A Selection From The Poems Of William Morris Part 12

Yet their fear mocked them; for the storm 'gan die About the tenth day, though unto the west They drave on still; soon fair and quietly The morn would break: and though amid their rest Nought but long evil wandering seemed the best That they might hope for; still, despite their dread, Sweet was the quiet sea and goodlihead

Of the bright sun at last come back again; And as the days pa.s.sed, less and less fear grew, If without cause, till faded all their pain; And they 'gan turn unto their guests anew, Yet durst ask nought of what that evil drew Upon their heads; or of returning speak.

Happy they felt, but listless, spent, and weak.

And now as at the first the elder was, And sat and told them tales of yore agone; But ever the Strong Man up and down would pa.s.s About the deck, or on the prow alone Would stand and stare out westward; and still on Through a fair summer sea they went, nor thought Of what would come when these days turned to nought.

And now when twenty days were well pa.s.sed o'er They made a new land; cloudy mountains high Rose from the sea at first; then a green sh.o.r.e Spread fair below them: as they drew anigh No sloping, stony strand could they espy, And no surf breaking; the green sea and wide Wherethrough they slipped was driven by no tide.

Dark fell ere they might set their eager feet Upon the sh.o.r.e; but night-long their ship lay As in a deep stream, by the blossoms sweet That flecked the gra.s.s whence flowers ne'er pa.s.sed away.

But when the cloud-barred east brought back the day, And turned the western mountain-tops to gold, Fresh fear the shipmen in their bark did hold.

For as a dream seemed all; too fair for those Who needs must die; moreover they could see, A furlong off, 'twixt apple-tree and rose, A brazen wall that gleamed out wondrously In the young sun, and seemed right long to be; And memory of all marvels lay upon Their shrinking hearts now this sweet place was won.

But when unto the nameless guests they turned, Who stood together nigh the plank shot out Sh.o.r.eward, within the Strong Man's eyes there burned A wild light, as the other one in doubt He eyed a moment; then with a great shout Leaped into the blossomed gra.s.s; the echoes rolled Back from the hills, harsh still and over-bold.

Slowly the old man followed him, and still The crew held back: they knew now they were brought Over the sea the purpose to fulfil Of these strange men; and in their hearts they thought, "Perchance we yet shall live, if, meddling nought With dreams, we bide here till these twain come back; But prying eyes the fire-blast seldom lack."

Yet 'mongst them were two fellows bold and young, Who, looking each upon the other's face, Their hearts to meet the unknown danger strung, And went ash.o.r.e, and at a gentle pace Followed the strangers, who unto the place Where the wall gleamed had turned; peace and desire Mingled together in their hearts, as nigher

They drew unto that wall, and dulled their fear: Fair wrought it was, as though with bricks of bra.s.s; And images upon its face there were, Stories of things a long while come to pa.s.s: Nor that alone--as looking in a gla.s.s Its maker knew the tales of what should be, And wrought them there for bird and beast to see.

So on they went; the many birds sang sweet Through all that blossomed thicket from above, And unknown flowers bent down before their feet; The very air, cleft by the grey-winged dove, Throbbed with sweet scent, and smote their souls with love.

Slowly they went till those twain stayed before A strangely-wrought and iron-covered door.

They stayed, too, till o'er noise of wind, and bird, And falling flower, there rang a mighty shout As the Strong Man his steel-bound club upreared, And drave it 'gainst the hammered iron stout, Where 'neath his blows flew bolt and rivet out, Till shattered on the ground the great door lay, And into the guarded place bright poured the day.

The Strong Man entered, but his fellow stayed, Leaning against a tree-trunk as they deemed.

They faltered now, and yet all things being weighed Went on again; and thought they must have dreamed Of the old man, for now the sunlight streamed Full on the tree he had been leaning on, And him they saw not go, yet was he gone:

Only a slim green lizard flitted there Amidst the dry leaves; him they noted nought, But trembling, through the doorway 'gan to peer, And still of strange and dreadful saw not aught, Only a garden fair beyond all thought.

And there, 'twixt sun and shade, the Strong Man went On some long-sought-for end belike intent.

They 'gan to follow down a narrow way Of green-sward that the lilies trembled o'er, And whereon thick the scattered rose-leaves lay; But a great wonder weighed upon them sore, And well they thought they should return no more, Yet scarce a pain that seemed; they looked to meet Before they died things strange and fair and sweet.

