The Ballad of the Quest Part 5

They journeyed beyond the shadow of fear, And past the ghost of despair;-- On the coasts of coral they made their bed, Or they fell asleep where the ground was red, And grey wings shadowed the air.

High adventurers! Gentlemen all!

Knights of the golden code;-- That we might ride softly, you rode hard,-- That we might go safely,--you without guard Followed the perilous road!

THE CALL

Come to me out of the night, In any way that you will, As a radiance, unspeakably bright-- Or a shadow, close-hooded and still; Nothing will touch me of fear-- Harken! I make thee my vow!-- Out of the darkness, my dear, Come to me now!

This is the old haunted place,-- Haunted by ghosts of spent hours: Decked by the ivy's green lace, Sweet with the dusk-opened flowers; This is the garden you know, Moon-touched, and tranquil and dear,-- I, alone, walk to and fro,-- Come to me here!

BEFORE THE DAWN

In that one darkest hour, before the dawn is here, Each soul of us goes sailing, close to the coast of Fear.

There in the windless quiet, from out the folded black, The things we have forgotten--or would forget--come back.

Old sorrows, long abandoned, or kept with lock and key, Steal from their prison places to bear us company.

All softly come our little sins--our scarlet sins--and gray.

To keep with us a vigil till breaking of the day.

And there are velvet footsteps; or oft we seem to hear Light garments brush against the dark; so near--so very near!

From out the red confusion where men long watches keep, New shadows come--we know they come--and in the dark we weep.

Then heavily, as weighed by tears, each haunted moment goes, For dawn steps down the morning sky, in robes of gray and rose.

O fairies of the forest-ring, and little men in green, And pixies of the moonlight, and elves no eye hath seen, Brew us a magic potion, of deep and fairy power, A draught of Lethe--for one night--to tide us past that hour.

THE FAIRY CLOCK

Silver clock! O silver clock! tell to me the time o' day!

Is there yet a little hour left for us to work and play?

Tell me when the sun will set--tiny globe of silver-grey?

It has been so glad a world since the coming of the morn;-- Oft I wondered, when I met any souls who seemed forlorn; And I scarce gave heed to those who were old or travel worn.

Mayhap I have loved too well all the merry fleeting things; Run too lightly with the wind,--chased too many shining wings; Thought too seldom of the night, and the silence that it brings.

Well I fear me I have been but an idler in the sun; All unfinished are the tasks long and long ago begun;-- In the dark perchance they weep, who have left their work undone.

And I know each black-frocked friar preacheth sermons that, alas!

Fain would halt the dancing feet of those careless ones who pa.s.s, Down a sweet and primrose path, through the ribbons of the gra.s.s.

Silver-clock! O Silver-clock! It was only yesterday Dandelions flecked the field, starry-bright and gold and gay; You are but the ghost of one--little globe of silver-grey!

Tell me--tell me of the hour,--for there is so much to do!

Is it early? Is it late? Fairy-clock! O tell me true, As I blow you down the wind, out upon a road of blue!

THE TEMPLE

Enter the temple beautiful! The house not made with hands!

Rain-washed and green, wind-swept and clean, Beneath the blue it stands, And no cathedral anywhere Seemeth so holy or so fair.

It hath no heavy gabled roof, no door with lock and key; No window-bars shut out the stars, The aisles are wide and free;-- Here through the night each altar-light Is but a moon-beam, silver-white.

Silently as the temple grew at Solomon's command,-- Still as things seem within a dream, This rose from out the land;-- And all the pillars, grey and high, Lifted their arches to the sky.

Here is the perfume of the leaves, the incense of the pines,-- The magic scent, that hath been pent, Within the tangled vines: No censor filled with spices rare E'er swung such sweetness on the air!

And all the golden gloom of it holdeth no haunting fear, For it is blessed, and giveth rest To those who enter here;-- Here in the evening--who can know But G.o.d Himself walks to and fro!

And music past all mastering within the chancel rings; None could desire a sweeter choir, Than this--that soars and sings,-- Till far the scented shadows creep,-- And quiet darkness bringeth sleep.

THE WHISTLER

Throughout the sunny day he whistled on his way;-- Oh, high and low, and gay and sweet, The melody rang down the street, Till all the weary, old and grey, Smiled at their work, or stopped to say, "Now G.o.d be thanked that youth is fair,-- And light of heart, and free from care."

What time the wind blew high, he whistled and went by;-- Then clarion clear on every side The song was scattered far and wide!

Like birds above a storm that fly, The silver notes soared to the sky; "O soul, whose courage does not fail But with a song can meet the gale."

And when the rain fell fast, he whistled as he pa.s.sed;-- A little tune the whole world knew,-- A song of love, of love most true; On through the mist it came at last To one by sorrow overcast; "Dear Christ," she said, "by night and day They serve who praise, as well as pray."

Though the great world was white, he whistled in the night;-- The sky was spangled all with gold, The bitter wind was keen and cold, Yet, dear musician, out of sight, You still put wintry thoughts to flight, For summer follows where you fare, O Whistler, so debonair!

And when the fog hung grey, he whistled on his way;-- The little children in his train With rosy lips caught up the strain.

Then I, to hear what he might say, Followed with them, that sombre day.

"Is it for joy of life," quoth I, "Good sir, you go awhistling by?"

He smiled, and sighed, and shook his head, "I cheer my own sad heart," he said.