Read Ebook: Dymer by Lewis C S Clive Staples

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 207 lines and 17681 words, and 5 pages

Now, when he looked and saw this emptiness Seven times enfolded in the idle hills, There came a chilly pause to his distress, A cloud of the deep world despair that fills A man's heart like the incoming tide and kills All pains except its own. In that broad sea No hope, no change, and no regret can be.

He felt the eternal strength of the silly earth, The unhastening circuit of the stars and sea, The business of perpetual death and birth, The meaningless precision. All must be The same and still the same in each degree-- Who cared now? And he smiled and could forgive, Believing that for sure he would not live.

Then, where he saw a little water run Beneath a bush, he slept. The chills of May Came dropping and the stars peered one by one Out of the deepening blue, while far away The western brightness dulled to bars of grey. Half-way to midnight, suddenly, from dreaming He woke wide into present horror, screaming.

For he had dreamt of being in the arms Of his beloved and in quiet places; But all at once it filled with night alarms And rapping guns: and men with splintered faces, --No eyes, no nose, all red--were running races With worms along the floor. And he ran out To find the girl and shouted: and that shout

Had carried him into the waking world. There stood the concave, vast, unfriendly night, And over him the scroll of stars unfurled. Then wailing like a child he rose upright Heart-sick with desolation. The new blight Of loss had nipt him sore, and sad self-pity Thinking of her--then thinking of the City.

For, in each moment's thought, the deeds of Bran, The burning and the blood and his own shame, Would tease him into madness till he ran For refuge to the thought of her; whence came Utter and endless loss--no, not a name, Not a word, nothing left--himself alone Crying amid that valley of old stone,

"How soon it all ran out! And I suppose They, they up there, the old contriving powers, They knew it all the time--for someone knows And waits and watches till we pluck the flowers, Then leaps. So soon--my store of happy hours All gone before I knew. I have expended My whole wealth in a day. It's finished, ended.

"And nothing left. Can it be possible That joy flows through and, when the course is run, It leaves no change, no mark on us to tell Its passing? And as poor as we've begun We end the richest day? What we have won, Can it all die like this?... Joy flickers on The razor-edge of the present and is gone.

"What have I done to bear upon my name The curse of Bran? I was not of his crew, Nor any man's. And Dymer has the blame-- What have I done? Wronged whom? I never knew. What's Bran to me? I had my deed to do And ran out by myself, alone and free. --Why should earth sing with joy and not for me?

"Ah, but the earth never did sing for joy.... There is a glamour on the leaf and flower And April comes and whistles to a boy Over white fields: and, beauty has such power Upon us, he believes her in that hour, For who could not believe? Can it be false, All that the blackbird says and the wind calls?

"What have I done? No living thing I made Nor wished to suffer harm. I sought my good Because the spring was gloriously arrayed And the blue eyebright misted all the wood. Yet to obey that springtime and my blood, This was to be unarmed and off my guard And gave God time to hit once and hit hard.

"The men build right who made that City of ours, They knew their world. A man must crouch to face Infinite malice, watching at all hours, Shut nature out--give her no moment's space For entry. The first needs of all our race Are walls, a den, a cover. Traitor I Who first ran out beneath the open sky.

"Our fortress and fenced place I made to fall, I slipt the sentries and let in the foe. I have lost my brothers and my love and all. Nothing is left but me. Now let me go. I have seen the world stripped naked and I know. Great God, take back your world. I will have none Of all your glittering gauds but death alone."

Meanwhile the earth swung round in hollow night. Souls without number in all nations slept, Snug on her back, safe speeding towards the light, Hours tolled, and in damp woods the night beast crept, And over the long seas the watch was kept In black ships, twinkling onward, green and red: Always the ordered stars moved overhead.

And no one knew that Dymer in his scales Had weighed all these and found them nothing worth. Indifferently the dawn that never fails Troubled the east of night with gradual birth, Whispering a change of colours on cold earth, And a bird woke, then two. The sunlight ran Along the hills and yellow day began.

But stagnant gloom clung in the valley yet; Hills crowded out a third part of the sky, Black-looking, and the boulders dripped with wet: No bird sang. Dymer, shivering, heaved a sigh And yawned and said: "It's cruel work to die Of hunger"; and again, with cloudy breath Blown between chattering teeth, "It's a bad death."

He crouched and clasped his hands about his knees And hugged his own limbs for the pitiful sense Of homeliness they had--familiars these, This body, at least, his own, his last defence. But soon his morning misery drove him thence, Eating his heart, to wander as chance led On, upward, to the narrowing gulley's head.

The cloud lay on the nearest mountain-top As from a giant's chimney smoking there, But Dymer took no heed. Sometimes he'd stop, Sometimes he hurried faster, as despair Pricked deeper, and cried out: "Even now, somewhere, Bran with his crew's at work. They rack, they burn, And there's no help in me. I've served their turn."

Meanwhile the furrowed fog rolled down ahead, Long tatters of its vanguard smearing round The bases of the crags. Like cobweb shed Down the deep combes it dulled the tinkling sound Of water on the hills. The spongy ground Faded three yards ahead: then nearer yet Fell the cold wreathes, the white depth gleaming wet.

Then after a long time the path he trod Led downward. Then all suddenly it dipped Far steeper, and yet steeper, with smooth sod. He was half running now. A stone that slipped Beneath him, rattled headlong down: he tripped, Stumbled and clutched--then panic, and no hope To stop himself, once lost upon that slope.

And faster, ever faster, and his eye Caught tree-tops far below. The nightmare feeling Had gripped him. He was screaming: and the sky Seemed hanging upside down. Then struggling, reeling, With effort beyond thought he hung half kneeling, Halted one saving moment With wild will He clawed into the hillside and lay still,

Till saved and spent he lay. He felt indeed It was the big, round world beneath his breast, The mother planet proven at his need. The shame of glad surrender stood confessed, He cared not for his boasts. This, this was best, This giving up of all. He need not strive; He panted, he lay still, he was alive.

And now his eyes were closed. Perhaps he slept Lapt in unearthly quiet--never knew How bit by bit the fog's white rearguard crept Over the crest and faded, and the blue First brightening at the zenith trembled through And deepening shadows took a sharper form Each moment, and the sandy earth grew warm.

Yet, dreaming of blue skies, in dream he heard The pure voice of a lark that seemed to send Its song from heights beyond all height That bird Sang out of heaven, "The world will never end," Sang from the gates of heaven, "Will never end," Sang till it seemed there was no other thing But bright space and one voice set there to sing.

It seemed to be the murmur and the voice Of beings beyond number, each and all Singing I am. Each of itself made choice And was: whence flows the justice that men call Divine. She keeps the great worlds lest they fall From hour to hour, and makes the hills renew Their ancient youth and sweetens all things through.

It seemed to be the low voice of the world Brooding alone beneath the strength of things, Murmuring of days and nights and years unfurled Forever, and the unwearied joy that brings Out of old fields the flowers of unborn springs, Out of old wars and cities burned with wrong, A splendour in the dark, a tale, a song.

The dream ran thin towards waking, and he knew It was a bird's piping with no sense. He rolled round on his back. The sudden blue, Quivering with light, hard, cloudless and intense, Shone over him. The lark still sounded thence And stirred him at the heart Some spacious thought Was passing by too gently to be caught.

With that he thrust the damp hair from his face And sat upright. The perilous cliff dropped sheer Before him, close at hand, and from his place Listening in mountain silence he could hear Birds crying far below. It was not fear That took him, but strange glory, when his eye Looked past the edge into surrounding sky.

He rose and stood. Then lo! the world beneath --Wide pools that in the sun-splashed foot hills lay, Sheep-dotted downs, soft-piled, and rolling heath, River and shining weir and steeples grey And the green waves of forest Far away Distance rose heaped on distance: nearer hand, The white roads leading down to a new land.

CANTO VI

The sun was high in heaven and Dymer stood A bright speck on the endless mountain-side. Till, blossom after blossom, that rich mood Faded and truth rolled homeward, like a tide Before whose edge the weak soul fled to hide In vain, with ostrich head, through many a shape Of coward fancy, whimpering for escape.

But only for a moment; then his soul Took the full swell and heaved a dripping prow Clear of the shattering wave-crest. He was whole. No veils should hide the truth, no truth should cow The dear self-pitying heart "I'll babble now No longer," Dymer said. "I'm broken in. Pack up the dreams and let the life begin."

And still, it seemed, that lark with its refrain Sang in the sky and wind was in his hair And hope at heart. Then once, and once again, He heard a gun fired off. It broke the air As a stone breaks a pond, and everywhere The dry crags echoed clear: and at the sound Once a big bird rose whirring from the ground.

In half an hour he reached the level land And followed the field-paths and crossed the stiles, Then looked and saw, near by, on his left hand An old house, folded round with billowy piles Of dark yew hedge. The moss was on the tiles, The pigeons in the yard, and in the tower A clock that had no hands and told no hour.

He hastened. In warm waves the garden scent Came stronger at each stride. The mountain breeze Was gone. He reached the gates; then in he went And seemed to lose the sky--such weight of trees Hung overhead. He heard the noise of bees And saw, far off, in the blue shade between The windless elms, one walking on the green.

It was a mighty man whose beardless face Beneath grey hair shone out so large and mild It made a sort of moonlight in the place. A dreamy desperation, wistful-wild, Showed in his glance and gait: yet like a child, An Asian emperor's only child, was he With his grave looks and bright solemnity.

And over him there hung the witching air, The wilful courtesy, of the days of old. The graces wherein idleness grows fair; And somewhat in his sauntering walk he rolled And toyed about his waist with seals of gold, Or stood to ponder often in mid-stride, Tilting his heavy head upon one side.

When Dymer had called twice, he turned his eye: Then, coming out of silence , He said, "Sir, you are welcome. Few there are That come my way": and in huge hands he pressed Dymer's cold hand and bade him in to rest.

"How did you find this place out? Have you heard My gun? It was but now I killed a lark." "What Sir," said Dymer, "shoot the singing bird?" "Sir," said the man, "they sing from dawn till dark, And interrupt my dreams too long. But hark... Another? Did you hear no singing? No? It was my fancy, then ... pray, let it go.

"From here you see my garden's only flaw. Stand here, Sir, at the dial." Dymer stood. The Master pointed; then he looked and saw How hedges and the funeral quietude Of black trees fringed the garden like a wood, And only, in one place, one gap that showed The blue side of the hills, the white hill-road.

"I have planted fir and larch to fill the gap," He said, "because this too makes war upon The art of dream. But by some great mishap Nothing I plant will grow there. We pass on.... The sunshine of the afternoon is gone. Let us go in. It draws near time to sup --I hate the garden till the moon is up."

They passed from the hot lawn into the gloom And coolness of the porch: then, past a door That opened with no noise, into a room Where green leaves choked the window and the floor Sank lower than the ground. A tattered store Of brown books met the eye: a crystal ball: And masks with empty eyes along the wall.

Then Dymer sat, but knew not how nor where, And supper was set out before these two, --He saw not how--with silver old and rare But tarnished. And he ate and never knew What meats they were. At every bite he grew More drowsy and let slide his crumbling will. The Master at his side was talking still.

And all his talk was tales of magic words And of the nations in the clouds above, Astral and aerish tribes who fish for birds With angles. And by history he could prove How chosen spirits from earth had won their love, As Arthur, or Usheen: and to their isle Went Helen for the sake of a Greek smile.

And ever in his talk he mustered well His texts and strewed old authors round the way, "Thus Wierus writes," and "Thus the Hermetics tell," "This was Agrippa's view," and "Others say With Cardan," till he had stolen quite away Dymer's dull wits and softly drawn apart The ivory gates of hope that change the heart.

Dymer was talking now. Now Dymer told Of his own love and losing, drowsily. The Master leaned towards him, "Was it cold, This spirit, to the touch?"--"No, Sir, not she," Said Dymer. And his host: "Why this must be Aethereal, not aereal! Oh my soul, Be still ... but wait. Tell on, Sir, tell the whole."

Then Dymer told him of the beldam too, The old, old, matriarchal dreadfulness. Over the Master's face a shadow drew, He shifted in his chair and "Yes" and "Yes," He murmured twice. "I never looked for less! Always the same ... that frightful woman shape Besets the dream-way and the soul's escape."

But now when Dymer made to talk of Bran, A huge indifference fell upon his host, Patient and wandering-eyed. Then he began, "Forgive me. You are young. What helps us most Is to find out again that heavenly ghost Who loves you. For she was a ghost, and you In that place where you met were ghostly too.

"Listen! for I can launch you on the stream Will roll you to the shores of her own land.... I could be sworn you never learned to dream, But every night you take with careless hand What chance may bring? I'll teach you to command The comings and the goings of your spirit Through all that borderland which dreams inherit.

"You shall have hauntings suddenly. And often, When you forget, when least you think of her a light will soften Over the evening woods. And in the stir Of morning dreams There'll come a sound of wings. Or you shall be Waked in the midnight murmuring, 'It was she.'"

"No, no," said Dymer, "not that way. I seem To have slept for twenty years. Now--while I shake Out of my eyes that dust of burdening dream, Now when the long clouds tremble ripe to break And the far hills appear, when first I wake, Still blinking, struggling towards the world of men, And longing--would you turn me back again?

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet