Part 12 (1/2)

THE WATCHING OF THE FALCON.

ARGUMENT.

The case of this falcon was such, that whoso watched it without sleeping for seven days and seven nights, had his first wish granted him by a fay lady, that appeared to him thereon; and some wished one thing, and some another. But a certain king, who watched the falcon daily, would wish for nought but the love of that fay; which wish being accomplished, was afterwards his ruin.

Across the sea a land there is, Where, if fate will, may men have bliss, For it is fair as any land: There hath the reaper a full hand, While in the orchard hangs aloft The purple fig, a-growing soft; And fair the trellised vine-bunches Are swung across the high elm-trees; And in the rivers great fish play, While over them pa.s.s day by day The laden barges to their place.

There maids are straight, and fair of face, And men are stout for husbandry, And all is well as it can be Upon this earth where all has end.

For on them G.o.d is pleased to send The gift of Death down from above.

That envy, hatred, and hot love, Knowledge with hunger by his side, And avarice and deadly pride, There may have end like everything Both to the shepherd and the king: Lest this green earth become but h.e.l.l If folk for ever there should dwell.

Full little most men think of this, But half in woe and half in bliss They pa.s.s their lives, and die at last Unwilling, though their lot be cast In wretched places of the earth, Where men have little joy from birth Until they die; in no such case Were those who tilled this pleasant place.

There soothly men were loth to die, Though sometimes in his misery A man would say ”Would I were dead!”

Alas! full little likelihead That he should live for ever there.

So folk within that country fair Lived on, nor from their memories drave The thought of what they could not have.

And without need tormented still Each other with some bitter ill; Yea, and themselves too, growing grey With dread of some long-lingering day, That never came ere they were dead With green sods growing on the head; Nowise content with what they had, But falling still from good to bad While hard they sought the hopeless best And seldom happy or at rest Until at last with lessening blood One foot within the grave they stood.

Now so it chanced that in this land There did a certain castle stand, Set all alone deep in the hills, Amid the sound of falling rills Within a valley of sweet gra.s.s, To which there went one narrow pa.s.s Through the dark hills, but seldom trod.

Rarely did horse-hoof press the sod About the quiet weedy moat, Where unscared did the great fish float; Because men dreaded there to see The uncouth things of faerie; Nathless by some few fathers old These tales about the place were told That neither squire nor seneschal Or varlet came in bower or hall, Yet all things were in order due, Hangings of gold and red and blue, And tables with fair service set; Cups that had paid the Caesar's debt Could he have laid his hands on them; Dorsars, with pearls in every hem, And fair embroidered gold-wrought things, Fit for a company of kings; And in the chambers dainty beds, With pillows dight for fair young heads; And horses in the stables were, And in the cellars wine full clear And strong, and casks of ale and mead; Yea, all things a great lord could need.

For whom these things were ready there None knew; but if one chanced to fare Into that place at Easter-tide, There would he find a falcon tied Unto a pillar of the Hall; And such a fate to him would fall, That if unto the seventh night, He watched the bird from dark to light, And light to dark unceasingly, On the last evening he should see A lady beautiful past words; Then, were he come of clowns or lords, Son of a swineherd or a king, There must she grant him anything Perforce, that he might dare to ask, And do his very hardest task But if he slumbered, ne'er again The wretch would wake for he was slain Helpless, by hands he could not see, And torn and mangled wretchedly.

Now said these elders--Ere this tide Full many folk this thing have tried, But few have got much good thereby; For first, a many came to die By slumbering ere their watch was done; Or else they saw that lovely one, And mazed, they knew not what to say; Or asked some toy for all their pay, That easily they might have won, Nor staked their lives and souls thereon; Or asking, asked for some great thing That was their bane; as to be king One asked, and died the morrow morn That he was crowned, of all forlorn.

Yet thither came a certain man, Who from being poor great riches wan Past telling, whose grandsons now are Great lords thereby in peace and war.

And in their coat-of-arms they bear, Upon a field of azure fair, A castle and a falcon, set Below a chief of golden fret.

And in our day a certain knight Prayed to be worsted in no fight, And so it happed to him: yet he Died none the less most wretchedly.

And all his prowess was in vain, For by a losel was he slain, As on the highway side he slept One summer night, of no man kept.

Such tales as these the fathers old About that lonely castle told; And in their day the King must try Himself to prove that mystery, Although, unless the fay could give For ever on the earth to live, Nought could he ask that he had not: For boundless riches had he got, Fair children, and a faithful wife; And happily had pa.s.sed his life, And all fulfilled of victory, Yet was he fain this thing to see.

So towards the mountains he set out One noontide, with a gallant rout Of knights and lords, and as the day Began to fail came to the way Where he must enter all alone, Between the dreary walls of stone.

