The Golden Helm Part 6

9.

I heard a harper 'neath the castle walls Sing, for night-shelter in the house of thralls, A song of hapless lovers; in the shade I paused awhile, unseen of man or maid.

Taking his harp, he touched the moaning strings, And sang of queens unloved and loveless kings; His song shot through my fluttering heart like flame Till, wondering, I heard him breathe your name.

Oh, then I knew how all the deathless wrong Time wrought of old is but a harper's song; And all the hopeless sorrow of long years An idle tale to win a stranger's tears.

Yea, in the song of Love's immortal dead Our love was told; with shuddering heart I fled, And strove to pa.s.s upon my way unseen, But song was hushed with whispers: "Lo, the Queen!"

10.

Was it for this we loved, O Time, to be Among Love's deathless through eternity, Set high on lone, divided peaks above The sheltered summer-valley, broad and green?

Was it for this our joy and grief have been, Our barren day-dreams, dream-deserted nights-- That valley-lovers, looking up, might see How vain is Love among the starry heights, And, loving, sigh: "How vain a thing is Love!"?

O Love, that we had found thee in the shade Where, all day long, the deep, leaf-hidden glade Hears but the moan of some forsaken dove, Or the clear song of happy, nameless streams; Where, all night long, the August moonlight gleams Through warm, green dusk, no longer cold and white!

O Love, that we had found thee, unafraid, One summer morn, and followed thee till night, As unknown valley-lovers follow Love!

11.

I have grown old, awaiting spring's return, And, now spring comes, I stand like winter grey In a young world; yet warm within me burn The morning-fires Love kindled in youth's day.

I have grown old; the young folk look on me With sighs, and wonder that I once was fair, And whisper one another: "Is this she?

Did summer ever light that winter hair?

"Ah, she is old; yet, she, too, once was young: Yea, loved as we love even, for men tell How bright her beauty burned on every tongue, And how a knightly stranger loved her well.

"Yet Love grows old that beats so young and warm; His leaping fires in dust and ashes fail; Shall we, too, wither in the winter-storm, And wander thus one April, old and frail?"

Love grows not old, O lovers, though youth die, And bodily beauty perish as the flower; Though all things fail, though spring and summer fly, Love's fire burns quenchless till the last dark hour.

12.

O valley-lovers, think you love, Being all of joy, knows naught of sorrow?

A day, a night Of swift delight That fears no dread, grey-dawning morrow?

O valley-lovers, think you love Knows only laughter, naught of weeping?

A rose-red fire Of warm desire For ever burning, never sleeping?

O lovers, little know ye Love.

Love is a flame that feeds on sorrow-- A lone star bright Through endless night That waits a never-dawning morrow.

13.

"Thus would I sing of life, Ere I must yield my breath: Though broken in the strife, I sought not after death.

Though ruthless years have scourged My soul with sorrow's brands, And, day by day, have urged My feet o'er desert-sands; Yet would I rather tread Again the bitter trail, Than lie, calm-browed and pale, Among the loveless dead.

No pang would I forego, No stab of suffering, No agony of woe, If I to life might cling; If I might follow still, For evermore, afar, O'er barren dale and hill, My Love's unfading star.

Yea, now, with failing breath, Thus would I sing of life: Though broken in the strife, I sought not after death.

14.

Darkness has come upon me in the end; Darkness has come upon me like a friend, Yet undesired; why comest thou, O night, To seal mine eyes for ever from the light?

Darkness has come upon me; yet a star Burns through the night and beckons me from far.

Look up, O eyes, unfaltering, without fear; O morning-star of Love, the dawn is near!

THE GOLDEN HELM.

The Golden Helm

I.

Across his stripling shoulders Geoffrey felt The knighting-sword fall lightly, and he heard The King's voice bid him rise; and at the word He rose, new-flushed with knighthood, swiftly grown To sudden manhood, though, but now, he knelt A vigil-wearied squire before the throne.

He paused one moment while the people turned To look on him with eyes that kindled bright, Seeing his face aglow with strange, new light; Yet them he saw not where they watched amazed, And, though like azure flames Queen Hild's eyes burned, Beyond the shadow of the throne he gazed To where, in kindred rapture, young Christine Stood, tremulous and white, in wind-flower grace-- Beneath her thick, dark hair, her happy face Pale-gleaming 'midst the ruddy maiden-throng; But, following Geoffrey's eyes, the trembling Queen Now bade the harpers rouse the air with song: From pulsing throat and silver-throbbing string The music soared, light-winged, and, fluttering, fell; When, startled as one waking from a spell, Geoffrey stepped back among the waiting knights; While knelt another squire before the King.

In Queen Hild's eyes yet hovered stormy lights, Beneath her glooming brows, as waters gleam Under snow-laden skies; the summer day For her in that brief glance had shivered grey, Empty of light and song. She only heard The King and knights as people of a dream; Yet keenly Geoffrey's lightest, laughing word Stung to the quick, and stabbed her quivering life, Till from each shuddering wound the red joy flowed; And, though a ruddy fire on each cheek glowed, She felt her drained heart within her cold; Then all at once a hot thought stirred new strife Within her breast, and suddenly grown old And wise in treacherous imagining, She pressed her thin lips to a bitter smile, And strove with laughing mask to hide the guile That, slowly welling, through her body poured Cold-blooded life that feels no arrowy sting Of joy or hope, nor thrust of pity's sword.

