Chapter 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 branched 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."

DIALOGUES.

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 Blessed 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."

DRAMAS.

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.

Alone!