The frowning Lady uttered, ‘Forth!’
Her look forbade delay:
‘It is not mine to weigh your worth;
Your husband’s others weigh.
XXIII
‘Hence with the woman in your speech,’
For nothing it avails
In woman’s fashion to beseech
Where Justice holds the scales.’
XXIV
Then bent and went the lady wan,
Whose girlishness made grey
The thoughts that through Archduchess Anne
Shattered like stormy spray.
XXV
Long sat she there, as flame that strives
To hold on beating wind:
—His wife must be the fool of wives,
Or cunningly designed!
XXVI
She sat until the tempest-pitch
In her torn bosom fell;
—His wife must be a subtle witch
Or else God loves her well!
III
I
Old Kraken read a missive penned
By his great Lady’s hand.
Her condescension called him friend,
To raise the crest she fanned.
II
Swiftly to where he lay encamped
It flew, yet breathed aloof
From woman’s feeling, and he stamped
A heel more like a hoof.
III
She wrote of Mercy: ‘She was loth
Too hard to goad a foe.’
He stamped, as when men drive an oath
Devils transcribe below.
IV
She wrote: ‘We have him half by theft.’
His wrinkles glistened keen:
And see the Winter storm-cloud cleft
To lurid skies between!
V
When read old Kraken: ‘Christ our Guide,’
His eyes were spikes of spar:
And see the white snow-storm divide
About an icy star!
VI
‘She trusted him to understand,’
She wrote, and further prayed
That policy might rule the land.
Old Kraken’s laughter neighed.
VII
Her words he took; her nods and winks
Treated as woman’s fog.
The man-dog for his mistress thinks,
Not less her faithful dog.
VIII
She hugged a cloak old Kraken ripped;
Disguise to him he loathed.
—Your mercy, madam, shows you stripped,
While mine will keep you clothed.
IX
A rough ill-soldered scar in haste
He rubbed on his cheek-bone.
—Our policy the man shall taste;
Our mercy shall be shown.
X
‘Count Louis, honour to your race
Decrees the Council-hall:
You ’scape the rope by special grace,
And like a soldier fall.’
XI
—I am a man of many sins,
Who for one virtue die,
Count Louis said.—They play at shins,
Who kick, was the reply.
XII
Uprose the day of crimson sight,
The day without a God.
At morn the hero said Good-night:
See there that stain on sod!
XIII
At morn the Countess Louis heard
Young light sing in the lark.
Ere eve it was that other bird,
Which brings the starless dark.
XIV
To heaven she vowed herself, and yearned
Beside her lord to lie.
Archduchess Anne on Kraken turned,
All white as a dead eye.
XV
If I could kill thee! shrieked her look:
If lightning sprang from Will!
An oaken head old Kraken shook,
And she might thank or kill.
XVI
The pride that fenced her heart in mail
By mortal pain was torn.
Forth from her bosom leaped a wail,
As of a babe new-born.
XVII
She clad herself in courtly use,
And one who heard them prate
Had said they differed upon views
Where statecraft raised debate.
XVIII
The wretch detested must she trust,
The servant master own:
Confide to godless cause so just,
And for God’s blessing moan.
XIX
Austerely she her heart kept down,
Her woman’s tongue was mute
When voice of People, voice of Crown,
In cannon held dispute.
XX
The Crown on seas of blood, like swine,
Swam forefoot at the throat:
It drank of its dear veins for wine,
Enough if it might float!
XXI
It sank with piteous yelp, resurged
Electrical with fear.
O had she on old Kraken urged
Her word of mercy clear!
XXII
O had they with Count Louis been
Accordant in his plea!
Cursed are the women vowed to screen
A heart that all can see!
XXIII
The godless drove unto a goal
Was worse than vile defeat.
Did vengeance prick Count Louis’ soul
They dressed him luscious meat.
XXIV
Worms will the faithless find their lies
In the close treasure-chest.
Without a God no day can rise,
Though it should slay our best.
XXV
The Crown it furled a draggled flag,
It sheathed a broken blade.
Behold its triumph in the hag
That lives with looks decayed!
XXVI
And lo, the man of oaken head,
Of soldier’s honour bare,
He fled his land, but most he fled
His Lady’s frigid stare.
XXVII
Judged by the issue we discern
God’s blessing, and the bane.
Count Louis’ dust would fill an urn,
His deeds are waving grain.
XXVIII
And she that helped to slay, yet bade
To spare the fated man,
Great were her errors, but she had
Great heart, Archduchess Anne.
THE SONG OF THEODOLINDA
I
QUEEN Theodolind has built
In the earth a furnace-bed:
There the Traitor Nail that spilt
Blood of the anointed Head,
Red of heat, resolves in shame:
White of heat, awakes to flame.
Beat, beat! white of heat,
Red of heat, beat, beat!
II
Mark the skeleton of fire
Lightening from its thunder-roof:
So comes this that saw expire
Him we love, for our behoof!
Red of heat, O white of heat,
This from off the Cross we greet.
III
Brown-cowled hammermen around
Nerve their naked arms to strike
Death with Resurrection crowned,
Each upon that cruel spike.
Red of heat the furnace leaps,
White of heat transfigured sleeps.
IV
Hard against the furnace core
Holds the Queen her streaming eyes:
Lo! that thing of piteous gore
In the lap of radiance lies,
Red of heat, as when He takes,
White of heat, whom earth forsakes.
V
Forth with it, and crushing ring
Iron hymns, for men to hear
Echoes of the deeds that sting
Earth into its graves, and fear!
Red of heat, He maketh thus,
White of heat, a crown of us.
VI
This that killed Thee, kissed Thee, Lord!
Touched Thee, and we touch it: dear,
Dark it is; adored, abhorred:
Vilest, yet most sainted here.
Red of heat, O white of heat,
In it hell and heaven meet.
VII
I behold our morning day
When they chased Him out with rods
Up to where this traitor lay
Thirsting; and the blood was God’s!
Red of heat, it shall be pressed,
White of heat, once on my breast!
VIII
Quick! the reptile in me shrieks,
Not the soul. Again; the Cross
Burn there. Oh! this pain it wreaks
Rapture is: pain is not loss.
Red of heat, the tooth of Death,
White of heat, has caught my breath.
IX
Brand me, bite me, bitter thing!
Thus He felt, and thus I am
One with Him in suffering,
One with Him in bliss, the Lamb.
Red of heat, O white of heat,
Thus is bitterness made sweet.
X
Now am I, who bear that stamp
Scorched in me, the living sign
Sole on earth—the lighted lamp
Of the dreadful Day divine.
White of heat, beat on it fast!
Red of heat, its shape has passed.
XI
Out in angry sparks they fly,
They that sentenced Him to bleed:
Pontius and his troop: they die,
Damned for ever for the deed!
White of heat in vain they soar:
Red of heat they strew the floor.
XII
Fury on it! have its debt!
Thunder on the Hill accurst,
Golgotha, be ye! and sweat
Blood, and thirst the Passion’s thirst.
Red of heat and white of heat,
Champ it like fierce teeth that eat.
XIII
Strike it as the ages crush
Towers! for while a shape is seen
I am rivalled. Quench its blush,
Devil! But it crowns me Queen,
Red of heat, as none before,
White of heat, the circlet wore.
XIV
Lowly I will be, and quail,
Crawling, with a beggar’s hand:
On my breast the branded Nail,
On my head the iron band.
Red of heat, are none so base!
White of heat, none know such grace!
XV
In their heaven the sainted hosts,
Robed in violet unflecked,
Gaze on humankind as ghosts:
I draw down a ray direct.
Red of heat, across my brow,
White of heat, I touch Him now.
XVI
Robed in violet, robed in gold,
Robed in pearl, they make our dawn.
What am I to them? Behold
What ye are to me, and fawn.
Red of heat, be humble, ye!
White of heat, O teach it me!
XVII
Martyrs! hungry peaks in air,
Rent with lightnings, clad with snow,
Crowned with stars! you strip me bare,
Pierce me, shame me, stretch me low,
Red of heat, but it may be,
White of heat, some envy me!
XVIII
O poor enviers! God’s own gifts
Have a devil for the weak.
Yea, the very force that lifts
Finds the vessel’s secret leak.
Red of heat, I rise o’er all:
White of heat, I faint, I fall.
XIX
Those old Martyrs sloughed their pride,
Taking humbleness like mirth.
