II.

Now yester evening, as I came Across the marshes, with my gun Under my arm, and a brace of ducks Slung over my shoulder, A strange thing happened. You know how dull the weather was: Clouds grey and saffron hung low down, Quickening the coming darkness. Being still some way from home, I sat me down, beside a pool, On the fallen trunk of a tree To fill my pipe. And sitting there it chanced I gazed Into the dark, deep water, And saw distinctly in the pool A living eye Looking at me, A veiled, unpleasant, sickly eye-- The eye of Chelech: The man I’d caused to be done to death, Over three thousand years ago, When I was King Shalmaneser, And wielded the might of Assur In far-famed Nineveh, because His wife loved him and I loved her.

SHADOWS

From the towering opal globes, in the street, the crude white light streams down On him, blue-eyed, on her, with hair like a flaming golden crown: His cigarette glows to a crimson star as he slowly paces, While, beside him, the woman smiling, shivers in her silks and laces.

THE PALACE OF DESIRES

I entered, through a pillared portico, A stately hall with walls of burnished bronze, Where twenty different coloured lambent flames In separate, slender spirals hung aloft, Shedding a subdued, stellar brilliancy, Kind, as a discreet caress, to the eyes. Here maidens danced; while other maidens sang, Or stirred to sensuous music golden strings Caught, like a fairy web, ’tween ivory bows. The graceful cadence of their waving arms Invited me to follow them. Indeed ’Twas no unpleasant bidding. Thus I reached, With careless dalliance, a marble court Ablaze with violet fire; where flowers shone Like jewels, where perfume-laden fountains played And birds with human voices sang--each note A charm-born breath of passionate suggestion. I halted wondering, for this marvellous place Was paved with sharp-edged rubies. Yet the birds Gave forth such dulcet notes, the maidens smiled So winningly.... I bruised and cut my feet.... Surely the promised joy must be supreme. Teeth set, hands clenched, I dragged my steps along, An icy sweat oozed out of every pore And clogged my hair; but still I struggled on. What goal, once won, was ever worth the winning That has not wrung the life-blood from our being. At last! At last! The farther end was reached. Then some mysterious force asunder drew Two heavy purple curtains. I beheld A lofty chamber white as virgin snow And bathed in soft and even whiter light. Here, on a silk-draped throne of sapphire, lay Two women naked. Ah! such loveliness Once to behold were worth a thousand pangs. Their faces and their figures visions were, Such as dear youth alone can conjure up In solitary secrecy of thought. Their eyes had hues unknown to human sight, The hues of everlasting rainbows spanning The far off interspaces of the worlds. And one was fair, with wondrous woven hair By godlike fingers spun from that first gleam Of perfect light, which shooting through the spheres, Rended of old the primal darkness, changed The cold revolving orbs to living worlds. But no less proudly did her sister bear The regal mantle of her sable tresses, Which fell about her perfect shoulders, o’er The curving, marble splendour of her hips. Again the guiding maidens urged me on, Who little wanted urging. Now the ground Was soothing in its softness. Had there been Iron flags red hot I would have ventured still: For _they_ had seen me, and awaiting lay Upon their throne in rosy nakedness. Their glorious eyes were heavy-veiled with love; Their lips were parted, waiting for my lips To close them with a kiss; their arms outstretched Offered the havens of their breasts to me. So I had won, not laboured all in vain. This was my minute wherein life is crowded. The wild triumphal ebbing of my blood Elated me. The magic of success Gave me back youth with all its strength and dreams. But then a something quivered ’neath my feet, So cold and loathsome that I started back And with misgiving eyes explored the ground. Ah! me, the soothing softness I had felt, After the torture of the jewelled pavement, Was made of human bodies interlaced.... Dead men and women strong, and young, and white With the weird whiteness of this common grave! And then I knew I stood at last within The secret chamber of that fatal palace, Wrought of the mad desires of men, and paved With mad despairs, the dread Gehenna where The two arch-harlots Fame and Fortune dwell.

LINEAGE

I

A tea-room girl, she carries a tray Through the day. Of consciousness there is in her face Hardly a trace, Beyond a droop of the lip or lift Of the brows in thanks for a generous gift. She is reserved, indifferent, plain; Yet with a something in her air Which causes you to look again At the wealth of her red-bronze hair.

II

Alone in her darkened room at night Robed in white, Sitting for hours in a high-backed chair, Stately and fair, With flashing eyes and lips proudly curled, In thought she’s queen of a beautiful world, Projecting, through a mental prism, Her dream of power and pride of race-- The outcome of some royal atavism, Impossible to trace.

THE EARTH REGAINED

Down, deep down, the damned are delving, Delving at their prison walls, Ever delving; Till at times the walls give way And the shrieking, hissing spirits, Through some old volcanic fissure, Upwards scramble to the light, Free to walk the earth again, Loosing in their eager flight Hell’s liquid fire upon the world.

ENVOI

Let it linger, linger in your ear, What I have said: Let it linger, linger with you, dear, When I am dead.

STRANGEWAYS & SONS, Tower Street, Cambridge Circus, W.C.

_Other Works by Louis Vintras._

IN BLACK AND GOLD.

Impressions in Verse.

Crown 8vo. 1_s._ (_Out of Print._)

_THE STAR._--‘Some twelve impressions in verse ... entitled “In Black and Gold,” are remarkable for the cleverness of their subjects.... “At the Music Hall,” in its vivid description of the “music-hall Circe” who, mated to a lord, and gazing on the scene of her former triumphs, hears “the old Bohemian voice of Sin” asking if her marriage is worth one hour of such fame as was hers, is perhaps the best.’

