A Legend of Old Persia and Other Poems Part 4

STORIES IN VERSE.

Adeimantus.

The dream of Adeimantus Who carved for a Grecian Prince Statues of perfect marble, Fairer than all things since, Wonderful, white, and gracious Like lotus flowers on a mere, Or phantoms born of the moonbeam, Beyond all praise but a tear.

The dream of Adeimantus (As he lay upon his bed), Wonderful, white, and gracious, And this was the word it said.

"Arise! oh! Adeimantus, The breath of the dawn blows chill, The stars begin to fade Ere the first ray strikes the sill.

Arise! oh! Adeimantus For here is work to your hand, If the fingers fashion the dream As the soul can understand."

He rose from his troubled bed Ere the dream had faded away, And he said, "I will fashion the dream As the potter fashions the clay."

He said in his great heart's vanity, "I will fashion a wondrous thing To stand in a palace of onyx And blind the eyes of a king."

He said in the pride of his soul As the birds began to sing, "I will surely take no rest Till I fashion this wondrous thing.

I will swear an oath to eschew The white wine and the red, To eat no delicate meats Nor break the fair, white bread.

I will not walk in the city But labour here alone In the dew and the dusk and the flush Till the vision smiles from the stone."

Six days he wrought at the marble, But cunning had left his hand, And his fingers would not fashion What his soul could understand.

Six days he fasted and travailed, Hard was the watch to keep, So the chisel fell from his fingers And he sank with a sob to sleep.

But a vision came to his slumber Beautiful as before, Floating in with the moonbeam Gliding over the floor.

It floated in with the moonbeam And stood beside his bed, Wonderful, white, and gracious, And this was the word it said.

"Courage, oh! Adeimantus, I am the perfect thing To stand in a shrine of jasper And blind the eyes of a king.

I am the strange desire, The glory beyond the dream, The pa.s.sion above the song, The spirit-light of the gleam.

I come to my best beloved, Not actual, from afar, Fairer than hope or thought, More beautiful than a star.

Courage, oh! Adeimantus, Lay strength and strength to your soul.

You shall fashion surely a part Tho' you may not grasp the whole."

Pygmalion.

Once ... I seem to remember....

Crept in the noonday heat A boy with a crooked shadow Which capered along the street.

A boy whose shadow was mocked at By the children pa.s.sing along, Straight and tall and beautiful, Happy with laughter and song.

So, he envied their beauty....

He who was crooked and brown....

The strong youths of the mountain, The white girls of the town, Envied their happy meetings And the tender words they spoke In the shadow of the temples, Under the groves of oak.

And his lonely heart was stricken That never his lot might be To walk with a maid who loved him....

So quaint and crooked was he.

II

Thus was my heart once stricken And I repined for a while, I but a boy in years, Who longed for a maiden's smile.

Till once on a day in summer My soul was touched with a gleam, And I woke from my morbid fancies Like one from an evil dream, And knew that the G.o.ds in their wisdom Had made and set me apart.

Lean, misshapen, and ugly....

No toy for a maiden's heart.

And I felt with a heart awakened That leapt in a riot of joy, The heart of a wise man and proud Not the heart of a moody boy.

Viewing the old things anew With an inner wonder in each: The cloud ships driven thro' heaven, The sea rolling into the beach, The magic heart of the woodland, The loves of nymph and faun, The splendour of starlight nights, The calm inviolate dawn.

III

Thus was my spirit quickened, And once on a lucky day I drew a bird on plaster, And modelled a horse in clay; Kneeling under a wall Where a shadow fell on the street, Eyes and mind intent In the midst of the noonday heat.

Eyes and mind intent....

And a stranger pa.s.sed my way, ... The shadow grew and lengthened As he stopped to watch my play.

He looked at the little horse, He looked at the winging bird; And ere I noticed his presence He touched me and spoke a word: "Hast thou the mind and will As thou hast hand and sight...?

Follow me if thou hast And climb ... oh! climb to the height."

IV

So I followed him to his workshop And stayed there a year and a year Working under a master Who praised me and held me dear, Till at last a day arose When, taking my hand in his own, "You have my knowledge," he said, "And now you must stand alone."

And tho' I sorrowed to leave him My heart was ready to sing, So first in praise of the G.o.ds I made for an offering (Even as does a shepherd His rustic altar of sods) Bright forms larger than human As mortals dream of the G.o.ds.

Then, in my strange world-worship, The Tritons, Lords of the Sea, The creatures which haunt the woodland, Happy and shy and free, Nymphs and satyrs and fauns Who worship the great G.o.d Pan, And lastly the mighty heroes Who fashion the mind of man.

V

Thus thought I and thus wrought I, And my power grew greater still.

I rose to the heights of pa.s.sion And sounded the depths of will, Reaching out to the farthest Winnowing down to the last, Gazing into the future And diving into the past.

Higher and ever higher Like an eagle soared my art And I praised the most high G.o.ds Who made and set me apart.

And Prince and poet and painter Travelled to touch my hand, The minds which had toiled and suffered, The minds which could understand, Marvelling in my workshop At the shining forms they saw....

The children of my spirit Born of a higher law.

VI

But last on a day in summer (An evil day it seems) I thought, "I will fashion a woman As I have seen in dreams.

I, who never loved woman That breathed and spoke and moved, Will fashion a n.o.ble statue To show what I could have loved; A glorious naked figure Untouched by time or fate, A symbol of all that might be And she shall be my mate.

Not mate of my crooked body, Lean, misshapen and brown, (No longer I feared my shadow But walked a prince in the town) But mate for my glorious spirit Winging thro' shimmering heights, On the viewless pinions of fancy Where none can follow its flights."

Thus was I moved in spirit And wrought, a happy slave, Striving to make the best Of the gifts the high G.o.ds gave, Fashioning out of the marble, --And I knew my work was good-- The arms and the b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the thighs And the glory of womanhood.

VII

Lo! the statue is finished.

Look how it stands serene A woman with tender smile And proud eyes of a queen!

Lo! the statue is perfect....

Flower and crown of my life....

I who never loved woman Could take this woman for wife....

Her, my Galatea, My wonderful milk-white friend, Work of my hand and brain Linked to this n.o.ble end.

VIII

The statue stands above me, Flower and crown of my art....