Chapter IV: (Hofmannsthal)

She bore the beaker o’er to him--
Her chin was rounded like its rim--
So light and steady was her tread,
Not one drop of the wine was shed.

So light and sinewy his hand,
He rode his young horse carelessly,
And with an easy mastery
He forced it to a quivering stand.

And yet when from her hand the light
Small beaker he must take, they found
That it was all too hard, for lo,
Both he and she did tremble so
Their two hands never met aright,
And dark wine trickled on the ground.

CHÂTEAU D’ESPAGNE

Castle-of-Spain is builded high,
Thrusting its towers towards the sky,
With its shot-windows looking down
Over the ribbed roofs of the town
That like a cat, her mousing done,
Stretches at ease there in the sun.

Castle-of-Spain upon the crest
Thrones like an eagle come to rest;
Shut wings ready to spread once more
And great and still in the blue to soar:--
On that day you will turn to find
Your castle gone with no wrack behind!

Castle-of-Spain is hard to take.
Your feet will bleed and your heart may break
Long ere that stony height you gain--
Better the safe and pleasant plain!
For, reach the summit, nothing’s there
Save mocking sun and empty air
Or a tall cloud-tower in the heaven’s span--
Small comfort that to an earthly man!
Castle-of-Spain is builded high
Up above us, beyond the sky....

_Easy we build you, hardly we gain,
Castle-of-Spain, Castle-of-Spain!_

SAN PABLO, ANDALUSIA.

BATHING RHYME

Turquoise-green the laughing sea
And the beach is ivory,
Creamy-yellow, creamy-smooth--
How the small waves lisp and soothe!
Those grave woods will not betray,
All the shore is ours to-day,
There’s no soul for many a mile
And the curved waves call and smile,
Coax and whisper and beguile ...
Quick, your garments cast aside
Go to meet the rising tide!

Childlike run we hand in hand
Down the slope of hard smooth sand,
From the kissing sun’s embrace
To the kissing waves that race
Frothing rainbows round our feet--
O the cool shock sharp and sweet!
O the healing of the sea,
Clearer than it seemed to be!
Even clearer--lucent green
Like the eyes of some sea queen.

Looking through the water’s shimmer
Can you see a moving glimmer
Whiter than the rippled sand,
White as snow--a beckoning hand?
Dive, and lo! it swings from sight,
Vanishing in broken light.
She is gone, but memories stay
And transfigure all the day;
In the waves’ soft touch there lingers
Something of her cool white fingers;
Is that shell her gleaming throat,
That dark weed, her hair afloat?...
So her troubling beauty’s power
Like the perfume of a flower
Penetrates the sea and air
Making everything more fair:
Pleasure stabbing to the brain
With the joy that touches pain.

Of the water’s strength made free,
We’re a part of all the sea;
Close its clean caress enfolds,
And each joy that motion holds
Taste we--glad to be alive--
Race the curling waves, or dive
To green dusk, and meet the day
Swift before has passed away
All our crystal pathway thick
With the bubbles rising quick;
Or when that is done we lie
Rocking, gazing at the sky,
Blue and sweet and purely lit
That we gasp to look on it....

Looking through the sunshot deep,
Where our sea-maid lies asleep,
Throat upflung, as white as lime,
With the clear waves keeping time
To the heaving of her breast--
Here we see to veil her rest
Every jewel-tint of green:
Jade, smaragdus, tourmaline,
Beryl and green sapphire’s light,
Streaky solid malachite,
Chrysoprase and peacock-sheen
Of the opal’s shifting green--
Patched and barred with purple dye
Where the rocks like watch-dogs lie,
Waiting crouched beneath the wave,
Hungry, cruel as the grave....

Colour floods our souls until
They must brim and overspill,
Cups too small to bear away
Half the beauty of the day.
But when walking bound with heat
Shackled in the airless street,
When the sky has lost its light
And o’er all the dust is white--
We shall turn to dreams of this
As a damned soul thinks of bliss,
And the loveliness we fail
Now to grasp shall count full tale.

MONTORO’S SONG AGAINST COUNT ALVARO DE LUNA,
HIGH CONSTABLE OF CASTILE

(_From the Spanish of E. Marquina_)

“King, a flock is feeding
down the cliff unheeding
and upon the hill,
with your crook to shepherd it....”
--It is yours, O Favourite.
Ask for what you will.

“In your crown a jewel
blazes fierce and cruel--
kingship to fulfil.
Such a royal stone is it....”
--It is yours, O Favourite.
Ask for what you will.

“King, see, your rejected
sceptre lies neglected
on the throne-steps still.
Long you have forgotten it....”
--It is yours, O Favourite.
Ask for what you will.

“King, in kingly measure
I have spent my treasure,
haste my stores to fill!
Be my Envoy leal and fit--”
--I shall do so, Favourite.
Ask for what you will.

“King, tell me I am dreaming;
I see the tapers gleaming;
a scaffold boding ill
with the headsman swart by it--”
--It is yours, O Favourite,
ask for what you will.

SEA-FOG

Into the soft mist the fishing-boats go,
As silent as moonlight, as silent as snow;
Just where the pale sea melts into the sky,
Silver-grey birds of the autumn, they fly
Slowly and smoothly and statelily past
Till their wide pinions are hidden at last.

From the high rock whence I watch on the hill
Down to the sea, all is muffled and still.
Never a leaflet stirs soft overhead,
Everything living is frozen or fled,
Fled through the mist to more wonderful things....
Am I the only soul left without wings?

PENZANCE.

SORROW

My Sorrow, O my Sorrow, when first you came to rest
Crouched huddling on my hearthstone, I held you to my breast
And cuddled and caressed you, and rocked you o’er and o’er--
My Sorrow like a baby that creeps upon the floor!

I showed you to my neighbours, I made you rhymes to sing,
For I was proud to own you, the delicate small thing;
And so I nursed you always, till you are grown to-day,
My Sorrow, like a tiger tense-crouching for his prey.

Yea, silently and swiftly, my Sorrow, you have grown
Till you are waxed so dreadful I dare not be alone--
Alone I dare not face you, lest I be slain outright--
I pray you, monster Sorrow, to sheathe your claws to-night!

SEAGULL

O that these words of mine,
Leaden and dull,
Shone as your feathers shine,
Swift-racing gull;

Sped like your arrow-flight,
Flashing between
All the wide heaven’s light
And the waves’ green!

Is it the wind’s caress
Bears you along,
Your white wings motionless,
Delicate, strong?

No, in a moment more
Down the steep air
You shoot and whirl and soar,
Effortless there.

Facing the wind you go,
Splendid and free,
Dark on the sky you show,
White on the sea.

Now to the waves you swoop,
Snatch at your prey--
Smoothly you pause and stoop,
And are away,

While the sea’s rage is spent
Leaping at you,
Who make high merriment
Up in the blue.

Then to her calming breast
That pulses still
You will come down to rest
At your wild will.

O for the shining word
Swift as the light,
Showing you, gladdest bird,
Angel of flight!

THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH