Ardours and Endurances Part 8

FLAUBERT.

Roughly planned in Spring, 1914, at Oxford. "Midday in Arcadia" composed July, 1914; "Catch for Spring" adapted from version of 1912 during the same month: both at Grayshott.

Taken up again in February, 1916, continued at the Hut, Bray, and, after being frequently interrupted, finished on February 18, 1917, at Ilsington.

The author intends the "hulli" and the "lulli" of the Faun's call in 'Faun's Rally' to be p.r.o.nounced as if they rhymed with such a word as "fully."

A FAUN'S HOLIDAY

I

Hark! a sound. Is it I sleep? _Of the Faun's Wake I? or do my senses keep Awakening._ Commune yet with thoughtful night And dream they feel, not see, the light That, with a chord as if a lyre Were upward swept by tongues of fire, Spreads in all-seeing majesty Over crag, dale, curved sh.o.r.e, and sea?

If this be sleep, I do not sleep.

I hear the little woodnote weep Of a shy, darkling bird which cries In a sweet-fluted, sharp surprise At glimpse of me, the faun-beast, sleeping Nigh under her. My crook'd leg, sweeping Some dream away, perhaps, awoke her, For dew shook from a bough doth soak her.

And all elsewhere how still it is!-- The mist beyond the precipice Smokes gently up. The bushes hang Over the gulph 'cross which I sprang Last midnight,--though the unicorn, Who with clanged hooves and lowered horn Raging pursued, now hidden lies Amid the cragside dewberries And sweats his frosty flanks in sleep, Dreaming he views again my leap Thrice hazardous.

The silver chasm Sighs, and many a blithe phantasm Turns in the sunlight's quivering ray.

I couch in peace. Thoughts fond and gay Feed on my sense of maiden hours And earth refreshed by suns and showers Of nightly dew and heavy quiet.-- Though last night rang with dinning riot: Dionysos in headlong mood Ranged through the labyrinthine wood; Fleet maids sped, yelping, on with him, Brandis.h.i.+ng a torn heifer's limb, Dissonant cymbals, or black bowl Of wine and blood; a wolfish howl Fled ululant with them....

Now there is Depth, the white mist, the great sun, peace.

Too numb such suns.h.i.+ne!--Let me hence _Of the Faun's Out of the solemn imminence Descent from Of yon chill spire whose shadow creeps the Mountain._ Toward me from the stagnant deeps Of the ravine. For now I will Descend and take again my fill Of fancy wild and musing joy, Such as each dawn brings to alloy The long affliction of a spirit Who a complete world did inherit, And feels it crumbling.

I will down Whither twin bluffs of sheer stone frown Over sunk seas of billowing pine Terrace on terrace, line on line, Below whose heads the broad downs slope Away, away till senses grope At something rather felt than seen: The sea,--not wave-tops, but a sheen Under the dazed and distant sky....

Curled on a cliff-top let me lie.

(For yonder, hap, a breeze is blowing, And the sun's first gleam is showing Under far wreckage: since our height Inherits day while yet their light Quakes gold under the low clouds' rift.) Down, then! Miraculously swift These limbs the G.o.ds have given me!...

Couched mid the gorse, anon I see, Opposing this my bluff, the face Of the sheer rock, and 'long it trace A sill scarce ample for a goat, Yet midway in the ledge-path note A cave's mouth, which thick creepers hide Fallen in a silvery tide From a slant crevice overhead.

And, lo! the creeper stirs, is shed-- And all falls quiet.

Till at last Issues a voice deep, young and vast:

II

_Centaur._ Up! the ag'd centaurs lie yet sleeping, While crouch I palled of this cavern lair THE CENTAUR'S And watch the stretched sea-eagle sweeping MORNING SONG.

Down the grey-blue drizzling air.

The sea-nymphs, too, will now be waking, If sickle-eyed they have not played Across the moonlight sets me aching, Longing and slinking, half afraid, Down the feathery, tawny sand On sighing tread Deep into banks of glistering sh.e.l.l, To halt in dread Lest my hoof-scrunch break the spell Of the syren-chants that swell From the dim shoals toward the land.

But this morn the breeze is blowing Freshly: I hear lightly flowing From the bending giant beam Bars the forehead of our door The golden raindrops in a stream Pattering on the steamy floor.

_Faun._ It is the Centaur's voice I hear!

Young and l.u.s.ty, deep and clear: And the Panisks at his voice In their fastnesses rejoice, Emerging from the creviced crag Or cave beneath the mountain's jag, Merry, s.h.a.ggy, light of hoof, To run along the narrow roof, And upon the shelved height Dance before the swimming light.

_Centaur._ And I see upon the ledge, Astir over the hanging edge, THE CENTAUR'S A russet briar cold with dew MORNING SONG And beyond, forlornly pent (_continued_) In a grey cloud's gliding rent, A pure pool of the brightest blue: So near it seems I've but to cast A flint out on the forward vast To mark it flas.h.i.+ng blithely through!

And now at last!

At last The great Sun, The Sudden One, Stamps upon the cloudy floor; The heavens are split, and through the floor Heaven's golden treasures tumbling pour....

And the Sun himself, divine, Doth descend In such a bursting blaze of s.h.i.+ne That his glorious hair is shook Over the wide world's craggiest end!

And, even I, I dare not look.

I will shout! I will ramp!