I am to His Glory tied,
I that witness Him on earth!
Red of heat, my pride of dust,
White of heat, feeds fire in trust.
XX
Kindle me to constant fire,
Lest the nail be but a nail!
Give me wings of great desire,
Lest I look within, and fail!
Red of heat, the furnace light,
White of heat, fix on my sight.
XXI
Never for the Chosen peace!
Know, by me tormented know,
Never shall the wrestling cease
Till with our outlasting Foe,
Red of heat to white of heat,
Roll we to the Godhead’s feet!
Beat, beat! white of heat,
Red of heat, beat, beat!
A PREACHING FROM A SPANISH BALLAD
I
LADIES who in chains of wedlock
Chafe at an unequal yoke,
Not to nightingales give hearing;
Better this, the raven’s croak.
II
Down the Prado strolled my seigneur,
Arm at lordly bow on hip,
Fingers trimming his moustachios,
Eyes for pirate fellowship.
III
Home sat she that owned him master;
Like the flower bent to ground
Rain-surcharged and sun-forsaken;
Heedless of her hair unbound.
IV
Sudden at her feet a lover
Palpitating knelt and wooed;
Seemed a very gift from heaven
To the starved of common food.
V
Love me? she his vows repeated:
Fiery vows oft sung and thrummed:
Wondered, as on earth a stranger;
Thirsted, trusted, and succumbed.
VI
O beloved youth! my lover!
Mine! my lover! take my life
Wholly: thine in soul and body,
By this oath of more than wife!
VII
Know me for no helpless woman;
Nay, nor coward, though I sink
Awed beside thee, like an infant
Learning shame ere it can think.
VIII
Swing me hence to do thee service,
Be thy succour, prove thy shield;
Heaven will hear!—in house thy handmaid,
Squire upon the battlefield.
IX
At my breasts I cool thy footsoles;
Wine I pour, I dress thy meats;
Humbly, when my lord it pleaseth,
Lie with him on perfumed sheets:
X
Pray for him, my blood’s dear fountain,
While he sleeps, and watch his yawn
In that wakening babelike moment,
Sweeter to my thought than dawn!—
XI
Thundered then her lord of thunders;
Burst the door, and, flashing sword,
Loud disgorged the woman’s title:
Condemnation in one word.
XII
Grand by righteous wrath transfigured,
Towers the husband who provides
In his person judge and witness,
Death’s black doorkeeper besides!
XIII
Round his head the ancient terrors,
Conjured of the stronger’s law,
Circle, to abash the creature
Daring twist beneath his paw.
XIV
How though he hath squandered Honour
High of Honour let him scold:
Gilding of the man’s possession,
’Tis the woman’s coin of gold.
XV
She inheriting from many
Bleeding mothers bleeding sense
Feels ’twixt her and sharp-fanged nature
Honour first did plant the fence.
XVI
Nature, that so shrieks for justice;
Honour’s thirst, that blood will slake;
These are women’s riddles, roughly
Mixed to write them saint or snake.
XVII
Never nature cherished woman:
She throughout the sexes’ war
Serves as temptress and betrayer,
Favouring man, the muscular.
XVIII
Lureful is she, bent for folly;
Doating on the child which crows:
Yours to teach him grace in fealty,
What the bloom is, what the rose.
XIX
Hard the task: your prison-chamber
Widens not for lifted latch
Till the giant thews and sinews
Meet their Godlike overmatch.
XX
Read that riddle, scorning pity’s
Tears, of cockatrices shed:
When the heart is vowed for freedom,
Captaincy it yields to head.
XXI
Meanwhile you, freaked nature’s martyrs,
Honour’s army, flower and weed,
Gentle ladies, wedded ladies,
See for you this fair one bleed.
XXII
Sole stood her offence, she faltered;
Prayed her lord the youth to spare;
Prayed that in the orange garden
She might lie, and ceased her prayer.
XXIII
Then commanding to all women
Chastity, her breasts she laid
Bare unto the self-avenger.
Man in metal was the blade.
THE YOUNG PRINCESS
A BALLAD OF OLD LAWS OF LOVE
I
I
WHEN the South sang like a nightingale
Above a bower in May,
The training of Love’s vine of flame
Was writ in laws, for lord and dame
To say their yea and nay.
