Part 12

"O Sire," they said, "thou know'st how Hercules Was not content to wait till folk asked aid, But sought the pests among their guarded trees; Thou know'st what name the Theban Cadmus made, And how the bull of Marathon was laid Dead on the fallows of the Athenian land, And how folk worshipped Atalanta's hand.

"Fair would thy son's name look upon the roll Wherein such noble deeds as this are told; And great delight shall surely fill thy soul, Thinking upon his deeds when thou art old, And thy brave heart is waxen faint and cold: Dost thou not know, O King, how men will strive That they, when dead, still in their sons may live?"

He shuddered as they spoke, because he thought, Most certainly a winning tale is this To draw him from the net where he is caught, For hearts of men grow weary of all bliss; Nor is he one to be content with his, If he should hear the trumpet-blast of fame And far-off people calling on his name.

"Good friends," he said, "go, get ye back again. And doubt not I will send you men to slay This pest ye fear: yet shall your prayer be vain If ye with any other speak to-day; And for my son, with me he needs must stay, For mighty cares oppress the Lydian land. Fear not, for ye shall have a noble band."

And with that promise must they be content, And so departed, having feasted well. And yet some god or other ere they went, If they were silent, this their tale must tell To more than one man; therefore it befell, That at the last Prince Atys knew the thing, And came with angry eyes unto the King.

"Father," he said, "since when am I grown vile Since when am I grown helpless of my hands? Or else what folk, with words enwrought with guile Thine ears have poisoned; that when far-off lands My fame might fill, by thy most strange commands I needs must stay within this slothful home, Whereto would God that I had never come?

"What! wilt thou take mine honour quite away Wouldst thou, that, as with her I just have wed I sit among thy folk at end of day, She should be ever turning round her head To watch some man for war apparelled Because he wears a sword that he may use, Which grace to me thou ever wilt refuse?

"Or dost thou think, when thou hast run thy race And thou art gone, and in thy stead I reign, The people will do honour to my place, Or that the lords leal men will still remain, If yet my father's sword be sharp in vain? If on the wall his armour still hang up, While for a spear I hold a drinking-cup?"

"O Son!" quoth Croesus, "well I know thee brave And worthy of high deeds of chivalry; Therefore the more thy dear life would I save, Which now is threatened by the gods on high; Three times one night I dreamed I saw thee die, Slain by some deadly iron-pointed thing, While weeping lords stood round thee in a ring."

Then loud laughed Atys, and he said again, "Father, and did this ugly dream tell thee What day it was on which I should be slain? As may the gods grant I may one day be, And not from sickness die right wretchedly, Groaning with pain, my lords about my bed, Wishing to God that I were fairly dead;

"But slain in battle, as the Lydian kings Have died ere now, in some great victory, While all about the Lydian shouting rings Death to the beaten foemen as they fly. What death but this, O father! should I die? But if my life by iron shall be done, What steel to-day shall glitter in the sun?

"Yea, father, if to thee it seemeth good To keep me from the bright steel-bearing throng, Let me be brave at least within the wood; For surely, if thy dream be true, no wrong Can hap to me from this beast's tushes strong: Unless perchance the beast is grown so wise, He haunts the forest clad in Lydian guise."

Then Croesus said: "O Son, I love thee so, That thou shalt do thy will upon this tide: But since unto this hunting thou must go, A trusty friend along with thee shall ride, Who not for anything shall leave thy side. I think, indeed, he loves thee well enow To thrust his heart 'twixt thee and any blow.

"Go then, O Son, and if by some short span Thy life be measured, how shall it harm thee, If while life last thou art a happy man? And thou art happy; only unto me Is trembling left, and infelicity: The trembling of the man who loves on earth, But unto thee is hope and present mirth.

"Nay, be thou not ashamed, for on this day I fear not much: thou read'st my dream aright, No teeth or claws shall take thy life away. And it may chance, ere thy last glorious fight, I shall be blinded by the endless night; And brave Adrastus on this day shall be Thy safeguard, and shall give good heart to me.

"Go then, and send him hither, and depart; And as the heroes did so mayst thou do, Winning such fame as well may please thine heart." With that word from the King did Atys go, Who, left behind, sighed, saying, "May it be so, Even as I hope; and yet I would to God These men upon my threshold ne'er had trod."

