Iolaus Part 1

Iolaus.

by James A. Mackereth.

HAIL AND FAREWELL

To A.R.

We range the ringing slopes of life; but you Scale the last summit, high in lonelier air, Whose dizzy pinnacle each soul must dare For valedictions born and ventures new.

From dust to spirit climb, O brave and true!

Strong in the wisdom that is more than prayer; High o'er the mists of pain and of despair, Mount to the vision, and the far adieu.

Merged in the vastness, with a calm surmise Mount, lonely climber, brightened from afar; Whose soul is secret as the evening-star; Whose steps are toward the ultimate surprise: No dubious morrow dims those daring eyes-- Divinely lit whence truth's horizons are.

_The sonnets in this volume have previously appeared in the columns of "The Academy," "The Eye-Witness," and "The Yorks.h.i.+re Observer." My thanks are due to the Editors of these publications for their kind permission to republish._

J.A.M.

_Stocka House, Cottingley, Bingley._

CONTENTS

t.i.tle Poem: Page

Iolaus 13

Sonnets:

The Return 67 The Soul and the Sea 69 Nations Estranged 71 The Pa.s.sing-Bell 73 Condemned 75 To America. I. 77 " II. 79 To Italy. I. 81 " II. 83

IOLaUS:

THE MAN THAT WAS A GHOST

Gold light across the golden coomb; The sun went west with horns of fire; Athwart the sweet, sea-breathing room The swallows swooped; the village spire Glowed red against a gleam of broom; While earth its scented secrets told, There, silent, sunset-aureoled, Sat Iolaus, mild and old.

In distance large the moving s.h.i.+ps Sailed on into the evening skies.

He gazed, and saw not. In eclipse He tensely sat, like one who grips Some semblance that his dream descries, With such a look of far surprise That half-uncanny seemed the man, So warped with age, so weirdly wan: He had such ghostly eyes.

Then half to self, and half to me, Aloof in pa.s.sion and lone despair, He spoke like one whose secrets flee From silence unaware: Now plaintively from a grief gone blind, Heavy with c.u.mbering care, Now, thrilling thought like a white sea-wind, His words, the echoes of his mind, Haunted the air:

... 'Tis gone like the roses of long ago: Yet a dawn's impa.s.sioned thrill Makes blush the blossom's virgin snow Far on in a faery hill.

Two faces there in the glamour glow In a place that is strangely still.

On the rim of the world is a ruined tower Sky-poised above wide sea-foam, Where a beautiful spirit waits hour by hour, Far-eyed 'gainst a dawn like a phantom flower, Till a ghostly lover comes home....

To leeward spread the freshening deep Purple beneath a rosy gleam.

From a high, mist-engirdled steep Thin anthems to the orient beam Came faint as languid waves of sleep That lap the lonely strands of dream.

We sank our anchor solemnly Into that l.u.s.trous, splendid sea; For we, that chased the summer's smile Across the world a wondering while, Hailed at the heart the Happy Isle, The haunted sh.o.r.es of Faery!

Beyond a gently-heaving brine We broke with oars a trembling bay.

The swerving water, like rare wine, Slid iridescent from our way.

A lovely hand was laid on mine Pensively as to say: "Life is divine!"

The drifting, witching wonder grew.

From out the burgeoning bounds of s.p.a.ce It seemed some morn unearthly drew To that grave glamourous place, Where, fearful of some far adieu, I talked with one who never knew The peril of her face.

The joy that lives is mightier far Than foretaste of all grief unborn.

The earth to youth is a silver star That glitters on the edge of morn, A star! a star! a dancing star.

The fair, the mystic, happy morn!

Dawn glimmered on the gladdening sea; Each zephyr blew an elfin horn To echoes in felicity.

All sounds to silver rhythm ran: Came flutings as from piping Pan In purpled hills of Arcady!

Seaward we heard the breakers roar; And the belated nightingales Sang all their moonlight raptures o'er, Enchanted still in echoing vales.

We lingered by the brightening sh.o.r.e; We leapt upon the roseate strand: The joy that in our hearts we bore We loved, nor longed to understand.

Soft siren voices evermore Chanted to chimes in Faeryland.

O, life was like a bird that sings At morning on a vernal bough!

The springtide at the heart of things Sang as the spring knows how.

And fair was she, and both were young; We knew not what made time so good; Nature with glamour-tutored tongue Spread glory in the blood.

We climbed the dim and dreaming streets: We reached a plateau crowned with pine: The leaning roses breathed their sweets 'Mid many a subtle-scented vine.

We wreathed our brows with ivy-twine.

In mouldering majesty sublime, Misty with eld, the mute of time, A castle, dawn-enchanted, there Above th' abyss sheer, s.h.i.+mmering fair, Hung like a perilous dream in air.

Poised on a dizzy turret high, Enfolded with the gorgeous sky, We listened, she and I, In wonder, 'mazed. Without a word A soul had spoken, soul had heard.

All suddenly came, charged with tears, The sweetness of the human years.

We saw deep forests far away Kindle to meet the kiss of day; And mists with morn's delight uprise Like love thoughts in a maiden's eyes.

We shared the dream that never dies.

Our hearts were hushed with vague desire; We breathed in kingdoms wildly new, Enthralled by Memnon's mystic lyre In regions whence the Ph[oe]nix flew; Dumb splendour round us blown, and higher On heaven's deep dome--the peac.o.c.k's hue, Bright flakes of crimsoning fire!