Part 8 (1/2)

FLAUBERT.

Roughly planned in Spring, 1914, at Oxford. ”Midday in Arcadia” composed July, 1914; ”Catch for Spring” adapted from version of 1912 during the same month: both at Grayshott.

Taken up again in February, 1916, continued at the Hut, Bray, and, after being frequently interrupted, finished on February 18, 1917, at Ilsington.

The author intends the ”hulli” and the ”lulli” of the Faun's call in 'Faun's Rally' to be p.r.o.nounced as if they rhymed with such a word as ”fully.”

A FAUN'S HOLIDAY

I

Hark! a sound. Is it I sleep? _Of the Faun's Wake I? or do my senses keep Awakening._ Commune yet with thoughtful night And dream they feel, not see, the light That, with a chord as if a lyre Were upward swept by tongues of fire, Spreads in all-seeing majesty Over crag, dale, curved sh.o.r.e, and sea?

If this be sleep, I do not sleep.

I hear the little woodnote weep Of a shy, darkling bird which cries In a sweet-fluted, sharp surprise At glimpse of me, the faun-beast, sleeping Nigh under her. My crook'd leg, sweeping Some dream away, perhaps, awoke her, For dew shook from a bough doth soak her.

And all elsewhere how still it is!-- The mist beyond the precipice Smokes gently up. The bushes hang Over the gulph 'cross which I sprang Last midnight,--though the unicorn, Who with clanged hooves and lowered horn Raging pursued, now hidden lies Amid the cragside dewberries And sweats his frosty flanks in sleep, Dreaming he views again my leap Thrice hazardous.

The silver chasm Sighs, and many a blithe phantasm Turns in the sunlight's quivering ray.

I couch in peace. Thoughts fond and gay Feed on my sense of maiden hours And earth refreshed by suns and showers Of nightly dew and heavy quiet.-- Though last night rang with dinning riot: Dionysos in headlong mood Ranged through the labyrinthine wood; Fleet maids sped, yelping, on with him, Brandis.h.i.+ng a torn heifer's limb, Dissonant cymbals, or black bowl Of wine and blood; a wolfish howl Fled ululant with them....

Now there is Depth, the white mist, the great sun, peace.

Too numb such suns.h.i.+ne!--Let me hence _Of the Faun's Out of the solemn imminence Descent from Of yon chill spire whose shadow creeps the Mountain._ Toward me from the stagnant deeps Of the ravine. For now I will Descend and take again my fill Of fancy wild and musing joy, Such as each dawn brings to alloy The long affliction of a spirit Who a complete world did inherit, And feels it crumbling.

I will down Whither twin bluffs of sheer stone frown Over sunk seas of billowing pine Terrace on terrace, line on line, Below whose heads the broad downs slope Away, away till senses grope At something rather felt than seen: The sea,--not wave-tops, but a sheen Under the dazed and distant sky....

Curled on a cliff-top let me lie.

(For yonder, hap, a breeze is blowing, And the sun's first gleam is showing Under far wreckage: since our height Inherits day while yet their light Quakes gold under the low clouds' rift.) Down, then! Miraculously swift These limbs the G.o.ds have given me!...

Couched mid the gorse, anon I see, Opposing this my bluff, the face Of the sheer rock, and 'long it trace A sill scarce ample for a goat, Yet midway in the ledge-path note A cave's mouth, which thick creepers hide Fallen in a silvery tide From a slant crevice overhead.

And, lo! the creeper stirs, is shed-- And all falls quiet.

Till at last Issues a voice deep, young and vast:

II

_Centaur._ Up! the ag'd centaurs lie yet sleeping, While crouch I palled of this cavern lair THE CENTAUR'S And watch the stretched sea-eagle sweeping MORNING SONG.

Down the grey-blue drizzling air.

The sea-nymphs, too, will now be waking, If sickle-eyed they have not played Across the moonlight sets me aching, Longing and slinking, half afraid, Down the feathery, tawny sand On sighing tread Deep into banks of glistering sh.e.l.l, To halt in dread Lest my hoof-scrunch break the spell Of the syren-chants that swell From the dim shoals toward the land.

But this morn the breeze is blowing Freshly: I hear lightly flowing From the bending giant beam Bars the forehead of our door The golden raindrops in a stream Pattering on the steamy floor.

_Faun._ It is the Centaur's voice I hear!

Young and l.u.s.ty, deep and clear: And the Panisks at his voice In their fastnesses rejoice, Emerging from the creviced crag Or cave beneath the mountain's jag, Merry, s.h.a.ggy, light of hoof, To run along the narrow roof, And upon the shelved height Dance before the swimming light.

_Centaur._ And I see upon the ledge, Astir over the hanging edge, THE CENTAUR'S A russet briar cold with dew MORNING SONG And beyond, forlornly pent (_continued_) In a grey cloud's gliding rent, A pure pool of the brightest blue: So near it seems I've but to cast A flint out on the forward vast To mark it flas.h.i.+ng blithely through!

And now at last!

At last The great Sun, The Sudden One, Stamps upon the cloudy floor; The heavens are split, and through the floor Heaven's golden treasures tumbling pour....

And the Sun himself, divine, Doth descend In such a bursting blaze of s.h.i.+ne That his glorious hair is shook Over the wide world's craggiest end!

And, even I, I dare not look.

I will shout! I will ramp!