—Friend, I may not forbear: we have been here together: My hand on thy hand has been laid, and thou trembledst. Think now if this May sky should darken above us, And the death of the world in this minute should part us— Think, my love, of the loss if my lips had not kissed thee. And forgive me my hunger of no hope begotten! [She kisses him.

KING PHARAMOND (awaking)

Who art thou? who art thou, that my dream I might tell thee? How with words full of love she drew near me, and kissed me. O thou kissest me yet, and thou clingest about me! Ah, kiss me and wake me into death and deliverance!

AZALAIS (drawing away from him)

Speak no rough word, I pray thee, for a little, thou loveliest! But forgive me, for the years of my life have been lonely, And thou art come hither with the eyes of one seeking.

KING PHARAMOND

Sweet dream of old days, and her very lips speaking The words of my lips and the night season's longing. How might I have lived had I known what I longed for!

AZALAIS

I knew thou wouldst love, I knew all thy desire— Am I she whom thou seekest? may I draw nigh again?

KING PHARAMOND

Ah, lengthen no more the years of my seeking, For thou knowest my love as thy love lies before me.

AZALAIS (coming near to him again)

O Love, there was fear in thine eyes as thou wakenedst; Thy first words were of dreaming and death—but we die not.

KING PHARAMOND

In thine eyes was a terror as thy lips' touches faded, Sore trembled thine arms as they fell away from me; And thy voice was grown piteous with words of beseeching, So that still for a little my search seemed unended. —Ah, enending, unchanging desire fulfils me! I cry out for thy comfort as thou clingest about me. O joy hard to bear, but for memory of sorrow, But for pity of past days whose bitter is sweet now! Let us speak, love, together some word of our story, That our lips as they part may remember the glory.

AZALAIS

O Love, kiss me into silence lest no word avail me; Stay my head with thy bosom lest breath and life fail me.



THE MUSIC

_LOVE IS ENOUGH: while ye deemed him a-sleeping, There were signs of his coming and sounds of his feet; His touch it was that would bring you to weeping, When the summer was deepest and music most sweet: In his footsteps ye followed the day to its dying, Ye went forth by his gown-skirts the morning to meet: In his place on the beaten-down orchard-grass lying, Of the sweet ways ye pondered yet left for life's trying.

Ah, what was all dreaming of pleasure anear you, To the time when his eyes on your wistful eyes turned, And ye saw his lips move, and his head bend to hear you, As new-born and glad to his kindness ye yearned? Ah, what was all dreaming of anguish and sorrow, To the time when the world in his torment was burned, And no god your heart from its prison might borrow, And no rest was left, no to-day, no to-morrow?

All wonder of pleasure, all doubt of desire, All blindness, are ended, and no more ye feel If your feet tread his flowers or the flames of his fire, If your breast meet his balms or the edge of his steel. Change is come, and past over, no more strife, no more learning: Now your lips and your forehead are sealed with his seal, Look backward and smile at the thorns and the burning. —Sweet rest, O my soul, and no fear of returning!_

Enter before the curtain LOVE, clad still as a Pilgrim.



LOVE

How is it with the Fosterer then, when he Comes back again that rest and peace to see, And God his latest prayer has granted now?— Why, as the winds whereso they list shall blow, So drifts the thought of man, and who shall say To-morrow shall my thought be as to-day? —My fosterling is happy, and I too; Yet did we leave behind things good to do, Deeds good to tell about when we are dead. Here is no pain, but rest, and easy bread; Yet therewith something hard to understand Dulls the crowned work to which I set my hand. Ah, patience yet! his longing is well won, And I shall die at last and all be done.— Such words unspoken the best man on earth Still bears about betwixt the lover's mirth; And now he hath what he went forth to find, This Pharamond is neither dull nor blind, And looking upon Oliver, he saith:— My friend recked nothing of his life or death, Knew not my anguish then, nor now my pleasure, And by my crowned joy sets his lessened treasure. Is risk of twenty days of wind and sea, Of new-born feeble headless enmity, I should have scorned once, too great gift to give To this most faithful man that he may live?

—Yea, was that all? my faithful, you and I, Still craving, scorn the world too utterly, The world we want not—yet, our one desire Fulfilled at last, what next shall feed the fire? —I say not this to make my altar cold; Rather that ye, my happy ones, should hold Enough of memory and enough of fear Within your hearts to keep its flame full clear; Rather that ye, still dearer to my heart, Whom words call hapless, yet should praise your part, Wherein the morning and the evening sun Are bright about a story never done; That those for chastening, these for joy should cling About the marvels that my minstrels sing.