Thereon to that fair company He bade farewell, who wistfully Looked backward oft as home they rode, But in the entry he abode Of that rough unknown narrowing pa.s.s, Where twilight at the high noon was.

Then onward he began to ride: Smooth rose the rocks on every side, And seemed as they were cut by man; Adown them ever water ran, But they of living things were bare, Yea, not a blade of gra.s.s grew there; And underfoot rough was the way, For scattered all about there lay Great jagged pieces of black stone.

Throughout the pa.s.s the wind did moan, With such wild noises, that the King Could almost think he heard something Spoken of men; as one might hear The voices of folk standing near One's chamber wall: yet saw he nought Except those high walls strangely wrought, And overhead the strip of sky.

So, going onward painfully, He met therein no evil thing, But came about the sun-setting Unto the opening of the pa.s.s, And thence beheld a vale of gra.s.s Bright with the yellow daffodil; And all the vale the sun did fill With his last glory. Midmost there Rose up a stronghold, built four-square, Upon a flowery gra.s.sy mound, That moat and high wall ran around.

Thereby he saw a walled pleasance, With walks and sward fit for the dance Of Arthur's court in its best time, That seemed to feel some magic clime; For though through all the vale outside Things were as in the April-tide, And daffodils and cowslips grew And hidden the March violets blew, Within the bounds of that sweet close Was trellised the bewildering rose; There was the lily over-sweet, And starry pinks for garlands meet; And apricots hung on the wall And midst the flowers did peaches fall, And nought had blemish there or spot.

For in that place decay was not.

Silent awhile the King abode Beholding all, then on he rode And to the castle-gate drew nigh, Till fell the drawbridge silently, And when across it he did ride He found the great gates open wide, And entered there, but as he pa.s.sed The gates were shut behind him fast, But not before that he could see The drawbridge rise up silently.

Then round he gazed oppressed with awe, And there no living thing he saw Except the sparrows in the eaves, As restless as light autumn leaves Blown by the fitful rainy wind.

Thereon his final goal to find, He lighted off his war-horse good And let him wander as he would, When he had eased him of his gear; Then gathering heart against his fear.

Just at the silent end of day Through the fair porch he took his way And found at last a goodly hall With glorious hangings on the wall, Inwrought with trees of every clime, And stories of the ancient time, But all of sorcery they were.

For o'er the das Venus fair, Fluttered about by many a dove, Made hopeless men for hopeless love, Both sick and sorry; there they stood Wrought wonderfully in various mood, But wasted all by that hid fire Of measureless o'er-sweet desire, And let the hurrying world go by Forgetting all felicity.

But down the hall the tale was wrought How Argo in old time was brought To Colchis for the fleece of gold.

And on the other side was told How mariners for long years came To Circe, winning grief and shame.

Until at last by hardihead And craft, Ulysses won her bed.

Long upon these the King did look And of them all good heed he took; To see if they would tell him aught About the matter that he sought, But all were of the times long past; So going all about, at last When grown nigh weary of his search A falcon on a silver perch, Anigh the das did he see, And wondered, because certainly At his first coming 'twas not there; But 'neath the bird a scroll most fair, With golden letters on the white He saw, and in the dim twilight By diligence could he read this:--

_”Ye who have not enow of bliss,_ _And in this hard world labour sore,_ _By manhood here may get you more,_ _And be fulfilled of everything,_ _Till ye be masters of the King._ _And yet, since I who promise this_ _Am nowise G.o.d to give man bliss_ _Past ending, now in time beware,_ _And if you live in little care_ _Then turn aback and home again,_ _Lest unknown woe ye chance to gain_ _In wis.h.i.+ng for a thing untried.”_

A little while did he abide, When he had read this, deep in thought, Wondering indeed if there were aught He had not got, that a wise man Would wish; yet in his mind it ran That he might win a boundless realm, Yea, come to wear upon his helm The crown of the whole conquered earth; That all who lived thereon, from birth To death should call him King and Lord, And great kings tremble at his word, Until in turn he came to die.

Therewith a little did he sigh, But thought, ”Of Alexander yet Men talk, nor would they e'er forget My name, if this should come to be, Whoever should come after me: But while I lay wrapped round with gold Should tales and histories manifold Be written of me, false and true; And as the time still onward drew Almost a G.o.d would folk count me, Saying, 'In our time none such be.'”

But therewith did he sigh again, And said, ”Ah, vain, and worse than vain!

For though the world forget me nought, Yet by that time should I be brought Where all the world I should forget, And bitterly should I regret That I, from G.o.dlike great renown, To helpless death must fall adown: How could I bear to leave it all?”

Then straight upon his mind did fall Thoughts of old longings half forgot, Matters for which his heart was hot A while ago: whereof no more He cared for some, and some right sore Had vexed him, being fulfilled at last.