To Christine, where she yet enraptured stood, Hild, turning, spake kind words, and coldly praised The new-made knight. Each word Christine amazed Drank in with joyous heart and eager ears; To her it seemed ne'er lived a Queen so good; And love's swift rapture filled her eyes with tears.

For her true heart, the day-long pageant moved Round Geoffrey's shining presence; king and knight But shone for her with pale, reflected light.

As tranced planets circling round the sun, About the radiant head of her beloved The dim throngs moved until the day was done.

When lucent gold suffused the cloudless west, And lingering thrush-notes failed in drowsy song, She left, at last, the weary maiden-throng, To stray alone through dew-hung garden-glades; And all the love unsealed within her breast Flowed out from her to light the darkest shades.

Her quivering maiden-body could not hold The sudden welling of love's loosened flood; Through all her limbs it gushed, and in her blood It stormed each throbbing pulse with blissful ache; It seemed to spray the utmost glooms with gold, And scatter glistening dews in every brake.

While yet she moved in rapture unafraid Among the lilies, down the Grey Nun's Walk, She heard behind the snapping of a stalk, And stayed transfixed, nor dared to turn her head, But stood a solitary, trembling maid-- Forlorn and frail, with all her courage fled.

Thus Geoffrey found her as, hot-foot, he pressed To pour about her all the glowing tide Day-pent within his heart; the flood-gates wide, His love swept over her, sea after sea, Until life almost swooned within her breast, And she seemed like to drown in ecstasy.

Yet, as the tempest sank in calm at last, She rose from out the foam of love, new-born-- As Venus from the irised surf of morn-- To such triumphant beauty, Geoffrey, thralled, Before her stood in wonder rooted fast; Even his love within him bowed appalled In tongueless worship as he gazed on her; While, lily-like, the tranced flowers among, She stood, love-radiant, and above her hung The canopy of star-enkindling night; Though, when again she moved with joyous stir, He sprang to her in love's unchallenged might.

II.

All night, beside her slumbering lord, the Queen Tossed sleepless--every aching sense astrain With tingling wakefulness that racked like pain Her weary limbs; all night, in wide-eyed dread, She watched the slow hours moving dark between The glimmering window and the curtained bed.

The fitful calling of the owl, all night, Struck like the voice of terror on her ears; With brushing wings, about her taloned fears Fluttered till dawn: when, as the summer gloom, Grey-quivering, spilt in silver-showering light, She rose and stood within the dawning room, Shivering and pale--her long, unbraided hair Each moment quickening to a livelier gold About her snowy shoulders; yet, more cold Than the still gleam of winter-frozen meres, Her blue eyes shone with strange, unseeing stare, As though they sought to pierce some mist of fears; And, when she turned, the old familiar things Unknown and alien seemed to her sight-- Outworn and faded in the morning light The rose-embroidered tapestries, and frail The painted Love that hung on irised wings Above the sleeping King. Dark-browed and pale She looked upon her lord, and fresh despair With dreadful calm through all her being stole, And froze with icy breath the flickering soul That strove within her. Evil courage steeled Her heart once more, as, combing back her hair, She watched the waking world of wood and field: Hay-harvesters with long scythes flashing white; The dewy-browsing deer; the blue smoke-curl Above some woodland hut; a kerchiefed girl Driving the kine afield with loitering pace.

But, as a youthful rider came in sight, She from the cas.e.m.e.nt turned with darkening face, And looked not out again, and fiercely pressed Her white teeth in her quivering underlip, To stifle the wild cry that strove to slip From her strained throat; with clutching hands she sought To stay the throbbing tumult of her breast That fluttered like a bird in meshes caught.

Christine as yet in dreamless slumber lay Within her turret-chamber; but a bird Within the laurel singing softly stirred Her eyes to wakeful life, and from her bed She rose and stood within the light of day, White-faced and wondering, with lifted head.

As April-b.u.t.terflies, new-winged for flight, That poise awhile in quivering amaze, Ere they may dare the unknown, glittering ways Of perilous airs--upon the brink of morn She paused one moment in the showering light, In radiant ecstasy of youth forlorn.

Then swift remembrance flushed her virgin snow, And wakened in her eyes the living fire; With joyous haste she drew her bright attire About her trembling limbs, with eager hands, Veiling her maiden beauty's morning glow, Before she looked abroad on meadowlands, Where Geoffrey rode at dawn. Across the blaze Of dandelions silvering to seed, She saw his white horse swing with easy speed; He rode with head exultant in the breeze That lifted his brown hair. With lingering gaze She watched him vanish down an aisle of trees; Then, swiftly gathering her dark hair in braids Above her slender neck, she crossed the floor With noiseless step, unlatched the creaking door, And stole in trembling silence down the stair, Intent to reach the garden ere the maids Should come with chattering tongues and laughter there; When by her side she heard a rustling stir: The arras parted, and before her stood Queen Hild in proud, imperious womanhood, Looking upon her with cold, smiling eyes.

In startled wonder Christine glanced at her.

Then spake the Queen: "Do maids thus early rise To tend their household duties, or to feed The doves, relinquishing sleep's precious hours To see the morning dew upon the flowers And what frail blooms have perished 'neath the moon?

To reach the Grey Nun's Walk, mayhap you speed-- To count the stricken buds of lilies strewn O'ernight upon the soil by careless feet That wandered there so late? Yea, now I know, Christine, because you flush and tremble so.