A Channel Passage and Other Poems Part 13

We heard, in tune with even our seas that roll, The speech of storm, the thunders of the soul.

Men's pa.s.sions, clothed with all the woes they wrought, Shone through the fire of man's transfiguring thought.

The thirst of knowledge, quenchless at her springs, Ambition, fire that clasps the thrones of kings, Love, light that makes of life one l.u.s.trous hour, And song, the soul's chief crown and throne of power, The hungering heart of greed and ravenous hate, Made music high as heaven and deep as fate.

Strange pity, scarce half scornful of her tear, In Berkeley's vaults bowed down on Edward's bier.

But higher in forceful flight of song than all The soul of man, its own imperious thrall, Rose, when his royal spirit of fierce desire Made life and death for man one flame of fire.

Incarnate man, fast bound as earth and sea, Spake, when his pride would fain set Faustus free.

Eternal beauty, strong as day and night, Shone, when his word bade Helen back to sight.

Fear, when he bowed the soul before her spell, Thundered and lightened through the vaults of h.e.l.l.

The music known of all men's tongues that sing, When Marlowe sang, bade love make heaven of spring; The music none but English tongues may make, Our own sole song, spake first when Marlowe spake; And on his grave, though there no stone may stand, The flower it shows was laid by Shakespeare's hand.

PROLOGUE TO ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM

Love dark as death and fierce as fire on wing Sustains in sin the soul that feels it cling Like flame whose tongues are serpents: hope and fear Die when a love more dire than hate draws near, And stings to death the heart it cleaves in twain, And leaves in ashes all but fear and pain.

Our l.u.s.trous England rose to life and light From Rome's and h.e.l.l's immitigable night, And music laughed and quickened from her breath, When first her sons acclaimed Elizabeth.

Her soul became a lyre that all men heard Who felt their souls give back her lyric word.

Yet now not all at once her perfect power Spake: man's deep heart abode awhile its hour, Abode its hour of utterance; not to wake Till Marlowe's thought in thunderous music spake.

But yet not yet was pa.s.sion's tragic breath Thrilled through with sense of instant life and death, Life actual even as theirs who watched the strife, Death dark and keen and terrible as life.

Here first was truth in song made perfect: here Woke first the war of love and hate and fear.

A man too vile for thought's or shame's control Holds empire on a woman's loftier soul, And withers it to wickedness: in vain Shame quickens thought with penitential pain: In vain dark chance's fitful providence Withholds the crime, and chills the spirit of sense: It wakes again in fire that burns away Repentance, weak as night devoured of day.

Remorse, and ravenous thirst of sin and crime, Rend and consume the soul in strife sublime, And pa.s.sion cries on pity till it hear And tremble as with love that casts out fear.

Dark as the deed and doom he gave to fame For ever lies the sovereign singer's name.

Sovereign and regent on the soul he lives While thought gives thanks for aught remembrance gives, And mystery sees the imperial shadow stand By Marlowe's side alone at Shakespeare's hand.

PROLOGUE TO OLD FORTUNATUS

The golden bells of fairyland, that ring Perpetual chime for childhood's flower-sweet spring, Sang soft memorial music in his ear Whose answering music shines about us here.

Soft laughter as of light that stirs the sea With darkling sense of dawn ere dawn may be, Kind sorrow, pity touched with gentler scorn, Keen wit whose shafts were sunshafts of the morn, Love winged with fancy, fancy thrilled with love, An eagle's aim and ardour in a dove, A man's delight and pa.s.sion in a child, Inform it as when first they wept and smiled.

Life, soiled and rent and ringed about with pain Whose touch lent action less of spur than chain, Left half the happiness his birth designed, And half the power, unquenched in heart and mind.

Comrade and comforter, sublime in shame, A poor man bound in prison whence he came Poor, and took up the burden of his life Smiling, and strong to strive with sorrow and strife, He spake in England's ear the poor man's word, Manful and mournful, deathless and unheard.

His kind great heart was fire, and love's own fire, Compa.s.sion, strong as flesh may feel desire, To enkindle pity and mercy toward a soul Sunk down in shame too deep for shame's control.

His kind keen eye was light to lighten hope Where no man else might see life's darkness ope And pity's touch bring forth from evil good, Sweet as forgiveness, strong as fatherhood.

Names higher than his outshine it and outsoar, But none save one should memory cherish more: Praise and thanksgiving crown the names above, But him we give the gift he gave us, love.

PROLOGUE TO THE d.u.c.h.eSS OF MALFY

When Shakespeare soared from life to death, above All praise, all adoration, save of love, As here on earth above all men he stood That were or are or shall be--great, and good, Past thank or thought of England or of man-- Light from the sunset quickened as it ran.