So when Adrastus to the King was come He said unto him, "O my Phrygian friend, We in this land have given thee a home, And 'gainst all foes your life will we defend: Wherefore for us that life thou shouldest spend, If any day there should be need therefor; And now a trusty friend I need right sore.

"Doubtless ere now thou hast heard many say There is a doom that threatens my son's life; Therefore this place is stript of arms to-day, And therefore still bides Atys with his wife, And tempts not any god by raising strife; Yet none the less by no desire of his, To whom would war be most abundant bliss.

"And since to-day some glory he may gain Against a monstrous bestial enemy And that the meaning of my dream is plain; That saith that he by steel alone shall die, His burning wish I may not well deny, Therefore afield to-morrow doth he wend And herein mayst thou show thyself my friend--

"For thou as captain of his band shalt ride, And keep a watchful eye of everything, Nor leave him whatsoever may betide: Lo, thou art brave, the son of a great king, And with thy praises doth this city ring, Why should I tell thee what a name those gain, Who dying for their friends, die not in vain?"

Then said Adrastus, "Now were I grown base Beyond all words, if I should spare for aught In guarding him, so sit with smiling face, And of this matter take no further thought, Because with my life shall his life be bought, If ill should hap; and no ill fate it were, If I should die for what I hold so dear."

Then went Adrastus, and next morn all things, That 'longed unto the hunting were well dight, And forth they went clad as the sons of kings, Fair was the morn, as through the sunshine bright They rode, the Prince half wild with great delight, The Phrygian smiling on him soberly, And ever looking round with watchful eye.

So through the city all the rout rode fast, With many a great black-muzzled yellow hound; And then the teeming country-side they passed, Until they came to sour and rugged ground, And there rode up a little heathy mound, That overlooked the scrubby woods and low, That of the beast's lair somewhat they might know.

And there a good man of the country-side Showed them the places where he mostly lay; And they, descending, through the wood did ride, And followed on his tracks for half the day. And at the last they brought him well to bay, Within an oozy space amidst the wood, About the which a ring of alders stood.

So when the hounds' changed voices clear they heard With hearts aflame on towards him straight they drew Atys the first of all, of nought afeard, Except that folk should say some other slew The beast; and lustily his horn he blew, Going afoot; then, mighty spear in hand, Adrastus headed all the following band.

Now when they came unto the plot of ground Where stood the boar, hounds dead about him lay Or sprawled about, bleeding from many a wound, But still the others held him well at bay, Nor had he been bestead thus ere that day. But yet, seeing Atys, straight he rushed at him, Speckled with foam, bleeding in flank and limb.

Then Atys stood and cast his well-steeled spear With a great shout, and straight and well it flew; For now the broad blade cutting through the ear, A stream of blood from out the shoulder drew. And therewithal another, no less true, Adrastus cast, whereby the boar had died: But Atys drew the bright sword from his side,

And to the tottering beast he drew anigh: But as the sun's rays ran adown the blade Adrastus threw a javelin hastily, For of the mighty beast was he afraid, Lest by his wounds he should not yet be stayed, But with a last rush cast his life away, And dying there, the son of Croesus slay.

But even as the feathered dart he hurled, His strained, despairing eyes, beheld the end, And changed seemed all the fashion of the world, And past and future into one did blend, As he beheld the fixed eyes of his friend, That no reproach had in them, and no fear, For Death had seized him ere he thought him near.

Adrastus shrieked, and running up he caught The falling man, and from his bleeding side Drew out the dart, and, seeing that death had brought Deliverance to him, he thereby had died; But ere his hand the luckless steel could guide, And he the refuge of poor souls could win, The horror-stricken huntsmen had rushed in.

And these, with blows and cries he heeded nought His unresisting hands made haste to bind; Then of the alder-boughs a bier they wrought, And laid the corpse thereon, and 'gan to wind Homeward amidst the tangled wood and blind, And going slowly, at the eventide, Some leagues from Sardis did that day abide.

Onward next morn the slaughtered man they bore, With him that slew him, and at end of day They reached the city, and with mourning sore Toward the King's palace did they take their way. He in an open western chamber lay Feasting, though inwardly his heart did burn Until that Atys should to him return.

And when those wails first smote upon his ear He set the wine-cup down, and to his feet He rose, and bitter all-consuming fear Swallowed his joy, and nigh he went to meet That which was coming through the weeping street; But in the end he thought it good to wait, And stood there doubting all the ills of fate.

But when at last up to that royal place Folk brought the thing he once had held so dear Still stood the King, staring with ghastly face As they brought forth Adrastus and the bier, But spoke at last, slowly without a tear, "O Phrygian man, that I did purify, Is it through thee that Atys came to die?"

"O King," Adrastus said, "take now my life, With whatso torment seemeth good to thee, As my word went, for I would end this strife, And underneath the earth lie quietly; Nor is it my will here alive to be: For as my brother, so Prince Atys died, And this unlucky hand some god did guide."

Then as a man constrained, the tale he told From end to end, nor spared himself one whit: And as he spoke, the wood did still behold, The trodden grass, and Atys dead on it; And many a change o'er the King's face did flit Of kingly rage, and hatred and despair, As on the slayer's face he still did stare.

At last he said, "Thy death avails me nought. The gods themselves have done this bitter deed, That I was all too happy was their thought, Therefore thy heart is dead and mine doth bleed, And I am helpless as a trodden weed: Thou art but as the handle of the spear, The caster sits far off from any fear.

"Yet, if thy hurt they meant, I can do this,-- --Loose him and let him go in peace from me-- I will not slay the slayer of all my bliss; Yet go, poor man, for when thy face I see I curse the gods for their felicity. Surely some other slayer they would have found, If thou hadst long ago been under ground.

"Alas, Adrastus! in my inmost heart I knew the gods would one day do this thing, But deemed indeed that it would be thy part To comfort me amidst my sorrowing; Make haste to go, for I am still a King! Madness may take me, I have many hands Who will not spare to do my worst commands."

With that Adrastus' bonds were done away, And forthwith to the city gates he ran, And on the road where they had been that day Rushed through the gathering night; and some lone man Beheld next day his visage wild and wan, Peering from out a thicket of the wood Where he had spilt that well-belovéd blood.

And now the day of burial pomp must be, And to those rites all lords of Lydia came About the King, and that day, they and he Cast royal gifts of rich things on the flame; But while they stood and wept, and called by name Upon the dead, amidst them came a man With raiment rent, and haggard face and wan:

Who when the marshals would have thrust him out And men looked strange on him, began to say, "Surely the world is changed since ye have doubt Of who I am; nay, turn me not away, For ye have called me princely ere to-day-- Adrastus, son of Gordius, a great king, Where unto Pallas Phrygian maidens sing.

"O Lydians, many a rich thing have ye cast Into this flame, but I myself will give A greater gift, since now I see at last The gods are wearied for that still I live, And with their will, why should I longer strive? Atys, O Atys, thus I give to thee A life that lived for thy felicity."

And therewith from his side a knife he drew, And, crying out, upon the pile he leapt, And with one mighty stroke himself he slew. So there these princes both together slept, And their light ashes, gathered up, were kept Within a golden vessel wrought all o'er With histories of this hunting of the boar.

* * * * *

A gentle wind had risen midst his tale, That bore the sweet scents of the fertile vale In at the open windows; and these men The burden of their years scarce noted then, Soothed by the sweet luxurious summer time, And by the cadence of that ancient rhyme, Spite of its saddening import; nay, indeed, Of some such thoughts the Wanderers had need As that tale gave them--Yea, a man shall be A wonder for his glorious chivalry, First in all wisdom, of a prudent mind, Yet none the less him too his fate shall find Unfenced by these, a man 'mongst other men. Yea, and will Fortune pick out, now and then, The noblest for the anvil of her blows; Great names are few, and yet, indeed, who knows What greater souls have fallen 'neath the stroke Of careless fate? Purblind are most of folk, The happy are the masters of the earth Which ever give small heed to hapless worth; So goes the world, and this we needs must bear Like eld and death: yet there were some men there Who drank in silence to the memory Of those who failed on earth great men to be, Though better than the men who won the crown. But when the sun was fairly going down They left the house, and, following up the stream, In the low sun saw the kingfisher gleam 'Twixt bank and alder, and the grebe steal out From the high sedge, and, in his restless doubt, Dive down, and rise to see what men were there: They saw the swallow chase high up in air The circling gnats; the shaded dusky pool Broke by the splashing chub; the ripple cool, Rising and falling, of some distant weir They heard, till it oppressed the listening ear, As twilight grew: so back they turned again Glad of their rest, and pleasure after pain.

