The Poems of William Watson Part 17

Then came the gladful morn, that sendeth sick Dreams flying, and all shapes melancholic That vex the slumbers of the love-distraught.

Unto his heart the merry morning brought Cheer, and forewhisperings of some far-off rest, When he should end in sweet that bitter quest.

But going forth that morn, and with his feet Threading the murmurous maze of street and street, All strangely fell upon him everywhere The things he saw and heard of foul or fair.

The thronging of the folk that filled the ways; The hubbub of the street and market-place; The sound of heavy wain-wheels on the stones; The comely faces and ill-favoured ones; The girls with apple-cheeks and hair of gold; The grey locks and the wrinkles of the old;-- All these remote and unfamiliar Seem'd, and himself a something from afar, Looking at men as shadows on the wall And even the veriest shadow among them all.

But now when all things dreamwise seemed to swim About the dubious eyes and ears of him, That nothing in the world might be believed, It chanced that on a sudden he perceived Where one that dealt in jewels sat within His doorway, hearkening to the outer din, As who cared no-wise to make fast his ears Against the babble of the street-farers: Whereat the merchant, seeing a stranger pa.s.s, Guessed by his garb what countryman he was, And giving him good-day right courteously Bespake him in his mother-tongue; for he Had wandered in his youth o'er distant seas And knew full many lands and languages.

Wherefore with him the royal stranger fell To talking cheerly, and besought him tell Whence all his gems were had and costly things, Talismans, amulets, and charmed rings: Whereto the other answered, They had come Some from a country not far hence, and some From out a land a thousand leagues away To eastward, ev'n the birthplace of the Day, The region of the sun's nativity; And giving ear to this right readily The Prince would fain be told of him the way To that far homeland of the youngling Day.

So, being ask'd, the other answered, "Sir, There liveth but one master-mariner Whose ship hath sailed so far: and that is he Who hither brought the jewels thou dost see.

And now, as luck will have it for the nonce, He wills to voyage thitherward but once Before he die--for he is old like me-- And even this day se'nnight saileth he.

Wherefore if thou be fain to see that land, There needeth only gold within thy hand: For gold, if that it jingle true and clear, Hath still a merry music for man's ear, And where is he that hateth sound of it?"

So saying, the merchant bade the stranger sit, But the Prince thanked him for his courtesy, And went his way. And that day se'nnight he Was sailing toward the far-off morningland, And felt the skies about him like a band, And heard the low wind uttering numerous noise, And all the great sea singing as one voice.

PART THE SIXTH

Even as one voice the great sea sang. From out The green heart of the waters round about, Welled as a bubbling fountain silverly The overflowing song of the great sea; Until the Prince, by dint of listening long, Divined the purport of that mystic song; (For so do all things breathe articulate breath Into his ears who rightly harkeneth) And, if indeed he heard that harmony Aright, in this wise came the song of the sea:

"Behold all ye that stricken of love do lie, Wherefore in manacles of a maiden's eye Lead ye the life of bondmen and of slaves?

Lo in the caverns and the depths of Me A thousand mermaids dwell beneath the waves: A thousand maidens meet for love have I, Ev'n I the virgin-hearted cold chaste sea.

Behold all ye that weary of life do lie, There is no rest at all beneath the sky Save in the nethermost deepness of the deep.

Only the silence and the midst of Me Can still the sleepless soul that fain would sleep; For such, a cool death and a sweet have I, Ev'n I the crystal-hearted cool sweet sea.

Behold all ye that in my lap do lie, To love is sweet and sweeter still to die, And woe to him that laugheth me to scorn!

Lo in a little while the anger of Me Shall make him mourn the day that he was born: For in mine hour of wrath no ruth have I, Ev'n I the tempest-hearted pitiless sea."

So sang the waters, if indeed 'twere they That sang unto the Prince's ears that day, Since in the ship was not a soul besides Could hear that burden of the voiceful tides; For when he told the sailors of this thing, And ev'n what words the waters seemed to sing, They stared astonishment, and some, that had More churlish souls than others, held him mad, And laughed before his face outright. But when The captain heard the gossip of his men Touching this marvel, the strange news begot No merry mood in him, who wist not what Should be the meaning of the miracle, Nor whether 'twere an omen good or ill.

