King Midas Part 5

"You will forgive me," said Arthur, smiling.

"Don't be too sure of it," Helen said; "I looked for you everywhere, and I am quite angry."

"I was obeying your high command," the other replied, still smiling.

"My command? I told you to wait for me."

"You told me something else," laughed Arthur. "You spent all the morning instructing me for it, you know."

"Oh!" said Helen. It was a broad and very much prolonged "Oh," for a sudden light was dawning upon the girl; as it came her frown gave place to a look of delight.

"You have been writing me a poem!" she cried, eagerly.

"Yes," said Arthur.

"Oh, you dear boy!" Helen laughed. "Then I do forgive you; but you ought to have told me, for I had to walk home all alone, and I've been worrying about you. I never once thought of the poem."

"The muses call without warning," laughed Arthur, "and one has to obey them, you know."

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the other. "And so you've been wandering around the woods all this time, making verses! And you've been waving your arms and talking to yourself, and doing all sorts of crazy things, I know!" Then as she saw Arthur flush, she went on: "I was sure of it!

And you ran away so that I wouldn't see you! Oh, I wish I'd known; I'd have hunted you up and never come home until I'd found you."

As was usual with Helen, her momentary vexation had gone like April rain, and all her seriousness had vanished with it. She forgot all about the last scene in the woods, and Arthur was once more the friend of her girlhood, whom she might take by the hand when she chose, and with whom she might be as free and happy as when she was alone with the flowers and the wind. It seemed as if Arthur too had vented all his pent up emotion, and returned to his natural cheerful self.

"Tell me," she cried, "did you put in all the things I told you about?"

"I put all I could," said Arthur. "That is a great deal to ask."

"I only want it to be full of life," laughed Helen. "That's all I care about; the man who wants to write springtime poetry for me must be wide awake!"

"Shall I read it to you?" asked Arthur, hesitatingly.

"Yes, of course," said Helen. "And read it as if you meant it; if I like it I'll tell you so."

"I wrote it for nothing but to please you" was the reply, and Arthur took a much bescrawled piece of paper from his pocket; the girl seated herself upon the piano stool again and gazed up at him as he rested his elbow upon the top of the piano and read his lines. There could not have been a situation in which the young poet would have read them with more complete happiness, and so it was a pleasure to watch him. And Helen's eyes kindled, and her cheeks flushed brightly as she listened, for she found that the verses had taken their imagery from her very lips.

In the May-time's golden glory Ere the quivering sun was high, I heard the Wind of Morning Through the laughing meadows fly;

In his pa.s.sion-song was throbbing All the madness of the May, And he whispered: Thou hast labored; Thou art weary; come away!

Thou shalt drink a fiery potion For thy prisoned spirit's pain; Thou shalt taste the ancient rapture That thy soul has sought in vain.

I will tell thee of a maiden, One who has thy longing fanned-- Spirit of the Forest Music-- Thou shalt take her by the hand,

Lightly by her rosy fingers Trembling with her keen delight, And her flying steps shall lead thee Out upon the mountain's height;

To a dance undreamed of mortal To the Baccha.n.a.l of Spring,-- Where in mystic joy united Nature's bright-eyed creatures sing.

There the green things of the mountain, Million-voiced, newly-born, And the flowers of the valley In their beauty's crimson morn;

There the winged winds of morning, Spirits unresting, touched with fire, And the streamlets, silver-throated, They whose leaping steps ne'er tire!

Thou shalt see them, ever circling Round about a rocky spring, While the gaunt old forest-warriors Madly their wide branches fling.

Thou shalt tread the whirling measure, Bathe thee in its frenzied strife; Thou shalt have a mighty memory For thy spirit's after life.

Haste thee while thy heart is burning, While thine eyes have strength to see; Hark, behind yon blackening cloud-bank, To the Storm-King's minstrelsy!

See, he stamps upon the mountains, And he leaps the valleys high!

Now he smites his forest harp-strings, And he sounds his thunder-cry:--

Waken, lift ye up, ye creatures, Sing the song, each living thing!

Join ye in the mighty pa.s.sion Of the Symphony of Spring!

And so the young poet finished, his cheeks fairly on fire, and, as he gazed down at Helen, his hand trembling so that he could hardly hold the paper. One glance told him that she was pleased, for the girl's face was flushed like his own, and her eyes were sparkling with delight. Arthur's heart gave a great throb within him.

"You like it!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, Arthur, I do!" she cried. "Oh, how glorious you must have been!" And trembling with girlish delight, she took the paper from his hand and placed it in front of her on the music rack.

