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diff --git a/79071-0.txt b/79071-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5fe34c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/79071-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,955 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79071 *** + + + + + SAMPHIRE + + + + + SAMPHIRE + + + +by+ + +John Cowper Powys+ + + + “Half way down + Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade! + Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.” + King Lear. Act IV. Scene VI. + + + [Illustration: TS logo] + + + NEW YORK + THOMAS SELTZER + 1922 + + + + + Copyright, 1922, by + +Thomas Seltzer, Inc.+ + + _All rights reserved_ + + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + + DEDICATED TO LLEWELYN POWYS + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +The Ultimate+ 1 + +Demogorgon+ 4 + +The Old Pier-Post+ 6 + +The Castle of Gathore+ 9 + +The Twilight of the Gods+ 13 + +The Face+ 16 + +The Heron’s Nest+ 19 + +Lubberlu+ 22 + +The Old Satyr to the Young Platonist+ 25 + +Youth and Age+ 28 + +Metaphysic+ 31 + +The Malice-Dance+ 34 + +Candle Light+ 36 + +The Eclipse+ 39 + +The Rider+ 43 + +William Corby+ 45 + +To a Certain Lady+ 47 + +The “Disaster”+ 49 + +November+ 51 + +Bon Espoir Y Gist Au Fond!+ 52 + + + + + SAMPHIRE + + + + +THE ULTIMATE + + + So this is the ultimate-- + That we bleed with our backs to the wall, + While the rats and weasels of fate + Eat at our liver and gall; + Eat at our hearts with teeth of bane, + And tug at the sick white roots of pain + Where every man’s alone, + And scrape a tune on the deep nerve-string + That is love and life and everything, + And gnaw our flesh to the bone. + + Is this the ultimate? + No! This is nothing at all! + _Some_ human dramas stop with this; + With this some curtains fall. + But the play that the high gods love + In their Theatre of Space + Has the mind, the mind for the stage thereof + And the soul for its dancing place! + Oh shapes of terror and fear, + Oh shapes of loathing and lust, + That gibber and jibe at us _here_ + Ye break earth’s shallow crust. + Far back that stage recedes-- + Who knows where that stairway goes? + Who knows where that passage leads? + And that door? Who knows? Who knows? + + For the rats that again and again + Gnaw at each rib and joint + Of the vessel of our pain + Stop gasping at this point; + And in crowds they flee from the ship + That steers for the open sea + And turns the prow of its bleeding lip + Towards eternity! + + + + +DEMOGORGON + + + I am the Devil of Notre Dame. + Salaam! + I dance my dance and I work my charm. + Salaam! + I cling to terror by the hair of her head, + I have taken Medusa to my bed. + I hug the Nightmare until she is dead. + Salaam! + Hush! By the Lord’s side I have stood-- + Touch wood! + Before Orion rose out of the sky + Rose I! + Before the Hunter hunted the Ram + I am + I am the Demon of Socrates + On your knees! + + The oldest of the Eumenides-- + The she-ape of Mephistopheles-- + The deadly wind in Dodona’s trees-- + The poisonous smoke ’twixt the Pythia’s knees-- + I am more terrible than these! + + In Jotunheim, Loki I’m called-- + Scald! + I am Asmódéus in Babylon. + In Egypt I am Osiris’ son + I am many and I am One. + + At the Beginning I stood by the Lord + God! + At the last I shall be the Worm of the Pit + Uncurled + Who swallows Him and who swallows It + His World! + + + + +THE OLD PIER-POST + + + I am the sea-ward-looking one, + Covered with weed and slime-- + “Fresh fish for sale!”--of a row of posts, + That rotted by centuries nod like ghosts + To the ebb and flow of time. + Sea-tangle and sea-scum + Will the Christ never come? + + Two lovers that met at this ocean-mart, + With kissings and clingings pale + Breaking the shell of a human heart + And tearing its bleeding core apart,-- + --“Fresh fish, fresh fish for sale!”-- + + Left a tress of shining hair on me; + And two sea-gulls that once were mates + But were wrenched away by the blinding spray + And the unrelenting fates, + + Left a feather on me, a shining feather, + With sea-scum covered and scales + Of the mackerel bright they had caught together, + --“Fresh fish for sale!”--in the wild storm-weather + And the fury of the gales. + + And the terrible ultimate thought of one + Who had scooped at the shingle of things + Till he’d taken the light from the kindly sun-- + --“Fresh fish for sale!”--and to death had done + The light that the sweet moon brings, + + Graved itself on the grey sea-mark + Wherewith with eyeless stare + I frown at the twilight and face the dark-- + --“Fresh fish for sale!”--and with forehead stark + Confront a world’s despair. + + A shining tress, a feather, a thought-- + With these I create a soul, + A soul that is not to be sold or bought; + Yes; I who am nought and less than nought-- + --“Fresh fish for sale!”--have _something_ caught + From the waters as they roll! + + Yes; I, the sea-ward-looking one, + Covered with weed and slime, + Have gathered a soul to rest upon + As I rock to the rhythm of time. + Bright hair, bright feather, brain-disease + Blotting the sun and moon-- + If an old sea-pier steals a soul from these, + Christ _must_ be coming soon! + + + + +THE CASTLE OF GATHORE + + + There is a place none knows but I-- + The Castle of Gathore! + Black murky pools about it lie. + And the trees are sick with its mystery; + And dead things are its floor. + + Each tree with twisted root entwines + The bones of older trees. + Moon after moon above them shines-- + Beyond the moon--the Zodiac signs! + Beyond _them_--the Immensities! + + None would think that ever such pools could be! + Black morgues of leafy doom, + Where century after century + Old forests find their tomb. + + Oh terrible steps of leaf-mould sod + Such as man never saw + That mount up--holy Mother of God!-- + To the Castle of Gathore! + + And I alone--yes only I-- + Under Algol and Altair-- + When a new-born moon was in the sky + Climbed up that mossy stair. + + Old Cypress-roots of long decay + Troubled my noiseless tread; + Old Yews made midnight of the day + As they met above my head. + + Out of the trees, tier above tier, + Mossed stone above mossed stone, + Buttress on buttress, it towered there, + A Nightmare image, a thing of fear, + Revealed to me alone! + + My home! My home! To my heart I said-- + My home! To my soul I cried-- + From here have been wafted those airs of the dead + That have driven my true love from my bed, + And my true love from my side! + + This is what divides me from him and her + And the blessed light of the sun; + Till the eyes of Algol and of Altair + Are my only benison! + + This is what they guessed when in dumb surprise + They turned and let me pass-- + This is what they saw behind my eyes + Like a phantom in a glass! + + They saw those towers; they saw those trees; + And I am alone once more-- + Alone with the Immensities + And the Castle of Gathore! + + + + +THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS + + + In a long sad row the old gods come; + They come and bow to me. + Like candle-flames in a raftered room, + Like trees in an avenue of doom, + They bend in unity. + + And a sound comes from them, a terrible sound, + Like the wind in a tamarisk grove, + Or a howl from some treacherous marshy ground + Where the swamp-demons move. + + And in that moan is the cracking of sticks + Where Behemoth stalks thro’ the trees; + And in that moan is the flame that licks + The knees of Rameses: + + And in that moan rocks Nineveh + With her golden roofs and floors! + And in that moan quakes Babylon + With her columned corridors! + + From my little green seat of piled-up sods + Like a dwarf on a churchyard mound + I watch that row of bowing Gods + And I hear that terrible sound. + + They nod and mutter; they sway and bend + Like monoliths of stone, + Like huge gaunt birds on a branches’ end, + And as they bend they moan. + + They shiver like monstrous skeleton leaves; + They rattle like gibbets stark; + They reel like ruined autumn sheaves + In the stubble of the dark. + + Their eye-sockets are hollow and deep; + Their foreheads are cliffs of doom; + And they bleat at me like gigantic sheep + That are herded in a tomb. + + And very slowly I lift my head-- + And slowly I lift my hand + --And a row of horny beetles dead + Lie scattered in the sand! + + + + +THE FACE + + + In the hollow spaces I see a face + As I go whistling to my Dear, + And in those lineaments I trace + The ultimate Fear. + + Throned on the dark that face I see, + As I go