Read Ebook: Accolon of Gaul with Other Poems by Cawein Madison Julius

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 221 lines and 36229 words, and 5 pages

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:

"She comes! her presence, like a moving song Breathed soft of loveliest lips and lute-like tongue, Sways all the gurgling forests from their rest: I fancy where her rustling foot is pressed, So faltering, love seems timid, but how strong That darling love that flutters in her breast!

"She comes! and the green vistas are stormed thro'-- As if wild wings, wet-varnished with dripped dew, Had dashed a sudden sunbeam tempest past, --With her eyes' inspiration clearly chaste; A rhythmic lavishment of bright gray blue, Long arrows of her eyes perfection cast.

"Ah, God! she comes! and, Love, I feel thy breath, Like the soft South who idly wandereth Thro' musical leaves of laughing laziness, Page on before her, how sweet--none can guess! To say my soul 'Here's harmony dear as death To sigh wild vows, or utterless, to bless.'

"She comes! ah, God! and all my brain is brave To war for words to laud her and to lave Her queenly beauty in such vows whereof May hush melodious cooings of a dove: For her light feet the favored path to pave With oaths, like roses, raving mad with love.

"She comes! in me a passion--as the moon Works madness in strong men--my blood doth swoon Towards her glory; and I feel her soul Cling lip to lip with mine; and now the whole Mix with me, aching like a tender tune Exhausted; lavished in a god's control.

"She comes! ah, Christ! ye eager stars that grace The fragmentary skies, that dimple space, Clink, and I hear her harp-sweet footfalls come: Ah, wood-indulging, violet-vague perfume, Art of her presence, of her wild-flower face, That like some gracious blossom stains the gloom?

"Oh, living exultation of the blood! That now--as sunbursts, the almighty mood Of some moved god, scatter the storm that roars, And hush--her love like some spent splendor pours Into it all immaculate maidenhood, And all the heart that hesitates--adores.

"Vanquished! so vanquished!--ah, triumphant sweet! The height of heaven--supine at thy feet! Where love feasts crowned, and basks in such a glare As hearts of suns burn, in thine eyes and hair, Unutterable with raveled fires that cheat The ardent clay of me and make me air.

"And so, rare witch, thy blood, like some lewd wine, Shall subtly make me, like thee, half divine; And,--sweet rebellion!--clasp thee till thou urge To combat close of savage kisses: surge A war that rubies all thy proud cheeks' shine,-- Slain, struggling blushes,--till white truce emerge.

"My life for thine, thus bartered lip to lip! A striving being pulsant, that shall slip Like song and flame in sense from thee to me; Nor held, but quick rebartered thence to thee: So our two loves be as a singleship, Ten thousand loves as one eternally."

Babbled the woodland like a rocky brook; And as the ecstacy of foliage shook, Hot pieces of bright, sunny heavens glanced Like polished silver thro' pale leaves that danced. As one hath seen some green-gowned huntress fair, Morn in her cheeks and midnight in her hair, Eyes clear as hollow dews; clean limbs as lithe As limbs swift morning moves; a voice as blithe As high hawk's ringing thro' the falling dews; Pant thro' the bramble-matted avenues,-- Where brier and thorn have gashed her gown's pinched green, About bright breasts and arms, the milky sheen Of white skin healthy pouting out; her face, Ardent and flushed, fixed on the lordly chase.