PASSION ROYAL.

A Legendary Romance of Assyria.

Crown 8vo. 6_s._ London: CHAPMAN & HALL.

_THE ACADEMY._--‘The sumptuousness of Nineveh has touched the writer’s style, and his book is rich in colour.’

_THE LITERARY WORLD._--‘The book is a well-conceived and dramatic story.’

_THE SCOTSMAN._--‘The tale is really a romance of passion, the archæological interest, carefully wrought up and stimulating as it is, being always subordinate to the human. It is ably written.’

_THE PALL MALL GAZETTE._--‘Ninus, the priest-king, when the tale begins, is laying siege to Bactria. The fall of the city, the orgies of blood and lust, all the turmoil and din and wickedness of a great Eastern camp in the hour of victory are well described.... Mr. Vintras has written a very interesting romance, which certainly rewards perusal.’

LADY FOLLY.

London: HURST & BLACKETT, Ltd.

Crown 8vo. 6_s._

_THE BOOKMAN._--‘But it is the villain of the piece, the beautiful and strong-nerved Violet Merveil, who provides the real entertainment. Whether fighting a bishop or fascinating him; whether bent on ruining domestic happiness, or queening it on the stage, or humbly performing her Roman devotions, she is always admirable and admirably attired.’

_THE DAILY TELEGRAPH._--‘Dr. Louis Vintras ... stands convicted of being a subtle and genial humorist, endowed with a lively imagination, a happy turn for repartee and epigram, and a remarkable faculty for divining or detecting the hidden springs and more recondite motives of hidden action. Dr. Vintras is, moreover, a master of elegant and idiomatic English.... “Lady Folly” is destined to take rank among the conspicuous literary successes of the current season.’

_THE ACADEMY._--‘With absorbed interest you follow his course, for the style is brilliant and captivating.... Of smart portraiture and clever dialogue “Lady Folly” is full.’

_THE SATURDAY REVIEW._--‘His descriptions are singularly striking.’

A PAGAN SOUL.

London: HURST & BLACKETT, Ltd.

Crown 8vo. 6_s._

_THE DAILY TELEGRAPH._--‘The book is eminently conversational, and teams with “quip and repartee,” with colloquial lunges and ripostes in carte and tierce, with unforced smartness and “good things” said no less naturally than effectively.’

_THE SATURDAY REVIEW._--‘Louis Vintras ought to write a play. His dialogue and epigrams are excellent.’

_Poetry Published at the Unicorn._

THE VINE DRESSER. By T. STURGE MOORE. Fcap. 8vo. cloth gilt, 5_s._ net.

_The Times._--‘Mr. Moore has an individual talent and a gift of distinction. The first poem in the book--a recipe for making Coän wine, supposed to have been “sent from Egypt with a fair robe of tissue to a Sicilian vine-dresser, B.C. 276”--is like a cameo with its clear-cut images of sea and Sicily.’

APHRODITE AGAINST ARTEMIS. A Play. By T. STURGE MOORE. Small 4to. cloth gilt, 5_s._ net.

_The Pall Mall Gazette._--‘There is a growing sense of terror in the scene, that raises the work to a point of high perfection; the gloom of an advancing fate deepens gradually and imperceptibly, and the final picture is grimly painted and expressive. This is a work of great promise, the production of an earnest and sincere artist.’

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_The Literary World._--‘The best piece of work that so far he has made public.... We hope Mr. Bottomley’s play will be put upon the stage.’

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_The Athenæum._--‘Mr. Binyon is slowly but surely winning for himself a distinguished place in the ranks of contemporary poetry. He has the right temper; he does not cry aloud in the streets, or make any attempt to catch the veering of the popular taste, but is content to write for the sake of having written, with invariable sincerity of thought, directness of vision, and conscientious craftmanship. The best of these Odes are on the highest level of achievement.’

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_The Pall Mall Gazette._--‘It is poetry, and not merely accomplished verse.’

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_The Outlook._--‘On the whole it is safe to say that we have not had anything quite so spontaneous, so fresh, so deft, and so promising for a considerable time past.... He rhymes you page upon page of the soundest, frankest, and prettiest stuff, never getting out of breath, never faltering or hesitating, and never tumbling into the sloughs and quagmires that beset the long-winded.’

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_The Artist’s Library._

EDITED BY LAURENCE BINYON.

_The Volumes of the Artist’s Library are Foolscap Quartos (8½ × 6¾ inches). The Letterpress is on antique laid paper. The Illustrations are all separately printed. The price is 2s. 6d. net each volume, in paper boards, with cloth back, or 3s. 6d. net in buckram, extra gilt._

HOKUSAI. By C. J. HOLMES. With Twenty Full-page Plates, including Four Plates printed in Colours. Second Edition.

_Le Mercure de France._--‘Ce beau volume est nécessaire à tous les artistes et à tous ceux qui aiment l’art.’

GIOVANNI BELLINI. By ROGER E. FRY. With Twenty-three Full-page Plates, including Three Photogravures. Second Edition.

_Literature._--‘A model of its kind. It is beautifully printed and bound, and both letter-press and illustrations are exceptionally good.’

ALTDORFER. By T. STURGE MOORE. With Twenty-five pages of Illustrations, most of them in tints.

_The Saturday Review_ (in two-column notice).--‘Mr. Sturge Moore is the right sympathetic expounder of this half-childish secluded nature. His own imagination, with its delight in quaint surprises of observation and sharp simplicities of expression, fits him to handle an art that is not for everybody, and at whose gates heavy trespassers should rather be warned by notice-boards than strollers invited by guide-posts.’

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Transcriber’s Notes

• Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.

• Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.