So still to right and left the Strong Man thrust The blossomed boughs, and pa.s.sed on steadily, As though his hardy heart he well did trust, Till in a while he gave a joyous cry, And hastened on, as though the end drew nigh; And women's voices then they deemed they heard, Mixed with a noise that made desire afeard.

Yet through sweet scents and sounds on did they bear Their panting hearts, till the path ended now In a wide s.p.a.ce of green, a streamlet clear From out a marble basin there did flow, And close by that a slim-trunked tree did grow, And on a bough low o'er the water cold There hung three apples of red-gleaming gold.

About the tree, new risen e'en now to meet The shining presence of that mighty one, Three damsels stood, naked from head to feet Save for the glory of their hair, where sun And shadow flickered, while the wind did run Through the grey leaves o'erhead, and shook the gra.s.s Where nigh their feet the wandering bee did pa.s.s.

But 'midst their delicate limbs and all around The tree-roots, gleaming blue black could they see The spires of a great serpent, that, enwound About the smooth bole, looked forth threateningly, With glittering eyes and raised crest, o'er the three Fair heads fresh crowned, and hissed above the speech Wherewith they murmured softly each to each.

Now the Strong Man amid the green s.p.a.ce stayed, And leaning on his club, with eager eyes But brow yet smooth, in voice yet friendly said: "O daughters of old Hesperus the Wise, Well have ye held your guard here; but time tries The very will of G.o.ds, and to my hand Must give this day the gold fruit of your land."

Then spake the first maid--sweet as the west wind Amidst of summer noon her sweet voice was: "Ah, me! what knows this place of changing mind Of men or G.o.ds; here shall long ages pa.s.s, And clean forget thy feet upon the gra.s.s, Thy hapless bones amid the fruitful mould; Look at thy death envenomed swift and cold!"

Hiding new flowers, the dull coils, as she spake, Moved near her limbs: but then the second one, In such a voice as when the morn doth wake To song of birds, said, "When the world foredone Has moaned its last, still shall we dwell alone Beneath this bough, and have no tales to tell Of things deemed great that on the earth befell."

Then spake the third, in voice as of the flute That wakes the maiden to her wedding morn: "If any G.o.d should gain our golden fruit, Its curse would make his deathless life forlorn.

Lament thou, then, that ever thou wert born; Yet all things, changed by joy or loss or pain, To what they were shall change and change again."

"So be it," he said, "the Fates that drive me on Shall slay me or shall save; blessing or curse That followeth after when the thing is won Shall make my work no better now nor worse; And if it be that the world's heart must nurse Hatred against me, how then shall I choose To leave or take?--let your dread servant loose!"

E'en therewith, like a pillar of black smoke, Swift, shifting ever, drave the worm at him; In deadly silence now that nothing broke, Its folds were writhing round him trunk and limb, Until his glittering gear was nought but dim E'en in that sunshine, while his head and side And breast the fork-tongued, pointed muzzle tried.

Closer the coils drew, quicker all about The forked tongue darted, and yet stiff he stood, E'en as an oak that sees the straw flare out And lick its ancient bole for little good: Until the G.o.dlike fury of his mood Burst from his heart in one great shattering cry, And rattling down the loosened coils did lie;

And from the torn throat and crushed dreadful head Forth flowed a stream of blood along the gra.s.s; Bright in the sun he stood above the dead, Panting with fury; yet as ever was The wont of him, soon did his anger pa.s.s, And with a happy smile at last he turned To where the apples o'er the water burned.

Silent and moveless ever stood the three; No change came o'er their faces, as his hand Was stretched aloft unto the sacred tree; Nor shrank they aught aback, though he did stand So close that tresses of their bright hair, fanned By the sweet garden breeze, lay light on him, And his gold fell brushed by them breast and limb.

He drew adown the wind-stirred bough, and took The apples thence; then let it spring away, And from his brow the dark hair backward shook, And said: "O sweet, O fair, and shall this day A curse upon my life henceforward lay-- This day alone? Methinks of coming life Somewhat I know, with all its loss and strife.

"But this I know, at least: the world shall wend Upon its way, and, gathering joy and grief And deeds done, bear them with it to the end; So shall it, though I lie as last year's leaf Lies 'neath a summer tree, at least receive My life gone by, and store it, with the gain That men alive call striving, wrong, and pain.

