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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2003-h.zip b/2003-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..63ae4c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/2003-h.zip diff --git a/2003-h/2003-h.htm b/2003-h/2003-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..50c0fd5 --- /dev/null +++ b/2003-h/2003-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2460 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Spirits in Bondage, by Clive Hamilton [C. S. Lewis] + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Spirits in Bondage, by (AKA Clive Hamilton) C. S. Lewis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Spirits in Bondage + +Author: (AKA Clive Hamilton) C. S. Lewis + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #2003] +Last Updated: February 4, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPIRITS IN BONDAGE *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + SPIRITS IN BONDAGE + </h1> + <h2> + A CYCLE OF LYRICS + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Clive Hamilton [C. S. Lewis] + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> Historical Background. </a> + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PROL"> Prologue. </a> + <br /><br /><br /> <b><a href="#link2H_PART1"> Part I. The + Prison House. </a></b> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0005"> I. </a> Satan Speaks <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0006"> II. </a> French Nocturne + (Monchy-Le-Preux) <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> III. </a> The + Satyr <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> IV. </a> Victory + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> V. </a> Irish Nocturne + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VI. </a> Spooks <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> VII. </a> Apology <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0012"> VIII. </a> Ode for New Year's Day + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> IX. </a> Night <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> X. </a> To Sleep <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0015"> XI. </a> In Prison <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0016"> XII. </a> De Profundis <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0017"> XIII. </a> Satan Speaks <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0018"> XIV. </a> The Witch <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0019"> XV. </a> Dungeon Grates <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0020"> XVI. </a> The Philosopher <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XVII. </a> The Ocean Strand <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XVIII. </a> Noon <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0023"> XIX. </a> Milton Read Again (In + Surrey) <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXI. </a> The + Autumn Morning <br /><br /><br /> <b><a href="#link2H_PART2"> Part II. + Hesitation. </a></b> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXIII. </a> Alexandrines <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXIV. </a> In Praise of Solid People + <br /><br /><br /> <b><a href="#link2H_PART3"> Part III. The Escape. </a></b> + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVI. </a> Song <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXVII. </a> The Ass <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXVIII. </a> Ballade Mystique <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXIX. </a> Night <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXX. </a> Oxford <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXI. </a> Hymn (For Boys' Voices) + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXII. </a> "Our Daily + Bread" <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXIII. </a> How + He Saw Angus the God <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXIV. </a> The + Roads <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXV. </a> Hesperus + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXVI. </a> The Star + Bath <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XXXVII. </a> Tu Ne + Quaesieris <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XXXVIII. </a> Lullaby + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> XXXIX. </a> World's + Desire <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> XL. </a> Death in + Battle <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + In Three Parts + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. The Prison House + II. Hesitation + III. The Escape +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The land where I shall never be + The love that I shall never see" + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Historical Background + </h2> + <p> + Published under the pseudonym, Clive Hamilton, Spirits in Bondage was C. + S. Lewis' first book. Released in 1919 by Heinemann, it was reprinted in + 1984 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and included in Lewis' 1994 Collected + Poems. It is the first of Lewis' major published works to enter the public + domain in the United States. Readers should be aware that in other + countries it may still be under copyright protection. + </p> + <p> + Most of the poems appear to have been written between 1915 and 1918, a + period during which Lewis was a student under W. T. Kirkpatrick, a + military trainee at Oxford, and a soldier serving in the trenches of World + War I. Their outlook varies from Romantic expressions of love for the + beauty and simplicity of nature to cynical statements about the presence + of evil in this world. In a September 12, 1918 letter to his friend Arthur + Greeves, Lewis said that his book was, "mainly strung around the idea that + I mentioned to you before—that nature is wholly diabolical & + malevolent and that God, if he exists, is outside of and in opposition to + the cosmic arrangements." In his cynical poems, Lewis is dealing with the + same questions about evil in nature that Alfred Lord Tennyson explored + from a position of troubled faith in "In Memoriam A. H." (Stanzas 54f). In + a letter written perhaps to reassure his father, Lewis claimed, "You know + who the God I blaspheme is and that it is not the God that you or I + worship, or any other Christian." + </p> + <p> + Whatever Lewis believed at that time, the attitude in many of these poems + is quite different from the attitude he expressed in his many Christian + books from the 1930s on. Attempts in movies and on stage plays to portray + Lewis as a sheltered professor who knew little about pain until the death + of his wife late in life, have to deal not only with the many tragedies he + experienced from a boy on, but also with the disturbing issues he faced in + many of these early poems. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PROL" id="link2H_PROL"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Prologue + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailing + Straight against the sunset and the edges of the earth, + Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing, + Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth— + Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden, + Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden, + Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy enterprise, + How they found the outer islands, where the unknown stars arise; + And the rowers down below, rowing hard as they could row, + Toiling at the stroke and feather through the wet and weary weather, + Even they forgot their burden in the measure of a song, + And the merchants and the masters and the bondsmen all together, + Dreaming of the wondrous islands, brought the gallant ship along; + So in mighty deeps alone on the chainless breezes blown + In my coracle of verses I will sing of lands unknown, + Flying from the scarlet city where a Lord that knows no pity, + Mocks the broken people praying round his iron throne, + Sing about the Hidden Country fresh and full of quiet green. + Sailing over seas uncharted to a port that none has seen. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + Part I The Prison House + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. Satan Speaks + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am Nature, the Mighty Mother, + I am the law: ye have none other. + + I am the flower and the dewdrop fresh, + I am the lust in your itching flesh. + + I am the battle's filth and strain, + I am the widow's empty pain. + + I am the sea to smother your breath, + I am the bomb, the falling death. + + I am the fact and the crushing reason + To thwart your fantasy's new-born treason. + + I am the spider making her net, + I am the beast with jaws blood-wet. + + I am a wolf that follows the sun + And I will catch him ere day be done. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. French Nocturne (Monchy-Le-Preux) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Long leagues on either hand the trenches spread + And all is still; now even this gross line + Drinks in the frosty silences divine + The pale, green moon is riding overhead. + + The jaws of a sacked village, stark and grim; + Out on the ridge have swallowed up the sun, + And in one angry streak his blood has run + To left and right along the horizon dim. + + There comes a buzzing plane: and now, it seems + Flies straight into the moon. Lo! where he steers + Across the pallid globe and surely nears + In that white land some harbour of dear dreams! + + False mocking fancy! Once I too could dream, + Who now can only see with vulgar eye + That he's no nearer to the moon than I + And she's a stone that catches the sun's beam. + + What call have I to dream of anything? + I am a wolf. Back to the world again, + And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men + Our throats can bark for slaughter: cannot sing. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. The Satyr + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the flowery hands of spring + Forth their woodland riches fling, + Through the meadows, through the valleys + Goes the satyr carolling. + + From the mountain and the moor, + Forest green and ocean shore + All the faerie kin he rallies + Making music evermore. + + See! the shaggy pelt doth grow + On his twisted shanks below, + And his dreadful feet are cloven + Though his brow be white as snow— + + Though his brow be clear and white + And beneath it fancies bright, + Wisdom and high thoughts are woven + And the musics of delight, + + Though his temples too be fair + Yet two horns are growing there + Bursting forth to part asunder + All the riches of his hair. + + Faerie maidens he may meet + Fly the horns and cloven feet, + But, his sad brown eyes with wonder + Seeing-stay from their retreat. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. Victory + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Roland is dead, Cuchulain's crest is low, + The battered war-rear wastes and turns to rust, + And Helen's eyes and Iseult's lips are dust + And dust the shoulders and the breasts of snow. + + The faerie people from our woods are gone, + No Dryads have I found in all our trees, + No Triton blows his horn about our seas + And Arthur sleeps far hence in Avalon. + + The ancient songs they wither as the grass + And waste as doth a garment waxen old, + All poets have been fools who thought to mould + A monument more durable than brass. + + For these decay: but not for that decays + The yearning, high, rebellious spirit of man + That never rested yet since life began + From striving with red Nature and her ways. + + Now in the filth of war, the baresark shout + Of battle, it is vexed. And yet so oft + Out of the deeps, of old, it rose aloft + That they who watch the ages may not doubt. + + Though often bruised, oft broken by the rod, + Yet, like the phoenix, from each fiery bed + Higher the stricken spirit lifts its head + And higher-till the beast become a god. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. Irish Nocturne + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now the grey mist comes creeping up + From the waste ocean's weedy strand + And fills the valley, as a cup + If filled of evil drink in a wizard's hand; + And the trees fade out of sight, + Like dreary ghosts unhealthily, + Into the damp, pale night, + Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see + Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart + His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte + The thanes that sat by the wintry log— + Grendel or the shadowy mass + Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay, + The grey, grey walker who used to pass + Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey. + But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang, + With never a wind to blow the mists apart, + Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart, + Looking upon this land, where poets sang, + Thus with the dreary shroud + Unwholesome, over it spread, + And knowing the fog and the cloud + In her people's heart and head + Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts + Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise + And remember all their boasts; + For I know that the colourless skies + And the blurred horizons breed + Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. Spooks + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Last night I dreamed that I was come again + Unto the house where my beloved dwells + After long years of wandering and pain. + + And I stood out beneath the drenching rain + And all the street was bare, and black with night, + But in my true love's house was warmth and light. + + Yet I could not draw near nor enter in, + And long I wondered if some secret sin + Or old, unhappy anger held me fast; + + Till suddenly it came into my head + That I was killed long since and lying dead— + Only a homeless wraith that way had passed. + + So thus I found my true love's house again + And stood unseen amid the winter night + And the lamp burned within, a rosy light, + And the wet street was shining in the rain. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. Apology + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell + Of nothing glad nor noble in my verse + To lighten hearts beneath this present curse + And build a heaven of dreams in real hell, + + Go you to them and speak among them thus: + "There were no greater grief than to recall, + Down in the rotting grave where the lithe worms crawl, + Green fields above that smiled so sweet to us." + + Is it good to tell old tales of Troynovant + Or praises of dead heroes, tried and sage, + Or sing the queens of unforgotten age, + Brynhild and Maeve and virgin Bradamant? + + How should I sing of them? Can it be good + To think of glory now, when all is done, + And all our labour underneath the sun + Has brought us this-and not the thing we would? + + All these were rosy visions of the night, + The loveliness and wisdom feigned of old. + But now we wake. The East is pale and cold, + No hope is in the dawn, and no delight. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. Ode for New Year's Day + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth, + Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth + And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth. + And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art, + Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it, + Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart, + For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part. + The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God's hate cover it, + Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought, + Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought + Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm + That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught + Shall pour red wrath upon us over a world deform. + + Thrice happy, O Despoina, were the men who were alive + In the great age and the golden age when still the cycle ran + On upward curve and easily, for them both maid and man + And beast and tree and spirit in the green earth could thrive. + But now one age is ending, and God calls home the stars + And looses the wheel of the ages and sends it spinning back + Amid the death of nations, and points a downward track, + And madness is come over us and great and little wars. + He has not left one valley, one isle of fresh and green + Where old friends could forgather amid the howling wreck. + It's vainly we are praying. We cannot, cannot check + The Power who slays and puts aside the beauty that has been. + + It's truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart's complaining + For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear, + Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining + And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear + The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead. + But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts + Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped + Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it + Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts? + Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it: + Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done. + And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun + And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill, + And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears + The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill? + He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears, + And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears? + + Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee away + Into some other country beyond the rosy West, + To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at rest + From the rankling hate of God and the outworn world's decay! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. Night + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After the fret and failure of this day, + And weariness of thought, O Mother Night, + Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away + And all our little tumults set to right; + Most pitiful of all death's kindred fair, + Riding above us through the curtained air + On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to the earth + Sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender might + And lovers' dear delight before to-morrow's birth. + Thus art thou wont thy quiet lands to leave + And pillared courts beyond the Milky Way, + Wherein thou tarriest all our solar day + While unsubstantial dreams before thee weave + A foamy dance, and fluttering fancies play + About thy palace in the silver ray + Of some far, moony globe. But when the hour, + The long-expected comes, the ivory gates + Open on noiseless hinge before thy bower + Unbidden, and the jewelled chariot waits + With magic steeds. Thou from the fronting rim + Bending to urge them, whilst thy sea-dark hair + Falls in ambrosial ripples o'er each limb, + With beautiful pale arms, untrammelled, bare + For horsemanship, to those twin chargers fleet + Dost give full rein across the fires that glow + In the wide floor of heaven, from off their feet + Scattering the powdery star-dust as they go. + Come swiftly down the sky, O Lady Night, + Fall through the shadow-country, O most kind, + Shake out thy strands of gentle dreams and light + For chains, wherewith thou still art used to bind + With tenderest love of careful leeches' art + The bruised and weary heart + In slumber blind. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. To Sleep + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep— + A hidden wood among the hill-tops green, + Full of soft streams and little winds that creep + The murmuring boughs between. + + A hollow cup above the ocean placed + Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be, + But woodland light and shadow interlaced + And summer sky and sea. + + There in the fragrant twilight I will raise + A secret altar of the rich sea sod, + Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise + Unto my lonely god: + + Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers, + The deadening poppies in an ocean shell + Round which through all forgotten days and hours + The great seas wove their spell. + + So may he send me dreams of dear delight + And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain, + And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night + To hear the falling rain. + + And when he meets me at the dusk of day + To call me home for ever, this I ask— + That he may lead me friendly on that way + And wear no frightful mask. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. In Prison + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I cried out for the pain of man, + I cried out for my bitter wrath + Against the hopeless life that ran + For ever in a circling path + From death to death since all began; + Till on a summer night + I lost my way in the pale starlight + And saw our planet, far and small, + Through endless depths of nothing fall + A lonely pin-prick spark of light, + Upon the wide, enfolding night, + With leagues on leagues of stars above it, + And powdered dust of stars below— + Dead things that neither hate nor love it + Not even their own loveliness can know, + Being but cosmic dust and dead. + And if some tears be shed, + Some evil God have power, + Some crown of sorrow sit + Upon a little world for a little hour— + Who shall remember? Who shall care for it? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. De Profundis + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come let us curse our Master ere we die, + For all our hopes in endless ruin lie. + The good is dead. Let us curse God most High. + + Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought + Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought + New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught. + + We built us joyful cities, strong and fair, + Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare. + And all this time you laughed upon our care, + + And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong, + Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song, + The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong. + + Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth + Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth + And our few happy days of little worth. + + Even if it be not all a dream in vain + The ancient hope that still will rise again— + Of a just God that cares for earthly pain, + + Yet far away beyond our labouring night, + He wanders in the depths of endless light, + Singing alone his musics of delight; + + Only the far, spent echo of his song + Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along, + And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong. + + O universal strength, I know it well, + It is but froth of folly to rebel; + For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell. + + Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee, + For looking in my own heart I can prove thee, + And know this frail, bruised being is above thee. + + Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right, + Our mercy and long seeking of the light, + Shall we change these for thy relentless might? + + Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth, + Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth— + Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. Satan Speaks + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am the Lord your God: even he that made + Material things, and all these signs arrayed + Above you and have set beneath the race + Of mankind, who forget their Father's face + And even while they drink my light of day + Dream of some other gods and disobey + My warnings, and despise my holy laws, + Even tho' their sin shall slay them. For which cause, + Dreams dreamed in vain, a never-filled desire + And in close flesh a spiritual fire, + A thirst for good their kind shall not attain, + A backward cleaving to the beast again. + A loathing for the life that I have given, + A haunted, twisted soul for ever riven + Between their will and mine-such lot I give + White still in my despite the vermin live. + They hate my world! Then let that other God + Come from the outer spaces glory-shod, + And from this castle I have built on Night + Steal forth my own thought's children into light, + If such an one there be. But far away + He walks the airy fields of endless day, + And my rebellious sons have called Him long + And vainly called. My order still is strong + And like to me nor second none I know. + Whither the mammoth went this creature too shall go. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. The Witch + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Trapped amid the woods with guile + They've led her bound in fetters vile + To death, a deadlier sorceress + Than any born for earth's distress + Since first the winner of the fleece + Bore home the Colchian witch to Greece— + Seven months with snare and gin + They've sought the maid o'erwise within + The forest's labyrinthine shade. + The lonely woodman half afraid + Far off her ragged form has seen + Sauntering down the alleys green, + Or crouched in godless prayer alone + At eve before a Druid stone. + But now the bitter chase is won, + The quarry's caught, her magic's done, + The bishop's brought her strongest spell + To naught with candle, book, and bell; + With holy water splashed upon her, + She goes to burning and dishonour + Too deeply damned to feel her shame, + For, though beneath her hair of flame + Her thoughtful head be lowly bowed + It droops for meditation proud + Impenitent, and pondering yet + Things no memory can forget, + Starry wonders she has seen + Brooding in the wildwood green + With holiness. For who can say + In what strange crew she loved to play, + What demons or what gods of old + Deep mysteries unto her have told + At dead of night in worship bent + At ruined shrines magnificent, + Or how the quivering will she sent + Alone into the great alone + Where all is loved and all is known, + Who now lifts up her maiden eyes + And looks around with soft surprise + Upon the noisy, crowded square, + The city oafs that nod and stare, + The bishop's court that gathers there, + The faggots and the blackened stake + Where sinners die for justice' sake? + Now she is set upon the pile, + The mob grows still a little while, + Till lo! before the eager folk + Up curls a thin, blue line of smoke. + "Alas!" the full-fed burghers cry, + "That evil loveliness must die!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. Dungeon Grates + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So piteously the lonely soul of man + Shudders before this universal plan, + So grievous is the burden and the pain, + So heavy weighs the long, material chain + From cause to cause, too merciless for hate, + The nightmare march of unrelenting fate, + I think that he must die thereof unless + Ever and again across the dreariness + There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces, + A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places + And wider oceans, breaking on the shore + From which the hearts of men are always sore. + It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer + Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there, + Seeing how many prophets and wise men + Have sought for it and still returned again + With hope undone. But only the strange power + Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour + Can build a bridge of light or sound or form + To lead you out of all this strife and storm; + When of some beauty we are grown a part + Till from its very glory's midmost heart + Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light + Into our souls. All things are seen aright + Amid the blinding pillar of its gold, + Seven times more true than what for truth we hold + In vulgar hours. The miracle is done + And for one little moment we are one + With the eternal stream of loveliness + That flows so calm, aloft from all distress + Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire + Making us faint with overstrong desire + To sport and swim for ever in its deep— + Only a moment. + O! but we shall keep + Our vision still. One moment was enough, + We know we are not made of mortal stuff. + And we can bear all trials that come after, + The hate of men and the fool's loud bestial laughter + And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean, + For we have seen the Glory-we have seen. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. The Philosopher + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who shall be our prophet then, + Chosen from all the sons of men + To lead his fellows on the way + Of hidden knowledge, delving deep + To nameless mysteries that keep + Their secret from the solar day! + Or who shall pierce with surer eye! + This shifting veil of bittersweet + And find the real things that lie + Beyond this turmoil, which we greet + With such a wasted wealth of tears? + Who shall cross over for us the bridge of fears + And pass in to the country where the ancient Mothers dwell? + Is it an elder, bent and hoar + Who, where the waste Atlantic swell + On lonely beaches makes its roar, + In his solitary tower + Through the long night hour by hour + Pores on old books with watery eye + When all his youth has passed him by, + And folly is schooled and love is dead + And frozen fancy laid abed, + While in his veins the gradual blood + Slackens to a marish flood? + For he rejoiceth not in the ocean's might, + Neither the sun giveth delight, + Nor the moon by night + Shall call his feet to wander in the haunted forest lawn. + He shall no more rise suddenly in the dawn + When mists are white and the dew lies pearly + Cold and cold on every meadow, + To take his joy of the season early, + The opening flower and the westward shadow, + And scarcely can he dream of laughter and love, + They lie so many leaden years behind. + Such eyes are dim and blind, + And the sad, aching head that nods above + His monstrous books can never know + The secret we would find. + But let our seer be young and kind + And fresh and beautiful of show, + And taken ere the lustyhead + And rapture of his youth be dead; + Ere the gnawing, peasant reason + School him over-deep in treason + To the ancient high estate + Of his fancy's principate, + That he may live a perfect whole, + A mask of the eternal soul, + And cross at last the shadowy bar + To where the ever-living are. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. The Ocean Strand + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O leave the labouring roadways of the town, + The shifting faces and the changeful hue + Of markets, and broad echoing streets that drown + The heart's own silent music. Though they too + Sing in their proper rhythm, and still delight + The friendly ear that loves warm human kind, + Yet it is good to leave them all behind, + Now when from lily dawn to purple night + Summer is queen, + Summer is queen in all the happy land. + Far, far away among the valleys green + Let us go forth and wander hand in hand + Beyond those solemn hills that we have seen + So often welcome home the falling sun + Into their cloudy peaks when day was done— + Beyond them till we find the ocean strand + And hear the great waves run, + With the waste song whose melodies I'd follow + And weary not for many a summer day, + Born of the vaulted breakers arching hollow + Before they flash and scatter into spray, + On, if we should be weary of their play + Then I would lead you further into land + Where, with their ragged walls, the stately rocks + Shunt in smooth courts and paved with quiet sand + To silence dedicate. The sea-god's flocks + Have rested here, and mortal eyes have seen + By great adventure at the dead of noon + A lonely nereid drowsing half a-swoon + Buried beneath her dark and dripping locks. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. Noon + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Noon! and in the garden bower + The hot air quivers o'er the grass, + The little lake is smooth as glass + And still so heavily the hour + Drags, that scarce the proudest flower + Pressed upon its burning bed + Has strength to lift a languid head:— + Rose and fainting violet + By the water's margin set + Swoon and sink as they were dead + Though their weary leaves be fed + With the foam-drops of the pool + Where it trembles dark and cool + Wrinkled by the fountain spraying + O'er it. And the honey-bee + Hums his drowsy melody + And wanders in his course a-straying + Through the sweet and tangled glade + With his golden mead o'erladen, + Where beneath the pleasant shade + Of the darkling boughs a maiden— + Milky limb and fiery tress, + All at sweetest random laid— + Slumbers, drunken with the excess + Of the noontide's loveliness. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. Milton Read Again (In Surrey) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Three golden months while summer on us stole + I have read your joyful tale another time, + Breathing more freely in that larger clime + And learning wiselier to deserve the whole. + + Your Spirit, Master, has been close at hand + And guided me, still pointing treasures rare, + Thick-sown where I before saw nothing fair + And finding waters in the barren land, + + Barren once thought because my eyes were dim. + Like one I am grown to whom the common field + And often-wandered copse one morning yield + New pleasures suddenly; for over him + + Falls the weird spirit of unexplained delight, + New mystery in every shady place, + In every whispering tree a nameless grace, + New rapture on the windy seaward height. + + So may she come to me, teaching me well + To savour all these sweets that lie to hand + In wood and lane about this pleasant land + Though it be not the land where I would dwell. + + . + XX. Sonnet + + The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall + About a dreaming garden still and sweet, + I hear the unseen bats above me bleat + Among the ghostly moths their hunting call, + And twinkling glow-worms all about me crawl. + Now for a chamber dim, a pillow meet + For slumbers deep as death, a faultless sheet, + Cool, white and smooth. So may I reach the hall + With poppies strewn where sleep that is so dear + With magic sponge can wipe away an hour + Or twelve and make them naught. Why not a year, + Why could a man not loiter in that bower + Until a thousand painless cycles wore, + And then-what if it held him evermore? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. The Autumn Morning + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + See! the pale autumn dawn + Is faint, upon the lawn + That lies in powdered white + Of hoar-frost dight + + And now from tree to tree + The ghostly mist we see + Hung like a silver pall + To hallow all. + + It wreathes the burdened air + So strangely everywhere + That I could almost fear + This silence drear + + Where no one song-bird sings + And dream that wizard things + Mighty for hate or love + Were close above. + + White as the fog and fair + Drifting through the middle air + In magic dances dread + Over my head. + + Yet these should know me too + Lover and bondman true, + One that has honoured well + The mystic spell + + Of earth's most solemn hours + Wherein the ancient powers + Of dryad, elf, or faun + Or leprechaun + + Oft have their faces shown + To me that walked alone + Seashore or haunted fen + Or mountain glen + + Wherefore I will not fear + To walk the woodlands sere + Into this autumn day + Far, far away. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part II. Hesitation + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXII. L'Apprenti Sorcier + + Suddenly there came to me + The music of a mighty sea + That on a bare and iron shore + Thundered with a deeper roar + Than all the tides that leap and run + With us below the real sun: + Because the place was far away, + Above, beyond our homely day, + Neighbouring close the frozen clime + Where out of all the woods of time, + Amid the frightful seraphim + The fierce, cold eyes of Godhead gleam, + Revolving hate and misery + And wars and famines yet to be. + And in my dreams I stood alone + Upon a shelf of weedy stone, + And saw before my shrinking eyes + The dark, enormous breakers rise, + And hover and fall with deafening thunder + Of thwarted foam that echoed under + The ledge, through many a cavern drear, + With hollow sounds of wintry fear. + And through the waters waste and grey, + Thick-strown for many a league away, + Out of the toiling sea arose + Many a face and form of those + Thin, elemental people dear + Who live beyond our heavy sphere. + And all at once from far and near, + They all held out their arms to me, + Crying in their melody, + "Leap in! Leap in and take thy fill + Of all the cosmic good and ill, + Be as the Living ones that know + Enormous joy, enormous woe, + Pain beyond thought and fiery bliss: + For all thy study hunted this, + On wings of magic to arise, + And wash from off thy filmed eyes + The cloud of cold mortality, + To find the real life and be + As are the children of the deep! + Be bold and dare the glorious leap, + Or to thy shame, go, slink again + Back to the narrow ways of men." + So all these mocked me as I stood + Striving to wake because I feared the flood. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. Alexandrines + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There is a house that most of all on earth I hate. + Though I have passed through many sorrows and have been + In bloody fields, sad seas, and countries desolate, + Yet most I fear that empty house where the grasses green + Grow in the silent court the gaping flags between, + And down the moss-grown paths and terrace no man treads + Where the old, old weeds rise deep on the waste garden beds. + Like eyes of one long dead the empty windows stare + And I fear to cross the garden, I fear to linger there, + For in that house I know a little, silent room + Where Someone's always waiting, waiting in the gloom + To draw me with an evil eye, and hold me fast— + Yet thither doom will drive me and He will win at last. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. In Praise of Solid People + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thank God that there are solid folk + Who water flowers and roll the lawn, + And sit an sew and talk and smoke, + And snore all through the summer dawn. + + Who pass untroubled nights and days + Full-fed and sleepily content, + Rejoicing in each other's praise, + Respectable and innocent. + + Who feel the things that all men feel, + And think in well-worn grooves of thought, + Whose honest spirits never reel + Before man's mystery, overwrought. + + Yet not unfaithful nor unkind, + with work-day virtues surely staid, + Theirs is the sane and humble mind, + And dull affections undismayed. + + O happy people! I have seen + No verse yet written in your praise, + And, truth to tell, the time has been + I would have scorned your easy ways. + + But now thro' weariness and strife + I learn your worthiness indeed, + The world is better for such life + As stout suburban people lead. + + Too often have I sat alone + When the wet night falls heavily, + And fretting winds around me moan, + And homeless longing vexes me + + For lore that I shall never know, + And visions none can hope to see, + Till brooding works upon me so + A childish fear steals over me. + + I look around the empty room, + The clock still ticking in its place, + And all else silent as the tomb, + Till suddenly, I think, a face + + Grows from the darkness just beside. + I turn, and lo! it fades away, + And soon another phantom tide + Of shifting dreams begins to play, + + And dusky galleys past me sail, + Full freighted on a faerie sea; + I hear the silken merchants hail + Across the ringing waves to me + + —Then suddenly, again, the room, + Familiar books about me piled, + And I alone amid the gloom, + By one more mocking dream beguiled. + + And still no neared to the Light, + And still no further from myself, + Alone and lost in clinging night— + (The clock's still ticking on the shelf). + + Then do I envy solid folk + Who sit of evenings by the fire, + After their work and doze and smoke, + And are not fretted by desire. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part III. The Escape + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXV. Song of the Pilgrims + + O Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, + What have we done to you? How have we sinned + Wandering the Earth from Orkney unto Ind? + + With many deaths our fellowship is thinned, + Our flesh is withered in the parching wind, + Wandering the earth from Orkney unto Ind. + + We have no rest. We cannot turn again + Back to the world and all her fruitless pain, + Having once sought the land where ye remain. + + Some say ye are not. But, ah God! we know + That somewhere, somewhere past the Northern snow + Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow: + + —The red-rose and the white-rose gardens blow + In the green Northern land to which we go, + Surely the ways are long and the years are slow. + + We have forsaken all things sweet and fair, + We have found nothing worth a moment's care + Because the real flowers are blowing there. + + Land of the Lotus fallen from the sun, + Land of the Lake from whence all rivers run, + Land where the hope of all our dreams is won! + + Shall we not somewhere see at close of day + The green walls of that country far away, + And hear the music of her fountains play? + + So long we have been wandering all this while + By many a perilous sea and drifting isle, + We scarce shall dare to look thereon and smile. + + Yea, when we are drawing very near to thee, + And when at last the ivory port we see + Our hearts will faint with mere felicity: + + But we shall wake again in gardens bright + Of green and gold for infinite delight, + Sleeping beneath the solemn mountains white, + While from the flowery copses still unseen + Sing out the crooning birds that ne'er have been + Touched by the hand of winter frore and lean; + + And ever living queens that grow not old + And poets wise in robes of faerie gold + Whisper a wild, sweet song that first was told + + Ere God sat down to make the Milky Way. + And in those gardens we shall sleep and play + For ever and for ever and a day. + + Ah, Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, + What have we done to you? How have we sinned, + That yes should hide beyond the Northern wind? + + Land of the Lotus, fallen from the Sun, + When shall your hidden, flowery vales be won + And all the travail of our way be done? + + Very far we have searched; we have even seen + The Scythian waste that bears no soft nor green, + And near the Hideous Pass our feet have been. + + We have heard Syrens singing all night long + Beneath the unknown stars their lonely song + In friendless seas beyond the Pillars strong. + + Nor by the dragon-daughter of Hypocras + Nor the vale of the Devil's head we have feared to pass, + Yet is our labour lost and vain, alas! + + Scouring the earth from Orkney unto Ind, + Tossed on the seas and withered in the wind, + We seek and seek your land. How have we sinned? + + Or is it all a folly of the wise, + Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes + While all around us real flowers arise? + + But, by the very God, we know, we know + That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow + Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. Song + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Faeries must be in the woods + Or the satyrs' laughing broods— + Tritons in the summer sea, + Else how could the dead things be + Half so lovely as they are? + How could wealth of star on star + Dusted o'er the frosty night + Fill thy spirit with delight + And lead thee from this care of thine + Up among the dreams divine, + Were it not that each and all + Of them that walk the heavenly hall + Is in truth a happy isle, + Where eternal meadows smile, + And golden globes of fruit are seen + Twinkling through the orchards green; + Were the Other People go + On the bright sward to and fro? + Atoms dead could never thus + Stir the human heart of us + Unless the beauty that we see + The veil of endless beauty be, + Filled full of spirits that have trod + Far hence along the heavenly sod + And see the bright footprints of God. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. The Ass + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I woke and rose and slipt away + To the heathery hills in the morning grey. + + In a field where the dew lay cold and deep + I met an ass, new-roused from sleep. + + I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears, + And spoke soft words to quiet his fears. + + His eyes stared into the eyes of me + And he kissed my hands of his courtesy. + + "O big, brown brother out of the waste, + How do thistles for breakfast taste? + + "And do you rejoice in the dawn divine + With a heart that is glad no less than mine? + + "For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes + Is strange and mystic as the skies: + + "What are the thoughts that grope behind, + Down in the mist of a donkey mind? + + "Can it be true, as the wise men tell, + That you are a mask of God as well, + + "And, as in us, so in you no less + Speaks the eternal Loveliness, + + "And words of the lips that all things know + Among the thoughts of a donkey go? + + "However it be, O four-foot brother, + Fair to-day is the earth, our mother. + + "God send you peace and delight thereof, + And all green meat of the waste you love, + + "And guard you well from violent men + Who'd put you back in the shafts again." + + But the ass had far too wise a head + To answer one of the things I said, + + So he twitched his fair ears up and down + And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. Ballade Mystique + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The big, red-house is bare and lone + The stony garden waste and sere + With blight of breezes ocean blown + To pinch the wakening of the year; + My kindly friends with busy cheer + My wretchedness could plainly show. + They tell me I am lonely here— + What do they know? What do they know? + + They think that while the gables moan + And easements creak in winter drear + I should be piteously alone + Without the speech of comrades dear; + And friendly for my sake they fear, + It grieves them thinking of me so + While all their happy life is near— + What do they know? What do they know? + + That I have seen the Dagda's throne + In sunny lands without a tear + And found a forest all my own + To ward with magic shield and spear, + Where, through the stately towers I rear + For my desire, around me go + Immortal shapes of beauty clear: + They do not know, they do not know. + + L'Envoi + + The friends I have without a peer + Beyond the western ocean's glow, + Whither the faerie galleys steer, + They do not know: how should they know? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX. Night + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I know a little Druid wood + Where I would slumber if I could + And have the murmuring of the stream + To mingle with a midnight dream, + And have the holy hazel trees + To play above me in the breeze, + And smell the thorny eglantine; + For there the white owls all night long + In the scented gloom divine + Hear the wild, strange, tuneless song + Of faerie voices, thin and high + As the bat's unearthly cry, + And the measure of their shoon + Dancing, dancing, under the moon, + Until, amid the pale of dawn + The wandering stars begin to swoon. . . . + Ah, leave the world and come away! + + The windy folk are in the glade, + And men have seen their revels, laid + In secret on some flowery lawn + Underneath the beechen covers, + Kings of old, I've heard them say, + Here have found them faerie lovers + That charmed them out of life and kissed + Their lips with cold lips unafraid, + And such a spell around them made + That they have passed beyond the mist + And found the Country-under-wave. . . . + + Kings of old, whom none could save! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX. Oxford + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is well that there are palaces of peace + And discipline and dreaming and desire, + Lest we forget our heritage and cease + The Spirit's work-to hunger and aspire: + + Lest we forget that we were born divine, + Now tangled in red battle's animal net, + Murder the work and lust the anodyne, + Pains of the beast 'gainst bestial solace set. + + But this shall never be: to us remains + One city that has nothing of the beast, + That was not built for gross, material gains, + Sharp, wolfish power or empire's glutted feast. + + We are not wholly brute. To us remains + A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams, + A place of visions and of loosening chains, + A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams. + + She was not builded out of common stone + But out of all men's yearning and all prayer + That she might live, eternally our own, + The Spirit's stronghold-barred against despair. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI. Hymn (For Boys' Voices) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All the things magicians do + Could be done by me and you + Freely, if we only knew. + + Human children every day + Could play at games the faeries play + If they were but shown the way. + + Every man a God would be + Laughing through eternity + If as God's his eyes could see. + + All the wizardries of God— + Slaying matter with a nod, + Charming spirits with his rod, + + With the singing of his voice + Making lonely lands rejoice, + Leaving us no will nor choice, + + Drawing headlong me and you + As the piping Orpheus drew + Man and beast the mountains through, + + By the sweetness of his horn + Calling us from lands forlorn + Nearer to the widening morn— + + All that loveliness of power + Could be man's peculiar dower, + Even mine, this very hour; + + We should reach the Hidden Land + And grow immortal out of hand, + If we could but understand! + + We could revel day and night + In all power and all delight + If we learn to think aright. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII. "Our Daily Bread" + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell + To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet; + There have been men who sank down into Hell + In some suburban street, + + And some there are that in their daily walks + Have met archangels fresh from sight of God, + Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks + Long files of faerie trod. + + Often me too the Living voices call + In many a vulgar and habitual place, + I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall, + I see a strange god's face. + + And some day this work will work upon me so + I shall arise and leave both friends and home + And over many lands a pilgrim go + Through alien woods and foam, + + Seeking the last steep edges of the earth + Whence I may leap into that gulf of light + Wherein, before my narrowing Self had birth, + Part of me lived aright. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII. How He Saw Angus the God + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose + All in a strange delight while others slept, + And down the creaking stair, alone, tip-toes, + So carefully I crept. + + The house was dark with silly blinds yet drawn, + But outside the clean air was filled with light, + And underneath my feet the cold, wet lawn + With dew was twinkling bright. + + The cobwebs hung from every branch and spray + Gleaming with pearly strands of laden thread, + And long and still the morning shadows lay + Across the meadows spread. + + At that pure hour when yet no sound of man, + Stirs in the whiteness of the wakening earth, + Alone through innocent solitudes I ran + Singing aloud for mirth. + + Till I had found the open mountain heath + Yellow with gorse, and rested there and stood + To gaze upon the misty sea beneath, + Or on the neighbouring wood, + + —That little wood of hazel and tall pine + And youngling fir, where oft we have loved to see + The level beams of early morning shine + Freshly from tree to tree. + + Through the denser wood there's many a pool + Of deep and night-born shadow lingers yet + Where the new-wakened flowers are damp and cool + And the long grass is wet. + + In the sweet heather long I rested there + Looking upon the dappled, early sky, + When suddenly, from out the shining air + A god came flashing by. + + Swift, naked, eager, pitilessly fair, + With a live crown of birds about his head, + Singing and fluttering, and his fiery hair, + Far out behind him spread, + + Streamed like a rippling torch upon the breeze + Of his own glorious swiftness: in the grass + He bruised no feathery stalk, and through the trees + I saw his whiteness pass. + + But when I followed him beyond the wood, + Lo! He was changed into a solemn bull + That there upon the open pasture stood + And browsed his lazy full. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV. The Roads + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I stand on the windy uplands among the hills of Down + With all the world spread out beneath, meadow and sea and town, + And ploughlands on the far-off hills that glow with friendly brown. + + And ever across the rolling land to the far horizon line, + Where the blue hills border the misty west, I see the white roads twine, + The rare roads and the fair roads that call this heart of mine. + + I see them dip in the valleys and vanish and rise and bend + From shadowy dell to windswept fell, and still to the West they wend, + And over the cold blue ridge at last to the great world's uttermost end. + + And the call of the roads is upon me, a desire in my spirit has grown + To wander forth in the highways, 'twixt earth and sky alone, + And seek for the lands no foot has trod and the seas no sail has known: + + For the lands to the west of the evening and east of the morning's birth, + Where the gods unseen in their valleys green are glad at the ends of the earth + And fear no morrow to bring them sorrow, nor night to quench their mirth. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV. Hesperus + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Through the starry hollow + Of the summer night + I would follow, follow + Hesperus the bright, + To seek beyond the western wave + His garden of delight. + + Hesperus the fairest + Of all gods that are, + Peace and dreams thou bearest + In thy shadowy car, + And often in my evening walks + I've blessed thee from afar. + + Stars without number, + Dust the noon of night, + Thou the early slumber + And the still delight + Of the gentle twilit hours + Rulest in thy right. + + When the pale skies shiver, + Seeing night is done, + Past the ocean-river, + Lightly thou dost run, + To look for pleasant, sleepy lands, + That never fear the sun. + + Where, beyond the waters + Of the outer sea, + Thy triple crown of daughters + That guards the golden tree + Sing out across the lonely tide + A welcome home to thee. + + And while the old, old dragon + For joy lifts up his head, + They bring thee forth a flagon + Of nectar foaming red, + And underneath the drowsy trees + Of poppies strew thy bed. + + Ah! that I could follow + In thy footsteps bright, + Through the starry hollow + Of the summer night, + Sloping down the western ways + To find my heart's delight! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI. The Star Bath + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A place uplifted towards the midnight sky + Far, far away among the mountains old, + A treeless waste of rocks and freezing cold, + Where the dead, cheerless moon rode neighbouring by— + And in the midst a silent tarn there lay, + A narrow pool, cold as the tide that flows + Where monstrous bergs beyond Varanger stray, + Rising from sunless depths that no man knows; + Thither as clustering fireflies have I seen + At fixed seasons all the stars come down + To wash in that cold wave their brightness clean + And win the special fire wherewith they crown + The wintry heavens in frost. Even as a flock + Of falling birds, down to the pool they came. + I saw them and I heard the icy shock + Of stars engulfed with hissing of faint flame— + Ages ago before the birth of men + Or earliest beast. Yet I was still the same + That now remember, knowing not where or when. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII. Tu Ne Quaesieris + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For all the lore of Lodge and Myers + I cannot heal my torn desires, + Nor hope for all that man can speer + To make the riddling earth grow clear. + Though it were sure and proven well + That I shall prosper, as they tell, + In fields beneath a different sun + By shores where other oceans run, + When this live body that was I + Lies hidden from the cheerful sky, + Yet what were endless lives to me + If still my narrow self I be + And hope and fail and struggle still, + And break my will against God's will, + To play for stakes of pleasure and pain + And hope and fail and hope again, + Deluded, thwarted, striving elf + That through the window of my self + As through a dark glass scarce can see + A warped and masked reality? + But when this searching thought of mine + Is mingled in the large Divine, + And laughter that was in my mouth + Runs through the breezes of the South, + When glory I have built in dreams + Along some fiery sunset gleams, + And my dead sin and foolishness + Grow one with Nature's whole distress, + To perfect being I shall win, + And where I end will Life begin. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVIII. Lullaby + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lullaby! Lullaby! + There's a tower strong and high + Built of oak and brick and stone, + Stands before a wood alone. + The doors are of the oak so brown + As any ale in Oxford town, + The walls are builded warm and thick + Of the old red Roman brick, + The good grey stone is over all + In arch and floor of the tower tall. + And maidens three are living there + All in the upper chamber fair, + Hung with silver, hung with pall, + And stories painted on the wall. + And softly goes the whirring loom + In my ladies' upper room, + For they shall spin both night and day + Until the stars do pass away. + But every night at evening. + The window open wide they fling, + And one of them says a word they know + And out as three white swans they go, + And the murmuring of the woods is drowned + In the soft wings' whirring sound, + As they go flying round, around, + Singing in swans' voices high + A lonely, lovely lullaby. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIX. World's Desire + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate, + On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great, + Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between, + And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine + Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river + Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver + And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned, + And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound. + But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine + With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen, + Calm and very wonderful, white above the green + Of the wet and waving forest, slanted all away, + Because the driving Northern wind will not rest by night or day. + Yet the towers are sure above, very mighty is the stead, + The gates are made of ivory, the roofs of copper red. + + Round and round the warders grave walk upon the walls for ever + And the wakeful dragons couch in the ports of ivory, + Nothing is can trouble it, hate of the gods nor man's endeavour, + And it shall be a resting-place, dear heart, for you and me. + + Through the wet and waving forest with an age-old sorrow laden + Singing of the world's regret wanders wild the faerie maiden, + Through the thistle and the brier, through the tangles of the thorn, + Till her eyes be dim with weeping and her homeless feet are torn. + + Often to the castle gate up she looks with vain endeavour, + For her soulless loveliness to the castle winneth never. + + But within the sacred court, hidden high upon the mountain, + Wandering in the castle gardens lovely folk enough there be, + Breathing in another air, drinking of a purer fountain + And among that folk, beloved, there's a place for you and me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XL. Death in Battle + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Open the gates for me, + Open the gates of the peaceful castle, rosy in the West, + In the sweet dim Isle of Apples over the wide sea's breast, + + Open the gates for me! + + Sorely pressed have I been + And driven and hurt beyond bearing this summer day, + But the heat and the pain together suddenly fall away, + All's cool and green. + + But a moment agone, + Among men cursing in fight and toiling, blinded I fought, + But the labour passed on a sudden even as a passing thought, + + And now-alone! + + Ah, to be ever alone, + In flowery valleys among the mountains and silent wastes untrod, + In the dewy upland places, in the garden of God, + This would atone! + + I shall not see + The brutal, crowded faces around me, that in their toil have grown + Into the faces of devils-yea, even as my own— + When I find thee, + + O Country of Dreams! + Beyond the tide of the ocean, hidden and sunk away, + Out of the sound of battles, near to the end of day, + Full of dim woods and streams. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Spirits in Bondage, by +(AKA Clive Hamilton) C. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Spirits in Bondage + +Author: (AKA Clive Hamilton) C. S. Lewis + +Posting Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #2003] +Release Date: December, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPIRITS IN BONDAGE *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +SPIRITS IN BONDAGE + +A CYCLE OF LYRICS + +By Clive Hamilton [C. S. Lewis] + + + + +In Three Parts + + I. The Prison House + II. Hesitation + III.The Escape + + + "The land where I shall never be + The love that I shall never see" + + + + +Historical Background + +Published under the pseudonym, Clive Hamilton, Spirits in Bondage was C. +S. Lewis' first book. Released in 1919 by Heinemann, it was reprinted in +1984 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and included in Lewis' 1994 Collected +Poems. It is the first of Lewis' major published works to enter the +public domain in the United States. Readers should be aware that in +other countries it may still be under copyright protection. + +Most of the poems appear to have been written between 1915 and 1918, a +period during which Lewis was a student under W. T. Kirkpatrick, a +military trainee at Oxford, and a soldier serving in the trenches of +World War I. Their outlook varies from Romantic expressions of love for +the beauty and simplicity of nature to cynical statements about the +presence of evil in this world. In a September 12, 1918 letter to his +friend Arthur Greeves, Lewis said that his book was, "mainly strung +around the idea that I mentioned to you before--that nature is wholly +diabolical & malevolent and that God, if he exists, is outside of and in +opposition to the cosmic arrangements." In his cynical poems, Lewis is +dealing with the same questions about evil in nature that Alfred Lord +Tennyson explored from a position of troubled faith in "In Memoriam A. +H." (Stanzas 54f). In a letter written perhaps to reassure his father, +Lewis claimed, "You know who the God I blaspheme is and that it is not +the God that you or I worship, or any other Christian." + +Whatever Lewis believed at that time, the attitude in many of these +poems is quite different from the attitude he expressed in his many +Christian books from the 1930s on. Attempts in movies and on stage plays +to portray Lewis as a sheltered professor who knew little about pain +until the death of his wife late in life, have to deal not only with the +many tragedies he experienced from a boy on, but also with the +disturbing issues he faced in many of these early poems. + + + + +Prologue + + As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailing + Straight against the sunset and the edges of the earth, + Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing, + Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth-- + Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden, + Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden, + Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy enterprise, + How they found the outer islands, where the unknown stars arise; + And the rowers down below, rowing hard as they could row, + Toiling at the stroke and feather through the wet and weary weather, + Even they forgot their burden in the measure of a song, + And the merchants and the masters and the bondsmen all together, + Dreaming of the wondrous islands, brought the gallant ship along; + So in mighty deeps alone on the chainless breezes blown + In my coracle of verses I will sing of lands unknown, + Flying from the scarlet city where a Lord that knows no pity, + Mocks the broken people praying round his iron throne, + Sing about the Hidden Country fresh and full of quiet green. + Sailing over seas uncharted to a port that none has seen. + + + + +Part I The Prison House + + + + +I. Satan Speaks + + I am Nature, the Mighty Mother, + I am the law: ye have none other. + + I am the flower and the dewdrop fresh, + I am the lust in your itching flesh. + + I am the battle's filth and strain, + I am the widow's empty pain. + + I am the sea to smother your breath, + I am the bomb, the falling death. + + I am the fact and the crushing reason + To thwart your fantasy's new-born treason. + + I am the spider making her net, + I am the beast with jaws blood-wet. + + I am a wolf that follows the sun + And I will catch him ere day be done. + + + + +II. French Nocturne (Monchy-Le-Preux) + + Long leagues on either hand the trenches spread + And all is still; now even this gross line + Drinks in the frosty silences divine + The pale, green moon is riding overhead. + + The jaws of a sacked village, stark and grim; + Out on the ridge have swallowed up the sun, + And in one angry streak his blood has run + To left and right along the horizon dim. + + There comes a buzzing plane: and now, it seems + Flies straight into the moon. Lo! where he steers + Across the pallid globe and surely nears + In that white land some harbour of dear dreams! + + False mocking fancy! Once I too could dream, + Who now can only see with vulgar eye + That he's no nearer to the moon than I + And she's a stone that catches the sun's beam. + + What call have I to dream of anything? + I am a wolf. Back to the world again, + And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men + Our throats can bark for slaughter: cannot sing. + + + + +III. The Satyr + + When the flowery hands of spring + Forth their woodland riches fling, + Through the meadows, through the valleys + Goes the satyr carolling. + + From the mountain and the moor, + Forest green and ocean shore + All the faerie kin he rallies + Making music evermore. + + See! the shaggy pelt doth grow + On his twisted shanks below, + And his dreadful feet are cloven + Though his brow be white as snow-- + + Though his brow be clear and white + And beneath it fancies bright, + Wisdom and high thoughts are woven + And the musics of delight, + + Though his temples too be fair + Yet two horns are growing there + Bursting forth to part asunder + All the riches of his hair. + + Faerie maidens he may meet + Fly the horns and cloven feet, + But, his sad brown eyes with wonder + Seeing-stay from their retreat. + + + + +IV. Victory + + Roland is dead, Cuchulain's crest is low, + The battered war-rear wastes and turns to rust, + And Helen's eyes and Iseult's lips are dust + And dust the shoulders and the breasts of snow. + + The faerie people from our woods are gone, + No Dryads have I found in all our trees, + No Triton blows his horn about our seas + And Arthur sleeps far hence in Avalon. + + The ancient songs they wither as the grass + And waste as doth a garment waxen old, + All poets have been fools who thought to mould + A monument more durable than brass. + + For these decay: but not for that decays + The yearning, high, rebellious spirit of man + That never rested yet since life began + From striving with red Nature and her ways. + + Now in the filth of war, the baresark shout + Of battle, it is vexed. And yet so oft + Out of the deeps, of old, it rose aloft + That they who watch the ages may not doubt. + + Though often bruised, oft broken by the rod, + Yet, like the phoenix, from each fiery bed + Higher the stricken spirit lifts its head + And higher-till the beast become a god. + + + + +V. Irish Nocturne + + Now the grey mist comes creeping up + From the waste ocean's weedy strand + And fills the valley, as a cup + If filled of evil drink in a wizard's hand; + And the trees fade out of sight, + Like dreary ghosts unhealthily, + Into the damp, pale night, + Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see + Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart + His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte + The thanes that sat by the wintry log-- + Grendel or the shadowy mass + Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay, + The grey, grey walker who used to pass + Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey. + But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang, + With never a wind to blow the mists apart, + Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart, + Looking upon this land, where poets sang, + Thus with the dreary shroud + Unwholesome, over it spread, + And knowing the fog and the cloud + In her people's heart and head + Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts + Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise + And remember all their boasts; + For I know that the colourless skies + And the blurred horizons breed + Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed. + + + + +VI. Spooks + + Last night I dreamed that I was come again + Unto the house where my beloved dwells + After long years of wandering and pain. + + And I stood out beneath the drenching rain + And all the street was bare, and black with night, + But in my true love's house was warmth and light. + + Yet I could not draw near nor enter in, + And long I wondered if some secret sin + Or old, unhappy anger held me fast; + + Till suddenly it came into my head + That I was killed long since and lying dead-- + Only a homeless wraith that way had passed. + + So thus I found my true love's house again + And stood unseen amid the winter night + And the lamp burned within, a rosy light, + And the wet street was shining in the rain. + + + + +VII. Apology + + If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell + Of nothing glad nor noble in my verse + To lighten hearts beneath this present curse + And build a heaven of dreams in real hell, + + Go you to them and speak among them thus: + "There were no greater grief than to recall, + Down in the rotting grave where the lithe worms crawl, + Green fields above that smiled so sweet to us." + + Is it good to tell old tales of Troynovant + Or praises of dead heroes, tried and sage, + Or sing the queens of unforgotten age, + Brynhild and Maeve and virgin Bradamant? + + How should I sing of them? Can it be good + To think of glory now, when all is done, + And all our labour underneath the sun + Has brought us this-and not the thing we would? + + All these were rosy visions of the night, + The loveliness and wisdom feigned of old. + But now we wake. The East is pale and cold, + No hope is in the dawn, and no delight. + + + + +VIII. Ode for New Year's Day + + Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth, + Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth + And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth. + And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art, + Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it, + Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart, + For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part. + The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God's hate cover it, + Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought, + Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought + Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm + That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught + Shall pour red wrath upon us over a world deform. + + Thrice happy, O Despoina, were the men who were alive + In the great age and the golden age when still the cycle ran + On upward curve and easily, for them both maid and man + And beast and tree and spirit in the green earth could thrive. + But now one age is ending, and God calls home the stars + And looses the wheel of the ages and sends it spinning back + Amid the death of nations, and points a downward track, + And madness is come over us and great and little wars. + He has not left one valley, one isle of fresh and green + Where old friends could forgather amid the howling wreck. + It's vainly we are praying. We cannot, cannot check + The Power who slays and puts aside the beauty that has been. + + It's truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart's complaining + For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear, + Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining + And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear + The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead. + But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts + Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped + Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it + Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts? + Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it: + Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done. + And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun + And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill, + And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears + The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill? + He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears, + And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears? + + Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee away + Into some other country beyond the rosy West, + To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at rest + From the rankling hate of God and the outworn world's decay! + + + + +IX. Night + + After the fret and failure of this day, + And weariness of thought, O Mother Night, + Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away + And all our little tumults set to right; + Most pitiful of all death's kindred fair, + Riding above us through the curtained air + On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to the earth + Sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender might + And lovers' dear delight before to-morrow's birth. + Thus art thou wont thy quiet lands to leave + And pillared courts beyond the Milky Way, + Wherein thou tarriest all our solar day + While unsubstantial dreams before thee weave + A foamy dance, and fluttering fancies play + About thy palace in the silver ray + Of some far, moony globe. But when the hour, + The long-expected comes, the ivory gates + Open on noiseless hinge before thy bower + Unbidden, and the jewelled chariot waits + With magic steeds. Thou from the fronting rim + Bending to urge them, whilst thy sea-dark hair + Falls in ambrosial ripples o'er each limb, + With beautiful pale arms, untrammelled, bare + For horsemanship, to those twin chargers fleet + Dost give full rein across the fires that glow + In the wide floor of heaven, from off their feet + Scattering the powdery star-dust as they go. + Come swiftly down the sky, O Lady Night, + Fall through the shadow-country, O most kind, + Shake out thy strands of gentle dreams and light + For chains, wherewith thou still art used to bind + With tenderest love of careful leeches' art + The bruised and weary heart + In slumber blind. + + + + +X. To Sleep + + I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-- + A hidden wood among the hill-tops green, + Full of soft streams and little winds that creep + The murmuring boughs between. + + A hollow cup above the ocean placed + Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be, + But woodland light and shadow interlaced + And summer sky and sea. + + There in the fragrant twilight I will raise + A secret altar of the rich sea sod, + Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise + Unto my lonely god: + + Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers, + The deadening poppies in an ocean shell + Round which through all forgotten days and hours + The great seas wove their spell. + + So may he send me dreams of dear delight + And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain, + And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night + To hear the falling rain. + + And when he meets me at the dusk of day + To call me home for ever, this I ask-- + That he may lead me friendly on that way + And wear no frightful mask. + + + + +XI. In Prison + + I cried out for the pain of man, + I cried out for my bitter wrath + Against the hopeless life that ran + For ever in a circling path + From death to death since all began; + Till on a summer night + I lost my way in the pale starlight + And saw our planet, far and small, + Through endless depths of nothing fall + A lonely pin-prick spark of light, + Upon the wide, enfolding night, + With leagues on leagues of stars above it, + And powdered dust of stars below-- + Dead things that neither hate nor love it + Not even their own loveliness can know, + Being but cosmic dust and dead. + And if some tears be shed, + Some evil God have power, + Some crown of sorrow sit + Upon a little world for a little hour-- + Who shall remember? Who shall care for it? + + + + +XII. De Profundis + + Come let us curse our Master ere we die, + For all our hopes in endless ruin lie. + The good is dead. Let us curse God most High. + + Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought + Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought + New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught. + + We built us joyful cities, strong and fair, + Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare. + And all this time you laughed upon our care, + + And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong, + Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song, + The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong. + + Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth + Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth + And our few happy days of little worth. + + Even if it be not all a dream in vain + The ancient hope that still will rise again-- + Of a just God that cares for earthly pain, + + Yet far away beyond our labouring night, + He wanders in the depths of endless light, + Singing alone his musics of delight; + + Only the far, spent echo of his song + Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along, + And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong. + + O universal strength, I know it well, + It is but froth of folly to rebel; + For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell. + + Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee, + For looking in my own heart I can prove thee, + And know this frail, bruised being is above thee. + + Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right, + Our mercy and long seeking of the light, + Shall we change these for thy relentless might? + + Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth, + Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth-- + Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth. + + + + +XIII. Satan Speaks + + I am the Lord your God: even he that made + Material things, and all these signs arrayed + Above you and have set beneath the race + Of mankind, who forget their Father's face + And even while they drink my light of day + Dream of some other gods and disobey + My warnings, and despise my holy laws, + Even tho' their sin shall slay them. For which cause, + Dreams dreamed in vain, a never-filled desire + And in close flesh a spiritual fire, + A thirst for good their kind shall not attain, + A backward cleaving to the beast again. + A loathing for the life that I have given, + A haunted, twisted soul for ever riven + Between their will and mine-such lot I give + White still in my despite the vermin live. + They hate my world! Then let that other God + Come from the outer spaces glory-shod, + And from this castle I have built on Night + Steal forth my own thought's children into light, + If such an one there be. But far away + He walks the airy fields of endless day, + And my rebellious sons have called Him long + And vainly called. My order still is strong + And like to me nor second none I know. + Whither the mammoth went this creature too shall go. + + + + +XIV. The Witch + + Trapped amid the woods with guile + They've led her bound in fetters vile + To death, a deadlier sorceress + Than any born for earth's distress + Since first the winner of the fleece + Bore home the Colchian witch to Greece-- + Seven months with snare and gin + They've sought the maid o'erwise within + The forest's labyrinthine shade. + The lonely woodman half afraid + Far off her ragged form has seen + Sauntering down the alleys green, + Or crouched in godless prayer alone + At eve before a Druid stone. + But now the bitter chase is won, + The quarry's caught, her magic's done, + The bishop's brought her strongest spell + To naught with candle, book, and bell; + With holy water splashed upon her, + She goes to burning and dishonour + Too deeply damned to feel her shame, + For, though beneath her hair of flame + Her thoughtful head be lowly bowed + It droops for meditation proud + Impenitent, and pondering yet + Things no memory can forget, + Starry wonders she has seen + Brooding in the wildwood green + With holiness. For who can say + In what strange crew she loved to play, + What demons or what gods of old + Deep mysteries unto her have told + At dead of night in worship bent + At ruined shrines magnificent, + Or how the quivering will she sent + Alone into the great alone + Where all is loved and all is known, + Who now lifts up her maiden eyes + And looks around with soft surprise + Upon the noisy, crowded square, + The city oafs that nod and stare, + The bishop's court that gathers there, + The faggots and the blackened stake + Where sinners die for justice' sake? + Now she is set upon the pile, + The mob grows still a little while, + Till lo! before the eager folk + Up curls a thin, blue line of smoke. + "Alas!" the full-fed burghers cry, + "That evil loveliness must die!" + + + + +XV. Dungeon Grates + + So piteously the lonely soul of man + Shudders before this universal plan, + So grievous is the burden and the pain, + So heavy weighs the long, material chain + From cause to cause, too merciless for hate, + The nightmare march of unrelenting fate, + I think that he must die thereof unless + Ever and again across the dreariness + There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces, + A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places + And wider oceans, breaking on the shore + From which the hearts of men are always sore. + It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer + Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there, + Seeing how many prophets and wise men + Have sought for it and still returned again + With hope undone. But only the strange power + Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour + Can build a bridge of light or sound or form + To lead you out of all this strife and storm; + When of some beauty we are grown a part + Till from its very glory's midmost heart + Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light + Into our souls. All things are seen aright + Amid the blinding pillar of its gold, + Seven times more true than what for truth we hold + In vulgar hours. The miracle is done + And for one little moment we are one + With the eternal stream of loveliness + That flows so calm, aloft from all distress + Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire + Making