Accolon of Gaul Part 1

Accolon of Gaul.

by Madison J. Cawein.

PRELUDE.

Why, dreams from dreams in dreams remembered! naught Save this, alas! that once it seemed I thought I wandered dim with someone, but I knew Not who; most beautiful and good and true, Yet sad through suffering; with curl-crowned brow, Soft eyes and voice; so white she haunts me now:-- And when, and where?--At night in dreamland.

She Led me athwart a flower-showered lea Where trammeled puckered pansy and the pea; Spread stains of pale-rod poppies rinced of rain, So gorged with sun their hurt hearts ached with pain; Heaped honeysuckles; roses lavishing beams, Wherein I knew were huddled little dreams Which laughed coy, hidden merriment and there Blew quick gay kisses fragrancing the air.

And where a river bubbled through the sward A mist lay sleepily; and it was hard To see whence sprung it, to what seas it led, How broadly spread and what it was it fled So ceasless in its sighs, and bickering on Into romance or some bewildering dawn Of wisest legend from the storied wells Of lost Baranton, where old Merlin dwells, Nodding a white poll and a grand, gray beard As if some Lake Ladye he, listening, heard, Who spake like water, danced like careful showers With blown gold curls thro' drifts of wild-thorn flowers; Loose, lazy arms in graceful movement tossed, Float flower-like down a woodland vista, lost In some peculiar note that wrings a tear Slow down his withered cheek. And then steals near Her sweet, lascivious brow's white wonderment, And gray rude eyes, and hair which hath the scent Of the wildwood Breceliand's perfumes In Brittany; and in it one red bloom's Blood-drop thrust deep, and so "Sweet Viviane!"

All the glad leaves lisp like a young, soft rain From top to top, until a running surge The dark, witch-haunted solitude will urge, That shakes and sounds and stammers as from sleep Some giant were aroused; and with a leap A samite-gauzy creature, glossy white, Showers mocking kisses fast and, like a light Beat by a gust to flutter and then done, From Breceliande and Merlin she is gone.

But still he sits there drowsing with his dreams; A wondrous cohort hath he; many as gleams That stab the moted mazes of a beech; And each grave dream hath its own magic speech To sting to tears his old eyes heavy--two Hang, tangled brilliants, in his beard like dew: And still faint murmurs of courts brave and fair, And forms of Arthur and proud Guenevere, Grave Tristram and rare Isoud and stout Mark, Bold Launcelot, chaste Galahad the dark Of his weak mind, once strong, glares up with, then, --The instant's fostered blossoms--die again.

A roar of tournament, a rippling stir Of silken lists that ramble into her, That white witch-mothered beauty, Viviane, The vast Breceliande and dreams again.

Then Dagonet, King Arthur's fool, trips there, A waggish cunning; glittering on his hair A tinsel crown; and then will slightly sway Thick leaves and part, and there Morgane the Fay With haughty wicked eyes and lovely face Studies him steady for a little s.p.a.ce.

I.

"Thou askest with thy studious eyes again, Here where the restless forest hears the main Toss in a troubled sleep and moan. Ah, sweet, With joy and pa.s.sion the kind hour's replete; And what wild beauty here! where roughly run Huge forest shadows from the westering sun, The wood's a subdued power gentle as Yon tame wild-things, that in the moss and gra.s.s Gaze with their human eyes. Here grow the lines Of pale-starred green; and where yon fountain shines Urned in its tremulous ferns, rest we upon This oak-trunk of G.o.d's thunder overthrown Years, years agone; not where 'tis rotted brown But where the thick bark's firm and overgrown Of clambering ivy blackly berried; where Wild musk of wood decay just tincts the air, As if some strange shrub on some whispering way, In some dewed dell, while dreaming of one May, In longing languor weakly tried to wake One sometime blossom and could only make Ghosts of such dead aromas as it knew, And shape a specter, budding thin as dew, To haunt these sounding miles of solitude.

Troubled thou askest, Morgane, and the mood, Unfathomed in thine eyes, glows rash and deep As that in some wild-woman's found on sleep By some lost knight upon a precipice, Whom he hath wakened with a laughing kiss.

As that of some frail, elfin lady white As if of watery moonbeams, filmy dight, Who waves diaphanous beauty on some cliff That drowsing purrs with moon-drenched pines; but if The lone knight follow, foul fiends rise and drag Him crashing down, while she, tall on the crag, Triumphant mocks him with glad sorcery Till all the wildwood echoes shout with glee.

