The Spanish road, for to fight
Paynimry; day and night
Urgeth he;
In Saragoza the bright,
And Pampluna with might
Seeketh he what respite
For grief there be.
War-dimmed grew his gear,
Grim his visage; in fear
Listened Mahound his cheer
Deep in Hell.
Fled his legions to hear
Gobertz the knight draw near.
Now he closeth the year
In Compostell.
Offering there hath he made
Saint James, candles him paid,
Gold on the shrine hath laid;
Now Gobertz
Is for Toulouse, where that maid
Tibors wonned unafraid
Of Love and his accolade
That breaketh hearts.
He rode north and by east,
Nor rider spared he nor beast,
Nor tempered spur till at least
Forth of Spain;
Not for mass-bell nor priest,
For fast-day nor yet for feast
Stayed he, till voyage ceased
In Aquitaine.
Now remaineth to tell
What this Gobertz befell
When that he sought hostel
In his land.
Dined he well, drank he well,
Envy then had somedeal
With women free in _bordel_
For to spend.
In poor _alberc_ goeth he
Where bought pleasure may be,
Careless proffereth fee
For his bliss.
O Gobertz, look to thee.
Such a sight shalt thou see
Will make the red blood to flee
Thy heart, ywis.
Fair woman they bring him in
Shamefast in her burning sin,
All afire is his skin
_Par amors_.
Look not of her look to win,
Dare not lift up her chin,
Gobertz; in that soiled fond thing
Lo, Tibors!
"O love, O love, out, alas!
That it should come to this pass,
And thou be even as I was
In green youth,
Whenas delight and solace
Served I with wantonness,
And burned anon like the grass
To this ruth!"
But then lift she her sad eyes,
Gray like wet morning skies,
That wait the sun to arise,
Tears to amend.
"Gobertz, _amic_," so she cries,
"By Jesus' agonies
Hither come I by lies
Of false friend.
"Sir Richart de Laund he hight,
Who fair promised me plight
Of word and ring, on a night
Of no fame;
So then evilly bright
Had his will and delight
Of me, and fled unrequite
For my shame!
"Alas, and now to my thought
Flieth the woe that I wrought
Thee, Gobertz, that distraught
Thou didst fare.
Now a vile thing of nought
Fare I that once was so haught
And free, and could not be taught
By thy care."
But Gobertz seeth no less
Her honour and her sweetness,
Soon her small hand to kiss
Taketh he,
Saying, "Now for that stress
Drave thee here thou shalt bless
God, for so ending this
Thy penury."
Yet she would bid him away,
Seeking her sooth to say,
In what woful array
She was cast.
"Nay," said he, "but, sweet may,
Here must we bide until day:
Then to church and to pray
Go we fast."
Now then to all his talent,
Seeing how he was bent,
Him the comfort she lent
Of her mind.
Cried Gobertz, well content,
"If love by dreariment
Cometh, that was well spent,
As I find."
Thereafter somewhat they slept,
When to his arms she had crept
For comfort, and freely wept
Sin away.
Up betimes then he leapt,
Calling her name: forth she stept
Meek, disposed, to accept
What he say.
By hill road taketh he her
To the gray nuns of Beaucaire,
There to shred off her hair
And take veil.
Himself to cloister will fare
Monk to be, with good care
For their two souls. May his pray'r
Them avail!
_1911._
[1] I owe the substance of this _lai_ to my friend Ezra Pound, who
unearthed it, {psamatho eilymena polle}, in some Provencal repertory.
THE SAINTS' MAYING
Since green earth is awake
Let us now pastime take,
Not serving wantonness
Too well, nor niggardness,
Which monks of men would make.
But clothed like earth in green,
With jocund hearts and clean,
We will take hands and go
Singing where quietly blow
The flowers of Spring's demesne.
The cuckoo haileth loud
The open sky; no cloud
Doth fleck the earth's blue tent;
The land laughs, well content
To put off winter shroud.
Now, since 'tis Easter Day,
All Christians may have play;
The young Saints, all agaze
For Christ in Heaven's maze,
May laugh who wont to pray.
Then welcome to our round
They light on homely ground:--
Agnes, Saint Cecily,
Agatha, Dorothy,
Margaret, Hildegonde;
Next come with Barbara
Lucy and Ursula;
And last, queen of the Nine,
Clear-eyed Saint Catherine
Joyful arrayeth her.