Well, Pharamond fulfilled of love must turn Unto the folk that still he deemed would yearn To see his face, and hear his voice once more; And he was mindful of the days passed o'er, And fain had linked them to these days of love; And he perchance was fain the world to move While love looked on; and he perchance was fain Some pleasure of the strife of old to gain. Easy withal it seemed to him to land, And by his empty throne awhile to stand Amid the wonder, and then sit him down While folk went forth to seek the hidden crown.

Or else his name upon the same wind borne As smote the world with winding of his horn, His hood pulled back, his banner flung abroad, A gleam of sunshine on his half-drawn sword. —Well, he and you and I have little skill To know the secret of Fate's worldly will; Yet can I guess, and you belike may guess, Yea, and e'en he mid all his lordliness, That much may be forgot in three years' space Outside my kingdom.—Gone his godlike face, His calm voice, and his kindness, half akin Amid a blind folk to rebuke of sin, Men 'gin to think that he was great and good, But hindered them from doing as they would, And ere they have much time to think on it Between their teeth another has the bit, And forth they run with Force and Fate behind. —Indeed his sword might somewhat heal the blind, Were I not, and the softness I have given; With me for him have hope and glory striven In other days when my tale was beginning; But sweet life lay beyond then for the winning, And now what sweetness?—blood of men to spill Who once believed him God to heal their ill: To break the gate and storm adown the street Where once his coming flower-crowned girls did greet: To deem the cry come from amidst his folk When his own country tongue should curse his stroke— Nay, he shall leave to better men or worse His people's conquered homage and their curse.

So forth they go, his Oliver and he, One thing at least to learn across the sea, That whatso needless shadows life may borrow Love is enough amidst of joy or sorrow.

Love is enough—My Faithful, in your eyes I see the thought, Our Lord is overwise Some minutes past in what concerns him not, And us no more: is all his tale forgot? —Ah, Well-beloved, I fell asleep e'en now, And in my sleep some enemy did show Sad ghosts of bitter things, and names unknown For things I know—a maze with shame bestrown And ruin and death; till e'en myself did seem A wandering curse amidst a hopeless dream. —Yet see! I live, no older than of old, What tales soe'er of changing Time has told. And ye who cling to all my hand shall give, Sorrow or joy, no less than I shall live.

Scene: Before KING PHARAMOND'S Palace.



KING PHARAMOND

A long time it seems since this morn when I met them, The men of my household and the great man they honour: Better counsel in king-choosing might I have given Had ye bided my coming back hither, my people: And yet who shall say or foretell what Fate meaneth? For that man there, the stranger, Honorius men called him, I account him the soul to King Theobald's body, And the twain are one king; and a goodly king may be For this people, who grasping at peace and good days, Careth little who giveth them that which they long for. Yet what gifts have I given them; I who this even Turn away with grim face from the fight that should try me? It is just then, I have lost: lie down, thou supplanter, In thy tomb in the minster when thy life is well over, And the well-carven image of latten laid o'er thee Shall live on as thou livedst, and be worthy the praising Whereby folk shall remember the days of thy plenty. Praising Theobald the Good and the peace that he brought them, But I—I shall live too, though no graven image On the grass of the hillside shall brave the storms' beating; Though through days of thy plenty the people remember As a dim time of war the past days of King Pharamond; Yet belike as time weareth, and folk turn back a little To the darkness where dreams lie and live on for ever, Even there shall be Pharamond who failed not in battle, But feared to overcome his folk who forgot him, And turned back and left them a tale for the telling, A song for the singing, that yet in some battle May grow to remembrance and rend through the ruin As my sword rent it through in the days gone for ever. So, like Enoch of old, I was not, for God took me. —But lo, here is Oliver, all draws to an ending— [Enter OLIVER. Well met, my Oliver! the clocks strike the due minute, What news hast thou got?—thou art moody of visage.

MASTER OLIVER

In one word, 'tis battle; the days we begun with Must begin once again with the world waxen baser.

KING PHARAMOND

Ah! battle it may be: but surely no river Runneth back to its springing: so the world has grown wiser And Theobald the Constable is king in our stead, And contenteth the folk who cried, "Save us, King Pharamond!"

MASTER OLIVER

Hast thou heard of his councillor men call Honorius? Folk hold him in fear, and in love the tale hath it.

KING PHARAMOND.

Much of him have I heard: nay, more, I have seen him With the men of my household, and the great man they honour. They were faring afield to some hunt or disporting, Few faces were missing, and many I saw there I was fain of in days past at fray or at feasting; My heart yearned towards them—but what—days have changed them, They must wend as they must down the way they are driven.