* * * * *

Within the gardens once again they met, That now the roses did well-nigh forget, For hot July was drawing to an end, And August came the fainting year to mend With fruit and grain; so 'neath the trellises, Nigh blossomless, did they lie well at ease, And watched the poppies burn across the grass, And o'er the bindweed's bells the brown bee pass Still murmuring of his gains: windless and bright The morn had been, to help their dear delight; But heavy clouds ere noon grew round the sun, And, halfway to the zenith, wild and dun The sky grew, and the thunder growled afar; But, ere the steely clouds began their war, A change there came, and, as by some great hand, The clouds that hung in threatening o'er the land Were drawn away; then a light wind arose That shook the light stems of that flowery close, And made men sigh for pleasure; therewithal Did mirth upon the feasting elders fall, And they no longer watched the lowering sky, But called aloud for some new history. Then spoke the Suabian, "Sirs, this tale is told Among our searchers for fine stones and gold, And though I tell it wrong be good to me; For I the written book did never see, Made by some Fleming, as I think, wherein Is told this tale of wilfulness and sin."

THE WATCHING OF THE FALCON.

ARGUMENT.

The case of this falcon was such, that whoso watched it without sleeping for seven days and seven nights, had his first wish granted him by a fay lady, that appeared to him thereon; and some wished one thing, and some another. But a certain king, who watched the falcon daily, would wish for nought but the love of that fay; which wish being accomplished, was afterwards his ruin.

Across the sea a land there is, Where, if fate will, may men have bliss, For it is fair as any land: There hath the reaper a full hand, While in the orchard hangs aloft The purple fig, a-growing soft; And fair the trellised vine-bunches Are swung across the high elm-trees; And in the rivers great fish play, While over them pass day by day The laden barges to their place. There maids are straight, and fair of face, And men are stout for husbandry, And all is well as it can be Upon this earth where all has end. For on them God is pleased to send The gift of Death down from above. That envy, hatred, and hot love, Knowledge with hunger by his side, And avarice and deadly pride, There may have end like everything Both to the shepherd and the king: Lest this green earth become but hell If folk for ever there should dwell. Full little most men think of this, But half in woe and half in bliss They pass their lives, and die at last Unwilling, though their lot be cast In wretched places of the earth, Where men have little joy from birth Until they die; in no such case Were those who tilled this pleasant place. There soothly men were loth to die, Though sometimes in his misery A man would say "Would I were dead!" Alas! full little likelihead That he should live for ever there. So folk within that country fair Lived on, nor from their memories drave The thought of what they could not have. And without need tormented still Each other with some bitter ill; Yea, and themselves too, growing grey With dread of some long-lingering day, That never came ere they were dead With green sods growing on the head; Nowise content with what they had, But falling still from good to bad While hard they sought the hopeless best And seldom happy or at rest Until at last with lessening blood One foot within the grave they stood.

Now so it chanced that in this land There did a certain castle stand, Set all alone deep in the hills, Amid the sound of falling rills Within a valley of sweet grass, To which there went one narrow pass Through the dark hills, but seldom trod. Rarely did horse-hoof press the sod About the quiet weedy moat, Where unscared did the great fish float; Because men dreaded there to see The uncouth things of faërie; Nathless by some few fathers old These tales about the place were told That neither squire nor seneschal Or varlet came in bower or hall, Yet all things were in order due, Hangings of gold and red and blue, And tables with fair service set; Cups that had paid the Cæsar's debt Could he have laid his hands on them; Dorsars, with pearls in every hem, And fair embroidered gold-wrought things, Fit for a company of kings; And in the chambers dainty beds, With pillows dight for fair young heads; And horses in the stables were, And in the cellars wine full clear And strong, and casks of ale and mead; Yea, all things a great lord could need. For whom these things were ready there None knew; but if one chanced to fare Into that place at Easter-tide, There would he find a falcon tied Unto a pillar of the Hall; And such a fate to him would fall, That if unto the seventh night, He watched the bird from dark to light, And light to dark unceasingly, On the last evening he should see A lady beautiful past words; Then, were he come of clowns or lords, Son of a swineherd or a king, There must she grant him anything Perforce, that he might dare to ask, And do his very hardest task But if he slumbered, ne'er again The wretch would wake for he was slain Helpless, by hands he could not see, And torn and mangled wretchedly.