Then chooseth each her lad,
And after frolic had
Of dance and carolling
And playing in a ring,
Seek all the woodland shade.
And there for each his lass
Her man a nosegay has,
Which better than word spoken
Might stand to be her token
And emblem of her grace.
For Cecily, who bent
Her slim white neck and went
To Heaven a virgin still,
The nodding daffodil,
That bends but is not shent.
Lucy, whose wounded eyes
Opened in Heaven star-wise,
The lady-smock, whose light
Doth prank the grass with white,
Taketh for badge and prize.
Because for Lord Christ's hest
Men shore thy warm bright breast,
Agatha, see thy part
Showed in the burning heart
Of the white crocus best.
What fate was Barbara's
Shut in the tower of brass,
We figure and hold up
Within the stiff king-cup
That crowns the meadow grass.
Agnes, than whose King Death
Stayed no more delicate breath
On earth, we give for dower
Wood-sorrel, that frail flower
That Spring first quickeneth.
Dorothy, whose shrill voice
Bade Heathendom rejoice,
The sweet-breath'd cowslip hath;
And Margaret, who in death
Saw Heaven, her pearly choice.
Then she of virgin brood
Whom Prince of Britain woo'd,
Ursula, takes by favour
The hyacinth whose savour
Enskies the sunny wood.
Hildegonde, whose spirit high
The Cross did not deny,
Yet blusht to feel the shame,
Anemones must claim,
Whose roses early die.
Last, she who gave in pledge
Her neck to the wheel's edge,
Taketh the fresh primrose
Which (even as she her foes)
Redeems the wintry hedge.
So garlanded, entwined,
Each as may prompt her mind,
The Saints renew for Earth
And Heaven such seemly mirth
As God once had design'd.
And when the day is done,
And veil'd the goodly Sun,
Each man his maid by right
Doth kiss and bid Good-night;
And home goes every one.
The maids to Heaven do hie
To serve God soberly;
The lads, their loves in Heaven,
What lowly work is given
They do, to win the sky.
_1896._
THE ARGIVE WOMEN[2]
CHTHONOE MYRTILLA
RHODOPE PASIPHASSA
GORGO SITYS
* * * * *
SCENE
The women's house in the House of Paris in Troy.
TIME.--The Tenth year of the War.
* * * * *
_Helen's women are lying alone in the twilight
hour. Chthonoe presently rises and throws a
little incense upon the altar flame. Then she
begins to speak to the Image of Aphrodite in
a low and tired voice._
CHTHONOE
Goddess of burning and little rest,
By the hand swaying on thy breast,
By glancing eye and slow sweet smile
Tell me what long look or what guile
Of thine it was that like a spear
Pierced her heart, who caged me here
In this close house, to be with her
Mistress at once and prisoner!
Far from earth and her pleasant ways
I lie, whose nights are as my days
In this dim house, where on the wall
I watch the shadows rise and fall
And know not what is reckt or done
By men and horses out in the sun,
Nor heed their traffic, nor their cheer
As forth they go or back, but hear
The fountain plash into the pond,
The brooding doves, and sighs of fond
Lovers whose lips yearn as they sever
For longer joy, joy such as never
Hath man but in the mind. But what
Men do without, that I know not
Who see them but as shadows thrown
Upon a screen. I see them blown
Like clouds of flies about the plain
Where the winds sweep them and make vain
Their panoplies. They hem the verge
Of this high wall to guard us--urge
Galloping horses into war
And meet in shock of battle, far
Below us and our dreams: withal
Ten years have past us in this thrall
Since Helen came with eyes agleam
To Troy, and trod the ways of dream.
GORGO
Men came about us, crying, "The Greeks!
Ships out at sea with high-held peaks
Like questing birds!" But I lay still
Kissing, nor turned.
RHODOPE
So I, until
The herald broke into my sleep,
Crying Agamemnon on the deep
With ships from high Mykenai. Then
I minded he was King of Men--
But not of women in the arms
They loved.
MYRTILLA
I heard their shrill alarms
Faint and far off, like an old fame.
Below this guarded house men came--
Chariots and horses clasht; they cried
King Agamemnon in his pride,
Or Hector, or young Diomede;
But I was kissing, could not heed
Aught save the eyes that held mine bound.
