The Golden Helm Part 2

My feet have travelled the hot road Between the poppies' barren fires; But now I cast aside the load Of burning hopes and wild desires That ever fierce and fiercer grew.

Thy peace falls like a falling dew Upon me as I kneel in prayer, Because Thou hast known sorrow, too, Because Thou, too, hast known despair, _Notre Dame de la Belle-Verriere._

In the Valley

Love, take my hand, and look not with sad eyes Through the valley-shades: for us, the mountains rise; Beneath the cold, blue-cleaving peaks of snow Like flame the April-blossomed almonds blow-- Spring-grace and winter-glory intertwined Within the glittering web that colour weaves.

_Yet who are they who troop so close behind_ _With raiment rustling like frost-withered leaves_ _That burden winter-winds with ever-restless sighs?_

Love, look not back, nor ever hearken more To murmuring shades; for us, the river-sh.o.r.e Is lit with dew-hung daffodils that gleam On either side the tawny, foaming stream That bears through April with triumphal song Dissolving winter to the br.i.m.m.i.n.g sea.

_Yet who are they who, ever-whispering, throng,_ _With lean, grey lips that shudder piteously,_ _As if from some bright fruit of bitter-tasting core?_

Nay, look not back, for, lo, in tranced light Love stays awhile his world-encircling flight To wait our coming from the valley-ways; See where, a hovering fire amid the blaze, He pants aflame with irised plumes unfurled Above the utmost pinnacle of noon.

_Yet who are they who wander through the world_ _Like weary clouds about a wintry moon,_ _With wan, bewildered brows that bear eternal night?_

Love, look not back, nor fill thy heart with woe Of old, sad loves that perished long ago; For ever after living lovers tread Pale, yearning ghosts of all earth's lovers dead.

A little while with life we lead the train Ere we, too, follow, cold, some breathing love.

_I fear their fevered eyes and hands that strain_ _To s.n.a.t.c.h our joy that flutters bright above,_ _To shadow with grey death its ruddy, pulsing glow._

Love, look not back in this life-crowning hour When all our love breaks into perfect flower Beneath the kindling heights of frozen time.

Come, Love, that we with happy haste may climb Beyond the valley, and may chance to see Some unknown peak that cleaves unfading skies.

_Old sorrow saps my strength; I may not flee_ _The flame of pa.s.sionate hunger in their eyes;_ _Beseeching shade on shade--they hold me in their power._

Love, look not back, for, all too brief, our day, In wilder glories flameth fast away.

Lo, even now, the northern snow-ridge glows-- With purple shadowed--from pale gold to rose That s.h.i.+vers white beneath stars dawning cold.

Lift up thine eyes ere all the colour fades.

_Ah, rainbow-plumed Love in airs of gold,_ _Too late I turn, a shade among the shades._ _To follow, death-enthralled, thy flight through ages grey._

The Vision.

A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY.

PERSONS: A YOUNG HERD. HIS MOTHER.

SCENE: THE QUEEN'S CRAGS.

TIME: CHRISTMAS EVE.

_The herd stands at the foot of the Crags, gazing across the dark fells.

His mother enters._

MOTHER: Son, come home, nor tarry here In this peril-haunted place.

My old heart is filled with fear By the white flame of thy face, And thine eyes whose restless fire Burneth ever wild and clear As red peats between the bars.

Son, come home; the night is cold; Dropping from the wintry stars, Tingling frost falls through the air; See, the bents are white with rime; All the sheep are in the fold; All the cattle in the byre; Only we, of live things, roam O'er the fells so far from home; E'en the red fox in his lair Snuggles close to keep him warm; And the lonely, wandering hare Crouches, s.h.i.+vering, in her form; While by Greenlea's frozen edge Hides the mallard in the sedge.

Son, come home; the ingle-seat Waits thee by the glowing peat, And the door is off the latch.

Come, and we will feast and sing, As of old at Christmas time, Until thou wilt drowse and nod And with slumber-drooping head Gladly seek thy bracken-bed Underneath the heather-thatch; Where the healing sleep will bring Unto thee the peace of G.o.d.

Son, come home! Whom seekest thou there?

HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!

MOTHER: Cry no more on Guenevere.

Some wild warlock of the fells, Born beneath the Devil's Scars, Lures thee forth to drown thy soul Deep in Broomlea-water cold.

Guenevere no longer dwells Anywhere beneath the stars; Though she walked these Crags of old, Many hundred years ago, Into earth she sank like snow; As a sunset-cloud in rain Breaks, and showers the thirsty plain, All the glory of her hair Fell to earth, we know not where.

Leave thy foolish quest forlorn.

Lo, to-night a King is born, Who, when earthly kings at last Into wildering night are pa.s.sed, Yet shall wear the crown of morn.

Mary, Thou whose love may turn Eyes that after evil burn, Draw his soul, that strays so far, To Thy Son's white throning-star.

Queen of Heaven, hear my prayer!

HERD: Guenevere! O Guenevere!

MOTHER: Low she lies, and may not hear.

The white lily, Guenevere, Ruthless time has trodden down; Arthur is a tarnished crown, High Gawain a broken spear, Percival a riven s.h.i.+eld; They, who taught the world to yield, Closed with death and lost the field, Stricken by the last despair: Launcelot is but a name Blown about the winds of shame; Surely G.o.d has quenched the flame That burned men's souls for Guenevere.

Mary, heed a mother's woe; Mary, heed a mother's tears!

Thou, whose heart so long ago Knew the pangs and hopes and fears We poor mortal mothers know; Thou, to whom, on Christmas-morn, Christ, the Son of G.o.d, was born; Thou whose mother-love hath pressed The sweet Babe against thy breast; And with wondering joy hath felt The warm clutch of little hands, When the Kings from far-off lands-- Crowned with gold, in gold attire-- With the simple shepherds knelt 'Mid the beasts within the byre; Mary, if Thy heart, afraid, When beyond Thy care he strayed, Sometimes grieved that he must grow Unlike other boys and men-- Filled with dreams beyond Thy ken, Anguished with diviner woe, Pangs more fiery than Thy pain, Deeper than Thy dark despair-- From the perils of the night Give me back my son again.

Thou, whose love may never fail, Heed a lonely mother's prayer!

Come in all Thy healing might!

_A sudden glory sweeps across the Fells. The vision appears in a cleft of the Crags. The herd and his mother kneel before it._

MOTHER: Mary, Queen of Heaven, hail!

HERD (_falling forward_): Guenevere! Guenevere!

THE THREE KINGS.

To C. J. S.

The Three Kings

PERSONS: KING GARLAND, KING ARLO, KING ASHALORN.