Part 3 (1/2)

And if by fleshly love all Heaven's debarred, Its sinuous revolving spheres instarred, Then h.e.l.l were Heaven with love to those who knew Love which G.o.d's Heaven encouraged--love that drew Hips, head and hair in fiends' devouring claws Down, down its pit's hurled sucking, as down draws,-- Yet lip to narrow lip with whom we love,-- A whirlwind some weak, crippled, fallen dove.

”Then this lank Urience? He who is lord.-- Where is thy worry? for, hath he no sword?

No dangerous dagger I, hid softly here Sharp as an adder's fang? or for that ear No instant poison which insinuates, Tightens quick pulses, while one breathing waits, With ice and death? For often men who sleep On eider-down wake not, but closely keep Such secrets in their graves to rot and rot To dust and maggots;--of these--which his lot?”

Thus she conspired with her that rainy night Lone in her chamber; when no haggard, white, Wan, watery moon dreamed on the streaming pane, But on the leads beat an incessant rain, And sighed and moaned a weary wind along The turrets and torn poplars stirred to song.

So grew her face severe as skies that take Dark forces of full storm, sound-shod, that shake With murmurous feet black hills, and stab with fire A pine some moaning forest mourns as sire.

So touched her countenance that dark intent; And to still eyes stern thoughts a pa.s.sion sent, As midnight waters luminous gla.s.s deep Suggestive worlds of austere stars in sleep, Vague ghostly gray locked in their hollow gloom.

Then as if some vast wind had swept the room, Silent, intense, had raised her from her seat, Of dim, great arms had made her a retreat, Secret as love to move in, like some ghost, Noiseless as death and subtle as sharp frost, Poised like a light and borne as carefully, Trod she the gusty hall where shadowy The stirring hangings rolled a Pagan war.

And there the mail of Urience shone. A star, Glimmering above, a dying cresset dropped From the stone vault and flared. And here she stopped And took the sword bright, burnished by his page, And ruddy as a flame with restless rage.

Grasping this death unto the chamber where Slept innocent her spouse she moved--an air Twined in soft, glossy sendal; or a fit Of faery song a wicked charm in it, A spell that sings seductive on to death.

Then paused she at one chamber; for a breath Listened: and here her son Sir Ewain slept, He who of ravens a black army kept, In war than fiercest men more terrible, That tore forth eyes of kings who blinded fell.

Sure that he slept, to Urience stole and stood Dim by his couch. About her heart hot blood Caught strangling, then throbbed thudding fever up To her broad eyes, like wine whirled in a cup.

Then came rare Recollection, with a mouth Sweet as the honeyed sunbeams of the South Trickling thro' perplexed ripples of low leaves; To whose faint form a veil of stars.h.i.+ne cleaves Intricate gauze from memoried eyes to feet;-- Feet sandaled with crushed, sifted snows and fleet To come and go and airy anxiously.

She, trembling to her, like a flower a bee Nests in and makes an audible mouth of musk Dripping a downy language in the dusk, Laid lips to ears and luted memories of Now hateful Urience:--Her maiden love, That willing went from Caerlleon to Gore One dazzling day of Autumn. How a boar, Wild as the wonder of the blazing wood, Raged at her from a cavernous solitude, Which, crimson-creepered, yawned the bristling curse Murderous upon her; how her steed waxed worse And, snorting terror, fled unmanageable, Pursued with fear, and flung her from the selle, Soft slipping on a bank of springy moss That couched her swooning. In an utter loss Of mind and limbs she only knew twas thus-- As one who pants beneath an incubus:-- The boar thrust toward her a tusked snout and fanged Of hideous bristles, and the whole wood clanged And buzzed and boomed a thousand sounds and lights Lawless about her brain, like leaves fierce nights Of hurricane harvest shouting: then she knew A fury thunder twixt it--and fleet flew Rich-rooted moss and sandy loam that held Dark-buried shadows of the wild, and swelled Continual echoes with the thud of strife, And breath of man and brute that warred for life; And all the air, made mad with foam and forms, Spun froth and wrestled twixt her hair and arms, While trampled caked the stricken leaves or shred Hummed whirling, and snapped brittle branches dead.

