Pygmalion.

Once ... I seem to remember....

Crept in the noonday heat

A boy with a crooked shadow

Which capered along the street.

A boy whose shadow was mocked at

By the children passing along,

Straight and tall and beautiful,

Happy with laughter and song.

So, he envied their beauty....

He who was crooked and brown....

The strong youths of the mountain,

The white girls of the town,

Envied their happy meetings

And the tender words they spoke

In the shadow of the temples,

Under the groves of oak.

And his lonely heart was stricken

That never his lot might be

To walk with a maid who loved him....

So quaint and crooked was he.

II

Thus was my heart once stricken

And I repined for a while,

I but a boy in years,

Who longed for a maiden's smile.

Till once on a day in summer

My soul was touched with a gleam,

And I woke from my morbid fancies

Like one from an evil dream,

And knew that the gods in their wisdom

Had made and set me apart.

Lean, misshapen, and ugly....

No toy for a maiden's heart.

And I felt with a heart awakened

That leapt in a riot of joy,

The heart of a wise man and proud

Not the heart of a moody boy.

Viewing the old things anew

With an inner wonder in each:

The cloud ships driven thro' heaven,

The sea rolling into the beach,

The magic heart of the woodland,

The loves of nymph and faun,

The splendour of starlight nights,

The calm inviolate dawn.

III

Thus was my spirit quickened,

And once on a lucky day

I drew a bird on plaster,

And modelled a horse in clay;

Kneeling under a wall

Where a shadow fell on the street,

Eyes and mind intent

In the midst of the noonday heat.

Eyes and mind intent....

And a stranger passed my way,

... The shadow grew and lengthened

As he stopped to watch my play.

He looked at the little horse,

He looked at the winging bird;

And ere I noticed his presence

He touched me and spoke a word:

"Hast thou the mind and will

As thou hast hand and sight...?

Follow me if thou hast

And climb ... oh! climb to the height."

IV

So I followed him to his workshop

And stayed there a year and a year

Working under a master

Who praised me and held me dear,

Till at last a day arose

When, taking my hand in his own,

"You have my knowledge," he said,

"And now you must stand alone."

And tho' I sorrowed to leave him

My heart was ready to sing,

So first in praise of the gods

I made for an offering

(Even as does a shepherd

His rustic altar of sods)

Bright forms larger than human

As mortals dream of the gods.

Then, in my strange world-worship,

The Tritons, Lords of the Sea,

The creatures which haunt the woodland,

Happy and shy and free,

Nymphs and satyrs and fauns

Who worship the great god Pan,

And lastly the mighty heroes

Who fashion the mind of man.

V

Thus thought I and thus wrought I,

And my power grew greater still.

I rose to the heights of passion

And sounded the depths of will,

Reaching out to the farthest

Winnowing down to the last,

Gazing into the future

And diving into the past.

Higher and ever higher

Like an eagle soared my art

And I praised the most high gods

Who made and set me apart.

And Prince and poet and painter

Travelled to touch my hand,

The minds which had toiled and suffered,

The minds which could understand,

Marvelling in my workshop

At the shining forms they saw....

The children of my spirit

Born of a higher law.

VI

But last on a day in summer

(An evil day it seems)

I thought, "I will fashion a woman

As I have seen in dreams.

I, who never loved woman

That breathed and spoke and moved,

Will fashion a noble statue

To show what I could have loved;

A glorious naked figure

Untouched by time or fate,

A symbol of all that might be

And she shall be my mate.

Not mate of my crooked body,

Lean, misshapen and brown,

(No longer I feared my shadow

But walked a prince in the town)

But mate for my glorious spirit

Winging thro' shimmering heights,

On the viewless pinions of fancy

Where none can follow its flights."

Thus was I moved in spirit

And wrought, a happy slave,

Striving to make the best

Of the gifts the high gods gave,

Fashioning out of the marble,

—And I knew my work was good—

The arms and the breasts and the thighs

And the glory of womanhood.

VII

Lo! the statue is finished.

Look how it stands serene

A woman with tender smile

And proud eyes of a queen!

Lo! the statue is perfect....

Flower and crown of my life....

I who never loved woman

Could take this woman for wife....

Her, my Galatea,

My wonderful milk-white friend,

Work of my hand and brain

Linked to this noble end.

VIII

The statue stands above me,

Flower and crown of my art....

But would that the gods had made me

As others, not set me apart.

For what, in the measure of life,

Is work on a lower plane?

And this the finest, brightest—

Further I cannot attain.

Shall I grind its beauty to fragments

Or shatter its symmetry?—

For I have made it in secret

And none has seen it but me.

My hand would falter and fail—

Oh! ... I could not forget.

I still should see it in dreams

With a passion of regret.

Or ... Shall I wait till morning

White-winged over the land,

Ere the fishermen tramp the beach

And drag their boats to the sand;

And find at last ... oh! at last

A boon denied to me,

Rest in the ever-restless,

The huge, unquiet sea,

That the brain may be freed from toil

Which has toiled to a luckless end

When it touched its highest powers

And shaped my milk-white friend.

IX

For a dream is only a dream,

(My best and my last stands there)

And a stone is only a stone,

Be it carven beyond compare,

And the veriest hind of the field

Who sweats for his hungry brood,

Has a deeper knowledge than I

Of our mortal evil and good.

Oh! gods, if ever I sought you,

And found you, terrible lords,

Zeus in the rattling thunder,

Ares in din of swords;

And thou, wise grey-eyed lady,

Who lovest the sober mean,

Reason and grave discourses,

A tempered mind and serene,

You have I duly honoured—

Yet one have I kept apart,

(Lean, misshapen, and ugly

No toy for a maiden's heart).

"Oh! foam-begotten and smiling,

Oh, perilous child of the sea—

Forgive—ere too late—and befriend me!

What am I—what is life without thee?"

And his prayer went up like a vapour

To the palace above the snows,

Where the shining gods held revel,

And deathless laughter arose.

But Hupnos swiftly descended

Like a noiseless bird of the night

And brushed his eyes with pinions

Downy and thick and light,

Circled dimly about him,

And brushed his eyes as he prayed

Laying a drowsy mandate,

And the watcher drooped and obeyed.

X

In at the workshop windows

Peacefully stole the dawn;

Tinting the marble figures

Of wood-nymph, goddess and faun,

Broadening in a streamer

Which touched with a rosy glow

The still white form of the statue,

The sleeper kneeling below.

... She moved as the red light touched her

And life stirred under her hair,

A little shiver ran over

Her glorious limbs all bare.

Thro' arms and breasts and thighs

The warm blood pulsed and ran:

And she stepped down from the pedestal—

A woman unto a man;

Saying in tender accents

Of low and musical tone:

"Oh! sleeper, wake from thy slumber

No longer art thou alone...."

Alexis.

Who slew Alexis? Some one smote

Right thro' the white and tender throat

(And scarce gave time for fear)

The jewelled doll, who sprang from kings,

With farded cheek and flashing rings,

And left him lying here.

He sat upon a throne, pardye,

The ancient throne of Muscovy,

Smiling a harlot's smile,

And gave—the painted popinjay—

The word which no man might gainsay,

Tossing his curls the while.

And savage warriors, steel on hips,

Muttered between their bearded lips,

And spat upon the floor,

To see a thing so debonnaire

Enthroned upon a conqueror's chair,

And find their King half-whore.

Or in a gallery all aflare,

Approached by some dark palace stair,

He lay in languid mood,

And naked women, mad with wine,

Did cruelty and lust combine

To stir his tainted blood.

So plunged, half woman and half devil,

In many a foul and roaring revel,

By some fierce craving fanned,

Alexis, with the girlish face

And swaying movements full of grace,

The Ruler of this Land.

So, hunted by a mind diseased,

By those fierce orgies unappeased,

He thirsted after new;

And monstrous things he did (they say)

Which never saw the light of day,

Shared by a chosen few.

The rocks were cleft to bring him treasure,

The mothers mourned to give him pleasure,

The whole land writhed in pain,

All night the secret chambers flared,

All night the horrid deeds were dared

Which made him thirst again.

And pampered Turks lived by his side,

With gobbling negroes bloodshot-eyed,

And hags with mouths impure.

And day and night the warders tall

Stood watching on his castle wall

That he might dwell secure.

Strange visions did upon him throng

With shapes confused which held him long,

A riot in his brain.

Unbridled lust, unbounded power

So worked upon him in that hour....

I think he was insane.

And I—who had no God to please,

And nursed him crowing on my knees—

I waited by the stair,

And as he gave a joyous note,

Passed this bright iron thro' his throat

And left him lying there.