MASTER OLIVER

Yet e'en in these days there remaineth a remnant That is faithful and fears not the flap of thy banner.

KING PHARAMOND

And a fair crown is faith, as thou knowest, my father; Fails the world, yet that faileth not; love hath begot it, Sweet life and contentment at last springeth from it; No helping these need whose hearts still are with me, Nay, rather they handle the gold rod of my kingdom.

MASTER OLIVER

Yet if thou leadest forth once more as aforetime In faith of great deeds will I follow thee, Pharamond, And thy latter end yet shall be counted more glorious Than thy glorious beginning; and great shall my gain be If e'en I must die ere the day of thy triumph.

KING PHARAMOND

Dear is thy heart mid the best and the brightest, Yet not against these my famed blade will I bare.

MASTER OLIVER

Nay, what hast thou heard of their babble and baseness?

KING PHARAMOND

Full enough, friend—content thee, my lips shall not speak it, The same hour wherein they have said that I love thee. Suffice it, folk need me no more: the deliverance, Dear bought in the days past, their hearts have forgotten, But faintly their dim eyes a feared face remember, Their dull ears remember a stern voice they hated. What then, shall I waken their fear and their hatred, And then wait till fresh terror their memory awaketh, With the semblance of love that they have not to give me? Nay, nay, they are safe from my help and my justice, And I—I am freed, and fresh waxeth my manhood.

MASTER OLIVER

It may not be otherwise since thou wilt have it, Yet I say it again, if thou shake out thy banner, Some brave men will be borne unto earth peradventure, Many dastards go trembling to meet their due doom, And then shall come fair days and glory upon me And on all men on earth for thy fame, O King Pharamond.

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, I was king once; the songs sung o'er my cradle, Were ballads of battle and deeds of my fathers: Yea, I was King Pharamond; in no carpeted court-room Bore they the corpse of my father before me; But on grass trodden grey by the hoofs of the war-steeds Did I kneel to his white lips and sword-cloven bosom, As from clutch of dead fingers his notched sword I caught; For a furlong before us the spear-wood was glistening. I was king of this city when here where we stand now Amidst a grim silence I mustered all men folk Who might yet bear a weapon; and no brawl of kings was it That brought war on the city, and silenced the markets And cumbered the haven with crowd of masts sailless, But great countries arisen for our ruin and downfall. I was king of the land, when on all roads were riding The legates of proud princes to pray help and give service— Yea, I was a great king at last as I sat there, Peace spread far about me, and the love of all people To my palace gates wafted by each wind of the heavens. —And where sought I all this? with what price did I buy it? Nay, for thou knowest that this fair fame and fortune Came stealing soft-footed to give their gifts to me: And shall I, who was king once, grow griping and weary In unclosing the clenched fists of niggards who hold them, These gifts that I had once, and, having, scarce heeded? Nay, one thing I have sought, I have sought and have found it, And thou, friend, hast helped me and seest me made happy.

MASTER OLIVER

Farewell then the last time, O land of my fathers! Farewell, feeble hopes that I once held so mighty. Yet no more have I need of but this word that thou sayest, And nought have I to do but to serve thee, my master. In what land of the world shall we dwell now henceforward?

KING PHARAMOND

In the land where my love our returning abideth, The poor land and kingless of the shepherding people, There is peace there, and all things this land are unlike to.

MASTER OLIVER

Before the light waneth will I seek for a passage, Since for thee and for me the land groweth perilous: Yea, o'er sweet smell the flowers, too familiar the folk seem, Fain I grow of the salt seas, since all things are over here.

KING PHARAMOND

I am fain of one hour's farewell in the twilight, To the times I lament not: times worser than these times, To the times that I blame not, that brought on times better— Let us meet in our hostel—be brave mid thy kindness, Let thy heart say, as mine saith, that fair life awaits us.

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, no look in thy face is of ruin, O my master; Thou art king yet, unchanged yet, nor is my heart changing; The world hath no chances to conquer thy glory. [Exit OLIVER

