_Forsooth the present we must give
To that which cannot pass away,
All beauteous things for which we live
By laws of time and space, decay.
But oh, the very reason why
I clasp them, is because they die._
CORY JOHNSTONE.
The children only half liked these stories of Granny’s. They cared
more for her flower-lore. For while she spoke of her more horrible
dreams, she became possessed by their spirit, and they could then
better understand her causing fear in the breasts of others, and
therefore suspicion and dislike. Best of all, they liked to get her
to sing to them. Her voice was like the fitful pipe of the keyhole
when the wind blows through, yet all the words sounded clearly. And
the words of one of her songs were these:--
“The holly and the ivy
Are both now fully grown,
Of all the trees in greenwood
The holly bears the crown.
_O, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the quoir._
The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily-flower;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus
To be our Saviour.
_O, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the quoir._
The holly bears a berry,
As red as any blood;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus
To do poor sinners good.
_O, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the quoir._
The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus
To redeem us all.
_O, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the quoir._”
You may know the tune of these words, for it is to be found in the
Carol Book. It is lovely, and when it comes to the lines--
“O, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,”
there is warmth in the music, and the notes give the sound of light
feet pricking through dry leaves of the russet floor of woodlands.
And here is another of her songs. This one she would sing as she
plied her spinning-wheel, and the last two lines, if you notice,
have a pleasant recurrence in their sound. Something sustained and
continuous, like the whirring of a wheel:--
“Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex’d?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex’d
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?
O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face.
Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring?
O sweet content!
Swim’st thou in wealth, yet sink’st in thine own tears?
O punishment!
Then he that happily wants burden bears,
No burden bears, but is a king, a king.
O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face.”
Soon the children grew able to help in the preparation of the herbs.
They learned to know their names and uses. After Granny had sorted
the sweet-smelling sprigs Faith would tie them, and prepare them for
drying or soaking in hot water, as it might be.
“This is good for burns,” the old woman would say as she sorted them.
“And this for the palsy. But did you ever think what a precious herb
that would be, could one but find it, that would save folk from
growing old? There are pastes and ointments against wrinkles, there
are soft washes for the skin, but there’s nothing that grows that
can save the hair turning grey at the end of a lifetime--no, nor a
flower, or herb, that can give back the flower of youth. And that
brings to memory a strange dream I had; but this time it was read to
me from a book. The words weren’t mine, my dears; and the voice that
read it to me was strange to me; and the book that held the story was
bound in covers of horn. There’s meaning here for those who can find
it, for I’ve heard there are two gates that our dreams pass through.
If they pass the Gate of Ivory, they are false dreams, but if they
pass through the Gate of Horn, they are true.
“Now the voice that was telling me this story was gentle, and I
seemed to have been listening to it for a long, long time.
“Once there reigned a king over a great country, it was saying, ruler
over many tribes. He had wise councillors and many riches, but the
chief of his treasure lay in a house apart from the palace, where he
passed the choicest of his days. Here dwelt the nymph Ia, by whom he
set great store. Deeply versed was she in the art of witchery, the
sound of her voice was like bells harmoniously according, and when
she danced her feet moved like white pigeons over the floor. In this
house there was a great store of rubies, so that a man might take
them up in both hands, yet was the casket filled. Gold was here, and
ivory, chrysoprase, jasper and chalcedony, and curious images from
other lands. Robes of great price were here, robes that might have
been woven of the sea in moonlight, or fashioned of the night sky,
pointed with many stars.
“And all these things the king gave willingly, for he loved Ia as the
light of his eyes.
“Now it chanced a great cloud hung over this country, a cloud of
adversity and evil days. Sorrow was there in the land, for a war
wasted it, moreover a famine wrought further misery in many homes.
Only in the House of Dalliance might the king fly the evil hour,
forgetting here the sorrow of his realm.
“One day his servants came into his presence saying one craved
audience of the king.
“‘An aged woman who promiseth a remedy is here.’
“‘Then let her come before us,’ the king made answer.
“And there entered an old woman, at his word. Heavily she leaned upon
a stick in walking, and the wrinkles in her face were as the ripples
in the sand, when the tide is far sped. Her eyes were dim with the
years that bowed her, and her hair fell in meagre locks of grey.
“‘Heaven save you, mother,’ quoth the king, as she entered. ‘What
words of wisdom find you in your heart to-day?’
“The old woman bent her head before him, signing to him to send the
courtiers from the room. And when they were alone together, ‘What is
the need of your land, O king?’ she asked. ‘In what measure may you
stay the evil?’
“And the king made answer: ‘I had thought thou broughtest counsel,
mother, and now thou openest thy lips but to question me. Many years
has a war vexed this country, and a famine wasteth many homes. The
treasures of State are empty, and now I know not where to turn for
gold. Had I half the bulk of the country’s customary treasure,
peradventure I might stay the war; but seeing this is exhausted
through years of adversity, we must bethink ourselves of other means.’
“‘Yes, verily, other means,’ replied the old woman; ‘and the wisdom
that lieth nearest is the wisdom that is overlooked. Yet do thou
listen: I have knowledge of a means by which the evil may be stayed.’
“‘Speak, and may God enlighten thee,’ said the king.
“The old woman continued: ‘Hast thou no store of treasure in the
House of Dalliance? Shalt thou not give this utterly to thy country’s
needs?’
“The king held silence as she spake thus, marvelling that any one
dared so venture. To live without days in the House of Dalliance
would have been to him the wisdom of a fool, sacrificing the only
means of comfort, he knew for his wearied mind.
“Well he knew the store of treasure in that house bound the nymph to
him, for light was she as a weaver’s shuttle, and her thoughts little
longer in the same place. And as he thought thus, he became greatly
wrath with the old woman, so that he cried out, ‘Who art thou, who
darest so to speak to me? Who art thou, I say?’
“And very quietly the words came in answer, ‘It is the nymph Ia who
speaks to thee--it is Ia who speaks.’
“Then the king would have laughed aloud at the old woman, but
something in her countenance held him back. For as he gazed on her he
saw, as a man may see the picture of the skies in summer, dimmed and
wrinkled in the broken surface of a pool, even so in the countenance
of the old woman did the king see Ia’s youth.
“And as he gazed the truth came to him, and he shook, as one who
after long watching, sees dawn break on a frozen sea. For he knew the
day would come when the nymph la would look even as this old woman
before him. When her eyes, deep and fringed as the forest pools,
would be no longer bright with the splinters of stars in them, but
sunken, aye, sunken and filled with rheum. And the sound of her voice
would be scrannel, and the swiftness of her feet fail. And what would
his treasure avail him, with the core of his treasure gone?
“And again he thought upon his country and the necessity that was
knocking at his door. And he beheld with the eyes of his soul, this
sacrifice, growing and shining, with the years. He saw it take
radiant form unto itself, and rising above the fears of a little
moment, he beheld it mount gloriously to the habitations of eternity,
clapping its hands for joy.
“And as he beheld this, his heart cried out suddenly within him, for
the good that is born in men’s souls is born in pain.
“And with that cry the king stirred in his sleep uneasily. And lo, it
had been a dream.
“He was alone in his chamber in the palace, his great dog slumbering
by the fire, nose couched up on slender paws.
“And the perched macaw at the king’s elbow, bowed and scrambled at
its chain.
“Only the remembrance of the king’s dream stayed with him, till he
loathed the tag of an old rhyme.
“‘If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains,
If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains.’
* * * * *
“But the king, did he make common store of his treasure, and loose
his soul for ever from the nymph?”