Poems by Walter Richard Cassels Part 18

Pure lie the broad-leaved lilies on the tide, With glowing petals in the midst, that rest Like the gold shower on Danae's lovely breast; And the tall rushes cl.u.s.ter on the side.

Ho! sweet-lipp'd lily, thou must be my prize-- Thus shall I pluck thee in thy beauty's pride!

Fail'd--all too steadily my shallop hies, Swift floating down the River.

The stream fast widens, and upon the sh.o.r.e Rise busy hamlets 'mid the falling woods, Filling their shorn and broken solitudes, With labour's clamour ever more and more: No more, no more in dreams of love all day, Rich set in music from the forests h.o.a.r, Now gaily speeds my untoss'd bark away, Swift floating down the River.

Let me take oar, and turn mine eager prow, Back to the quiet waveless source again, Where no harsh sound breaks on the dreaming brain, And winds steal softly round the careless brow,-- Swift as a dream my tiny bark hath gone, And stoutly though I ply the oar, yet now My weary shallop still goes sadly on, Swift floating down the River.

Ah! never more for me--Ah! never more Return those blessed morning hours again; The sun beats hotly on my throbbing brain, And no cool shade waves friendly from the sh.o.r.e: My feeble oar dips powerless utterly, And onward, onward, though I struggle sore, Still goes my bark towards the surging sea, Swift floating down the River.

Welcome art thou, O cool and fragrant eve!

Welcome art thou, though night pursue thee fast With thee the burning and the toil roll past, And there is time to gaze back and to grieve.

Hoa.r.s.e ocean-murmurs fall upon mine ears, And round me now prophetic billows heave, As on I go, out-looking through salt tears, Swift floating down the River, Swift floating to the Sea.

ORPHEUS.

About the land I wander, all forlorn, About the land, with sorrow-quenched eyes; Seeking my love among the silent woods; Seeking her by the fountains and the streams; Calling her name unto lone mountain tops; Sending it flying on the clouds to heaven.

I drop my tears amid the dews at morn; I trouble all the night with prayers and sighs, That, like a veil thick set with golden stars, Hideth my woe, but cannot silence it; Yet never more at morning, noon, or night, Cometh there answer back, Eurydice, Thy voice speaks never more, Eurydice; O far, death-stricken, lost Eurydice!

Hear'st thou my weary cries, Eurydice?

Hearing, but answering not from out the past, Wrapp'd in thy robe of everlasting light, Round which the accents flutter faintingly, Like larks slow panting upward to the sun?

Or roll the golden sands of day away, And never more the voice of my despair Trickles among them o'er thine unmoved ear, Though every grove doth multiply the sound, And all the land sigh forth "Eurydice"?

My heart is all untamed for evermore; The strings hang loose and warp'd for evermore; The rocks resound not with my olden songs, Nor melt in echoes on the tranced breeze; The streams flow on to music all their own; The magic of my lyre hath pa.s.s'd away, For Love ne'er sweeps sweet music from its chords; For thou art pa.s.s'd away, Eurydice; Thou tuner of my song, Eurydice; And there is nought to guide the erring tones That once breath'd but of thee, Eurydice; That made each breeze sweet with Eurydice; And taught each fountain and each running stream To sing of thee, O lost Eurydice!

The serpent saw thee, O Eurydice!

The serpent slew thee, O Eurydice!

Stealing amongst the gra.s.s, Eurydice; The long rank gra.s.s, that stretched Briarian arms To clasp thee to itself, Eurydice!

And soon they laid thee from the sight of men; Laid thee beneath the rankly waving gra.s.s; Opening Earth's portals wide to let thee wend Forth to Plutonian realms of gloom away; And never more about the waiting land Stray'd thy light steps at morn or shady eve.

No fountain hid thine image in its heart; No flowers leapt up to wreathe thy golden hair; No more the fawns within the forest glade Follow'd a foot more lightsome than their own; The moon stole through the night in dim surprise; And all the stars look'd pale with wondering; For thou cam'st not, O lost Eurydice!

Earth found thee not, O lost Eurydice!

Love found thee not, O lost Eurydice!

I could not stay where thou wert not, forlorn; I could not live, O lost Eurydice!-- Not Acheron itself could fright me back From where thy footsteps wander'd, best beloved!

And so I sought thee e'en at Hades' gate, Charm'd wide its leaves with melody of woe, And dared the grave to keep me from thine arms; I flow'd away upon a stream of song, E'en to dark Pluto's grimly guarded throne, Melting the cruel Cerberus himself, The Parcae, and snake-lock'd Eumenides, To pity of my measureless despair.

I sang thy beauty, O Eurydice!

I sigh'd my love forth, O Eurydice!

With tears and weary sighs, Eurydice!

And at thy name the pains of h.e.l.l grew light; Ixion's wheel stopp'd in its weary rounds, The rock of Sisyphus forgot to roll, And draughts of comfort flow'd o'er Tantalus:-- Then from old Dis's hands the keys slipp'd down, And words of hope and pity spake he forth.

He promised thee again if I would go, Never back-looking, from those realms of gloom, Those realms of gloom where thou wert, best beloved.