And it befell him; wandering one dawn, As was his wont, across a dew-drenched lawn, Glad with night freshness and elastic health In sky and earth that lavished worlds of wealth From heady breeze and racy smells, a knight And lofty lady met he; gay bedight, With following of six esquires; and they Held on straight wrists the jess'd gerfalcon gray, And rode a-hawking o'er the leas of Gore From Ontzlake's manor, where he languished; sore Hurt in the lists, a spear thrust in his thigh: Who had besought--for much he feared to die-- This knight and his fair lady, as they rode To hawk near Chariot, the Queen's abode, That they would pray her in all charity Fare post to him,--for in chirurgery Of all that land she was the greatest leach,-- And her to his recovery beseech. So, Accolon saluted, they drew rein, And spake their message,--for right over fain Were they toward their sport,--that he might bare Petition to that lady. But, not there Was Arthur's sister, as they well must wot; But now a se'nnight lay at Camelot, Of Guenevere the guest; and there with her Four other queens of farther Britain were: Isoud of Ireland, she of Cornwall Queen, King Mark's wife; who right rarely then was seen At court for jealousy of Mark, who knew Her to that lance of Lyonesse how true Since mutual quaffing of a philter; while How guilty Guenevere on such could smile: She of Northgales and she of Eastland: and She of the Out Isles Queen. A fairer band For sovereignty and love and loveliness Was not in any realm to grace and bless. Then quoth the knight, "Ay? see how fortune turns And varies like an April day, that burns Now welkins blue with calm, now scowls them down, Revengeful, with a black storm's wrinkled frown. For, look, this Damas, who so long hath lain A hiding vermin, fearful of all pain, Dark in his bandit towers by the deep, Wakes from a five years' torpor and a sleep; So sends dispatch a courier to my lord With, 'Lo! behold! to-morrow with the sword Earl Damas by his knight at point of lance Decides the issue of inheritance, Body to body, or by champion.' Right hard to find such ere to-morrow dawn. Though sore bestead lies Ontzlake, and he could, Right fain were he to save his livelihood. Then mused Sir Accolon: "The adventure goes Ev'n as my Lady fashioneth; who knows But what her arts develop this and make?" And thus to those: "His battle I will take,-- And he be so conditioned, harried of Estate and life,--in knighthood and for love. Conduct me thither." And, gramercied, then Mounted a void horse of that wondering train, And thence departed with two squires. And they Came to a lone, dismantled priory Hard by a castle gray on whose square towers, Machicolated, o'er the forest's bowers, The immemorial morning bloomed and blushed. A woodland manor olden, dark embushed In wild and woody hills. And then one wound An echoy horn, and with the boundless sound The drawbridge rumbled moatward clanking, and Into a paved court passed that little band....

When all the world was morning, gleam and glare Of far deluging glory, and the air Sang with the wood-bird, like a humming lyre Swept bold of minstrel fingers wire on wire; Ere that fixed hour of prime came Arthur armed For battle royally. A black steed warmed A fierce impatience 'neath him cased in mail, Huge, foreign; and accoutered head to tail In costly sendal; rearward wine-dark red, Amber as sunlight to his fretful head. Firm, heavy armor blue had Arthur on Beneath a robe of honor, like the dawn, Satin and diapered and purflewed deep With lordly golden purple; whence did sweep Two hanging acorn tuftings of fine gold, And at his thigh a falchion, long and bold, Heavy and triple-edged; its scabbard, red Cordovan leather; thence a baldric led Of new cut deer-skin; this laborious wrought, And curiously with slides of gold was fraught, And buckled with a buckle white that shone, Bone of the sea-horse, tongued with jet-black bone. And, sapphire-set, a burgonet of gold Barbaric, wyvern-crested whose throat rolled A flame-sharp tongue of agate, and whose eyes Glowed venomous great rubies fierce of prize. And in his hand, a wiry lance of ash, Lattened with finest silver, like a flash Of sunlight in the morning shone a-gash. Clad was his squire most richly; he whose head Curled with close locks of yellow tinged to red: Of noble bearing; fair face; hawk eyes keen, And youthful, bearded chin. Right well beseen, Scarfed with blue satin; on his shoulder strong One broad gold brooch chased strangely, thick and long. His legs in hose of rarest Totness clad, And parti-colored leathern shoes he had Gold-latched; and in his hand a bannered spear Speckled and bronzen sharpened in the air.