His word, who sang as never man may sing And spake as never voice of man may ring, Not fruitless fell, as seed on sterile ways, But brought forth increase even to Shakespeare's praise.

Our skies were thrilled and filled, from sea to sea, With stars outshining all their suns to be.

No later light of tragic song they knew Like his whose lightning clove the sunset through.

Half Shakespeare's glory, when his hand sublime Bade all the change of tragic life and time Live, and outlive all date of quick and dead, Fell, rested, and shall rest on Webster's head.

Round him the shadows cast on earth by light Rose, changed, and shone, transfiguring death and night.

Where evil only crawled and hissed and slew On ways where nought save shame and bloodshed grew, He bade the loyal light of honour live, And love, when stricken through the heart, forgive.

Deep down the midnight of the soul of sin He lit the star of mercy throned therein.

High up the darkness of sublime despair He set the sun of love to triumph there.

Things foul or frail his touch made strong and pure, And bade things transient like to stars endure.

Terror, on wings whose flight made night in heaven, Pity, with hands whence life took love for leaven, Breathed round him music whence his mortal breath Drew life that bade forgetfulness and death Die: life that bids his light of fiery fame Endure with England's, yea, with Shakespeare's name.

PROLOGUE TO THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY

Fire, and behind the breathless flight of fire Thunder that quickens fear and quells desire, Make bright and loud the terror of the night Wherein the soul sees only wrath for light.

Wrath winged by love and sheathed by grief in steel Sets on the front of crime death's withering seal.

The heaving horror of the storms of sin Brings forth in fear the lightning hid therein, And flashes back to darkness: truth, found pure And perfect, asks not heaven if shame endure.

What life and death were his whose raging song Bore heaven such witness of the wild world's wrong, What hand was this that grasped such thunder, none Knows: night and storm seclude him from the sun.

By daytime none discerns the fire of Mars: Deep darkness bares to sight the sterner stars, The lights whose dawn seems doomsday. None may tell Whence rose a world so lit from heaven and h.e.l.l.

Life-wasting love, hate born of raging l.u.s.t, Fierce retribution, fed with death's own dust And sorrow's pampering poison, cross and meet, And wind the world in pa.s.sion's winding-sheet.

So, when dark faith in faith's dark ages heard Falsehood, and drank the poison of the Word, Two shades misshapen came to monstrous birth, A father fiend in heaven, a thrall on earth: Man, meanest born of beasts that press the sod, And die: the vilest of his creatures, G.o.d.

A judge unjust, a slave that praised his name, Made life and death one fire of sin and shame.

And thence reverberate even on Shakespeare's age A light like darkness crossed his sunbright stage.

Music, sublime as storm or sorrow, sang Before it: tempest like a harpstring rang.

The fiery shadow of a name unknown Rose, and in song's high heaven abides alone.

PROLOGUE TO THE BROKEN HEART

The mightiest choir of song that memory hears Gave England voice for fifty l.u.s.trous years.

Sunrise and thunder fired and shook the skies That saw the sun-G.o.d Marlowe's opening eyes.

The morn's own music, answered of the sea, Spake, when his living lips bade Shakespeare be, And England, made by Shakespeare's quickening breath Divine and deathless even till life be death, Brought forth to time such G.o.dlike sons of men That shamefaced love grows pride, and now seems then.

Shame that their day so shone, so sang, so died, Remembering, finds remembrance one with pride.

That day was clouding toward a stormlit close When Ford's red sphere upon the twilight rose.

Sublime with stars and sunset fire, the sky Glowed as though day, nigh dead, should never die.

Sorrow supreme and strange as chance or doom Shone, spake, and shuddered through the l.u.s.trous gloom.

Tears lit with love made all the darkening air Bright as though death's dim sunrise thrilled it there And life re-risen took comfort. Stern and still As hours and years that change and anguish fill, The strong secluded spirit, ere it woke, Dwelt dumb till power possessed it, and it spoke.

Strange, calm, and sure as sense of beast or bird, Came forth from night the thought that breathed the word; That chilled and thrilled with pa.s.sion-stricken breath Halls where Calantha trod the dance of death.

A strength of soul too pa.s.sionately pure To change for aught that horror bids endure, To quail and wail and weep faint life away Ere sovereign sorrow smite, relent, and slay, Sustained her silent, till her bridal bloom Changed, smiled, and waned in rapture toward the tomb.

Terror twin-born with pity kissed and thrilled The lips that Shakespeare's word or Webster's filled: Here both, cast out, fell silent: pity shrank, Rebuked, and terror, spirit-stricken, sank: The soul a.s.sailed arose afar above All reach of all but only death and love.

PROLOGUE TO A VERY WOMAN