II
When the South sang like a nightingale
Across the flowering night,
And lord and dame held gentle sport,
There came a young princess to Court,
A frost of beauty white.
III
The South sang like a nightingale
To thaw her glittering dream:
No vine of Love her bosom gave,
She drank no wine of Love, but grave
She held them to Love’s theme.
IV
The South grew all a nightingale
Beneath a moon unmoved:
Like the banner of war she led them on;
She left them to lie, like the light that has gone
From wine-cups overproved.
V
When the South was a fervid nightingale,
And she a chilling moon,
’Twas pity to see on the garden swards,
Against Love’s laws, those rival lords
As willow-wands lie strewn.
VI
The South had throat of a nightingale
For her, the young princess:
She gave no vine of Love to rear,
Love’s wine drank not, yet bent her ear
To themes of Love no less.
II
I
The lords of the Court they sighed heart-sick,
Heart-free Lord Dusiote laughed:
I prize her no more than a fling o’ the dice,
But, or shame to my manhood, a lady of ice,
We master her by craft!
II
Heart-sick the lords of joyance yawned,
Lord Dusiote laughed heart-free:
I count her as much as a crack o’ my thumb,
But, or shame of my manhood, to me she shall come
Like the bird to roost in the tree!
III
At dead of night when the palace-guard
Had passed the measured rounds,
The young princess awoke to feel
A shudder of blood at the crackle of steel
Within the garden-bounds.
IV
It ceased, and she thought of whom was need,
The friar or the leech;
When lo, stood her tirewoman breathless by:
Lord Dusiote, madam, to death is nigh,
Of you he would have speech.
V
He prays you of your gentleness,
To light him to his dark end.
The princess rose, and forth she went,
For charity was her intent,
Devoutly to befriend.
VI
Lord Dusiote hung on his good squire’s arm,
The priest beside him knelt:
A weeping handkerchief was pressed
To stay the red flood at his breast,
And bid cold ladies melt.
VII
O lady, though you are ice to men,
All pure to heaven as light
Within the dew within the flower,
Of you ’tis whispered that love has power
When secret is the night.
VIII
I have silenced the slanderers, peace to their souls!
Save one was too cunning for me.
I die, whose love is late avowed,
He lives, who boasts the lily has bowed
To the oath of a bended knee.
IX
Lord Dusiote drew breath with pain,
And she with pain drew breath:
On him she looked, on his like above;
She flew in the folds of a marvel of love
Revealed to pass to death.
X
You are dying, O great-hearted lord,
You are dying for me, she cried;
O take my hand, O take my kiss,
And take of your right for love like this,
The vow that plights me bride.
XI
She bade the priest recite his words
While hand in hand were they,
Lord Dusiote’s soul to waft to bliss;
He had her hand, her vow, her kiss,
And his body was borne away.
III
I
Lord Dusiote sprang from priest and squire;
He gazed at her lighted room:
The laughter in his heart grew slack;
He knew not the force that pushed him back
From her and the morn in bloom.
II
Like a drowned man’s length on the strong flood-tide,
Like the shade of a bird in the sun,
He fled from his lady whom he might claim
As ghost, and who made the daybeams flame
To scare what he had done.
III
There was grief at Court for one so gay,
Though he was a lord less keen
For training the vine than at vintage-press;
But in her soul the young princess
Believed that love had been.
IV
Lord Dusiote fled the Court and land,
He crossed the woeful seas,
Till his traitorous doing seemed clearer to burn,
And the lady beloved drew his heart for return,
Like the banner of war in the breeze.
V
He neared the palace, he spied the Court,
And music he heard, and they told
Of foreign lords arrived to bring
The nuptial gifts of a bridegroom king
To the princess grave and cold.
VI
The masque and the dance were cloud on wave,
And down the masque and the dance
Lord Dusiote stepped from dame to dame,
And to the young princess he came,
With a bow and a burning glance.
VII
Do you take a new husband to-morrow, lady?
She shrank as at prick of steel.
Must the first yield place to the second, he sighed.
Her eyes were like the grave that is wide
For the corpse from head to heel.
VIII
My lady, my love, that little hand
Has mine ringed fast in plight:
I bear for your lips a lawful thirst,
And as justly the second should follow the first,
I come to your door this night.
IX
If a ghost should come a ghost will go:
No more the lady said,
Save that ever when he in wrath began
To swear by the faith of a living man,
She answered him, You are dead.
IV
I
The soft night-wind went laden to death
With smell of the orange in flower;
The light leaves prattled to neighbour ears;
The bird of the passion sang over his tears;
The night named hour by hour.
II
Sang loud, sang low the rapturous bird
Till the yellow hour was nigh,
Behind the folds of a darker cloud:
He chuckled, he sobbed, alow, aloud;
The voice between earth and sky.
III
O will you, will you, women are weak;
The proudest are yielding mates
For a forward foot and a tongue of fire:
So thought Lord Dusiote’s trusty squire,
At watch by the palace-gates.
IV
The song of the bird was wine in his blood,
And woman the odorous bloom:
His master’s great adventure stirred
Within him to mingle the bloom and bird,
And morn ere its coming illume.
V
Beside him strangely a piece of the dark
Had moved, and the undertones
Of a priest in prayer, like a cavernous wave,
He heard, as were there a soul to save
For urgency now in the groans.
VI
No priest was hired for the play this night:
And the squire tossed head like a deer
At sniff of the tainted wind; he gazed
Where cresset-lamps in a door were raised,
Belike on a passing bier.
VII
All cloaked and masked, with naked blades,
That flashed of a judgement done,
The lords of the Court, from the palace-door,
Came issuing silently, bearers four,
And flat on their shoulders one.
VIII
They marched the body to squire and priest,
They lowered it sad to earth:
The priest they gave the burial dole,
Bade wrestle hourly for his soul,
Who was a lord of worth.
IX
One said, farewell to a gallant knight!
And one, but a restless ghost!
’Tis a year and a day since in this place
He died, sped high by a lady of grace
To join the blissful host.
X
Not vainly on us she charged her cause,
The lady whom we revere
For faith in the mask of a love untrue
To the Love we honour, the Love her due,
The Love we have vowed to rear.
XI
A trap for the sweet tooth, lures for the light,
For the fortress defiant a mine:
Right well! But not in the South, princess,
Shall the lady snared of her nobleness
Ever shamed or a captive pine.
XII
When the South had voice of a nightingale
Above a Maying bower,
On the heights of Love walked radiant peers;
The bird of the passion sang over his tears
To the breeze and the orange-flower.
KING HARALD’S TRANCE
I
SWORD in length a reaping-hook amain
Harald sheared his field, blood up to shank:
’Mid the swathes of slain,
First at moonrise drank.
II
Thereof hunger, as for meats the knife,
Pricked his ribs, in one sharp spur to reach
Home and his young wife,
Nigh the sea-ford beach.
III
After battle keen to feed was he:
Smoking flesh the thresher washed down fast,
Like an angry sea
Ships from keel to mast.
IV
Name us glory, singer, name us pride
Matching Harald’s in his deeds of strength;
Chiefs, wife, sword by side,
Foemen stretched their length!
V
Half a winter night the toasts hurrahed,
Crowned him, clothed him, trumpeted him high,
Till awink he bade
Wife to chamber fly.
VI
Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk,
Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead;
Mountain on his trunk,
Ocean on his head.
VII
Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing sucked
Whispers that at heart made iron-clang:
Here fool-women clucked,
There men held harangue.
VIII
Burial to fit their lord of war
They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha!
Hateful! but this Thor
Failed a weak lamb’s baa.
IX
King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare,
Weighted so, like quaking shingle spume,
When his blood’s own heir
Ripened in the womb!
X
Still he heard, and doglike, hoglike, ran
Nose of hearing till his blind sight saw:
Woman stood with man
Mouthing low, at paw.
XI
Woman, man, they mouthed; they spake a thing
Armed to split a mountain, sunder seas:
Still the frozen king
Lay and felt him freeze.
XII
Doglike, hoglike, horselike now he raced,
Riderless, in ghost across a ground
Flint of breast, blank-faced,
Past the fleshly bound.
XIII
Smell of brine his nostrils filled with might:
Nostrils quickened eyelids, eyelids hand:
Hand for sword at right
Groped, the great haft spanned.
