III

And where Is not and Is Are wed in one sweet Name, And the world's rootless vine With dew of stars a-flame Laughs, from those deep divine Impossibilities, Our reason all to shame— This cannot be, but is;

IV

Into the Vast, the Deep Beyond all mortal sight, The Nothingness that conceived The worlds of day and night, The Nothingness that heaved Pure sides in virgin sleep, Brought out of Darkness, light; And man from out the Deep.

V

Into that Mystery Let not thine hand be thrust: Nothingness is a world Thy science well may trust ... But lo, a leaf unfurled, Nay, a cry mocking thee From the first grain of dust— I am, yet cannot be!

VI

Adventuring un-afraid Into that last deep shrine, Must not the child-heart see Its deepest symbol shine, The world's Birth-mystery, Whereto the suns are shade? Lo, the white breast divine— The holy Mother-maid!

VII

How miss that Sacrifice, That cross of Yea and Nay, That paradox of heaven Whose palms point either way, Through each a nail being driven That the arms out-span the skies And our earth-dust this day Out-sweeten Paradise.

VIII

We part the seamless robe, Our wisdom would divide The raiment of the King, Our spear is in His side, Even while the angels sing Around our perishing globe, And Death re-knits in pride The seamless purple robe.

* * * *

IX

How grandly glow the bays Purpureally enwound With those rich thorns, the brows How infinitely crowned That now thro' Death's dark house Have passed with royal gaze: Purpureally enwound How grandly glow the bays.



IN MEMORY OF MEREDITH

I

High on the mountains, who stands proudly, clad with the light of May, Rich as the dawn, deep-hearted as night, diamond-bright as day, Who, while the slopes of the beautiful valley throb with our muffled tread Who, with the hill-flowers wound in her tresses, welcomes our deathless dead?

II

Is it not she whom he sought so long thro' the high lawns dewy and sweet, Up thro' the crags and the glittering snows faint-flushed with her rosy feet, Is it not she—the queen of our night—crowned by the unseen sun, Artemis, she that can see the light, when light upon earth is none?

III

Huntress, queen of the dark of the world (no darker at night than noon) Beauty immortal and undefiled, the Eternal sun's white moon, Only by thee and thy silver shafts for a flash can our hearts discern, Pierced to the quick, the love, the love that still thro' the dark doth yearn.

IV

What to his soul were the hill-flowers, what the gold at the break of day Shot thro' the red-stemmed firs to the lake where the swimmer clove his way, What were the quivering harmonies showered from the heaven-tossed heart of the lark, Artemis, Huntress, what were these but thy keen shafts cleaving the dark?

V

Frost of the hedge-row, flash of the jasmine, sparkle of dew on the leaf, Seas lit wide by the summer lightning, shafts from thy diamond sheaf, Deeply they pierced him, deeply he loved thee, now has he found thy soul, Artemis, thine, in this bridal peal, where we hear but the death-bell toll.



THE TESTIMONY OF ART

As earth, sad earth, thrusts many a gloomy cape Into the sea's bright colour and living glee, So do we strive to embay that mystery Which earthly hands must ever let escape; The Word we seek for is the golden shape That shall enshrine the Soul we cannot see, A temporal chalice of Eternity Purple with beating blood of the hallowed grape.

Once was it wine and sacramental bread Whereby we knew the power that through Him smiled When, in one still small utterance, He hurled The Eternities beneath His feet and said With lips, O meek as any little child, Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.



THE SCHOLARS

Where is the scholar whose clear mind can hold The floral text of one sweet April mead?— The flowing lines, which few can spell indeed Though most will note the scarlet and the gold Around the flourishing capitals grandly scrolled; But ah, the subtle cadences that need The lover's heart, the lover's heart to read, And ah, the songs unsung, the tales untold.

Poor fools-capped scholars—grammar keeps us close, The primers thrall us, and our eyes grow dim: When will old Master Science hear the call, Bid us run free with life in every limb To breathe the poems and hear the last red rose Gossiping over God's grey garden-wall?



RESURRECTION

Once more I hear the everlasting sea Breathing beneath the mountain's fragrant breast, Come unto Me, come unto Me, And I will give you rest.

We have destroyed the Temple and in three days He hath rebuilt it—all things are made new: And hark what wild throats pour His praise Beneath the boundless blue.

We plucked down all His altars, cried aloud And gashed ourselves for little gods of clay! Yon floating cloud was but a cloud, The May no more than May.

We plucked down all His altars, left not one Save where, perchance (and ah, the joy was fleet), We laid our garlands in the sun At the white Sea-born's feet.

We plucked down all His altars, not to make The small praise greater, but the great praise less, We sealed all fountains where the soul could slake Its thirst and weariness.

"Love" was too small, too human to be found In that transcendent source whence love was born: We talked of "forces": heaven was crowned With philosophic thorn.

"Your God is in your image," we cried, but O, 'Twas only man's own deepest heart ye gave, Knowing that He transcended all ye know, While we—we dug His grave.

Denied Him even the crown on our own brow, E'en these poor symbols of His loftier reign, Levelled His Temple with the dust, and now He is risen, He is risen again,

Risen, like this resurrection of the year, This grand ascension of the choral spring, Which those harp-crowded heavens bend to hear And meet upon the wing.

"He is dead," we cried, and even amid that gloom The wintry veil was rent! The new-born day Showed us the Angel seated in the tomb And the stone rolled away.

It is the hour! We challenge heaven above Now, to deny our slight ephemeral breath Joy, anguish, and that everlasting love Which triumphs over death.



A JAPANESE LOVE-SONG

I

The young moon is white, But the willows are blue: Your small lips are red, But the great clouds are grey: The waves are so many That whisper to you; But my love is only One flight of spray.

II

The bright drops are many, The dark wave is one: The dark wave subsides, And the bright sea remains! And wherever, O singing Maid, you may run, You are one with the world For all your pains.

III

Though the great skies are dark, And your small feet are white, Though your wide eyes are blue And the closed poppies red, Tho' the kisses are many That colour the night, They are linked like pearls On one golden thread.

IV

Were the grey clouds not made For the red of your mouth; The ages for flight Of the butterfly years; The sweet of the peach For the pale lips of drouth, The sunlight of smiles For the shadow of tears?

V

Love, Love is the thread That has pierced them with bliss! All their hues are but notes In one world-wide tune: Lips, willows, and waves, We are one as we kiss, And your face and the flowers Faint away in the moon.



THE TWO PAINTERS

(A TALE OF OLD JAPAN.)

I

Yoichi Tenko, the painter, Dwelt by the purple sea, Painting the peacock islands Under his willow-tree: Also in temples he painted Dragons of old Japan, With a child to look at the pictures— Little O Kimi San.

Kimi, the child of his brother, Bright as the moon in May, White as a lotus lily, Pink as a plum-tree spray, Linking her soft arm round him Sang to his heart for an hour, Kissed him with ripples of laughter And lips of the cherry flower.

Child of the old pearl-fisher Lost in his junk at sea, Kimi was loved of Tenko As his own child might be, Yoichi Tenko the painter, Wrinkled and grey and old, Teacher of many disciples That paid for his dreams with gold.

II

Peonies, peonies crowned the May! Clad in blue and white array Came Sawara to the school Under the silvery willow-tree, All to learn of Tenko! Riding on a milk-white mule, Young and poor and proud was he, Lissom as a cherry spray (Peonies, peonies, crowned the day!) And he rode the golden way To the school of Tenko.

Swift to learn, beneath his hand Soon he watched his wonderland Growing cloud by magic cloud, Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko: Kimi watched him, young and proud, Painting by the purple sea, Lying on the golden sand Watched his golden wings expand! (None but Love will understand All she hid from Tenko.)

He could paint her tree and flower, Sea and spray and wizard's tower, With one stroke, now hard, now soft, Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko: He could fling a bird aloft, Splash a dragon in the sea, Crown a princess in her bower, With one stroke of magic power; And she watched him, hour by hour, In the school of Tenko.

Yoichi Tenko, wondering, scanned All the work of that young hand, Gazed his kakemonos o'er, Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko: "I can teach you nothing more, Thought or craft or mystery; Let your golden wings expand, They will shadow half the land, All the world's at your command, Come no more to Tenko."

Lying on the golden sand, Kimi watched his wings expand; Wept.—He could not understand Why she wept, said Tenko.

III

So, in her blue kimono, Pale as the sickle moon Glimmered thro' soft plum-branches Blue in the dusk of June, Stole she, willing and waning, Frightened and unafraid,— "Take me with you, Sawara, Over the sea," she said.

Small and sadly beseeching, Under the willow-tree, Glimmered her face like a foam-flake Drifting over the sea: Pale as a drifting blossom, Lifted her face to his eyes: Slowly he gathered and held her Under the drifting skies.

Poor little face cast backward, Better to see his own, Earth and heaven went past them Drifting: they two, alone Stood, immortal. He whispered— "Nothing can part us two!" Backward her sad little face went Drifting, and dreamed it true.

"Others are happy," she murmured, "Maidens and men I have seen; You are my king, Sawara, O, let me be your queen! If I am all too lowly," Sadly she strove to smile, "Let me follow your footsteps, Your slave for a little while."

Surely, he thought, I have painted Nothing so fair as this Moonlit almond blossom Sweet to fold and kiss, Brow that is filled with music, Shell of a faery sea, Eyes like the holy violets Brimmed with dew for me.

"Wait for Sawara," he whispered, "Does not his whole heart yearn Now to his moon-bright maiden? Wait, for he will return Rich as the wave on the moon's path Rushing to claim his bride!" So they plighted their promise, And the ebbing sea-wave sighed.

IV

Moon and flower and butterfly, Earth and heaven went drifting by, Three long years while Kimi dreamed Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko, Steadfast while the whole world streamed Past her tow'rds Eternity; Steadfast till with one great cry, Ringing to the gods on high, Golden wings should blind the sky And bring him back to Tenko.

Three long years and nought to say "Sweet, I come the golden way, Riding royally to the school Under the silvery willow-tree Claim my bride of Tenko; Silver bells on a milk-white mule, Rose-red sails on an emerald sea!" ... Kimi sometimes went to pray In the temple nigh the bay, Dreamed all night and gazed all day Over the sea from Tenko.

Far away his growing fame Lit the clouds. No message came From the sky, whereon she gazed Under the silvery willow-tree Far away from Tenko! Small white hands in the temple raised Pleaded with the Mystery,— "Stick of incense in the flame, Though my love forget my name, Help him, bless him, all the same, And ... bring him back to Tenko!"

Rose-white temple nigh the bay, Hush! for Kimi comes to pray, Dream all night and gaze all day Over the sea from Tenko.

V

So, when the rich young merchant Showed him his bags of gold, Yoichi Tenko, the painter, Gave him her hand to hold, Said: "You shall wed him, O Kimi." Softly he lied and smiled— "Yea, for Sawara is wedded! Let him not mock you, child."

Dumbly she turned and left them, Never a word or cry Broke from her lips' grey petals Under the drifting sky: Down to the spray and the rainbows, Where she had watched him of old Painting the rose-red islands, Painting the sand's wet gold,

Down to their dreams of the sunset, Frail as a flower's white ghost, Lonely and lost she wandered Down to the darkening coast; Lost in the drifting midnight, Weeping, desolate, blind. Many went out to seek her: Never a heart could find.

Yoichi Tenko, the painter, Plucked from his willow-tree Two big paper lanterns And ran to the brink of the sea; Over his head he held them, Crying, and only heard, Somewhere, out in the darkness, The cry of a wandering bird.

VI

Peonies, peonies thronged the May When in royal-rich array Came Sawara to the school Under the silvery willow-tree— To the school of Tenko! Silver bells on a milk-white mule, Rose-red sails on an emerald sea! Over the bloom of the cherry spray, Peonies, peonies dimmed the day; And he rode the royal way Back to Yoichi Tenko.

Yoichi Tenko, half afraid, Whispered, "Wed some other maid; Kimi left me all alone Under the silvery willow-tree, Left me," whispered Tenko, "Kimi had a heart of stone!"— "Kimi, Kimi? Who is she? Kimi? Ah—the child that played Round the willow-tree. She prayed Often; and, whate'er I said, She believed it, Tenko."

He had come to paint anew Those dim isles of rose and blue, For a palace far away, Under the silvery willow-tree— So he said to Tenko; And he painted, day by day, Golden visions of the sea. No, he had not come to woo; Yet, had Kimi proven true, Doubtless he had loved her too, Hardly less than Tenko.

Since the thought was in his head, He would make his choice and wed; And a lovely maid he chose Under the silvery willow-tree. "Fairer far," said Tenko. "Kimi had a twisted nose, And a foot too small, for me, And her face was dull as lead!" "Nay, a flower, be it white or red, Is a flower," Sawara said! "So it is," said Tenko.

VII

Great Sawara, the painter, Sought, on a day of days, One of the peacock islands Out in the sunset haze: Rose-red sails on the water Carried him quickly nigh; There would he paint him a wonder Worthy of Hokusai.

Lo, as he leapt o'er the creaming Roses of faery foam, Out of the green-lipped caverns Under the isle's blue dome, White as a drifting snow-flake, White as the moon's white flame, White as a ghost from the darkness, Little O Kimi came.

"Long I have waited, Sawara, Here in our sunset isle, Sawara, Sawara, Sawara, Look on me once, and smile; Face I have watched so long for, Hands I have longed to hold, Sawara, Sawara, Sawara, Why is your heart so cold?"

Surely, he thought, I have painted Nothing so fair as this Moonlit almond blossom Sweet to fold and kiss.... "Kimi," he said, "I am wedded! Hush, for it could not be!" "Kiss me one kiss," she whispered, "Me also, even me."

Small and terribly drifting Backward, her sad white face Lifted up to Sawara Once, in that lonely place, White as a drifting blossom Under his wondering eyes, Slowly he gathered and held her Under the drifting skies.

"Others are happy," she whispered, "Maidens and men I have seen: Be happy, be happy, Sawara! The other—shall be—your queen! Kiss me one kiss for parting." Trembling she lifted her head, Then like a broken blossom It fell on his arm. She was dead.

VIII

Much impressed, Sawara straight (Though the hour was growing late) Made a sketch of Kimi lying By the lonely, sighing sea, Brought it back to Tenko. Tenko looked it over crying (Under the silvery willow-tree). "You have burst the golden gate! You have conquered Time and Fate! Hokusai is not so great! This is Art," said Tenko!



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND

I

I remember— a breath, a breath Blown thro' the rosy gates of birth, A morning freshness not of the earth But cool and strange and lovely as death In Paradise, in Paradise, When, all to suffer the old sweet pain Closing his immortal eyes Wonder-wild an angel lies With wings of rainbow-tinctured grain Withering till—ah, wonder-wild, Here on the dawning earth again He wakes, a little child.

II

I remember— a gleam, a gleam Of sparkling waves and warm blue sky Far away and long ago, Or ever I knew that youth could die; And out of the dawn, the dawn, the dawn, Into the unknown life we sailed As out of sleep into a dream, And, as with elfin cables drawn In dusk of purple over the glowing Wrinkled measureless emerald sea, The light cloud shadows larger far Than the sweet shapes which drew them on, Elfin exquisite shadows flowing Between us and the morning star Chased us all a summer's day, And our sail like a dew-lit blossom shone Till, over a rainbow haze of spray That arched a reef of surf like snow —Far away and long ago— We saw the sky-line rosily engrailed With tufted peaks above a smooth lagoon Which growing, growing, growing as we sailed Curved all around them like a crescent moon; And then we saw the purple-shadowed creeks, The feathery palms, the gleaming golden streaks Of sand, and nearer yet, like jewels of fire Streaming between the boughs, or floating higher Like tiny sunset-clouds in noon-day skies, The birds of Paradise.

III

The island floated in the air, Its image floated in the sea: Which was the shadow? Both were fair: Like sister souls they seemed to be; And one was dreaming and asleep, And one bent down from Paradise To kiss with radiance in the deep The darkling lips and eyes.

And, mingling softly in their dreams, That holy kiss of sea and sky Transfused the shadows and the gleams Of Time and of Eternity: The dusky face looked up and gave To heaven its golden shadowed calm; The face of light fulfilled the wave With blissful wings and fans of palm.

Above, the tufted rosy peaks That melted in the warm blue skies, Below, the purple-shadowed creeks That glassed the birds of Paradise— A bridal knot, it hung in heaven; And, all around, the still lagoon From bloom of dawn to blush of even Curved like a crescent moon.

And there we wandered evermore Thro' boyhood's everlasting years, Listening the murmur of the shore As one that lifts a shell and hears The murmur of forgotten seas Around some lost Broceliande, The sigh of sweet Eternities That turn the world to fairy-land,

That turned our isle to a single pearl Glowing in measureless waves of wine! Above, below, the clouds would curl, Above, below, the stars would shine In sky and sea. We hung in heaven! Time and space were but elfin-sweet Rock-bound pools for the dawn and even To wade with their rosy feet.

Our pirate cavern faced the West: We closed its door with screens of palm, While some went out to seek the nest Wherein the Phoenix, breathing balm, Burns and dies to live for ever (How should we dream we lived to die?) And some would fish in the purple river That thro' the hills brought down the sky.

And some would dive in the lagoon Like sunbeams, and all round our isle Swim thro' the lovely crescent moon, Glimpsing, for breathless mile on mile, The wild sea-woods that bloomed below, The rainbow fish, the coral cave Where vanishing swift as melting snow A mermaid's arm would wave.

Then dashing shoreward thro' the spray On sun-lit sands they cast them down, Or in the white sea-daisies lay With sun-stained bodies rosy-brown, Content to watch the foam-bows flee Across the shelving reefs and bars, With wild eyes gazing out to sea Like happy haunted stars.

IV

And O, the wild sea-maiden Drifting through the starlit air, With white arms blossom-laden And the sea-scents in her hair: Sometimes we heard her singing The midnight forest through, Or saw a soft hand flinging Blossoms drenched with starry dew Into the dreaming purple cave; And, sometimes, far and far away Beheld across the glooming wave Beyond the dark lagoon, Beyond the silvery foaming bar, The black bright rock whereon she lay Like a honey-coloured star Singing to the breathless moon, Singing in the silent night Till the stars for sheer delight Closed their eyes, and drowsy birds In the midmost forest spray Took their heads from out their wings, Thinking—it is Ariel sings And we must catch the witching words And sing them o'er by day.

V

And then, there came a breath, a breath Cool and strange and dark as death, A stealing shadow, not of the earth But fresh and wonder-wild as birth. I know not when the hour began That changed the child's heart in the man, Or when the colours began to wane, But all our roseate island lay Stricken, as when an angel dies With wings of rainbow-tinctured grain Withering, and his radiant eyes Closing. Pitiless walls of grey Gathered around us, a growing tomb From which it seemed not death or doom Could roll the stone away.

VI

Yet—I remember— a gleam, a gleam, (Or ever I dreamed that youth could die!) Of sparkling waves and warm blue sky As out of sleep into a dream, Wonder-wild for the old sweet pain, We sailed into that unknown sea Through the gates of Eternity.

Peacefully close your mortal eyes For ye shall wake to it again In Paradise, in Paradise.



UNITY

I

Heart of my heart, the world is young; Love lies hidden in every rose! Every song that the skylark sung Once, we thought, must come to a close: Now we know the spirit of song, Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, Hand in hand as we wander along, What should we doubt of the years that roll?

II

Heart of my heart, we cannot die! Love triumphant in flower and tree, Every life that laughs at the sky Tells us nothing can cease to be: One, we are one with a song to-day, One with the clover that scents the wold, One with the Unknown, far away, One with the stars, when earth grows old.

III

Heart of my heart, we are one with the wind, One with the clouds that are whirled o'er the lea, One in many, O broken and blind, One as the waves are at one with the sea! Ay! when life seems scattered apart, Darkens, ends as a tale that is told, One, we are one, O heart of my heart, One, still one, while the world grows old.



THE HILL-FLOWER

It is my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes— So was it sung one golden hour Among the woodbine wreaths; And yet, though wet with living dew, The song seemed far more sweet than true.

Blind creatures of the sun and air I dreamed it but a dream That, like Narcissus, would confer With self in every stream, And to the leaves and boughs impart The tremors of a human heart.

To-day a golden pinion stirred The world's Bethesda pool, And I believed the song I heard Nor put my heart to school; And through the rainbows of the dream I saw the gates of Eden gleam.

The rain had ceased. The great hills rolled In silence to the deep: The gorse in waves of green and gold Perfumed their lonely sleep; And, at my feet, one elfin flower Drooped, blind with glories of the shower.

I stooped—a giant from the sky— Above its piteous shield, And, suddenly, the dream went by, And there—was heaven revealed! I stooped to pluck it; but my hand Paused, mid-way, o'er its fairyland.

Not of mine own was that strange voice, "Pluck—tear a star from heaven!" Mine only was the awful choice To scoff and be forgiven Or hear the very grass I trod Whispering the gentle thoughts of God.

I know not if the hill-flower's place Beneath that mighty sky, Its lonely and aspiring grace, Its beauty born to die, Touched me, I know it seemed to be Cherished by all Eternity.

Man, doomed to crush at every stride A hundred lives like this Which by their weakness were allied, If by naught else, to his, Can only for a flash discern What passion through the whole doth yearn.

Not into words can I distil The pity or the pain Which hallowing all that lonely hill Cried out "Refrain, refrain," Then breathed from earth and sky and sea, "Herein you did it unto Me."

Somewhile that hill was heaven's own breast, The flower its joy and grief, Hugged close and fostered and caressed In every brief bright leaf: And, ere I went thro' sun and dew, I leant and gently touched it, too.