Just three bounds: then out and stamp Where the air like water is Eddying up over the precipice;-- Wind with an edge to it, sea-damp, Blowing from the canyon's race Where the dripping sea-wind heaves Through a tunnel of the rocks Sea-water up in thunderous sheaves Against the precipitous water-rapids, To whip from off th' high-hurtled shocks Bursts of mist which soak the leaves Of each scented bush that cleaves To the cliffs. Till Fauns and Lapiths Dance in the sun-bewildered brakes, Till even flushed Silenus wakes, And--with a short deep-throated troll To the wind and to the wine, Both delirious, both divine!-- Starts, as he drains the tilted bowl, At din, to rolling uproar grown, Of rocks dislodged and bounding down, With splinter of pines and flint-shocked flashes, From the ridge whereon we dance In a loud exuberance Of rattling hoofs whose echoes drown The squealing joy or reedy pining Of Pan's pipe, where Pan reclining Plays in the clouded mountain's crown!

III

_Faun._ It is the Centaur's voice I hear.

The creeper tresses toss with fear, _The Faun hails Then part before a pow'rful hand. the Centaur._ See, see, O see the Centaur stand With rugged head erect and proud, Whose rounded mouth yet chants aloud The Joy of Mind fulfilled in Force: Glory of Man, glory of Horse.

Hail thou, the sov'reign of the hill!

Hail thou, upon whose locks distil Fresh dews when mid majestic night Thou pacest, hid, along the height.

Thine are the solitudes of snow Between bare peaks, thy hooves also Are heard within the dusk defile Where t.i.tans of a sunless while Fas.h.i.+oned huge sphinxes in whose eyes The Kite now skulks or, girding, cries.

Thine, too, the sole and sinking pine Burned by the sunset--ay, and thine The ledges whence a sudden sift Of snow sighs downward, thine the swift Uproar of avalanche and all The mountain echoes. To thee call, When the snow melts and there are seen Crocuses blazing mid the green Of the dewed gra.s.s, the Sylvan folk: The Dryads from the leafless oak Or budded elder, that at length Thou mayst release them by the strength Of thy tough fingers; 'tis on thee The nymphs cry should the runnels be Exhausted of the midsummer sun, Sith, stamping, thou canst make to run The h.o.a.rded waters of the wold.

And among men thou art of old Thought's emblem: for to thee belong All gifts of deep, wise, epic song.

Hail, then, whom Earth and mankind hails.

And Ocean, whose high-spouting whales And dripping serpents, that arise Swinging their gold crests to the skies To drink in all thy bold descant Hail, though they cannot view thee chant, As I who now behold in sooth Thy lighted eyes and singing mouth.

O grape-hung locks! glorious face, _Of the Centaur's Capacious frame, sinewy grace Beauty._ Of arm that lifts a skully lyre Whose dithyramb whirls ever higher!

Deep breast-bone, belly, curved thews-- Such as the tussling oak doth use Upon the crumbled scarp to grip-- Striking from trunk down through the hip Into the stallion's ma.s.sive shoulders Glossy as moonlit ice-bound boulders!

Stiff, stalwart forelegs, heavy hoof Yet fleeter far on heights aloof Than ev'n such doubled hares as race Blue 'thwart dim fells, or, speck in s.p.a.ce, Osprey, gale-swept across the tides!

Thy man's trunk glisters; on thy sides A soft and silver s.h.a.gginess, Inviting slim hands to caress, Hangs dewy----

_Centaur._ Faun, Faun, art thou near?

_Faun._ Behold me stand, proud Centaur, here Upon the bluff where 'neath me lies The sunned pool of the precipice.

_Centaur._ Faun, in my veins the blood 'gins race, The new sun sweats upon my face, _Of the Dazzles my pupils, golden swims Centaur's Over my flushed and fervid limbs. Ardour._ I feel in me my spirit rise Griffon-like flogging up tall skies.

Now is the Morning of the World, And through my heart a flood is hurled Of onerous joyance, of desire To clutch the sun and spill its fire Down heaven's blue bulwarks! to s.n.a.t.c.h life And drain its l.u.s.ty full in strife Of all my body with the bent Wrestle of every element: Close with the whirlwind, front the tide And turn its moony press aside.

But in the world I cannot find A match in strength, a foe in mind....

At dawn, at eve the waters burn; All night the constellations turn Round the dark pole, and none knows why....

None seeks to know save only I And thou, O Faun. We are alone....

Yet sometimes, when the wind is gone And all below s.h.i.+nes sunned and still, I feel depart from me the will Merely to know, to know and wait: I would do more: I would create.

Though what I know not; but I would Spend this my mind and hardihood.

Yet find no means save physic force:-- Sing as a man, stride as a horse.

Then stride I? Swift I overcome The fleetest. Sing I? All are dumb.

Natheless my heart demands in grief Ardour, endurance and relief; Asks, but receives not.

_Faun._ Shall not I Echo thy pain, whom Fates deny Answer to thought,--as they to thee The l.u.s.t-of-action's fill? But we Accept too much, O Sire. 'Twere best, Though idly, to fulfil our zest.

Four leagues this canyon runs between _Of the Us twain or ever there is seen Challenge._ The arch of rock whose ma.s.sy grace Bridges yon gap of golden s.p.a.ce.

Deignest thou, then, to race with me From such tall eyries to the sea, If even now I upward leap?

_Centaur._ Leap then! I catch thee e'er the steep Subsides in woodland or in down.