The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 51

With the warm instincts of the knightly heart, 7 That rose at once if insult touch'd the realm, He spurn'd each state-craft, each deceiving art, And rode to war, no vizor to his helm; This proved his worth, this line his tomb may boast-- "Who hated Cymri, hated Aron most!"

But who with eastern hues and haughty brow, 8 Stern with dark beauty sits apart from all?

Ah, couldst thou shun thy friends, Elidir!--thou Scorning all foes, before no foe shalt fall!

On thy wrong'd grave one hand appeasing lays The humble flower--oh, could it yield the bays!

Courts may have known than thou a readier tool, 9 States may have found than thine a subtler brain, But states shall honour many a formal fool, And many a tawdry fawner courts may gain, Ere King or People in their need shall see A soul so grand as that which fled with thee!

For thou wert more than true; thou wert a Truth! 10 Open as Truth, and yet as Truth profound; Thy fault was genius--that eternal youth Whose weeds but prove the richness of the ground-- And dull men envied thee, and false men fear'd, And where soar'd genius, there convention sneer'd.

Ah, happy hadst thou fallen, foe to foe, 11 The bright race run--the laurel o'er thy grave!

But hands perfidious strung the ambush bow, And the friend's shaft the rankling torture gave-- The last proud wish its agony to hide, The stricken deer to covert crept and died.

Next came the Warrior Three.[2] Of glory's charms 12 (Glory, the bride of heroes) n.o.bly vain, Dark Mona's Owaine[3] s.h.i.+nes with golden arms, The Roland of the Cymrian Charlemain, Scath'd by the storm the holy chief survives, For Fame makes holy all its lightning rives.

Beside, with simplest garb and sober mien, 13 Solid as iron, not yet wrought to steel, In his plain manhood Cornwall's chief[4] is seen, Who (if wild tales some glimpse of truth reveal) Gave Northern standards to the Indian sun-- And wreaths from palms that shaded Evian won.

Lo, he whose Fame outs.h.i.+nes the Fabulous! 14 Sublime with eagle front, and that grey crown Which Age, the arch-priest, sets on laurell'd brows; Lo, Geraint, bending with a world's renown!

Yet those grey hairs _one_ ribald scoffer found;-- The moon sways ocean and provokes the hound.

Next the three Chiefs of Eloquence;[5] the kings 15 Whose hosts are thoughts, whose realm the human mind, Who out of words evoke the souls of things, And shape the lofty drama of mankind; Wit charms the fancy, wisdom guides the sense; To make men n.o.bler--_that_ is Eloquence!

As from the Mount of Gold, auriferous flows 16 The Lydian wave, thy pomp of period s.h.i.+nes, Resplendent Drudwas--glittering as it goes High from the mount, but labouring through the mines, And thence the tides, enriching while they run, Gla.s.s every fruit that ripens to the sun.

But, like the vigour of a Celtic stream, 17 Eliwlod's rush of manly sense along, Fresh with the sparkles of a healthful beam, And quick with impulse like a poet's song.

How listening crowds that knightly voice delights-- If from those crowds are banish'd all but knights!

The third, though young, well worthy of his place, 18 Was Gawaine, courteous, blithe, and debonnair, Arch Mercury's wit, with careless Cupid's face; Frank as the sun, but searching as the air, Who with bland parlance prefaced doughtiest blows, And mildly arguing--arguing brain'd his foes.

Next came the three--in mystic Triads hight 19 "The KNIGHTS OF LOVE;"[6] some type, the name conveys, For where no lover, there methinks no knight; All knights were lovers in King Arthur's days: Caswallawn; Trystan of the lion rock;[7]

And, leaning on his harp, calm Caradoc!

Thus cla.s.s'd, distinct in peace,--let war dismay, 20 Straight in one bond the divers natures blend-- So varying tints in tranquil suns.h.i.+ne play, But form one iris if the rains descend; And, fused in light against the clouds that lower, Forbid the deluge while they own the shower!

On the bright group the Prophet rests his gaze, 21 Then the deep voice sonorous thrills aloud-- "In Carduel's vale the steers unheeded graze, To jocund winds the yellowing corn is bow'd, By hearths of mirth the waves of Isca flow, And Heaven above smiles down on peace below.

"But far looks forth the warder from the tower, 22 And to the halls of Cymri's antique kings A soul that sees the future in the hour The desolation of its burthen brings; Hollow sounds earth beneath the clanging tread: Yon fields shall yield no harvest but the Dead!

"And waves shall rush in crimson to the deep, 23 The Meteor Horse shall pale autumnal skies-- From RAURAN'S lairs the joyous wolves shall leap-- From EIFLE'S crags the screaming eagles rise-- Yea! while I speak, these halls the havoc nears!

Red sets the sun behind the storm of spears!

"The Sons of Woden sound no tromp before 24 Their march! No herald comes their war to tell!

No plea for slaughter, dress'd in clerkly lore, Makes death seem justice! As the rain-clouds swell, When air is stillest, in BaL HUAN'S halls; The herbage waves not till the tempest falls!

"Of old ye know them; ye the elect remains 25 Of perish'd races--rock-saved; anchoring here The ark of empire!

For your latest fanes, For your last hearths, for all to freemen dear, And to G.o.d sacred; take the s.h.i.+eld and brand!

Accurst each Cymrian who survives hisland!"

"Accursed each Cymrian who survives his land!" 26 Echo'd deep tones, hollow as blasts escaped From Boreal caverns, and in every hand The hilts of swords to sainted croziers shaped Were grimly griped--as by that symbol sign Hallowing the human wrath to war divine.