us faint with overstrong desire + To sport and swim for ever in its deep-- + Only a moment. + O! but we shall keep + Our vision still. One moment was enough, + We know we are not made of mortal stuff. + And we can bear all trials that come after, + The hate of men and the fool's loud bestial laughter + And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean, + For we have seen the Glory-we have seen. + + + + +XVI. The Philosopher + + Who shall be our prophet then, + Chosen from all the sons of men + To lead his fellows on the way + Of hidden knowledge, delving deep + To nameless mysteries that keep + Their secret from the solar day! + Or who shall pierce with surer eye! + This shifting veil of bittersweet + And find the real things that lie + Beyond this turmoil, which we greet + With such a wasted wealth of tears? + Who shall cross over for us the bridge of fears + And pass in to the country where the ancient Mothers dwell? + Is it an elder, bent and hoar + Who, where the waste Atlantic swell + On lonely beaches makes its roar, + In his solitary tower + Through the long night hour by hour + Pores on old books with watery eye + When all his youth has passed him by, + And folly is schooled and love is dead + And frozen fancy laid abed, + While in his veins the gradual blood + Slackens to a marish flood? + For he rejoiceth not in the ocean's might, + Neither the sun giveth delight, + Nor the moon by night + Shall call his feet to wander in the haunted forest lawn. + He shall no more rise suddenly in the dawn + When mists are white and the dew lies pearly + Cold and cold on every meadow, + To take his joy of the season early, + The opening flower and the westward shadow, + And scarcely can he dream of laughter and love, + They lie so many leaden years behind. + Such eyes are dim and blind, + And the sad, aching head that nods above + His monstrous books can never know + The secret we would find. + But let our seer be young and kind + And fresh and beautiful of show, + And taken ere the lustyhead + And rapture of his youth be dead; + Ere the gnawing, peasant reason + School him over-deep in treason + To the ancient high estate + Of his fancy's principate, + That he may live a perfect whole, + A mask of the eternal soul, + And cross at last the shadowy bar + To where the ever-living are. + + + + +XVII. The Ocean Strand + + O leave the labouring roadways of the town, + The shifting faces and the changeful hue + Of markets, and broad echoing streets that drown + The heart's own silent music. Though they too + Sing in their proper rhythm, and still delight + The friendly ear that loves warm human kind, + Yet it is good to leave them all behind, + Now when from lily dawn to purple night + Summer is queen, + Summer is queen in all the happy land. + Far, far away among the valleys green + Let us go forth and wander hand in hand + Beyond those solemn hills that we have seen + So often welcome home the falling sun + Into their cloudy peaks when day was done-- + Beyond them till we find the ocean strand + And hear the great waves run, + With the waste song whose melodies I'd follow + And weary not for many a summer day, + Born of the vaulted breakers arching hollow + Before they flash and scatter into spray, + On, if we should be weary of their play + Then I would lead you further into land + Where, with their ragged walls, the stately rocks + Shunt in smooth courts and paved with quiet sand + To silence dedicate. The sea-god's flocks + Have rested here, and mortal eyes have seen + By great adventure at the dead of noon + A lonely nereid drowsing half a-swoon + Buried beneath her dark and dripping locks. + + + + +XVIII. Noon + + Noon! and in the garden bower + The hot air quivers o'er the grass, + The little lake is smooth as glass + And still so heavily the hour + Drags, that scarce the proudest flower + Pressed upon its burning bed + Has strength to lift a languid head:-- + Rose and fainting violet + By the water's margin set + Swoon and sink as they were dead + Though their weary leaves be fed + With the foam-drops of the pool + Where it trembles dark and cool + Wrinkled by the fountain spraying + O'er it. And the honey-bee + Hums his drowsy melody + And wanders in his course a-straying + Through the sweet and tangled glade + With his golden mead o'erladen, + Where beneath the pleasant shade + Of the darkling boughs a maiden-- + Milky limb and fiery tress, + All at sweetest random laid-- + Slumbers, drunken with the excess + Of the noontide's loveliness. + + + + +XIX. Milton Read Again (In Surrey) + + Three golden months while summer on us stole + I have read your joyful tale another time, + Breathing more freely in that larger clime + And learning wiselier to deserve the whole. + + Your Spirit, Master, has been close at hand + And guided me, still pointing treasures rare, + Thick-sown where I before saw nothing fair + And finding waters in the barren land, + + Barren once thought because my eyes were dim. + Like one I am grown to whom the common field + And often-wandered copse one morning yield + New pleasures suddenly; for over him + + Falls the weird spirit of unexplained delight, + New mystery in every shady place, + In every whispering tree a nameless grace, + New rapture on the windy seaward height. + + So may she come to me, teaching me well + To savour all these sweets that lie to hand + In wood and lane about this pleasant land + Though it be not the land where I would dwell. + + . + XX. Sonnet + + The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall + About a dreaming garden still and sweet, + I hear the unseen bats above me bleat + Among the ghostly moths their hunting call, + And twinkling glow-worms all about me crawl. + Now for a chamber dim, a pillow meet + For slumbers deep as death, a faultless sheet, + Cool, white and smooth. So may I reach the hall + With poppies strewn where sleep that is so dear + With magic sponge can wipe away an hour + Or twelve and make them naught. Why not a year, + Why could a man not loiter in that bower + Until a thousand painless cycles wore, + And then-what if it held him evermore? + + + + +XXI. The Autumn Morning + + See! the pale autumn dawn + Is faint, upon the lawn + That lies in powdered white + Of hoar-frost dight + + And now from tree to tree + The ghostly mist we see + Hung like a silver pall + To hallow all. + + It wreathes the burdened air + So strangely everywhere + That I could almost fear + This silence drear + + Where no one song-bird sings + And dream that wizard things + Mighty for hate or love + Were close above. + + White as the fog and fair + Drifting through the middle air + In magic dances dread + Over my head. + + Yet these should know me too + Lover and bondman true, + One that has honoured well + The mystic spell + + Of earth's most solemn hours + Wherein the ancient powers + Of dryad, elf, or faun + Or leprechaun + + Oft have their faces shown + To me that walked alone + Seashore or haunted fen + Or mountain glen + + Wherefore I will not fear + To walk the woodlands sere + Into this autumn day + Far, far away. + + + + +Part II Hesitation + + XXII. L'Apprenti Sorcier + + Suddenly there came to me + The music of a mighty sea + That on a bare and iron shore + Thundered with a deeper roar + Than all the tides that leap and run + With us below the real sun: + Because the place was far away, + Above, beyond our homely day, + Neighbouring close the frozen clime + Where out of all the woods of time, + Amid the frightful seraphim + The fierce, cold eyes of Godhead gleam, + Revolving hate and misery + And wars and famines yet to be. + And in my dreams I stood alone + Upon a shelf of weedy stone, + And saw before my shrinking eyes + The dark, enormous breakers rise, + And hover and fall with deafening thunder + Of thwarted foam that echoed under + The ledge, through many a cavern drear, + With hollow sounds of wintry fear. + And through the waters waste and grey, + Thick-strown for many a league away, + Out of the toiling sea arose + Many a face and form of those + Thin, elemental people dear + Who live beyond our heavy sphere. + And all at once from far and near, + They all held out their arms to me, + Crying in their melody, + "Leap in! Leap in and take thy fill + Of all the cosmic good and ill, + Be as the Living ones that know + Enormous joy, enormous woe, + Pain beyond thought and fiery bliss: + For all thy study hunted this, + On wings of magic to arise, + And wash from off thy filmed eyes + The cloud of cold mortality, + To find the real life and be + As are the children of the deep! + Be bold and dare the glorious leap, + Or to thy shame, go, slink again + Back to the narrow ways of men." + So all these mocked me as I stood + Striving to wake because I feared the flood. + + + + +XXIII. Alexandrines + + There is a house that most of all on earth I hate. + Though I have passed through many sorrows and have been + In bloody fields, sad seas, and countries desolate, + Yet most I fear that empty house where the grasses green + Grow in the silent court the gaping flags between, + And down the moss-grown paths and terrace no man treads + Where the old, old weeds rise deep on the waste garden beds. + Like eyes of one long dead the empty windows stare + And I fear to cross the garden, I fear to linger there, + For in that house I know a little, silent room + Where Someone's always waiting, waiting in the gloom + To draw me with an evil eye, and hold me fast-- + Yet thither doom will drive me and He will win at last. + + + + +XXIV. In Praise of Solid People + + Thank God that there are solid folk + Who water flowers and roll the lawn, + And sit an sew and talk and smoke, + And snore all through the summer dawn. + + Who pass untroubled nights and days + Full-fed and sleepily content, + Rejoicing in each other's praise, + Respectable and innocent. + + Who feel the things that all men feel, + And think in well-worn grooves of thought, + Whose honest spirits never reel + Before man's mystery, overwrought. + + Yet not unfaithful nor unkind, + with work-day virtues surely staid, + Theirs is the sane and humble mind, + And dull affections undismayed. + + O happy people! I have seen + No verse yet written in your praise, + And, truth to tell, the time has been + I would have scorned your easy ways. + + But now thro' weariness and strife + I learn your worthiness indeed, + The world is better for such life + As stout suburban people lead. + + Too often have I sat alone + When the wet night falls heavily, + And fretting winds around me moan, + And homeless longing vexes me + + For lore that I shall never know, + And visions none can hope to see, + Till brooding works upon me so + A childish fear steals over me. + + I look around the empty room, + The clock still ticking in its place, + And all else silent as the tomb, + Till suddenly, I think, a face + + Grows from the darkness just beside. + I turn, and lo! it fades away, + And soon another phantom tide + Of shifting dreams begins to play, + + And dusky galleys past me sail, + Full freighted on a faerie sea; + I hear the silken merchants hail + Across the ringing waves to me + + --Then suddenly, again, the room, + Familiar books about me piled, + And I alone amid the gloom, + By one more mocking dream beguiled. + + And still no neared to the Light, + And still no further from myself, + Alone and lost in clinging night-- + (The clock's still ticking on the shelf). + + Then do I envy solid folk + Who sit of evenings by the fire, + After their work and doze and smoke, + And are not fretted by desire. + + + + +Part III The Escape + + XXV. Song of the Pilgrims + + O Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, + What have we done to you? How have we sinned + Wandering the Earth from Orkney unto Ind? + + With many deaths our fellowship is thinned, + Our flesh is withered in the parching wind, + Wandering the earth from Orkney unto Ind. + + We have no rest. We cannot turn again + Back to the world and all her fruitless pain, + Having once sought the land where ye remain. + + Some say ye are not. But, ah God! we know + That somewhere, somewhere past the Northern snow + Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow: + + --The red-rose and the white-rose gardens blow + In the green Northern land to which we go, + Surely the ways are long and the years are slow. + + We have forsaken all things sweet and fair, + We have found nothing worth a moment's care + Because the real flowers are blowing there. + + Land of the Lotus fallen from the sun, + Land of the Lake from whence all rivers run, + Land where the hope of all our dreams is won! + + Shall we not somewhere see at close of day + The green walls of that country far away, + And hear the music of her fountains play? + + So long we have been wandering all this while + By many a perilous sea and drifting isle, + We scarce shall dare to look thereon and smile. + + Yea, when we are drawing very near to thee, + And when at last the ivory port we see + Our hearts will faint with mere felicity: + + But we shall wake again in gardens bright + Of green and gold for infinite delight, + Sleeping beneath the solemn mountains white, + While from the flowery copses still unseen + Sing out the crooning birds that ne'er have been + Touched by the hand of winter frore and lean; + + And ever living queens that grow not old + And poets wise in robes of faerie gold + Whisper a wild, sweet song that first was told + + Ere God sat down to make the Milky Way. + And in those gardens we shall sleep and play + For ever and for ever and a day. + + Ah, Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, + What have we done to you? How have we sinned, + That yes should hide beyond the Northern wind? + + Land of the Lotus, fallen from the Sun, + When shall your hidden, flowery vales be won + And all the travail of our way be done? + + Very far we have searched; we have even seen + The Scythian waste that bears no soft nor green, + And near the Hideous Pass our feet have been. + + We have heard Syrens singing all night long + Beneath the unknown stars their lonely song + In friendless seas beyond the Pillars strong. + + Nor by the dragon-daughter of Hypocras + Nor the vale of the Devil's head we have feared to pass, + Yet is our labour lost and vain, alas! + + Scouring the earth from Orkney unto Ind, + Tossed on the seas and withered in the wind, + We seek and seek your land. How have we sinned? + + Or is it all a folly of the wise, + Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes + While all around us real flowers arise? + + But, by the very God, we know, we know + That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow + Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow. + + + + +XXVI. Song + + Faeries must be in the woods + Or the satyrs' laughing broods-- + Tritons in the summer sea, + Else how could the dead things be + Half so lovely as they are? + How could wealth of star on star + Dusted o'er the frosty night + Fill thy spirit with delight + And lead thee from this care of thine + Up among the dreams divine, + Were it not that each and all + Of them that walk the heavenly hall + Is in truth a happy isle, + Where eternal meadows smile, + And golden globes of fruit are seen + Twinkling through the orchards green; + Were the Other People go + On the bright sward to and fro? + Atoms dead could never thus + Stir the human heart of us + Unless the beauty that we see + The veil of endless beauty be, + Filled full of spirits that have trod + Far hence along the heavenly sod + And see the bright footprints of God. + + + + +XXVII. The Ass + + I woke and rose and slipt away + To the heathery hills in the morning grey. + + In a field where the dew lay cold and deep + I met an ass, new-roused from sleep. + + I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears, + And spoke soft words to quiet his fears. + + His eyes stared into the eyes of me + And he kissed my hands of his courtesy. + + "O big, brown brother out of the waste, + How do thistles for breakfast taste? + + "And do you rejoice in the dawn divine + With a heart that is glad no less than mine? + + "For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes + Is strange and mystic as the skies: + + "What are the thoughts that grope behind, + Down in the mist of a donkey mind? + + "Can it be true, as the wise men tell, + That you are a mask of God as well, + + "And, as in us, so in you no less + Speaks the eternal Loveliness, + + "And words of the lips that all things know + Among the thoughts of a donkey go? + + "However it be, O four-foot brother, + Fair to-day is the earth, our mother. + + "God send you peace and delight thereof, + And all green meat of the waste you love, + + "And guard you well from violent men + Who'd put you back in the shafts again." + + But the ass had far too wise a head + To answer one of the things I said, + + So he twitched his fair ears up and down + And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown. + + + + +XXVIII. Ballade Mystique + + The big, red-house is bare and lone + The stony garden waste and sere + With blight of breezes ocean blown + To pinch the wakening of the year; + My kindly friends with busy cheer + My wretchedness could plainly show. + They tell me I am lonely here-- + What do they know? What do they know? + + They think that while the gables moan + And easements creak in winter drear + I should be piteously alone + Without the speech of comrades dear; + And friendly for my sake they fear, + It grieves them thinking of me so + While all their happy life is near-- + What do they know? What do they know? + + That I have seen the Dagda's throne + In sunny lands without a tear + And found a forest all my own + To ward with magic shield and spear, + Where, through the stately towers I rear + For my desire, around me go + Immortal shapes of beauty clear: + They do not know, they do not know. + + L'Envoi + + The friends I have without a peer + Beyond the western ocean's glow, + Whither the faerie galleys steer, + They do not know: how should they know? + + + + +XXIX. Night + + I know a little Druid wood + Where I would slumber if I could + And have the murmuring of the stream + To mingle with a midnight dream, + And have the holy hazel trees + To play above me in the breeze, + And smell the thorny eglantine; + For there the white owls all night long + In the scented gloom divine + Hear the wild, strange, tuneless song + Of faerie voices, thin and high + As the bat's unearthly cry, + And the measure of their shoon + Dancing, dancing, under the moon, + Until, amid the pale of dawn + The wandering stars begin to swoon. . . . + Ah, leave the world and come away! + + The windy folk are in the glade, + And men have seen their revels, laid + In secret on some flowery lawn + Underneath the beechen covers, + Kings of old, I've heard them say, + Here have found them faerie lovers + That charmed them out of life and kissed + Their lips with cold lips unafraid, + And such a spell around them made + That they have passed beyond the mist + And found the Country-under-wave. . . . + + Kings of old, whom none could save! + + + + +XXX. Oxford + + It is well that there are palaces of peace + And discipline and dreaming and desire, + Lest we forget our heritage and cease + The Spirit's work-to hunger and aspire: + + Lest we forget that we were born divine, + Now tangled in red battle's animal net, + Murder the work and lust the anodyne, + Pains of the beast 'gainst bestial solace set. + + But this shall never be: to us remains + One city that has nothing of the beast, + That was not built for gross, material gains, + Sharp, wolfish power or empire's glutted feast. + + We are not wholly brute. To us remains + A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams, + A place of visions and of loosening chains, + A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams. + + She was not builded out of common stone + But out of all men's yearning and all prayer + That she might live, eternally our own, + The Spirit's stronghold-barred against despair. + + + + +XXXI. Hymn (For Boys' Voices) + + All the things magicians do + Could be done by me and you + Freely, if we only knew. + + Human children every day + Could play at games the faeries play + If they were but shown the way. + + Every man a God would be + Laughing through eternity + If as God's his eyes could see. + + All the wizardries of God-- + Slaying matter with a nod, + Charming spirits with his rod, + + With the singing of his voice + Making lonely lands rejoice, + Leaving us no will nor choice, + + Drawing headlong me and you + As the piping Orpheus drew + Man and beast the mountains through, + + By the sweetness of his horn + Calling us from lands forlorn + Nearer to the widening morn-- + + All that loveliness of power + Could be man's peculiar dower, + Even mine, this very hour; + + We should reach the Hidden Land + And grow immortal out of hand, + If we could but understand! + + We could revel day and night + In all power and all delight + If we learn to think aright. + + + + +XXXII. "Our Daily Bread" + + We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell + To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet; + There have been men who sank down into Hell + In some suburban street, + + And some there are