. A Race Sedate supplants upon the changeful stage Light's early sires,--the Song-World's hero-age.
Slow come the Shapes from out the dim Obscure, 62 A noon-like quiet circles swarming bays, Seas gleam with sails, and wall-less towns secure, Rise from the donjon sites of antique days; Lo, the calm sovereign of that sober reign! Unarm'd,--with burghers in his pompless train.
And by the corpse of Arthur kneels that king, 63 And murmurs, "Father of the Tudor, hail! To thee nor bays, nor myrtle wreath I bring; But in thy Son, the Dragon-born prevail, And in my rule Right first deposes Wrong, And first the Weak undaunted face the Strong."
He pass'd--Another, with a Nero's frown 64 Shading the quick light of impatient eyes, Strides on--and casts his sceptre, clattering, down, And from the sceptre rushingly arise Fierce sparks; along the heath they hissing run, And the dull earth glows lurid as a sun.
And there is heard afar the hollow crash 65 Of ruin;--wind-borne, on the flames are driven: But where, round falling shrines, they coil and flash, A seraph's hand extends a scroll from heaven, And the rude shape cries loud, "Behold, ye blind, I who have trampled Men have freed the Mind!"
So laughing grim, pass'd the Destroyer on; 66 And, after two pale shadows, to the sound Of lutes more musical than Helicon, A manlike Woman march'd:--The graves around Yawn'd, and the ghosts of Knighthood, more serene In death, arose, and smiled upon the Queen.
With her (at either hand) two starry forms 67 Glide--than herself more royal--and the glow Of their own lustre, each pale phantom warms Into the lovely life the angels know, And as they pass, each Fairy leaves its cell, And GLORIANA calls on ARIEL!
Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen 68 Of orbs whose brightness makes her image bright, Haught and imperious, through the borrow'd sheen, Claims to herself the sovereignty of light; And is herself so stately to survey, That orbs which lend, but seem to steal, the ray.
Elf-land divine, and Chivalry sublime, 69 Seem there to hold their last high jubilee-- One glorious Sabbat of enchanted Time, Ere the dull spell seals the sweet glamoury. And all those wonder-shapes in subject ring Kneel where the Bard still sits beside the King.
Slow falls a mist, far booms a labouring wind, 70 As into night reluctant fades the Dream; And lo, the smouldering embers left behind From the old sceptre-flame, with blood-red beam, Kindle afresh, and the thick smoke-reeks go Heavily up from marching fires below.
Hark! through sulphureous cloud the jarring bray 71 Of trumpet-clangours--the strong shock of steel; And fitful flashes light the fierce array Of faces gloomy with the calm of zeal, Or knightlier forms, on wheeling chargers borne; Gay in despair, and meeting zeal with scorn.
Forth from the throng came a majestic Woe, 72 That wore the shape of man--"And I"--It said "I am thy Son; and if the Fates bestow Blood on my soul and ashes on my head; Time's is the guilt, though mine the misery-- This teach me, Father--to forgive and die!"
But here stern voices drown'd the mournful word, 73 Crying--"Men's freedom is the heritage Left by the Hero of the Diamond Sword," And others answer'd--"Nay, the knightly age Leaves, as its heirloom, knighthood, and that high Life in sublimer life called loyalty."
Then, through the hurtling clamour came a fair 74 Shape like a sworded seraph--sweet and grave; And when the war heaved distant down the air And died, as dies a whirlwind, on the wave, By the two forms upon the starry hill, Stood the Arch Beautiful, august and still.
And thus It spoke--"I, too, will hail thee, 'Sire,' 75 Type of the Hero-age!--thy sons are not On the earth's thrones. They who, with stately lyre, Make kingly thoughts immortal, and the lot Of the hard life divine with visitings Of the far angels--are thy race of Kings.
"All that ennobles strife in either cause, 76 And, rendering service stately, freedom wise, Knits to the throne of God our human laws-- Doth heir earth's humblest son with royalties Born from the Hero of the diamond sword, Watch'd by the Bard, and by the Brave adored.
Then the Bard, seated by the halo'd dead, 77 Lifts his sad eyes--and murmurs, "Sing of Him!" Doubtful the stranger bows his lofty head, When down descend his kindred Seraphim; Borne on their wings he soars from human sight, And Heaven regains the Habitant of Light.
Again, and once again, from many a pale 78 And swift-succeeding, dim-distinguish'd, crowd, Swells slow the pausing pageant. Mount and vale Mingle in gentle daylight, with one cloud On the fair welkin, which the iris hues Steal from its gloom with rays that interfuse.
Mild, like all strength, sits Crowned Liberty, 79 Wearing the aspect of a youthful Queen: And far outstretch'd along the unmeasured sea Rests the vast shadow of her throne; serene From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone, Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne.
And round her group the Cymrian's changeless race 80 Blent with the Saxon, brother-like; and both Saxon and Cymrian from that sovereign trace Their hero line;--sweet flower of age-long growth; The single blossom on the twofold stem;-- Arthur's white plume crests Cerdic's diadem.
Yet the same harp that Taliessin strung 81 Delights the sons whose sires the chords delighted; Still the old music of the mountain tongue Tells of a race not conquer'd but united; That, losing nought, wins all the Saxon won, And shares the realm "where never sets the sun."
Afar is heard the fall of headlong thrones, 82 But from that throne as calm the shadow falls; And where Oppression threats and Sorrow groans Justice sits listening in her gateless halls, And ev'n, if powerless, still intent, to cure, Whispers to Truth, "Truths conquer that endure."
Yet still on that horizon hangs the cloud, 83 And on the cloud still rests the Cymrian's eye; "Alas," he murmur'd, "that one mist should shroud, Perchance from sorrow, that benignant sky!" But while he sigh'd the Vision vanished, And left once more the lone Bard by the dead.
"Behold the close of thirteen hundred years; 84 Lo, Cymri's Daughter on the Saxon's throne! Free as their air thy Cymrian mountaineers, And in the heavens one rainbow cloud alone, Which shall not pass, until, the cycle o'er, The soul of Arthur comes to earth once more.
"Dost thou choose Death?" the giant Dreamer said. 85 "Ay, for in death I seize the life of fame, And link the eternal millions with the dead," Replied the King--and to the sword he came Large-striding;--grasp'd the hilt;--the charmed brand Clove to the rock, and stirr'd not to his hand.
The Dreaming Genius has his throne resumed; 86 Sit the Great Three with Silence for their reign, Awful as earliest Theban kings entomb'd, Or idols granite-hewn in Indian fane; When lo, the dove flew forth, and circling round, Dropp'd on the thorn-wreath which the Statue crown'd.
Rose then the Vulture with its carnage-shriek, 87 Up coil'd the darting Asps; the bird above; Below the reptiles:--poison-fang and beak, Nearer and nearer gather'd round the dove; When with strange life the marble Image stirr'd, And sudden pause the Asps--and rests the Bird.
"Mortal," the Image murmur'd, "I am He, 88 Whose voice alone the enchanted sword unsheathes, Mightier than yonder Shapes--eternally Throned upon light, though crown'd with thorny wreaths; Changeless amid the Halls of Time; my name In heaven is YOUTH, and on the earth is FAME,
"All altars need their sacrifice; and mine 89 Asks every bloom in which thy heart delighted. Thorns are my garlands--wouldst thou serve the shrine, Drear is the faith to which thy vows are plighted. The Asp shall twine, the Vulture watch the prey, And Horror rend thee, let but Hope give way.
"Wilt thou the falchion with the thorns it brings?" 90 "Yea--for the thorn-wreath hath not dimm'd thy smile." "Lo, thy first offering to the Vulture's wings, And the Asp's fangs!"--the cold lips answer'd, while Nearer and nearer the devourers came, Where the Dove resting hid the thorns of fame.
And all the memories of that faithful guide, 91 The sweet companion of unfriended ways, When danger threaten'd, ever at his side, And ever, in the grief of later days, Soothing his heart with its mysterious love, Till AEgle's soul seem'd hovering in the Dove,--
All cried aloud in Arthur, and he sprang 92 And sudden from the slaughter snatch'd the prey; "What!" said the Image, "can a moment's pang To the poor worthless favourite of a day Appal the soul that yearns for ends sublime, Aid sighs for empire o'er the world's of Time?
"Wilt thou resign the guerdon of the Sword? 93 Wilt thou forego the freedom of thy land? Not one slight offering will thy heart accord? The hero's prize is for the martyr's hand." Safe on his breast the King replaced the guide, Raised his majestic front, and thus replied:
"For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give. 94 Life;--and brave death prefer to ease and power; But not for Fame or Cymri would I live Soil'd by the stain of one dishonour'd hour; And man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made, By man's worst meanness--Trust for gain betray'd.
"Let then the rock the Sword for ever sheathe, 95 All blades are charmed in the Patriot's grasp! He spoke, and lo! the Statue's thorny wreath Bloom'd into roses--and each baffled asp Fell down and died of its own poison-sting, Back to the crag dull-sail'd the death-bird's wing.
And from the Statue's smile, as when the morn 96 Unlocks the Eastern gates of Paradise, Ineffable joy, in light and beauty borne, Flow'd; and the azure of the distant skies Stole through the crimson hues the ruby gave, And slept, like Happiness, on Glory's wave.
"Go," said the Image, "thou hast won the Sword; 97 He who thus values Honour more than Fame Makes Fame itself his servant, not his lord; And the man's heart achieves the hero's claim. But by Ambition is Ambition tried, None gain the guerdon who betray the guide!"
Wondering the Monarch heard, and hearing laid 98 On the bright hilt-gem the obedient hand; Swift at the touch, leapt forth the diamond blade, And each long vista lighten'd with the brand; The speaking marble bow'd its reverent head, Rose the three Kings--the Dreamer and the Dead;
Voices far off, as in the heart of heaven, 99 Hymn'd, "Hail, Fame-Conqueror in the Halls of Time;" Deep as to hell the flaming vaults were riven; High as to angels, space on space sublime Open'd, and flash'd upon the mortal's eye The Morning Land of Immortality.
Bow'd down before the intolerable light, 100 Sank on his knees the King; and humbly veil'd The Home of Seraphs from the human sight; Then the freed soul forsook him, as it hail'd Through Flesh, its prison-house,--the spirit-choir; And fled as flies the music from the lyre.
And all was blank, and meaningless, and void; 101 For the dull form, abandon'd thus below, Scarcely it felt the closing waves that buoy'd Its limbs, light-drifting down the gentle flow-- And when the conscious life return'd again, Lo, noon lay tranquil on the ocean main.
As from a dream he woke, and look'd around, 102 For the lost Lake and AEgle's distant grave; But dark, behind, the silent headlands frown'd; And bright, before him, smiled the murmuring wave; His right hand rested on the falchion won; And the Dove pruned her pinions in the sun.
NOTES TO BOOK VII.
1.--Page 314, stanza iii.
Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet.
'The silver-footed Thetis.'--HOMER.
2.--Page 322, stanza lvii.
An armed King--three lions on his shield--
Richard Coeur de Lion;--poetically speaking, the mythic Arthur was the Father of the age of adventure and knighthood--and the legends respecting him reigned with full influence in the period which Richard Coeur de Lion here (generally and without strict prosaic regard to chronology) represents; from the lay of the Troubadour and the song of the Saracen--to the final concentration or chivalric romance in the muse of Ariosto.