Anon a hush--anon the sound
Of hooves resistless, pounding--a cry,
"Achilles! Save yourselves!" But I--
Clinging I lay, and sighed in sign
That love must weary at last, even mine--
Even mine, Sweetheart!
PASIPHASSA
Who watcht when flared
Lord Hector like a meteor, dared
The high stockade and fired the ships?
I watcht his lips who had had my lips.
SITYS
And when he slew Menoikios' son,
Sister, what then?
PASIPHASSA
My cheek was wan
For lack of kissing--so I blew
On slumbering lids to draw anew
The eyes of him who had loved me well,
But now was faint.
CHTHONOE
O Kypris, tell
The deeds of men, not lovers!
RHODOPE
Here
Came one all palsied in his fear,
Chattering and white, to Paris abed,
Flusht in his sleep--told Hector dead,
Dead and dishonoured, while he slept.
He sighed and turned. But Helen wept.
GORGO
Not I. I turned and felt warm draught
Of breath upon my cheek, and laught
Softly, and snuggling, slept.
CHTHONOE
Fie, fie!
Goddess, drugged in thy dreams we lie,
Logs, not women, logs in the sun!
SITYS
Thou art sated. So fretteth One,
The very fount of Love's sweet well,
The chord of Love made visible,
Sickened of her own loveliness,
Haggard as hawk too long in jess,
Aching for flight.
MYRTILLA
Recall the bout
When Paris armed him and went out
Into the lists, and all men thronged
To see----
SITYS
Lord Paris and him he wronged
Fight for her, who should have her! We stood
Upon the walls, and she with her hood
Close to her cheek. But I saw the flicker
In her blue eyes!
PASIPHASSA
But I was quicker,
And saw the man she looked upon,
And after what her blue eyes shone
Like cyanus in morning light.
GORGO
Husband and lover she saw fight,
Man to man, with death between.
RHODOPE
Hatred coucht, as long and lean
As a lone wolf, on her man's crest--
PASIPHASSA
And bit the Trojan!
CHTHONOE
Thine was the rest,
Goddess! And Helen lit the fire,
With her disdain, of his desire.
MYRTILLA
Her eyes burned like the frosty stars
Of winter midnight.
PASIPHASSA
His the scars!
Bitten in his wax-pale cheek.
CHTHONOE
Nay, in his heart----
SITYS
Nay, in his bleak
And writhen smile you see it!
GORGO
Nay!
In his sick soul.
RHODOPE
Let him go his way!
Hear my thought of a happier thing--
Sparta's trees in flood of spring
Where Eurotas' banks abrim
Drown the reeds, and foam-clots swim
Like a scattered brood of duck!
MYRTILLA
Flowers anod! White flowers to pluck,
Stiffened in the foamy curds!
Ah, the green thickets quick with birds!
SITYS
Calling Itys! Itys! Itys!
PASIPHASSA
She calls not here--her house it is
In Sparta!
RHODOPE (_with a sob_)
Peace!
CHTHONOE
From my heart a cry--
Send me back, Goddess, ere I die
To those dear places and clean things--
To see my people, feel the wings
Of the gray night fold over me,
And touch my mother's knees, and be
Her child, as long ago I was
Before I lay burning in Ilios!
[_They hide their faces in their knees.
Then one by one they sing._]
Let me sing an old sweet air,
Mother of Argos, to Thee,
For hope in my heart is fair
As light on the hills seen from afar at sea;
And my weary eyes turn there
As to the haven where my soul would be.
RHODOPE
I will arise and make choice
The house of my tumbled breast,
For she cometh, I hear the voice
Of her wings of healing, and she shall be my guest;
And my joys shall be her joys,
And my home her home, O wind of the South West!
GORGO
As a bird that listens and thrills,
Hidden deep in the night,
For the sound of the little rills
That run musically towards the light;
As a hart to the high hills
Turneth his dying eyes, my soul takes flight.
MYRTILLA
Ah, to be folded deep
In the shade of Taygetus,
In my mother's arms to sleep
Even as a child when I lay harboured thus!
Oh, that I were as thy sheep,
Lacedaemon, my land, cradle and nurse of us!
PASIPHASSA
In Argos they sow the grain,
In Troy blood is their sowing;
There a green mantle covers the plain
Where the sweet green corn and sweet short grass are growing;
But here passion and pain--
Blood and dust upon earth, and a hot wind blowing.
SITYS
To the hold on the far red hill
From the hold on the wide green lea,
Over the running water, follow who will
Therapnae's hawk with the dove of Amyklae.
But I would lie husht and still,
And feel the new grass growing quick over me!
[_The scene grows dark as they sit.
Their eyes are full of tears.
Presently one looks up, listening,
then another, then another. They
are all alert._]
CHTHONOE
Who prayeth peace? I feel her peace
Steal through me as a quiet air
Enters the house with sweet increase
Of light to healing, praise to prayer!
RHODOPE
What do I know of guiltiness
When she is here, and with grave eyes
Seeketh the ways of quietness
And lampeth them?
GORGO
Arise, arise!
[_They all stand waiting._]
MYRTILLA
Hark! Her footfall like the dew--
PASIPHASSA
As a flower by frost made sere
Long before the sun breaks through,
Feeleth him, I know her near.
[_Helen stands in the doorway._]
CHTHONOE
This is she, the source of light,
Source of light and end of it,
Argive Helen, slim and sweet,
For whose bosom and delight,
For whose eyes, those wells of peace,
Paris wrought, as well he might,
Ten years' woe for Troy and Greece.
RHODOPE
Starry wonder that she was,
Caged like sea-bird in his arms,
See her passion thrill, then pass
From him who, doting on her charms,
So became abominable.
Watch her bosom dip and swell,
See her nostrils fan and curve
At his touch who loved not well,
But loved too much, who broke the spell;
Watch her proud head stiffen and swerve.
GORGO
Upon the wall with claspt white hands
See her vigil keep intent,
Argive Helen, lo! she stands
Looking seaward where the fires
Hem the shore innumerable;
Sign of that avenging host,
All Achaia's chivalry,
Past the tongue of man to tell,
Peers and kindred of her sires
Come to win back Helen lost.
MYRTILLA
There to her in that gray hour,
That gray hour before the sun,
Cometh he she waiteth for,
Menelaus like a ghost,
Like a dry leaf tempest-tost,
Stalking restless, her reproach.
PASIPHASSA
There alone, those two, long severed been,
Eye each other, one wild heart between.
SITYS
"O thou ruinous face,
O thou fatally fair,
O the pity of thee!
What dost thou there,
Watching the madness of me?"
CHTHONOE
Him seemed her eyes were pools of dark
To drown him, yet no word she spake;
But gazing, grave as a lonely house,
All her wonder thrilled to wake.
RHODOPE
"By thy roses and snow,
By thy sun-litten hair,
By thy low bosom and slow
Pondered kisses, O hear!
"By thy glimmering eyes,
By thy burning cheek,
By thy murmuring sighs,
Speak, Helen, O speak!
"Ruinous Face, O Ruinous Face,
Art thou come so early," he said,
"So early forth from the wicked bed?"
GORGO
Him she pondered, grave and still,
Stirring not from her safe place:
He marked the glow, he felt the thrill,
He saw the dawn new in her face.
MYRTILLA
Within her low voice wailed the tone
Of one who grieves and prays for death:
"Lord, I am come to be alone,
Alone here with my sorrow," she saith.
PASIPHASSA
"False wife, what pity was thine
For hearth and altar, for man and child?
What is thy sorrow worth unto mine?"
She rocked, moaning, "I was beguiled!"
SITYS
Ten years' woe for Troy and Greece
By her begun, the slim, the sweet,
Ended by her in final peace
Of him who loved her first of all;
Nor ever swerved from his high passion,
But through misery and shame
Saw her spirit like a flame
Eloquent of her sacred fashion--
Hers whose eyes are homes of light,
To which she tends, from which she came.
_1912._
[2] _Helen Redeemed_, the first poem in this book, was originally
conceived as a drama. Here is a scene from it, the first after the
Prologue, which would have been spoken by Odysseus. The action of the
play would have begun with the entry of Helen.
GNATHO
Gnatho, Satyr, homing at dusk,
Trotting home like a tired dog,
By mountain slopes 'twixt the junipers
And flamed oleanders near the sea,
Found a girl-child asleep in a fleece,
Frail as wax, golden and rose;
Whereat at first he skipt aside
And stayed him, nosing and peering, whereto
Next he crept, softly breathing,
Blinking his fear. None was there
To guard; the sun had dipt in the sea,
Faint fire empurpled the flow
Of heaving water; no speck, no hint
Of oar or wing on the main, on the deep
Sky, empty as a great shell,
Fainting in its own glory. This thing,
This rare breath, this miracle--
Alone with him in the world! His
To wonder, fall to, with craning eyes
Fearfully daring; next, since it moved not,
Stooping, to handle, to stroke, to peer upon
Closely, nosing its tender length,
Doglike snuffing--at last to kiss
In reverence wonderful, lightlier far
Than thistledown falls, brushing the Earth.
But the child awoke and, watching him, cried not,
Cruddled visage, choppy hands,
Blinking eyes, red-litten, astare,
Horns and feet--nay, crowed and strained
To reach this wonder.
As one a glass
Light as foam, hued like the foam,
A breath-bubble of fire, will carry,
He in arms lifted his freight,
Looking wonderfully upon it
With scarce a breath, and humbleness
To be so brute ebbed to the flood
Of pride in his new assured worth--
Trusted so, who could be vile?
So to his cave in the wood he bore her,
Fleeting swift as a fear thro' the dark trees.
There in the silence of tall trees,
Under the soaring shafts,
Far beneath the canopied leafage,
In the forest whisper, the thick silences;
Or on the wastes
Of sheltered mountains where the spires
Of solemn cypress frame the descent
Upon the blue, and open to sea--
Here grew Ianthe maiden slim
With none to spy but this gnarled man-brute;
Most fair, most hid, like a wood-flower
Slim for lack of light; so she grew
In flowering line of limb
And flower of face, retired and shy,
Urged by the bland air; unknown,
Lonely and lovely, husbanding
Her great possessions--hers now,
Another's when he cared to claim them.
For thus went life: to lead the herds
Of pricking deer she saw the great stags
Battle in empty glades, then mate;
Thus on the mountains chose the bears,
And in the woods she heard the wolves
Anguishing in their loves
Thro' the dense nights, far in the forest.
And so collected went she, and sure
Her time would come and with it her master.
But Gnatho watcht her under his brows
When she lay heedless, spilling beauty--
How ever lovelier, suppler, sleeker,
How more desirable, how near;
How rightly his, how surely his--
Then gnaw'd his cheek and turn'd his head.
For unsuspect, some dim forbidding
Rose within him and knockt at his heart
And said, Not thine, but for reverence.
And some wild horror desperate drove him,
Suing a pardon from unknown Gods
For untold trespass, to seek the sea,
Upon whose shore, to whose cool breathing
He'd stretch his arms, broken with strife
Of self and self; and all that water
Steadfast lapt and surged. Came tears
To furrow his cheeks, came strength to return
To her, and bear with longer breath
Her sweet familiarities, blind
Obedience to nascent blind desire--
Till again he lookt and burn'd again.
Thus his black ferment boil'd. O' nights
He'd dream and revel frenziedly
As with the love-stung nymphs. Awake,
In a chill sweat, he'd tear at himself,
Claw at his flesh and leap in the brook,
Drench the red embers of his vice
Into a mass abhorred. Clean then,
He'd seek his bed and pass unscath'd
The bower of fern where the sleek limbs
Of white Ianthe, mesht in her hair,
Lay lax in sleep. But Gnatho now
Saw only God, as on some still peak
Snowy and lonely under the stars
We look, and see God in all that calm.
One night of glamour, under a moon
That seemed to steep the air with gold,
They two sat stilly and watcht the sea
Tremulously heaving over a path
Of light like a river of molten gold.
Warm blew the breeze to land; she lean'd
Her idle head, idly played
Her fingers in his belt, and he
Embracing held her, yielding, subdued;
Sideways saw the curve of her cheek,
Downcast lashes, droopt lip
Which seem'd to court his pleasure--
Then
On waves of fire came racing his needs
With zest of rage to possess and tear
That which his frenzy, maskt as love,
Courted: so he lean'd to her ear,
Thrilled in torrents hoarse his case--
"Love, I burn, I burn!
Slake me, love!" He raved in whisper.
