The Poems of William Watson Part 16

But soon, like one that hath a sudden thought, He lifted up his eyes, and turning sought The halls once more where he was bred, and pa.s.sed Through court and corridor, and reached at last His chamber, in a world of glimmer and gloom.

Here, while the moonrays filled the wide rich room, The Prince in haste put off his courtly dress For raiment of a lesser sumptuousness (A sober habit such as might disguise His royal rank in any stranger's eyes) And taking in his hand three gems that made Three several splendours in the moonlight, laid These in his bosom, where no eye might see The triple radiance; then all noiselessly Down the wide stair from creaking floor to floor Pa.s.sed, and went out from the great palace-door.

Crossing the s.p.a.cious breadth of garden ground, Wherein his footfalls were the only sound Save the wind's wooing of the tremulous trees, Forth of that region of imperial ease He fared, amid the doubtful shadows dim, No eye in all the place beholding him; No eye, save only of the warders, who Opened the gates that he might pa.s.s therethrough.

And now to the safe-keeping of the night Intrusted he the knowledge of his flight; And quitting all the purlieus of the court, Out from the city by a secret port Went, and along the moonlit highway sped.

And himself spake unto himself and said (Heard only of the silence in his heart) "Tarry thou here no longer, but depart Unto the land of the Great Mage; and seek The Mage; and whatsoever he shall speak, Give ear to that he saith, and reverent heed; And wheresoever he may bid thee speed, Thitherward thou shalt set thy face and go.

For surely one of so great lore must know Where lies the land thou sawest in thy dream: Nay, if he know not that,--why, then I deem The wisdom of exceeding little worth That reads the heavens but cannot read the earth."

PART THE THIRD

So without rest or tarriance all that night, Until the world was blear with coming light, Forth fared the princely fugitive, nor stayed His wearied feet till morn returning made Some village all a-hum with wakeful stir; And from that place the royal wayfarer Went ever faster on and yet more fast, Till, ere the noontide sultriness was past, Upon his ear the burden of the seas Came dreamlike, heard upon a cool fresh breeze That tempered gratefully a fervent sky.

And many an hour ere sundown he drew nigh A fair-built seaport, warder of the land And watcher of the wave, with odours fanned Of green fields and of blue from either side;-- A pleasant place, wherein he might abide, Unknown of man or woman, till such time As any ship should sail to that far clime Where lived the famous great astrologer.

Entered within its gates, a wanderer Besoiled with dust and no-wise richly drest, Yet therewithal a prince and princeliest Of princes, with the press of motley folk He mixed unheeded and unknown, nor spoke To any, no man speaking unto him, But, being wearied sore in every limb, Sought out a goodly hostel where he might Rest him and eat and tarry for the night: And having eaten he arose and pa.s.sed Down to the wharves where many a sail and mast Showed fiery-dark against the setting sun: There, holding talk with whom he chanced upon, In that same hour by great good hap he found The master of a vessel outward-bound Upon the morrow for that selfsame port Whither he sought to go (where dwelt at court The mage deep-read in starry charact'ry).

An honest man and pleasant-tongued was he, This worthy master-mariner; and since He had no scorn of well-got gain, the Prince Agreed to pay him certain sums in gold, And go aboard his vessel, ere were told Two hours of sunlight on the coming day; And thus agreed they wended each his way, For the dusk hour was nigh, and all the West Lay emptied of its sun. But as he pressed Up the long seaward-sloping street that ran Through half the town, the Prince sought out a man Who dealt in pearls and diamonds and all Manner of stones which men do precious call; To whom the least of his three gems he sold For a great price, and laden with the gold Forthwith returned unto his hostelry And dreamed all night of seaports and the sea.

Early the morrow-morn, a fair soft gale Blowing from overland, the ship set sail At turning of the tide; and from her deck The Prince gazed till the town was but a speck, And all the sh.o.r.e became a memory: And still he gazed, though more he might not see Than the wide waters and the great wide sky.

And many a long unchangeful day went by Ere land was sighted, but at length uprose A doubtful dusky something, toward the close Of the last hour before one sultry noon: Most like an isle of cloud it seemed, but soon The sailors knew it for the wished strand, And ere the evenfall they reached the land, And that same night the royal wanderer lay In a strange city, amid strange folk, till Day Rose from the dim sea's lap and with his wings Fanned into wakefulness all breathing things.

Then he uprose, but going forth that morn A sadness came upon him, and forlorn He felt within himself, and nowise light Of heart: for all his lonely travel might Prove void and fruitless and of no avail, (Thus pondered he) and should it wholly fail, What then were left him for to do? Return To his own country, that his kin might learn To know him duped and fooled of fantasies, Blown hither and thither by an idle breeze From Dreamland? Or in lieu, perchance, of this, Wander unresting, reft of hope and bliss, A mariner on a sea that hath no coast, Seeking a shade, himself a shade, and lost In shadows, as a wave is lost i' the sea.

