Ardours and Endurances Part 10

Whoop! Whoop! They run: _The Pursuit._ The hare once spied, the hunt's begun!-- Goodman and goodman's wife, pert Polly, Clown Colin, Wiggen and maid Molly, Pant, crying, "Thief!" The while behind Shrunk Dorcas hops, and fills the wind With apish merriment, shrill malice, And cries of--"Well run, Poll! Run, Alice!

Run, child! The master's cloak and all!

How sad the goodman's ta'en a fall!

Mistress down, too--he! he! what pity!

Run, Alice child, my bird, my pretty; Show 'em how nimble thou canst be,-- Ay, but the girl runs prettily.

Run, Hobbinol, thou gawky man!

Thou mayest kiss if catch thou can!

Odd's me! and what's it all about?

A thief? That mischief Faun!"

A shout Startles the pigeons from the croft: "We've circled him!" "He's in the loft."

But as they, silent, crowd unto 't I jump. For am not I a goat?

From out the hayloft's height I leap O'er their craned heads into the deep Gra.s.s of the orchard. Thence I run Across lush meadows. One by one They fall behind....

A scarecrow I Now seek, and 'bout it carefully Enwrap the newly pilfered cloak....

Scarecrows are such poor crazy folk....

VIII

So to a th.o.r.n.y thicket dense _The Faun With rosy-coloured may-bloom, whence hides._ I can hear a torrent rumble, And, peering forth, behold it tumble c.u.mbrously into a pool whose white Tumult sears the giddied sight.

There, half dozed, silent, smile to hear A babble of voices drawing near, Spy many a boy and laughing la.s.s Racing hands-linked across the gra.s.s.

_Boys and Girls._ Now has the blue-eyed Spring Sped dancing through the plain. A CATCH Girls weave a daisy chain; FOR SPRING.

Boys race beside the sedge; Dust fills the blinding lane; May lies upon the hedge: All creatures love the spring!

The clouds laugh on, and would Dance with us if they could; The larks ascend and shrill; A woodp.e.c.k.e.r fills the wood; Jays laugh crossing the hill: All creatures love the spring!

The lithe cloud-shadows chase Over the whole earth's face, And where winds ruffling veer O'er wooded streams' dark ways Mad fish upscudding steer: All creatures love the spring!

Into the dairy cool Run, girls, to drink thick cream!

Race, boys, to where the stream Winds through a rumbling pool, And your bright bodies fling Into the foaming cool!

For we'll enjoy our spring!

IX

Seaward my forest way I'll take, _Of the Faun's And at a pool's lit quietude slake Journey to the Sea._ My thirst, and feel a dull flame creep Like the first flux of tidal sleep Through all my limbs. Yet, when I sink Sleepward, start wide-eyed up to drink The sunned wood's wet deliciousness, Touch flowers, and feel the sun's caress About my locks, and wander on, Or pause to smile up at the sun, Guarding my eyes with glowing hand, Or, leaned against a beech-trunk, stand Watching between the branches' rift, As they gently wave and lift To the bland breeze softly blowing, The noiseless clouds serenely going Slowly to the hid, low sea I can hear breathing slumberously.

Till from the woodland I emerge, Greeted by a louder surge, And from the bushy cliff-top spy How the hollow bay doth lie One quiver and murmur under the sun, And how the lightsome wind-puffs run Chasing each other crookedly, Over the idly heaving sea.

Next I will turn my eyes, perhaps, _Of the To where the languid waters lapse Sea-Horses._ Glittering over a sunburned rock Round which the shrieking white gulls flock....

Thus browsing in my solitude, I may remember I've a feud With the Sea-Horses, once who drave Me from the sea-light of their cave.

Enough! and, crashing down, I come To find them drowsing in their home....

So creep I with a crooked stick To where a blinding pool is quick With green electric water-snakes.

Sprawling across a rock which bakes I stir the molten till they boil And up my hawthorn kick and coil; Then scamper, rocketing, to the cave, Hurl the stick in. Hark! how they rave, And plunge up clattering, kicking, neighing, Till Triton on his horn 'gins braying, And each hasteneth to belabour With hooves or tear with teeth his neighbour, And from the cavern's blueness rush Into the simmering beach's hush, To stand, with heaving flanks, agaze At the hot stones and still sea's blaze: Then stampede, scattering high and wide A hail of stones and glittering tide.

X

I will walk the sunny wood, _Of the Faun Deep and tranquil as my mood, in his And watch how the honeyed sunlight is Meditation._ Hung in the great boughs of the trees, And the pattern the branchwork weaves Under the panoply of leaves, And how high up two b.u.t.terflies Pa.s.s, vaulting, out into the skies.

Or, entering a silent glade, Draw a sharp breath and stand dismayed At beauty which doth straight present Such a spasm of ravishment Sight is confused, and doth confess Her wreck in voiceless tenderness: Seeing the flower-decked cherry-trees-- Unruffled ever by any breeze, Unburned by bright dawn's fiery chill-- Standing celestially still....

Or lay me down 'neath chestnut boughs, And drowse and dream and dream and drowse, Drunk with the greenness overhead, Until a blossom of sharp red, Shook from her high and scalding place, Splash with chill scent my upturned face.

XI

But, lo! amid the woodland green _Of the What mantles of strange blue are seen? Philosopher._ What sage is he who slowly leads Disciples on and little heeds The holiness of sylvan haunt, Where even the silver bird dare chant But seldom? where the sunlight lies Here scalding gold, and yonder dies Into a humid, still, green gloom?

Hath not he in the forum room To vent himself, that now with rude Rabble he scareth Solitude From her ultimate hiding-place?

