The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 11

In the courtyard a fountain leaped alway, A Triton blowing jewels through his sh.e.l.l Into the suns.h.i.+ne; Mordred turned away, Weary because the stone face did not tell Of weariness, nor could he bear to-day, Heartsick, to hear the patient sink and swell 430 Of winds among the leaves, or golden bees Drowsily humming in the orange-trees.

XX

All happy sights and sounds now came to him Like a reproach: he wandered far and wide, Following the lead of his unquiet whim, But still there went a something at his side That made the cool breeze hot, the suns.h.i.+ne dim; It would not flee, it could not be defied, He could not see it, but he felt it there, By the damp chill that crept among his hair. 440

XXI

Day wore at last; the evening-star arose, And throbbing in the sky grew red and set; Then with a guilty, wavering step he goes To the hid nook where they so oft had met In happier season, for his heart well knows That he is sure to find poor Margaret Watching and waiting there with love-lorn breast Around her young dream's rudely scattered nest.

XXII

Why follow here that grim old chronicle Which counts the dagger-strokes and drops of blood? 450 Enough that Margaret by his mad steel fell, Unmoved by murder from her trusting mood, Smiling on him as Heaven smiles on h.e.l.l, With a sad love, remembering when he stood Not fallen yet, the unsealer of her heart, Of all her holy dreams the holiest part.

XXIII

His crime complete, scarce knowing what he did, (So goes the tale,) beneath the altar there In the high church the stiffening corpse he hid, And then, to 'scape that suffocating air, 460 Like a scared ghoul out of the porch he slid; But his strained eyes saw blood-spots everywhere, And ghastly faces thrust themselves between His soul and hopes of peace with blasting mien.

XXIV

His heart went out within him like a spark Dropt in the sea; wherever he made bold To turn his eyes, he saw, all stiff and stark, Pale Margaret lying dead; the lavish gold Of her loose hair seemed in the cloudy dark To spread a glory, and a thousand-fold 470 More strangely pale and beautiful she grew: Her silence stabbed his conscience through and through.

XXV

Or visions of past days,--a mother's eyes That smiled down on the fair boy at her knee, Whose happy upturned face to hers replies.-- He saw sometimes: or Margaret mournfully Gazed on him full of doubt, as one who tries To crush belief that does love injury; Then she would wring her hands, but soon again Love's patience glimmered out through cloudy pain. 480

XXVI

Meanwhile he dared, not go and steal away The silent, dead-cold witness of his sin; He had not feared the life, but that dull clay, Those open eyes that showed the death within, Would surely stare him mad; yet all the day A dreadful impulse, whence his will could win No refuge, made him linger in the aisle, Freezing with his wan look each greeting smile.

XXVII

Now, on the second day there was to be A festival in church: from far and near 490 Came flocking in the sunburnt peasantry, And knights and dames with stately antique cheer, Blazing with pomp, as if all faerie Had emptied her quaint halls, or, as it were, The illuminated marge of some old book, While we were gazing, life and motion took.

XXVIII

When all were entered, and the roving eyes Of all were stayed, some upon faces bright, Some on the priests, some on the traceries That decked the slumber of a marble knight, 500 And all the rustlings over that arise From recognizing tokens of delight, When friendly glances meet,--then silent ease Spread o'er the mult.i.tude by slow degrees.

XXIX

Then swelled the organ: up through choir and nave The music trembled with an inward thrill Of bliss at its own grandeur; wave on wave Its flood of mellow thunder rose, until The hushed air s.h.i.+vered with the throb it gave, Then, poising for a moment, it stood still, 510 And sank and rose again, to burst in spray That wandered into silence far away.

x.x.x

Like to a mighty heart the music seemed, That yearns with melodies it cannot speak, Until, in grand despair of what it dreamed, In the agony of effort it doth break, Yet triumphs breaking; on it rushed and streamed And wantoned in its might, as when a lake, Long pent among the mountains, bursts its walls And in one crowding gash leaps forth and falls. 520

x.x.xI

Deeper and deeper shudders shook the air, As the huge ba.s.s kept gathering heavily, Like thunder when it rouses in its lair, And with its hoa.r.s.e growl shakes the low-hung sky, It grew up like a darkness everywhere, Filling the vast cathedral;--suddenly, From the dense ma.s.s a boy's clear treble broke Like lightning, and the full-toned choir awoke.

x.x.xII

Through gorgeous windows shone the sun aslant, Br.i.m.m.i.n.g the church with gold and purple mist, 530 Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich chant.

Where fifty voices in one strand did twist Their varicolored tones, and left no want To the delighted soul, which sank abyssed In the warm music cloud, while, far below, The organ heaved its surges to and fro.

x.x.xIII

As if a lark should suddenly drop dead While the blue air yet trembled with its song, So snapped at once that music's golden thread, Struck by a nameless fear that leapt along 540 From heart to heart, and like a shadow spread With instantaneous s.h.i.+ver through the throng, So that some glanced behind, as half aware A hideous shape of dread were standing there.

x.x.xIV

As when a crowd of pale men gather round, Watching an eddy in the leaden deep, From which they deem the body of one drowned Will be cast forth, from face to face doth creep An eager dread that holds all tongues fast bound Until the horror, with a ghastly leap, 550 Starts up, its dead blue arms stretched aimlessly, Heaved with the swinging of the careless sea,--

x.x.xV

So in the faces of all these there grew, As by one impulse, a dark, freezing awe, Which with a fearful fascination drew All eyes toward the altar; damp and raw The air grew suddenly, and no man knew Whether perchance his silent neighbor saw The dreadful thing which all were sure would rise To scare the strained lids wider from their eyes. 560

x.x.xVI

The incense trembled as it upward sent Its slow, uncertain thread of wandering blue, As't were the only living element In all the church, so deep the stillness grew; It seemed one might have heard it, as it went, Give out an audible rustle, curling through The midnight silence of that awestruck air, More hushed than death, though so much life was there.

x.x.xVII

Nothing they saw, but a low voice was heard Threading the ominous silence of that fear, 570 Gentle and terrorless as if a bird, Wakened by some volcano's glare, should cheer The murk air with his song; yet every word In the cathedral's farthest arch seemed near, As if it spoke to every one apart, Like the clear voice of conscience in each heart.

x.x.xVIII

'O Rest, to weary hearts thou art most dear!

O Silence, after life's bewildering din, Thou art most welcome, whether in the sear Days of our age thou comest, or we win 580 Thy poppy-wreath in youth! then wherefore here Linger I yet, once free to enter in At that wished gate which gentle Death doth ope, Into the boundless realm of strength and hope?