Thus in a heart not lightsome pondered he, And roamed from unfamiliar street to street, Much marvelling that all he chanced to meet Showed faces troubled as his own: for some Did weep outright, and over all a gloom Hung, as a cloud that blotteth out the sun.

Wherefore the Prince addressed him unto one Of sadder visage even than the rest, Who, ever as he walked, or beat his breast Or groaned aloud or with his fingers rent His robe, and, being besought to say what meant This look of rue on all men's faces, cried In loud amazement, "What, can any abide Within this city, having ears to hear, Yet know not how this morn the mighty seer Hath died and left the land all desolate?

For now, when sudden ills befall the state, There will be none to warn or prophesy As he, but when calamities are nigh No man will know till they be come and we Be all undone together, woe is me!"

Thus ended he his outcry and again Pa.s.sed on his way and mixed with other men Scarce joyfuller than he, if less they spake.

Meanwhile upon the Prince's heart there brake Grief like a bitter wind, beneath whose breath Hope paled and sickened well-nigh unto death: For lo, those dumb and formless fears that came Within his heart that morn, and, like a flame That flickers long and dimly ere it die, Tarried and would not pa.s.s, but fitfully Flickered and flared and paled and flared again,-- Lo, those mysterious messengers of pain, Dumb formless fears, were they not verified?

And lo, that voyage o'er the waters wide, Was it not vain and a most empty thing?

And what might now the years avail to bring, But hopes that barren live and barren die?

Thus did his heart with many an inward sigh Ask of itself, though answer there was none To be returned: and so the day, begun Tristfully, trailed an ever wearier wing; Till toward night another questioning Like a strange voice from far beset his soul: And as a low wind wails for very dole About a tarn whereof the listless wave Maketh no answer to its plaining, save A sound that seems the phantom of its own, So that low voice making unbidden moan No answer got, saving the many sighs Its echoes; and in this reproachful wise, Heaping new pain on him disconsolate, The low voice spake and spake, importunate: _O Prince that wast and wanderer that art, Say doth love live within thy hidden heart (Love born of dream but nurtured wakingly) Ev'n as that Once when thy soul's eyes did see Love's visible self, and worshipt? Or hast thou Fall'n from thy faith in Her and Love ere now, And is thy pa.s.sion as a robe outworn?

Nay, love forbid! Yet wherefore art thou lorn Of hope and peace if Love be still thine own?

For, were the wondrous vision thou hast known Indeed Love's voice and Fate's (which are the same) Then, even as surely as the vision came, So surely shall it be fulfilled, if faith Abide in thee; but if thy spirit saith Treason of Love or Fate, and unbelief House in thy heart, then surely shall swift grief Find thee, and hope (that should be as a breath Of song undying) shall even die the death, And thou thyself the death-in-life shalt see, O Prince that wast, O wanderer that shalt be!_

So spake the Voice. And in the pauses of That secret Voice, there 'gan to wake and move, Deep in his heart, a thing of blackest ill-- The shapeless shadow men call Doubt, until That hour all unacquainted with his soul: And being tormented sore of this new dole, There came on him a longing to explore That sleep-discovered flowery land once more, Isled in the dark of the soul; for he did deem That were he once again to dream The Dream, His faith new-stablished would stand, and be No longer vext of this infirmity.

And so that night, ere lying down to sleep, There came on him, half making him to weep And half to laugh that such a thing should be, A mad conceit and antic fantasy (And yet more sad than merry was the whim) To crave this boon of Sleep, beseeching him To send the dream of dreams most coveted.

And ere he lay him down upon his bed, A soft sweet song was born within his thought; But if he sang the song, or if 'twas nought But the soul's longing whispered to the soul, Himself knew hardly, while the pa.s.sion stole From that still depth where pa.s.sion lieth p.r.o.ne, And voiced itself in this-like monotone:

"O Sleep, thou hollow sea, thou soundless sea, Dull-breaking on the sh.o.r.es of haunted lands, Lo, I am thine: do what thou wilt with me.

But while, as yet unbounden of thy bands, I hear the breeze from inland chide and chafe Along the margin of thy muttering sands,

Somewhat I fain would crave, if thou vouchsafe To hear mine asking, and to heed wilt deign.

Behold, I come to fling me as a waif

Upon thy waters, O thou murmuring main!

