Part 13 (1/2)
But as she spoke, her honied voice Trembled, and midst of sobs she said, ”O love, and art thou still afraid?
Return, then, to thine happiness, Nor will I love thee any less; But watch thee as a mother might Her child at play.”
With strange delight He stammered out, ”Nay, keep thy tears for me, and for my ruined years Weep love, that I may love thee more, My little hour will soon be o'er.”
”Ah, love,” she said, ”and thou art wise As men are, with long miseries Buying these idle words and vain, My foolish love, with lasting pain; And yet, thou wouldst have died at last If in all wisdom thou hadst pa.s.sed Thy weary life: forgive me then, In pitying the sad life of men.”
Then in such bliss his soul did swim, But tender music unto him Her words were; death and misery But empty names were grown to be, As from that place his steps she drew, And dark the hall behind them grew.
But end comes to all earthly bliss, And by his choice full short was his; And in the morning, grey and cold, Beside the das did she hold His trembling hand, and wistfully He, doubting what his fate should be, Gazed at her solemn eyes, that now, Beneath her calm, untroubled brow, Were fixed on his wild face and wan; At last she said, ”Oh, hapless man, Depart! thy full wish hast thou had; A little time thou hast been glad, Thou shalt be sorry till thou die.
”And though, indeed, full fain am I This might not be; nathless, as day Night follows, colourless and grey, So this shall follow thy delight, Your joy hath ending with last night-- Nay, peace, and hearken to thy fate.
”Strife without peace, early and late, Lasting long after thou art dead, And laid with earth upon thine head; War without victory shalt thou have, Defeat, nor honour shalt thou save; Thy fair land shall be rent and torn, Thy people be of all forlorn, And all men curse thee for this thing.”
She loosed his hand, but yet the King Said, ”Yea, and I may go with thee?
Why should we part? then let things be E'en as they will!” ”Poor man,” she said, ”Thou ravest; our hot love is dead, If ever it had any life: Go, make thee ready for the strife Wherein thy days shall soon be wrapped; And of the things that here have happed Make thou such joy as thou may'st do; But I from this place needs must go, Nor shalt thou ever see me more Until thy troubled life is o'er: Alas I to say 'farewell' to thee Were nought but bitter mockery.
Fare as thou may'st, and with good heart Play to the end thy wretched part.”
Therewith she turned and went from him, And with such pain his eyes did swim He scarce could see her leave the place; And then, with troubled and pale face, He gat him thence: and soon he found His good horse in the base-court bound; So, loosing him, forth did he ride, For the great gates were open wide, And flat the heavy drawbridge lay.
So by the middle of the day, That murky pa.s.s had he gone through, And come to country that he knew; And homeward turned his horse's head.
And pa.s.sing village and homestead Nigh to his palace came at last; And still the further that he pa.s.sed From that strange castle of the fays, More dreamlike seemed those seven days, And dreamlike the delicious night; And like a dream the shoulders white, And clinging arms and yellow hair, And dreamlike the sad morning there.
Until at last he 'gan to deem That all might well have been a dream-- Yet why was life a weariness?
What meant this sting of sharp distress?
This longing for a hopeless love, No sighing from his heart could move?
Or else, 'She did not come and go As fays might do, but soft and slow Her lovely feet fell on the floor; She set her fair hand to the door As any dainty maid might do; And though, indeed, there are but few Beneath the sun as fair as she, She seemed a fleshly thing to be.
Perchance a merry mock this is, And I may some day have the bliss To see her lovely face again, As smiling she makes all things plain.
And then as I am still a king, With me may she make tarrying Full long, yea, till I come to die.”
Therewith at last being come anigh Unto his very palace gate, He saw his knights and squires wait His coming, therefore on the ground He lighted, and they flocked around Till he should tell them of his fare.
Then mocking said he, ”Ye may dare, The worst man of you all, to go And watch as I was bold to do; For nought I heard except the wind, And nought I saw to call to mind.”
So said he, but they noted well That something more he had to tell If it had pleased him; one old man, Beholding his changed face and wan, Muttered, ”Would G.o.d it might be so!
Alas! I fear what fate may do; Too much good fortune hast thou had By anything to be more glad Than thou hast been, I fear thee then Lest thou becom'st a curse to men.”
But to his place the doomed King pa.s.sed, And all remembrance strove to cast From out his mind of that past day, And spent his life in sport and play.
Great among other kings, I said He was before he first was led Unto that castle of the fays, But soon he lost his happy days And all his goodly life was done.
And first indeed his best-loved son, The very apple of his eye, Waged war against him bitterly; And when this son was overcome And taken, and folk led him home, And him the King had gone to meet, Meaning with gentle words and sweet To win him to his love again, By his own hand he found him slain.
I know not if the doomed King yet Remembered the fay lady's threat, But troubles upon troubles came: His daughter next was brought to shame, Who unto all eyes seemed to be The image of all purity, And fleeing from the royal place The King no more beheld her face.
Then next a folk that came from far Sent to the King great threats of war, But he, full-fed of victory, Deemed this a little thing to be, And thought the troubles of his home Thereby he well might overcome Amid the hurry of the fight.
His foemen seemed of little might, Although they thronged like summer bees About the outlying villages, And on the land great ruin brought.
Well, he this barbarous people sought With such an army as seemed meet To put the world beneath his feet; The day of battle came, and he, Flushed with the hope of victory, Grew happy, as he had not been Since he those glorious eyes had seen.
They met,--his solid ranks of steel There scarcely more the darts could feel Of those new foemen, than if they Had been a hundred miles away:-- They met,--a storied folk were his To whom sharp war had long been bliss, A thousand years of memories Were flas.h.i.+ng in their s.h.i.+elded eyes; And grave philosophers they had To bid them ever to be glad To meet their death and get life done Midst glorious deeds from sire to son.
And those they met were beasts, or worse, To whom life seemed a jest, a curse; Of fame and name they had not heard; Honour to them was but a word, A word spoke in another tongue; No memories round their banners clung, No walls they knew, no art of war, By hunger were they driven afar Unto the place whereon they stood, Ravening for b.e.s.t.i.a.l joys and blood.
No wonder if these barbarous men Were slain by hundreds to each ten Of the King's brave well-armoured folk, No wonder if their charges broke To nothing, on the walls of steel, And back the baffled hordes must reel.
So stood throughout a summer day Scarce touched the King's most fair array, Yet as it drew to even-tide The foe still surged on every side, As hopeless hunger-bitten men, About his folk grown wearied then.
Therewith the King beheld that crowd Howling and dusk, and cried aloud, ”What do ye, warriors? and how long Shall weak folk hold in check the strong?