ACTAEON

"Who stood beside the naked Swift-footed And bound his forehead with Proserpine's hair."

—BROWNING (Pauline)

I

Light of beauty, O, "perfect in whiteness," Softly suffused thro' the world's dark shrouds, Kindling them all as they pass by thy brightness,— Hills, men, cities,—a pageant of clouds, Thou to whom Life and Time surrender All earth's forms as to heaven's deep care, Who shall pierce to thy naked splendour, Bind his brows with thy hair?

II

Swift thro' the sprays when Spring grew bolder Young Actaeon swept to the chase! Golden the fawn-skin, back from the shoulder Flowing, set free the limbs' lithe grace, Muscles of satin that rippled like sunny Streams—a hunter, a young athlete, Scattering dews and crushing out honey Under his sandalled feet.

III

Sunset softened the crags of the mountain, Silence melted the hunter's heart, Only the sob of a falling fountain Pulsed in a deep ravine apart: All the forest seemed waiting breathless, Eager to whisper the dying day Some rich word that should utter the deathless Secret of youth and May.

IV

Down, as to May thro' the flowers that attend her, Slowly, on tip-toe, down the ravine Fair as the sun-god, poising a slender Spear like a moon-shaft silver and green, Stole he! Ah, did the oak-wood ponder Youth's glad dream in its heart of gloom? Dryad or fawn was it started yonder? Ah, what whisper of doom?

V

Gold, thro' the ferns as he gazed and listened, Shone the soul of the wood's deep dream, One bright glade and a pool that glistened Full in the face of the sun's last gleam,— Gold in the heart of a violet dingle! Young Actaeon, beware! beware! Who shall track, while the pulses tingle, Spring to her woodland lair?

VI

See, at his feet, what mystical quiver, Maiden's girdle and robe of snow, Tossed aside by the green glen-river Ere she bathed in the pool below? All the fragrance of April meets him Full in the face with its young sweet breath; Yet, as he steals to the glade, there greets him— Hush, what whisper of death?

VII

Lo, in the violets, lazily dreaming, Young Diana, the huntress, lies: One white side thro' the violets gleaming Heaves and sinks with her golden sighs, One white breast like a diamond crownet Couched in a velvet casket glows, One white arm, tho' the violets drown it, Thrills their purple with rose.

VIII

Buried in fragrance, the half-moon flashes, Beautiful, clouded, from head to heel: One white foot in the warm wave plashes, Violets tremble and half reveal, Half conceal, as they kiss, the slender Slope and curve of her sleeping limbs: Violets bury one half the splendour Still, as thro' heaven, she swims.

IX

Cold as the white rose waking at daybreak Lifts the light of her lovely face, Poised on an arm she watches the spray break Over the slim white ankle's grace, Watches the wave that sleeplessly tosses Kissing the pure foot's pink sea-shells, Watches the long-leaved heaven-dark mosses Drowning their star-bright bells.

X

Swift as the Spring where the South has brightened Earth with bloom in one passionate night, Swift as the violet heavens had lightened Swift to perfection, blinding, white, Dian arose: and Actaeon saw her, Only he since the world began! Only in dreams could Endymion draw her Down to the heart of man.

XI

Fair as the dawn upon Himalaya Anger flashed from her cheek's pure rose, Alpine peaks at the passage of Maia Flushed not fair as her breasts' white snows. Ah, fair form of the heaven's completeness, Who shall sing thee or who shall say Whence that "high perfection of sweetness," Perfect to save or slay?

XII

Perfect in beauty, beauty the portal Here on earth to the world's deep shrine, Beauty hidden in all things mortal, Who shall mingle his eyes with thine? Thou, to whom Life and Death surrender All earth's forms as to heaven's deep care, Who shall pierce to thy naked splendour, Bind his brows with thy hair?

XIII

Beauty, perfect in blinding whiteness, Softly suffused thro' the world's dark shrouds, Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness,— Hills, men, cities,—a pageant of clouds, She, the unchanging, shepherds their changes, Bids them mingle and form and flow, Flowers and flocks and the great hill-ranges Follow her cry and go.

XIV

Swift as the sweet June lightning flashes, Down she stoops to the purpling pool, Sudden and swift her white hand dashes Rainbow mists in his eyes! "Ah, fool! Hunter," she cries to the young Actaeon, "Change to the hunted, rise and fly, Swift ere the wild pack utter its paean, Swift for thy hounds draw nigh!"

XV

Lo, as he trembles, the greenwood branches Dusk his brows with their antlered pride! Lo, as a stag thrown back on its haunches Quivers, with velvet nostrils wide, Lo, he changes! The soft fur darkens Down to the fetlock's lifted fear!— Hounds are baying!—he snuffs and hearkens, "Fly, for the stag is here!"

XVI

Swift as he leapt thro' the ferns, Actaeon, Young Actaeon, the lordly stag, Full and mellow the deep-mouthed paean Swelled behind him from crag to crag: Well he remembered that sweet throat leading, Wild with terror he raced and strained, On thro' the darkness, thorn-swept, bleeding: Ever they gained and gained!

XVII

Death, like a darkling huntsman holloed— Swift, Actaeon!—desire and shame Leading the pack of the passions followed. Red jaws frothing with white-hot flame, Volleying out of the glen, they leapt up, Snapped and fell short of the foam-flecked thighs ... Inch by terrible inch they crept up, Shadows with blood-shot eyes.

XVIII

Still with his great heart bursting asunder Still thro' the night he struggled and bled; Suddenly round him the pack's low thunder Surged, the hounds that his own hand fed Fastened in his throat, with red jaws drinking Deep!—for a moment his antlered pride Soared o'er their passionate seas, then, sinking, Fell for the fangs to divide.

XIX

Light of beauty, O, perfect in whiteness, Softly suffused thro' the years' dark veils, Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness, Filling our hearts with her old-world tales, She, the unchanging, shepherds their changes, Bids them mingle and form and flow, Flowers and flocks and the great hill-ranges Follow her cry and go.

XX

Still, in the violets, lazily dreaming Young Diana, the huntress, lies: One white side thro' the violets gleaming Heaves and sinks with her golden sighs; One white breast like a diamond crownet Couched in a velvet casket glows, One white arm, tho' the violets drown it, Thrills their purple with rose.



LUCIFER'S FEAST

(A EUROPEAN NIGHTMARE.)

To celebrate the ascent of man, one gorgeous night Lucifer gave a feast. Its world-bewildering light Danced in Belshazzar's tomb, and the old kings dead and gone Felt their dust creep to jewels in crumbling Babylon.

Two nations were His guests—the top and flower of Time, The fore-front of an age which now had learned to climb The slopes where Newton knelt, the heights that Shakespeare trod, The mountains whence Beethoven rolled the voice of God.

Lucifer's feasting-lamps were like the morning stars, But at the board-head shone the blood-red lamp of Mars.

League upon glittering league, white front and flabby face Bent o'er the groaning board. Twelve brave men droned the grace; But with instinctive tact, in courtesy to their Host, Omitted God the Son and God the Holy Ghost, And to the God of Battles raised their humble prayers. Then, then, like thunder, all the guests drew up their chairs. By each a drinking-cup, yellow, almost, as gold. (The blue eye-sockets gave the thumbs a good firm hold) Adorned the flowery board. Could even brave men shrink?

Why if the cups were skulls, they had red wine to drink! And had not each a napkin, white and peaked and proud, Waiting to wipe his mouth? A napkin? Nay, a shroud! This was a giant's feast, on hell's imperial scale. The blades glistened.

The shrouds—O, in one snowy gale, The pink hands fluttered them out, and spread them on their knees. Who knew what gouts might drop, what filthy flakes of grease, Now that o'er every shoulder, through the coiling steam, Inhuman faces peered, with wolfish eyes a-gleam, And grey-faced vampire Lusts that whinneyed in each ear Hints of the hideous courses?

None may name them here? None? And we may not see! The distant cauldrons cloak The lava-coloured plains with clouds of umber smoke. Nay, by that shrapnel-light, by those wild shooting stars That rip the clouds away with fiercer fire than Mars, They are painted sharp as death. If these can eat and drink Chatter and laugh and rattle their knives, why should we shrink From empty names? We know those ghastly gleams are true: Why should Christ cry again—They know not what they do? They, heirs of all the ages, sons of Shakespeare's land, They, brothers of Beethoven, smiling, cultured, bland, Whisper with sidling heads to ghouls with bloody lips.

Each takes upon his plate a small round thing that drips And quivers, a child's heart.

Miles on miles The glittering table bends o'er that first course, and smiles; For, through the wreaths of smoke, the grey Lusts bear aloft The second course, on leaden chargers, large and soft, Bodies of women, steaming in an opal mist, Red-branded here and there where vampire-teeth have kissed.

But white as pig's flesh, newly killed, and cleanly dressed, A lemon in each mouth and roses round each breast, Emblems to show how deeply, sweetly satisfied, The breasts, the lips, can sleep, whose children fought and died For—what? For country? God, once more Thy shrapnel-light!

Let those dark slaughter-houses burst upon our sight, These kitchens are too clean, too near the tiring room! Let Thy white shrapnel rend those filthier veils of gloom, Rip the last fogs away and strip the foul thing bare! One lightning-picture—see—yon bayonet-bristling square Mown down, mown down, mown down, wild swathes of crimson wheat, The white-eyed charge, the blast, the terrible retreat, The blood-greased wheels of cannon thundering into line O'er that red writhe of pain, rent groin and shattered spine, The moaning faceless face that kissed its child last night, The raw pulp of the heart that beat for love's delight, The heap of twisting bodies, clotted and congealed In one red huddle of anguish on the loathsome field, The seas of obscene slaughter spewing their blood-red yeast, Multitudes pouring out their entrails for the feast, Knowing not why, but dying, they think, for some high cause, Dying for "hearth and home," their flags, their creeds, their laws. Ask of the Bulls and Bears, ask if they understand How both great grappling armies bleed for their own land; For in that faith they die! These hoodwinked thousands die Simply as heroes, gulled by hell's profoundest lie. Who keeps the slaughter-house? Not these, not these who gain Nought but the sergeant's shilling and the homeless pain! Who pulls the ropes? Not these, who buy their crust of bread With the salt sweat of labour! These but bury their dead Then sweat again for food!

Christ, is the hour not come, To send forth one great voice and strike this dark hell dumb, A voice to out-crash the cannon, one united cry To sweep these wild-beast standards down that stain the sky,

To hurl these Lions and Bears and Eagles to their doom, One voice, one heart, one soul, one fire that shall consume The last red reeking shreds that flicker against the blast And purge the Augean stalls we call "our glorious past"! One voice from dawn and sunset, one almighty voice, Full-throated as the sea—ye sons o' the earth, rejoice! Beneath the all-loving sky, confederate kings ye stand, Fling open wide the gates o' the world-wide Fatherland.

* * * *

Poor fools, we dare not dream it! We that pule and whine Of art and science, we, whose great souls leave no shrine Unshattered, we that climb the Sinai Shakespeare trod, The Olivets where Beethoven walked and talked with God, We that have weighed the stars and reined the lightning, we That stare thro' heaven and plant our footsteps in the sea, We whose great souls have risen so far above the creeds That we can jest at Christ and leave Him where He bleeds, A legend of the dark, a tale so false or true That howsoe'er we jest at Him, the jest sounds new. (Our weariest dinner-tables never tire of that! Let the clown sport with Christ, never the jest falls flat!) Poor fools, we dare not dream a dream so strange, so great, As on this ball of dust to found one "world-wide state," To float one common flag above our little lands, And ere our little sun grows cold to clasp our hands In friendship for a moment!

* * * *

Hark, the violins Are swooning through the mist. The great blue band begins, Playing, in dainty scorn, a hymn we used to know, How long was it, ten thousand thousand years ago?

There is a green hill far away Beside a City wall!— And O, the music swung a-stray With a solemn dying fall; For it was a pleasant jest to play Hymns in the Devil's Hall.

And yet, and yet, if aught be true, This dream we left behind, This childish Christ, be-mocked anew To please the men of mind, Yet hung so far beyond the flight Of our most lofty thought That—Lucifer laughed at us that night. Not with us, as he ought.

Beneath the blood-red lamp of Mars, Cloaked with a scarlet cloud He gazed along the line of stars Above the guzzling crowd: Sinister, thunder-scarred, he raised His great world-wandering eyes, And on some distant vision gazed Beyond our cloudy skies.

"Poor bats," he sneered, "their jungle-dark Civilisation's noon! Poor wolves, that hunt in packs and bark Beneath the grinning moon; Poor fools, that cast the cross away, Before they break the sword; Poor sots, who take the night for day; Have mercy on me, Lord.

"Beyond their wisdom's deepest skies I see Thee hanging yet, The love still hungering in Thine eyes, Thy plaited crown still wet! Thine arms outstretched to fold them all Beneath Thy sheltering breast; But—since they will not hear Thy call, Lord, I forbear to jest.

"Lord, I forbear! The day I fell I fell at least thro' pride! Rather than these should share my hell Take me, thou Crucified! O, let me share Thy cross of grief, And let me work Thy will, As morning star, or dying thief. Thy fallen angel still.

"Lord, I forbear! For Thee, at least, In pain so like to mine, The mighty meaning of their feast Is plain as bread and wine: O, smile once more, far off, alone! Since these nor hear nor see, From my deep hell, so like Thine own, Lord Christ, I pity Thee."

Yet once again, he thought, they shall be fully tried, If they be devils or fools too light for hell's deep pride.

The champ of teeth was over, and the reeking room Gaped for the speeches now. Across the sulphurous fume Lucifer gave a sign. The guests stood thundering up! "Gentlemen, charge your glasses!" Every yellow cup Frothed with the crimson blood. They brandished them on high! "Gentlemen, drink to those who fight and know not why!"

And in the bubbling blood each nose was buried deep. "Gentlemen, drink to those who sowed that we might reap! Drink to the pomp, pride, circumstance, of glorious war, The grand self-sacrifice that made us what we are! And drink to the peace-lovers who believe that peace Is War, red, bloody War; for War can never cease Unless we drain the veins of peace to fatten WAR! Gentlemen, drink to the brains that made us what we are! Drink to self-sacrifice that helps us all to shake The world with tramp of armies. Germany, awake! England, awake! Shakespeare's, Beethoven's Fatherland, Are you not both aware, do you not understand, Self-sacrifice is competition? It is the law Of Life, and so, though both of you are wholly right, Self-sacrifice requires that both of you should fight." And "Hoch! hoch! hoch!" they cried; and "Hip, hip, hip, Hurrah!"

This raised the gorge of Lucifer. With one deep "Bah," Above those croaking toads he towered like Gabriel;

Then straightway left the table and went home to hell.



VETERANS

(WRITTEN FOR THE RELIEF FUND OF THE CRIMEAN VETERANS.)

I

When the last charge sounds And the battle thunders o'er the plain, Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe?

II

When the last post sounds And the night is on the battle-field, Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars?

III

When the great reveille sounds For the terrible last Sabaoth, All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring! Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King?



THE QUEST RENEWED

It is too soon, too soon, though time be brief, Quite to forswear thy quest, O Light, whose farewell dyes the falling leaf, Fades thro' the fading west.

Thou'rt flown too soon! I stretch my hands out still, O, Light of Life, to Thee, Who leav'st an Olivet in each far blue hill, A sorrow on every sea.

It is too soon, here while the loud world roars For wealth and power and fame, Too soon quite to forget those other shores Afar, from whence I came;

Too soon even to forget the first dear dream Dreamed far away, when tears could freely flow; And life seemed infinite, as that sky's great gleam Deepened, to which I go;

Too soon even to forget the fluttering fire And those old books beside the friendly hearth, When time seemed endless as my own desire, And angels walked our earth;

Too soon quite to forget amid the throng What once the silent hills, the sounding beach Taught me—where singing was the prize of song, And heaven within my reach.

It is too soon amid the cynic sneers, The sophist smiles, the greedy mouths and hands, Quite to forget the light of those dead years And my lost mountain-lands;

Too soon to lose that everlasting hope (For so it seemed) of youth in love's pure reign, Though while I linger on this darkening slope Nought seems quite worth the pain.

It is too soon for me to break that trust, O, Light of Light, flown far past sun and moon, Burn back thro' this dark panoply of dust; Or let me follow—soon.



THE LIGHTS OF HOME

Pilot, how far from home?— Not far, not far to-night, A flight of spray, a sea-bird's flight, A flight of tossing foam, And then the lights of home!—

And, yet again, how far? And seems the way so brief? Those lights beyond the roaring reef Were lights of moon and star, Far, far, none knows how far!

Pilot, how far from home?— The great stars pass away Before Him as a flight of spray, Moons as a flight of foam! I see the lights of home.



NEW POEMS

'TWEEN THE LIGHTS

"The Nine men's morrice is filled up with mud ... From our debate, from our dissension."

—SHAKESPEARE

I

Fairies, come back! We have not seen Your dusky foot-prints on the green This many a year. No frolic now Shakes the dew from the hawthorn-bough. Never a man and never a maid Spies you in the blue-bell shade; Yet, where the nine men's morrice stood, Our spades are clearing out the mud.

Chorus.—Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.

II

Fairies, come back! Our pomp of gold, Our blazing noon, grows grey and old; The scornful glittering ages wane: Forgive, forget, come back again. This is our England's Hallowe'en! Come, trip it, trip it o'er the green, Trip it, amidst the roaring mart, In the still meadows of the heart.

Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.

III

Fairies, come back! Once more the gleams Of your lost Eden haunt our dreams, Where Evil, at the touch of Good, Withers in the Enchanted Wood: Fairies, come back! Drive gaunt Despair And Famine to their ghoulish lair! Tap at each heart's bright window-pane Thro' merry England once again.

Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.

IV

Fairies, come back! And, if you bring That long-expected song to sing, Ciss needs not, ere she welcomes you, To find a sixpence in her shoe! If, of the mud he clears away, Tom bears the ignoble stain to-day, Come back, and he will not forget The heavens that yearn beyond us yet.

Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.

V

Yet, if for this you will not come, Your friends, the children, call you home, Fairies, they wear no May-day crowns, Your playmates in those grim black towns Look, fairies, how they peak and pine, How hungrily their great eyes shine! From fevered alley and foetid lane Plead the thin arms—Come back again!

Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.

VI

We have named the stars and weighed the moon, Counted our gains and ... lost the boon, If this be the end of all our lore— To draw the blind and close the door! O, lift the latch, slip in between The things which we have heard and seen, Slip thro' the fringes of the blind Into the souls of all mankind.

Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.

VII

Fairies, come back! Our wisdom dies Beneath your deeper, starrier skies! We have reined the lightning, probed the flower: Bless, as of old, our twilight hour! Bring dreams, and let the dreams be true, Bring hope that makes each heart anew, Bring love that knits all hearts in one; Then—sing of heaven and bring the sun!

Come, little irised heralds, fling Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing The bright eyes and the cordial hand Of brotherhood thro' all our land.



CREATION

In the beginning, there was nought But heaven, one Majesty of Light, Beyond all speech, beyond all thought, Beyond all depth, beyond all height, Consummate heaven, the first and last, Enfolding in its perfect prime No future rushing to the past, But one rapt Now, that knew not Space or Time.

Formless it was, being gold on gold, And void—but with that complete Life Where music could no wings unfold Till lo, God smote the strings of strife! "Myself unto Myself am Throne, Myself unto Myself am Thrall I that am All am all alone," He said, "Yea, I have nothing, having all."

And, gathering round His mount of bliss The angel-squadrons of His will, He said, "One battle yet there is To win, one vision to fulfil! Since heaven where'er I gaze expands, And power that knows no strife or cry, Weakness shall bind and pierce My hands And make a world for Me wherein to die.

"All might, all vastness and all glory Being Mine, I must descend and make Out of My heart a song, a story Of little hearts that burn and break; Out of My passion without end I will make little azure seas, And into small sad fields descend And make green grass, white daisies, rustling trees."

Then shrank His angels, knowing He thrust His arms out East and West and gave For every little dream of dust Part of His life as to a grave! "Enough, O Father, for Thy words Have pierced Thy hands!" But, low and sweet, He said "Sunsets and streams and birds, And drifting clouds!"—The purple stained His feet.—

"Enough!" His angels moaned in fear, "Father, Thy words have pierced Thy side!" He whispered, "Roses shall grow there, And there must be a hawthorn-tide, And ferns, dewy at dawn," and still They moaned—"Enough, the red drops bleed!" "And," sweet and low, "on every hill," He said, "I will have flocks and lambs to lead."

His angels bowed their heads beneath Their wings till that great pang was gone: "Pour not Thy soul out unto Death!" They moaned, and still His Love flowed on, "There shall be small white wings to stray From bliss to bliss, from bloom to bloom, And blue flowers in the wheat;" and—"Stay! Speak not," they cried, "the word that seals Thy tomb!"

He spake—"I have thought of a little child That I will have there to embark On small adventures in the wild, And front slight perils in the dark; And I will hide from him and lure His laughing eyes with suns and moons, And rainbows that shall not endure; And—when he is weary, sing him drowsy tunes."

His angels fell before Him weeping "Enough! Tempt not the Gates of Hell!" He said, "His soul is in his keeping That we may love each other well, And lest the dark too much affright him, I will strow countless little stars Across his childish skies to light him That he may wage in peace his mimic wars;

"And oft forget Me as he plays With swords and childish merchandize, Or with his elfin balance weighs, Or with his foot-rule metes, the skies; Or builds his castles by the deep, Or tunnels through the rocks, and then— Turn to Me as he falls asleep, And, in his dreams, feel for My hand again.

