Accolon of Gaul Part 9

Now sheer o'er solitudes of noon the strife Of chariot fierce by chariot scintillant Flames, and the blade-bare charioteers for life, O'er-bent, close-curled, goad their hot yokes that pant.

Haste not, my love, but from the beam Beside this olive-frosty stream Sing while I rest and dream.

What swart Penthesilea, Amazon, Hath, smitten, hurled her shield, that crescent there; To wrench the barbed arrow leaned,--voiced one Defiant shout, breathed her red life in air.-- Tho' life be close to sunset, lo, Into the sunset let us go Still lyring joy not woe.

How swims the Night thro' the deep-oceaned sky!

How at pale lips blown stars like bubbles break, Burn, streamed from showery locks she tosses high!-- A stronger swimmer, Death, glares in her wake.-- Cast, love, ah cast thy harp away!

Aweary am I of thy lay-- Kneel down by me and pray.

III.

When love delays, when love delays and Joy Steals a strange shadow o'er the happy hills, And Hope smiles from To-morrow, nor fulfills One promise of To-day, thy sight would cloy This soul with loved despair By seeing thee so fair.

When love delays, when love delays and song Aches at wild lips regretful, as the sound Of a whole sea strives in the sh.e.l.l-mouth bound, Tho' Hope smiles still to-morrowed, all this wrong Would, at one little word, Leap forth for thee a sword.

When love delays, when love delays and sleep Nests in dark eyeb.a.l.l.s, like a song of home Heard 'mid familiar flowers o'er the foam, Tho' Hope smiles still to-morrowed, thou wouldst steep This hurt heart overmuch In balm with one true touch.

When love delays, when love delays and Sorrow Drinks her own tears that fever her soul's thirst, And song, and sleep, and memory seem accurst, For Hope smiles still to-morrowed, I would borrow One smile from thee to cheer The weary, weary year.

When love delays, when love delays and Death Hath sealed dim lips and mocked young eyes with night, To love or hate locked calm, indifferent quite,-- Hope's star-eyed acolyte,--what kisses' breath, What joys can slay regret Or teach thee to forget!

IV.

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst, O narrow heart, that could not grasp so wide!

And tho' thy oaths seemed oaths yet they have lied, And thy caresses, kisses were--denied-- Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst.

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst; O shallow eyes, that could not image deep!-- Enough! what boots it tho' ye weep and weep?

Her sleep is deep, too deep! so let her sleep-- Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst.

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst; For hadst thou, that confluent night and day Had in oblivion currents borne away Not one alone--but coward! thou didst stay-- Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst!

V.

O Life, thou hast no power left to strive, Life, who, upon wild mountains of Surprise, Behold'st Love's citadelled, tall towers rise,-- Shafts of clear, Paphian waters poured that live.

O Hope, who sought'st fulfillment of deep dreams Beyond those Caucasus of Faith and Truth,-- Twixt silver realms of eld and golden youth Rolled,--cloudward cl.u.s.tered; whose sonorous streams,

Urned in the palms of Death, gush to his feet: Unlovely beauty of sad, stirless sight Mixed in them with eternity of night;-- O Hope, how sad the journey once so sweet!

Dreams crowned with thorns have pa.s.sed thee on the way; And Beauties with bare limbs red-bruised and torn; Tall, holy Hours their eyes dull, wan and worn, Slaves manacled whom lashed the brutal Day.

And Sorrow sat beside a sea so wide, That sh.o.r.eless Heaven unto one little star Upon the brink of night seems not so far, And on her feet the frail foams tossing sighed.

She, her rent hair, dressed like a siren's, full Of weedy waifs and strays of moaning sh.e.l.ls, Streaked with the glimmering sands and foamy bells, Loomed a pale utterance most beautiful.

"And thou shall love me, Sorrow!" I; but she Turned her vast eyes upon me and no more; Their melancholy language clove the core Of my fast heart; and in mine ears the sea

Along gaunt crags yearned iron-husky grief; Groaned the hard headlands with the wings of Storm, Huge thunder shook the foot-hills and Alarm Gnashed her thin fangs from hissing reef to reef.

So to the hills aweary I did turn.-- Beyond, a reach of sunlight and slim flowers; Where Hope, an amaranth, and tearless Hours, Long lilies, lived, whose hearts stiff gold did burn.

And there curled Joy clinked their chaste chalices; Distilled at dusk, poured bubbling dewy wine, Divine elixir! off his lips divine Tossed the fleet rapture to the golden lees,

And so lolled dazed with pleasure. And I said, "Yield me the lily thou hast drained that I This hollow thirst may kill and so not die?"