So with his following, while lay like scars The blue mist thin along the woodland bars, Thro' dew and fog, thro' shadow and thro' ray Joustward Earl Damas led the forest way. Then to King Arthur when arrived were these To where the lists shone silken thro' the trees, Bannered and draped, a wimpled damsel came, Secret, upon a palfrey all aflame With sweat and heat of hurry, and, "From her, Your sister Morgane, your Excalibur, With tender greeting: For ye well have need In this adventure of him. So, God speed!" And so departed suddenly: nor knew The king but this his weapon tried and true. But brittle this and fashioned like thereof, And false of baser metal, in unlove And treason to his life, of her of kin Half sister, Morgane--an unnatural sin.

Then heralded into the lists he rode. Opposed flashed Accolon, who light bestrode, Exultant, proud in talisman of that sword, A dun horse lofty as a haughty lord, Pure white about each hollow, pasterned hoof. Equipped shone knight and steed in arms of proof, Dappled with yellow variegated plate Of Spanish laton. And of sovereign state His surcoat robe of honor white and black Of satin, red-silk needled front and back Then blackly bordered. And above his robe That two-edged sword,--a throbbing golden globe Of vicious jewels,--thrust its burning hilt, Its broad belt, tawny and with gold-work gilt, Clasped with the eyelid of a black sea-horse Whose tongue was rosy gold. And stern as Force His visored helmet burned like fire, of rich And bronzen laton hammered; and on which An hundred crystals glittered, thick as on A silver web bright-studding dews of dawn. The casque's tail crest a taloned griffin ramped, In whose horned brow one virtuous jewel stamped. An ashen spear round-shafted, overlaid With fine blue silver, whereon colors played, Firm in his iron gauntlet lithely swayed.

Intense on either side an instant stood Glittering as serpents which, with Spring renewed, In glassy scales meet on some greening way, Angry advance, quick tongues at poisonous play. Then clanged a herald's clarion and sharp heels, Harsh-spurred, each champion's springing courser feels Touch to red onset; the aventured spears Hurled like two sun-bursts of a storm when clears Laborious thunders; and in middle course Shrieked shrill the unpierced shields; mailed horse from horse Lashed madly pawing--and a hoarse roar rang From buckram lists, till the wild echoes sang Of leagues on leagues of forest and of cliff. Rigid the proof-shelled warriors passed and stiff Whither their squires fresher spears upheld; Nor stayed to breathe; but scarcely firmly selled Launched deadly forward. Shield to savage shield Opposing; crest to crest, whose fronts did wield A towering war's unmercifulest scath; Rocking undaunted, glared wan withering wrath From balls of jeweled eyes, and raging stood Slim, slippery bodies, in the sun like blood. The lance of Accolon, as on a rock Long storm-launched foam breaks baffled, with the shock, On Arthur's sounding shield burst splintered force; But him resistless Arthur's,--high from horse Sell-lifted,--ruinous bare crashing on A long sword's length; unsaddled Accolon For one stunned moment lay. Then rising, drew The great sword at his hip, that shone like dew Fresh flashed in morn. "Descend;" he stiffly said, "To proof of better weapons head for head! Enough of spears, to swords!" and so the knight Addressed him to the King. Dismounting light, Arthur his moon-bright brand unsheathed, and high Each covering shield gleamed slanting to the sky, Relentless, strong, and stubborn; underneath Their wary shelters foined the glittering death Of stolid steel thrust livid arm to arm: As cloud to cloud growls up a soaring storm Above the bleak wood and lithe lightnings work Brave blades wild warring, in the black that lurk, Thus fenced and thrust--one tortoise shield descends, Leaps a fierce sword shrill,--like a flame which sends A long fang heavenward,--for a crushing stroke; Swings hard and trenchant, and, resounding heard, Sings surly helmward full; defiance reared Soars to a brother blow to shriek again Blade on brave blade. And o'er the battered plain, Forward and backward, blade on baleful blade, Teeth clenched as visors where the fierce eyes made A cavernous, smouldering fury, shield at shield, Unflinchingly remained and scorned to yield.

Then anger in the good King's gloomy eye Burnt, instant-embered, as one oft may see A star leak out of heaven and cease to be. Slow from his visage he his visor raised, And on the dying one mute moment gazed, Then low bespake him grimly: "Accolon, I am that King." He with an awful groan, Blade-battered as he was, beheld and knew; Strained to his tottering knees and haggard drew Up full his armored tallness, hoarsely cried, "The King!" and at his mailed feet clashed and died. Then rose a world of anxious faces pressed About King Arthur, who, though wound-distressed, Bespake that multitude: "Whiles breath and power Remain, judge we these brethren: This harsh hour Hath yielded Damas all this rich estate;-- So it is his--allotted his of Fate Thro' might of arms; so let it be to him. For, stood our oath on knighthood not so slim But that it hath this strong conclusion: This much by us as errant knight is done: Now our decree as King of Britain, hear: We do adjudge this Damas banned fore'er, Outlawed and exiled from all shores and isles Of farthest Britain in its many miles. One month be his--no more! then will we come Even with an iron host to seal his doom; If he be not departed over seas, Hang naked from his battlements to please Of carrion ravens and wild hawks the craws. Thus much for Damas. But our pleasure draws Toward sir Ontzlake, whom it likes the King To take into his knightly following Of that Round Table royal.--Stand our word!-- But I am overweary; take my sword;-- Unharness me; for, battle worn, I tire With bruises' achings and wounds mad with fire; And monasteryward would I right fain, Even Glastonbury and with me the slain." So bare they then the wounded King away, The dead behind. So, closed the Autumn day.

But when within that abbey he waxed strong, The King remembering him of all the wrong That Damas had inflicted on the land, Commanded Lionell with a staunch band This weed's out-stamping if still rooted there. He riding thither to that robber lair, Led Arthur's hopefulest helms, when thorn on thorn Reddened an hundred spears one winter morn; Built up, a bulk of bastioned rock on rock, Vast battlements, that loomed above the shock Of freshening foam that climbed with haling hands, Lone cloudy-clustered turrets in loud lands Set desolate,--mournful o'er wide, frozen flats,-- Found hollow towers the haunt of owls and bats.

Hate, born of Wrath and mother red of Crime, In Hell was whelped ere the hot hands of time, Artificer of God, had coined one world From formless forms of void and 'round it furled Its lordly raiment of the day and night, And germed its womb for seasons throed with might: And Hell sent Hate to man to hate or use, To serve itself by serving and amuse....

"Then this lank Urience? He who is lord.-- Where is thy worry? for, hath he no sword? No dangerous dagger I, hid softly here Sharp as an adder's fang? or for that ear No instant poison which insinuates, Tightens quick pulses, while one breathing waits, With ice and death? For often men who sleep On eider-down wake not, but closely keep Such secrets in their graves to rot and rot To dust and maggots;--of these--which his lot?" Thus she conspired with her that rainy night Lone in her chamber; when no haggard, white, Wan, watery moon dreamed on the streaming pane, But on the leads beat an incessant rain, And sighed and moaned a weary wind along The turrets and torn poplars stirred to song.

