Accolon of Gaul Part 8

DISENCHANTMENT OF DEATH.

Hush! She is dead! Tread gently as the light Foots dim the weary room. Thou shalt behold.

Look:--In death's ermine pomp of awful white, Pale pa.s.sion of pulseless slumber virgin cold: Bold, beautiful youth proud as heroic Might-- Death! and how death hath made it vastly old.

Old earth she is now: energy of birth Glad wings hath fledged and tried them suddenly; The eyes that held have freed their narrow mirth; Their sparks of spirit, which made this to be, Shine fixed in rarer jewels not of earth, Far Fairylands beyond some silent sea.

A sod is this whence what were once those eyes Will grow blue wild-flowers in what happy air; Some weed with flossy blossoms will surprise, Haply, what summer with her affluent hair; Blush roses bask those cheeks; and the wise skies Will know her dryad to what young oak fair.

The chast.i.ty of death hath touched her so, No dreams of life can reach her in such rest;-- No dreams the mind exhausted here below, Sleep built within the romance of her breast.

How she will sleep! like musick quickening slow Dark the dead germs, to golden life caressed.

Low musick, thin as winds that lyre the gra.s.s, Smiting thro' red roots harpings; and the sound Of elfin revels when the wild dews gla.s.s Globes of concentric beauty on the ground; For showery clouds o'er tepid nights that pa.s.s The prayer in harebells and faint foxgloves crowned.

So, if she's dead, thou know'st she is not dead.

Disturb her not; she lies so lost in sleep: The too-contracted soul its sh.e.l.l hath fled: Her presence drifts about us and the deep Is yet unvoyaged and she smiles o'erhead:-- Weep not nor sigh--thou wouldst not have _her_ weep?

To principles of pa.s.sion and of pride, To trophied circ.u.mstance and specious law, Stale saws of life, with scorn now flung aside, From Mercy's throne and Justice would'st thou draw Her, Hope in Hope, and Chast.i.ty's pale bride, In holiest love of holy, without flaw?

The anguish of the living merciless,-- Mad, bitter cruelty unto the grave,-- Wrings the dear dead with tenfold heart's distress, Earth chaining love, bound by the lips that rave.

If thou hast sorrow let thy sorrow bless That power of death, of death our selfless slave.

"Unjust?"--He is not! for hast thou not all, All that thou ever hadst when this dull clay So heartless, blasted now, flushed spiritual, A restless va.s.sal of Earth's night and day?

This hath been thine and is; the cosmic call Hath disenchanted that which might not stay.

_Thou_ unjust!--bar not from its high estate,-- Won with what toil thro' devastating cares: What bootless battling with the violent Fate; What mailed endeavor with resistless years;-- That soul:--whole-hearted granted once thy mate, Heaven only loaned, return it not with tears!

THE THREE URGANDAS.

Cast on sleep there came to me Three Urgandas; and the sea In lost lands of Briogne Sounded moaning, moaning: Cloudy clad in awful white; And each face a lucid light Rayed and blossomed out of night,-- And a wind was groaning.

In my sleep I saw them rest, Each a long hand at her breast, A soft flame that lulls the West;-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- Hair like h.o.a.rded ingots rolled Down white shoulders glossy gold, Streaks of molten moonlight cold,-- And a wind was groaning.

Rosy 'round each high brow bent Four-fold starry gold that sent Barbs of fire redolent;-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- 'Neath their burning crowns their eyes Burned like southern stars the skies Rock in shattered storm that flies,-- And a wind was groaning.

Wisdom's eyes of lurid dark; And each red mouth like a spark Flashed and laughed off care and cark,-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- Mouths for song and lips to kiss; Lips for hate and mouths to hiss; Lips that fashioned h.e.l.l or bliss,-- And the wind was groaning.

Tall as stately virgins dead, Tapers lit at feet and head, 'Round whom Latin prayers are said,-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- Or as vampire women, who, Buried beauties, rise and woo Youths whose blood they suck like dew,-- And a wind was groaning.

Then the west one said to me: "Thou hast slept thus holily While seven sands ran secretly."-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- "Earth hath served thee like a slave, Serving us who found thee brave, Fearless of or life or grave."-- And a wind was groaning.

"Know!"--she smote my brow; a pain, Riddling arrows, rent my brain, Ceased and earth fell, some vast strain;-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- Then I understood all thought; What was life the spirit fraught; Love and hate; how worlds were wrought:-- And a wind was groaning.

