Part 4 (1/2)

That's why his eyes look fey; for, chuckling deep, Heels over head amongst the stars he goes, As all men go; but most are sound asleep.

King, saint, sage, Even those that count it true, Act as this miracle touched them not at all.

They are borne, undizzied, thro' the rus.h.i.+ng blue, And build their empires on a sky-tossed ball.

Then said the king, ”If earth so lightly move, What of my realm? O, what shall now stand sure?”

”Naught,” said the dwarf, ”in all this world, but love.

All else is dream-stuff and shall not endure.

'Tis nearer now!

Our universe hath no centre, Our shadowy earth and fleeting heavens no stay, But that deep inward realm which each can enter, Even Jeppe, the dwarf, by his own secret way.”

”Where?” said the king, ”O, where? I have not found it!”

”Here,” said the dwarf, and music echoed ”here.”

”This infinite circle hath no line to bound it; Therefore that deep strange centre is everywhere.

Let the earth soar thro' heaven, that centre abideth; Or plunge to the pit, His covenant still holds true.

In the heart of a dying bird, the Master hideth; In the soul of a king,” said the dwarf, ”and in _my_ soul, too.”

VII

Princes and courtiers came, a few to seek A little knowledge, many more to gape In wonder at Tycho's gold and silver mask; Or when they saw the beauty of his towers, Envy and hate him for them.

Thus arose The small grey cloud upon the distant sky, That broke in storm at last.

”Beware,” croaked Jeppe, Lifting his s.h.a.ggy head beside the fire, When guests like these had gone, ”Master, beware!”

And Tycho of the frank blue eyes would laugh.

Even when he found Witichius playing him false His anger, like a momentary breeze, Died on the dreaming deep; for Tycho Brahe Turned to a n.o.bler riddle,--”Have you thought,”

He asked his young disciples, ”how the sea Is moved to that strange rhythm we call the tides?

He that can answer this shall have his name Honoured among the bearers of the torch While Pegasus flies above Uraniborg.

I was delayed three hours or more to-day By the neap-tide. The fishermen on the coast Are never wrong. They time it by the moon.

_Post hoc_, perhaps, not _propter hoc_; and yet Through all the changes of the sky and sea That old white clock of ours with the battered face Does seem infallible.

There's a love-song too, The sailors on the coast of Sweden sing, I have often pondered it. Your courtly poets Upbraid the inconstant moon. But these men know The moon and sea are lovers, and they move In a most constant measure. Hear the words And tell me, if you can, what silver chains Bind them together.” Then, in a voice as low And rhythmical as the sea, he spoke that song:

THE SHEPHERDESS OF THE SEA

Reproach not yet our sails' delay; You cannot see the shoaling bay, The banks of sand, the fretful bars, That ebb left naked to the stars.

The sea's white shepherdess, the moon, Shall lead us into harbour soon.

Dear, when you see her glory s.h.i.+ne Between your fragrant boughs of pine, Know there is but one hour to wait Before her hands unlock the gate, And the full flood of singing foam Follow her lovely footsteps home.

Then waves like flocks of silver sheep Come rustling inland from the deep, And into rambling valleys press Behind their heavenly shepherdess.

You cannot see them? Lift your eyes And see their mistress in the skies.

She rises with her silver bow.

I feel the tide begin to flow; And every thought and hope and dream Follow her call, and homeward stream.

Borne on the universal tide, The wanderer hastens to his bride.

The sea's white shepherdess, the moon, Shall lead him into harbour, soon.

VIII

He was a great magician, Tycho Brahe, But not so great that he could read the heart Or rule the hand of princes.

When his friend King Frederick died, the young Prince Christian reigned; And, round him, fool and knave made common cause Against the magic that could pour their gold Into a gulf of stars. This Tycho Brahe Had grown too proud. He held them in contempt, So they believed; for, when he spoke, their thoughts Crept at his feet like spaniels. Junkerdom Felt it was foolish, for he towered above it, And so it hated him. Did he not spend Gold that a fool could spend as quickly as he?

Were there not great estates bestowed upon him In wisdom's name, that from the dawn of time Had been the natural right of Junkerdom?

And would he not bequeath them to his heirs, The children of Christine, an unfree woman?