The Prophet mark'd the deep unclamorous vow 27 Of the pent pa.s.sion; and the morning light Of young Humanity flash'd o'er the brow Dark with that wisdom which, like Nature's night, Communes with stars and dreams; it flash'd and waned, And the vast front its awful hush regain'd.

"Princes, I am but as a voice; be you 28 As deeds! The wind comes through the hollow oak, And stirs the green woods that it wanders through, Now wafts the seeds, now wings the levin-stroke, Now kindles, now destroys:--that Wind am I, Homeless on earth; the mystery of the sky!

"But when the wind in noiseless air hath sunk, 29 Behold the sower tends and rears the seeds; Behold the woodman shapes the fallen trunk; The viewless voice hath waked the human deeds; Born of the germs, flowers bloom and harvests spring; The pine uprooted speeds the Ocean King.

"Warriors, since absent (not from wanton l.u.s.t 30 Of errant emprize, but by Fate ordain'd, For all lone labouring, worthy of his trust) He whose young lips in thirst of glory drain'd All that of arts Mavortian elder Rome Taught, to a.s.sail the foe, or guard the home;

"Be ye his delegates, and oft with prayer 31 Bring angels round his wild and venturous way; As one great orb gives life and light to air, So times there are when all a people's day s.h.i.+nes from a single life! This known, revere The exile; mourn not--let his soul be here.

"Yours then, high chiefs, the conduct of the war, 32 But heed this counsel (won or wrung from Fate), Strong rolls the tide when curb'd its channels are, Strong flows a force that but defends a state; In Carduel's walls concentre Cymri's power, And chain the Dragon to this charmed tower.

"This night the moon should see the beacon brand 33 Link fire to fire from Beli's Druid pile; Rock call on rock, till blazes all the land From Sabra's wave to Mona's parent isle!

Let Fredom write in characters of fire, 'Who climbs my throne ascends his funeral pyre!'"

The Prophet ceased; and rose with stern accord 34 The warrior senate. Sudden every s.h.i.+eld Leapt into lightning from the clas.h.i.+ng sword; And choral voices consentaneous peal'd-- "Hail to our guests! the wine of war is red; Fire fight the banquet--steel prepare the bed!"

While thus the peril threat'ning land and throne, 35 Unharm'd, unheeding, dreaming goes the King, Where from the brief Elysium, Acheron Awaits the victim whom its priest shall bring.

And where art thou, meek guardian of the brave?

Though fails the eagle, still the dove may save!

When, lured by signs that seem'd his aid to implore, 36 From his good steed the lord of knighthood sprung, [And left it wistful by the dismal door, Since the cragg'd roof too low descending hung For the great war-horse in its barb'd array; And little dream'd he of the long delay,--]

His path the dove nor favour'd nor forbade; 37 Motionless, folding on sharp rocks its wing, With its soft eyes it watch'd, resign'd and sad, Where fates, ordain'd for sorrow, led the King; Nor did he miss (till earth regain'd the day) The plumed angel vanish'd from his way.

Then oft, in truth, and oft in blissful hours, 38 Miss'd was that faithful guide through stormier life.

Ah common lot! how oft, mid summer flowers, We miss the soother of the winter strife; How oft we mourn in Fortune's sunlit vale Some silenced heart with which we shared the gale!

But absent _not_ the dove, albeit unseen; 39 In some still foliage it had found its nest: At night it hover'd where his steps had been, Pale through the moonbeams in the air of rest; By the lull'd wave and shadowy banks it pa.s.s'd, Lingering where love with aegle linger'd last.

And when with chiller dawn resought the lone 40 And leafy gloom in which it shunn'd the day, Beneath those boughs you might have heard it moan, Low-wailing to itself its plaintive lay; Till with the sun rose all the songs that fill Morn with delight; and _then_ the dove was still.

But now, as towards the Temple of the Shades 41 The King went heavily--a gleam of light Shot through the gloaming of the cedarn glades, And the dove glided to his breast: the sight Came like a smile from Heaven upon the King, And his heart warm'd beneath the brooding wing.

Strange was the thrill of joy, beyond belief, 42 Sent from the soft touch of those plumes of down!

He was not all deserted in his grief, The brows of Fate relax'd their iron frown; And his soul quicken'd to that glorious power Which fronts the future and subdues the hour;

The joy it brought, the dove refused to share; 43 As it it felt the tempest in the sky, Trembling, it nestled to its shelter there, Nor lifted to the light its drooping eye.

Not, as its wont, to guide it came; but brave With him the ills from which it could not save.

Now lost the lovelier features of the land, 44 Dull waves replace the fount, dark pines the bowers, Grey-streeted tombs, far stretch'd on either hand, Rear the dumb city of the Funeral Powers.

Ma.s.sive and huge, behold the dome of dread, Where the stern Death-G.o.d frowns above the dead.

Hewn from a rock, stand the great columns square, 45 With triglyphs wrought and ponderous pediment; Such as yet greet the musing wanderer, where, Near the old Fane to which Etruria sent Her sovereign twelve, the thick-sown violet blooms, In Castel d'a.s.so's vale of hero-tombs.[8]

Pa.s.sing a bridge that spann'd the barrier wave, 46 They reach'd the Thebes-like porch;--the Augur here, First entering, leaves the King. Within the nave Now swell the flutes (which went before the bier What time the funeral chaunt of Pagan Rome Knell'd some throne-shatterer to his six-feet home).

Jar back the portals--long, in measured line, 47 There stand within the mute Auruspices, In each pale hand a torch; and near the shrine Sit on still thrones, the guardian deities; Here SETHLANS,[9] sovereign of life's fix'd domains-- There fatal NORTHIA with the iron chains.