And when she rose and leaned her throbbing head, Which burst its uncoifed rays of raven hair Down swelling shoulders pure and faultless fair, On one milk, marvelous arm of fluid grace, Beheld the brute thing throttled and the face Of angry Urience over, browed like Might, One red, swoln arm, that pinned the hairy fright, Strong as a G.o.d's, iron at the gullet's brawn; Dug in his midriff, the close knees updrawn Wedged deep the glutton sides that quaked and strove A s.h.a.ggy bulk, whose sharp hoofs h.o.r.n.y drove.

Thus man and brute burned bent; when Urience slipped One arm, the horror's tearing tusks had ripped And ribboned redly, to the dagger's hilt, Which at his hip hung long a haft gold-gilt; Its rapid splinter drew; beamed twice and thrice High in the sun its ghastliness of ice Plunged--and the great boar, stretched in sullen death, Weakened thro' wild veins, groaned laborious breath.

And how he brought her water from a well That rustled freshness near them, as it fell From its full-mantled urn, in his deep casque, And prayed her quaff; then bathed her brow, a task That had accompaning tears of joy and vows Of love, sweet intercourse of eyes and brows, And many clinging kisses eloquent.

And how, when dressed his arm, behind him bent She clasped him on the same steed and they went On thro' the gold wood toward the golden West, Till on one low hill's forest-covered crest Up in the gold his castle's battlements pressed.

And then she felt she'd loved him till had come Fame of the love of Isoud, whom from home Brought knightly Tristram o'er the Irish foam, And Guenevere's for Launcelot of the Lake.

And then how pa.s.sion from these seemed to wake Longing for some great gallant who would slake-- And such found Accolon.

And then she thought How far she'd fallen and how darkly fraught With consequence was this. Then what distress Were hers and his--her lover's; and success How doubly difficult if Arthur slain, King Urience lived to a.s.sert his right to reign.

So paused she pondering on the blade; her lips Breathless and close as close cold finger tips Hugged the huge weapon's hilt. And so she sighed, ”Nay! long, too long hast lived who shouldst have died Even in the womb abortive! who these years Hast leashed sweet life to care with stinging tears, A knot thus harshly severed!--As thou art Into the elements naked!”

O'er his heart The long sword hesitated, lean as crime, Descended redly once. And like a rhyme Of nice words fairly fitted forming on,-- A sudden ceasing and the harmony gone, So ran to death the life of Urience, A strong song incomplete of broken sense.

There glowered the crimeful Queen. The glistening sword Unfleshed, flung by her wronged and murdered lord; And the dark blood spread broader thro' the sheet To drip a horror at impa.s.sive feet And blur the polished oak. But lofty she Stood proud, relentless; in her ecstacy A lovely devil; a crowned l.u.s.t that cried On Accolon; that harlot which defied Heaven with a voice of pulses clamorous as Steep storm that down a cavernous mountain pa.s.s Blasphemes an hundred echoes; with like power The inner harlot called its paramour: Him whom King Arthur had commanded, when Borne from the lists, be granted her again As his blithe gift and welcome from that joust, For treacherous love and her adulterous l.u.s.t.

And while she stood revolving how her deed's Concealment were secured,--a grind of steeds, Arms, jingling stirrups, voices loud that cursed Fierce in the northern court. To her athirst For him her lover, war and power it spoke, Him victor and so King; and then awoke A yearning to behold, to quit the dead.

So a wild specter down wide stairs she fled, Burst on a glare of links and glittering mail, That shrunk her eyes and made her senses quail.

To her a bulk of iron, bearded fierce, Down from a steaming steed into her ears, ”This from the King, a boon!” laughed harsh and hoa.r.s.e; Two henchmen beckoned, who pitched sheer with force, Loud clanging at her feet, hacked, hewn and red, Crusted with blood a knight in armor--dead; Even Accolon, tossed with the mocking scoff ”This from the King!”--phantoms in fog rode off.

And what remains? From Camelot to Gore That right she weeping fled; then to the sh.o.r.e,-- As that romancer tells,--Avilion, Where she hath Majesty gold-crowned yet wan; In darkest cypress a frail pitious face Queenly and lovely; 'round sad eyes the trace Of immemorial tears as for some crime: They future fixed, expectant of the time When the forgiving Arthur cometh and Shall have to rule all that lost golden land That drifts vague amber in forgotten seas Of surgeless turquoise dim with mysteries.