And she lookt up with her wide full eyes,
Saying, "My love!" and yielded herself.
Deep night settled on hill and plain,
The moon went out, the concourse of stars
Lay strewn above, and with golden eyes
Peered on them lockt. Far and faint
The great stags belled; far and faint
Quested the wolves; the leopards' howling
Lent desolation to night; and low
The night-jar purr'd. At sea one light
Swayed restlessly, and on the rocks
Sounded the tireless lapping deep.
Lockt they lay thro' all the silences.
Dawn stole in with whimper of rain
And a wailing wind from the sea--
Gray sea, gray dawn and scurrying clouds
And scud of rain. The fisher boat,
The sands, the headlands fringed with broom
And tamarisk were blotted.
Alone,
Caged in the mist of earth
That beat his torment back to himself,
So that in vain he sought for the Gods,
And lifted up hands in vain
To witness this white wreck prone and still--
Gnatho the Satyr blinkt on his work.
_1898-1912._
TO THE GODS OF THE COUNTRY
Sun and Moon, shine upon me;
Make glad my days and clear my nights!
O Earth, whose child I am,
Grant me thy patience!
O Heaven, whose heir I may be,
Keep quick my hope!
Your steadfastness I need, O Hills;
O Rain, thy kindness!
Snow, keep me pure;
O Fire, teach me thy pride!
From you, ye Winds, I ask your blitheness!
_1909._
FOURTEEN SONNETS
1896
ALMA SDEGNOSA
Not that dull spleen which serves i' the world for scorn,
Is hers I watch from far off, worshipping
As in remote Chaldaea the ancient king
Adored the star that heralded the morn.
Her proud content she bears as a flag is borne
Tincted the hue royal; or as a wing
It lifts her soaring, near the daylight spring,
Whence, if she lift, our days must pass forlorn.
The pure deriving of her spirit-state
Is so remote from men and their believing,
They shrink when she is cold, and estimate
That hardness which is but a God's dismay:
As when the Heaven-sent sprite thro' Hell sped cleaving,
Only the gross air checkt him on his way.
THE WINDS' POSSESSION
When winds blow high and leaves begin to fall,
And the wan sunlight flits before the blast;
When fields are brown and crops are garnered all,
And rooks, like mastered ships, drift wide and fast;
Maid Artemis, that feeleth her young blood
Leap like a freshet river for the sea,
Speedeth abroad with hair blown in a flood
To snuff the salt west wind and wanton free.
Then would you know how brave she is, how high
Her ancestry, how kindred to the wind,
Mark but her flashing feet, her ravisht eye
That takes the boist'rous weather and feels it kind:
And hear her eager voice, how tuned it is
To Autumn's clarion shrill for Artemis.
ASPETTO REALE
That hour when thou and Grief were first acquainted
Thou wrotest, "Come, for I have lookt on death."
Piteous I held my indeterminate breath
And sought thee out, and saw how he had painted
Thine eyes with rings of black; yet never fainted
Thy radiant immortality underneath
Such stress of dark; but then, as one that saith,
"I know Love liveth," sat on by death untainted.
O to whom Grief too poignant was and dry
To sow in thee a fountain crop of tears!
O youth, O pride, set too remote and high
For touch of solace that gives grace to men!
Thy life must be our death, thy hopes our fears:
We weep, thou lookest strangely--we know thee then!
KIN CONFESSED
Long loving, all our love was husbanded
Until one morning on the brown hillside,
One misty Autumn morn when Sun did hide
His radiance, yet was felt. No words we said,
But in one flash transfigured, glorified,
All her heart's tumult beating white and red,
She fell prone on her face and hid her wide
Over-brimmed eyes in dewy fern.
I prayed,
Then spake, "In us two now is manifest
That throbbing kindred whereof thou art graft
And I the grafted, in this holy place."
She, turning half, with sober shame confest
Discovery, then hid her rosy face.
I read her wilding heart, and my heart laught.
QUEL GIORNO PIU ...
That day--it was the last of many days,
Nor could we know when such days might be given
Again--we read how Dante trod the ways
Of utmost Hell, and how his heart was riven
By sad Francesca, whose sin was forgiven
So far that, on her Paolo fixing gaze,
She supt on his again, and thought it Heaven,
She knew her gentler fate and felt it praise.