KING PHARAMOND

Full fair were the world if such faith were remembered. If such love as thy love had its due, O my fosterer. Forgive me that giftless from me thou departest, With thy gifts in my hands left. I might not but take them; Thou wilt not begrudge me, I will not forget thee.— —Long fall the shadows and night draws on apace now, Day sighs as she sinketh back on to her pillow, And her last waking breath is full sweet with the rose. —In such wise depart thou, O daylight of life, Loved once for the shadows that told of the dreamtide; Loved still for the longing whereby I remember That I was lone once in the world of thy making; Lone wandering about on thy blind way's confusion, The maze of thy paths that yet led me to love. All is passed now, and passionless, faint are ye waxen, Ye hours of blind seeking full of pain clean forgotten. If it were not that e'en now her eyes I behold not. That the way lieth long to her feet that would find me, That the green seas delay yet her fair arms enfolding, That the long leagues of air will not bear the cry hither Wherewith she is crying. Come, love, for I love thee. [A trumpet sounds. Hark! O days grown a dream of the dream ye have won me, Do ye draw forth the ghosts of old deeds that were nothing, That the sound of my trumpet floats down on the even? What shows will ye give me to grace my departure? Hark!—the beat of the horse-hoofs, the murmur of men folk! Am I riding from battle amidst of my faithful, Wild hopes in my heart of the days that are coming; Wild longing unsatisfied clinging about me; Full of faith that the summer sun elsewhere is ripening The fruit grown a pain for my parched lips to think of? —Come back, thou poor Pharamond! come back for my pity! Far afield must thou fare before the rest cometh; In far lands are they raising the walls of thy prison, Forging wiles for waylaying, and fair lies for lulling, The faith and the fire of the heart the world hateth. In thy way wax streams fordless, and choked passes pathless, Fever lurks in the valley, and plague passeth over The sand of the plain, and with venom and fury Fulfilled are the woods that thou needs must wend through: In the hollow of the mountains the wind is a-storing Till the keel that shall carry thee hoisteth her sail; War is crouching unseen round the lands thou shalt come to, With thy sword cast away and thy cunning forgotten. Yea, and e'en the great lord, the great Love of thy fealty, He who goadeth thee on, weaveth nets to cast o'er thee. —And thou knowest it all, as thou ridest there lonely, With the tangles and toils of to-morrow's uprising Making ready meanwhile for more days of thy kingship. Faithful heart hadst thou, Pharamond, to hold fast thy treasure! I am fain of thee: surely no shame hath destained thee; Come hither, for thy face all unkissed would I look on! —Stand we close, for here cometh King Theobald from the hunting.

Enter KING THEOBALD, HONORIUS, and the people.

KING THEOBALD

A fair day, my folk, have I had in your fellowship, And as fair a day cometh to-morrow to greet us, When the lord of the Golden Land bringeth us tribute: Grace the gifts of my good-hap with your presence, I pray you.

THE PEOPLE

God save Theobald the Good, the king of his people!

HONORIUS (aside)

Yea, save him! and send the Gold lords away satisfied, That the old sword of Pharamond, lying asleep there In the new golden scabbard, will yet bite as aforetime! [They pass away into the palace court.

KING PHARAMOND

Troop past in the twilight, O pageant that served me, Pour through the dark archway to the light that awaits you In the chamber of das where I once sat among you! Like the shadows ye are to the shadowless glory Of the banquet-hall blazing with gold and light go ye: There blink for a little at your king in his bravery, Then bear forth your faith to the blackness of night-tide, And fall asleep fearless of memories of Pharamond, And in dim dreams dream haply that ye too are kings —For your dull morrow cometh that is as to-day is.

Pass on in contentment, O king, I discerned not Through the cloak of your blindness that saw nought beside thee, That feared for no pain and craved for no pleasure! Pass on, dead-alive, to thy place! thou art worthy: Nor shalt thou grow wearier than well-worshipped idol That the incense winds round in the land of the heathen, While the early and latter rains fall as God listeth, And on earth that God loveth the sun riseth daily. —Well art thou: for wert thou the crown of all rulers, No field shouldst thou ripen, free no frost-bounden river, Loose no heart from its love, turn no soul to salvation, Thrust no tempest aside, stay no plague in mid ocean, Yet grow unto thinking that thou wert God's brother, Till loveless death gripped thee unloved, unlamented. —Pass forth, weary King, bear thy crown high to-night! Then fall asleep, fearing no cry from times bygone, But in dim dreams dream haply that thou art desired,— —For thy dull morrow cometh, and is as to-day is.