And so was seen Morgana nevermore, Save once when from the Cornwall coast she bore The wounded Arthur from that last fought fight Of Camlan in a black barge into night.

But oft some see her with a palfried band Of serge-stoled maidens thro' the drowsy land Of Autumn glimmer; when are sharply strewn The red leaves, while broad in the east a moon Swings full of frost a l.u.s.trous globe of gleams, Faint on the mooning hills as shapes in dreams.

DER FREISCHUTZ.

_Es gibt im Menschenleben Augenblicke, Wo er dem Weltgeist naher ist als sonst._--SCHILLER.

He? why, a tall Franconian strong and young, Brown as a walnut the first frost hath hulled; A soul of full endeavor powerful Bound in lithe limbs, knit into grace and strength Of bronze-like muscles elegant, that poised A head like Hope's; and then the manly lines Of face developed by action and mobile To each suggestive impulse of the mind, Of smiles of buoyancy or scowls of gloom.-- And what deep eyes were his!--Aye; I can see Their wild and restless disks of luminous night Instinct with haughtiness that sneered at Fate, Glared cold conclusion to all circ.u.mstance, As with loud law, to his advantage swift: With scorn derisive that shot out a barb, Stabbed Superst.i.tion to its dagger hilt; That smiled a thrust-like smile which curled the lip, A vicious heresy with incredible lore, When G.o.d's or holy Mary's name came forth Exclaimed in reverence or astonishment; And then would say, ”What is this G.o.d you mouth, Employ whose name to sanctify and d.a.m.n?-- A benedictive curse?--'T hath past my skill Of grave interpretation. And your faith-- Distinguishment unseen, design unlawed.

For earth, air, fire or water or keen cold, Hints no existence of such, wors.h.i.+ps not, Such as men's minds profess. Rather, meseems, Throned have they one such as their hopes have wrought In hope there may prove such an one in death For Paradise or punishment. I hold He juster were and would be kinglier kind In sovereign mercy and a prodigal-- Not to few favored heads who, crowned with state, Rule sceptered Infamies--of indulgence free To all that burn luxuriant incense on Shrines while they prayer him love's obedience.

Are all not children of the same weak mold?

Clay of His Adam-modeled clay made quick?

Endowed with the like hopes, loves, fears and hates, Our mother's weaknesses? And these, forsooth, These little crowns that lord it o'er His world, Tricked up with imitative majesty, G.o.d-countenanced arrogances, throned may still Cry, 'crawl and wors.h.i.+p, for we are as G.o.ds Through G.o.d! great G.o.ds incarnate of his kind!'

--Omnipotent Wrong-representatives!

With might that blasts the world with wars and wrings Groans from pale Nations with h.e.l.l's tyranny.

So to my mind real monarch only he-- Your Satan cramped in h.e.l.l!--aye, by the fiend!

To pygmy Earth's frail tinsel majesties, That ape a G.o.d in a sonorous Heaven.

Grant me the Devil in all mercy then, For I will none of such! a fiend for friend While Earth is of the earth; and afterward-- Nay! ransack not To-morrow till To-day, If all that's joy engulf you when it is.”

And laughed an oily laugh of easy jest To bow out G.o.d and hand the Devil in.-- I met him here at Ammendorf one Spring, Toward the close of April when the Harz, Veined to their ruin-crested summits, pulsed A fluid life of green and budded gold Beneath pure breathing skies of boundless blue: Where low-yoked oxen, yellow to the knees, Along the fluted meadow, freshly ploughed, Plodded and snuffed the fragrance of the soil, The free bird sang exultant in the sun.

Triumphant Spring with hinted hopes of May And jaunty June, her mouth a puckered rose.

Here at this very hostelery o' The Owl; Mine host there sleek served cannikins of wine Beneath that elm now touseled by that shrew, Lean Winter. Well!--a lordly vintage that!

With tang of fires which had sucked out their soul From feverish sun-vats, cooled it from the moon's; From wine-skin bellies of the bursting grape Trodden, in darkness of old cellars aged Even to the tingling smack of olden earth.