whistling to my Doll; + Of human terror the apogee-- + Fol-de-rol! + + The wreckage of the whole damned race, + As I go whistling to my white bird, + Is in that wavering ghastly face + That speaks no word! + + Is that face moulded by treachery + As I go whistling to my Poll, + And carved by lust out of lechery? + Fol-lol-de-rol! + + Has it woven itself out of ancient sorrows + As I go whistling to my maid, + Out of all the To-days that to all the To-morrows + Shriek--“betrayed!” + + I like not to see that face in the night, + As I go whistling to my own: + A terrible face for the sweet moonlight + To shine upon! + + But as long as those lips utter no sound, + As I go whistling to my Troll, + All is yet well above the ground, + Fol-lol-de-rol! + + Oh white, white lips that hang so mute, + As I go whistling to my Love, + That ultimate Fear would be absolute + If you should move! + + + + +THE HERON’S NEST + + + The World-Mother sits on her sky-blue eggs-- + “A mare’s nest!” cries the minstrel, laughing. + “Her wings are lovely--but what of her legs?” + Cries the youngest page to the courtiers scoffing. + + “A wicked bird,” cries the mitred priest-- + “To lay blue eggs and to sit on them! + Blue is no colour for bird or beast + Blue is the colour of our Lady’s hem.” + + “A shameless bird!” cries the old queen mother, + “Eggs should be mottled white, not blue.” + “A pox on the bird!” cries the old king’s brother-- + “There’s no such bird!” cry the courtier crew. + + Home from hunting returned the King-- + White as a young birch-tree was he. + “Ye are all of you plotting a curséd thing! + And evil is your conspiracy! + + “I have seen the World-Mother upon her nest; + I have seen those eggs, blue as the sky; + And for what I have seen I would give the rest + Of my kingdom; and willingly die!” + + And the minstrel winked at the youngest page; + And the old queen pinched the fool; + And the mitred priest to hide his rage + Grinned at them like a ghoul. + + “Down on your knees to the great World-Mother! + ’Tis I, your King, who begs.” + But they stood stock-still and stared at each other--“The + King is mad,” cried the old king’s brother. + “I’ve traveled the world from one end to another-- + Those eggs are Heron’s eggs!” + + From the walls of the Madhouse upon the hill, + When this traveler came to be crowned + At the Queen’s and the Priest’s and the Courtier’s will, + There fell a curious sound-- + A sound that was like the flapping of wings; + And a radiant voice that was like the King’s! + + + + +LUBBERLU + + + “Green were her eyes,--yellow were her eyes-- + Her eyes were like withered sedge!” + --“This is holy Mass and the hour flies + And there is red in the church-yard hedge. + + “Raise me aloft my taper’s flame, + Light me my candles three, + For I must call on the Baby’s name + Who is born to young Mary!”-- + + “O father, I see a blood-red streak + In the reeds where first I caught her-- + And I hear a cry makes my heart weak-- + And turns my bones to water. + + “The marsh-bittern and lone curlew + That cry comes not from them--” + --“Bring me bread and wine my Lubberlu, + And hold my vestments’ hem! + + “The candles burn--The oxen kneel. + Boy, bring me my holy book-- + Born is the King of Israel!” + --“Oh father, my father, look! + + “She is pressing her face ’gainst the window-pane, + Where the saints stare in a row + And her lips are red with the morning’s stain + And her cheeks are white like snow!”-- + + --“’Tis Christmas morn and the mass unsung + For the Baby of young Mary!”-- + But the idiot-boy from his side had sprung. + At the window prone was he. + + And the oxen knelt in their frozen shed + And the sheep in their hurdled pen; + But Lubberlu lay stark and dead, + He never will come again. + + They sign his breast and they sign his brow + With the cross to which they pray-- + But two lost souls are flying now + Over the reeds and over the snow, + Over the hills and away. + + + + +THE OLD SATYR TO THE YOUNG PLATONIST + + + Go and get a monk for a lover, + And let me quietly sit + On this warm stone which the lichens cover. + I have had enough of it! + + Did the high gods carve your polished flanks + And make liquid your hazel eyes, + That two should stand on a river’s banks + And offer up the scurvy thanks + Of being