Volume I Part 16 (1/2)
The song is lost that shook the night With wings of richer fire, Where the years had touched their eyes with light And their souls with a new desire;
And the new delight of the strange old story Burned in the flower-soft skies, And nine more years with a darker glory Had deepened the light of her eyes;
But lost, oh more than lost the song That shook the rose to tears, As hand in hand they danced along Through childhood's everlasting years.
”Oh, Love has wings,” the linnet sings; But the dead return no more, no more; And the sea is breaking its old grey heart Against the golden sh.o.r.e.
She was eight years old that day, Two young lovers were they.
If every song as they danced along Paused on the springing spray; Is there never a bird in the wide greenwood Will hush its heart to-day?
There's never a leaf with dew impearled To make their pathway sweet, And never a blossom in all the world That knows the kiss of their feet.
No light to-night declares the word That thrilled the blossomed bough, And stilled the happy singing bird That none can silence now.
The weary nightingale may sob With her bleeding breast against a thorn, And the wild white rose with every throb Grow red as the laugh of morn;
With wings outspread she sinks her head But Love returns no more, no more; And the sea is breaking its old grey heart Against the golden sh.o.r.e.
Born in the City of Pain; Ah, who knows, who knows When Death shall turn to delight again Or a wound to a red, red rose?
Eight years old that day, Full of laughter and play; Eight years old and Anwyl nine,-- Two young lovers were they.
VII
And down the scented heather-drowsy hills The barefoot children wandered, hand in hand, And paddled through the laughing silver rills In quest of fairyland; And in each little sunburnt hand a spray, A purple fox-glove bell-branch lightly swung, And Anwyl told Etain how, far away, One day he wandered through the dreamland dells And watched the moonlit fairies as they sung And tolled the fox-glove bells; And oh, how sweetly, sweetly to and fro The fragrance of the music reeled and rung Under the loaded boughs of starry May.
And G.o.d sighed in the sunset, and the sea Grew quieter than the hills: the mystery Of ocean, earth and sky was like a word Uttered, but all unheard, Uttered by every wave and cloud and leaf With all the immortal glory of mortal grief; And every wave that broke its heart of gold In music on the rainbow-dazzled sh.o.r.e Seemed telling, strangely telling, evermore A story that must still remain untold.
Oh, _Once upon a time_, and o'er and o'er As aye the _Happy ever after_ came The enchanted waves lavished their faery lore
And tossed a foam-bow and a rosy flame Around the whispers of the creaming foam, Till the old rapture with the new sweet name
Through all the old romance began to roam, And Anwyl, gazing out across the sea, Dreamed that he heard the distance whisper ”Come.”
”Etain,” he murmured softly and wistfully, With the soul's wakening wonder in his eyes, ”Is it not strange to think that there can be
”No end for ever and ever to those skies, No sh.o.r.e beyond, or if there be a sh.o.r.e Still without end the world beyond it lies;
”Think; think, Etain;” and all his faery lore Mixed with the faith that brought all G.o.ds to birth And sees new heavens transcend for evermore
The poor impossibilities of earth; But Etain only laughed: the world to her Was one sweet smile of very present mirth;
Its flowers were only flowers, common or rare; Her soul was like a little garden closed By rose-clad walls, a place of southern air Islanded from the Mystery that reposed Its vast and brooding wings on that abyss Through which like little clouds that dreamed and dozed
The thoughts of Anwyl wandered toward some bliss Unknown, unfathomed, far, how far away, Where G.o.d has gathered all the eternities Into strange heavens, beyond the night and day.
VIII