To me he laughed, "I yield it!"--but 'twas dead.

And each blown reach and eminence of blooms Flushed long, low, gurgling murmurs like a sea, And laughed bright lips that flashed white teeth of glee In pearly flower on flower; pure perfumes

Gasped the rolled fields; and o'er the eminence I journeyed joyless thro' a blossom-fire That, budding kisses curled with blown desire, Clasped me and claimed me tho' I spurned it hence.

Then came unto a land of thorns and weeds, And dust and thirst o'er which a songless sky, Hoa.r.s.e with lean vultures, scowled a scoffing lie, Where cold snakes hissed among dead, rattling reeds.

And there I saw the bony brow of Hate; Vile, vicious sneers, the eyes of shriveled Scorn Among the writhing briers; each a thorn Of cavernous hunger barbed with burning fate.

They, thro' her face-drawn locks of raveled dark, Stung a stark horror; and I felt my heart Freeze, wedged with ice, to dullness part by part, And knew Hate coiled toward me yet stood stark--

Fell; seeing on the happy, happy hills, Above that den of dust and th.o.r.n.y thirst, The bastioned walls of Love in glory burst, Built by sweet glades of Poesy and rills.

O Life, I had not life enough to strive!

O Hope, I had not hope enough to dream!

Death drew me to him and to sigh did seem, "Love? Love?--thou canst not reach her and yet live!

"For sorrow, joy, and hate, and scorn are bound About thee, girdling so, thy lips are dumb; And Fame, ah Fame! her towers are but a tomb-- Star-set on dwindling heights of starry ground.

"And thou art done and being done must die, Endeavor being dead and energy Slain, a wild bird that beat bars to be free, Despairing perished, finding life a lie."

VI.

If thou wouldst know the Beautiful that breathes Consanguined with young Earth, go seek!--but seek No sighing Shadows with dead hemlock-wreaths, No sleepy Sorrows whose wan eyes are weak With vanished vigils, Melancholy made, Forlorn, in lands of sin and saddening shade; No tearful Angers torn of truthless Love, Who stab their own hearts to dull daggers' hilts For vengeance sweet; no miser Moods that fade In owlet towers. Such it springs above, And buds on morning meads no flower that wilts.

If thou dost seek the Beautiful, beware!

Lest thou discover her, nor know 'tis she; And she enslave thee evermore, and there Reward thee with but kingliest beggary: Make thine the robust red her cheek that stings; The kiss-sweet odor, thine, her wild breath brings; Make thine the broad bloom of her crowned brow; The hearts of light that ardor her proud eyes; That melody,--which is herself,--that sings The poem of her presence and the vow, That stars exalts and mortals deifies.

Lone art thou then, lone as the lone first star Kindling pale beauty o'er the mournful wave; Lost to all happiness save searching far Thro' lands of Life where Death hath delved no grave: Lost,--even as I,--a devotee to her, Poor in world-blessedness her bliss to share, But rich in pa.s.sion.--For her hermitage Hope no Hydaspes' splendor, for it lies Mossy by woody waters hidden, where She, priestess pure, wise o'er all Wisdom sage, Shrines artists' hearts for G.o.dliest sacrifice.

VII.

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Then up the orient heights to the zenith that balanced a crescent,-- Up and far up and over,--a warm erubescence liquescent Rioted roses and rubies; eruptions of opaline gems, Flung and wide sown, blushed crushed, and crumbled from diadems Wealth of the kings of the Sylphs; whence, old alchemist, Earth-- Dewed down--by chemistry occult fashions petrified waters of worth.-- Then out of the stain and rash furor, the pa.s.sionate pulver of stone, The trembling suffusion that dazzled and awfully shone, Chamelion-convulsion of color, hilarious ranges of glare-- Like a G.o.d who for vengeance ires, nodding battle from every hair, Fares forth with majesty girdled and clangs with hot heroes for life, Till the brazen gates boom bursten h.e.l.ls and the walls roar bristling strife,-- Athwart with a stab of glittering fire, in-plunged like a knife, Cut billowing gold, in bullion rolled, and an army driven, Routed, the stars fled shriveled; and the white moon riven, Puffed,--like a foam-feather forth of a Triton's conch when sounded,-- Clung, vague as a web, on heaven; then weak as a face that is wounded Died on the withering clouds and sorrowed with them and mingled.

While up and up with a steadiness and triumph of sparkle that tingled, Wrestled the tempest of Dawn, that hurricaned heaven with spangle, And halcyon bloom like mercy,--a shatter, a scatter, a tangle Of labyrinthed glory.--O G.o.d! with manifold mirth The hallelujah of Heaven, hosanna of Earth.

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