Part 11
"A queen I was, what gods I knew I loved, And nothing evil was there in my thought, And yet by love my wretched heart was moved Until to utter ruin I was brought! Alas! thou sayest our gods were vain and nought, Wait, wait, till thou hast heard this tale of mine. Then shalt thou think them devilish or divine.
"Hearken! in spite of father and of vow I loved a man; but for that sin I think Men had forgiven me--yea, yea, even thou; But from the gods the full cup must I drink, And into misery unheard of sink, Tormented when their own names are forgot, And men must doubt e'er if they lived or not.
"Glorious my lover was unto my sight, Most beautiful,--of love we grew so fain That we at last agreed, that on a night We should be happy, but that he were slain Or shut in hold, and neither joy nor pain Should else forbid that hoped-for time to be; So came the night that made a wretch of me.
"Ah I well do I remember all that night, When through the window shone the orb of June, And by the bed flickered the taper's light, Whereby I trembled, gazing at the moon: Ah me! the meeting that we had, when soon Into his strong, well-trusted arms I fell, And many a sorrow we began to tell.
"Ah me I what parting on that night we had! I think the story of my great despair A little while might merry folk make sad; For, as he swept away my yellow hair To make my shoulder and my bosom bare, I raised mine eyes, and shuddering could behold A shadow cast upon the bed of gold:
"Then suddenly was quenched my hot desire And he untwined his arms; the moon so pale A while ago, seemed changed to blood and fire, And yet my limbs beneath me did not fail, And neither had I strength to cry or wail, But stood there helpless, bare, and shivering, With staring eyes still fixed upon the thing.
"Because the shade that on the bed of gold The changed and dreadful moon was throwing down Was of Diana, whom I did behold, With knotted hair, and shining girt-up gown, And on the high white brow, a deadly frown Bent upon us, who stood scarce drawing breath, Striving to meet the horrible sure death.
"No word at all the dreadful goddess said, But soon across my feet my lover lay, And well indeed I knew that he was dead; And would that I had died on that same day! For in a while the image turned away, And without words my doom I understood, And felt a horror change my human blood.
"And there I fell, and on the floor I lay By the dead man, till daylight came on me, And not a word thenceforward could I say For three years, till of grief and misery, The lingering pest, the cruel enemy, My father and his folk were dead and gone, And in this castle I was left alone:
"And then the doom foreseen upon me fell, For Queen Diana did my body change Into a fork-tongued dragon flesh and fell, And through the island nightly do I range, Or in the green sea mate with monsters strange, When in the middle of the moonlit night The sleepy mariner I do affright.
"But all day long upon this gold I lie Within this place, where never mason's hand Smote trowel on the marble noisily; Drowsy I lie, no folk at my command, Who once was called the Lady of the Land; Who might have bought a kingdom with a kiss, Yea, half the world with such a sight as this."
And therewithal, with rosy fingers light, Backward her heavy-hanging hair she threw, To give her naked beauty more to sight; But when, forgetting all the things he knew, Maddened with love unto the prize he drew, She cried, "Nay, wait! for wherefore wilt thou die, Why should we not be happy, thou and I?
"Wilt thou not save me? once in every year This rightful form of mine that thou dost see By favour of the goddess have I here From sunrise unto sunset given me, That some brave man may end my misery. And thou--art thou not brave? can thy heart fail, Whose eyes e'en now are weeping at my tale?
"Then listen! when this day is overpast, A fearful monster shall I be again, And thou mayst be my saviour at the last, Unless, once more, thy words are nought and vain; If thou of love and sovereignty art fain, Come thou next morn, and when thou seest here A hideous dragon, have thereof no fear,
"But take the loathsome head up in thine hands, And kiss it, and be master presently Of twice the wealth that is in all the lands, From Cathay to the head of Italy; And master also, if it pleaseth thee, Of all thou praisest as so fresh and bright, Of what thou callest crown of all delight.
"Ah! with what joy then shall I see again The sunlight on the green grass and the trees, And hear the clatter of the summer rain, And see the joyous folk beyond the seas. Ah, me! to hold my child upon my knees, After the weeping of unkindly tears, And all the wrongs of these four hundred years.
"Go now, go quick! leave this grey heap of stone; And from thy glad heart think upon thy way, How I shall love thee--yea, love thee alone, That bringest me from dark death unto day; For this shall be thy wages and thy pay; Unheard-of wealth, unheard-of love is near, If thou hast heart a little dread to bear."