How could I leave thee thus, Eurydice?

Without one look, one glance, Eurydice?

And I perchance no more to gaze on thee, Snared by some fatal falsehood from thy side?

Yet strove I hard; until at length I came Where Lethe flow'd before me, faint and dim; Ye G.o.ds! how could I cross it from my love, That might wash out her memory for aye; That I should live and dream of her no more; That I should live and love her never more; That I should sing no more, Eurydice; That I should leave her in the grip of h.e.l.l, Nor bear her forth e'en on the wings of thought.

And so I turn'd to gaze, Eurydice!

I turn'd to clasp thee, O Eurydice!-- And lo! thy form straightway dissolved away; Thy beauty in the light dissolved away; And Hades and all things dissolved away; Until I found me on thy cold, cold grave, Amid the gra.s.s that I would grew o'er me, Clasping us close within one narrow home, Where I no more might wake and find thee gone.-- The earth oped not unto my frantic cries; The portals closed thee from me evermore-- Else had I melted h.e.l.l itself with prayers, And borne thee back to Earth triumphantly.

I cried, heart-stricken, on Proserpina; I rent the rocks around with endless prayers; I told her all the story of our love, I launch'd my sorrows on her woman's heart; I sought her through the barren winter-time, The woful winter-time for Earth and me; And, "Oh!" I thought, "her soul will soon relent, And rush in crystal torrents from her eyes, Till in the joy of sympathetic tears, She woo my love from Pluto's stony heart."

I waited, and I question'd long the Spring; I question'd every flower and budding spray, If thou didst come among them back again; I conjured each bright blossom, each green leaf, That, leaving Earth, she bears full-arm'd to Dis, But backward flingeth ere her glad return, That every step of glorious liberty, Fall upon flowers throughout the happy land; But never came response, Eurydice,-- The flowers were dumb, O lost Eurydice!

They would not see thee spring from Earth like them, Outs.h.i.+ning all their fainter loveliness, And so they left me to my lorn despair; She left me lorn, O false Proserpina!

And never more may I behold thee here, In Spring or Summer, O Eurydice!

By day or night, O lost Eurydice!

They shall not keep me from thee, O beloved!

Dis shall not keep me from thee, O beloved; But I shall shake his gates in my despair, Until they open wide to let me pa.s.s; I'll take my life up like a mighty rock, And so beat breaches in the walls of Time; I'll cast existence from me like a wrestler's robes, And with my supple, naked soul throw Fate; I'll snap the shackles whose Promethean links Bind down my soul unto this narrow earth.-- Dost hear my voice dim floating to thee now, Along the waves that ripple at my feet?

Thus do I come to thee, Eurydice, Through waving water-floods, Eurydice, I come, I come, beloved Eurydice!

THE SCULPTOR.

The dream fell on him one calm summer night, Stealing amid the waving of the corn, That waited, golden, for the harvest morn-- The dream fell on him through the still moonlight.

The land lay silent, and the new mown hay Rested upon it like a dreamy sleep; And stealing softly o'er each yellow heap, The night-breeze bore sweet incense-breath away.

The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves; The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pa.s.s'd; The thrush still chaunted, but the swallows fast Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves.

He had been straying through the land that day, Dreaming of beauty as some dream of love; And all the earth beneath, the heaven above, In mirror'd glory on his spirit lay.

And, as he went, from every sight and sound, From silence, from the sweetness in the air, From earth, from heaven, from nature everywhere, Gleam'd forth a deep dim thought and clasp'd him round.

The thought oppress'd him with a weary joy, Seeking for ever for its perfect shape, That from his eager eyes would still escape, Flatter him onward--then his hopes destroy.

He sought it in the bosom of the hills; He sought it in the silence of the woods, Their sunny nooks and shady solitudes; He sought it in the fountains and the rills.

He watch'd the stars come faintly through the skies; And on his upturn'd brow the clear moon shone, Flooding his heart like pale Endymion; But still the thought hid dimly from his eyes;

Its voice came to him on the evening breeze, That flutter'd faintly through his summer dreams-- He heard it through the flowing of the streams; He heard it softly rustling through the trees.

Yet still the thought that murmur'd through his heart, He found not anywhere about the land; Ne'er saw its spirit shape before him stand, Though from all nature it seem'd p.r.o.ne to start.

And thus he wander'd homeward, dreaming still Of all the beauty that had haunted him, With mystic meanings shadowy and dim, By woodland, and by meadow, vale and hill:

He wander'd homeward, and in musing mood Stay'd his slow steps beside a marble block, Hewn from some far unstain'd Italian rock, That for his shaping chisel waiting stood.

Then his heart spoke out to him, "Not alone This thought divine hides in the streams and woods, Seeking expression through their solitudes, Perchance e'en lies it in this unhewn stone.

It may be that the soul which fills all s.p.a.ce, And speaks up to us from each thing we see, In words that are for ever mystery, Within this Parian, too, hath resting-place."

He gazed on, dreaming through the dim twilight, And to his inner sight the marble grew Clear and translucent, so that, gazing through, A mystic shape form'd to his wondering sight,