"Oh, I should like to write music for it!" she exclaimed; "for those lines about the Storm-King!"

And she read them aloud, clenching her hands and shaking her head, carried away by the image they brought before her eyes. "Oh, I should like music for it!" she cried again.

"I don't know very much about poetry, you know," she added, laughing excitedly. "If it's about the things I like, I can't help thinking it's fine. It's just the same with music,--if a man only makes it swift and strong, so that it leaps and flies and never tires, that is all I care about; and if he just keeps his trombones till the very last, he can carry me off my feet though he makes the worst noise that ever was! It's the same as a storm, you know, Arthur; do you remember how we used to go up on our hillside when the great wind was coming, and when everything was growing still and black; and how we used to watch the big clouds and the sheets of rain, and run for home when we heard the thunder? Once when you were away, Arthur, I didn't run, for I wanted to see what it was like; and I stayed up there and saw it all, singing the 'Ride of the Valkyries,'

and pretending I was one of them and could gallop with the wind. For the wind is fine, Arthur! It fills you so full of its power that you stretch out your arms to it, and it makes you sing; and it comes, and it comes again, stronger than ever, and it sweeps you on, just like a great ma.s.s of music. And then it howls through the trees and it flies over the valleys,--that was what you were thinking of, weren't you, Arthur?"

And Helen stopped, breathlessly, and gazed at him; her cheeks were flushed, and her hands still tightly clasped.

"Yes," said Arthur, half mechanically, for he had lost himself in the girl's enthusiasm, and felt the storm of his verses once more.

"Your poem made me think of that one time that was so gloriously,"

Helen went on. "For the rain was almost blinding, and I was drenched, but I did not even know it. For oh, the thunder! Arthur, you've no idea what thunder is like till you're near it! There fell one fearful bolt quite near me, a great white, living thing, as thick as a man's body, and the crash of it seemed to split the air.

But oh, I didn't mind it a bit! 'Der Sanger triumphirt in Wettern!'

I think I was a real Valkyrie that time, and I only wished that I might put it into music."

The girl turned to the piano, and half in play struck a great rumbling chord, that rolled and echoed through the room; she sounded it once more, laughing aloud with glee. Arthur had sunk down upon a chair beside her, and was bending forward, watching her with growing excitement. For again and again Helen struck the keys with all the power of her arms, until they seemed to give forth real storm and thunder; and as she went on with her reckless play the mood grew upon her, and she lost herself in the vision of the Storm-King sweeping through the sky. She poured out a great stream of his wild music, singing away to herself excitedly in the meantime. And as the rush continued and the fierce music swelled louder, the phantasy took hold of the girl and carried her beyond herself. She seemed to become the very demon of the storm, unbound and reckless; she smote the keys with right royal strength, and the piano seemed a thing of life beneath her touch. The pace became faster, and the thunder rattled and crashed more wildly, and there awoke in the girl's soul a power of musical utterance that she had never dreamed of in her life before. Her whole being was swept away in ecstasy; her lips were moving excitedly, and her pulses were leaping like mad. She seemed no longer to know of the young man beside her, who was bent forward with clenched hands, carried beyond himself by the sight of her exulting power.

And in the meantime, Helen's music was surging on, building itself up into a great climax that swelled and soared and burst in a deafening thunder crash; and while the air was still throbbing and echoing with it, the girl joined to it her deep voice, grown suddenly conscious of new power:

"See, he stamps upon the mountains, And he leaps the valleys high!

Now he smites his forest harp-strings, And he sounds his thunder cry!"

And as the cry came the girl laughed aloud, like a very Valkyrie indeed, her laugh part of the music, and carried on by it; and then gradually as the tempest swept on, the rolling thunder was lost in a march that was the very tread of the Storm-King. And the march broadened, and the thunder died out of it slowly, and all the wild confusion, and then it rose, glorious and triumphant, and turned to a mighty pean, a mightier one than ever Helen could have made. The thought of it had come to her as an inspiration, and as a refuge, that the glory of her pa.s.sion might not be lost. The march had led her to it, and now it had taken her in its arms and swept her away, as it had swept millions by its majesty. It was the great Ninth Symphony Hymn:

"Hail thee, Joy! From Heaven descending, Daughter from Elysium!

Ecstasy our hearts inflaming, To thy sacred shrine we come.

Thine enchantments bind together Those whom custom's law divides; All are brothers, all united, Where thy gentle wing abides."