Therewith she turned to go; but he cried out, "Ah! wilt thou leave me then without one kiss, To slay the very seeds of fear and doubt, That glad to-morrow may bring certain bliss? Hast thou forgotten how love lives by this, The memory of some hopeful close embrace, Low whispered words within some lonely place?"
But she, when his bright glittering eyes she saw, And burning cheeks, cried out, "Alas, alas! Must I be quite undone, and wilt thou draw A worse fate on me than the first one was? O haste thee from this fatal place to pass! Yet, ere thou goest, take this, lest thou shouldst deem Thou hast been fooled by some strange midday dream."
So saying, blushing like a new-kissed maid, From off her neck a little gem she drew, That, 'twixt those snowy rose-tinged hillocks laid, The secrets of her glorious beauty knew; And ere he well perceived what she would do, She touched his hand, the gem within it lay, And, turning, from his sight she fled away.
Then at the doorway where her rosy heel Had glanced and vanished, he awhile did stare, And still upon his hand he seemed to feel The varying kisses of her fingers fair; Then turned he toward the dreary crypt and bare, And dizzily throughout the castle passed, Till by the ruined fane he stood at last.
Then weighing still the gem within his hand, He stumbled backward through the cypress wood, Thinking the while of some strange lovely land, Where all his life should be most fair and good; Till on the valley's wall of hills he stood, And slowly thence passed down unto the bay Red with the death of that bewildering day.
* * * * *
The next day came, and he, who all the night Had ceaselessly been turning in his bed, Arose and clad himself in armour bright, And many a danger he rememberéd; Storming of towns, lone sieges full of dread, That with renown his heart had borne him through, And this thing seemed a little thing to do.
So on he went, and on the way he thought Of all the glorious things of yesterday, Nought of the price whereat they must be bought, But ever to himself did softly say, "No roaming now, my wars are passed away, No long dull days devoid of happiness, When such a love my yearning heart shall bless."
Thus to the castle did he come at last, But when unto the gateway he drew near, And underneath its ruined archway passed Into the court, a strange noise did he hear, And through his heart there shot a pang of fear, Trembling, he gat his sword into his hand, And midmost of the cloisters took his stand.
But for a while that unknown noise increased A rattling, that with strident roars did blend, And whining moans; but suddenly it ceased, A fearful thing stood at the cloister's end, And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to wend Adown the cloisters, and began again That rattling, and the moan like fiends in pain.
And as it came on towards him, with its teeth The body of a slain goat did it tear, The blood whereof in its hot jaws did seethe, And on its tongue he saw the smoking hair; Then his heart sank, and standing trembling there, Throughout his mind wild thoughts and fearful ran, "Some fiend she was," he said, "the bane of man."
Yet he abode her still, although his blood Curdled within him: the thing dropped the goat, And creeping on, came close to where he stood, And raised its head to him, and wrinkled throat, Then he cried out and wildly at her smote, Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the place Ran swiftly, with a white and ghastly face.
But little things rough stones and tree-trunks seemed, And if he fell, he rose and ran on still; No more he felt his hurts than if he dreamed, He made no stay for valley or steep hill, Heedless he dashed through many a foaming rill, Until he came unto the ship at last And with no word into the deep hold passed.
Meanwhile the dragon, seeing him clean gone. Followed him not, but crying horribly, Caught up within her jaws a block of stone And ground it into powder, then turned she, With cries that folk could hear far out at sea, And reached the treasure set apart of old, To brood above the hidden heaps of gold.
Yet was she seen again on many a day By some half-waking mariner, or herd, Playing amid the ripples of the bay, Or on the hills making all things afeard, Or in the wood, that did that castle gird, But never any man again durst go To seek her woman's form, and end her woe.
As for the man, who knows what things he bore? What mournful faces peopled the sad night, What wailings vexed him with reproaches sore, What images of that nigh-gained delight! What dreamed caresses from soft hands and white, Turning to horrors ere they reached the best, What struggles vain, what shame, what huge unrest?
No man he knew, three days he lay and raved, And cried for death, until a lethargy Fell on him, and his fellows thought him saved; But on the third night he awoke to die; And at Byzantium doth his body lie Between two blossoming pomegranate trees, Within the churchyard of the Genoese.