Now steps he forward a slow pace, And 'gins his discourse. Hear him prate, O woods, to silence consecrate; Hear him, O flowers, whose golden eyes Speak more than all Man's orat'ries!--

_Philosopher._ Meanwhile, though nations in distress Cower at a comet's loveliness _And his Shaken across the midnight sky; Oration._ Though the wind roars, and Victory, A virgin fierce, on vans of gold Stoops through the cloud's white smother rolled Over the armies' shock and flow Across the broad green hills below, Yet hovers and will not circle down To cast t'ward one the leafy crown; Though men drive galleys' golden beaks To isles beyond the sunset peaks, And cities on the sea behold Whose walls are gla.s.s, whose gates are gold, Whose turrets, risen in an hour, Dazzle between the sun and shower, Whose sole inhabitants are kings Six cubits high with gryphon's wings And beard and mien more glorious Than Midas or a.s.saracus; Though priests in many a hill-top fane Lift anguished hands--and lift in vain-- Toward the sun's shaft dancing through The bright roof's square of wind-swept blue; Though 'cross the stars nightly arise The silver fumes of sacrifice; Though a new Helen bring new scars, Pyres piled upon wrecked golden cars, Stacked spears, rolled smoke, and spirits sped Like a streaked flame toward the dead: Though all these be, yet grows not old Delight of sunned and windy wold, Of soaking downs aglare, asteam, Of still tarns where the yellow gleam Of a far sunrise slowly breaks, Or sunset strews with golden flakes The deeps which soon the stars will throng.

For earth yet keeps her undersong Of comfort and of ultimate peace, That whoso seeks shall never cease To hear at dawn or noon or night.

Joys hath she, too, joys thin and bright, Too thin, too bright, for those to hear Who listen with an eager ear, Or course about and seek to spy, Within an hour, eternity.

First must the spirit cast aside This world's and next his own poor pride And learn the universe to scan More as a flower less as a man.

Then shall he hear the lonely dead Sing and the stars sing overhead, And every spray upon the heath And larks above and ants beneath; The stream shall take him in her arms; Blue skies shall rest him in their calms; The wind shall be a lovely friend, And every leaf and bough shall bend Over him with a lover's grace.

The hills shall bare a perfect face Full of a high solemnity; The heavenly clouds shall weep, and be Content as overhead they swim To be high brothers unto him.

No more shall he feel pitched and hurled Uncomprehended into this world For every place shall be his place, And he shall recognize its face.

At dawn he shall upon his path; No sword shall touch him, nor the wrath Of the ranked crowd of clamorous men.

At even he shall home again, And lay him down to sleep at ease, One with the Night and the Night's peace.

Ev'n Sorrow, to be escaped of none, But a more deep communion Shall be to him, and Death at last No more dreaded than the Past, Whose shadow in the brain of earth Informs him now and gave him birth.

Up, O Faun, up! is he a man _The Faun's So dares affront the great G.o.d Pan? Anger._ Creep I now close....

(Has he not heard Ever the lamb cry as the bird Descends upon its helpless head To pluck its eyes out? Blank with dread Did he ne'er press in stumbling haste Over the wide moor's tossing waste?

Or, stripped to plunge, did never eye The sunned pool smiling treacherously, Despair and terror in his heart?

Hate on him!) See: he draws apart That with himself he may commune The while to a low murmuring tune Wrung from a golden-stringed lyre The young men chant. Hist! Draws he nigher?

Now crouch I mid a thicket where The spicy hedge-rose warms the air With giddy scent, and for an hour Woos with her open-bosomed flower The full gaze of her lord the sun, And through whose thorns the sunbeams run Spangling the cavern of the brake With chequered shade such as the snake Loves to repose in, that the heat Upon his sullen coils may beat, Breeding within his ancient heart Such malice that his tongue must dart Flickering in silence out and in, The while adown his withered skin, From horns above his murderous eyes, The cold surge shudders, ebbs, and dies.

And now yon comes, with solemn head _And of the Trick Sunk upon breast, with laurel spread the Faun played, About his thought-bewrinkled brows. thereby symbolizing All hail, philosopher! I rouse the Rule of Pan Thee by a low and single hiss. in Nature._ He is frozen still. A sudden bliss Seizes me, and a branch I shake As gently as an unseen snake Swinging toward him.

But he stands, Clasps and unclasps his gradual hands In silence save for one long sigh Of terror.

And I draw more nigh.

Beneath his glazed eyes I sway Three leaves upon one stilly spray: He blenches.

Ha! it was well done, That final hiss.

I am alone: For with a harsh cry he has fled Hideously stumbling, and is led Speechless away.

The lyre, forgot, Lies in the gra.s.s....

XII

I know a spot _Of the Spring, Where, to the sound of water sighing, Frequent Haunt The Naiads, when the sun is lying of the Lonely Heavy on mead and fronded tree, Naiads._ When birds are silent and the bee Swoons in the dewed heart of the rose, Sing hushedly.

I will repose Upon its banks and to the spring An answer make with hands that cling Over this lost lyre's murmurous chords And with their voiced quiet mingle words Such as my shrouded soul affords When the warm blood within my veins Throbs heavily, and the noon sun reigns, Who would heaven and earth unite In one blaze of arduous light, Till dark woods, fields, bronzed sky, and deep, In one maniac dull dream sleep.

XIII

_The Naiads._ Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep: THE NAIADS'

For our kisses lightlier run MUSIC.

Than the traceries of the sun By the lolling water cast Up grey precipices vast, Lifting smooth and warm and steep Out of the palely shimmering deep.

Come, ye sorrowful, and take Kisses that are but half awake: For here are eyes O softer far Than the blossom of the star Upon the mothy twilit waters, And here are mouths whose gentle laughters Are but the echoes of the deep Laughing and murmuring in its sleep.