Ah, hold! now there flashes a link in the archway, And its light falleth full on thy face, O Honorius, And I know thee the land's lord, and far away fadeth My old life of a king at the sight, O thou stranger! For I know thee full surely the foe the heart hateth For that barren fulfilment of all that it lacketh. I may turn away praising that those days long departed Departed without thee—how long had I piped then Or e'er thou hadst danced, how long were my weeping Ere thou hadst lamented!—What dear thing desired Would thy heart e'er have come to know why I craved for! To what crime I could think of couldst thou be consenting? Yet thou—well I know thee most meet for a ruler— —Thou lovest not mercy, yet shalt thou be merciful; Thou joy'st not in justice, yet just shall thy dooms be; No deep hell thou dreadest, nor dream'st of high heaven; No gleam of love leads thee: no gift men may give thee; For no kiss, for no comfort the lone way thou wearest, A blind will without life, lest thou faint ere the end come. —Yea, folly it was when I called thee my foeman; From thee may I turn now with sword in the scabbard Without shame or misgiving, because God hath made thee A ruler for manfolk: pass on then unpitied! There is darkness between us till the measure's fulfilment. Amidst singing thou hear'st not, fair sights that thou seest not, Think this eve on the deeds thou shalt set in men's hands To bring fair days about for which thou hast no blessing. Then fall asleep fearless of dead days that return not; Yet dream if thou may'st that thou yet hast a hope! —For thy dull morrow cometh and is as to-day is.

O sweet wind of the night, wherewith now ariseth The red moon through the garden boughs frail, overladen, O faint murmuring tongue of the dream-tide triumphant, That wouldst tell me sad tales in the times long passed over, If somewhat I sicken and turn to your freshness, From no shame it is of earth's tangle and trouble, And deeds done for nought, and change that forgetteth; But for hope of the lips that I kissed on the sea-strand, But for hope of the hands that clung trembling about me,— And the breast that was heaving with words driven backward, By longing I longed for, by pain of departing, By my eyes that knew her pain, my pain that might speak not— Yea, for hope of the morn when the sea is passed over, And for hope of the next moon the elm-boughs shall tangle; And fresh dawn, and fresh noon, and fresh night of desire Still following and changing, with nothing forgotten; For hope of new wonder each morn, when I, waking Behold her awaking eyes turning to seek me; For hope of fresh marvels each time the world changing Shall show her feet moving in noontide to meet me; For hope of fresh bliss, past all words, half forgotten, When her voice shall break through the hushed blackness of night. —O sweet wind of the summer-tide, broad moon a-whitening, Bear me witness to Love, and the world he has fashioned! It shall change, we shall change, as through rain and through sunshine The green rod of the rose-bough to blossoming changeth: Still lieth in wait with his sweet tale untold of Each long year of Love, and the first scarce beginneth, Wherein I have hearkened to the word God hath whispered, Why the fair world was fashioned mid wonders uncounted. Breathe soft, O sweet wind, for surely she speaketh: Weary I wax, and my life is a-waning; Life lapseth fast, and I faint for thee, Pharamond, What are thou lacking if Love no more sufficeth? —Weary not, sweet, as I weary to meet thee; Look not on the long way but my eyes that were weeping Faint not in love as thy Pharamond fainteth!— —Yea, Love were enough if thy lips were not lacking.

THE MUSIC



LOVE IS ENOUGH: ho ye who seek saving, Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it, And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving; These know the Cup with the roses around it; These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it: Cry out, the World heedeth not, "Love, lead us home!"

He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward; Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward: Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble! Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! Cry out, for he heedeth, "O Love, lead us home!"

O hearken the words of his voice of compassion: "Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion! As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken, But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken, As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home._

"Come—pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending! Come—fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting! Come—change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! Come—no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting, But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting! Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!"

Is he gone? was he with us?—ho ye who seek savings Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it? Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving; Here is the Cup with the roses around it; The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it: Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home._

Enter before the curtain, LOVE, holding a crown and palm-branch.



LOVE

If love be real, if I whom ye behold Be aught but glittering wings and gown of gold, Be aught but singing of an ancient song Made sweet by record of dead stingless wrong, How shall we part at that sad garden's end Through which the ghosts of mighty lovers wend? How shall ye faint and fade with giftless hands Who once held fast the life of all the lands? —Beloved, if so much as this I say, I know full well ye need it not to-day, As with full hearts and glorious hope ablaze Through the thick veil of what shall be ye gaze, And lacking words to name the things ye see Turn back with yearning speechless mouths to me.— —Ah, not to-day—and yet the time has been When by the bed my wings have waved unseen Wherein my servant lay who deemed me dead; My tears have dropped anigh the hapless head Deep buried in the grass and crying out For heaven to fall, and end despair or doubt: Lo, for such days I speak and say, believe That from these hands reward ye shall receive. —Reward of what?—Life springing fresh again.— Life of delight?—I say it not—Of pain? It may be—Pain eternal?—Who may tell? Yet pain of Heaven, beloved, and not of Hell. —What sign, what sign, ye cry, that so it is? The sign of Earth, its sorrow and its bliss, Waxing and waning, steadfastness and change; Too full of life that I should think it strange Though death hang over it; too sure to die But I must deem its resurrection nigh. —In what wise, ah, in what wise shall it be? How shall the bark that girds the winter tree Babble about the sap that sleeps beneath, And tell the fashion of its life and death? How shall my tongue in speech man's longing wrought Tell of the things whereof he knoweth nought? Should I essay it might ye understand How those I love shall share my promised land! Then must I speak of little things as great, Then must I tell of love and call it hate, Then must I bid you seek what all men shun, Reward defeat, praise deeds that were not done.