Then the east one said to me: "Thou hast wandered wearily By what mist-enveloped sea!"-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- "Know the things thou hast not seen; Life and law, and love and teen; Things that be and have not been."-- And the wind was groaning.

"See!" her voice sung like a lyre Throbs of thunderous desire; Then the iron sight like fire-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- Burst; the inner eyelids, which Husked clairvoyance, with a twitch Rose--and I with light was rich;-- And a wind was groaning.

Then I saw the eyes of Sleep; Nerves of Life and veins that leap; Laws of ent.i.ty; the deep:-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- Orbs and eons; springs of Power; Circ.u.mstance--blown like a flower;-- Time--the second of an hour:-- And the wind was groaning.

To the central third one's full Balanced being beautiful Heart, to hearken, made a lull,-- And the sea was moaning, moaning;-- As she sternly stooped to me: "Thou dost know and thou canst see; What thou art arise and be!"-- And the wind was groaning.

To my mouth hot lips she pressed; And my famished soul, thrice blessed, Quaffed her radiance and caressed:-- And vague seas were moaning, moaning:-- Mounted; star-vibrating fled; Soared to love, with her who said: "Thou dost live and thou art dead."-- Far off winds were groaning.

THE BRUSH SPARROW.

I.

Ere wild haws, looming in the glooms, Build bolted drifts of breezy blooms; And in the whistling hollow there The red-bud bends as brown and bare As buxom Roxy's up-stripped arm; From some slick hickory or larch, Sighed o'er the sodden meads of March, The sad heart thrills and reddens warm To hear thee braving the rough storm, Frail courier of green-gathering powers,-- Rebelling sap in trunks and flowers; Love's minister come heralding; O sweet saint-voice among bleak bowers!-- Thou brown-red pursuivant of Spring!

II.

"_Moan_" sob the woodland cascades still Down bloomless ledges of the hill; And gray, gaunt clouds like harpies hang In harpy heavens, and swoop and clang Sharp beaks and talons of the wind: Black scowl the forests, and unkind The far fields as the near; while song Seems murdered and all pa.s.sion, wrong.

One wild frog only in the thaw Of sp.a.w.ny pools wakes cold and raw, Expires a melancholy ba.s.s And stops as if bewildered; then Along the frowning wood again, Flung in the thin wind's fangy face, Thou, in red, woolly ta.s.sels proud Of bannered maples, flutest loud: "_Her Grace! her Grace! her Grace!_"

III.

"Her Grace! her Grace! her Grace!"

Climbs beautiful and sunny-browed Up, up the kindling hills and wakes Blue berries in the berry brakes; With fragrant flakes, that blow and bleach, Deep powders smothered quince and peach; Eyes dogwoods with a thousand eyes; Teaches each sod how to be wise With twenty wild-flowers for one weed; And kisses germs that they may seed.

In purest purple and sweet white Treads up the happier hills of light; Bloom, cloudy-borne, song in her hair, Long dew-drops her pale fingers fair: Big wind-retainers, and the rains Her yeomen strong that flash the plains; While scarlet mists at dawn,--and gold At eve,--her panoply enfold.-- Her herald tabarded behold!-- Awake to greet! prepare to sing!

She comes, the darling d.u.c.h.ess, Spring!"

CHORDS.

I.

Sleep while I sing to thee, Dulcinea,-- How like a shower of moonlight-crusted beams Of textile form compact, whose veins run stars,-- Discovered G.o.ddess of what naked loves!-- Maiden of dreams and aromatic sleep, Thou liest. Thy long instrument against Thy G.o.d-voluptuous sensuousness of hip Pure iridescent pearl of ocean slopes: Tempestuous silent color-melodies Pulse glimmering from it beaten by the moon,-- Soft songs the white hands of white shadows touch.-- Magnetic star set slumberous over night, Watch with me this superior star of Earth Good Heaven was kind to grant me: Trembler, Like some soft bird, dream, while I sing to thee-- Dream, languid ardor, my Dulcinea, dream.

II.

Floats a wild chant of morning from the hills; Bursts a broad song of sunlight on the sea; High Heaven throbs strung with rays of chords and thrills, Life's resonant paeans to Earth's minstrelsy.

Bind thou swift sandals on of youth, My love, and harp to me of truth In lands of joy or ruth.