The King's Cloak.

There was a King in Norroway

Who loved a famous sport,

He followed it in the sun and snow

With the nobles of his Court.

In all his kingdom mountainous

Was none so swift as he

(For so they said who ate his bread)

At running on the ski.

His black heart swelled with pride

As the acorn swells with the tree,

And from all his kingdom mountainous

He called the men of the ski.

From fir-pricked crag and gloomy gorge

Where the lonely log-huts cling,

And till the King's word bade them cease

They raced before the King.

So raced they down a spear-broad track,

Where never tree did grow,

Between the mountains and the sea

A thousand feet below

Till sundip in a cold pearl sky

And a west of ageless pink

From a withered pine to the King enthroned

With his nobles by the brink.

There ran one with the racers

Straight-fashioned as a sword,

With sail-brown cheek and eyes as deep

As water in a fiord

And till the King's word bade them cease

None passed or touched him near,

He leapt as frightened chamois leap

And ran like a stricken deer.

Dusk threw a hateful shadow

On the King's countenance

"The guerdons of thy skill," cried he,

"Or, boy, thy luck, perchance?

This figured ivory drinking horn!

This turquoise-hilted sword!

But ... shall I see no marvel

Ere day dips in the fiord?"

"There is not in fair Norroway

My master on the ski

One bolder or more skilful....

A marvel wouldst thou see?"

—Bold and high was the answer—

"'Twas skill not luck, Oh! King,

I am the swiftest.... A marvel

Of whom the scalds shall sing."

"Oh! yonder stand the mountains

And yonder moans the sea

And he who leapt from the topmost crag....

A bold man would he be.

A bold man ... yea, a marvel

For the grey-haired scalds to hymn...."

Day dying touched his swarthy cheek

With a lurid light and grim,

While he made the gloomy challenge

And round a murmur ran,

But ... the boy bowed low and answered,

"Oh! King, behold the man

The swiftest and the boldest

In thy kingdom by the sea,

From mountain or ... from hatred

What man can do, dares he."

... He swept down from the mountain

Like an eaglet on a hare

With bent back and swinging arms

And tossing golden hair....

The King stood by the precipice

(A small sea moaned and broke)

... Looked down over the wrinkled sea

And swiftly loosed his cloak.

... He came as an arrow is loosened....

As a slinger slings a stone,

Clutched (as the sun shot downwards)

At one on the brink alone....

The King leapt back ... the King laughed out....

The great cloak floated free....

There came no sound—tho' he listened long—

From the darkened moaning sea.

The Knight and the Witch.

A voice cried over the Hills

"Follow the strange desire.

Oh! follow, follow, follow,

The world is on fire.

Day burns on funeral bed

In flame of sky and sea,

And, black against that red,

Is the tower where dwelleth she

And gazeth, white foot pressed

On bruisèd heaps of bloom,

O'er the sea which cannot rest

And sounds thro' her room.

Murmurs in her room

Thro' a casement open wide

The sea which is a tomb

For mariners of pride.

Oh! follow, follow, follow,

Come quickly unto her,

Her body is more sweet

Than cassia or myrrh,

She is whiter than the moon,

She is stranger than death,

Stronger than the new moon

Which the waters draweth.

More lovely are her words

More lovely is she

Than the flight of white birds

O'er a halcyon sea.

She took the stars for toys—

Her magic was so strong—

Murmurs of earth and the noise

Of green seas for a song.

She leant down on the sill

And called across the sea.

... Oh! follow, follow, follow,

Come quickly unto me...."

A voice cried over the Hills

"Oh! come, I fail, I swoon,

Pale with my love's excess,

Paler than our pale moon.

Oh! come, Oh! come, Oh! come,

Before the days eclipse

We'll meet with brimming eyes

And kiss with quivering lips.

Love-drunken, breast to breast,

With half-closed eyes we'll kiss,

And reel from bliss to pain

From pain again to bliss.

The sea which cannot rest

From its undernote of doom

(We swooning breast on breast)

Shall murmur thro' my room.

Shall murmur all night long

Thro' a casement open wide.

The sea, which is a tomb

For mariners of pride,

With an undernote of doom

Shall murmur evermore

That love is in the room

And Death is at the door,

That Death will bruise to dust

Our flower-drenched passion soon

Darker than darkest night

Colder than our cold moon.