over wise? + + Let me alone. I have heard your tale, + How Love is this and how Love is that. + Is not milk still white in the pail + And wine still red in the vat? + + I would have gathered you moschatel, + Wood-spurge, wood-sorel, wood-saxifrage! + When the moon rode forth I’d have taught you to tell + Every star in her equipage! + + Because I’d loved you with satyr passion + Were that a reason I should not keep + Tenderness in my goat-foot fashion, + And watch beside your sleep? + + The oldest of Centaurs is my brother-- + The wild wood-ways are in my blood-- + My mother was the great earth-mother-- + Yet I can love you as well as another + For all my satyrhood! + + Go find your friend. I have pride of my own, + But every noon I’ll sit + On this warm lichen-covered stone, + And perhaps you’ll come back to it! + + Perhaps when they _talk_ of Love one day + In their high platonic hall, + You will curse their chatter and flee away + And find your Satyr’s grave and say, + “His love was best of all!” + + + + +YOUTH AND AGE + + + “O wanton youth, this wind was not + Over common highways blown + From gardens far from here--God wot! + It has caught that plaintive tone. + Listen! But ah! It touches you not! + Listen! But ah! I had forgot-- + The heart of youth is stone. + + “Did you not know such places were? + Lovely are they and few, + The gardens that breathe such perfumed air! + Listen! But what care you? + Over many a moon-lit terraced spot + It has come to claim its own + Over Marjoram and Melilot, + Over London Pride and Bergamot, + It has come to trouble, doubt it not, + All hearts save those of stone!” + + --“I like not this breath in the swaying grasses! + I like not that shadow on the rustling trees! + I _suspect_ that wind as it softly passes + Back to its garden of memories! + Your walled-up pansies are faded and sere; + Your dark parterres of cypress-green + Make the very lizards listen in fear + Of phantom footsteps and forms unseen. + Your fountains are choked with hemlock weeds, + The toad croaks there and the night-owls call. + There are wandering dandelion-seeds + Where red rose-petals were wont to fall! + Oh woe-begone one, you can tempt me not + With your proud sad gardens, your wind that sighs, + Your Mignonette and your Melilot! + The heart of youth is wise.” + + + + +METAPHYSIC + + + Dearie I! When I up and follows + Grand-dad Cooper’s cross-cut road, + The road that from Hawk’s Hill to Green Lane Hollows + Is nought but rabbits and cuckoos and swallows + And fields with turnip sowed, + + Dearie I! the road that over + Badger’s Warren and Turnstile Hill + Skirts park-fence by Witham’s Cover, + Where old man Rob caught young Nell’s lover, + And leads to Dead Man’s Mill, + + Dearie I! I do stop and hear + Out of wind a terrible sound; + And Almighty, he do whisper clear + Like a girt wold owl long-side my ear-- + “Nancy girl, this be holy ground!” + + Dearie I! And he says to me-- + “You’ve been here, Nancy, long ere this!” + And he lifts the veil of his mystery + From the face of his abyss. + + And high Hawk Hill and Green Lane Hollows + Grow only dreams that I have dreamed; + And Grand-dad’s road with its cuckoos and swallows, + The road an old fox-bitch still follows, + Is a fairy-place that only seemed! + + And Dead Man’s Mill grows doubly dead, + For its old-time pond of terribleness, + And him it drowned, like mists are fled! + And nought bides there but nothingness! + Gone, gone--all gone--shadows and dreams! + Dearie I! and ’twere Grand-dad’s road + Whereon a’ drove Squire Withy’s teams + And many a turnip-load! + + + + +THE MALICE-DANCE + + + An intolerable singing + From an ancient haunted lawn + Where the ghost-moths whitely winging + Cross a moon-dial forlorn, + Drew me from you as you trifled + With the jasmin in your hair, + Dreaming that your beauty rifled + All my sense and held me there; + But I left you; and, escaping + With a lost tune in my head, + Set my memory reshaping + The old dances of the dead. + And the intolerable singing + Heard across that haunted lawn, + Drew me to the ghost-moths winging, + Round that moon-dial forlorn. + Over me the clouds were running + Races with the naked stars, + And dark Yews were making cunning + Love to whispering Deodars. + And the ghost-moths drugged my reason, + And I danced to that old tune + Malice dances full of treason + Round that dial of the moon! + + + + +CANDLE LIGHT + + + Hush, true Love, as we sit and think + And talk to shadows and watch the coals + Redden up from beyond the brink + Of the common reach of our souls. + + Do you not catch a cry in the air? + No! That is the wind in the chimney calling! + That is a curtain fluttering there! + That is a dead branch falling! + + Burning wood when candles are lit + Has a bitter-sweet breath that can carry far; + That can carry two lovers from where they sit + To the edge of the sea and over it + Where the unknown islands are. + + Burning wood has a wizard spell + Full of old sad stories and long-dead things; + Like myrrh and cassia is that smell, + From the sepulchres of kings. + + And whenever lovers like you and me + Sit together of a winter’s night, + There’s a cry on the wind, there’s a cry on the sea + There’s a tongue in the candlelight. + + And a great host gathers out of the dark + From wild far places, from sunk sea-walls, + From fallen roofs where hyænas bark + From ruined tents and kraals. + + It gathers towards us while you and I + Talk to old shadows and sit and stare, + And let time and space and the world go by + Like smoke upon the air. + + And as we gaze at the reddening coals + Lost in that amorous host are we; + That vast procession of lovers’ souls + Drowns our identity. + + A procession, divided like Plato’s dream, + But rushing together on a winter’s night, + When the casement shakes and the red coals gleam + And we kiss by candle light! + + + + +THE ECLIPSE + + + I said, Tonight is her plenilune, + And the wise astronomers held their peace, + I said, Tonight this naked moon + To her prisoned passion will give release; + And she shall gather the forests to her + And draw the oceans up to her breast. + The mountain-torrents shall leap to undo her, + And the virgin valleys shall be at rest: + And the fish from their fathomless feeding-ground + In finny circles shall upward move, + And the furry things at the lightest sound + Shall make the forest ache with love! + And fallen boughs that for centuries + Have dreamed, I said, of such a night + Shall feel in their mossy mortuaries + The living touch of her liquid light! + Great promontories, where dawn by dawn + Cormorants seeking the open sea + With yearning jet-black necks up-borne + Steer to the shoals of immensity, + Shall thrill as they feel that naked shape + Draw near with its luminous languorous power, + And over continent and cape + Float like an amorous lotus-flower. + Now, I said, with that moon at full, + While the wise astronomers kept them still, + Maids will grow more than beautiful, + And starved love-longings will have their will! + Now, I said, in this perfect night, + Lips that have paled and pined for passion + Will take at last their full delight + Mouth upon mouth in sweet lunar fashion! + Tonight is the night, I said to them all, + While the wise astronomers held their peace, + That Christ’s own cloak on Love shall fall + And let mortal longings have full release! + Then I looked up. Oh pity, oh loss + Irremediable! For behold the shade + Of our own dark planet crept across, + And on that glory its image laid. + Treachery in the heavens! It grew-- + That shadow of evil and suppression + Larger and larger with the smouldering hue + Of the old intolerable repression! + It grew like some monstrous shadow of doom + Crossing the threshold of a happy king + Who begins to reck that his bridal-room + Will be the place of his murdering! + Terribly, inch by inch it grew. + Carved with the ruinous runic scrolls + Of our ancient woe and well I knew + Betrayed once more were our human souls. + Treachery in the heavens! From land + And sea and every forest way, + From frightened pastures and darkened sand + Rose up a cry of wild dismay-- + And Christ bent down and hid His head; + And the haters of love laughed in their bed; + And “The Law is the law,” the astronomers said! + + + + +THE RIDER + + + On the horses of desire + Over the tossing trees + I have hunted the Pillar of + Fire + To his inmost fastnesses. + + On the eagles of despair + Where the thunders meet, + I have hunted the Powers of + the Air + To their last retreat. + + Over chasm and over crag + On the horned moon riding, + I have hunted the night-hag + To her furthest hiding. + + On the lions of exultation + I ride to my doom! + No tears of human desolation + Shall find my tomb. + + + + +WILLIAM CORBY + + + I drive my cows to Corby; + On sweet spring-grass they’re fed; + But it’s Madge who nestles wantonly + In William Corby’s bed. + + I drive my sheep to Corby, + And the gold-dust’s on the willow; + But it’s Nellie’s winsome curls that lie + On William Corby’s pillow. + + I drive my geese to Corby + When the bind-weed’s in the wheat; + But it’s Bess who cuddles warm and sly + ’Neath William Corby’s sheet. + + I drive my pigs to Corby; + And the hips and haws are red; + But none but me will mind o’ he + When William Corby’s dead! + + + + +TO A CERTAIN LADY + + + They tore her scarlet gown. + “What’s in a kiss?” she said-- + But they hunted her up and they hunted her down + From end to end of their moral town, + Till they left her there for dead. + + But the bleeding throat of her cry + Was heard in another place; + And those who are older than earth or sky-- + The austere ones of eternity ... + They knew her of their race. + + “What’s this?” they said. “For a kiss?” said they; + And they took the red from the dawn, + And they took the dance from the salt-sea spray, + And they took the purple out of the day, + And the yellow out of the corn. + + “Give her life, give her love, give her peace,” they said. + “Give her back her scarlet gown; + Or with ashes of death upon every head + Dead you shall skip to the tune of the dead + In your moral modern town!” + + + + +THE “DISASTER” + + + Without rudder, without sail + Drifts my soul, the brig “Disaster,” + And the madness of the gale + Takes the place of mate or master! + + Covered is its ghostly keel + With sea-slime, sea-weed, sea-crust; + And its bulkheads groan and reel; + And its bolts are caked with rust; + + Storm-tossed sea-gulls phantom-white + On the spars of the “Disaster” + Scream while the great winds of night + Drive the derelict still faster. + + And the drowned men floating deep + Leagues beneath that churning sea, + Mutter in their careless sleep, + “The brig ‘Disaster’ goes merrily!” + + And the brig “Disaster” drives right on, + Without captain, without mate, + Top-sails, bowsprit, compass gone, + Lost--exultant, desolate! + + + + +NOVEMBER + + + I will come back to you and you to me; + When the poplar-trees blow white and the rooks fly home, + And the fishermen draw their nets out of the sea; + I will come back to you and you to me. + + When across the flooded weirs the wild-fowl fly, + When the dead leaves fall from each remembered tree, + When over the withered grass the plovers cry, + I will come back to you and you to me. + + + + +BON ESPOIR Y GIST AU FOND! + + + One shimmering opal is all the air + And the sun like a young girl’s loosened hair + Covers with pools of liquid yellow + Window-sill, floor, and bed and pillow! + And I touch the secret--yet have it not. + It is--God! I’ve forgotten what-- + Yet the lovely madness wherewith we’re mad, + For no king’s penny is to be had! + Ha! Monsieur Maggot and my Lord Rat + More’s in this business than you guess at! + + The road-dust sleeps in the summer-heat + And the hot noon drowses on ripened-wheat, + And from weed to weed in the burnt-up grass + Heavy-winged butterflies flutter past. + Ha! Monsieur Maggot! Ha! my Lord Rat, + There’s more in this business than you guess at! + + The moon floats high like a silver barge, + And the bracken ferns grow strange and large, + And the bull-rushes forget to shiver + As she pours her magic on meadow and river; + And the tall pond-reeds, where the cattle cross, + Stand silent; and silent dreams the moss; + And the hazel-wood as the owl hoots by, + Is too moon-tranced to heed his cry-- + Ha! Monsieur Maggot and my Lord Rat, + Here’s something for you to squinny at! + We pine and pine--but by Holy Rood + There’s something here not understood-- + And we are not yet the Devil’s food! + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + +In the .txt version, surrounding characters have been used to indicate + _Italics_ and +Smallcaps+ +p. 20 removed opening quote before “And evil” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79071 *** |