So grew her face severe as skies that take Dark forces of full storm, sound-shod, that shake With murmurous feet black hills, and stab with fire A pine some moaning forest mourns as sire. So touched her countenance that dark intent; And to still eyes stern thoughts a passion sent, As midnight waters luminous glass deep Suggestive worlds of austere stars in sleep, Vague ghostly gray locked in their hollow gloom. Then as if some vast wind had swept the room, Silent, intense, had raised her from her seat, Of dim, great arms had made her a retreat, Secret as love to move in, like some ghost, Noiseless as death and subtle as sharp frost, Poised like a light and borne as carefully, Trod she the gusty hall where shadowy The stirring hangings rolled a Pagan war. And there the mail of Urience shone. A star, Glimmering above, a dying cresset dropped From the stone vault and flared. And here she stopped And took the sword bright, burnished by his page, And ruddy as a flame with restless rage. Grasping this death unto the chamber where Slept innocent her spouse she moved--an air Twined in soft, glossy sendal; or a fit Of faery song a wicked charm in it, A spell that sings seductive on to death. Then paused she at one chamber; for a breath Listened: and here her son Sir Ewain slept, He who of ravens a black army kept, In war than fiercest men more terrible, That tore forth eyes of kings who blinded fell. Sure that he slept, to Urience stole and stood Dim by his couch. About her heart hot blood Caught strangling, then throbbed thudding fever up To her broad eyes, like wine whirled in a cup.

Then came rare Recollection, with a mouth Sweet as the honeyed sunbeams of the South Trickling thro' perplexed ripples of low leaves; To whose faint form a veil of starshine cleaves Intricate gauze from memoried eyes to feet;-- Feet sandaled with crushed, sifted snows and fleet To come and go and airy anxiously. She, trembling to her, like a flower a bee Nests in and makes an audible mouth of musk Dripping a downy language in the dusk, Laid lips to ears and luted memories of Now hateful Urience:--Her maiden love, That willing went from Caerlleon to Gore One dazzling day of Autumn. How a boar, Wild as the wonder of the blazing wood, Raged at her from a cavernous solitude, Which, crimson-creepered, yawned the bristling curse Murderous upon her; how her steed waxed worse And, snorting terror, fled unmanageable, Pursued with fear, and flung her from the selle, Soft slipping on a bank of springy moss That couched her swooning. In an utter loss Of mind and limbs she only knew twas thus-- As one who pants beneath an incubus:-- The boar thrust toward her a tusked snout and fanged Of hideous bristles, and the whole wood clanged And buzzed and boomed a thousand sounds and lights Lawless about her brain, like leaves fierce nights Of hurricane harvest shouting: then she knew A fury thunder twixt it--and fleet flew Rich-rooted moss and sandy loam that held Dark-buried shadows of the wild, and swelled Continual echoes with the thud of strife, And breath of man and brute that warred for life; And all the air, made mad with foam and forms, Spun froth and wrestled twixt her hair and arms, While trampled caked the stricken leaves or shred Hummed whirling, and snapped brittle branches dead. And when she rose and leaned her throbbing head, Which burst its uncoifed rays of raven hair Down swelling shoulders pure and faultless fair, On one milk, marvelous arm of fluid grace, Beheld the brute thing throttled and the face Of angry Urience over, browed like Might, One red, swoln arm, that pinned the hairy fright, Strong as a god's, iron at the gullet's brawn; Dug in his midriff, the close knees updrawn Wedged deep the glutton sides that quaked and strove A shaggy bulk, whose sharp hoofs horny drove. Thus man and brute burned bent; when Urience slipped One arm, the horror's tearing tusks had ripped And ribboned redly, to the dagger's hilt, Which at his hip hung long a haft gold-gilt; Its rapid splinter drew; beamed twice and thrice High in the sun its ghastliness of ice Plunged--and the great boar, stretched in sullen death, Weakened thro' wild veins, groaned laborious breath.

