Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock

By night, with noises of the northern sea. So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him

Three times, and drew him under in the

mere.

And lightly went the other to the King. Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:

'Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.

Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?'

And answer made the bold Sir Bedi

vere:

'Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems

Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheel-
ing him;

But when I look'd again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him

Three times, and drew him under in the mere.'

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King,

Muttering and murmuring at his ear, Quick, quick!

I fear it is too late, and I shall die.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,

Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd,

Larger than human on the frozen hills. He heard the deep behind him, and a cry Before. His own thought drove him, like a goad.

Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right

The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based

His feet on juts of slippery crag that

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Among new men, strange faces, other minds.'

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:

'The old order changeth, yielding place

to new,

And God fulfils Himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? I have lived my life, and that which I have done

May He within Himself make pure! but thou,

If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats

That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

I know not: but we sitting, as I said, The cock crew loud; as at that time of year

The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn: Then Francis, muttering, like a man illused,

'There now-that's nothing!' drew a little back,

And drove his heel into the smoulder'd log,

That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue: And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seem'd To sail with Arthur under looming shores, Point after point; till on to dawn, when dreams

Begin to feel the truth and stir of day, To me, methought, who waited with a crowd,

There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore

King Arthur, like a modern gentleman Of stateliest port; and all the people cried,

'Arthur is come again: he cannot die.' Then those that stood upon the hills behind

Repeated 'Come again, and thrice as

fair;'

And, further inland, voices echo'd 'Come

With all good things, and war shall be no more.'

71

At this a hundred bells began to peal, That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed

The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas-morn.

THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER;

OR, THE PICTURES.

THIS morning is the morning of the day, When I and Eustace from the city went To see the gardener's daughter; I and he, Brothers in Art; a friendship so complete Portion'd in halves between us, that we grew

The fable of the city where we dwelt.

My Eustace might have sat for Her

cules;

So muscular he spread, so broad of breast. He, by some law that holds in love, and draws

The greater to the lesser, long desired
A certain miracle of symmetry,

A miniature of loveliness, all grace
Summ'd up and closed in little; - Juliet,

she

So light of foot, so light of spirit - oh, she To me myself, for some three careless

moons,

The summer pilot of an empty heart Unto the shores of nothing! Know you not Such touches are but embassies of love, To tamper with the feelings, ere he found Empire for life? but Eustace painted her, And said to me, she sitting with us then, 'When will you paint like this?' and I replied,

(My words were half in earnest, half in jest,)

"Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived,

A more ideal Artist he than all,
Came, drew your pencil from you, made

those eyes

Darker than darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.'

And Juliet answer'd laughing, 'Go and see The gardener's daughter: trust me, after

that,

You scarce can fail to match his masterpiece.'

And up we rose, and on the spur we went. Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes to it In sound of funeral or of marriage bells; And, sitting muffled in dark leaves, you hear

The windy clanging of the minster clock; Although between it and the garden lies A league of grass, wash'd by a slow broad

stream,

That, stirr'd with languid pulses of the oar,
Waves all its lazy lilies, and creeps on,
Barge-laden, to three arches of a bridge
Crown'd with the minster-towers.
The fields between
Are dewy-fresh, browsed by deep-udder'd

kine,

And all about the large lime feathers low, The lime a summer home of murmurous wings.

In that still place she, hoarded in herself, Grew, seldom seen; not less among us lived

Her fame from lip to lip. Who had not heard

Of Rose, the gardener's daughter? Where was he,

So blunt in memory, so old at heart,

At such a distance from his youth in grief, That, having seen, forgot? The common mouth,

So gross to express delight, in praise of

her

Grew oratory. Such a lord is Love,
And Beauty such a mistress of the world.

And if I said that Fancy, led by Love, Would play with flying forms and images, Yet this is also true, that, long before

I look'd upon her, when I heard her name My heart was like a prophet to my heart, And told me I should love. A crowd of hopes,

That sought to Sow themselves like winged seeds,

Born out of everything I heard and saw, Flutter'd about my senses and my soul; And vague desires, like fitful blasts of balm

To one that travels quickly, made the air Of Life delicious, and all kinds of thought, That verged upon them, sweeter than the dream

Dream'd by a happy man, when the dark
East,

Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
And sure this orbit of the memory folds
For ever in itself the day we went
To see her. All the land in flowery
squares,

Beneath a broad and equal-blowing wind, Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloud

Drew downward: but all else of heaven was pure

Up to the Sun, and May from verge to

verge,

And May with me from head to heel. And now,

As tho' 'twere yesterday, as tho' it were The hour just flown, that morn with all its sound,

(For those old Mays had thrice the life of these,)

Rings in mine ears. The steer forgot to

graze,

And, where the hedge-row cuts the pathway, stood,

Leaning his horns into the neighbour

field,

And lowing to his fellows. From the woods

Came voices of the well-contented doves. The lark could scarce get out his notes

for joy,

But shook his song together as he near'd His happy home, the ground. To left and right,

The cuckoo told his name to all the hills;
The mellow ouzel fluted in the elm;
The redcap whistled; and the nightingale
Sang loud, as tho' he were the bird of
day.

And Eustace turn'd, and smiling said

to me,

'Hear how the bushes echo! by my life, These birds have joyful thoughts. Think you they sing

Like poets, from the vanity of song?
Or have they any sense of why they sing?
And would they praise the heavens for

what they have?'

And I made answer, Were there nothing else

For which to praise the heavens but only love,

[blocks in formation]

And one warm gust, full-fed with perfume, blew

Beyond us, as we enter'd in the cool. The garden stretches southward. In the midst

A cedar spread his dark-green layers of shade.

The garden-glasses glanced, and momently

The twinkling laurel scatter'd silver lights. 'Eustace,' I said, 'this wonder keeps the house.'

He nodded, but a moment afterwards He cried, Look! look!' Before he ceased I turn'd,

And, ere a star can wink, beheld her there. For up the porch there grew an Eastern

[blocks in formation]

Her violet eyes, and all her Hebe bloom, And doubled his own warmth against her lips,

And on the bounteous wave of such a breast

As never pencil drew. Half light, half shade,

She stood, a sight to make an old man young.

So rapt, we near'd the house; but she, a Rose

In roses, mingled with her fragrant toil, Nor heard us come, nor from her tendance turn'd

Into the world without; till close at hand, And almost ere I knew mine own intent, This murmur broke the stillness of that air

Which brooded round about her:

[blocks in formation]
« ElőzőTovább »