So on some wasteful island cast not me, Where phantom winds to phantom skies complain,

And creeping terrors crawl from out the sea, (For such thou hast)--but o'er thy waves not cold Bear me to yonder land once more, where She

Sits throned amidst of magic wealth untold: Golden her palace, golden all her hair, Golden her city 'neath a heaven of gold!

So may I see in dreams her tresses fair Down-falling, as a wave of sunlight rests On some white cloud, about her shoulders bare, Nigh to the snowdrifts twain which are her b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

So ran the song,--say rather, so did creep, With drowsy faltering feet unsure, till Sleep Himself made end of it, with no rude touch Sealing the lips that babbled overmuch.

Howbeit the boon of boons most coveted Withholden was, and in that vision's stead Another Dream from its dim hold uprose, Which he who tells the tale shall straight disclose.

PART THE FOURTH

That night he dreamed that over him there stole A change miraculous, whereby his soul Was parted from his body for a s.p.a.ce, And through a labyrinth of secret ways Entered the world where dead men's ghosts abide To seek the Seer who yestermorn had died.

And there in very truth he found the Seer, Who gazing on him said, "What would'st thou here, O royal-born, who visitest the coasts Of darkness, and the dwellings of the ghosts?"

Then said the Prince, "I fain would know to find The land as yet untrod of mortal-kind Which I beheld by gracious leave of Sleep."

To whom the Spirit: "O Prince, the seas are deep And very wide betwixt thee and that land, And who shall say how many days do stand, As dim-seen armed hosts between thy bliss And thee?--Moreover, in the world there is A certain Emerald Stone which some do call The Emerald of the Virtues Mystical; (Though what those Virtues Mystical may be None living knows) and since, O youth, to me Thou dost apply for counsel, be it known Except thou have this wondrous emerald stone, Go seek through all the world, thou shalt not find The land thou wouldst: but like the houseless wind That roams the world to seek a resting-place, Thou through inhospitable time and s.p.a.ce Shalt roam, till time and s.p.a.ce deliver thee, To s.p.a.celess, timeless, mute eternity.

"For in a certain land there once did dwell (How long ago it needs not I should tell) At the king's court a great astrologer, Ev'n such as erst was I, but mightier And far excelling; and it came to pa.s.s That he fell sick; and very old he was; And knowing that his end was nigh, he said To him that sat in sorrow by his bed, 'O master well-beloved and matchless king, Take thou and keep this lowly offering In memory of thy servant;' whereupon The king perceived it was a gem that shone Like the sea's heart: and on one side of it This legend in an unknown tongue was writ-- _Who holdeth Me may go where none hath fared Before, and none shall follow afterward._ So the king took the bright green stone betwixt His fingers, and upon the legend fixed His eyes, and said unto the dying Seer, 'Now who shall render this dark scripture clear That I may know the meaning of the gift?'

And the mage oped his mouth and strove to lift His voice, but could not, for the wished word Clave to his rattling throat, that no man heard: Whereby the soul, departing, bore away From all men living, even to this day, The secret. And the jewel hath pa.s.sed down Seven times from sire to son, and in the crown It shineth of that country's kings, being called Ev'n to this day the mystic emerald; But no man liveth in the world, of wit To read the writing that is on it writ."

"O Master," said the Prince, "and wilt not thou Instruct me where to find the king who now Weareth the jewel in his diadem?"

To whom the Spirit, "O youth, and if the gem Be worth the finding, is't not also worth The little pain of seeking through the earth?-- Yet so thou may'st not wander witlessly, Look thou forget not this I tell to thee: When in thy journeyings thou shalt dream once more The fateful dream thou haddest heretofore, That filled thy veins with longing as with wine, Till all thy being brimm'd over--by that sign Thou mayest know thyself at last to be Within the borders of his empery Who hath the mystic emerald stone, whose gleam Shall light thee to the country of thy dream."

"But," said the Prince, "When all the world's highways My feet have trod, till after length of days I reach the land where lies the wondrous stone, How shall I make so rare a, thing mine own?

For had I riches more than could be told, What king would sell his jewels for my gold?"

And on this wise the answer of the Seer Fell in the hollow of his dreaming ear: "Behold this Iron Chain,--of power it is To heal all manner of mortal maladies In him that wears it round his neck but once, Between the sun's downgoing and the sun's Uprising: take it thou, and hold it fast Until by seeking long thou find at last The king that hath the mystic emerald stone: And having found him, thou shalt e'en make known The virtues lodged within this charmed chain: Which when the king doth hear he will be fain To have possession of so strange a thing; And thou shalt make a bargain with the king To give the Iron Chain in bartery For that mysterious jewel whereof he Knows not the secret worth. And when at last The emerald stone in thy own hands thou hast, Itself shall guide thee whither thou would'st go-- Ev'n to the land revealed of sleep, where no Grief comes to mar their music, neither sound Of sighing, while the golden years go round."

So spake the Spirit unto him that dreamed, And suddenly that world of shadow seemed More shadowy; and all things began to blend Together: and the dream was at an end.

Then slept the Prince a deep sweet sleep that knew Nor dream nor vision; till the dawnlight grew Up, and his soul a sudden halt did make About the confines dim of sleep and wake, Where wandering lights and wildered shadows meet.

But presently uprising to his feet From tarriance in that frontier-region dim, Exceeding wonderment laid hold on him; For even while from off his bed he rose, He heard a clinking as of metal, close Thereby, and could in no-wise understand: And lo the Iron Chain was in his hand!

PART THE FIFTH

So, being risen, the Prince in brief while went Forth to the market-place, where babblement Of them that bought and them that sold was one Of many sounds in murmurous union-- buzzing as of bees about their hives, With shriller gossiping of garrulous wives Piping a tuneless treble thereunto: In midst whereof he went his way as who Looketh about him well before he buys, To mark the manner of their merchandise; Till chancing upon one who cried for sale A horse, and seeing it well-limb'd and hale, And therewithal right goodly to behold, He bought the beast and paid the man in gold, And having gotten him the needful gear Rode from the market, nothing loth to hear Its garrulous wives no longer, and the din Of them that daily bought and sold therein.

So from the place he pa.s.sed, and slowly down Street after street betook him till the town Behind him and the gates before him were, And all without was cornland greenly fair.

And through the cornland wending many a mile, And through the meadowland, he came erewhile To where the highways parted, and no man Was nigh to tell him whitherward they ran; But while he halted all in doubtful mood, An eagle, as if mourning for her brood Stolen, above him sped with rueful cry; And when that he perceived the fowl to fly Plaining aloud, unto himself he said, "Now shall yon mournful mother overhead Instruct the wandering of my feet, and they Shall follow where she leadeth:" and away The bird went winging westward clamorously, That westward even in her wake went he.

And it may be that in his heart there stirred Some feeling as of fellowship with the bird; For he, like her, was bound on a lone quest; And for his feet, as for her wings, no rest Might be, but only urgence of desire, And one far goal that seemed not ever nigher.

So through that country wended he his way, Resting anights, till on the seventh day He pa.s.sed unwares into another land, Whose people's speech he could not understand-- A tract o'er-run with tribes barbarian, And blood-red from the strife of man with man: And truly 'twas a thing miraculous That one should traverse all that rude land thus, And no man rid him of his gold, nor raise A hand to make abridgment of his days; But there was that about him could make men's Hearts, ere they knew it, yield him reverence,-- Perchance a sovran something in his eye, Whereat the fierce heart failed, it wist not why;-- Perchance that Fate which (hovering like a doubt Athwart his being) hemmed him round about, Gloomed as a visible shadow across his way, And made men fearful. Be this as it may, No harm befell him in that land, and so He came at last to where the ebb and flow Of other seas than he had wandered o'er Upflung to landward an attempered roar; And wandering downward to the beach, he clomb To topmost of a tall grey cliff, wherefrom He saw a smoke as of men's houses, far Off, from a jutting point peninsular Uprising: whence he deemed that there a town Must surely be. And so he clambered down The cliff, and getting him again to horse Thither along the seabound held his course, And reached that city about sunset-tide The smoking of whose hearths he had espied.

There at an hostel rested he, and there Tarried the coming of the morn. But ere He fell asleep that night, a wandering thought, Through darkling byeways of the spirit brought, Knock'd at his soul for entrance, whispering low "What if to-night thou dream The Dream, and know To-morrow, when thou wakest from that bliss, The land wherein thou liest to be his Who hath the mystic jewel in his keep?"

So, full of flattering hope he fell asleep, And sleeping dreamed, but dreamed not that he would: For at one time it seemed as if he stood Alone upon a sterile neck of land, Where round about him upon either hand Was darkness, and the cry of a dark sea, And worldwide vapours glooming thunderously; And ever as he stood, the unstable ground Slid from beneath his feet with a great sound, Till he could find no foothold anywhere That seemed not unsubstantial as the air.

At otherwhiles he wandered all alone About a lonely land, and heard a moan As of some bird that sang and singing grieved; And peering all about the woods thick-leaved If so he might espy the bird, he found At length, after long searching, that the sound Even from the bottom of his own heart came, And unawares his own mouth sang the same.

And then in dream 'twas like as years went by, And still he journeyed, hardly knowing why, Till at the last a mist about him fell, And if the mist were death he could not tell, For after that he knew no more. And so He slept until the c.o.c.k began to crow.