"And when he is older he shall be My friend and walk here at My side; Or—when he wills—grow young with Me, And, to that happy world where once we died Descending through the calm blue weather, Buy life once more with our immortal breath, And wander through the little fields together, And taste of Love and Death."



THE PEACEMAKER.

Silently over his vast imperial seas, Over his sentinel fleets the Shadow swept And all his armies slept. There was but one quick challenge at the gate, Then—the cold menace of that out-stretched hand, Waving aside the panoplies of State, Brought the last faithful watchers to their knees, And lightning flashed the grief from land to land.

Mourn, Britain, mourn, not for a king alone! This was the people's king! His purple throne Was in their hearts. They shared it. Millions of swords Could not have shaken it! Sharers of this doom, This democratic doom which all men know, His Common-weal, in this great common woe, Veiling its head in the universal gloom, With that majestic grief which knows not words, Bows o'er a world-wide tomb.

Mourn, Europe, for our England set this Crown In splendour past the reach of temporal power, Secure above the thunders of the hour, A sun in the great skies of her renown, A sun to hold her wheeling worlds in one By its own course of duty pre-ordained, Where'er the meteors flash and fall, a sun With its great course of duty!

So he reigned, And died in its observance. Mightier he Than any despot, in his people's love, He served that law which rules the Thrones above, That world-wide law which by the raging sea Abased the flatterers of Canute and makes The King that abnegates all lesser power A rock in time of trouble, and a tower Of strength where'er the tidal tempest breaks; That world-wide law whose name is harmony, Whose service perfect freedom!

And his name The Peacemaker, through all the future years Shall burn, a glorious and prophetic flame, A beaconing sun that never shall go down, A sun to speed the world's diviner morrow, A sun that shines the brighter for our sorrow; For, O, what splendour in a monarch's crown Vies with the splendour of his people's tears?

And now, O now, while the sorrowful trumpet is blown, From island to continent, zone to imperial zone, And the flags of the nations are lowered in grief with our own; Now, while the roll of the drums that for battle were dumb When he reigned, salute his passing; and low on the breeze From the snow-bound North to the Australasian seas Surges the solemn lament—O, shall it not come, A glimpse of that mightier union of all mankind? Now, though our eyes, as they gaze on the vision, grow blind, Now, while the world is all one funeral knell, And the mournful cannon thunder his great farewell, Now, while the bells of a thousand cities toll, Remember, O England, remember the ageless goal, Rally the slumbering faith in the depths of thy soul, Lift up thine eyes to the Kingdom for which he fought, That Empire of Peace and Good-will, for which to his death-hour he wrought. Then, then while the pomp of the world seems a little thing, Ay, though by the world it be said, The King is dead! We shall lift up our hearts and answer—Long live the King!



THE SAILOR-KING

The fleet, the fleet puts out to sea In a thunder of blinding foam to-night, With a bursting wreck-strewn reef to lee, But—a seaman fired yon beacon-light! Seamen hailing a seaman, know— Free-men crowning a free-man, sing— The worth of that light where the great ships go, The signal-fire of the king.

Cloud and wind may shift and veer: This is steady and this is sure, A signal over our hope and fear, A pledge of the strength that shall endure— Having no part in our storm-tossed strife— A sign of union, which shall bring Knowledge to men of their close-knit life, The signal-fire of the king.

His friends are the old grey glorious waves, The wide world round, the wide world round, That have roared with our guns and covered our graves From Nombre Dios to Plymouth Sound; And his crown shall shine, a central sun Round which the planet-nations sing, Going their ways, but linked in one, As the ships of our sailor-king.

Many the ships, but a single fleet; Many the roads, but a single goal; And a light, a light where all roads meet, The beacon-fire of an Empire's soul; The worth of that light his seamen know, Through all the deaths that the storm can bring The crown of their comrade-ship a-glow, The signal-fire of the king.



THE FIDDLER'S FAREWELL

With my fiddle to my shoulder, And my hair turning grey, And my heart growing older I must shuffle on my way! Tho' there's not a hearth to greet me I must reap as I sowed, And—the sunset shall meet me At the turn of the road.

O, the whin's a dusky yellow And the road a rosy white, And the blackbird's call is mellow At the falling of night; And there's honey in the heather Where we'll make our last abode, My tunes and me together At the turn of the road.

I have fiddled for your city Thro' market-place and inn! I have poured forth my pity On your sorrow and your sin! But your riches are your burden, And your pleasure is your goad! I've the whin-gold for guerdon At the turn of the road.

Your village-lights 'll call me As the lights of home the dead; But a black night befall me Ere your pillows rest my head! God be praised, tho' like a jewel Every cottage casement showed, There's a star that's not so cruel At the turn of the road.

Nay, beautiful and kindly Are the faces drawing nigh, But I gaze on them blindly And hasten, hasten by; For O, no face of wonder On earth has ever glowed Like the One that waits me yonder At the turn of the road.

Her face is lit with splendour, She dwells beyond the skies; But deep, deep and tender Are the tears in her eyes: The angels see them glistening In pity for my load, And—she's waiting there, she's listening, At the turn of the road.



TO A PESSIMIST

Life like a cruel mistress woos The passionate heart of man, you say, Only in mockery to refuse His love, at last, and turn away.

To me she seems a queen that knows How great is love—but ah, how rare!— And, pointing heavenward ere she goes, Gives him the rose from out her hair.



MOUNT IDA

[This poem commemorates an event of some years ago, when a young Englishman—still remembered by many of his contemporaries at Oxford—went up into Mount Ida and was never seen again.]

I

Not cypress, but this warm pine-plumage now Fragrant with sap, I pluck; nor bid you weep, Ye Muses that still haunt the heavenly brow Of Ida, though the ascent is hard and steep: Weep not for him who left us wrapped in sleep At dawn beneath the holy mountain's breast And all alone from Ilion's gleaming shore Clomb the high sea-ward glens, fain to drink deep Of earth's old glory from your silent crest, Take the cloud-conquering throne Of gods, and gaze alone Thro' heaven. Darkling we slept who saw his face no more.

II

Ah yet, in him hath Lycidas a brother, And Adonais will not say him nay, And Thyrsis to the breast of one sweet Mother Welcomes him, climbing by the self-same way: Quietly as a cloud at break of day Up the long glens of golden dew he stole (And surely Bion called to him afar!) The tearful hyacinths and the greenwood spray Clinging to keep him from the sapphire goal, Kept of his path no trace! Upward the yearning face Clomb the ethereal height, calm as the morning star.

III

Ah yet, incline, dear Sisters, or my song That with the light wings of the skimming swallow Must range the reedy slopes, will work him wrong! And with some golden shaft do thou, Apollo, Show the pine-shadowed path that none may follow; For, as the blue air shuts behind a bird, Round him closed Ida's cloudy woods and rills! Day-long, night-long, by echoing height and hollow, We called him, but our tumult died unheard: Down from the scornful sky Our faint wing-broken cry Fluttered and perished among the many-folded hills.

IV

Ay, though we clomb each faint-flushed peak of vision, Nought but our own sad faces we divined: Thy radiant way still laughed us to derision, And still revengeful Echo proved unkind; And oft our faithless hearts half feared to find Thy cold corse in some dark mist-drenched ravine Where the white foam flashed headlong to the sea: How should we find thee, spirits deaf and blind Even to the things which we had heard and seen? Eyes that could see no more The old light on sea and shore, What should they hope or fear to find? They found not thee;

V

For thou wast ever alien to our skies, A wistful stray of radiance on this earth, A changeling with deep memories in thine eyes Mistily gazing thro' our loud-voiced mirth To some fair land beyond the gates of birth; Yet as a star thro' clouds, thou still didst shed Through our dark world thy lovelier, rarer glow; Time, like a picture of but little worth, Before thy young hand lifelessly outspread, At one light stroke from thee Gleamed with Eternity; Thou gav'st the master's touch, and we—we did not know.

VI

Not though we gazed from heaven o'er Ilion Dreaming on earth below, mistily crowned With towering memories, and beyond her shone The wine-dark seas Achilles heard resound! Only, and after many days, we found Dabbled with dew, at border of a wood Bedded in hyacinths, open and a-glow Thy Homer's Iliad.... Dryad tears had drowned The rough Greek type and, as with honey or blood, One crocus with crushed gold Stained the great page that told Of gods that sighed their loves on Ida, long ago.

VII

See—for a couch to their ambrosial limbs Even as their golden load of splendour presses The fragrant thyme, a billowing cloud up-swims Of springing flowers beneath their deep caresses, Hyacinth, lotus, crocus, wildernesses Of bloom ... but clouds of sunlight and of dew Dropping rich balm, round the dark pine-woods curled That the warm wonder of their in-woven tresses, And all the secret blisses that they knew, Where beauty kisses truth In heaven's deep heart of youth, Might still be hidden, as thou art, from the heartless world.

VIII

Even as we found thy book, below these rocks Perchance that strange great eagle's feather lay, When Ganymede, from feeding of his flocks On Ida, vanished thro' the morning grey: Stranger it seemed, if thou couldst cast away Those golden musics as a thing of nought, A dream for which no longer thou hadst need! Ah, was it here then that the break of day Brought thee the substance for the shadow, taught Thy soul a swifter road To ease it of its load And watch this world of shadows as a dream recede?

IX

We slept! Darkling we slept! Our busy schemes, Our cold mechanic world awhile was still; But O, their eyes are blinded even in dreams Who from the heavenlier Powers withdraw their will: Here did the dawn with purer light fulfil Thy happier eyes than ours, here didst thou see The quivering wonder-light in flower and dew, The quickening glory of the haunted hill, The Hamadryad beckoning from the tree. The Naiad from the stream; While from her long dark dream Earth woke, trembling with life, light, beauty, through and through.

X

And the everlasting miracle of things Flowed round thee, and this dark earth opposed no bar, And radiant faces from the flowers and springs Dawned on thee, whispering, Knowest thou whence we are? Faintly thou heardst us calling thee afar As Hylas heard, swooning beneath the wave, Girdled with glowing arms, while wood and glen Echoed his name beneath that rosy star; And thy farewell came faint as from the grave For very bliss; but we Could neither hear nor see; And all the hill with Hylas! Hylas! rang again.

XI

But there were deeper love-tales for thine ears Than mellow-tongued Theocritus could tell: Over him like a sea two thousand years Had swept. They solemnized his music well! Farewell! What word could answer but farewell, From thee, O happy spirit, that couldst steal So quietly from this world at break of day? What voice of ours could break the silent spell Beauty had cast upon thee, or reveal The gates of sun and dew Which oped and let thee through And led thee heavenward by that deep enchanted way?

XII

Yet here thou mad'st thy choice: Love, Wisdom, Power, As once before young Paris, they stood here! Beneath them Ida, like one full-blown flower, Shed her bloom earthward thro' the radiant air Leaving her rounded fruit, their beauty, bare To the everlasting dawn; and, in thy palm The golden apple of the Hesperian isle Which thou must only yield to the Most Fair; But not to Juno's great luxurious calm, Nor Dian's curved white moon, Gav'st thou the sunset's boon, Nor to foam-bosomed Aphrodite's rose-lipped smile.