XIV
Wonder struck to ice his people’s eyes:
Him they saw, the prone upon the bier,
Sheer from backbone rise,
Sword uplifting peer.
XV
Sitting did he breathe against the blade,
Standing kiss it for that proof of life:
Strode, as netters wade,
Straightway to his wife.
XVI
Her he eyed: his judgement was one word,
Foulbed! and she fell: the blow clove two.
Fearful for the third,
All their breath indrew.
XVII
Morning danced along the waves to beach;
Dumb his chiefs fetched breath for what might hap:
Glassily on each
Stared the iron cap.
XVIII
Sudden, as it were a monster oak
Split to yield a limb by stress of heat,
Strained he, staggered, broke
Doubled at their feet.
WHIMPER OF SYMPATHY
HAWK or shrike has done this deed
Of downy feathers: rueful sight!
Sweet sentimentalist, invite
Your bosom’s Power to intercede.
So hard it seems that one must bleed
Because another needs will bite!
All round we find cold Nature slight
The feelings of the totter-knee’d.
O it were pleasant with you
To fly from this tussle of foes,
The shambles, the charnel, the wrinkle!
To dwell in yon dribble of dew
On the cheek of your sovereign rose,
And live the young life of a twinkle.
YOUNG REYNARD
I
GRACEFULLEST leaper, the dappled fox-cub
Curves over brambles with berries and buds,
Light as a bubble that flies from the tub,
Whisked by the laundry-wife out of her suds.
Wavy he comes, woolly, all at his ease,
Elegant, fashioned to foot with the deuce;
Nature’s own prince of the dance: then he sees
Me, and retires as if making excuse.
II
Never closed minuet courtlier! Soon
Cub-hunting troops were abroad, and a yelp
Told of sure scent: ere the stroke upon noon
Reynard the younger lay far beyond help.
Wild, my poor friend, has the fate to be chased;
Civil will conquer: were ’t other ’twere worse;
Fair, by the flushed early morning embraced,
Haply you live a day longer in verse.
MANFRED
I
PROJECTED from the bilious Childe,
This clatterjaw his foot could set
On Alps, without a breast beguiled
To glow in shedding rascal sweat.
Somewhere about his grinder teeth,
He mouthed of thoughts that grilled beneath,
And summoned Nature to her feud
With bile and buskin Attitude.
II
Considerably was the world
Of spinsterdom and clergy racked
While he his hinted horrors hurled,
And she pictorially attacked.
A duel hugeous. Tragic? Ho!
The cities, not the mountains, blow
Such bladders; in their shapes confessed
An after-dinner’s indigest.
HERNANI
CISTERCIANS might crack their sides
With laughter, and exemption get,
At sight of heroes clasping brides,
And hearing—O the horn! the horn!
The horn of their obstructive debt!
But quit the stage, that note applies
For sermons cosmopolitan,
Hernani. Have we filched our prize,
Forgetting . . .? O the horn! the horn!
The horn of the Old Gentleman!
THE NUPTIALS OF ATTILA
I
FLAT as to an eagle’s eye,
Earth hung under Attila.
Sign for carnage gave he none.
In the peace of his disdain,
Sun and rain, and rain and sun,
Cherished men to wax again,
Crawl, and in their manner die.
On his people stood a frost.
Like the charger cut in stone,
Rearing stiff, the warrior host,
Which had life from him alone,
Craved the trumpet’s eager note,
As the bridled earth the Spring.
Rusty was the trumpet’s throat.
He let chief and prophet rave;
Venturous earth around him string
Threads of grass and slender rye,
Wave them, and untrampled wave.
O for the time when God did cry,
Eye and have, my Attila!
II
Scorn of conquest filled like sleep
Him that drank of havoc deep
When the Green Cat pawed the globe:
When the horsemen from his bow
Shot in sheaves and made the foe
Crimson fringes of a robe,
Trailed o’er towns and fields in woe;
When they streaked the rivers red,
When the saddle was the bed.
Attila, my Attila!
III
He breathed peace and pulled a flower.
Eye and have, my Attila!
This was the damsel Ildico,
Rich in bloom until that hour:
Shyer than the forest doe
Twinkling slim through branches green.
Yet the shyest shall be seen.
Make the bed for Attila!
IV