And how he brought her water from a well That rustled freshness near them, as it fell From its full-mantled urn, in his deep casque, And prayed her quaff; then bathed her brow, a task That had accompaning tears of joy and vows Of love, sweet intercourse of eyes and brows, And many clinging kisses eloquent. And how, when dressed his arm, behind him bent She clasped him on the same steed and they went On thro' the gold wood toward the golden West, Till on one low hill's forest-covered crest Up in the gold his castle's battlements pressed. And then she felt she'd loved him till had come Fame of the love of Isoud, whom from home Brought knightly Tristram o'er the Irish foam, And Guenevere's for Launcelot of the Lake. And then how passion from these seemed to wake Longing for some great gallant who would slake-- And such found Accolon. And then she thought How far she'd fallen and how darkly fraught With consequence was this. Then what distress Were hers and his--her lover's; and success How doubly difficult if Arthur slain, King Urience lived to assert his right to reign. So paused she pondering on the blade; her lips Breathless and close as close cold finger tips Hugged the huge weapon's hilt. And so she sighed, "Nay! long, too long hast lived who shouldst have died Even in the womb abortive! who these years Hast leashed sweet life to care with stinging tears, A knot thus harshly severed!--As thou art Into the elements naked!" O'er his heart The long sword hesitated, lean as crime, Descended redly once. And like a rhyme Of nice words fairly fitted forming on,-- A sudden ceasing and the harmony gone, So ran to death the life of Urience, A strong song incomplete of broken sense. There glowered the crimeful Queen. The glistening sword Unfleshed, flung by her wronged and murdered lord; And the dark blood spread broader thro' the sheet To drip a horror at impassive feet And blur the polished oak. But lofty she Stood proud, relentless; in her ecstacy A lovely devil; a crowned lust that cried On Accolon; that harlot which defied Heaven with a voice of pulses clamorous as Steep storm that down a cavernous mountain pass Blasphemes an hundred echoes; with like power The inner harlot called its paramour: Him whom King Arthur had commanded, when Borne from the lists, be granted her again As his blithe gift and welcome from that joust, For treacherous love and her adulterous lust. And while she stood revolving how her deed's Concealment were secured,--a grind of steeds, Arms, jingling stirrups, voices loud that cursed Fierce in the northern court. To her athirst For him her lover, war and power it spoke, Him victor and so King; and then awoke A yearning to behold, to quit the dead. So a wild specter down wide stairs she fled, Burst on a glare of links and glittering mail, That shrunk her eyes and made her senses quail. To her a bulk of iron, bearded fierce, Down from a steaming steed into her ears, "This from the King, a boon!" laughed harsh and hoarse; Two henchmen beckoned, who pitched sheer with force, Loud clanging at her feet, hacked, hewn and red, Crusted with blood a knight in armor--dead; Even Accolon, tossed with the mocking scoff "This from the King!"--phantoms in fog rode off. And what remains? From Camelot to Gore That right she weeping fled; then to the shore,-- As that romancer tells,--Avilion, Where she hath Majesty gold-crowned yet wan; In darkest cypress a frail pitious face Queenly and lovely; 'round sad eyes the trace Of immemorial tears as for some crime: They future fixed, expectant of the time When the forgiving Arthur cometh and Shall have to rule all that lost golden land That drifts vague amber in forgotten seas Of surgeless turquoise dim with mysteries. And so was seen Morgana nevermore, Save once when from the Cornwall coast she bore The wounded Arthur from that last fought fight Of Camlan in a black barge into night. But oft some see her with a palfried band Of serge-stoled maidens thro' the drowsy land Of Autumn glimmer; when are sharply strewn The red leaves, while broad in the east a moon Swings full of frost a lustrous globe of gleams, Faint on the mooning hills as shapes in dreams.

DER FREISCHUTZ.

TO REVERY.

What ogive gates from gold of Ophir wrought, What walls of bastioned Parian, lucid rose, What marts of crystal, for the eyes of Thought Hast builded on what Islands of Repose! Vague onyx columns ranked Corinthian, Or piled Ionic, colonnading heights That loom above long burst of mythic seas: Vast gynaeceums of carnelian; Micaceous temples, far marmorean flights, Where winds the arabesque and plastique frieze.

