Poems By The Way & Love Is Enough Part 41

Try whatso thou wilt, things may not be worser. [_Enter KING._ Behold, how he cometh weighed down by his woe!

(_To the KING_)

All hail, lord and master! wilt thou hearken a little These lords high in honour whose hearts are full heavy Because thy heart sickeneth and knoweth no joy?--

(_To the COUNCILLORS_)

Ah, see you! all silent, his eyes set and dreary, His lips moving a little--how may I behold it?

THE NORTHERN LORD

May I speak, king? dost hearken? many matters I have To deal with or death. I have honoured thee duly Down in the north there; a great name I have held thee; Rough hand in the field, ready righter of wrong, Reckless of danger, but recking of pity.

But now--is it false what the chapmen have told us, And are thy fair robes all thou hast of a king?

Is it bragging and lies, that thou beardless and tender Weptst not when they brought thy slain father before thee, Trembledst not when the leaguer that lay round thy city Made a light for these windows, a noise for thy pillow?

Is it lies what men told us of thy singing and laughter As thou layst in thy lair fled away from lost battle?

Is it lies how ye met in the depths of the mountains, And a handful rushed down and made nought of an army?

Those tales of your luck, like the tide at its turning, Trusty and sure howso slowly it cometh, Are they lies? Is it lies of wide lands in the world, How they sent thee great men to lie low at thy footstool In five years thenceforward, and thou still a youth?

Are they lies, these fair tidings, or what see thy lords here-- Some love-sick girl's brother caught up by that sickness, As one street beggar catches the pest from his neighbour?

KING PHARAMOND

What words are these of lies and love-sickness?

Why am I lonely among all this brawling?

O foster-father, is all faith departed That this hateful face should be staring upon me?

THE NORTHERN LORD

Lo, now thou awakest; so tell me in what wise I shall wend back again: set a word in my mouth To meet the folks' murmur, and give heart to the heavy; For there man speaks to man that thy measure is full, And thy five-years-old kingdom is falling asunder.

[_KING draws his sword_.

Yea, yea, a fair token thy sword were to send them; Thou dost well to draw it; (_KING brandishes his sword over the lord's head, as if to strike him_): soft sound is its whistle; Strike then, O king, for my wars are well over, And dull is the way my feet tread to the grave!

KING PHARAMOND (_sheathing his sword_)

Man, if ye have waked me, I bid you be wary Lest my sword yet should reach you; ye wot in your northland What hatred he winneth who waketh the s.h.i.+pman From the sweet rest of death mid the welter of waves; So with us may it fare; though I know thee full faithful, Bold in field and in council, most fit for a king.

--Bear with me. I pray you that to none may be meted Such a measure of pain as my soul is oppressed with.

Depart all for a little, till my spirit grows lighter, Then come ye with tidings, and hold we fair council, That my countries may know they have yet got a king.

[_Exeunt all but OLIVER and KING_.

Come, my foster-father, ere thy visage fade from me, Come with me mid the flowers some opening to find In the clouds that cling round me; if thou canst remember Thine old lovingkindness when I was a king.

THE MUSIC

_ Love is enough; it grew up without heeding In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding, As the morning and evening pa.s.sed over its treasure.

And what do ye say then?--that Spring long departed Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers; --That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers; We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours.

Nay, Spring was o'er happy and knew not the reason, And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended; But this is the harvest and the garnering season, And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.

It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding, Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure, Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure; There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding, But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure.

_

_Enter before the curtain LOVE clad as an image-maker_.

LOVE

How mighty and how fierce a king is here The stayer of falling folks, the bane of fear!

Fair life he liveth, ruling pa.s.sing well, Disdaining praise of Heaven and hate of h.e.l.l; And yet how goodly to us Great in Heaven Are such as he, the waning world that leaven!

How well it were that such should never die!

How well it were at least that memory Of such should live, as live their glorious deeds!

--But which of all the G.o.ds think ye it needs To shape the mist of Rumour's wavering breath Into a golden dream that fears no death?

Red Mars belike?--since through his field is thrust The polished plough-share o'er the helmets' rust!-- Apollo's beauty?--surely eld shall spare Smooth skin, and flas.h.i.+ng eyes, and crispy hair!-- Nay, Jove himself?--the pride that holds the low Apart, despised, to mighty tales must grow!-- Or Pallas?--for the world that knoweth nought, By that great wisdom to the wicket brought, Clear through the tangle evermore shall see!

--O Faithful, O Beloved, turn to ME!

I am the Ancient of the Days that were I am the Newborn that To-day brings here, I am the Life of all that dieth not; Through me alone is sorrow unforgot.

My Faithful, knowing that this man should live, I from the cradle gifts to him did give Unmeet belike for rulers of the earth; As sorrowful yearning in the midst of mirth, Pity midst anger, hope midst scorn and hate.

Languor midst labour, lest the day wax late, And all be wrong, and all be to begin.

Through these indeed the eager life did win That was the very body to my soul; Yet, as the tide of battle back did roll Before his patience: as he toiled and grieved O'er fools and folly, was he not deceived, But ever knew the change was drawing nigh, And in my mirror gazed with steadfast eye.

Still, O my Faithful, seemed his life so fair That all Olympus might have left him there Until to bitter strength that life was grown, And then have smiled to see him die alone, Had I not been.----Ye know me; I have sent A pain to pierce his last coat of content: Now must he tear the armour from his breast And cast aside all things that men deem best, And single-hearted for his longing strive That he at last may save his soul alive.

How say ye then, Beloved? Ye have known The blossom of the seed these hands have sown; Shall this man starve in sorrow's th.o.r.n.y brake?

Shall Love the faithful of his heart forsake?

_In the King's Garden.

KING PHARAMOND, MASTER OLIVER_.

MASTER OLIVER

In this quiet place canst thou speak, O my King, Where nought but the lilies may hearken our counsel?

KING PHARAMOND

What wouldst thou have of me? why came we hither?