XIII

Here didst thou make the eternal choice aright, Here, in this hallowed haunt of nymph and faun, They stood before thee in that great new light, The three great splendours of the immortal dawn, With all the cloudy veils of Time withdrawn Or only glistening round the firm white snows Of their pure beauty like the golden dew Brushed from the feathery ferns below the lawn; But not to cold Diana's morning rose, Nor to great Juno's frown Cast thou the apple down, And, when the Paphian raised her lustrous eyes anew,

XIV

Thou from thy soul didst whisper—in that heaven Which yearns beyond us! Lead me up the height! How should the golden fruit to one be given Till your three splendours in that Sun unite Where each in each ye move like light in light? How should I judge the rapture till I know The pain? And like three waves of music there They closed thee round, blinding thy blissful sight With beauty and, like one roseate orb a-glow, They bore thee on their breasts Up the sun-smitten crests And melted with thee smiling into the Most Fair.

XV

Upward and onward, ever as ye went The cities of the world nestled beneath Closer, as if in love, round Ida, blent With alien hills in one great bridal-wreath Of dawn-flushed clouds; while, breathing with your breath New heavens mixed with your mounting bliss. Deep eyes, Beautiful eyes, imbrued with the world's tears Dawned on you, beautiful gleams of Love and Death Flowed thro' your questioning with divine replies From that ineffable height Dark with excess of light Where the Ever-living dies and the All-loving hears.

XVI

For thou hadst seen what tears upon man's face Bled from the heart or burned from out the brain, And not denied or cursed, but couldst embrace Infinite sweetness in the heart of pain, And heardst those universal choirs again Wherein like waves of one harmonious sea All our slight dreams of heaven are singing still, And still the throned Olympians swell the strain, And, hark, the burden, of all—Come unto Me! Sky into deepening sky Melts with that one great cry; And the lost doves of Ida moan on Siloa's hill.

XVII

I gather all the ages in my song And send them singing up the heights to thee! Chord by aeonian chord the stars prolong Their passionate echoes to Eternity: Earth wakes, and one orchestral symphony Sweeps o'er the quivering harp-strings of mankind; Grief modulates into heaven, hate drowns in love, No strife now but of love in that great sea Of song! I dream! I dream! Mine eyes grow blind: Chords that I not command Escape the fainting hand; Tears fall. Thou canst not hear. Thou'rt still too far above.

XVIII

Farewell! What word should answer but farewell From thee, O happy spirit, whose clear gaze Discerned the path—clear, but unsearchable— Where Olivet sweetens, deepens, Ida's praise, The path that strikes as thro' a sunlit haze Through Time to that clear reconciling height Where our commingling gleams of godhead dwell; Strikes thro' the turmoil of our darkling days To that great harmony where, like light in light, Wisdom and Beauty still Haunt the thrice-holy hill, And Love, immortal Love ... what answer but farewell?



THE ELECTRIC TRAM

I

Bluff and burly and splendid Thro' roaring traffic-tides, By secret lightnings attended The land-ship hisses and glides. And I sit on its bridge and I watch and I dream While the world goes gallantly by, With all its crowded houses and its colored shops a-stream Under the June-blue sky, Heigh, ho! Under the June-blue sky.

II

There's a loafer at the kerb with a sulphur-coloured pile Of "Lights! Lights! Lights!" to sell; And a flower-girl there with some lilies and a smile By the gilt swing-doors of a drinking hell, Where the money is rattling loud and fast, And I catch one glimpse as the ship swings past Of a woman with a babe at her breast Wrapped in a ragged shawl; She is drinking away with the rest, And the sun shines over it all, Heigh, ho! The sun shines over it all!

III

And a barrel-organ is playing, Somewhere, far away, Abide with me, and The world is gone a-maying, And What will the policeman say? There's a glimpse of the river down an alley by a church, And the barges with their tawny-coloured sails, And a grim and grimy coal-wharf where the London pigeons perch And flutter and spread their tails, Heigh, ho! Flutter and spread their tails.

IV

O, what does it mean, all the pageant and the pity, The waste and the wonder and the shame? I am riding tow'rds the sunset thro' the vision of a City Which we cloak with the stupor of a name! I am riding thro' ten thousand thousand tragedies and terrors, Ten million heavens that save and hells that damn; And the lightning draws my car tow'rds the golden evening star; And—They call it only "riding on a tram," Heigh, ho! They call it only "riding on a tram."



SHERWOOD

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA

ROBIN Earl of Huntingdon, known as "Robin Hood."

LITTLE JOHN } FRIAR TUCK } WILL SCARLET } Outlaws and followers of "Robin Hood." REYNOLD GREENLEAF } MUCH, THE MILLER'S SON } ALLAN-A-DALE }

PRINCE JOHN. KING RICHARD, Coeur de Lion. BLONDEL King Richard's minstrel. OBERON King of the Fairies. TITANIA Queen of the Fairies. PUCK A Fairy. THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM. FITZWALTER Father of Marian, known as "Maid Marian." SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF A Fool. ARTHUR PLANTAGENET Nephew to Prince John, a boy of about ten years of age. QUEEN ELINOR Mother of Prince John and Richard Lion-Heart. MARIAN FITZWALTER Known as Maid Marian, betrothed to Robin Hood. JENNY Maid to Marian. WIDOW SCARLET Mother of Will Scarlet. PRIORESS OF KIRKLEE.

Fairies, merry men, serfs, peasants, mercenaries, an abbot, a baron, a novice, nuns, courtiers, soldiers, retainers, etc.



ACT I

SCENE I. Night. The borders of the forest. The smouldering embers of a Saxon homestead. The SHERIFF and his men are struggling with a SERF.

SERF

No, no, not that! not that! If you should blind me God will repay you. Kill me out of hand!

[Enter PRINCE JOHN and several of his retainers.]

JOHN

Who is this night-jar?

[The retainers laugh.]

Surely, master Sheriff, You should have cut its tongue out, first. Its cries Tingle so hideously across the wood They'll wake the King in Palestine. Small wonder That Robin Hood evades you.

SHERIFF

[To the SERF.]

Silence, dog, Know you not better than to make this clamour Before Prince John?

SERF

Prince John! It is Prince John! For God's love save me, sir!

JOHN

Whose thrall is he?

SHERIFF

I know not, sir, but he was caught red-handed Killing the king's deer. By the forest law He should of rights be blinded; for, as you see,

[He indicates the SERF'S right hand.]

'Tis not his first deer at King Richard's cost.

JOHN

'Twill save you trouble if you say at mine.

SHERIFF

Ay, sir, I pray your pardon—at your cost! His right hand lacks the thumb and arrow-finger, And though he vows it was a falling tree That crushed them, you may trust your Sheriff, sir, It was the law that clipped them when he last Hunted your deer.

SERF

Prince, when the Conqueror came, They burned my father's homestead with the rest To make the King a broader hunting-ground. I have hunted there for food. How could I bear To hear my hungry children crying? Prince, They'll make good bowmen for your wars, one day.

JOHN

He is much too fond of 'Prince': he'll never live To see a king. Whose thrall?—his iron collar, Look, is the name not on it?

SHERIFF

Sir, the name Is filed away, and in another hour The ring would have been broken. He is one of those Green adders of the moon, night-creeping thieves Whom Huntingdon has tempted to the woods. These desperate ruffians flee their lawful masters And flock around the disaffected Earl Like ragged rooks around an elm, by scores! And now, i' faith, the sun of Huntingdon Is setting fast. They've well nigh beggared him, Eaten him out of house and home. They say That, when we make him outlaw, we shall find Nought to distrain upon, but empty cupboards.

JOHN

Did you not serve him once yourself?

SHERIFF

Oh, ay, He was more prosperous then. But now my cupboards Are full, and his are bare. Well, I'd think scorn To share a crust with outcast churls and thieves, Doffing his dignity, letting them call him Robin, or Robin Hood, as if an Earl Were just a plain man, which he will be soon, When we have served our writ of outlawry! 'Tis said he hopes much from the King's return And swears by Lion-Heart; and though King Richard Is brother to yourself, 'tis all the more Ungracious, sir, to hope he should return, And overset your rule. But then—to keep Such base communications! Myself would think it Unworthy of my sheriffship, much more Unworthy a right Earl.

JOHN

You talk too much! This whippet, here, slinks at his heel, you say. Mercy may close her eyes, then. Take him off, Blind him or what you will; and let him thank His master for it. But wait—perhaps he knows Where we may trap this young patrician thief. Where is your master?

SERF

Where you'll never find him.

JOHN

Oh, ho! the dog is faithful! Take him away. Get your red business done, I shall require Your men to ride with me.

SHERIFF

[To his men.]

Take him out yonder, A bow-shot into the wood, so that his clamour Do not offend my lord. Delay no time, The irons are hot by this. They'll give you light Enough to blind him by.

SERF

[Crying out and struggling as he is forced back into the forest.]

No, no, not that! God will repay you! Kill me out of hand!

SHERIFF

[To PRINCE JOHN.]

There is a kind of justice in all this. The irons being heated in that fire, my lord, Which was his hut, aforetime.

[Some of the men take the glowing irons from the fire and follow into the wood.]

There's no need To parley with him, either. The snares are laid For Robin Hood. He goes this very night To his betrothal feast.

JOHN

Betrothal feast!

SHERIFF

At old Fitzwalter's castle, sir.

JOHN

Ha! ha! There will be one more guest there than he thought! Ourselves are riding thither. We intended My Lady Marian for a happier fate Than bride to Robin Hood. Your plans are laid To capture him?

SHERIFF

[Consequentially.]

It was our purpose, sir, To serve the writ of outlawry upon him And capture him as he came forth.

JOHN

That's well. Then—let him disappear—you understand?

SHERIFF

I have your warrant, sir? Death? A great Earl?

JOHN

Why, first declare him outlawed at his feast! 'Twill gladden the tremulous heart of old Fitzwalter With his prospective son-in-law; and then— No man will overmuch concern himself Whither an outlaw goes. You understand?

SHERIFF

It shall be done, sir.

JOHN

But the Lady Marian! By heaven, I'll take her. I'll banish old Fitzwalter If he prevent my will in this. You'll bring How many men to ring the castle round?

SHERIFF

A good five score of bowmen.

JOHN

Then I'll take her This very night as hostage for Fitzwalter, Since he consorts with outlaws. These grey rats Will gnaw my kingdom's heart out. For 'tis mine, This England, now or later. They that hold By Richard, as their absent king, would make My rule a usurpation. God, am I My brother's keeper?

[There is a cry in the forest from the SERF, who immediately afterwards appears at the edge of the glade, shaking himself free from his guards. He seizes a weapon and rushes at PRINCE JOHN. One of the retainers runs him through and he falls at the PRINCE'S feet.]

JOHN

That's a happy answer!