So shall it ebb and flow

Our love like those sea-tides

For a space ... a little space—

What matter? ... nought abides."

A voice cried over the Hills,

"What matter? ... all things die,

Our quivering love's excess,

Our rose-drenched ecstasy

As glimmering waters drawn

By the magic of the moon,

As the moon itself at dawn

Our love shall vanish soon.

So swift (my love-pale groom)

A white bird wings its flight.

Then find you Death's cold room,

Darker than darkest night;

Then find you that dark door

(And find it all men must)

And love there nevermore

But crumble back to dust,

And kiss there nevermore

In flower-drenched ecstasy;

Too late then to implore,

Too cold to hear a cry."

And then towards the shelving beach

A cedar shallop drew,

With silver prow shaped like a swan

And sails of rainbow hue.

Swiftly it came with a wake of foam

And lying on its side

Like an arrow's flight towards the Knight,

Tho' none sat there to guide.

And in the shallows by the shore

It came to rest at last,

The cordage slacked and the rainbow sail

Flapped idly on the mast.

And the Swan-prow with the ruby eyes

Opened his silver beak,

And with a musical, magic voice

He thus began to speak.

"Step in, step in, my gallant lad,

Your youth shall be my fare.

For you my mistress opes her door

And combs her wine-dark hair.

She swelled my sail with an eager wind

And drove me to this beach,

She gave strange sight to my ruby eyes

And filled my beak with speech.

"She saw you in the magic glass

The hour that she has might,

As you rode across the purple heath,

Honour and armour bright.

Step in, step in, my lover bold

And come to the West with me

Where the young nymphs play in the wave and lift

Their white arms from the sea;

And the Tritons chase the laughing rout

And swim by the vessel's side,

Blowing on horns confusedly,

Or shouting words of pride.

You hear it now, but the time will come

When you shall hear no more

The ceaseless wash of a dreaming sea,

Its ripples on the shore.

Oh! follow, follow the sinking sun

And the great white Evening Star,

A magic wind shall breathe behind

Our sail, and bear us far."

He doffed his red-plumed casque of steel,

All flaxen was his hair,

And he was clad from throat to heel

In the armour princes wear,

From throat to heel in silver mail

Like a shining prince in a fairy-tale.

The witch Hegertha o'er him bent,

(Ah! God, her face was fair)

Her breath blew on him like a scent,

She touched him with her hair.

There was no stronger witch than this,

And she gave the Knight her first kiss.

And he was bound to her sword and hand,

To do whatever she might command.

Then up to her full height she drew,

Down poured her hair like wine,

Her pale, proud face looked sadly through

—A moon in a wood of pine—

She breathed a spell in a low, sweet tone

Which none of woman born could disown.

And he was bound to her side till death

By the spell just uttered above her breath.

She drew his soul forth with her eyes,

As a drinker slakes his drouth,

A little smile played sorrowful, wise,

About her rose-red mouth.

She stooped down and called his soul forth,

And left him naught but his body's earth.

And he was bound to her evermore

By the soul he lost and the word he swore.

For evermore and evermore

In the chamber by the sea,

Till death should break the spell-bound door

And end his slavery;

In the chamber strewn with flowers in bloom

With a heavy scent like death,

Echoing ever the song of doom

Which the sad sea moaned beneath.

For evermore and evermore

Till life ceased in his side,

Bound to the room and the rose-strewn floor

And the strange, unholy bride.

And naught could save him now, when once the spell

Had fallen on him, binding limbs and will,

Where he sat listening to the sad sea swell,

Amid the roses which no time could kill.

Naught could restore lost courage to his eyes,

The Knightly ardour that he used to feel,

Or make his heart the seat of high emprise,

Or nerve his hand to grasp the shining steel.

Whether she kept him fast by her enchantment,

Or drove him forth to roam death-pale and weeping,

Naught could remind him what his life's fair grant meant,

Now that his soul was in Hegertha's keeping.

The Dreamer.

This is the dream of the Dreamer

With the grave thought-sunken eyes,

Which he dreamed between sleeping and waking,

Between the night and the making

Of dawn ... and he dreamed in this wise:

To the gate of the dawn came a chariot

Which four black stallions were drawing,

And a spirit charioteer,

With the burning eyes of a seer,

Held them impatiently pawing.