As that bewildering mystery of a tarn, Some mountain water, which the mornings scorn To anadem with fire and leave gray; To which some champion cometh when the Day Hath tired of breding on his proud, young head Flame-furry blooms and, golden chapleted, Sits rosy, trembling with full love for Night, Who cometh sandaled; dark in c.r.a.pe; the light Of her good eyes a marvel; her vast hair Tortuous with stars,--as in some shadowy lair The eyes of hunted wild things burn with rage,-- And on large bosoms doth his love a.s.suage.

"He, coming thither in that haunted place, Stoops low to quaff cool waters, when his face Meets gurgling fairy faces in a ring That jostle upward babbling; beckoning Him deep to wonders secret built of old By some dim witch: 'A city walled with gold, With beryl battlements and paved with pearls, Slim, lambent towers wrought of foamy swirls Of alabaster, and that witch to love, More beautiful to love than queens above.'-- He pauses troubled, but a wizard power, In all his bronzen harness that mad hour Plunges him--whither? what if he should miss Those cloudy beauties and that creature's kiss?

Ah, Morgane, that same power Accolon Saw potent in thine eyes and it hath drawn Him deep to plunge--and to what breathless fate?-- Bliss?--which, too true, he hath well quaffed of late!

But, there!--may come what stealthy-footed Death With bony claws to clutch away his breath!

And make him loveless to those eyes, alas!-- Fain must I speak that vision; thus it was:

"In sleep one plucked me some warm fleurs-de-lis, Larger than those of earth; and I might see Their woolly gold, loose, webby woven thro',-- Like fluffy flames spun,--gauzy with fine dew.

And 'asphodels!' I murmured; then, 'these sure The Eden amaranths, so angel pure That these alone may pluck them; aye and aye!

But with that giving, lo, she pa.s.sed away Beyond me on some misty, yearning brook With some sweet song, which all the wild air took With torn farewells and pensive melody Touching to tears, strange, hopeless utterly.

So merciless sweet that I yearned high to tear Those ingot-cored and gold-crowned lilies fair; Yet over me a horror which restrained With melancholy presence of two pained And awful, mighty eyes that cowed and held Me weeping while that sad dirge died or swelled Far, far on endless waters borne away: A wild bird's musick smitten when the ray Of dawn it burned for graced its drooping head, And the pale glory strengthened round it dead; Daggered of thorns it plunged on, blind in night, The slow blood ruby on its plumage white.

"Then, then I knew these blooms which she had given Were strays of parting grief and waifs of Heaven For tears and memories; too delicate For eyes of earth such souls immaculate!

But then--my G.o.d! my G.o.d! thus these were left!

I knew then still! but of that song bereft-- That rapturous wonder grasping after grief-- Beyond all thought--weak thought that would be thief."

And bowed and wept into his hands and she Sorrowful beheld; and resting at her knee Raised slow her oblong lute and smote its chords; But ere the impulse saddened into words Said: "And didst love me as thy lips have spake No visions wrought of sleep might such love shake.

Fast is all Love in fastness of his power, With flame reverberant moated stands his tower; Not so built as to c.h.i.n.k from fact a beam Of doubt and much less of a doubt from dream; _Such_, the alchemic fires of Love's desires, Which hug this like a snake, melt to gold wires To chord the old lyre new whereon he lyres."

So ceased and then, sad softness in her eye Sang to his dream a questioning reply:

"Will love grow less when dead the roguish Spring, Who from gay eyes sowed violets whispering; Peach petals in wild cheeks, wan-wasted thro'

Of withering grief, laid lovely 'neath the dew, Will love grow less?

"Will love grow less when comes queen Summer tall, Her throat a lily long and spiritual; Rich as the poppied swaths--droned haunts of bees-- Her cheeks, a brown maid's gleaning on the leas, Will love grow less?

"Will love grow less when Autumn sighing there Broods with long frost streaks in her dark, dark hair; Tears in grave eyes as in grave heavens above, Deep lost in memories' melancholy, love, Will love grow less?

"Will love grow less when Winter at the door Begs on her scant locks icicles as h.o.a.r; While Death's eyes hollow o'er her shoulder dart A look to wring to tears then freeze the heart, Will love grow less?"

And in her hair wept softly and her breast Rose and was wet with tears; like as, distressed, Night steals on Day rain sobbing thro' her curls.

"Tho' tears become thee even as priceless pearls, Weep not for love's sake! mine no gloom of doubt, But woe for sweet love's death such dreams brought out.

Nay, nay; crowned, throned and flame-anointed he Kings our twin-kingdomed hearts eternally.

Love, high in Heaven beginning and to cease No majesty when hearts are laid at peace; But reign supreme, if souls have wrought as well, A G.o.d in Heaven or a G.o.d in h.e.l.l.