SHERIFF

[Stooping over the body.]

He is dead.

JOHN

I am sorry. It were better sport To send him groping like a hoodman blind Through Sherwood, whimpering for his Robin. Come, I'll ride with you to this betrothal feast. Now for my Lady Marian!

[Exeunt all. A pause. The scene darkens. Shadowy figures creep out from the thickets, of old men, women and children.]

FIRST OLD MAN

[Stretching his arms up to Heaven.]

God, am I My brother's keeper? Witness, God in heaven, He said it and not we—Cain's word, he said it!

FIRST WOMAN

[Kneeling by the body.]

O Father, Father, and the blood of Abel Cries to thee!

A BLIND MAN

Is there any light here still? I feel a hot breath on my face. The dark Is better for us all. I am sometimes glad They blinded me those many years ago. Princes are princes; and God made the world For one or two it seems. Well, I am glad I cannot see His world.

FIRST WOMAN

[Still by the body and whispering to the others.]

Keep him away. 'Tis as we thought. The dead man is his son. Keep him away, poor soul. He need not know.

[Some of the men carry the body among the thickets.]

A CHILD

Mother, I'm hungry, I'm hungry!

FIRST OLD MAN

There's no food For any of us to-night. The snares are empty, And I can try no more.

THE BLIND MAN

Wait till my son Comes back. He's a rare hunter is my boy. You need not fret, poor little one. My son Is much too quick and clever for the Sheriff. He'll bring you something good. Why, ha! ha! ha! Friends, I've a thought—the Sheriff's lit the fire Ready for us to roast our meat. Come, come, Let us be merry while we may! My boy Will soon come back with food for the old folks. The fire burns brightly, eh?

SECOND OLD MAN

The fire that feeds On hope and eats our hearts away. They've burnt Everything, everything!

THE BLIND MAN

Ah, princes are princes! But when the King comes home from the Crusade, We shall have better times.

FIRST OLD MAN

Ay, when the King Comes home from the Crusade.

CHILD

Mother, I'm hungry.

SECOND WOMAN

Oh, but if I could only find a crust Left by the dogs. Masters, the child will starve. We must have food.

THE BLIND MAN

I tell you when my boy Comes back, we shall have plenty!

FIRST WOMAN

God pity thee!

THE BLIND MAN

What dost thou mean?

SECOND WOMAN

Masters, the child will starve.

FIRST OLD MAN

Hist, who comes here—a forester?

THE BLIND MAN

We'd best Slip back into the dark.

FIRST WOMAN

[Excitedly.]

No, stay! All's well. There's Shadow-of-a-Leaf, good Lady Marian's fool Beside him!

THE BLIND MAN

Ah, they say there's fairy blood In Shadow-of-a-Leaf. But I've no hopes of more From him, than wild bees' honey-bags.

[Enter LITTLE JOHN, a giant figure, leading a donkey, laden with a sack. On the other side, SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF trips, a slender figure in green trunk-hose and doublet. He is tickling the donkey's ears with a long fern.]

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

Gee! Whoa! Neddy, my boy, have you forgot the Weaver, And how Titania tickled your long ears? Ha! ha! Don't ferns remind you?

LITTLE JOHN

Friends, my master Hath sent me to you, fearing ye might hunger.

FIRST OLD MAN

Thy master?

LITTLE JOHN

Robin Hood.

SECOND WOMAN

[Falling on her knees.]

God bless his name. God bless the kindly name of Robin Hood.

LITTLE JOHN

[Giving them food.]

'Tis well nigh all that's left him; and to-night He goes to his betrothal feast.

[All the outcasts except the first old man exeunt.]

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

[Pointing to the donkey.]

Now look, There's nothing but that shadow of a cross On his grey back to tell you of the palms That once were strewn before my Lord, the King. Won't ferns, won't branching ferns, do just as well? There's only a dream to ride my donkey now! But, Neddy, I'll lead you home and cry—HOSANNA! We'll thread the glad Gate Beautiful again, Though now there's only a Fool to hold your bridle And only moonlit ferns to strew your path, And the great King is fighting for a grave In lands beyond the sea. Come, Neddy, come, Hosanna!

[Exit SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF with the donkey. He strews ferns before it as he goes.]

FIRST OLD MAN

'Tis a strange creature, master! Thinkest There's fairy blood in him?

LITTLE JOHN

'Twas he that brought Word of your plight to Robin Hood. He flits Like Moonshine thro' the forest. He'll be home Before I know it. I must be hastening back. This makes a sad betrothal night.

FIRST OLD MAN

That minds me, Couched in the thicket yonder, we overheard The Sheriff tell Prince John....

LITTLE JOHN

Prince John!

FIRST OLD MAN

You'd best Warn Robin Hood. They're laying a trap for him. Ay! Now I mind me of it! I heard 'em say They'd take him at the castle.

LITTLE JOHN

To-night?

FIRST OLD MAN

To-night! Fly, lad, for God's dear love. Warn Robin Hood! Fly like the wind, or you'll be there too late. And yet you'd best be careful. There's five score In ambush round the castle.

LITTLE JOHN

I'll be there An if I have to break five hundred heads!

[He rushes off thro' the forest. The old man goes into the thicket after the others. The scene darkens. A soft light, as of the moon, appears between the ferns to the right of the glade, showing OBERON and TITANIA.]

TITANIA

Yet one night more the gates of fairyland Are opened by a mortal's kindly deed.

OBERON

Last night the gates were shut, and I heard weeping! Men, women, children, beat upon the gates That guard our happy world. They could not sleep. Titania, must not that be terrible, When mortals cannot sleep?

TITANIA

Yet one night more Dear Robin Hood has opened the gates wide And their poor weary souls can enter in.

OBERON

Yet one night more we woodland elves may steal Out thro' the gates. I fear the time will come When they must close for ever; and we no more Shall hold our Sherwood revels.

TITANIA

Only love And love's kind sacrifice can open them. For when a mortal hurts himself to help Another, then he thrusts the gates wide open Between his world and ours.

OBERON

Ay, but that's rare, That kind of love, Titania, for the gates Are almost always closed.

TITANIA

Yet one night more! Hark, how the fairy host begins to sing Within the gates. Wait here and we shall see What weary souls by grace of Robin Hood This night shall enter Dreamland. See, they come!

[The soft light deepens in the hollow among the ferns and the ivory gates of Dreamland are seen swinging open. The fairy host is heard, singing to invite the mortals to enter.]

[Song of the fairies.]

The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! Your world is growing old; But a Princess sleeps in the greenwood, Whose hair is brighter than gold.

The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! O hearts that bleed and burn, Her lips are redder than roses, Who sleeps in the faery fern.

The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! By the Beauty that wakes anew Milk-white with the fragrant hawthorn In the drip of the dawn-red dew.

The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! O hearts that are weary of pain, Come back to your home in Faerie And wait till she wakes again.

[The victims of the forest-laws steal out of the thicket once more—dark, distorted, lame, blind, serfs with iron collars round their necks, old men, women and children; and as the fairy song breaks into chorus they pass in procession thro' the beautiful gates. The gates slowly close. The fairy song is heard as dying away in the distance.]

TITANIA

[Coming out into the glade and holding up her hands to the evening star beyond the tree-tops.]

Shine, shine, dear star of Love, yet one night more.

SCENE II. A banqueting hall in FITZWALTER'S castle. The guests are assembling for the betrothal feast of ROBIN and MARIAN. Some of ROBIN HOOD'S men, clad in Lincoln green, are just arriving at the doors. SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF runs forward to greet them.

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

Come in, my scraps of Lincoln green; come in, My slips of greenwood. You're much wanted here! Head, heart and eyes, we are all pent up in walls Of stone—nothing but walls on every side— And not a rose to break them—big blind walls, Neat smooth stone walls! Come in, my ragged robins; Come in, my jolly minions of the moon, My straggling hazel-boughs! Hey, bully friar, Come in, my knotted oak! Ho, little Much, Come in, my sweet green linnet. Come, my cushats, Larks, yellow-hammers, fern-owls, Oh, come in, Come in, my Dian's foresters, and drown us With may, with blossoming may!

FITZWALTER

Out, Shadow-of-a-Leaf! Welcome, welcome, good friends of Huntingdon, Or Robin Hood, by whatsoever name You best may love him.

CRIES

Robin! Robin! Robin!

[Enter ROBIN HOOD.]

FITZWALTER

Robin, so be it! Myself I am right glad To call him at this bright betrothal feast My son.

[Lays a hand on ROBIN'S shoulder.]

Yet, though I would not cast a cloud Across our happy gathering, you'll forgive An old man and a father if he sees All your glad faces thro' a summer mist Of sadness.

ROBIN

Sadness? Yes, I understand.

FITZWALTER

No, Robin, no, you cannot understand.

ROBIN

Where's Marian?

FITZWALTER

Ay, that's all you think of, boy. But I must say a word to all of you Before she comes.

ROBIN

Why—what?...

FITZWALTER

No need to look So startled; but it is no secret here; For many of you are sharers of his wild Adventures. Now I hoped an end had come To these, until another rumour reached me, This very day, of yet another prank. You know, you know, how perilous a road My Marian must ride if Huntingdon Tramples the forest-laws beneath his heel And, in the thin disguise of Robin Hood, Succours the Saxon outlaws, makes his house A refuge for them, lavishes his wealth To feed their sick and needy.

[The SHERIFF and two of his men appear in the great doorway out of sight of the guests.]

SHERIFF

[Whispering.]

Not yet! keep back! One of you go—see that the guards are set! He must not slip us.

FITZWALTER

Oh, I know his heart Is gold, but this is not an age of gold; And those who have must keep, or lose the power Even to help themselves. No—he must doff His green disguise of Robin Hood for ever, And wear his natural coat of Huntingdon.

ROBIN

Ah, which is the disguise? Day after day We rise and put our social armour on, A different mask for every friend; but steel Always to case our hearts. We are all so wrapped, So swathed, so muffled in habitual thought That now I swear we do not know our souls Or bodies from their winding-sheets; but Custom, Custom, the great god Custom, all day long Shovels the dirt upon us where we lie Buried alive and dreaming that we stand Upright and royal. Sir, I have great doubts About this world, doubts if we have the right To sit down here for this betrothal feast And gorge ourselves with plenty, when we know That for the scraps and crumbs which we let fall And never miss, children would kiss our hands And women weep in gratitude. Suppose A man fell wounded at your gates, you'd not Pass on and smile and leave him there to die. And can a few short miles of distance blind you? Miles, nay, a furlong is enough to close The gates of mercy. Must we thrust our hands Into the wounds before we can believe? Oh, is our sight so thick and gross? We came, We saw, we conquered with the Conqueror. We gave ourselves broad lands; and when our king Desired a wider hunting ground we set Hundreds of Saxon homes a-blaze and tossed Women and children back into the fire If they but wrung their hands against our will. And so we made our forest, and its leaves Were pitiful, more pitiful than man. They gave our homeless victims the same refuge And happy hiding place they give the birds And foxes. Then we made our forest-laws, And he that dared to hunt, even for food, Even on the ground where we had burned his hut, The ground we had drenched with his own kindred's blood, Poor foolish churl, why, we put out his eyes With red-hot irons, cut off both his hands, Torture him with such horrors that ... Christ God, How can I help but fight against it all?

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

Ah, gossips, if the Conqueror had but burned Everything with four walls, hut, castle, palace, And turned the whole wide world into a forest, Drenched us with may, we might be happy then! With sweet blue wood-smoke curling thro' the boughs, And just a pigeon's flap to break the silence, And ferns, of course, there's much to make men happy. Well, well, the forest conquers at the last! I saw a thistle in the castle courtyard, A purple thistle breaking thro' the pavement, Yesterday; and it's wonderful how soon Some creepers pick these old grey walls to pieces. These nunneries and these monasteries now, They don't spring up like flowers, so I suppose Old mother Nature wins the race at last.

FITZWALTER

Robin, my heart is with you, but I know A hundred ages will not change this earth.

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

[With a candle in his hand.]

Gossip, suppose the sun goes out like this. Pouf!

[Blows it out.]

Stranger things have happened.

FITZWALTER

Silence, fool!... So, if you share your wealth with all the world Earth will be none the better, and my poor girl Will suffer for it. Where you got the gold You have already lavished on the poor Heaven knows.

FRIAR TUCK

Oh, by the mass and the sweet moon Of Sherwood, so do I? That's none so hard A riddle!

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

Ah, Friar Tuck, we know, we know! Under the hawthorn bough, and at the foot Of rainbows, that's where fairies hide their gold. Cut me a silver penny out of the moon Next time you're there.

[Whispers.]

Now tell me, have you brought Your quarter-staff?

FRIAR TUCK

[Whispering.]

Hush! hush.

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

Oh, mum's the word! I see it!

FITZWALTER

Believe me, Robin, there's one way And only one—patience! When Lion-Heart Comes home from the Crusade, he will not brook This blot upon our chivalry. Prince John Is dangerous to a heart like yours. Beware Of rousing him. Meanwhile, your troth holds good; But, till the King comes home from the Crusade You must not claim your bride.

ROBIN

So be it, then.... When the great King comes home from the Crusade!...

FITZWALTER

Meanwhile for Marian's sake and mine, I pray Do nothing rash.

[Enter WIDOW SCARLET. She goes up to ROBIN HOOD.]

WIDOW SCARLET

Are you that Robin Hood They call the poor man's friend?

ROBIN

I am.

WIDOW SCARLET

They told me, They told me I should find you here. They told me!

ROBIN

Come, mother, what's the trouble?

WIDOW SCARLET

Sir, my son Will Scarlet lies in gaol at Nottingham For killing deer in Sherwood! Sir, they'll hang him. He only wanted food for him and me! They'll kill him, I tell you, they'll kill him. I can't help Crying it out. He's all I have, all! Save him! I'll pray for you, I'll ...

ROBIN

[To FITZWALTER, as he raises WIDOW SCARLET gently to her feet.]

Sir, has not the King Come home from the Crusade? Does not your heart Fling open wide its gates to welcome him?

FITZWALTER

Robin, you set me riddles. Follow your conscience. Do what seems best.

ROBIN

I hope there is a way, Mother. I knew Will Scarlet. Better heart There never beat beneath a leather jerkin. He loved the forest and the forest loves him; And if the lads that wear the forest's livery Of living green should happen to break out And save Will Scarlet (as on my soul I swear, Mother, they shall!) why, that's a matter none Shall answer for to prince, or king, or God, But you and Robin Hood; and if the judgment Strike harder upon us than the heavenly smile Of sunshine thro' the greenwood, may it fall Upon my head alone.

[Enter the SHERIFF, with two of his men.]

SHERIFF

[Reads.]

In the King's name! Thou, Earl of Huntingdon, by virtue of this writ art hereby attainted and deprived of thine earldom, thy lands and all thy goods and chattels whatsoever and whereas thou hast at divers times trespassed against the officers of the king by force of arms, thou art hereby outlawed and banished the realm.

ROBIN

That's well.

[He laughs.]

It puts an end to the great question Of how I shall dispose my wealth, Fitzwalter. But "banished"?—No! that is beyond their power While I have power to breathe, unless they banish The kind old oaks of Sherwood. They may call it "Outlawed," perhaps.

FITZWALTER

Who let the villain in Thro' doors of mine?

CRIES

Out with him! Out with him!

[The guests draw swords and the SHERIFF retreats thro' the doorway with his men.]

ROBIN

Stop! Put up your swords! He had his work to do.

[WIDOW SCARLET falls sobbing at his feet.]

WIDOW SCARLET

O master, master, who will save my son, My son?

ROBIN

[Raising her.]

Why, mother, this is but a dream, This poor fantastic strutting show of law! And you shall wake with us in Sherwood Forest And find Will Scarlet in your arms again. Come, cheerly, cheerly, we shall overcome All this. Hark!

[A bugle sounds in the distance. There is a scuffle in the doorway and LITTLE JOHN bursts in with his head bleeding.]

LITTLE JOHN

Master, master, come away! They are setting a trap for thee, drawing their lines All round the castle.

ROBIN

How now, Little John, They have wounded thee! Art hurt?

LITTLE JOHN

No, no, that's nothing. Only a bloody cockscomb. Come, be swift, Or, if thou wert a fox, thou'dst never slip Between 'em. Ah, hear that?

[Another bugle sounds from another direction.]

That's number two. Two sides cut off already. When the third Sounds—they will have thee, sure as eggs is eggs. Prince John is there, Fitzwalter cannot save 'ee. They'll burn the castle down.

ROBIN

Prince John is there?

LITTLE JOHN

Ay, and my lord Fitzwalter had best look Well to my mistress Marian, if these ears Heard right as I came creeping thro' their lines. Look well to her, my lord, look well to her. Come, master, come, for God's sake, come away.

FITZWALTER

Robin, this is thy rashness. I warned thee, boy! Prince John! Nay, that's too perilous a jest For even a prince to play with me. Come, Robin, You must away and quickly.

ROBIN

Let me have One word with Marian.

LITTLE JOHN

It would be the last On earth. Come, if you ever wish to see Her face again.

FITZWALTER

Come, Robin, are you mad? You'll bring us all to ruin!

[He opens a little door in the wall.]

The secret passage, This brings you out by Much the Miller's wheel, Thro' an otter's burrow in the river bank. Come, quick, or you'll destroy us! Take this lanthorn. If you're in danger, slip into the stream And let it carry you down into the heart Of Sherwood. Come now, quickly, you must go!

ROBIN

The old cave, lads, in Sherwood, you know where To find me. Friar Tuck, bring Widow Scarlet Thither to-morrow, with a word or two From Lady Marian!

FITZWALTER

Quickly, quickly, go.

[He pushes ROBIN and LITTLE JOHN into the opening and shuts the door. A pause.]

Oh, I shall pay for this, this cursed folly! Henceforth I swear I wash my hands of him!

[Enter MARIAN, from a door on the right above the banqueting hall. She pauses, pale and frightened, on the broad steps leading down.]

MARIAN

Father, where's Robin?

FITZWALTER

Child, I bade you stay Until I called you.

MARIAN

Something frightened me! Father, where's Robin? Where's Robin?

FITZWALTER

Hush, Marian, hark!

[All stand listening.]

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF

[Stealing to the foot of the stairs and whispering to LADY MARIAN.]

Lady, they're all so silent now. I'll tell you I had a dream last night—there was a man That bled to death, because of four grey walls And a black-hooded nun.

FITZWALTER

[Angrily.]

Hist, Shadow-of-a-Leaf!

[The third bugle sounds. There is a clamour at the doors. Enter PRINCE JOHN and his retainers.]

JOHN

[Mockingly.]

Now this is fortunate! I come in time To see—Oh, what a picture! Lady Marian, Forgive me—coming suddenly out of the dark And seeing you there, robed in that dazzling white Above these verdant gentlemen, I feel Like one that greets the gracious evening star Thro' a gap in a great wood. Is aught amiss? Why are you all so silent? Ah, my good, My brave Fitzwalter, I most fervently Trust I am not inopportune.

FITZWALTER

My lord, I am glad that you can jest. I am sadly grieved And sorely disappointed in that youth Who has incurred your own displeasure.

JOHN

Ah? Your future son-in-law?

FITZWALTER

Never on earth! He is outlawed—

MARIAN

Outlawed!

FITZWALTER

And I wash my hands Of Huntingdon. His shadow shall not darken My doors again!

JOHN

That's vehement! Ha! ha! And what does Lady Marian say?

MARIAN

My father Speaks hastily. I am not so unworthy.

FITZWALTER

Unworthy?

MARIAN

Yes, unworthy as to desert him Because he is in trouble—the bravest man In England since the days of Hereward. You know why he is outlawed!

FITZWALTER

[To PRINCE JOHN.]

Sir, she speaks As the spoilt child of her old father's dotage. Give her no heed. She shall not meet with him On earth again, and till she promise this, She'll sun herself within the castle garden And never cross the draw-bridge.

MARIAN

Then I'll swim The moat!

FRIAR TUCK

Ha! ha! well spoken.

MARIAN

Oh, you forget, Father, you quite forget there is a King; And, when the King comes home from the Crusade, Will you forget Prince John and change once more?

[Murmurs of assent from the FORESTERS.]

JOHN

Enough of this. Though I be prince, I am vice-gerent too! Fitzwalter, I would have some private talk With you and Lady Marian. Bid your guests Remove a little—

FITZWALTER

I'll lead them all within! And let them make what cheer they may. Come, friends.

[He leads them up the stairs to the inner room.]

My lord, I shall return immediately!

[Exeunt FITZWALTER and the guests.]

JOHN

Marian!

MARIAN

My lord!

JOHN

[Drawing close to her.]

I have come to urge a plea On your behalf as well as on my own! Listen, you may not know it—I must tell you. I have watched your beauty growing like a flower, With—why should I not say it—worship; yes, Marian, I will not hide it.

MARIAN

Sir, you are mad! Sir, and your bride, your bride, not three months wedded! You cannot mean ...

JOHN

Listen to me! Ah, Marian, You'd be more merciful if you knew all! D'you think that princes wed to please themselves?

MARIAN

Sir, English maidens do; and I am plighted Not to a prince, but to an outlawed man.

JOHN

Listen to me! One word! Marian, one word! I never meant you harm! Indeed, what harm Could come of this? Is not your father poor? I'd make him rich! Is not your lover outlawed? I'd save him from the certain death that waits him. You say the forest-laws afflict your soul And his—you say you'd die for their repeal! Well—I'll repeal them. All the churls in England Shall bless your name and mix it in their prayers With heaven itself.

MARIAN

The price?

JOHN

You call it that! To let me lay the world before your feet, To let me take this little hand in mine. Why should I hide my love from you?