Where bulbous domes of coruscating ore Cloud--like convulsive sunsets--lands that dream, Myrrh-fragrant, over siren seas and hoar, Dashed with stiff, breezy foam of ocean's stream. Tempestuous architecture-revelries; Built melodies of marble or clear glass; Effulgent sculptures chiseled out of thought In misty attitudes, whose majesties Feed full the pleasure as those beauties pass To pale extinctions which are beauty fraught.

On rebeck and on rose in plinths of spars, On glimmering solitudes of flower and stone, A twilight-glow swoons settled, burned with stars, Deep violet dusk developing nor done. Where float fair nacreous shapes like deities,-- Existences of glory musical,-- 'Round whose warm hair twist fillets' coiling gold, Their limbs Olympian lovely, and their eyes Dark oblique fervors; and most languorous tall In woven white with girdling gold threefold.

There darkling the consummate vintage sleeps,-- Lethe-nepenthes for Earth-agony,-- In seal?d amphorae some Sybil keeps, World-old, forever cellared secretly. A wine of Xeres or of Syracuse? A fierce Falernian?--Ah! no vile Sabine!-- A stol'n ambrosia of what olden god? Whose bubbled rubies maiden feet did bruise From crusted vats of vintage rich, I ween, Vivacious purple of some Samian sod.

Oh, for the cold conclusion of one draught! Elysian ecstacy of classic earth!-- Where heroes warred with gods and where gods laughed In eyes of mortal brown, a lusty mirth Of deity delirious with desire: Where danced the sacrifice to horn?d shrines, And splashed the full libation blue as blood.-- Oh, to be drunk with dreaming! to inspire The very soul of beauty whence it shines Too lost for utterance yet understood!

In cogitation of what verdurous shades, Dull-droning quietudes where wild-bees lolled Suck, lulled in pulpy lilies of the glades, Barbaric-smothered with the kerneled gold: Teased by some torso of the golden age, Nude breasts of Cytherea, famous fair, Uncestus'd, yet suggestive of what loves Immortal! yearn enamoured; or to rage With sun-burnt Poesy whose throat breathes bare O'er leopard skins and flute among her groves.

LATE OCTOBER.

Ah, haughty hills, sardonic solitudes, What wizard touch hath, crowning you with gold, Cast Tyrian purple o'er broad-shouldered woods, And to your pride anointed empire sold For wan traditioned death, whose misty moods Shake each huge throne of quarried shadows cold?

Now where the agate-foliaged forests sleep, Bleak briars are ruby-berried, and the brush Flames--when the winds armsful of motion heap In wincing gusts upon it--amber blush; The beech an inner beryle breaks from deep Encrusting topaz of a sullen flush.

Dead gold, dead bronze, dull amethystine rose, Rose cameo, in day's gray, somber spar Of smoky quartz--intaglioed beauty--glows Luxuriance of color. Trunks that are Vast organs antheming the winds' wild woes A faded sun and pale night's paler star.

Bulged from its cup the dark-brown acorn falls, And by its gnarly saucer in the streams Swells plumped; and here the spikey spruce-gum balls Rust maces of an ouphen host that dreams; Beneath the chestnut the split burry hulls Disgorge fat purses of sleek satin gleams.

Burst silver white, nods an exploded husk Of snowy, woolly smoke the milk-weed's puff Along the orchard's fence, where in the dusk And ashen weeds,--as some grim Satyr's rough Red, breezy cheeks burn thro' his beard,--the brusque Crab apples laugh, wind-tumbled from above.

Runs thro' the wasted leaves the crickets' click, Which saddest coignes of Melancholy cheers; One bird unto the sumach flits to pick Red, sour seeds; and thro' the woods one hears The drop of gummy walnuts; the railed rick Looms tawny in the field where low the steers.

Some slim bud-bound Leimoniad hath flocked, The birds to Echo's shores, where flossy foams Boom low long cream-white cliffs.--Where once buzzed Unmillioned bees within unmillioned blooms, One hairy hummer cramps one bloom, frost mocked,--rocked A miser whose rich hives squeeze oozing combs.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet