By charnel lichens overgrown, and dank among the weeds,
This rosary brown which is thine own,--lost soul of buried nun!
Who, lost by vow, wouldst render now all souls alike undone,--
I vowed upon thy rosary brown,--and, till such vow should break,
A pledge always of living days 't was hung around my neck--
I vowed to thee on rosary (dead father, look not so!),
_I would not thank God in my weal, nor seek God in my woe._
_Evil Spirit._
And canst thou prove ...
_Onora (in sleep)._
O love, my love! I felt him near again!
I saw his steed on mountain-head, I heard it on the plain!
Was this no weal for me to feel? Is greater weal than this?
Yet when he came, I wept his name--and the angels heard but _his_.
_Evil Spirit._
Well done, well done!
_Onora (in sleep)._
Ah me, the sun! the dreamlight 'gins to pine,--
Ah me, how dread can look the Dead! Aroint thee, father mine!
She starteth from slumber, she sitteth upright,
And her breath comes in sobs, while she stares through the night;
There is nought; the great willow, her lattice before,
Large-drawn in the moon, lieth calm on the floor:
But her hands tremble fast as their pulses and, free
From the death-clasp, close over--the BROWN ROSARY.
THIRD PART.
I.
'Tis a morn for a bridal; the merry bride-bell
Rings clear through the green-wood that skirts the chapelle,
And the priest at the altar awaiteth the bride,
And the sacristans slyly are jesting aside
At the work shall be doing;
II.
While down through the wood rides that fair company,
The youths with the courtship, the maids with the glee,
Till the chapel-cross opens to sight, and at once
All the maids sigh demurely and think for the nonce,
"And so endeth a wooing!"
III.
And the bride and the bridegroom are leading the way,
With his hand on her rein, and a word yet to say;
Her dropt eyelids suggest the soft answers beneath,
And the little quick smiles come and go with her breath
When she sigheth or speaketh.
IV.
And the tender bride-mother breaks off unaware
From an Ave, to think that her daughter is fair,
Till in nearing the chapel and glancing before,
She seeth her little son stand at the door:
Is it play that he seeketh?
V.
Is it play, when his eyes wander innocent-wild
And sublimed with a sadness unfitting a child?
He trembles not, weeps not; the passion is done,
And calmly he kneels in their midst, with the sun
On his head like a glory.
VI.
"O fair-featured maids, ye are many!" he cried,
"But in fairness and vileness who matcheth the bride?
O brave-hearted youths, ye are many! but whom
For the courage and woe can ye match with the groom
As ye see them before ye?"
VII.
Out spake the bride's mother, "The vileness is thine
If thou shame thine own sister, a bride at the shrine!"
Out spake the bride's lover, "The vileness be mine
If he shame mine own wife at the hearth or the shrine
And the charge be unproved.
VIII.
"Bring the charge, prove the charge, brother! speak it aloud:
Let thy father and hers hear it deep in his shroud!"
--"O father, thou seest, for dead eyes can see,
How she wears on her bosom a BROWN ROSARY,
O my father beloved!"
IX.
Then outlaughed the bridegroom, and outlaughed withal
Both maidens and youths by the old chapel-wall:
"So she weareth no love-gift, kind brother," quoth he,
"She may wear an she listeth a brown rosary,
Like a pure-hearted lady."
X.
Then swept through the chapel the long bridal train;
Though he spake to the bride she replied not again:
On, as one in a dream, pale and stately she went
Where the altar-lights burn o'er the great sacrament,
Faint with daylight, but steady.
XI.
But her brother had passed in between them and her,
And calmly knelt down on the high-altar stair--
Of an infantine aspect so stern to the view
That the priest could not smile on the child's eyes of blue
As he would for another.
XII.
He knelt like a child marble-sculptured and white
That seems kneeling to pray on the tomb of a knight,
With a look taken up to each iris of stone
From the greatness and death where he kneeleth, but none
From the face of a mother.
XIII.
"In your chapel, O priest, ye have wedded and shriven
Fair wives for the hearth, and fair sinners for heaven;
But this fairest my sister, ye think now to wed,
Bid her kneel where she standeth, and shrive her instead:
O shrive her and wed not!"
XIV.
In tears, the bride's mother,--"Sir priest, unto thee
Would he lie, as he lied to this fair company."
In wrath, the bride's lover,--"The lie shall be clear!
Speak it out, boy! the saints in their niches shall hear:
Be the charge proved or said not!"
XV.
Then serene in his childhood he lifted his face,
And his voice sounded holy and fit for the place,--
"Look down from your niches, ye still saints, and see
How she wears on her bosom a BROWN ROSARY!
Is it used for the praying?"
XVI.
The youths looked aside--to laugh there were a sin--
And the maidens' lips trembled from smiles shut within.
Quoth the priest, "Thou art wild, pretty boy! Blessed she
Who prefers at her bridal a brown rosary
To a worldly arraying."
XVII.
The bridegroom spake low and led onward the bride
And before the high altar they stood side by side:
The rite-book is opened, the rite is begun,
They have knelt down together to rise up as one.
Who laughed by the altar?
XVIII.
The maidens looked forward, the youths looked around,
The bridegroom's eye flashed from his prayer at the sound;
And each saw the bride, as if no bride she were,
Gazing cold at the priest without gesture of prayer,
As he read from the psalter.
XIX.
The priest never knew that she did so, but still
He felt a power on him too strong for his will:
And whenever the Great Name was there to be read,
His voice sank to silence--THAT could not be said,
Or the air could not hold it.
XX.
"I have sinned," quoth he, "I have sinned, I wot"--
And the tears ran adown his old cheeks at the thought:
They dropped fast on the book, but he read on the same,
And aye was the silence where should be the NAME,--
As the choristers told it.
XXI.
The rite-book is closed, and the rite being done
They, who knelt down together, arise up as one:
Fair riseth the bride--Oh, a fair bride is she,
But, for all (think the maidens) that brown rosary,
No saint at her praying!
XXII.
What aileth the bridegroom? He glares blank and wide;
Then suddenly turning he kisseth the bride;
His lips stung her with cold; she glanced upwardly mute:
"Mine own wife," he said, and fell stark at her foot
In the word he was saying.
XXIII.
They have lifted him up, but his head sinks away,
And his face showeth bleak in the sunshine and grey.
Leave him now where he lieth--for oh, never more
Will he kneel at an altar or stand on a floor!
Let his bride gaze upon him.
XXIV.
Long and still was her gaze while they chafed him there
And breathed in the mouth whose last life had kissed her,
But when they stood up--only _they_! with a start
The shriek from her soul struck her pale lips apart:
She has lived, and forgone him!
XXV.
And low on his body she droppeth adown--
"Didst call me thine own wife, beloved--thine own?
Then take thine own with thee! thy coldness is warm
To the world's cold without thee! Come, keep me from harm
In a calm of thy teaching!"
XXVI.
She looked in his face earnest-long, as in sooth
There were hope of an answer, and then kissed his mouth,
And with head on his bosom, wept, wept bitterly,--
"Now, O God, take pity--take pity on me!
God, hear my beseeching!"
XXVII.
She was 'ware of a shadow that crossed where she lay,
She was 'ware of a presence that withered the day:
Wild she sprang to her feet,--"I surrender to _thee_
The broken vow's pledge, the accursed rosary,--
I am ready for dying!"
XXVIII.
She dashed it in scorn to the marble-paved ground
Where it fell mute as snow, and a weird music-sound
Crept up, like a chill, up the aisles long and dim,--
As the fiends tried to mock at the choristers' hymn
And moaned in the trying.
FOURTH PART.
Onora looketh listlessly adown the garden walk:
"I am weary, O my mother, of thy tender talk.
I am weary of the trees a-waving to and fro,
Of the steadfast skies above, the running brooks below.
All things are the same, but I,--only I am dreary,
And, mother, of my dreariness behold me very weary.
"Mother, brother, pull the flowers I planted in the spring
And smiled to think I should smile more upon their gathering:
The bees will find out other flowers--oh, pull them, dearest mine,
And carry them and carry me before Saint Agnes' shrine."
--Whereat they pulled the summer flowers she planted in the spring,
And her and them all mournfully to Agnes' shrine did bring.
She looked up to the pictured saint and gently shook her head--
"The picture is too calm for _me_--too calm for _me_," she said:
"The little flowers we brought with us, before it we may lay,
For those are used to look at heaven,--but _I_ must turn away,
Because no sinner under sun can dare or bear to gaze
On God's or angel's holiness, except in Jesu's face."
She spoke with passion after pause--"And were it wisely done
If we who cannot gaze above, should walk the earth alone?
If we whose virtue is so weak should have a will so strong,
And stand blind on the rocks to choose the right path from the wrong?
To choose perhaps a love-lit hearth, instead of love and heaven,--
A single rose, for a rose-tree which beareth seven times seven?
A rose that droppeth from the hand, that fadeth in the breast,--
Until, in grieving for the worst, we learn what is the best!"
Then breaking into tears,--"Dear God," she cried, "and must we see
All blissful things depart from us or ere we go to THEE?
We cannot guess Thee in the wood or hear Thee in the wind?
Our cedars must fall round us ere we see the light behind?
Ay sooth, we feel too strong, in weal, to need thee on that road,
But woe being come, the soul is dumb that crieth not on 'God.'"
Her mother could not speak for tears; she ever mused thus,
"_The bees will find out other flowers_,--but what is left for _us_?"
But her young brother stayed his sobs and knelt beside her knee,
--"Thou sweetest sister in the world, hast never a word for me?"
She passed her hand across his face, she pressed it on his cheek,
So tenderly, so tenderly--she needed not to speak.
The wreath which lay on shrine that day, at vespers bloomed no more.
The woman fair who placed it there had died an hour before.
Both perished mute for lack of root, earth's nourishment to reach.
O reader, breathe (the ballad saith) some sweetness out of each!
_A ROMANCE OF THE GANGES._
I.
Seven maidens 'neath the midnight
Stand near the river-sea
Whose water sweepeth white around
The shadow of the tree;
The moon and earth are face to face,
And earth is slumbering deep;
The wave-voice seems the voice of dreams
That wander through her sleep:
The river floweth on.
II.
What bring they 'neath the midnight,
Beside the river-sea?
They bring the human heart wherein
No nightly calm can be,--
That droppeth never with the wind,
Nor drieth with the dew:
Oh, calm in God! thy calm is broad
To cover spirits too.
The river floweth on.
III.
The maidens lean them over
The waters, side by side,
And shun each other's deepening eyes,
And gaze adown the tide;
For each within a little boat
A little lamp hath put,
And heaped for freight some lily's weight
Or scarlet rose half shut.
The river floweth on.
IV.
Of shell of cocoa carven
Each little boat is made;
Each carries a lamp, and carries a flower,
And carries a hope unsaid;
And when the boat hath carried the lamp
Unquenched till out of sight,
The maiden is sure that love will endure;
But love will fail with light.
The river floweth on.
V.
Why, all the stars are ready
To symbolize the soul,
The stars untroubled by the wind,
Unwearied as they roll;
And yet the soul by instinct sad
Reverts to symbols low--
To that small flame, whose very name
Breathed o'er it, shakes it so!
The river floweth on.
VI.
Six boats are on the river,
Seven maidens on the shore,
While still above them steadfastly
The stars shine evermore.
Go, little boats, go soft and safe,
And guard the symbol spark!
The boats aright go safe and bright
Across the waters dark.
The river floweth on.
VII.
The maiden Luti watcheth
Where onwardly they float:
That look in her dilating eyes
Might seem to drive her boat:
Her eyes still mark the constant fire,
And kindling unawares
That hopeful while, she lets a smile
Creep silent through her prayers.
The river floweth on.
VIII.
The smile--where hath it wandered?
She riseth from her knee,
She holds her dark, wet locks away--
There is no light to see!
She cries a quick and bitter cry--
"Nuleeni, launch me thine!
We must have light abroad to-night,
For all the wreck of mine."
The river floweth on.
IX.
"I do remember watching
Beside this river-bed
When on my childish knee was leaned
My dying father's head;
I turned mine own to keep the tears
From falling on his face:
What doth it prove when Death and Love
Choose out the self-same place?"
The river floweth on.
X.
"They say the dead are joyful
The death-change here receiving:
Who say--ah me! who dare to say
Where joy comes to the living?
Thy boat, Nuleeni! look not sad--
Light up the waters rather!
I weep no faithless lover where
I wept a loving father."
The river floweth on.
XI.
"My heart foretold his falsehood
Ere my little boat grew dim;
And though I closed mine eyes to dream
That one last dream of _him_,
They shall not now be wet to see
The shining vision go:
From earth's cold love I look above
To the holy house of snow."[2]
The river floweth on.
XII.
"Come thou--thou never knewest
A grief, that thou shouldst fear one!
Thou wearest still the happy look
That shines beneath a dear one:
Thy humming-bird is in the sun,[3]
Thy cuckoo in the grove,
And all the three broad worlds, for thee
Are full of wandering love."
The river floweth on.
XIII.
"Why, maiden, dost thou loiter?
What secret wouldst thou cover?
That peepul cannot hide thy boat,
And I can guess thy lover;
I heard thee sob his name in sleep,
It was a name I knew:
Come, little maid, be not afraid,
But let us prove him true!"
The river floweth on.
XIV.
The little maiden cometh,
She cometh shy and slow;
I ween she seeth through her lids
They drop adown so low:
Her tresses meet her small bare feet,
She stands and speaketh nought,
Yet blusheth red as if she said
The name she only thought.
The river floweth on.
XV.
She knelt beside the water,
She lighted up the flame,
And o'er her youthful forehead's calm
The fitful radiance came:--
"Go, little boat, go soft and safe,
And guard the symbol spark!"
Soft, safe doth float the little boat
Across the waters dark.
The river floweth on.
XVI.
Glad tears her eyes have blinded,
The light they cannot reach;
She turneth with that sudden smile
She learnt before her speech--
"I do not hear his voice, the tears
Have dimmed my light away,
But the symbol light will last to-night,
The love will last for aye!"
The river floweth on.
XVII.
Then Luti spake behind her,
Outspake she bitterly--
"By the symbol light that lasts to-night,
Wilt vow a vow to me?"
Nuleeni gazeth up her face,
Soft answer maketh she--
"By loves that last when lights are past,
I vow that vow to thee!"
The river floweth on.
XVIII.
An earthly look had Luti
Though her voice was deep as prayer--
"The rice is gathered from the plains
To cast upon thine hair:[4]
But when _he_ comes his marriage-band
Around thy neck to throw,
Thy bride-smile raise to meet his gaze,
And whisper,--_There is one betrays,
While Luti suffers woe._"
The river floweth on.
XIX.
"And when in seasons after,
Thy little bright-faced son
Shall lean against thy knee and ask
What deeds his sire hath done,--
Press deeper down thy mother-smile
His glossy curls among,
View deep his pretty childish eyes,
And whisper,--_There is none denies,
While Luti speaks of wrong._"
The river floweth on.
XX.
Nuleeni looked in wonder,
Yet softly answered she--
"By loves that last when lights are past,
I vowed that vow to thee:
But why glads it thee that a bride-day be
By a word of _woe_ defiled?
That a word of _wrong_ take the cradle-song
From the ear of a sinless child?"
"Why?" Luti said, and her laugh was dread,
And her eyes dilated wild--
"That the fair new love may her bridegroom prove,
And the father shame the child!"
The river floweth on.
XXI.
"Thou flowest still, O river,
Thou flowest 'neath the moon;
Thy lily hath not changed a leaf,[5]
Thy charmed lute a tune:
_He_ mixed his voice with thine and _his_
Was all I heard around;
But now, beside his chosen bride,
I hear the river's sound."
The river floweth on.
XXII.
"I gaze upon her beauty
Through the tresses that enwreathe it;
The light above thy wave, is hers--
My rest, alone beneath it:
Oh, give me back the dying look
My father gave thy water!
Give back--and let a little love
O'erwatch his weary daughter!"
The river floweth on.
XXIII.
"Give back!" she hath departed--
The word is wandering with her;
And the stricken maidens hear afar
The step and cry together.
Frail symbols? None are frail enow
For mortal joys to borrow!--
While bright doth float Nuleeni's boat,
She weepeth dark with sorrow.
The river floweth on.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] The Hindoo heaven is localized on the summit of Mount Meru--one of
the mountains of Himalaya or Himmaleh, which signifies, I believe, in
Sanscrit, the abode of snow, winter, or coldness.
[3] Himadeva, the Indian god of love, is imagined to wander through
the three worlds, accompanied by the humming-bird, cuckoo, and gentle
breezes.
[4] The casting of rice upon the head, and the fixing of the band or
tali about the neck, are parts of the Hindoo marriage ceremonial.
[5] The Ganges is represented as a white woman, with a water-lily in
her right hand, and in her left a lute.
_RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY._
I.
To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the sun,
_Toll slowly._
And the oldest ringer said, "Ours is music for the dead
When the rebecks are all done."
II.
Six abeles i' the churchyard grow on the north side in a row,
_Toll slowly._
And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes
Of the grassy graves below.
III.
On the south side and the west a small river runs in haste,
_Toll slowly._
And, between the river flowing and the fair green trees a-growing,
Do the dead lie at their rest.
IV.
On the east I sate that day, up against a willow grey:
_Toll slowly._
Through the rain of willow-branches I could see the low hill-ranges
And the river on its way.
V.
There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly,
_Toll slowly._
While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the solemn noises,--
Yet death seemed more loud to me.
VI.
There I read this ancient rhyme while the bell did all the time
_Toll slowly._
And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life and sin,
Like a rhythmic fate sublime.
THE RHYME.
I.
Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged,
_Toll slowly._
And three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoary wood,
Like a full heart having prayed.
II.
And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,
_Toll slowly._
And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years,
In the building of their nest.
III.
Down the sun dropt large and red on the towers of Linteged,--
_Toll slowly._
Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light,
While the castle stood in shade.
IV.
There the castle stood up black with the red sun at its back--
_Toll slowly_--
Like a sullen smouldering pyre with a top that flickers fire
When the wind is on its track.
V.
And five hundred archers tall did besiege the castle wall--
_Toll slowly._
And the castle, seethed in blood, fourteen days and nights had stood
And to-night was near its fall.
VI.
Yet thereunto, blind to doom, three months since, a bride did come--
_Toll slowly._
One who proudly trod the floors and softly whispered in the doors,
"May good angels bless our home."
VII.
Oh, a bride of queenly eyes, with a front of constancies:
_Toll slowly._
Oh, a bride of cordial mouth where the untired smile of youth
Did light outward its own sighs!
VIII.
'T was a Duke's fair orphan-girl, and her uncle's ward--the Earl--
_Toll slowly._
Who betrothed her twelve years old, for the sake of dowry gold,
To his son Lord Leigh the churl.
IX.
But what time she had made good all her years of womanhood--
_Toll slowly._
Unto both these lords of Leigh spake she out right sovranly,
"My will runneth as my blood.
X.
"And while this same blood makes red this same right hand's veins,"
she said--
_Toll slowly_--
"'T is my will, as lady free, not to wed a lord of Leigh,
But Sir Guy of Linteged."
XI.
The old Earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for wilful youth--
_Toll slowly._
"Good my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft and small
For so large a will, in sooth."
XII.
She too smiled by that same sign, but her smile was cold and fine--
_Toll slowly._
"Little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the hold
Of thy son, good uncle mine!"
XIII.
Then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in his teeth--
_Toll slowly_--
"He would wed his own betrothed, an she loved him an she loathed,
Let the life come or the death."
XIV.
Up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father's child might rise--
_Toll slowly._
"Thy hound's blood, my lord of Leigh, stains thy knightly heel,"
quoth she,
"And he moans not where he lies:
XV.
"But a woman's will dies hard, in the hall or on the sward"--
_Toll slowly._
"By that grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl and dowered lady,
I deny you wife and ward!"
XVI.
Unto each she bowed her head and swept past with lofty tread.
_Toll slowly._
Ere the midnight-bell had ceased, in the chapel had the priest
Blessed her, bride of Linteged.
XVII.
Fast and fain the bridal train along the night-storm rode amain--
_Toll slowly._
Hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on the turf,
In the pauses of the rain.
XVIII.
Fast and fain the kinsmen's train along the storm pursued amain--
_Toll slowly._
Steed on steed-track, dashing off,--thickening, doubling, hoof on hoof,
In the pauses of the rain.
XIX.
And the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of might--
_Toll slowly._
And the bride lay on his arm, still, as if she feared no harm,
Smiling out into the night.
XX.
"Dost thou fear?" he said at last. "Nay," she answered him in haste,--
_Toll slowly._
"Not such death as we could find--only life with one behind.
Ride on fast as fear, ride fast!"
XXI.
Up the mountain wheeled the steed--girth to ground, and fetlocks
spread--
_Toll slowly._
Headlong bounds, and rocking flanks,--down he staggered, down the
banks,
To the towers of Linteged.
XXII.
High and low the serfs looked out, red the flambeaus tossed about--
_Toll slowly._
In the courtyard rose the cry, "Live the Duchess and Sir Guy!"
But she never heard them shout.
XXIII.
On the steed she dropped her cheek, kissed his mane and kissed his
neck--
_Toll slowly._
"I had happier died by thee than lived on, a Lady Leigh,"
Were the first words she did speak.
XXIV.
But a three months' joyaunce lay 'twixt that moment and to-day--
_Toll slowly._
When five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle wall
To recapture Duchess May.
XXV.
And the castle standeth black with the red sun at its back--
_Toll slowly._
And a fortnight's siege is done, and, except the duchess, none
Can misdoubt the coming wrack.
XXVI.
Then the captain, young Lord Leigh, with his eyes so grey of blee--
_Toll slowly._
And thin lips that scarcely sheath the cold white gnashing of his
teeth,
Gnashed in smiling, absently,--
XXVII.
Cried aloud, "So goes the day, bridegroom fair of Duchess May!"
_Toll slowly._
"Look thy last upon that sun! if thou seest to-morrow's one
'T will be through a foot of clay.
XXVIII.
"Ha, fair bride! dost hear no sound save that moaning of the hound?"
_Toll slowly._
"Thou and I have parted troth, yet I keep my vengeance-oath,
And the other may come round.
XXIX.
"Ha! thy will is brave to dare, and thy new love past compare"--
_Toll slowly._
"Yet thine old love's falchion brave is as strong a thing to have,
As the will of lady fair.
XXX.
"Peck on blindly, netted dove! If a wife's name thee behove"--
_Toll slowly_--
"Thou shalt wear the same to-morrow, ere the grave has hid the sorrow
Of thy last ill-mated love.
XXXI.
"O'er his fixed and silent mouth, thou and I will call back troth":
_Toll slowly._
"He shall altar be and priest,--and he will not cry at least
'I forbid you, I am loth!'
XXXII.
"I will wring thy fingers pale in the gauntlet of my mail":
_Toll slowly._
"'Little hand and muckle gold' close shall lie within my hold,
As the sword did, to prevail."
XXXIII.
Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west--
_Toll slowly._
Oh, and laughed the Duchess May, and her soul did put away
All his boasting, for a jest.
XXXIV.