Part 5 (1/2)

A million million leagues away Among the stars the goldfish play, And high above the shadowed stars Wave and float the nenuphars.

THE WELSH SEA

Far out across Carnarvon bay, Beneath the evening waves, The ancient dead begin their day And stream among the graves.

Listen, for they of ghostly speech, Who died when Christ was born, May dance upon the golden beach That once was golden corn.

And you may learn of Dyfed's reign, And dream Nemedian tales Of Kings who sailed in s.h.i.+ps from Spain And lent their swords to Wales.

Listen, for like a golden snake The Ocean twists and stirs, And whispers how the dead men wake And call across the years.

OXFORD Ca.n.a.l

When you have wearied of the valiant spires of this County Town, Of its wide white streets and glistening museums, and black monastic walls, Of its red motors and lumbering trains, and self-sufficient people, I will take you walking with me to a place you have not seen - Half town and half country--the land of the Ca.n.a.l.

It is dearer to me than the antique town: I love it more than the rounded hills: Straightest, sublimest of rivers is the long Ca.n.a.l.

I have observed great storms and trembled: I have wept for fear of the dark.

But nothing makes me so afraid as the clear water of this idle ca.n.a.l on a summer s noon.

Do you see the great telegraph poles down in the water, how every wire is distinct?

If a body fell into the ca.n.a.l it would rest entangled in those wires for ever, between earth and air.

For the water is as deep as the stars are high.

One day I was thinking how if a man fell from that lofty pole He would rush through the water toward me till his image was scattered by his splash, When suddenly a train rushed by: the brazen dome of the engine flashed: the long white carriages roared; The sun veiled himself for a moment, and the signals loomed in fog; A savage woman screamed at me from a barge: little children began to cry; The untidy landscape rose to life: a sawmill started; A cart rattled down to the wharf, and workmen clanged over the iron footbridge; A beautiful old man nodded from the first story window of a square red house, And a pretty girl came out to hang up clothes in a small delightful garden.

O strange motion in the suburb of a county town: slow regular movement of the dance of death!

Men and not phantoms are these that move in light.

Forgotten they live, and forgotten die.

HIALMAR SPEAKS TO THE RAVEN from Leconte de Lisle

Night on the bloodstained snow: the wind is chill: And there a thousand tombless warriors lie, Grasping their swords, wild-featured. All are still.

Above them the black ravens wheel and cry.

A brilliant moon sends her cold light abroad: Hialmar arises from the reddened slain, Heavily leaning on his broken sword, And bleeding from his side the battle-rain.

”Hail to you all: is there one breath still drawn Among those fierce and fearless lads who played So merrily, and sang as sweet in the dawn As thrushes singing in the bramble shade?

”They have no word to say: my helm's unbound, My breastplate by the axe unriveted: Blood's on my eyes; I hear a spreading sound, Like waves or wolves that clamour in my head.