: Accolon of Gaul with Other Poems by Cawein Madison Julius - American poetry

@FreeBooksWed 07 Jun, 2023

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All our rich world of love I will retrace:

"Once when the lightning made the casement glare Squares touched to gold, between it rose her hair, As if a raven's wing had cut the storm Death-driven seaward; and a vague alarm Stung me with terrors of surmise where hope As yet pruned weak wings crippled by their scope. And, lo, she kneeled low, radiant, wonderful, Lawn-raimented and white; kneeled low,--'to lull These thoughts of night such storms might shape in thee, All such to peace and sleep,'--Ah, God! to see Her like a benediction fleshed! with her Hearing her voice! her cool hand wandering bare Wistful on feverish brow thro' long deep curls! To see her rich throat's carcaneted pearls Rise as her pulses! eyes' large influence Poured toward me straight as stars, whose sole defense Against all storm is their bold beauty! then To feel her breathe and hear her speak again! 'Love, mark,' I said or dreamed I moaned in dreams, 'How wails the tumult and the thunder gleams! As if of Arthur's knights had charged two fields Bright as sun-winds of dawn; swords, spears and shields Flashed lordly shocked; had,--to a man gone down In burst of battle hurled,--lain silent sown. Love, one eternal tempest thus with thee Were calm, dead calm! but, no!--for thee in me Such calm proves tempest. Speak; I feel thy voice Throb soft, caressing silence, healing noise.'

"'Thine, sweet, a devil's kindness which is given For earthly pleasure but bars out from Heaven. Temptation harbored, like a bloody rust On a bright blade, leaves ugly stains; and lust Is love's undoing when love's limbs are cast A commonness to desire that makes unchaste; And this warm nearness of what should be hid Makes love a lawless love. But, thou hast bid;-- Rest thou; I love thee, how,--I only know: But all that love shall shout "out!" at love's foe.' And turning sighed into my hair; and she Stretched the broad blade's division suddenly. And so we lay its fire between us twain; Unsleeping I, for, oh, that devil pain Of passion in me that strove up and stood A rebel wrangling with the brain and blood! An hour stole by: she slept or seemed to sleep. The winds of night came vigorous from the deep With storm gusts of fresh-watered field and wold That breathed of ocean meadows bluely rolled. I drowsed and time passed; stealing as for one Whose drowsy life dreams in Avilion. Vast bulks of black, wind-shattered rack went down High casement squares of heaven, a crystal crown Of bubbled moonlight on each monstrous head, Like as great ghosts of giant kings long dead. And then, meseemed, she lightly laughed and sighed, So soft a taper had not bent aside, And leaned a soft face seen thro' loosened hair Above me, whisp'ring as if sweet in prayer, 'Behold, the sword! I take the sword away!' It curved and clashed where the strewn rushes lay; Shone glassy, glittering like a watery beam Of moonlight in the moonlight. I did deem She moved in sleep and dreamed perverse, nor wist That which she did until two fierce lips kissed My wondering eyes to wakement of her thought. Then spake I, 'Love, my word! is it then naught? Nay, nay, my word albeit the sword be gone!-- And wouldst thou try me? rest thou safe till dawn! I will not thus forswear! my word stands fast!' But now I felt hot, desperate kisses cast On hair, eyes, throat and lips and over and over, Low laughter of 'Sweet wretch! and thou--a lover? What is that word if she thou gavest it Unbind thee of it? lo, and she sees fit!' Ah, Morgane, Morgane, then I knew 'twas thou, Thou! thou! who only could such joy allow."

"And, oh, unburied passion of that night; The sleepy birds too early piped of light; Too soon came Light girt with a rosy breeze, Strong from his bath, to wrestle with the trees, A thewy hero; and, alas! too soon Our scutcheoned oriel stained was overstrewn Of Dawn's air-jewels; then I sang a strain Of sleep that in my memory strives again:

"Ethereal limbed the lovely Sleep should sit, Her starbeam locks with some vague splendor lit, Like that the glow-worm's emerald radiance sheds Thro' twilight dew-drops globed on lily-beds. Her face as fair as if of graven stone, Yet dim and airy us a cloud alone In the bare blue of Heaven, smiling sweet, For languorous thoughts of love that flit and fleet Short-rainbow-winged about her crumpled hair; Yet on her brow a pensiveness more fair, Ungraspable and sad and lost, I wist, Than thoughts of maiden whom her love hath kissed, Who knows, thro' deepening eyes and drowsy breath, Him weeping bent whiles she drifts on to death. Full sweet and sorrowful and blithe withal Should be her brow; not wholly spiritual, But tinged with mortal for the mortal mind, And smote with flushings from some Eden wind; Hinting at heart's ease and a god's desire Of pleasure hastening in a garb of fire From some dim country over storied seas Glassed of content and foamed of mysteries. Her ears two sea-pearls' morning-tender pink, And strung to harkening as if on a brink Night with profundity of death and doubt, Yet touched with awfulness of light poured out. Ears strung to palpitations of heart throbs As sea-shells waver with dim ocean sobs. One hand, curved like a mist on dusking skies, Hollowing smooth brows to shade dark velvet eyes,-- Dark-lashed and dewed of tear-drops beautiful,-- To sound the cowering conscience of the dull, Sleep-sodden features in their human rest, Ere she dare trust her pureness to that breast. Large limbs diaphanous and fleeced with veil Of wimpled heat, wove of the pulsing pale Of rosy midnight, and stained thro' with stars In golden cores; clusters of quivering bars Of nebulous gold, twined round her fleecily. A lucid shape vague in vague mystery. Untrammeled bosoms swelling free and white And prodigal of balm; cupped lilies bright, That to the famished mind yield their pure, best, Voluptuous sleep like honey sucked in rest."