He mounted the floor of the chariot,

And the Spirit drew together

His reins, his strong grip tight'ning,

And his thong flashed out like a lightning,

And the horses rushed up to æther.

The Dreamer was caught into space

With a pang as of ending or birth,

And lo! clouds builded above him,

And beneath him soundless and moving

The sea of his own little earth.

They clove the walls of the clouds,

And snorted each coal black stallion

Nursed by the Spirit, whose hair

Streamed out like a banner, and bare

In the night was the moon—a medallion

And then an ice-sheathed corpse

With ancient glaciers and snouted

Craters of fires extinct,

Chain on chain of them linked.

And the Lord of the Chariot shouted

And shook out his hissing lash

Over the backs of the four

Till they whirled up faster and faster,

Till the sun became vaster and vaster,

And its flames leapt out with a roar

Of mountains, subsident, resurging,

Innumerable, ceaseless of action,

Years and years into space....

And the Dreamer covered his face,

As he rode, in his stupefaction.

They passed with a dip and a swerve,

As a swallow skims the downs,

Far up into the height,

And the stars looked down from the night

Like the lights of distant towns.

Swift is the lonely thought

Of a sage, a mountain-dweller,

But swifter far was their rush

Thro' the awful cold and the hush

Of the spaces interstellar.

They heard the approaching thunder,

And saw the glare of a comet

Holding its destined way

To an undiscovered day,

And its tresses streamed out from it.

They broke thro' other systems,

By huger alien spheres,

Each in its orbit travelling,

The timeless skeins unravelling

Of a law with no count of years

And came at last to a planet,

Girt in a gleaming ring

Of cloud and vapour and mist,

Which the light of four moons kissed

To a wonderful milk-white thing.

Then the Spirit reined in his stallions,

And pointed in exultation

And turned his orbèd eyes,

Which burned with a wild surmise

And a dreadful penetration,

On the Dreamer, who followed, and lo!

The Heavens had changed their stations,

And their voids were with unknown

And greater galaxies sown

And altered constellations.

And, beyond, a scatter of crystals,

And, beyond, bright motes in a beam,

And, beyond, while the Spirit probed him

To the soul in the flesh that robed him,

An uncountable shimmering stream.

He saw these worlds all marshalled,

And their ways all governed for ever;

And he felt the sight of his soul

Shrivel up like a fire-licked scroll

In his insupportable terror.

Then the Spirit pointed again,

And wheeled the might of his horses

And shouted ... and down they fell,

As a pebble drops in a well,

Thro' the worlds and the roar of their courses.

And the Dreamer looked, and behold!

In a point to æons withdrawn....

A scarce visible speck of light,

His own sun like a mite,

And the blur of his own little dawn.

II

Now the Dreamer, who rode by night

In the car of the Spirit thro' space,

Came in the blue of June morning,

In a mood betwixt pity and scorning,

To the populous market-place.

Afar in the infinite blue

Hung the snow-capped mountain-ranges;

But round him moved the press

Of the city's business

In kaleidoscopic changes.

For the square was all life and all colour,

All confusion and clamour,

As dealers showed the paces

Of colts, untamed in the traces,

To the rap of the auctioneer's hammer.

He saw there the dusty sheep

Trotting blindly amidst the throng;

The swine with quivering snouts,

The boys who urged them with shouts,

The hawkers of picture and song;

The brown-skinned peasants trudging

By their slow-paced bullock wains,

With children asprawl the load,

And wives who scolded and rode

With an eye to their husbands' gains;

The hooknosed Orient merchants,

Who came in the caravans

And bargained over the prices

Of silks and carpets and spices,

Pearls and feathers and fans;

The clumsy sailors in ear-rings

From the echoing harbour beach,

With parrots and shells for their wares,

The light of the sun in their stares,

The sound of the wind in their speech.

And the shrill-voiced changers of money

Who sat with their clerks at the tables....

And it seemed to him all no matter

As he gazed ... like the evening chatter

Of starlings under his gables.

III

And lo! hard by at a pillar

Two learned Sophists disputed,

Taking the turn of speech

And disciples applauded each

Or else each other confuted

With babble and clenching of fist,

And thrusting of face into face,

And saying "Demus hath reason"

Or "Lycas hath conquered. The season

Of Demus hath passed, and his place

"Is with us no longer." And mildly

The grave-eyed Dreamer watched them

Shouting and seething and ranting.

But, when they perceived him, panting

(For a sudden impulse snatched them)

Ran up a crowd of both factions

And cried, "Oh! Master, befriend us,

For we all of us know thou art wisest,

That thou speakest the truth and despisest

No man and his need. Therefore lend us

"Thy wisdom in this our dilemma."

And the Dreamer answered, "I hear."

So they told him with quibble and chatter....

And it seemed to him all no matter

Like the croaking of frogs in a mere.

IV

And behold! there ran thro' the market,

Hard by where the Dreamer stood,

A natural, void of desire

Save for warmth of the sun or of fire

Or for softness abed or food.

Naught held he dearer in mind,

Save the branchèd lightning veins;

And in naught more strongly rejoiced

Save the sound of the thunder deep-voiced

Or the fertile flash of the rains

Or the seas climbing into the harbour;

And so thro' the market he ran

Happy and careless and free

(Him no man heeded for he

Was a boy who would ne'er be a man)

Munching the gift of a cake,

A pilfered apple or fig,

Or danced with his shadow awhile,

Smiling a secret smile,

Or twirled a hued whirligig.

And the Dreamer called to him, "Come!"

As he skipped in the sun with his Shadow.

And the boy came doubtful and shy

With a timid foot and eye,

As a young horse comes in a meadow.

And the Dreamer touched his cheek

And murmured, "Be not afraid,"

And the boy took heart and smiled,

For the voice was tender and mild,

And then half sadly it said,

"Oh! ye who have called me the Master,

The Teller of Truth, and the Wise,

Oh! ye who have strayed in the dark

Give ear to my saying and mark,

For I give you a pearl of price,

"A dark saying, and a hard saying

To those who read it aright—

This natural, whom ye see,

Is wiser, Oh! blind ones, than ye,

And thus have I learned in the night."

The Parting of Lancelot and Guinevere.

(Mallory paraphrased.)

"Be as be may," said Lancelot,

"I go upon my quest."

So mounted he and rode alone

Eight days into the West.

And to a nunnery came at last

Hard by a forest ride,

And walking in the cloister-shades

Was by the Queen espied.

And, when she saw him, swooned she thrice

And said, when speak she might,

"Ye marvel why I make this fare?

'Tis truly for the sight

Of yonder knight that standeth there,

And so must ever be;

Wherefore I pray you swiftly go

And call him unto me."

And to them all said Guinevere

When Lancelot was brought

"Fair ladies, thro' this man and me

Hath all this war been wrought,

And death of the most noblest knights

Of whom we have record.

And thro' the love we loved is slain

My own most noble lord.

Wherefor, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well,

As thou dost wish my weal,

That I am set in such a plight

To get my dear soul heal.

For sinners were the Saints in Heaven

And trust I in God's grace

To sit that day at Christ's right hand

And see His Blessèd Face.

Therefore I heartily require

And do beseech thee sore

For all the love betwixt us was

To see my face no more.

But bid thee now, on God's behalf,

That thou my side forsake,

And to thy kingdom turn again,

And keep thy realm from wrake.

My heart, as well it loved thee once,

Serveth me not arights

To see thee, sithen is destroyed

The flower of kings and knights.

Therefore now get thee to thy realm

And take to thee a wife

And live with her in joy and bliss,

And pray God mend my life."

"Nay, Madam," said Sir Lancelot,

"That shall I never do,

For I should never be so false

Of that I promised you.

But unto the same destiny

As you I will me take,

And cast me specially to pray

For you, for Jesu's sake.

In you I take record of God,

Mine earthly joy I found,

And had you willed had taken you

To dwell on mine own ground.

But sithen you are thus disposed

And will the world forsake,

Be now ensured that I likewise

To penance will me take,

And so, if haply I may find

A hermit white or grey

Who shall receive and shrive me clean,

While lasteth life will pray.

Wherefore I pray you kiss me now,

And never then no mo."

"Nay," said the Queen, "Oh! get thee gone,

That can I never do."

So parted they with wondrous dole

And swooned for their great teen

And to her chamber scarce on live

Her ladies bare the Queen.

But Lancelot woke at last and went

And took his horse from keeping,

And all that day and all that night

Rode thro' a forest weeping.

The Hermit and the Faun.

A hermit knelt before his door

Long-bearded, bald of head,

When a laughing faun peeped thro' the brake

And these the words he said,

"My mother was a water-nymph

And in these woods I grew,

The faun, Amyntas, is my name,

To what name answer you?

How came you to this lonely hut,

Why kneel you in the dust,

With scalp as bald as a beggar's bowl

And beard as red as rust?

Why make you with those knotted claws

Your gestures strange and sad?

The sheep-bells tinkle from the plain,

The forest paths are glad."

"Oh! creature of the wood and wild

You may not know my name,

It was forgotten long ago

For it was one of shame.

Therefore I made a vow to dwell

Upon this forest brink

And take the ripened nuts for food

And catch the rain for drink,

To scrape wild honey from the rocks

And make my bed on leaves

Because of the hot sins of my youth

Whereat my spirit grieves."

"Not such as you, Oh! ancient man,

Our joyous Satyrs here:

Old men are they all laughter-mad

Who wallow in good cheer.

Amid lush grasses soft and cool

They make their feasting ground,

With smilax and with bryony

Their rosy pates are crowned.

You see them thro' the forest trunks

Great rolling gladsome shapes,

Who prop themselves on skins of wine

By purple piles of grapes.

Their huge brown bellies quake with mirth,

Their ancient eyes are bright,

And there they sit and roar old tales

Far, far into the night.

Then tipsy with the heady juice

Each falls into a heap,

Till white-horned morning bids him wake

With all the land from sleep."

"Oft lying in this lonely hut

On panting summer nights

I watched the stars like silver lamps

Hung from those purple heights,

And heard the forest-depths behind

Fill with disquieting noise

Like frightened cries of flying girls

And shouts of eager boys,

And saw white shapes go flitting past

Like runners in a race

And caught faint murmurs, sighs and laughs

From all the forest place.

And oft a distant sound of shouts

Came with the soft night airs,

And I ... lest evil might befall

Got swiftly to my prayers."

"And tell me now, Oh! ancient man,

The God to whom you pray,

These woods know none but mighty Pan

Whom all our folk obey.

His altar stands by yonder plane

And there the shepherds bring,

Toiling up from the fields below,

Each day an offering,

A lamb or else a yearling kid,

A bud-horned lusty fellow,

Great cheeses, grapes, or bursting figs,

Or apples red and yellow,

Or melons ripened in the sun

A foot from end to end.

Such gifts the shepherds bring to Pan

That he may be their friend.

"He is our Father, Lord of all,

From the meadow to the Pass,

So ... pray you to a painted bird,

Or green snake in the grass?"

"Rash Thing, beware," the Hermit cried,

Like agates were his eyes,

"The God I serve you do not know

A strong God, just and wise.

For He will purge your streams and woods,

And smite both hip and thigh

Your Satyrs, amorous bestial sots,

Your careless company

Who wanton in the thymy ways

In which these woods abound,

And kiss with soft empurpled mouths,

Luxuriantly crowned.

My soul is filled with prophecy;

Dimly I see a bark

Which runs by some low wooded isle;

The night is warm and dark,

And from a promontory rings

A sudden bitter cry,

It smites the lonely helmsman's ears

And tingles in the sky.

'Oh! Traveller, tell in every land

These tidings strange and dread,

Let all the peoples wail and weep,

For Pan, great Pan, is dead.'"

Amyntas pursed his pouting lips

And shook his curly head,

"Farewell, old man, the forest calls;

I like you not," he said.

"Your flesh is dried, your ribs are lean,

You are too lank and sere,

Your voice is harsh, your words are grim

And do not please mine ear.

The great god Pan is all I need

And all I wish to know,

My Father Pan, the shepherd's god,

And now, old man, I go."

Behind him closed a greening brake,

And, after many a hail,

He joined his gay companions

And gambolled in a vale.

Love's Defiance.

"Light of my life lie close

Oh! Love, I have found you at last;

Let me hear your low sweet voice

The knell of the aching past.

The lashes lie on your cheek

Oh! lift them and show me your eyes;

Twin stars in a mortal face,

They are soft, they are kind, they are wise."

"Heart of my hungry heart

My hero whose hand is in mine

If we fall let it be to the pit,

For to-day we have touched the divine.

Time has stood still to-day....

This day which has squandered its sun.

It has been all glory and gold

All perfect days in this one."

"Light of my life, my love,

My lady of dreams, lie near,

The evening sighs thro' the pines,

Hark! do you feel no fear?

The light of love flashes out....

Oh! wonder so old and so new—

I am strong with the strength of that name,

Dear, when I look at you."

"Heart of my beating heart,

My friend whose forehead I kiss

In the days which were not days,

Weaker was I than this.

In the years which the locust ate

My spirit clove to the dust,

But now—come fate—I am bold,

I build on a higher trust."

"Light of my life, my Queen,

Let us quarrel no more with life—

The tears—or the final truth—

We are victors now in the strife.

With its purer days of joy

With its prison anguish too,

All myself, and the past of myself,

My darling, worship you."

"Heart of my singing heart,

My lover, my lord, all hail!

Fear shall be underfoot,

I feel that we shall not fail.

In the shadowy land we leave

The grim wolves raven and bark,

But our hearts are steadfast at length

And our faces turn from the dark."

The Playmates.

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my Mary, oh!

You looked so bonny then.

Will you no give me your little hand,

The sweetest hand I ken?"

"Oh! I will give you my little hand,

I'm sweir to say you no,

Oh! I'll now give you my hands both

My friendship for to show."

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my lassie dear,

The tears stand in these eyne.

Will you no give me a kind word

For the sake of old lang syne?"

"Oh! I will give you a kind word

Tho' I have little skill,

For the time that we were children

And played upon the hill."

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my lass o' gold,

Will you no give me a kiss?

My heart, I think, is like to break

If you refuse me this."

"Alas! and if I must refuse

You will not think me bad.

That your heart should break for my sake,

In truth it makes me sad."

"Oh! Mary, Mary, my lassie oh!

I will be true as steel.

Will you no give me your promised word

For the love that I do feel?"

"Indeed—indeed—I like you well

Aye, better than my brother,

But I canna give you my promised word

For—I must wait for another."

June and November.

On a day, long ago, I was just a child,

I walked with my lover, my arm in his arm,

Half of me was sad and half with joy was wild,

The wind was so soft and the sun was so warm.

I walked with my lover to his pretty nonsense listening,

And I pressed my beating heart against my lover's side;

And tho' my voice was steady my traitor eyes were glistening,

I showed to my lover all I wished to hide.

His vows were so tender, his speech was so fluent,

He whispered his sorrow if ever we must part.

My heart in my bosom fluttered and played truant,

So I gave it him all ... my innocent heart.

On a green bank amidst the purple irises,

And the shadow of a pine-wood across it was flung,

I gave him soft words, I gave him my kisses,

I gave him myself—myself that was so young.

On a day, long ago, (pity to remember

How the wind was soft, how the sun was warm,)—

Then it was June and now it is November,

Then I knew no evil nor thought of any harm.

A Foolish Tragedy.

In the capital of Valladolid

There lived a highborn maiden

In a white house in a steep street

With green doors and shutters,

Her lips were like scarlet poppies

And her hair like a black waterfall,

And behind her ear she wore

A flower of red geranium.

And her Spanish lover sighed

And in his love he cried,

"Heaven were nearer

If she were dearer,

She is the most wonderful and beautiful thing

In the capital of Valladolid.

"If I could persuade her father,

That fierce and rich old Councillor,

Not to despise my suit

But let me speak to his daughter,

I would esteem it more

Than the rank of a Grandee of Spain,

A cargo of spices from Java

Or a galleon laden with silver."

Under a brazen crucifix

And the outstretched arms of our Saviour

(And over her ivory shoulder

Her black hair poured like a waterfall)

To Mary, Mother of Heaven,

Prayed the foolish maiden,

"Mary, send me a lover,

Young and tender and handsome."

It chanced on a day of festival

In the capital of Valladolid

That their eyes met at a crossing

And their two souls rushed together.

By the greed of a bought duenna

And the interchange of love-notes

And the help of a hempen ladder

They arranged a meeting at midnight.

Her father, the rich old Councillor,

Looked out of a second-floor window

And passed his sword thro' the body

Of one who climbed up a ladder.

His fingers loosed the rungs

And down he crashed to the pavement.

And out of his handsome body

His startled spirit departed.

And the Spanish maiden cried

And moaned until she died,

"My lover dead,

My honour sped."

So ended a foolish tragedy

In the capital of Valladolid.