"So for my part I rather bless than curse, And bless this fateful land; good be with it; Nor for this deadly thing's death is it worse, Nor for the lack of gold; still shall ye sit Watching the swallow o'er the daisies flit; Still shall your wandering limbs ere day is done Make dawn desired by the sinking sun.

"And now, behold! in memory of all this Take ye this girdle that shall waste and fade As fadeth not your fairness and your bliss, That when hereafter 'mid the blossoms laid Ye talk of days and men now nothing made, Ye may remember how the Theban man, The son of Jove, came o'er the waters wan."

Their faces changed not aught for all they heard; As though all things now fully told out were, They gazed upon him without any word: Ah! craving kindness, hope, or loving care, Their fairness scarcely could have made more fair, As with the apples folded in his fell He went, to do more deeds for folk to tell.

Now as the girdle on the ground was cast Those fellows turned and hurried toward the door, And as across its broken leaves they pa.s.sed The old man saw they not, e'en as before; But an unearthed blind mole bewildered sore Was wandering there in fruitless, aimless wise, That got small heed from their full-sated eyes.

Swift gat they to their anxious folk; nor had More time than just to say, "Be of good cheer, For in our own land may we yet be glad,"

When they beheld the guests a-drawing near; And much bewildered the two fellows were To see the old man, and must even deem That they should see things stranger than a dream.

But when they were aboard the elder cried, "Up sails, my masters, fair now is the wind; Nor good it is too long here to abide, Lest what ye may not loose your souls should bind."

And as he spake, the tall trees left behind Stirred with the rising land-wind, and the crew, Joyous thereat, the hawsers shipward drew.

Swift sped the ship, and glad at heart were all, And the Strong Man was merry with the rest, And from the elder's lips no word did fall That did not seem to promise all the best; Yet with a certain awe were men oppressed, And felt as if their inmost hearts were bare, And each man's secret babbled through the air.

Still oft the old man sat with them and told Tales of past time, as on the outward way; And now would they the face of him behold And deem it changed; the years that on him lay Seemed to grow nought, and no more wan and grey He looked, but ever glorious, wise and strong, As though no lapse of time for him were long.

At last, when six days through the kindly sea Their keel had slipped, he said: "Come hearken now, For so it is that things fare wondrously E'en in these days; and I a tale can show That, told by you unto your sons shall grow A marvel of the days that are to come: Take heed and tell it when ye reach your home.

"Yet living in the world a man there is Men call the Theban King Amphitryon's son, Although perchance a greater sire was his; But certainly his lips have hung upon Alcmena's b.r.e.a.s.t.s: great deeds this man hath won Already, for his name is Hercules, And e'en ye Asian folk have heard of these.

"Now ere the moon, this eve in his last wane, Was born, this Hercules, the fated thrall Of King Eurystheus, was straight bid to gain Gifts from a land whereon no foot doth fall Of mortal man, beyond the misty wall Of unknown waters; pensively he went Along the sea on his hard life intent.

"And at the dawn he came into a bay Where the sea, ebbed far down, left wastes of sand, Walled from the green earth by great cliffs and grey; Then he looked up, and wondering there did stand, For strange things lay in slumber on the strand; Strange counterparts of what the firm earth hath Lay scattered all about his weary path:

"Sea-lions and sea-horses and sea-kine, Sea-boars, sea-men strange-skinned, of wondrous hair; And in their midst a man who seemed divine For changeless eld, and round him women fair, Clad in the sea-webs gla.s.sy green and clear With gems on head and girdle, limb and breast, Such as earth knoweth not among her best.

"A moment at the fair and wondrous sight He stared, then, since the heart in him was good, He went about with careful steps and light Till o'er the sleeping sea-G.o.d now he stood; And if the white-foot maids had stirred his blood As he pa.s.sed by, now other thoughts had place Within his heart when he beheld that face.

"For Nereus now he knew, who knows all things; And to himself he said, 'If I prevail, Better than by some G.o.d-wrought eagle-wings Shall I be holpen;' then he cried out: 'Hail, O Nereus! lord of shifting hill and dale!

Arise and wrestle; I am Hercules!

Not soon now shalt thou meet the ridgy seas.'