Part 44 (1/2)
Yet from her unto me had gone forth her intent, And I saw her face set to the heart of that city, And the quays where the s.h.i.+ps of the outlanders come to, And I said: She is seeking, and shall I not seek?
The sea is her prison wall; where is my prison?
--Yet I said: Here men praise me, perchance men may love me If I live long enough for my justice and mercy To make them just and merciful--one who is master Of many poor folk, a man pity moveth Love hath dealt with in this wise, no minstrel nor dreamer.
The deeds that my hand might find for the doing Did desire undo them these four years of fight?
And now time and fair peace in my heart have begotten More desire and more pain, is the day of deeds done with?
Lo here for my part my bonds and my prison!-- Then with hands holding praise, yet with fierce heart belike Did I turn to the people that I had delivered-- And the deeds of this year pa.s.sed shall live peradventure!
But now came no solace of dreams in the night-tide From that day thenceforward; yet oft in the council, Mid the hearkening folk craving for justice or mercy, Mid the righting of wrongs and the staying of ruin, Mid the ruling a dull folk, who deemed all my kings.h.i.+p A thing due and easy as the dawning and sunset To the day that G.o.d made once to deal with no further-- --Mid all these a fair face, a sad face, could I fas.h.i.+on, And I said, She is seeking, and shall I not seek?
--Tell over the days of the year of hope's waning; Tell over the hours of the weary days wearing: Tell over the minutes of the hours of thy waking, Then wonder he liveth who fails of his longing!
MASTER OLIVER
What wouldst thou have, son, wherein I might help thee?
KING PHARAMOND
Hearken yet:--for a long time no more I beheld her Till a month agone now at the ending of Maytide; And then in the first of the morning I found me Fulfilled of all joy at the edge of the yew-wood; Then lo, her gown's flutter in the fresh breeze of morning, And slower and statelier than her wont was aforetime And fairer of form toward the yew-wood she wended.
But woe's me! as she came and at last was beside me With sobbing scarce ended her bosom was heaving, Stained with tears was her face, and her mouth was yet quivering With torment of weeping held back for a season.
Then swiftly my spirit to the King's bed was wafted While still toward the sea were her weary feet wending.
--Ah surely that day of all wrongs that I hearkened Mine own wrongs seemed heaviest and hardest to bear-- Mine own wrongs and hers--till that past year of ruling Seemed a crime and a folly. Night came, and I saw her Stealing barefoot, bareheaded amidst of the tulips Made grey by the moonlight: and a long time Love gave me To gaze on her weeping--morn came, and I wakened-- I wakened and said: Through the World will I wander, Till either I find her, or find the World empty.
MASTER OLIVER
Yea, son, wilt thou go? Ah thou knowest from of old time My words might not stay thee from aught thou wert willing; And e'en so it must be now. And yet hast thou asked me To go with thee, son, if aught I might help thee?-- Ah me, if thy face might gladden a little I should meet the world better and mock at its mocking: If thou goest to find her, why then hath there fallen This heaviness on thee? is thy heart waxen feeble?
KING PHARAMOND
O friend, I have seen her no more, and her mourning Is alone and unhelped--yet to-night or to-morrow Somewhat nigher will I be to her love and her longing.
Lo, to thee, friend, alone of all folk on the earth These things have I told: for a true man I deem thee Beyond all men call true; yea, a wise man moreover And hardy and helpful; and I know thy heart surely That thou holdest the world nought without me thy fosterling.
Come, leave all awhile! it may be as time weareth With new life in our hands we shall wend us back hither.
MASTER OLIVER
Yea; triumph turns trouble, and all the world changeth, Yet a good world it is since we twain are together.
KING PHARAMOND
Lo, have I not said it?--thou art kinder than all men.
Cast about then, I pray thee, to find us a keel Sailing who recketh whither, since the world is so wide.
Sure the northlands shall know of the blessings she bringeth, And the southlands be singing of the tales that foretold her.
MASTER OLIVER
Well I wot of all chapmen--and to-night weighs a dromond Sailing west away first, and then to the southlands.
Since in such things I deal oft they know me, but know not King Pharamond the Freed, since now first they sail hither.
So make me thy messenger in a fair-writ broad letter And thyself make my scrivener, and this very night sail we.-- O surely thy face now is brightening and blesseth me!