Yea, Morgane, for the favor of his face All our rich world of love I will retrace:

"Hurt in that battle where thy brother strove With those five kings thou wot'st of, dearest love, Wherein the five were worsted, I was brought To some king's castle on my shield, methought,-- Out of the grind of spears and roar of swords, From the loud shields of battle-b.l.o.o.d.y lords, Culled from the mountained slain where Havoc sprawled Gorged to her eyes with carnage, growling crawled;-- By some tall damsels tiremaids of some queen Stately and dark, who moved as if a sheen Of starlight spread her presence; and she came With healing herbs and searched my wounds. A dame So marvelous in raiment silvery I feared lest some attendant chaste were she To that high Holy Grael, which Arthur hath Sought ever widely by h.o.a.r wood and path;-- Thus not for me, a worldly one, to love, Who loved her even to wonder; skied above His worship as our moon above the Main, That pa.s.sions upward yearning in great pain, And suffers wearily from year to year, She peaceful pitiless with virgin cheer.-- Ah, ideal love, as merciless as fate!

And, oh, that savage aching which must wait For its fulfillment, tortured love in tears, Until that beauty dreamed of many years Bends over one from luminous skies, so grand One's weakness fears to touch its mastering hand, And hesitates and stammers nothings weak, And loves and loves with love that can not speak!

Ah, there's the tyranny that breeds despair; Breaks hearts whose strong youth by one golden hair Coiled 'round the throat is sooner strangled dumb Than by a glancing dagger thrust from gloom Of an old arras at the very hour One thought one safest in one's guarded tower.-- Thus, Morgane, worshiping that lady I Was speechless; longing now to live, now die, As her fine face suggested secrets of Some pa.s.sion kin to mine, or scorn of love That dragged heroic humbleness to her feet, For one long look that spake and made such sweet.

Ah, never dreamed I of what was to be,-- Nay! nay! how could I? while that agony Of doubtful love denied my heart too much, Too much to dream of that perfection such As was to grant me boisterous hours of life And sever all the past as with a knife!

"One night a tempest scourged and beat and lashed The writhing forest and vast thunders crashed Clamorous with clubs of leven, and anon, Between the thunder pauses, seas would groan Like some enormous curse a knight hath lured From where it soared to maim it with his sword.

I, with eyes partly lidded, seemed to see That cloudy, wide-wrenched night's eternity Yawn h.e.l.ls of golden ghastliness; and sweep Distending foams tempestuous up each steep Of furious iron, where pale mermaids sit With tangled hair black-blown, who, bit by bit, Chant glimmering; beckoning on to strangling arms Some hurt bark hurrying in the ravenous storm's Resistless exultation; till there came One breaker mounting inward, all aflame With glow-worm green, to boom against the cliff Its thunderous bulk--and there, sucked pale and stiff, Tumbled in eddies up the howling rocks My dead, drawn face; eyes lidless; matted locks Oozed close with brine; tossed upward merrily By streaming mermaids.--Madly seemed to see The vampire echoes of the hoa.r.s.e wood, who, Collected, sought me; down the cas.e.m.e.nt drew Wet, shuddering fingers sharply; thronging fast Up hooting turrets, fell thick screaming, cast Down bastioned battlements trooped whistling off; From the wild woodland growled a backward scoff.-- Then far away, hoofs of a thousand gales, As wave rams wave up windy bluffs of Wales, Loosed from the groaning hills, the cohorts loud, Spirits of thunder, charioteered of cloud, Roared down the rocking night cored with the glare Of fiery eyeb.a.l.l.s swimming; their drenched hair Blown black as rain unkempt back from black brows, Wide mouths of storm that voiced a h.e.l.l carouse And bulged tight cheeks with wind, rolled riotous by Ruining to ruinous cliffs to headlong die.

"Once when the lightning made the cas.e.m.e.nt glare Squares touched to gold, between it rose her hair, As if a raven's wing had cut the storm Death-driven seaward; and a vague alarm Stung me with terrors of surmise where hope As yet pruned weak wings crippled by their scope.

And, lo, she kneeled low, radiant, wonderful, Lawn-raimented and white; kneeled low,--'to lull These thoughts of night such storms might shape in thee, All such to peace and sleep,'--Ah, G.o.d! to see Her like a benediction fleshed! with her Hearing her voice! her cool hand wandering bare Wistful on feverish brow thro' long deep curls!

To see her rich throat's carcaneted pearls Rise as her pulses! eyes' large influence Poured toward me straight as stars, whose sole defense Against all storm is their bold beauty! then To feel her breathe and hear her speak again!