* * * * *
A moment's silence as his tale had end, And then the wind of that June night did blend Their varied voices, as of that and this They fell to talk: of those fair islands' bliss They knew in other days, of hope they had To live there long an easy life and glad, With nought to vex them; and the younger men Began to nourish strange dreams even then Of sailing east, as these had once sailed west; Because the story of that luckless quest With hope, not fear, had filled their joyous hearts And made them dream of new and noble parts That they might act; of raising up the name Their fathers bore, and winning boundless fame. These too with little patience seemed to hear, That story end with shame and grief and fear; A little thing the man had had to do, They said, if longing burned within him so. But at their words the older men must bow Their heads, and, smiling, somewhat thoughtful grow, Remembering well how fear in days gone by Had dealt with them, and poisoned wretchedly Good days, good deeds, and longings for all good: Yet on the evil times they would not brood, But sighing, strove to raise the weight of years, And no more memory of their hopes and fears They nourished, but such gentle thoughts as fed The pensiveness which that sweet season bred.
JULY.
Fair was the morn to-day, the blossom's scent Floated across the fresh grass, and the bees With low vexed song from rose to lily went, A gentle wind was in the heavy trees, And thine eyes shone with joyous memories; Fair was the early morn, and fair wert thou, And I was happy--Ah, be happy now!
Peace and content without us, love within That hour there was, now thunder and wild rain, Have wrapped the cowering world, and foolish sin, And nameless pride, have made us wise in vain; Ah, love! although the morn shall come again, And on new rose-buds the new sun shall smile, Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile?
E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat, But midst the lightning did the fair sun die-- --Ah, he shall rise again for ages yet, He cannot waste his life--but thou and I-- Who knows if next morn this felicity My lips may feel, or if thou still shalt live This seal of love renewed once more to give?
* * * * *
Within a lovely valley, watered well With flowery streams, the July feast befell, And there within the Chief-priest's fair abode They cast aside their trouble's heavy load, Scarce made aweary by the sultry day. The earth no longer laboured; shaded lay The sweet-breathed kine, across the sunny vale, From hill to hill the wandering rook did sail, Lazily croaking, midst his dreams of spring, Nor more awake the pink-foot dove did cling Unto the beech-bough, murmuring now and then; All rested but the restless sons of men And the great sun that wrought this happiness, And all the vale with fruitful hopes did bless. So in a marble chamber bright with flowers, The old men feasted through the fresher hours, And at the hottest time of all the day When now the sun was on his downward way, Sat listening to a tale an elder told, New to his fathers while they yet did hold The cities of some far-off Grecian isle, Though in the heavens the cloud of force and guile Was gathering dark that sent them o'er the sea To win new lands for their posterity.
THE SON OF CROESUS.
ARGUMENT.
Croesus, King of Lydia, dreamed that he saw his son slain by an iron weapon, and though by every means he strove to avert this doom from him, yet thus it happened, for his son was slain by the hand of the man who seemed least of all likely to do the deed.
Of Croesus tells my tale, a king of old In Lydia, ere the Mede fell on the land, A man made mighty by great heaps of gold, Feared for the myriads strong of heart and hand That 'neath his banners wrought out his command, And though his latter ending happed on ill, Yet first of every joy he had his fill.
Two sons he had, and one was dumb from birth; The other one, that Atys had to name, Grew up a fair youth, and of might and worth, And well it seemed the race wherefrom he came From him should never get reproach or shame: But yet no stroke he struck before his death, In no war-shout he spent his latest breath.
Now Croesus, lying on his bed anight Dreamed that he saw this dear son laid a-low, And folk lamenting he was slain outright, And that some iron thing had dealt the blow; By whose hand guided he could nowise know, Or if in peace by traitors it were done, Or in some open war not yet begun.
Three times one night this vision broke his sleep, So that at last he rose up from his bed, That he might ponder how he best might keep The threatened danger from so dear a head; And, since he now was old enough to wed, The King sent men to search the lands around, Until some matchless maiden should be found;
That in her arms this Atys might forget The praise of men, and fame of history, Whereby full many a field has been made wet With blood of men, and many a deep green sea Been reddened therewithal, and yet shall be; That her sweet voice might drown the people's praise, Her eyes make bright the uneventful days.
So when at last a wonder they had brought, From some sweet land down by the ocean's rim. Than whom no fairer could by man be thought, And ancient dames, scanning her limb by limb, Had said that she was fair enough for him, To her was Atys married with much show, And looked to dwell with her in bliss enow.
And in meantime afield he never went, Either to hunting or the frontier war, No dart was cast, nor any engine bent Anigh him, and the Lydian men afar Must rein their steeds, and the bright blossoms mar If they have any lust of tourney now, And in far meadows must they bend the bow.
And also through the palace everywhere The swords and spears were taken from the wall That long with honour had been hanging there, And from the golden pillars of the hall; Lest by mischance some sacred blade should fall, And in its falling bring revenge at last For many a fatal battle overpast.
And every day King Croesus wrought with care To save his dear son from that threatened end, And many a beast he offered up with prayer Unto the gods, and much of wealth did spend, That they so prayed might yet perchance defend That life, until at least that he were dead, With earth laid heavy on his unseeing head.
But in the midst even of the wedding feast There came a man, who by the golden hall Sat down upon the steps, and man or beast He heeded not, but there against the wall He leaned his head, speaking no word at all, Till, with his son and son's wife, came the King, And then unto his gown the man did cling.
"What man art thou?" the King said to him then, "That in such guise thou prayest on thy knee; Hast thou some fell foe here among my men? Or hast thou done an ill deed unto me? Or has thy wife been carried over sea? Or hast thou on this day great need of gold? Or say, why else thou now art grown so bold."
"O King," he said, "I ask no gold to-day, And though indeed thy greatness drew me here, No wrong have I that thou couldst wipe away; And nought of mine the pirate folk did bear Across the sea; none of thy folk I fear: But all the gods are now mine enemies, Therefore I kneel before thee on my knees.
"For as with mine own brother on a day Within the running place at home I played, Unwittingly I smote him such-a-way That dead upon the green grass he was laid; Half-dead myself I fled away dismayed, Wherefore I pray thee help me in my need, And purify my soul of this sad deed.
"If of my name and country thou wouldst know, In Phrygia yet my father is a king, Gordius, the son of Midas, rich enow In corn and cattle, golden cup and ring; And mine own name before I did this thing Was called Adrastus, whom, in street and hall, The slayer of his brother men now call."
"Friend," said the King, "have thou no fear of me; For though, indeed, I am right happy now, Yet well I know this may not always be, And I may chance some day to kneel full low, And to some happy man mine head to bow With prayers to do a greater thing than this, Dwell thou with us, and win again thy bliss.
"For in this city men in sport and play Forget the trouble that the gods have sent; Who therewithal send wine, and many a may As fair as she for whom the Trojan went, And many a dear delight besides have lent, Which, whoso is well loved of them shall keep Till in forgetful death he falls asleep.
"Therefore to-morrow shall those rites be done That kindred blood demands that thou hast shed, That if the mouth of thine own mother's son Did hap to curse thee ere he was quite dead, The curse may lie the lighter on thine head, Because the flower-crowned head of many a beast Has fallen voiceless in our glorious feast."
Then did Adrastus rise and thank the King, And the next day when yet low was the sun, The sacrifice and every other thing That unto these dread rites belonged, was done; And there Adrastus dwelt, hated of none, And loved of many, and the King loved him, For brave and wise he was and strong of limb.
But chiefly amongst all did Atys love The luckless stranger, whose fair tales of war The Lydian's heart abundantly did move, And much they talked of wandering out afar Some day, to lands where many marvels are, With still the Phrygian through all things to be The leader unto all felicity.
Now at this time folk came unto the King Who on a forest's borders dwelling were, Wherein there roamed full many a dangerous thing, As wolf and wild bull, lion and brown bear; But chiefly in that forest was the lair Of a great boar that no man could withstand. And many a woe he wrought upon the land.
Since long ago that men in Calydon Held chase, no beast like him had once been seen He ruined vineyards lying in the sun, After his harvesting the men must glean What he had left; right glad they had not been Among the tall stalks of the ripening wheat, The fell destroyer's fatal tusks to meet.
For often would the lonely man entrapped In vain from his dire fury strive to hide In some thick hedge, and other whiles it happed Some careless stranger by his place would ride, And the tusks smote his fallen horse's side, And what help then to such a wretch could come With sword he could not draw, and far from home?
Or else girls, sent their water-jars to fill, Would come back pale, too terrified to cry, Because they had but seen him from the hill; Or else again with side rent wretchedly, Some hapless damsel midst the brake would lie. Shortly to say, there neither man nor maid Was safe afield whether they wrought or played.
Therefore were come these dwellers by the wood To pray the King brave men to them to send, That they might live; and if he deemed it good, That Atys with the other knights should wend, They thought their grief the easier should have end; For both by gods and men they knew him loved, And easily by hope of glory moved.