Thus they communed. And there her castle stood With slender towers ivied o'er the wood; An ancient chapel creeper-buried near; A forest vista, where faint herds of deer Stalked like soft shadows; where the hares did run, Mavis and throstle caroled in the sun. For it was Morgane's realm, embowered Gore; That rooky pile her palace whence she bore With Urience sway; but he at Camelot Knew naught of intrigues here at Chariot.

As if each echo, which that wild horn's blast Waked from its sleep,--the quietude had cast Tender as mercy on it,--in a band Rose moving sounds of gladness hand in hand, Came twelve fair damsels, sunny in sovereign white, From that red woodland gliding. These each knight Graced with obeisance and "Our lord," said one, "Tenders ye courtesy until the dawn; The Earl Sir Damas; well in his wide keep, Seen thither with due worship, ye shall sleep." And then they came o'erwearied to a hall, An owlet-haunted pile, whose weedy wall Towered based on crags rough, windy turrets high; An old, gaunt giant-castle 'gainst a sky Wherein the moon hung foam-faced, large and full. Down on dank sea-foundations broke the dull, Weird monotone of ocean, and wide rolled The watery wilderness that was as old As loud, defying headlands stretching out Beneath still stars with a voluminous shout Of wreck and wrath forever. Here the two Were feasted fairly and with worship due All errant knights, and then a damsel led Each knight with flaring lamp unto his bed Down separate corridores of that great keep; And soon they rested in a heavy sleep.

"He doth enchain us with this common end, That he find one who will his prowess bend To the attainment of his livelihood. A younger brother, Ontzlake, hath he; good And courteous, withal most noble, whom This Damas hates--yea, ever seeks his doom; Denying him to their estate all right Save that he holds by main of arms and might. And thro' puissance hath he some fat fields And one rich manor sumptuous, where he yields Belated knights host's hospitality. Then bold is Ontzlake, Damas cowardly. For Ontzlake would decide by sword and lance Body for body this inheritance; But Damas dotes on life so courageless; Thus on all knights perforce lays coward's stress To fight for him or starve. For ye must know That in his country he is hated so That no helm here is who will take the fight; Thus fortunes it our plight is such a plight." Quoth he and ceased. And wondering at the tale The King was thoughtful, and each faded, pale, Poor countenance still conned him when he spake: "And what reward if one this battle take?" "Deliverance for all if of us one Consent to be his party's champion. But treachery and he are so close kin We loathe the part as some misshapen sin, And here would rather dally on to death Than serving falseness save and slave our breath."

"May God deliver you for mercy, sirs!" And right anon an iron noise he hears Of chains clanked loose and bars jarred rusty back, The heavy gate croak open; and the black Of that rank cell astonished was with light, That danced fantastic with the frantic night. One high torch sidewise worried by the gust Sunned that lorn den of hunger, death and rust, And one tall damsel vaguely vestured, fair With shadowy hair, poised on the rocky stair. And laughing on the King, "What cheer?" said she; "God's life! the keep stinks vilely! and to see So noble knights endungeoned hollowing here Doth pain me sore with pity--but, what cheer?"

"Thou mockest us; for me the sorriest Since I was suckled; and of any quest To me the most imperiling and strange.-- But what wouldst thou?" said Arthur. She, "A change I offer thee, through thee to these with thee, And thou but grant me in love's courtesy To fight for Damas and his livelihood. And if thou wilt not--look! thou seest this brood Of lean and dwindled bellies specter-eyed, Keen knights erst who refused me?--so decide." Then thought the King of the sweet sky, the breeze That blew delirious over waves and trees; Thick fields of grasses and the sunny earth Whose beating heat filled the red heart with mirth, And made the world one sovereign pleasure house Where king and serf might revel and carouse; Then of the hunt on autumn-plaintive hills; Lone forest chapels by their radiant rills: His palace rich at Caerlleon upon Usk, And Camelot's loud halls that thro' the dusk Blazed far and bloomed a rose of revelry; Or in the misty morning shadowy Loomed grave for audience. And then he thought Of his Round Table and that Grael wide sought In haunted holds on demon-sinful shore; Then marveled of what wars would rise and roar With dragon heads unconquered and devour This realm of Britain and pluck up that flower Of chivalry whence ripened his renown: And then the reign of some besotted crown, A bandit king of lust, idolatry-- And with that thought for tears he could not see: Then of his greatest champions, King Ban's son, And Galahad and Tristram, Accolon: And then, ah God! of his dear Guenevere, And with that thought--to starve and moulder here?-- For, being unfriend to Arthur and his court, Well wist he this grim Earl would bless that sport Of fortune which had fortuned him so well To have to starve his sovereign in a cell.-- In the entombing rock where ground the deep; And all the life shut in his limbs did leap Thro' eager veins and sinews fierce and red, Stung on to action, and he rose and said: "That which thou askest is right hard, but, lo! To rot here harder; I will fight his foe. But, mark, I have no weapons and no mail, No steed against that other to avail."

"Fear not for that; and thou shalt lack none, sire." And so she led the path: her torch's fire Scaring wild spidery shadows at each stride From cob-webbed coignes of scowling passes wide, That labyrinthed the rock foundation strong Of that ungainly fortress bleak of wrong. At length they came to a nail-studded door, Which she unlocked with one harsh key she bore Mid many keys bunched at her girdle; thence They issued on a terraced eminence. Beneath the sea broke sounding; and the King Breathed open air that had the smell and sting Of brine morn-vigored and blue-billowed foam; For in the East the second dawning's gloam, Since that unlucky chase, was freaked with streaks Red as the ripe stripes of an apple's cheeks. And so within that larger light of dawn It seemed to Arthur now that he had known This maiden at his court, and so he asked. But she, well-tutored, her real person masked, And answered falsely; "Nay, deceive thee not; Thou saw'st me ne'er at Arthur's court, I wot. For here it likes me best to sing and spin And work the hangings my sire's halls within: No courts or tournaments or gallants brave To flatter me and love! for me--the wave, The forest, field and sky; the calm, the storm; My garth wherein I walk to think; the charm Of uplands redolent at bounteous noon And full of sunlight; night's free stars and moon; White ships that pass some several every year; These lonesome towers and those wild mews to hear." "An owlet maid!" the King laughed. But, untrue Was she, and of false Morgane's treasonous crew, Who worked vile wiles ev'n to the slaying of The King, half-brother, whom she did not love. And presently she brought him where in state This swarthy Damas with mailed cowards sate....

King Urience that dawning woke and found Himself safe couched at Camelot and wound In Morgane's arms; nor weened he how it was That this thing secretly had come to pass. But Accolon at Chariot sojourned still Content with his own dreams; for 'twas the will Of Morgane thus to keep him hidden here For her desire's excess, where everywhere In Gore by wood and river pleasure houses, Pavilions, rose of rock for love carouses; And there in one, where 'twas her dearest wont To list a tinkling, falling water fount,-- Which thro' sweet talks of idle paramours At sensuous ease on tumbled beds of flowers, Had caught a laughing language light thereof, And rambled ever gently whispering, "love!"-- On cool white walls her hands had deftly draped A dark rich hanging, where were worked and shaped Her fullest hours of pleasure flesh and mind, Imperishable passions, which could wind The past and present quickly; and could mate Dead loves to kisses, and intoxicate With moon-soft words of past delight and song The heavy heart that wronged forgot the wrong. And there beside it pooled the urn?d well, And slipping thence thro' dripping shadows fell From rippling rock to rock. Here Accolon, With Morgane's hollow lute, one studious dawn Came solely; with not ev'n her brindled hound To leap beside him o'er the gleaming ground; No handmaid lovely of his loveliest fair, Or paging dwarf in purple with him there; But this her lute, about which her perfume Clung odorous of memories, that made bloom Her flowing features rosy to his eyes, That saw the words, his sense could but surmise, Shaped on dim, breathing lips; the laugh that drunk Her deep soul-fire from eyes wherein it sunk And slowly waned away to smouldering dreams, Fathomless with thought, far in their dove-gray gleams. And so for those most serious eyes and lips, Faint, filmy features, all the music slips Of buoyant being bubbling to his voice To chant her praises; and with nervous poise His fleet, trained fingers call from her long lute Such riotous notes as must make madly mute The nightingale that listens quivering. And well he knows that winging hence it'll sing These aching notes, whose beauties burn and pain Its anguished heart now sobless, not in vain Wild 'neath her casement in that garden old Dingled with heavy roses; in the gold Of Camelot's stars and pearl-encrusted moon; And if it dies, the heartache of the tune Shall clamor stormy passion at her ear, Of death more dear than life if love be there; Melt her quick eyes to tears, her throat to sobs Tumultuous heaved, while separation throbs Hard at her heart, and longing rears to Death Two prayerful eyes of pleading "for one breath-- An ardor of fierce life--crushed in his arms Close, close! and, oh, for such, all these smooth charms, Full, sentient charms voluptuous evermore!" And sweet to know these sensitive vows shall soar Ev'n to the dull ear of her drowsy lord Beside her; heart-defying with each word Harped in the bird's voice rhythmically clear. And thus he sang to her who was not there:

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