'Love, mark,' I said or dreamed I moaned in dreams, 'How wails the tumult and the thunder gleams!

As if of Arthur's knights had charged two fields Bright as sun-winds of dawn; swords, spears and shields Flashed lordly shocked; had,--to a man gone down In burst of battle hurled,--lain silent sown.

Love, one eternal tempest thus with thee Were calm, dead calm! but, no!--for thee in me Such calm proves tempest. Speak; I feel thy voice Throb soft, caressing silence, healing noise.'

"Is radiance loved of radiance? day of day?

Lithe beam of beam and laughing ray of ray?

Hope loved of hope and happiness of joy, Or love of love, who hath the world for toy?

And thou--thou lov'st my voice? fond Accolon!

Why not--yea, why not?--nay!--I prithee!--groan Not for that thou hast had long since thine all.'

She smiled; and dashed down storm's black-crumbled wall, Baptizing moonlight bathed her, foot and face Deluging, as my soul brake toward her grace With worship from despair and secret grief, That felt hot tears of heartsease sweet and brief.

And one immortal night to me she said Words, lay I white in death had raised me red.

'Rest now,' they were, 'I love thee with _such_ love!-- 'Some speak of secret love, but G.o.d above Hath knowledge and divinement.'... Pa.s.sionate low, 'To lie by thee to-night my mind is':--So She laughed;--'Sleep well!--for me? why, thy fast word Of knighthood, look thou, and this naked sword Laid in betwixt us.... Let it be a wall Strong between love and l.u.s.t and lov'st me all in all.'

Undid the goodly gold from her clasped waist; Unbound deep locks; and, like a blossom faced, Stood sweet an unswayed stem that ran to bud In b.r.e.a.s.t.s and face a graceful womanhood.

And fragrance was to her as natural As odor to the rose; and she a tall, White ardor and white fervor in the room Moved, some pale presence that with light doth bloom.

Then all mine eyes and lips and limbs were fire; My tongue delirious throbbed a lawless lyre, That harped loud words of laud for loveliness, Inspired of such, but these I can not guess.

Then she, as pure as snows of peaks that keep Sun-cloven crowns of virgin, vanquishing steep, Frowned on me, and the thoughts, that in my brain Had risen a glare of gems, set dull like rain, And fair I spake her and with civil pain:

"'Thine, sweet, a devil's kindness which is given For earthly pleasure but bars out from Heaven.

Temptation harbored, like a b.l.o.o.d.y rust On a bright blade, leaves ugly stains; and l.u.s.t Is love's undoing when love's limbs are cast A commonness to desire that makes unchaste; And this warm nearness of what should be hid Makes love a lawless love. But, thou hast bid;-- Rest thou; I love thee, how,--I only know: But all that love shall shout "out!" at love's foe.'

And turning sighed into my hair; and she Stretched the broad blade's division suddenly.

And so we lay its fire between us twain; Unsleeping I, for, oh, that devil pain Of pa.s.sion in me that strove up and stood A rebel wrangling with the brain and blood!

An hour stole by: she slept or seemed to sleep.

The winds of night came vigorous from the deep With storm gusts of fresh-watered field and wold That breathed of ocean meadows bluely rolled.

I drowsed and time pa.s.sed; stealing as for one Whose drowsy life dreams in Avilion.

Vast bulks of black, wind-shattered rack went down High cas.e.m.e.nt squares of heaven, a crystal crown Of bubbled moonlight on each monstrous head, Like as great ghosts of giant kings long dead.

And then, meseemed, she lightly laughed and sighed, So soft a taper had not bent aside, And leaned a soft face seen thro' loosened hair Above me, whisp'ring as if sweet in prayer, 'Behold, the sword! I take the sword away!'

It curved and clashed where the strewn rushes lay; Shone gla.s.sy, glittering like a watery beam Of moonlight in the moonlight. I did deem She moved in sleep and dreamed perverse, nor wist That which she did until two fierce lips kissed My wondering eyes to wakement of her thought.

Then spake I, 'Love, my word! is it then naught?

Nay, nay, my word albeit the sword be gone!-- And wouldst thou try me? rest thou safe till dawn!

I will not thus forswear! my word stands fast!'

But now I felt hot, desperate kisses cast On hair, eyes, throat and lips and over and over, Low laughter of 'Sweet wretch! and thou--a lover?

What is that word if she thou gavest it Unbind thee of it? lo, and she sees fit!'

Ah, Morgane, Morgane, then I knew 'twas thou, Thou! thou! who only could such joy allow."