Wherefore the old seafarer--having heard The tale retold with many an afterword The mariners' own most fruitful wit supplied To grace the telling--took the Prince aside, And ask'd him sundry questions privily Concerning this same singing of the sea.

So the Prince told him all there was to tell, And when that he had heard, the old man fell To meditating much, and shook his head As one exceeding ill at ease, and said, "I doubt the singing thou hast heard was no Voice of the waters billowing below, But rather of some evil spirit near, Who sought with singing to beguile thine ear, Spreading a snare to catch the soul of thee In meshes of entangling melody, Which taketh captive the weak minds of men.

Therefore if thou should'st hear the sound again, Look thou content thee not with hearkening, But cast thine eyes around, and mark what thing Thou seest, and let no man know but me."

So spake the white-haired wanderer of the sea.

And on the morrow--when the sealine grew O'erhazed with visible heat, and no wind blew, And the half-stifled morning dropt aswoon Into the panting bosom of the noon-- There came into the Prince's ears anew The song that yestermorn had hearkened to.

And lifting up his eyes in hope to see What lips they were that made such melody And filled him with the fulness of their sound, He saw the sun at highest of his round Show as a shield with one dark bloodstain blurred, By reason of the body of some great bird Like to an eagle, with wide wings outspread, Athwart the sunfire hovering duskly red.

So to the master of the ship he told What he had witnessed, bidding him behold The marvel with his own eyes if he would; Who, though he strained his vision all he could, Yet might not once endure to look the sun I' the face; and calling to him one by one The whole ship's crew, he bade each mariner look Sunward who could, but no man's eyes might brook The glare upon them of the noontide rays And lidless fervour of that golden gaze: So none of them beheld the bodeful bird.

Then said the greybeard captain, hardly heard Amid the babble of voices great and small, "The bird thou seest is no bird at all, But some unholy spirit in guise of one; And I do fear that we are all undone If any amongst us hearken to its voice;-- For of its mouth, I doubt not, was the noise Thou heardest as of dulcet carolling, When at thine ear the waters seemed to sing."

And truly, many a wiser man than he Herein had farther strayed from verity; For that great bird that seemed to fan the sun's Face with its wings was even the same as once Flew screaming westward o'er the Prince's head, Beguiling him to follow where it fled.

And bird it was not, but a spirit of ill, Man-hating, and of mankind hated still, And slave to one yet mightier demon-sprite Whose dwelling is the shadow of the night.

So the days pa.s.sed, and always on the next The bird-sprite like a baleful vision vexed The happy-hearted sunlight; and each time Its false sweet song was wedded to the rhyme And chime of wind and wave--although it dropped As honey changed to music--the Prince stopped His ears, and would not hear; and so the Sprite, Seeing his charmed songcraft of no might Him to ensnare who hearkened not at all, On the tenth day with dreadful noise let fall A tempest shaken from the wings of him, Whereat the eyes of heaven wox thunderous-dim, Till the day-darkness blinded them, and fell Holding the world in night unseasonable.

And from his beaked mouth the demon blew A breath as of a hundred winds, and flew Downward aswoop upon the labouring bark, And, covered of the blear untimely Dark, Clutch'd with his gripple claws the Prince his prey, And backward through the tempest soared away, Bearing that royal burden; and his eyes Were wandering wells of lightning to the skies.

Long time the Prince was held in swound, and knew Nor outer world nor inner, as they flew From darkness unto darkness; till at last-- The fierce flight over, and his body cast Somewhere alone in a strange place--the life Stirred in him faintly, as at feeble strife With covetous Death for ownership of him.

And 'fore his eyes the world began to swim All vague, and doubtful as a dream that lies Folded within another, petal-wise.

And therewithal himself but half believed His own eyes' testimony, and perceived The things that were about him as who hears A distant music throbbing toward his ears At noontide, in a flowery hollow of June, And listens till he knows not if the tune And he be one or twain, or near or far, But only feels that sound and perfume are, And tremulous light and leafy umbrage: so The Prince beheld unknowing, nor fain to know.

About him was a ruinous fair place, Which Time, who still delighteth to abase The highest, and throw down what men do build, With splendid prideful barrenness had filled, And dust of immemorial dreams, and breath Of silence, which is next of kin to death.

A weedy wilderness it seemed, that was In days forepast a garden, but the gra.s.s Grew now where once the flowers, and hard by A many-throated fountain had run dry Which erst all day a web of rainbows wove Out of the body of the sun its love.

And but a furlong's s.p.a.ce beyond, there towered In middest of that silent realm deflowered A palace builded of black marble, whence The shadow of a swart magnificence Falling, upon the outer s.p.a.ce begot A dream of darkness when the night was not.

Which while the Prince beheld, a wonderment Laid hold upon him, that he rose and went Toward the palace-portico apace, Thinking to read the riddle of the place.

And entering in (for open was the door) From hall to hall he pa.s.sed, from floor to floor, Through all the s.p.a.cious house, and (saving where The subtile spider had his darksome lair) No living creature could he find in it.

Howbeit, by certain writing that was writ Upon the wall of one dark room and bare, He guessed that some great sorcerer had there Inhabited, a slave to his own l.u.s.t Of evil power and knowledge, till the dust Received his dust, and darkness had his soul; But ere death took him he had willed the whole Of his possessions to a Spirit of Ill, His sometime mate in commerce d.a.m.nable, Making him lord of that high house, wherein The twain had sealed their covenant of sin.

With that a horror smote the Prince, and fain Would he have fled that evil spirit's domain And shook its dust from off his feet that hour.

But from a window of the topmost tower Viewing the dim-leaved wilderness without, Full plainly he perceived it hemmed about With waves, an island of the middle sea, In watery barriers bound insuperably; And human habitation saw he none, Nor heard one bird a-singing in the sun To lighten the intolerable stress Of utter undisputed silentness.

So by these signs he knew himself the thrall Of that foul spirit unseen, and therewithal Wholly unfellowed in captivity, Bound round with fetters of the tyrannous sea.

And sick for very loneliness, he pa.s.sed Downward through galleries and chambers vast To one wide hall wherefrom a vestibule Opened into a dim green s.p.a.ce and cool, Where great trees grew that various fruitage bore The like whereof he had not seen before, And hard by was a well of water sweet; And being anhungered he did pluck and eat The strange fair fruit, and being athirst did drink The water, and lay down beside the brink; Till sleep, as one that droppeth from the skies, Dropt down, and made a mist about his eyes.

PART THE SEVENTH

But Sleep, who makes a mist about the sense, Doth ope the eyelids of the soul, and thence Lifteth a heavier cloud than that whereby He veils the vision of the fleshly eye.

And not alone by dreams doth Sleep make known The sealed things and covert--not alone In _visions_ of the night do mortals hear The fatal feet and whispering wings draw near; But dimly and in darkness doth the soul Drink of the streams of slumber as they roll, And win fine secrets from their waters deep: Yea, of a truth, the spirit doth grow in sleep.

Howbeit I know not whether as he slept A voice from out the depth of dream upleapt And whispered in his ear; or whether he Grew to the knowledge blindly, as a tree Waxes from bloom to fruitage, knowing not The manner of its growth: but this I wot, That rising from that sleep beside the spring The Prince had knowledge of a certain thing Whereof he had not wist until that hour-- To wit, that two contending spirits had power Over _his_ spirit, ruling him with sway Altern; as 'twere dominion now of Day And now of Dark; for one was of the light, And one was of the blackness of the night.

Now there be certain evil spirits whom The mother of the darkness in her womb Conceived ere darkness' self; and one of these Did rule that island of the middle seas Hemmed round with silence and enchantment dim.

Nothing in all the world so pleasured him As filling human hearts with dolorousness And banning where another sprite did bless; But chiefly did his malice take delight In thwarting lovers' hopes and breathing blight Into the blossoms newly-opened Of sweet desire, till all of sweet were fled: And (for he knew what secret hopes did fill The minds of men) 'twas even now his will To step between the Prince and his desire, Nor suffer him to fare one furlong nigher Unto that distant-shining golden goal That beacon'd through the darkness to his soul.

And so the days, the sultry summer days, Went by, and wimpled over with fine haze The noiseless nights stole after them, as steals The moon-made shadow at some traveller's heels.

And day by day and night by night the Prince Dwelt in that island of enchantment, since The hour when Evil Hap, in likeness of An eagle swooping from the clouds above, Did bind him body and soul unto that place.

And in due time the summer waxed apace, And in due time the summer waned: and now The withered leaf had fallen from the bough, And now the winter came and now the spring; Yea, summer's self was toward on the wing From wandering overseas: and all this while The Prince abode in that enchanted isle, Marvelling much at Fortune and her ways.

And by degrees the slowly-sliding days Gathered themselves together into years, And oftentimes his spirit welled in tears From dawn to darkness and from dark to dawn, By reason of the light of life withdrawn.

And if the night brought sleep, a fitful sleep, The phantoms of a buried time would creep Out of their hollow hiding-places vast, Peopling his Present from the wizard Past.

Sometimes between the whirl of dream and dream, All in a doubtful middle-world, a gleam Went shivering past him through the chill grey s.p.a.ce, And lo he knew it for his mother's face, And wept; and all the silence where he stood Wept with him. And at times the dreamer would Dream himself back beneath his father's roof At eventide, and there would hold aloof In silence, clothed upon with shadows dim, To hear if any spake concerning him; But the hours came and went and went and came, And no man's mouth did ever name his name.

And year by year he saw the queen and king Wax older, and beheld a shadowy thing Lurking behind them, till it came between His dreamsight and the semblance of the queen, From which time forth he saw her not: and when Another year had been it came again, And after that he saw his sire the king No more, by reason of the shadowy thing Stepping between; and all the place became As darkness, and the echo of a name.

What need to loiter o'er the chronicle Of days that brought no change? What boots it tell The tale of hours whereof each moment was As like its fellow as one blade of gra.s.s Is to another, when the dew doth fall Without respect of any amongst them all?

Enow that time in that enchanted air Nor slept nor tarried more than otherwhere, And so at last the captive lived to see The fiftieth year of his captivity.

And on a day within that fiftieth year He wandered down unto the beach, to hear The breaking of the breakers on the sh.o.r.e, As he had heard them ofttimes heretofore In days when he would sit and watch the sea, If peradventure there some ship might be.

But now his soul no longer yearned as then To win her way back to the world of men: For what could now his freedom profit him?

The hope that filled youth's beaker to its brim The tremulous hand of age had long outspilled, And whence might now the vessel be refilled?

Moreover, after length of days and years The soul had ceased to beat her barriers, And like a freeborn bird that caged sings Had grown at last forgetful of her wings.

And so he took his way toward the sea-- Not, as in former days, if haply he Might spy some ship upon the nether blue, And beckon with his hands unto the crew, But rather with an easeful heart to hear What things the waves might whisper to his ear Of counsel wise and comfortable speech.

But while he walked about the yellow beach, There came upon his limbs an heaviness, For languor of the sultry time's excess; And so he lay him down under a tree Hard by a little cove, and there the sea Sang him to sleep. And sleeping thus, he dreamed A dream of very wonderment: himseemed, The spirit that half an hundred years before In likeness of an eagle came and bore His body to that island on a day, Came yet again and found him where he lay, And taking him betwixt his talons flew O'er seas and far-off countries, till they drew Nigh to a city that was built between Four mountains in a pleasant land and green; And there upon the highest mountain's top The bird that was no bird at all let drop Its burthen, and was seen of him no more.

Thereat he waked, and issuing from the door Of dream did marvel in his heart; because He found he had but dreamed the thing that was: For there, a.s.suredly, was neither sea Nor Isle Enchanted; and a.s.suredly He sat upon the peak of a great hill; And far below him, looking strangely still, Uptowered a city exceeding fair to ken, And murmurous with mult.i.tude of men.

PART THE EIGHTH

Now as it chanced, the day was almost spent When down the lonely mountain-side he went, The whitehaired man, the Prince that was; and ere He won the silence of the valley where The city's many towers uprose, the gate Was closed against him, for the hour was late.

So even as they that have not wherewithal To roof them from the rain if it should fall, Upon the gra.s.sy ground this king's son lay, And slept till nigh the coming of the day.

But while as any vagabond he slept Or outcast from the homes of men, there crept Unto him lying in such sorry sort A something fairer than the kingliest court In all the peopled world had witness of-- Even the shadow of the throne of Love, That from a height beyond all height did creep Along the pavement of the halls of sleep.