Have faith, and crave and suffer, and all ye The many mansions of my house shall see In all content: cast shame and pride away, Let honour gild the world's eventless day, Shrink not from change, and shudder not at crime, Leave lies to rattle in the sieve of Time! Then, whatsoe'er your workday gear shall stain, Of me a wedding-garment shall ye gain No God shall dare cry out at, when at last Your time of ignorance is overpast; A wedding garment, and a glorious seat Within my household, e'en as yet be meet.

Fear not, I say again; believe it true That not as men mete shall I measure you: This calm strong soul, whose hidden tale found out Has grown a spell to conquer fear and doubt, Is he not mine? yea, surely—mine no less This well mocked clamourer out of bitterness: The strong one's strength, from me he had it not; Let the world keep it that his love forgot; The weak one's weakness was enough to save, Let the world hide it in his honour's grave! For whatso folly is, or wisdom was Across my threshold naked all must pass.

Fear not; no vessel to dishonour born Is in my house; there all shall well adorn The walls whose stones the lapse of Time has laid. Behold again; this life great stories made; All cast aside for love, and then and then Love filched away; the world an adder-den, And all folk foes: and one, the one desire— —How shall we name it?—grown a poisoned fire, God once, God still, but God of wrong and shame A lying God, a curse without a name. So turneth love to hate, the wise world saith. —Folly—I say 'twixt love and hate lies death, They shall not mingle: neither died this love, But through a dreadful world all changed must move With earthly death and wrong, and earthly woe The only deeds its hand might find to do. Surely ye deem that this one shall abide Within the murmuring palace of my pride.

But lo another, how shall he have praise? Through flame and thorns I led him many days And nought he shrank, but smiled and followed close, Till in his path the shade of hate arose 'Twixt him and his desire: with heart that burned For very love back through the thorns he turned, His wounds, his tears, his prayers without avail Forgotten now, nor e'en for him a tale; Because for love's sake love he cast aside. —Lo, saith the World, a heart well satisfied With what I give, a barren love forgot— —Draw near me, O my child, and heed them not! The world thou lovest, e'en my world it is, Thy faithful hands yet reach out for my bliss, Thou seest me in the night and in the day Thou canst not deem that I can go astray.

No further, saith the world 'twixt Heaven and Hell Than 'twixt these twain.—My faithful, heed it well! For on the great day when the hosts are met On Armageddon's plain by spears beset, This is my banner with my sign thereon, That is my sword wherewith my deeds are done. But how shall tongue of man tell all the tale Of faithful hearts who overcome or fail, But at the last fail nowise to be mine. In diverse ways they drink the fateful wine Those twain drank mid the lulling of the storm Upon the Irish Sea, when love grown warm Kindled and blazed, and lit the days to come, The hope and joy and death that led them home. —In diverse ways; yet having drunk, be sure The flame thus lighted ever shall endure, So my feet trod the grapes whereby it glowed.

Lo, Faithful, lo, the door of my abode Wide open now, and many pressing in That they the lordship of the World may win! Hark to the murmuring round my bannered car, And gird your weapons to you for the war! For who shall say how soon the day shall be Of that last fight that swalloweth up the sea? Fear not, be ready! forth the banners go, And will not turn again till every foe Is overcome as though they had not been. Then, with your memories ever fresh and green, Come back within the House of Love to dwell; For ye—the sorrow that no words might tell, Your tears unheeded, and your prayers made nought Thus and no otherwise through all have wrought, That if, the while ye toiled and sorrowed most The sound of your lamenting seemed all lost, And from my land no answer came again, It was because of that your care and pain A house was building, and your bitter sighs Came hither as toil-helping melodies, And in the mortar of our gem-built wall Your tears were mingled mid the rise and fall Of golden trowels tinkling in the hands Of builders gathered wide from all the lands.— —Is the house finished? Nay, come help to build Walls that the sun of sorrow once did gild Through many a bitter morn and hopeless eve, That so at last in bliss ye may believe; Then rest with me, and turn no more to tears, For then no more by days and months and years, By hours of pain come back, and joy passed o'er We measure time that was—and is no more.

