And takes his flags and waves them to the mob, That shout below, all faces turned to where Glows ruby-like the far up crimson globe, Filled with a finer air:

So lifted high, the Poet at his will Lets the great world flit from him, seeing all, Higher thro' secret splendours mounting still, Self-poised, nor fears to fall.

Hearing apart the echoes of his fame.

While I spoke thus, the seedsman, memory, Sowed my deepfurrowed thought with many a name, Whose glory will not die.

I read, before my eyelids dropt their shade, "The Legend of Good Women," long ago Sung by the morning star [1] of song, who made His music heard below;

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts, that fill The s.p.a.cious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still.

And, for a while, the knowledge of his art Held me above the subject, as strong gales Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' my heart, Brimful of those wild tales,

Charged both mine eyes with tears.

In every land I saw, wherever light illumineth, Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand The downward slope to death. [2]

Those far-renowned brides of ancient song Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars, And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and wrong, And trumpets blown for wars;

And clattering flints batter'd with clanging hoofs: And I saw crowds in column'd sanctuaries; And forms that pa.s.s'd [3] at windows and on roofs Of marble palaces;

Corpses across the threshold; heroes tall Dislodging pinnacle and parapet Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall; [4]

Lances in ambush set;

And high shrine-doors burst thro' with heated blasts That run before the fluttering tongues of fire; White surf wind-scatter'd over sails and masts, And ever climbing higher;

Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes, Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates, And hush'd seraglios.

So shape chased shape as swift as, when to land Bl.u.s.ter the winds and tides the self-same way, Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand, Torn from the fringe of spray.

I started once, or seem'd to start in pain, Resolved on n.o.ble things, and strove to speak, As when a great thought strikes along the brain, And flushes all the cheek.

And once my arm was lifted to hew down, A cavalier from off his saddle-bow, That bore a lady from a leaguer'd town; And then, I know not how,

All those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing thought Stream'd onward, lost their edges, and did creep Roll'd on each other, rounded, smooth'd and brought Into the gulfs of sleep.

At last methought that I had wander'd far In an old wood: fresh-wash'd in coolest dew, The maiden splendours of the morning star Shook in the steadfast [5] blue.

Enormous elmtree-boles did stoop and lean Upon the dusky brushwood underneath Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, New from its silken sheath.

The dim red morn had died, her journey done, And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain, Half-fall'n across the threshold of the sun, Never to rise again.

There was no motion in the dumb dead air, Not any song of bird or sound of rill; Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre Is not so deadly still

As that wide forest.

Growths of jasmine turn'd Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, [6]

And at the root thro' lush green gra.s.ses burn'd The red anemone.

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn On those long, rank, dark wood-walks, drench'd in dew, Leading from lawn to lawn.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remember to have been Joyful and free from blame.

And from within me a clear under-tone Thrill'd thro' mine ears in that unblissful clime "Pa.s.s freely thro': the wood is all thine own, Until the end of time".

At length I saw a lady [7] within call, Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there; A daughter of the G.o.ds, divinely tall, [8]

And most divinely fair.

Her loveliness with shame and with surprise Froze my swift speech: she turning on my face The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, Spoke slowly in her place.

"I had great beauty: ask thou not my name: No one can be more wise than destiny.

Many drew swords and died.

Where'er I came I brought calamity."

"No marvel, sovereign lady [9]: in fair field Myself for such a face had boldly died," [10]

I answer'd free; and turning I appeal'd To one [11] that stood beside.

But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, To her full height her stately stature draws; "My youth," she said, "was blasted with a curse: This woman was the cause.

"I was cut off from hope in that sad place, [12]

Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears: [13]

My father held his hand upon his face; I, blinded with my tears,

"Still strove to speak: my voice was thick with sighs As in a dream. Dimly I could descry The stern black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes, Waiting to see me die.

"The high masts flicker'd as they lay afloat; The crowds, the temples, waver'd, and the sh.o.r.e; The bright death quiver'd at the victim's throat; Touch'd; and I knew no more." [14]

Whereto the other with a downward brow: "I would the white cold heavy-plunging foam, [15]

Whirl'd by the wind, had roll'd me deep below, Then when I left my home."

Her slow full words sank thro' the silence drear, As thunder-drops fall on a sleeping sea: Sudden I heard a voice that cried, "Come here, That I may look on thee".

I turning saw, throned on a flowery rise, One sitting on a crimson scarf unroll'd; A queen, with swarthy cheeks [16] and bold black eyes, Brow-bound with burning gold.

She, flashing forth a haughty smile, began: "I govern'd men by change, and so I sway'd All moods. Tis long since I have seen a man.

Once, like the moon, I made

"The ever-shifting currents of the blood According to my humour ebb and flow.

I have no men to govern in this wood: That makes my only woe.

"Nay--yet it chafes me that I could not bend One will; nor tame and tutor with mine eye That dull cold-blooded Caesar. Prythee, friend, Where is Mark Antony? [17]

"The man, my lover, with whom I rode sublime On Fortune's neck: we sat as G.o.d by G.o.d: The Nilus would have risen before his time And flooded at our nod. [18]

"We drank the Libyan [19] Sun to sleep, and lit Lamps which outburn'd Canopus. O my life In Egypt!

O the dalliance and the wit, The flattery and the strife, [20]

"And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's alarms, [21]

My Hercules, my Roman Antony, My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms, Contented there to die!