The Earthly Paradise Part 9

"My father lived a many years agone Lord of this land, master of all cunning, Who ruddy gold could draw from out grey stone, And gather wealth from many an uncouth thing, He made the wilderness rejoice and sing, And such a leech he was that none could say Without his word what soul should pa.s.s away.

"Unto Diana such a gift he gave, G.o.ddess above, below, and on the earth, That I should be her virgin and her slave From the first hour of my most wretched birth; Therefore my life had known but little mirth When I had come unto my twentieth year And the last time of hallowing drew anear.

"So in her temple had I lived and died And all would long ago have pa.s.sed away, But ere that time came, did strange things betide, Whereby I am alive unto this day; Alas, the bitter words that I must say!

Ah! can I bring my wretched tongue to tell How I was brought unto this fearful h.e.l.l.

"A queen I was, what G.o.ds I knew I loved, And nothing evil was there in my thought, And yet by love my wretched heart was moved Until to utter ruin I was brought!

Alas! thou sayest our G.o.ds were vain and nought, Wait, wait, till thou hast heard this tale of mine.

Then shalt thou think them devilish or divine.

"Hearken! in spite of father and of vow I loved a man; but for that sin I think Men had forgiven me--yea, yea, even thou; But from the G.o.ds the full cup must I drink, And into misery unheard of sink, Tormented when their own names are forgot, And men must doubt e'er if they lived or not.

"Glorious my lover was unto my sight, Most beautiful,--of love we grew so fain That we at last agreed, that on a night We should be happy, but that he were slain Or shut in hold, and neither joy nor pain Should else forbid that hoped-for time to be; So came the night that made a wretch of me.

"Ah I well do I remember all that night, When through the window shone the orb of June, And by the bed flickered the taper's light, Whereby I trembled, gazing at the moon: Ah me! the meeting that we had, when soon Into his strong, well-trusted arms I fell, And many a sorrow we began to tell.

"Ah me I what parting on that night we had!

I think the story of my great despair A little while might merry folk make sad; For, as he swept away my yellow hair To make my shoulder and my bosom bare, I raised mine eyes, and shuddering could behold A shadow cast upon the bed of gold:

"Then suddenly was quenched my hot desire And he untwined his arms; the moon so pale A while ago, seemed changed to blood and fire, And yet my limbs beneath me did not fail, And neither had I strength to cry or wail, But stood there helpless, bare, and s.h.i.+vering, With staring eyes still fixed upon the thing.

"Because the shade that on the bed of gold The changed and dreadful moon was throwing down Was of Diana, whom I did behold, With knotted hair, and s.h.i.+ning girt-up gown, And on the high white brow, a deadly frown Bent upon us, who stood scarce drawing breath, Striving to meet the horrible sure death.

"No word at all the dreadful G.o.ddess said, But soon across my feet my lover lay, And well indeed I knew that he was dead; And would that I had died on that same day!

For in a while the image turned away, And without words my doom I understood, And felt a horror change my human blood.

"And there I fell, and on the floor I lay By the dead man, till daylight came on me, And not a word thenceforward could I say For three years, till of grief and misery, The lingering pest, the cruel enemy, My father and his folk were dead and gone, And in this castle I was left alone:

"And then the doom foreseen upon me fell, For Queen Diana did my body change Into a fork-tongued dragon flesh and fell, And through the island nightly do I range, Or in the green sea mate with monsters strange, When in the middle of the moonlit night The sleepy mariner I do affright.

"But all day long upon this gold I lie Within this place, where never mason's hand Smote trowel on the marble noisily; Drowsy I lie, no folk at my command, Who once was called the Lady of the Land; Who might have bought a kingdom with a kiss, Yea, half the world with such a sight as this."

And therewithal, with rosy fingers light, Backward her heavy-hanging hair she threw, To give her naked beauty more to sight; But when, forgetting all the things he knew, Maddened with love unto the prize he drew, She cried, "Nay, wait! for wherefore wilt thou die, Why should we not be happy, thou and I?

"Wilt thou not save me? once in every year This rightful form of mine that thou dost see By favour of the G.o.ddess have I here From sunrise unto sunset given me, That some brave man may end my misery.

And thou--art thou not brave? can thy heart fail, Whose eyes e'en now are weeping at my tale?

"Then listen! when this day is overpast, A fearful monster shall I be again, And thou mayst be my saviour at the last, Unless, once more, thy words are nought and vain; If thou of love and sovereignty art fain, Come thou next morn, and when thou seest here A hideous dragon, have thereof no fear,

"But take the loathsome head up in thine hands, And kiss it, and be master presently Of twice the wealth that is in all the lands, From Cathay to the head of Italy; And master also, if it pleaseth thee, Of all thou praisest as so fresh and bright, Of what thou callest crown of all delight.

"Ah! with what joy then shall I see again The sunlight on the green gra.s.s and the trees, And hear the clatter of the summer rain, And see the joyous folk beyond the seas.

Ah, me! to hold my child upon my knees, After the weeping of unkindly tears, And all the wrongs of these four hundred years.

"Go now, go quick! leave this grey heap of stone; And from thy glad heart think upon thy way, How I shall love thee--yea, love thee alone, That bringest me from dark death unto day; For this shall be thy wages and thy pay; Unheard-of wealth, unheard-of love is near, If thou hast heart a little dread to bear."

Therewith she turned to go; but he cried out, "Ah! wilt thou leave me then without one kiss, To slay the very seeds of fear and doubt, That glad to-morrow may bring certain bliss?

Hast thou forgotten how love lives by this, The memory of some hopeful close embrace, Low whispered words within some lonely place?"

But she, when his bright glittering eyes she saw, And burning cheeks, cried out, "Alas, alas!

Must I be quite undone, and wilt thou draw A worse fate on me than the first one was?

O haste thee from this fatal place to pa.s.s!

Yet, ere thou goest, take this, lest thou shouldst deem Thou hast been fooled by some strange midday dream."

So saying, blus.h.i.+ng like a new-kissed maid, From off her neck a little gem she drew, That, 'twixt those snowy rose-tinged hillocks laid, The secrets of her glorious beauty knew; And ere he well perceived what she would do, She touched his hand, the gem within it lay, And, turning, from his sight she fled away.

Then at the doorway where her rosy heel Had glanced and vanished, he awhile did stare, And still upon his hand he seemed to feel The varying kisses of her fingers fair; Then turned he toward the dreary crypt and bare, And dizzily throughout the castle pa.s.sed, Till by the ruined fane he stood at last.

Then weighing still the gem within his hand, He stumbled backward through the cypress wood, Thinking the while of some strange lovely land, Where all his life should be most fair and good; Till on the valley's wall of hills he stood, And slowly thence pa.s.sed down unto the bay Red with the death of that bewildering day.

The next day came, and he, who all the night Had ceaselessly been turning in his bed, Arose and clad himself in armour bright, And many a danger he remembered; Storming of towns, lone sieges full of dread, That with renown his heart had borne him through, And this thing seemed a little thing to do.

So on he went, and on the way he thought Of all the glorious things of yesterday, Nought of the price whereat they must be bought, But ever to himself did softly say, "No roaming now, my wars are pa.s.sed away, No long dull days devoid of happiness, When such a love my yearning heart shall bless."

Thus to the castle did he come at last, But when unto the gateway he drew near, And underneath its ruined archway pa.s.sed Into the court, a strange noise did he hear, And through his heart there shot a pang of fear, Trembling, he gat his sword into his hand, And midmost of the cloisters took his stand.

But for a while that unknown noise increased A rattling, that with strident roars did blend, And whining moans; but suddenly it ceased, A fearful thing stood at the cloister's end, And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to wend Adown the cloisters, and began again That rattling, and the moan like fiends in pain.

And as it came on towards him, with its teeth The body of a slain goat did it tear, The blood whereof in its hot jaws did seethe, And on its tongue he saw the smoking hair; Then his heart sank, and standing trembling there, Throughout his mind wild thoughts and fearful ran, "Some fiend she was," he said, "the bane of man."

Yet he abode her still, although his blood Curdled within him: the thing dropped the goat, And creeping on, came close to where he stood, And raised its head to him, and wrinkled throat, Then he cried out and wildly at her smote, Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the place Ran swiftly, with a white and ghastly face.

But little things rough stones and tree-trunks seemed, And if he fell, he rose and ran on still; No more he felt his hurts than if he dreamed, He made no stay for valley or steep hill, Heedless he dashed through many a foaming rill, Until he came unto the s.h.i.+p at last And with no word into the deep hold pa.s.sed.

Meanwhile the dragon, seeing him clean gone.

Followed him not, but crying horribly, Caught up within her jaws a block of stone And ground it into powder, then turned she, With cries that folk could hear far out at sea, And reached the treasure set apart of old, To brood above the hidden heaps of gold.

Yet was she seen again on many a day By some half-waking mariner, or herd, Playing amid the ripples of the bay, Or on the hills making all things afeard, Or in the wood, that did that castle gird, But never any man again durst go To seek her woman's form, and end her woe.

As for the man, who knows what things he bore?

What mournful faces peopled the sad night, What wailings vexed him with reproaches sore, What images of that nigh-gained delight!

What dreamed caresses from soft hands and white, Turning to horrors ere they reached the best, What struggles vain, what shame, what huge unrest?

No man he knew, three days he lay and raved, And cried for death, until a lethargy Fell on him, and his fellows thought him saved; But on the third night he awoke to die; And at Byzantium doth his body lie Between two blossoming pomegranate trees, Within the churchyard of the Genoese.

A moment's silence as his tale had end, And then the wind of that June night did blend Their varied voices, as of that and this They fell to talk: of those fair islands' bliss They knew in other days, of hope they had To live there long an easy life and glad, With nought to vex them; and the younger men Began to nourish strange dreams even then Of sailing east, as these had once sailed west; Because the story of that luckless quest With hope, not fear, had filled their joyous hearts And made them dream of new and n.o.ble parts That they might act; of raising up the name Their fathers bore, and winning boundless fame.

These too with little patience seemed to hear, That story end with shame and grief and fear; A little thing the man had had to do, They said, if longing burned within him so.

But at their words the older men must bow Their heads, and, smiling, somewhat thoughtful grow, Remembering well how fear in days gone by Had dealt with them, and poisoned wretchedly Good days, good deeds, and longings for all good: Yet on the evil times they would not brood, But sighing, strove to raise the weight of years, And no more memory of their hopes and fears They nourished, but such gentle thoughts as fed The pensiveness which that sweet season bred.

JULY.