JOAN

The afternoon is waxen grey Now these fair shapes have passed away; And I, who should be merry now A-thinking of the glorious show, Feel somewhat sad, and wish it were To-morrow's mid-morn fresh and fair About the babble of our stead.

GILES

Content thee, sweet, for nowise dead Within our hearts the story is; It shall come back to better bliss On many an eve of happy spring, Or midst of summer's flourishing. Or think—some noon of autumn-tide Thou wandering on the turf beside The chestnut-wood may'st find thy song Fade out, as slow thou goest along, Until at last thy feet stay there As though thou bidedst something fair, And hearkenedst for a coming foot; While down the hole unto the root The long leaves flutter loud to thee The fall of spiky nuts shall be, And creeping wood-wale's noise above; For thou wouldst see the wings of Love.

JOAN

Or some November eve belike Thou wandering back with bow and tyke From wolf-chase on the wind-swept hill Shall find that narrow vale and still, And Pharamond and Azalais Amidmost of that grassy place Where we twain met last year, whereby Red-shafted pine-trunks rise on high, And changeless now from year to year, What change soever brought them there, Great rocks are scattered all around: —Wouldst thou be frightened at the sound Of their soft speech? So long ago It was since first their love did grow.

GILES

Maybe: for e'en now when he turned, His heart's scorn and his hate outburned, And love the more for that ablaze, I shuddered, e'en as in the place High up the mountains, where men say Gods dwelt in time long worn away.

JOAN

At Love's voice did I tremble too, And his bright wings, for all I knew He was a comely minstrel-lad, In dainty golden raiment clad.

GILES

Yea, yea; for though to-day he spake Words measured for our pleasure's sake, From well-taught mouth not overwise, Yet did that fount of speech arise In days that ancient folk called old. O long ago the tale was told To mighty men of thought and deed, Who kindled hearkening their own need, Set forth by long-forgotten men, E'en as we kindle: praise we then Tales of old time, whereby alone The fairness of the world is shown.

JOAN

A longing yet about me clings, As I had hearkened half-told things; And better than the words make plain I seem to know these lovers twain. Let us go hence, lest there should fall Something that yet should mar it all.

GILES

Hist—Master Mayor is drawn anigh; The Empress speaketh presently.

THE MAYOR

May it please you, your Graces, that I be forgiven, Over-bold, over-eager to bear forth my speech, In which yet there speaketh the Good Town, beseeching That ye tell us of your kindness if ye be contented With this breath of old tales, and shadowy seemings Of old times departed.—Overwise for our pleasure May the rhyme be perchance; but rightly we knew not How to change it and fashion it fresh into fairness. And once more, your Graces, we pray your forgiveness For the boldness Love gave us to set forth this story; And again, that I say, all that Pharamond sought for, Through sick dreams and weariness, now have ye found, Mid health and in wealth, and in might to uphold us; Midst our love who shall deem you our hope and our treasure. Well all is done now; so forget ye King Pharamond, And Azalais his love, if we set it forth foully, That fairly set forth were a sweet thing to think of In the season of summer betwixt labour and sleeping.

THE EMPEROR

Fair Master Mayor, and City well beloved, Think of us twain as folk no little moved By this your kindness; and believe it not That Pharamond the Freed shall be forgot, By us at least: yea, more than ye may think, This summer dream into our hearts shall sink. Lo, Pharamond longed and toiled, nor toiled in vain, But fame he won: he longed and toiled again, And Love he won: 'twas a long time ago, And men did swiftly what we now do slow, And he, a great man full of gifts and grace, Wrought out a twofold life in ten years' space. Ah, fair sir, if for me reward come first, Yet will I hope that ye have seen the worst Of that my kingcraft, that I yet shall earn Some part of that which is so long to learn. Now of your gentleness I pray you bring This knife and girdle, deemed a well-wrought thing; And a king's thanks, whatso they be of worth, To him who Pharamond this day set forth In worthiest wise, and made a great man live, Giving me greater gifts than I may give.

THE EMPRESS

And therewithal I pray you, Master Mayor, Unto the seeming Azalais to bear This chain, that she may wear it for my sake, The memory of my pleasure to awake. [Exit MAYOR.

THE EMPEROR

Gifts such as kings give, sweet! Fain had I been To see him face to face and his fair Queen, And thank him friendly; asking him maybe How the world looks to one with love left free: It may not be, for as thine eyes say, sweet, Few folk as friends shall unfreed Pharamond meet. So is it: we are lonelier than those twain, Though from their vale they ne'er depart again.

THE EMPRESS

Shall I lament it, love, since thou and I By all the seeming pride are drawn more nigh? Lo, love, our toil-girthed garden of desire, How of its changeless sweetness may we tire, While round about the storm is in the boughs And careless change amid the turmoil ploughs The rugged fields we needs must stumble o'er, Till the grain ripens that shall change no more.

THE EMPEROR

Yea, and an omen fair we well may deem This dreamy shadowing of ancient dream, Of what our own hearts long for on the day When the first furrow cleaves the fallow grey.

THE EMPRESS

O fair it is! let us go forth, my sweet, And be alone amid the babbling street; Yea, so alone that scarce the hush of night May add one joy unto our proved delight.

GILES

Fair lovers were they: I am fain To see them both ere long again; Yea, nigher too, if it might be.

JOAN

Too wide and dim, love, lies the sea, That we should look on face to face This Pharamond and Azalais. Those only from the dead come back Who left behind them what they lack.

GILES

Nay, I was asking nought so strange, Since long ago their life did change: The seeming King and Queen I meant. And e'en now 'twas my full intent To bid them home to us straightway, And crown the joyance of to-day. He may be glad to see my face, He first saw mid that waggon race When the last barley-sheaf came home.

JOAN

A great joy were it, should they come. They are dear lovers, sure enough. He deems the summer air too rough To touch her kissed cheek, howsoe'er Through winter mountains they must fare, He would bid spring new flowers to make Before her feet, that oft must ache With flinty driftings of the waste. And sure is she no more abased Before the face of king and lord, Than if the very Pharamond's sword Her love amid the hosts did wield Above the dinted lilied shield: O bid them home with us, and we Their scholars for a while will be In many a lesson of sweet lore To learn love's meaning more and more.

GILES

And yet this night of all the year Happier alone perchance they were, And better so belike would seem The glorious lovers of the dream: So let them dream on lip to lip: Yet will I gain his fellowship Ere many days be o'er my head, And they shall rest them in our stead; And there we four awhile shall dwell As though the world were nought but well, And that old time come back again When nought in all the earth had pain. The sun through lime-boughs where we dine Upon my father's cup shall shine; The vintage of the river-bank, That ten years since the sunbeams drank, Shall fill the mazer bowl carved o'er With naked shepherd-folk of yore. Dainty should seem worse fare than ours As o'er the close-thronged garden flowers The wind comes to us, and the bees Complain overhead mid honey-trees.

JOAN

Wherewith shall we be garlanded?

GILES

For thee the buds of roses red.

JOAN

For her white roses widest blown.

GILES

The jasmine boughs for Pharamond's crown.

JOAN

And sops-in-wine for thee, fair love.

GILES

Surely our feast shall deeper move The kind heart of the summer-tide Than many a day of pomp and pride; And as by moon and stars well lit Our kissing lips shall finish it, Full satisfied our hearts shall be With that well-won felicity.

JOAN

Ah, sweetheart, be not all so sure: Love, who beyond all worlds shall dure, Mid pleading sweetness still doth keep A goad to stay his own from sleep; And I shall long as thou shalt long For unknown cure of unnamed wrong As from our happy feast we pass Along the rose-strewn midnight grass— —Praise Love who will not be forgot!

GILES

Yea, praise we Love who sleepeth not! —Come, o'er much gold mine eyes have seen, And long now for the pathway green, And rose-hung ancient walls of grey Yet warm with sunshine gone away.

JOAN

Yea, full fain would I rest thereby, And watch the flickering martins fly About the long eave-bottles red And the clouds lessening overhead: E'en now meseems the cows are come Unto the grey gates of our home, And low to hear the milking-pail: The peacock spreads abroad his tail Against the sun, as down the lane The milkmaids pass the moveless wain, And stable door, where the roan team An hour agone began to dream Over the dusty oats.— Come, love, Noises of river and of grove And moving things in field and stall And night-birds' whistle shall be all Of the world's speech that we shall hear By then we come the garth anear: For then the moon that hangs aloft These thronged streets, lightless now and soft, Unnoted, yea, e'en like a shred Of yon wide white cloud overhead, Sharp in the dark star-sprinkled sky Low o'er the willow boughs shall lie; And when our chamber we shall gain Eastward our drowsy eyes shall strain If yet perchance the dawn may show. —O Love, go with us as we go, And from the might of thy fair hand Cast wide about the blooming land The seed of such-like tales as this! —O Day, change round about our bliss, Come, restful night, when day is done! Come, dawn, and bring a fairer one!



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THE END