that in their daily walks + Have met archangels fresh from sight of God, + Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks + Long files of faerie trod. + + Often me too the Living voices call + In many a vulgar and habitual place, + I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall, + I see a strange god's face. + + And some day this work will work upon me so + I shall arise and leave both friends and home + And over many lands a pilgrim go + Through alien woods and foam, + + Seeking the last steep edges of the earth + Whence I may leap into that gulf of light + Wherein, before my narrowing Self had birth, + Part of me lived aright. + + + + +XXXIII. How He Saw Angus the God + + I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose + All in a strange delight while others slept, + And down the creaking stair, alone, tip-toes, + So carefully I crept. + + The house was dark with silly blinds yet drawn, + But outside the clean air was filled with light, + And underneath my feet the cold, wet lawn + With dew was twinkling bright. + + The cobwebs hung from every branch and spray + Gleaming with pearly strands of laden thread, + And long and still the morning shadows lay + Across the meadows spread. + + At that pure hour when yet no sound of man, + Stirs in the whiteness of the wakening earth, + Alone through innocent solitudes I ran + Singing aloud for mirth. + + Till I had found the open mountain heath + Yellow with gorse, and rested there and stood + To gaze upon the misty sea beneath, + Or on the neighbouring wood, + + --That little wood of hazel and tall pine + And youngling fir, where oft we have loved to see + The level beams of early morning shine + Freshly from tree to tree. + + Through the denser wood there's many a pool + Of deep and night-born shadow lingers yet + Where the new-wakened flowers are damp and cool + And the long grass is wet. + + In the sweet heather long I rested there + Looking upon the dappled, early sky, + When suddenly, from out the shining air + A god came flashing by. + + Swift, naked, eager, pitilessly fair, + With a live crown of birds about his head, + Singing and fluttering, and his fiery hair, + Far out behind him spread, + + Streamed like a rippling torch upon the breeze + Of his own glorious swiftness: in the grass + He bruised no feathery stalk, and through the trees + I saw his whiteness pass. + + But when I followed him beyond the wood, + Lo! He was changed into a solemn bull + That there upon the open pasture stood + And browsed his lazy full. + + + + +XXXIV. The Roads + + I stand on the windy uplands among the hills of Down + With all the world spread out beneath, meadow and sea and town, + And ploughlands on the far-off hills that glow with friendly brown. + + And ever across the rolling land to the far horizon line, + Where the blue hills border the misty west, I see the white roads twine, + The rare roads and the fair roads that call this heart of mine. + + I see them dip in the valleys and vanish and rise and bend + From shadowy dell to windswept fell, and still to the West they wend, + And over the cold blue ridge at last to the great world's uttermost end. + + And the call of the roads is upon me, a desire in my spirit has grown + To wander forth in the highways, 'twixt earth and sky alone, + And seek for the lands no foot has trod and the seas no sail has known: + + For the lands to the west of the evening and east of the morning's birth, + Where the gods unseen in their valleys green are glad at the ends of the earth + And fear no morrow to bring them sorrow, nor night to quench their mirth. + + + + +XXXV. Hesperus + + Through the starry hollow + Of the summer night + I would follow, follow + Hesperus the bright, + To seek beyond the western wave + His garden of delight. + + Hesperus the fairest + Of all gods that are, + Peace and dreams thou bearest + In thy shadowy car, + And often in my evening walks + I've blessed thee from afar. + + Stars without number, + Dust the noon of night, + Thou the early slumber + And the still delight + Of the gentle twilit hours + Rulest in thy right. + + When the pale skies shiver, + Seeing night is done, + Past the ocean-river, + Lightly thou dost run, + To look for pleasant, sleepy lands, + That never fear the sun. + + Where, beyond the waters + Of the outer sea, + Thy triple crown of daughters + That guards the golden tree + Sing out across the lonely tide + A welcome home to thee. + + And while the old, old dragon + For joy lifts up his head, + They bring thee forth a flagon + Of nectar foaming red, + And underneath the drowsy trees + Of poppies strew thy bed. + + Ah! that I could follow + In thy footsteps bright, + Through the starry hollow + Of the summer night, + Sloping down the western ways + To find my heart's delight! + + + + +XXXVI. The Star Bath + + A place uplifted towards the midnight sky + Far, far away among the mountains old, + A treeless waste of rocks and freezing cold, + Where the dead, cheerless moon rode neighbouring by-- + And in the midst a silent tarn there lay, + A narrow pool, cold as the tide that flows + Where monstrous bergs beyond Varanger stray, + Rising from sunless depths that no man knows; + Thither as clustering fireflies have I seen + At fixed seasons all the stars come down + To wash in that cold wave their brightness clean + And win the special fire wherewith they crown + The wintry heavens in frost. Even as a flock + Of falling birds, down to the pool they came. + I saw them and I heard the icy shock + Of stars engulfed with hissing of faint flame-- + Ages ago before the birth of men + Or earliest beast. Yet I was still the same + That now remember, knowing not where or when. + + + + +XXXVII. Tu Ne Quaesieris + + For all the lore of Lodge and Myers + I cannot heal my torn desires, + Nor hope for all that man can speer + To make the riddling earth grow clear. + Though it were sure and proven well + That I shall prosper, as they tell, + In fields beneath a different sun + By shores where other oceans run, + When this live body that was I + Lies hidden from the cheerful sky, + Yet what were endless lives to me + If still my narrow self I be + And hope and fail and struggle still, + And break my will against God's will, + To play for stakes of pleasure and pain + And hope and fail and hope again, + Deluded, thwarted, striving elf + That through the window of my self + As through a dark glass scarce can see + A warped and masked reality? + But when this searching thought of mine + Is mingled in the large Divine, + And laughter that was in my mouth + Runs through the breezes of the South, + When glory I have built in dreams + Along some fiery sunset gleams, + And my dead sin and foolishness + Grow one with Nature's whole distress, + To perfect being I shall win, + And where I end will Life begin. + + + + +XXXVIII. Lullaby + + Lullaby! Lullaby! + There's a tower strong and high + Built of oak and brick and stone, + Stands before a wood alone. + The doors are of the oak so brown + As any ale in Oxford town, + The walls are builded warm and thick + Of the old red Roman brick, + The good grey stone is over all + In arch and floor of the tower tall. + And maidens three are living there + All in the upper chamber fair, + Hung with silver, hung with pall, + And stories painted on the wall. + And softly goes the whirring loom + In my ladies' upper room, + For they shall spin both night and day + Until the stars do pass away. + But every night at evening. + The window open wide they fling, + And one of them says a word they know + And out as three white swans they go, + And the murmuring of the woods is drowned + In the soft wings' whirring sound, + As they go flying round, around, + Singing in swans' voices high + A lonely, lovely lullaby. + + + + +XXXIX. World's Desire + + Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate, + On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great, + Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between, + And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine + Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river + Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver + And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned, + And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound. + But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine + With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen, + Calm and very wonderful, white above the green + Of the wet and waving forest, slanted all away, + Because the driving Northern wind will not rest by night or day. + Yet the towers are sure above, very mighty is the stead, + The gates are made of ivory, the roofs of copper red. + + Round and round the warders grave walk upon the walls for ever + And the wakeful dragons couch in the ports of ivory, + Nothing is can trouble it, hate of the gods nor man's endeavour, + And it shall be a resting-place, dear heart, for you and me. + + Through the wet and waving forest with an age-old sorrow laden + Singing of the world's regret wanders wild the faerie maiden, + Through the thistle and the brier, through the tangles of the thorn, + Till her eyes be dim with weeping and her homeless feet are torn. + + Often to the castle gate up she looks with vain endeavour, + For her soulless loveliness to the castle winneth never. + + But within the sacred court, hidden high upon the mountain, + Wandering in the castle gardens lovely folk enough there be, + Breathing in another air, drinking of a purer fountain + And among that folk, beloved, there's a place for you and me. + + + + +XL. Death in Battle + + Open the gates for me, + Open the gates of the peaceful castle, rosy in the West, + In the sweet dim Isle of Apples over the wide sea's breast, + + Open the gates for me! + + Sorely pressed have I been + And driven and hurt beyond bearing this summer day, + But the heat and the pain together suddenly fall away, + All's cool and green. + + But a moment agone, + Among men cursing in fight and toiling, blinded I fought, + But the labour passed on a sudden even as a passing thought, + + And now-alone! + + Ah, to be ever alone, + In flowery valleys among the mountains and silent wastes untrod, + In the dewy upland places, in the garden of God, + This would atone! + + I shall not see + The brutal, crowded faces around me, that in their toil have grown + Into the faces of devils-yea, even as my own-- + When I find thee, + + O Country of Dreams! + Beyond the tide of the ocean, hidden and sunk away, + Out of the sound of battles, near to the end of day, + Full of dim woods and streams. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Spirits in Bondage, by +(AKA Clive Hamilton) C. 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Hesitation +III.The Escape + +"The land where I shall never be +The love that I shall never see" + + + + +Historical Background + +Published under the pseudonym, Clive Hamilton, Spirits in Bondage +was C. S. Lewis' first book. Released in 1919 by Heinemann, it +was reprinted in 1984 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and included +in Lewis' 1994 Collected Poems. It is the first of Lewis' major +published works to enter the public domain in the United States. +Readers should be aware that in other countries it may still be +under copyright protection. + +Most of the poems appear to have been written between 1915 and +1918, a period during which Lewis was a student under W. T. +Kirkpatrick, a military trainee at Oxford, and a soldier serving +in the trenches of World War I. Their outlook varies from Romantic +expressions of love for the beauty and simplicity of nature to +cynical statements about the presence of evil in this world. In +a September 12, 1918 letter to his friend Arthur Greeves, Lewis +said that his book was, "mainly strung around the idea that I +mentioned to you before--that nature is wholly diabolical & +malevolent and that God, if he exists, is outside of and in +opposition to the cosmic arrangements." In his cynical poems, +Lewis is dealing with the same questions about evil in nature +that Alfred Lord Tennyson explored from a position of troubled +faith in "In Memoriam A. H." (Stanzas 54f). In a letter written +perhaps to reassure his father, Lewis claimed, "You know who +the God I blaspheme is and that it is not the God that you or +I worship, or any other Christian." + +Whatever Lewis believed at that time, the attitude in many of +these poems is quite different from the attitude he expressed +in his many Christian books from the 1930s on. Attempts in movies +and on stage plays to portray Lewis as a sheltered professor who +knew little about pain until the death of his wife late in life, +have to deal not only with the many tragedies he experienced +from a boy on, but also with the disturbing issues he faced in +many of these early poems. + + + + +Prologue + +As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailing +Straight against the sunset and the edges of the earth, +Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing, +Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth- +Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden, +Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden, +Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy enterprise, +How they found the outer islands, where the unknown stars arise; +And the rowers down below, rowing hard as they could row, +Toiling at the stroke and feather through the wet and weary weather, +Even they forgot their burden in the measure of a song, +And the merchants and the masters and the bondsmen all together, +Dreaming of the wondrous islands, brought the gallant ship along; +So in mighty deeps alone on the chainless breezes blown +In my coracle of verses I will sing of lands unknown, +Flying from the scarlet city where a Lord that knows no pity, +Mocks the broken people praying round his iron throne, +-Sing about the Hidden Country fresh and full of quiet green. +Sailing over seas uncharted to a port that none has seen. + + +Part I The Prison House + +I. Satan Speaks + +I am Nature, the Mighty Mother, +I am the law: ye have none other. + +I am the flower and the dewdrop fresh, +I am the lust in your itching flesh. + +I am the battle's filth and strain, +I am the widow's empty pain. + +I am the sea to smother your breath, +I am the bomb, the falling death. + +I am the fact and the crushing reason +To thwart your fantasy's new-born treason. + +I am the spider making her net, +I am the beast with jaws blood-wet. + +I am a wolf that follows the sun +And I will catch him ere day be done. + + +II. French Nocturne (Monchy-Le-Preux) + +Long leagues on either hand the trenches spread +And all is still; now even this gross line +Drinks in the frosty silences divine +The pale, green moon is riding overhead. + +The jaws of a sacked village, stark and grim; +Out on the ridge have swallowed up the sun, +And in one angry streak his blood has run +To left and right along the horizon dim. + +There comes a buzzing plane: and now, it seems +Flies straight into the moon. Lo! where he steers +Across the pallid globe and surely nears +In that white land some harbour of dear dreams! + +False mocking fancy! Once I too could dream, +Who now can only see with vulgar eye +That he's no nearer to the moon than I +And she's a stone that catches the sun's beam. + +What call have I to dream of anything? +I am a wolf. Back to the world again, +And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men +Our throats can bark for slaughter: cannot sing. + + +III. The Satyr + +When the flowery hands of spring +Forth their woodland riches fling, + Through the meadows, through the valleys +Goes the satyr carolling. + +From the mountain and the moor, +Forest green and ocean shore + All the faerie kin he rallies +Making music evermore. + +See! the shaggy pelt doth grow +On his twisted shanks below, + And his dreadful feet are cloven +Though his brow be white as snow- + +Though his brow be clear and white +And beneath it fancies bright, + Wisdom and high thoughts are woven +And the musics of delight, + +Though his temples too be fair +Yet two horns are growing there + Bursting forth to part asunder +All the riches of his hair. + +Faerie maidens he may meet +Fly the horns and cloven feet, + But, his sad brown eyes with wonder +Seeing-stay from their retreat. + + +IV. Victory + +Roland is dead, Cuchulain's crest is low, +The battered war-rear wastes and turns to rust, +And Helen's eyes and Iseult's lips are dust +And dust the shoulders and the breasts of snow. + +The faerie people from our woods are gone, +No Dryads have I found in all our trees, +No Triton blows his horn about our seas +And Arthur sleeps far hence in Avalon. + +The ancient songs they wither as the grass +And waste as doth a garment waxen old, +All poets have been fools who thought to mould +A monument more durable than brass. + +For these decay: but not for that decays +The yearning, high, rebellious spirit of man +That never rested yet since life began +From striving with red Nature and her ways. + +Now in the filth of war, the baresark shout +Of battle, it is vexed. And yet so oft +Out of the deeps, of old, it rose aloft +That they who watch the ages may not doubt. + +Though often bruised, oft broken by the rod, +Yet, like the phoenix, from each fiery bed +Higher the stricken spirit lifts its head +And higher-till the beast become a god. + + +V. Irish Nocturne + +Now the grey mist comes creeping up +From the waste ocean's weedy strand +And fills the valley, as a cup +If filled of evil drink in a wizard's hand; +And the trees fade out of sight, +Like dreary ghosts unhealthily, +Into the damp, pale night, +Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see +Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart +His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte +The thanes that sat by the wintry log- +Grendel or the shadowy mass +Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay, +The grey, grey walker who used to pass +Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey. +But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang, +With never a wind to blow the mists apart, +Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart, +Looking upon this land, where poets sang, +Thus with the dreary shroud +Unwholesome, over it spread, +And knowing the fog and the cloud +In her people's heart and head +Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts +Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise +And remember all their boasts; +For I know that the colourless skies +And the blurred horizons breed +Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed. + + +VI. Spooks + +Last night I dreamed that I was come again +Unto the house where my beloved dwells +After long years of wandering and pain. + +And I stood out beneath the drenching rain +And all the street was bare, and black with night, +But in my true love's house was warmth and light. + +Yet I could not draw near nor enter in, +And long I wondered if some secret sin +Or old, unhappy anger held me fast; + +Till suddenly it came into my head +That I was killed long since and lying dead- +Only a homeless wraith that way had passed. + +So thus I found my true love's house again +And stood unseen amid the winter night +And the lamp burned within, a rosy light, +And the wet street was shining in the rain. + + +VII. Apology + +If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell +Of nothing glad nor noble in my verse +To lighten hearts beneath this present curse +And build a heaven of dreams in real hell, + +Go you to them and speak among them thus: +"There were no greater grief than to recall, +Down in the rotting grave where the lithe worms crawl, +Green fields above that smiled so sweet to us." + +Is it good to tell old tales of Troynovant +Or praises of dead heroes, tried and sage, +Or sing the queens of unforgotten age, +Brynhild and Maeve and virgin Bradamant? + +How should I sing of them? Can it be good +To think of glory now, when all is done, +And all our labour underneath the sun +Has brought us this-and not the thing we would? + +All these were rosy visions of the night, +The loveliness and wisdom feigned of old. +But now we wake. The East is pale and cold, +No hope is in the dawn, and no delight. + + +VIII. Ode for New Year's Day + +Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth, +Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth +And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth. +And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art, +Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it, +Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart, +For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part. +The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God's hate cover it, +Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought, +Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought +Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm +That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught +Shall pour red wrath upon us over a world deform. + +Thrice happy, O Despoina, were the men who were alive +In the great age and the golden age when still the cycle ran +On upward curve and easily, for them both maid and man +And beast and tree and spirit in the green earth could thrive. +But now one age is ending, and God calls home the stars +And looses the wheel of the ages and sends it spinning back +Amid the death of nations, and points a downward track, +And madness is come over us and great and little wars. +He has not left one valley, one isle of fresh and green +Where old friends could forgather amid the howling wreck. +It's vainly we are praying. We cannot, cannot check +The Power who slays and puts aside the beauty that has been. + +It's truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart's complaining +For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear, +Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining +And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear +The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead. +But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts +Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped +Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it +Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts? +Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it: +Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done. +And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun +And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill, +And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears +The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill? +He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears, +And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears? + +Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee away +Into some other country beyond the rosy West, +To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at rest +From the rankling hate of God and the outworn world's decay! + + +IX. Night + +After the fret and failure of this day, +And weariness of thought, O Mother Night, +Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away +And all our little tumults set to right; +Most pitiful of all death's kindred fair, +Riding above us through the curtained air +On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to the earth +Sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender might +And lovers' dear delight before to-morrow's birth. +Thus art thou wont thy quiet lands to leave +And pillared courts beyond the Milky Way, +Wherein thou tarriest all our solar day +While unsubstantial dreams before thee weave +A foamy dance, and fluttering fancies play +About thy palace in the silver ray +Of some far, moony globe. But when the hour, +The long-expected comes, the ivory gates +Open on noiseless hinge before thy bower +Unbidden, and the jewelled chariot waits +With magic steeds. Thou from the fronting rim +Bending to urge them, whilst thy sea-dark hair +Falls in ambrosial ripples o'er each limb, +With beautiful pale arms, untrammelled, bare +For horsemanship, to those twin chargers fleet +Dost give full rein across the fires that glow +In the wide floor of heaven, from off their feet +Scattering the powdery star-dust as they go. +Come swiftly down the sky, O Lady Night, +Fall through the shadow-country, O most kind, +Shake out thy strands of gentle dreams and light +For chains, wherewith thou still art used to bind +With tenderest love of careful leeches' art +The bruised and weary heart +In slumber blind. + + +X. To Sleep + +I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep- +A hidden wood among the hill-tops green, +Full of soft streams and little winds that creep + The murmuring boughs between. + +A hollow cup above the ocean placed +Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be, +But woodland light and shadow interlaced + And summer sky and sea. + +There in the fragrant twilight I will raise +A secret altar of the rich sea sod, +Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise + Unto my lonely god: + +Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers, +The deadening poppies in an ocean shell +Round which through all forgotten days and hours + The great seas wove their spell. + +So may he send me dreams of dear delight +And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain, +And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night + To hear the falling rain. + +And when he meets me at the dusk of day +To call me home for ever, this I ask- +That he may lead me friendly on that way + And wear no frightful mask. + + +XI. In Prison + +I cried out for the pain of man, +I cried out for my bitter wrath +Against the hopeless life that ran +For ever in a circling path +From death to death since all began; +Till on a summer night +I lost my way in the pale starlight +And saw our planet, far and small, +Through endless depths of nothing fall +A lonely pin-prick spark of light, +Upon the wide, enfolding night, +With leagues on leagues of stars above it, +And powdered dust of stars below- +Dead things that neither hate nor love it +Not even their own loveliness can know, +Being but cosmic dust and dead. +And if some tears be shed, +Some evil God have power, +Some crown of sorrow sit +Upon a little world for a little hour- +Who shall remember? Who shall care for it? + + +XII. De Profundis + +Come let us curse our Master ere we die, +For all our hopes in endless ruin lie. +The good is dead. Let us curse God most High. + +Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought +Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought +New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught. + +We built us joyful cities, strong and fair, +Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare. +And all this time you laughed upon our care, + +And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong, +Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song, +The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong. + +Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth +Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth +And our few happy days of little worth. + +Even if it be not all a dream in vain +-The ancient hope that still will rise again- +Of a just God that cares for earthly pain, + +Yet far away beyond our labouring night, +He wanders in the depths of endless light, +Singing alone his musics of delight; + +Only the far, spent echo of his song +Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along, +And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong. + +O universal strength, I know it well, +It is but froth of folly to rebel; +For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell. + +Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee, +For looking in my own heart I can prove thee, +And know this frail, bruised being is above thee. + +Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right, +Our mercy and long seeking of the light, +Shall we change these for thy relentless might? + +Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth, +Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth- +Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth. + + +XIII. Satan Speaks + +I am the Lord your God: even he that made +Material things, and all these signs arrayed +Above you and have set beneath the race +Of mankind, who forget their Father's face +And even while they drink my light of day +Dream of some other gods and disobey +My warnings, and despise my holy laws, +Even tho' their sin shall slay them. For which cause, +Dreams dreamed in vain, a never-filled desire +And in close flesh a spiritual fire, +A thirst for good their kind shall not attain, +A backward cleaving to the beast again. +A loathing for the life that I have given, +A haunted, twisted soul for ever riven +Between their will and mine-such lot I give +White still in my despite the vermin live. +They hate my world! Then let that other God +Come from the outer spaces glory-shod, +And from this castle I have built on Night +Steal forth my own thought's children into light, +If such an one there be. But far away +He walks the airy fields of endless day, +And my rebellious sons have called Him long +And vainly called. My order still is strong +And like to me nor second none I know. +Whither the mammoth went this creature too shall go. + + +XIV. The Witch + +Trapped amid the woods with guile +They've led her bound in fetters vile +To death, a deadlier sorceress +Than any born for earth's distress +Since first the winner of the fleece +Bore home the Colchian witch to Greece- +Seven months with snare and gin +They've sought the maid o'erwise within +The forest's labyrinthine shade. +The lonely woodman half afraid +Far off her ragged form has seen +Sauntering down the alleys green, +Or crouched in godless prayer alone +At eve before a Druid stone. +But now the bitter chase is won, +The quarry's caught, her magic's done, +The bishop's brought her strongest spell +To naught with candle, book, and bell; +With holy water splashed upon her, +She goes to burning and dishonour +Too deeply damned to feel her shame, +For, though beneath her hair of flame +Her thoughtful head be lowly bowed +It droops for meditation proud +Impenitent, and pondering yet +Things no memory can forget, +Starry wonders she has seen +Brooding in the wildwood green +With holiness. For who can say +In what strange crew she loved to play, +What demons or what gods of old +Deep mysteries unto her have told +At dead of night in worship bent +At ruined shrines magnificent, +Or how the quivering will she sent +Alone into the great alone +Where all is loved and all is known, +Who now lifts up her maiden eyes +And looks around with soft surprise +Upon the noisy, crowded square, +The city oafs that nod and stare, +The bishop's court that gathers there, +The faggots and the blackened stake +Where sinners die for justice' sake? +Now she is set upon the pile, +The mob grows still a little while, +Till lo! before the eager folk +Up curls a thin, blue line of smoke. +"Alas!" the full-fed burghers cry, +"That evil loveliness must die!" + + +XV. Dungeon Grates + +So piteously the lonely soul of man +Shudders before this universal plan, +So grievous is the burden and the pain, +So heavy weighs the long, material chain +From cause to cause, too merciless for hate, +The nightmare march of unrelenting fate, +I think that he must die thereof unless +Ever and again across the dreariness +There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces, +A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places +And wider oceans, breaking on the shore +From which the hearts of men are always sore. +It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer +Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there, +Seeing how many prophets and wise men +Have sought for it and still returned again +With hope undone. But only the strange power +Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour +Can build a bridge of light or sound or form +To lead you out of all this strife and storm; +When of some beauty we are grown a part +Till from its very glory's midmost heart +Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light +Into our souls. All things are seen aright +Amid the blinding pillar of its gold, +Seven times more true than what for truth we hold +In vulgar hours. The miracle is done +And for one little moment we are one +With the eternal stream of loveliness +That flows so calm, aloft from all distress +Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire +Making us faint with overstrong desire +To sport and swim for ever in its deep- +Only a moment. + O! but we shall keep +Our vision still. One moment was enough, +We know we are not made of mortal stuff. +And we can bear all trials that come after, +The hate of men and the fool's loud bestial laughter +And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean, +For we have seen the Glory-we have seen. + + +XVI. The Philosopher + +Who shall be our prophet then, +Chosen from all the sons of men +To lead his fellows on the way +Of hidden knowledge, delving deep +To nameless mysteries that keep +Their secret from the solar day! +Or who shall pierce with surer eye! +This shifting veil of bittersweet +And find the real things that lie +Beyond this turmoil, which we greet +With such a wasted wealth of tears? +Who shall cross over for us the bridge of fears +And pass in to the country where the ancient Mothers dwell? +Is it an elder, bent and hoar +Who, where the waste Atlantic swell +On lonely beaches makes its roar, +In his solitary tower +Through the long night hour by hour +Pores on old books with watery eye +When all his youth has passed him by, +And folly is schooled and love is dead +And frozen fancy laid abed, +While in his veins the gradual blood +Slackens to a marish flood? +For he rejoiceth not in the ocean's might, +Neither the sun giveth delight, +Nor the moon by night +Shall call his feet to wander in the haunted forest lawn. +He shall no more rise suddenly in the dawn +When mists are white and the dew lies pearly +Cold and cold on every meadow, +To take his joy of the season early, +The opening flower and the westward shadow, +And scarcely can he dream of laughter and love, +They lie so many leaden years behind. +Such eyes are dim and blind, +And the sad, aching head that nods above +His monstrous books can never know +The secret we would find. +But let our seer be young and kind +And fresh and beautiful of show, +And taken ere the lustyhead +And rapture of his youth be dead; +Ere the gnawing, peasant reason +School him over-deep in treason +To the ancient high estate +Of his fancy's principate, +That he may live a perfect whole, +A mask of the eternal soul, +And cross at last the shadowy bar +To where the ever-living are. + + +XVII. The Ocean Strand + +O leave the labouring roadways of the town, +The shifting faces and the changeful hue +Of markets, and broad echoing streets that drown +The heart's own silent music. Though they too +Sing in their proper rhythm, and still delight +The friendly ear that loves warm human kind, +Yet it is good to leave them all behind, +Now when from lily dawn to purple night +Summer is queen, +Summer is queen in all the happy land. +Far, far away among the valleys green +Let us go forth and wander hand in hand +Beyond those solemn hills that we have seen +So often welcome home the falling sun +Into their cloudy peaks when day was done- +Beyond them till we find the ocean strand +And hear the great waves run, +With the waste song whose melodies I'd follow +And weary not for many a summer day, +Born of the vaulted breakers arching hollow +Before they flash and scatter into spray, +On, if we should be weary of their play +Then I would lead you further into land +Where, with their ragged walls, the stately rocks +Shunt in smooth courts and paved with quiet sand +To silence dedicate. The sea-god's flocks +Have rested here, and mortal eyes have seen +By great adventure at the dead of noon +A lonely nereid drowsing half a-swoon +Buried beneath her dark and dripping locks. + + +XVIII. Noon + +Noon! and in the garden bower +The hot air quivers o'er the grass, +The little lake is smooth as glass +And still so heavily the hour +Drags, that scarce the proudest flower +Pressed upon its burning bed +Has strength to lift a languid head: +-Rose and fainting violet +By the water's margin set +Swoon and sink as they were dead +Though their weary leaves be fed +With the foam-drops of the pool +Where it trembles dark and cool +Wrinkled by the fountain spraying +O'er it. And the honey-bee +Hums his drowsy melody +And wanders in his course a-straying +Through the sweet and tangled glade +With his golden mead o'erladen, +Where beneath the pleasant shade +Of the darkling boughs a maiden +-Milky limb and fiery tress, +All at sweetest random laid- +Slumbers, drunken with the excess +Of the noontide's loveliness. + + +XIX. Milton Read Again (In Surrey) + +Three golden months while summer on us stole +I have read your joyful tale another time, +Breathing more freely in that larger clime +And learning wiselier to deserve the whole. + +Your Spirit, Master, has been close at hand +And guided me, still pointing treasures rare, +Thick-sown where I before saw nothing fair +And finding waters in the barren land, + +Barren once thought because my eyes were dim. +Like one I am grown to whom the common field +And often-wandered copse one morning yield +New pleasures suddenly; for over him + +Falls the weird spirit of unexplained delight, +New mystery in every shady place, +In every whispering tree a nameless grace, +New rapture on the windy seaward height. + +So may she come to me, teaching me well +To savour all these sweets that lie to hand +In wood and lane about this pleasant land +Though it be not the land where I would dwell. + +. +XX. Sonnet + +The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall +About a dreaming garden still and sweet, +I hear the unseen bats above me bleat +Among the ghostly moths their hunting call, +And twinkling glow-worms all about me crawl. +Now for a chamber dim, a pillow meet +For slumbers deep as death, a faultless sheet, +Cool, white and smooth. So may I reach the hall +With poppies strewn where sleep that is so dear +With magic sponge can wipe away an hour +Or twelve and make them naught. Why not a year, +Why could a man not loiter in that bower +Until a thousand painless cycles wore, +And then-what if it held him evermore? + + +XXI. The Autumn Morning + +See! the pale autumn dawn +Is faint, upon the lawn + That lies in powdered white + Of hoar-frost dight + +And now from tree to tree +The ghostly mist we see + Hung like a silver pall + To hallow all. + +It wreathes the burdened air +So strangely everywhere + That I could almost fear + This silence drear + +Where no one song-bird sings +And dream that wizard things + Mighty for hate or love + Were close above. + +White as the fog and fair +Drifting through the middle air + In magic dances dread + Over my head. + +Yet these should know me too +Lover and bondman true, + One that has honoured well + The mystic spell + +Of earth's most solemn hours +Wherein the ancient powers + Of dryad, elf, or faun + Or leprechaun + +Oft have their faces shown +To me that walked alone + Seashore or haunted fen + Or mountain glen + +Wherefore I will not fear +To walk the woodlands sere + Into this autumn day + Far, far away. + + +Part II Hesitation + +XXII. L'Apprenti Sorcier + +Suddenly there came to me +The music of a mighty sea +That on a bare and iron shore +Thundered with a deeper roar +Than all the tides that leap and run +With us below the real sun: +Because the place was far away, +Above, beyond our homely day, +Neighbouring close the frozen clime +Where out of all the woods of time, +Amid the frightful seraphim +The fierce, cold eyes of Godhead gleam, +Revolving hate and misery +And wars and famines yet to be. +And in my dreams I stood alone +Upon a shelf of weedy stone, +And saw before my shrinking eyes +The dark, enormous breakers rise, +And hover and fall with deafening thunder +Of thwarted foam that echoed under +The ledge, through many a cavern drear, +With hollow sounds of wintry fear. +And through the waters waste and grey, +Thick-strown for many a league away, +Out of the toiling sea arose +Many a face and form of those +Thin, elemental people dear +Who live beyond our heavy sphere. +And all at once from far and near, +They all held out their arms to me, +Crying in their melody, +"Leap in! Leap in and take thy fill +Of all the cosmic good and ill, +Be as the Living ones that know +Enormous joy, enormous woe, +Pain beyond thought and fiery bliss: +For all thy study hunted this, +On wings of magic to arise, +And wash from off thy filmed eyes +The cloud of cold mortality, +To find the real life and be +As are the children of the deep! +Be bold and dare the glorious leap, +Or to thy shame, go, slink again +Back to the narrow ways of men." +So all these mocked me as I stood +Striving to wake because I feared the flood. + + +XXIII. Alexandrines + +There is a house that most of all on earth I hate. +Though I have passed through many sorrows and have been +In bloody fields, sad seas, and countries desolate, +Yet most I fear that empty house where the grasses green +Grow in the silent court the gaping flags between, +And down the moss-grown paths and terrace no man treads +Where the old, old weeds rise deep on the waste garden beds. +Like eyes of one long dead the empty windows stare +And I fear to cross the garden, I fear to linger there, +For in that house I know a little, silent room +Where Someone's always waiting, waiting in the gloom +To draw me with an evil eye, and hold me fast- +Yet thither doom will drive me and He will win at last. + + +XXIV. In Praise of Solid People + +Thank God that there are solid folk +Who water flowers and roll the lawn, +And sit an sew and talk and smoke, +And snore all through the summer dawn. + +Who pass untroubled nights and days +Full-fed and sleepily content, +Rejoicing in each other's praise, +Respectable and innocent. + +Who feel the things that all men feel, +And think in well-worn grooves of thought, +Whose honest spirits never reel +Before man's mystery, overwrought. + +Yet not unfaithful nor unkind, +with work-day virtues surely staid, +Theirs is the sane and humble mind, +And dull affections undismayed. + +O happy people! I have seen +No verse yet written in your praise, +And, truth to tell, the time has been +I would have scorned your easy ways. + +But now thro' weariness and strife +I learn your worthiness indeed, +The world is better for such life +As stout suburban people lead. + +Too often have I sat alone +When the wet night falls heavily, +And fretting winds around me moan, +And homeless longing vexes me + +For lore that I shall never know, +And visions none can hope to see, +Till brooding works upon me so +A childish fear steals over me. + +I look around the empty room, +The clock still ticking in its place, +And all else silent as the tomb, +Till suddenly, I think, a face + +Grows from the darkness just beside. +I turn, and lo! it fades away, +And soon another phantom tide +Of shifting dreams begins to play, + +And dusky galleys past me sail, +Full freighted on a faerie sea; +I hear the silken merchants hail +Across the ringing waves to me + +-Then suddenly, again, the room, +Familiar books about me piled, +And I alone amid the gloom, +By one more mocking dream beguiled. + +And still no neared to the Light, +And still no further from myself, +Alone and lost in clinging night +-(The clock's still ticking on the shelf). + +Then do I envy solid folk +Who sit of evenings by the fire, +After their work and doze and smoke, +And are not fretted by desire. + + +Part III The Escape + +XXV. Song of the Pilgrims + +O Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, +What have we done to you? How have we sinned +Wandering the Earth from Orkney unto Ind? + +With many deaths our fellowship is thinned, +Our flesh is withered in the parching wind, +Wandering the earth from Orkney unto Ind. + +We have no rest. We cannot turn again +Back to the world and all her fruitless pain, +Having once sought the land where ye remain. + +Some say ye are not. But, ah God! we know +That somewhere, somewhere past the Northern snow +Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow: + +-The red-rose and the white-rose gardens blow +In the green Northern land to which we go, +Surely the ways are long and the years are slow. + +We have forsaken all things sweet and fair, +We have found nothing worth a moment's care +Because the real flowers are blowing there. + +Land of the Lotus fallen from the sun, +Land of the Lake from whence all rivers run, +Land where the hope of all our dreams is won! + +Shall we not somewhere see at close of day +The green walls of that country far away, +And hear the music of her fountains play? + +So long we have been wandering all this while +By many a perilous sea and drifting isle, +We scarce shall dare to look thereon and smile. + +Yea, when we are drawing very near to thee, +And when at last the ivory port we see +Our hearts will faint with mere felicity: + +But we shall wake again in gardens bright +Of green and gold for infinite delight, +Sleeping beneath the solemn mountains white, +While from the flowery copses still unseen +Sing out the crooning birds that ne'er have been +Touched by the hand of winter frore and lean; + +And ever living queens that grow not old +And poets wise in robes of faerie gold +Whisper a wild, sweet song that first was told + +Ere God sat down to make the Milky Way. +And in those gardens we shall sleep and play +For ever and for ever and a day. + +Ah, Dwellers at the back of the North Wind, +What have we done to you? How have we sinned, +That yes should hide beyond the Northern wind? + +Land of the Lotus, fallen from the Sun, +When shall your hidden, flowery vales be won +And all the travail of our way be done? + +Very far we have searched; we have even seen +The Scythian waste that bears no soft nor green, +And near the Hideous Pass our feet have been. + +We have heard Syrens singing all night long +Beneath the unknown stars their lonely song +In friendless seas beyond the Pillars strong. + +Nor by the dragon-daughter of Hypocras +Nor the vale of the Devil's head we have feared to pass, +Yet is our labour lost and vain, alas! + +Scouring the earth from Orkney unto Ind, +Tossed on the seas and withered in the wind, +We seek and seek your land. How have we sinned? + +Or is it all a folly of the wise, +Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes +While all around us real flowers arise? + +But, by the very God, we know, we know +That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow +Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow. + + +XXVI. Song + +Faeries must be in the woods +Or the satyrs' laughing broods- +Tritons in the summer sea, +Else how could the dead things be +Half so lovely as they are? +How could wealth of star on star +Dusted o'er the frosty night +Fill thy spirit with delight +And lead thee from this care of thine +Up among the dreams divine, +Were it not that each and all +Of them that walk the heavenly hall +Is in truth a happy isle, +Where eternal meadows smile, +And golden globes of fruit are seen +Twinkling through the orchards green; +Were the Other People go +On the bright sward to and fro? +Atoms dead could never thus +Stir the human heart of us +Unless the beauty that we see +The veil of endless beauty be, +Filled full of spirits that have trod +Far hence along the heavenly sod +And see the bright footprints of God. + + +XXVII. The Ass + +I woke and rose and slipt away +To the heathery hills in the morning grey. + +In a field where the dew lay cold and deep +I met an ass, new-roused from sleep. + +I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears, +And spoke soft words to quiet his fears. + +His eyes stared into the eyes of me +And he kissed my hands of his courtesy. + +"O big, brown brother out of the waste, +How do thistles for breakfast taste? + +"And do you rejoice in the dawn divine +With a heart that is glad no less than mine? + +"For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes +Is strange and mystic as the skies: + +"What are the thoughts that grope behind, +Down in the mist of a donkey mind? + +"Can it be true, as the wise men tell, +That you are a mask of God as well, + +"And, as in us, so in you no less +Speaks the eternal Loveliness, + +"And words of the lips that all things know +Among the thoughts of a donkey go? + +"However it be, O four-foot brother, +Fair to-day is the earth, our mother. + +"God send you peace and delight thereof, +And all green meat of the waste you love, + +"And guard you well from violent men +Who'd put you back in the shafts again." + +But the ass had far too wise a head +To answer one of the things I said, + +So he twitched his fair ears up and down +And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown. + + +XXVIII. Ballade Mystique + +The big, red-house is bare and lone +The stony garden waste and sere +With blight of breezes ocean blown +To pinch the wakening of the year; +My kindly friends with busy cheer +My wretchedness could plainly show. +They tell me I am lonely here- +What do they know? What do they know? + +They think that while the gables moan +And easements creak in winter drear +I should be piteously alone +Without the speech of comrades dear; +And friendly for my sake they fear, +It grieves them thinking of me so +While all their happy life is near- +What do they know? What do they know? + +That I have seen the Dagda's throne +In sunny lands without a tear +And found a forest all my own +To ward with magic shield and spear, +Where, through the stately towers I rear +For my desire, around me go +Immortal shapes of beauty clear: +They do not know, they do not know. + +L'Envoi + +The friends I have without a peer +Beyond the western ocean's glow, +Whither the faerie galleys steer, +They do not know: how should they know? + + +XXIX. Night + +I know a little Druid wood +Where I would slumber if I could +And have the murmuring of the stream +To mingle with a midnight dream, +And have the holy hazel trees +To play above me in the breeze, +And smell the thorny eglantine; +For there the white owls all night long +In the scented gloom divine +Hear the wild, strange, tuneless song +Of faerie voices, thin and high +As the bat's unearthly cry, +And the measure of their shoon +Dancing, dancing, under the moon, +Until, amid the pale of dawn +The wandering stars begin to swoon. . . . +Ah, leave the world and come away! + +The windy folk are in the glade, +And men have seen their revels, laid +In secret on some flowery lawn +Underneath the beechen covers, +Kings of old, I've heard them say, +Here have found them faerie lovers +That charmed them out of life and kissed +Their lips with cold lips unafraid, +And such a spell around them made +That they have passed beyond the mist +And found the Country-under-wave. . . . + +Kings of old, whom none could save! + + +XXX. Oxford + +It is well that there are palaces of peace +And discipline and dreaming and desire, +Lest we forget our heritage and cease +The Spirit's work-to hunger and aspire: + +Lest we forget that we were born divine, +Now tangled in red battle's animal net, +Murder the work and lust the anodyne, +Pains of the beast 'gainst bestial solace set. + +But this shall never be: to us remains +One city that has nothing of the beast, +That was not built for gross, material gains, +Sharp, wolfish power or empire's glutted feast. + +We are not wholly brute. To us remains +A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams, +A place of visions and of loosening chains, +A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams. + +She was not builded out of common stone +But out of all men's yearning and all prayer +That she might live, eternally our own, +The Spirit's stronghold-barred against despair. + + +XXXI. Hymn (For Boys' Voices) + +All the things magicians do +Could be done by me and you +Freely, if we only knew. + +Human children every day +Could play at games the faeries play +If they were but shown the way. + +Every man a God would be +Laughing through eternity +If as God's his eyes could see. + +All the wizardries of God- +Slaying matter with a nod, +Charming spirits with his rod, + +With the singing of his voice +Making lonely lands rejoice, +Leaving us no will nor choice, + +Drawing headlong me and you +As the piping Orpheus drew +Man and beast the mountains through, + +By the sweetness of his horn +Calling us from lands forlorn +Nearer to the widening morn- + +All that loveliness of power +Could be man's peculiar dower, +Even mine, this very hour; + +We should reach the Hidden Land +And grow immortal out of hand, +If we could but understand! + +We could revel day and night +In all power and all delight +If we learn to think aright. + + +XXXII. "Our Daily Bread" + +We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell +To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet; +There have been men who sank down into Hell + In some suburban street, + +And some there are that in their daily walks +Have met archangels fresh from sight of God, +Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks + Long files of faerie trod. + +Often me too the Living voices call +In many a vulgar and habitual place, +I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall, + I see a strange god's face. + +And some day this work will work upon me so +I shall arise and leave both friends and home +And over many lands a pilgrim go + Through alien woods and foam, + +Seeking the last steep edges of the earth +Whence I may leap into that gulf of light +Wherein, before my narrowing Self had birth, + Part of me lived aright. + + +XXXIII. How He Saw Angus the God + +I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose +All in a strange delight while others slept, +And down the creaking stair, alone, tip-toes, + So carefully I crept. + +The house was dark with silly blinds yet drawn, +But outside the clean air was filled with light, +And underneath my feet the cold, wet lawn + With dew was twinkling bright. + +The cobwebs hung from every branch and spray +Gleaming with pearly strands of laden thread, +And long and still the morning shadows lay + Across the meadows spread. + +At that pure hour when yet no sound of man, +Stirs in the whiteness of the wakening earth, +Alone through innocent solitudes I ran + Singing aloud for mirth. + +Till I had found the open mountain heath +Yellow with gorse, and rested there and stood +To gaze upon the misty sea beneath, + Or on the neighbouring wood, + +-That little wood of hazel and tall pine +And youngling fir, where oft we have loved to see +The level beams of early morning shine + Freshly from tree to tree. + +Through the denser wood there's many a pool +Of deep and night-born shadow lingers yet +Where the new-wakened flowers are damp and cool + And the long grass is wet. + +In the sweet heather long I rested there +Looking upon the dappled, early sky, +When suddenly, from out the shining air + A god came flashing by. + +Swift, naked, eager, pitilessly fair, +With a live crown of birds about his head, +Singing and fluttering, and his fiery hair, + Far out behind him spread, + +Streamed like a rippling torch upon the breeze +Of his own glorious swiftness: in the grass +He bruised no feathery stalk, and through the trees + I saw his whiteness pass. + +But when I followed him beyond the wood, +Lo! He was changed into a solemn bull +That there upon the open pasture stood + And browsed his lazy full. + + +XXXIV. The Roads + +I stand on the windy uplands among the hills of Down +With all the world spread out beneath, meadow and sea and town, +And ploughlands on the far-off hills that glow with friendly brown. + +And ever across the rolling land to the far horizon line, +Where the blue hills border the misty west, I see the white roads twine, +The rare roads and the fair roads that call this heart of mine. + +I see them dip in the valleys and vanish and rise and bend +From shadowy dell to windswept fell, and still to the West they wend, +And over the cold blue ridge at last to the great world's uttermost end. + +And the call of the roads is upon me, a desire in my spirit has grown +To wander forth in the highways, 'twixt earth and sky alone, +And seek for the lands no foot has trod and the seas no sail has known: + +For the lands to the west of the evening and east of the morning's birth, +Where the gods unseen in their valleys green are glad at the ends of the earth +And fear no morrow to bring them sorrow, nor night to quench their mirth. + + +XXXV. Hesperus + +Through the starry hollow +Of the summer night +I would follow, follow +Hesperus the bright, +To seek beyond the western wave +His garden of delight. + +Hesperus the fairest +Of all gods that are, +Peace and dreams thou bearest +In thy shadowy car, +And often in my evening walks +I've blessed thee from afar. + +Stars without number, +Dust the noon of night, +Thou the early slumber +And the still delight +Of the gentle twilit hours +Rulest in thy right. + +When the pale skies shiver, +Seeing night is done, +Past the ocean-river, +Lightly thou dost run, +To look for pleasant, sleepy lands, +That never fear the sun. + +Where, beyond the waters +Of the outer sea, +Thy triple crown of daughters +That guards the golden tree +Sing out across the lonely tide +A welcome home to thee. + +And while the old, old dragon +For joy lifts up his head, +They bring thee forth a flagon +Of nectar foaming red, +And underneath the drowsy trees +Of poppies strew thy bed. + +Ah! that I could follow +In thy footsteps bright, +Through the starry hollow +Of the summer night, +Sloping down the western ways +To find my heart's delight! + + +XXXVI. The Star Bath + +A place uplifted towards the midnight sky +Far, far away among the mountains old, +A treeless waste of rocks and freezing cold, +Where the dead, cheerless moon rode neighbouring by- +And in the midst a silent tarn there lay, +A narrow pool, cold as the tide that flows +Where monstrous bergs beyond Varanger stray, +Rising from sunless depths that no man knows; +Thither as clustering fireflies have I seen +At fixed seasons all the stars come down +To wash in that cold wave their brightness clean +And win the special fire wherewith they crown +The wintry heavens in frost. Even as a flock +Of falling birds, down to the pool they came. +I saw them and I heard the icy shock +Of stars engulfed with hissing of faint flame +-Ages ago before the birth of men +Or earliest beast. Yet I was still the same +That now remember, knowing not where or when. + + +XXXVII. Tu Ne Quaesieris + +For all the lore of Lodge and Myers +I cannot heal my torn desires, +Nor hope for all that man can speer +To make the riddling earth grow clear. +Though it were sure and proven well +That I shall prosper, as they tell, +In fields beneath a different sun +By shores where other oceans run, +When this live body that was I +Lies hidden from the cheerful sky, +Yet what were endless lives to me +If still my narrow self I be +And hope and fail and struggle still, +And break my will against God's will, +To play for stakes of pleasure and pain +And hope and fail and hope again, +Deluded, thwarted, striving elf +That through the window of my self +As through a dark glass scarce can see +A warped and masked reality? +But when this searching thought of mine +Is mingled in the large Divine, +And laughter that was in my mouth +Runs through the breezes of the South, +When glory I have built in dreams +Along some fiery sunset gleams, +And my dead sin and foolishness +Grow one with Nature's whole distress, +To perfect being I shall win, +And where I end will Life begin. + + +XXXVIII. Lullaby + +Lullaby! Lullaby! +There's a tower strong and high +Built of oak and brick and stone, +Stands before a wood alone. +The doors are of the oak so brown +As any ale in Oxford town, +The walls are builded warm and thick +Of the old red Roman brick, +The good grey stone is over all +In arch and floor of the tower tall. +And maidens three are living there +All in the upper chamber fair, +Hung with silver, hung with pall, +And stories painted on the wall. +And softly goes the whirring loom +In my ladies' upper room, +For they shall spin both night and day +Until the stars do pass away. +But every night at evening. +The window open wide they fling, +And one of them says a word they know +And out as three white swans they go, +And the murmuring of the woods is drowned +In the soft wings' whirring sound, +As they go flying round, around, +Singing in swans' voices high +A lonely, lovely lullaby. + + +XXXIX. World's Desire + +Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate, +On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great, +Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between, +And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine +Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river +Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver +And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned, +And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound. +But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine +With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen, +Calm and very wonderful, white above the green +Of the wet and waving forest, slanted all away, +Because the driving Northern wind will not rest by night or day. +Yet the towers are sure above, very mighty is the stead, +The gates are made of ivory, the roofs of copper red. + +Round and round the warders grave walk upon the walls for ever +And the wakeful dragons couch in the ports of ivory, +Nothing is can trouble it, hate of the gods nor man's endeavour, +And it shall be a resting-place, dear heart, for you and me. + +Through the wet and waving forest with an age-old sorrow laden +Singing of the world's regret wanders wild the faerie maiden, +Through the thistle and the brier, through the tangles of the thorn, +Till her eyes be dim with weeping and her homeless feet are torn. + +Often to the castle gate up she looks with vain endeavour, +For her soulless loveliness to the castle winneth never. + +But within the sacred court, hidden high upon the mountain, +Wandering in the castle gardens lovely folk enough there be, +Breathing in another air, drinking of a purer fountain +And among that folk, beloved, there's a place for you and me. + + +XL. Death in Battle + +Open the gates for me, +Open the gates of the peaceful castle, rosy in the West, +In the sweet dim Isle of Apples over the wide sea's breast, + +Open the gates for me! + +Sorely pressed have I been +And driven and hurt beyond bearing this summer day, +But the heat and the pain together suddenly fall away, +All's cool and green. + +But a moment agone, +Among men cursing in fight and toiling, blinded I fought, +But the labour passed on a sudden even as a passing thought, + +And now-alone! + +Ah, to be ever alone, +In flowery valleys among the mountains and silent wastes untrod, +In the dewy upland places, in the garden of God, +This would atone! + +I shall not see +The brutal, crowded faces around me, that in their toil have grown +Into the faces of devils-yea, even as my own- +When I find thee, + +O Country of Dreams! +Beyond the tide of the ocean, hidden and sunk away, +Out of the sound of battles, near to the end of day, +Full of dim woods and streams. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Spirits in Bondage, by C. 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