The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 61

"Is it in marts that manhood finds its worth? 50 When merchants reign'd--what left they to admire?

Which hath bequeath'd the n.o.bler wealth to earth, The steel of Sparta, or the gold of Tyre?

Beneath the night-shade let the mandrakes grow-- Hide from my sight that Lazar-house of woe."

So, turn'd with generous tears in manly eyes 51 The hardy Lord of heaven-taught Chivalry; Lo the third arch and last!--In moonlight, rise The Cymrian rocks dark-s.h.i.+ning from the sea, And all those rocks, some patriot war, far gone, Hallows with gra.s.sy mound and starlit stone.

And where the softest falls the loving light, 52 He sees himself, stretch'd lifeless on the sward, And by the corpse, with sacred robes of white Leans on his ivory harp a lonely Bard; Yea, to the Dead the sole still watchers given Are the Fame-Singer and the Hosts of Heaven.

But on the kingly front the kingly crown 53 Rests;--the pale right hand grasps the diamond glaive; The brow, on which ev'n strife hath left no frown, Calm in the halo Glory gives the Brave.

"Mortal, is _this_ thy choice?" the Genius cried.

"Here Death; there Pleasure; and there Pomp!--decide!"

"Death," answer'd Arthur, "is nor good nor ill 54 Save in the ends for which men die--and Death Can oft achieve what Life may not fulfil, And kindle earth with Valour's dying breath; But oh, one answer to one terror deign, My land--my people!--is that death in vain?"

Mute droop'd the Genius, but the unquiet form 55 Dreaming beside its brother king, arose.

Though dreaming still: as leaps the sudden storm On sands Arabian, as with spasms and throes Bursts the Fire-mount by soft Parthenope, Rose the veil'd Genius of the Things to be!

Shook all the hollow caves;--with tortur'd groan, 56 Shook to their roots in the far core of h.e.l.l; Deep howl'd to deep--the monumental throne Of the dead giant rock'd;--each coral cell Flash'd quivering billowlike. Unshaken smiled, From the calm ruby base the thorn-crown'd Child.

The Genius rose; and through the phantom arch 57 Glided the Shadows of His own pale dreams; The mortal saw the long procession march Beside that image which his lemur seems: An armed King--three lions on his s.h.i.+eld[2]-- First by the Bard-watch'd Shadow paused and kneel'd.

Kneel'd there his train--upon each mailed breast 58 A red cross stamp'd; and, deep as from a sea With all its waves, full voices murmur'd, "Rest Ever unburied, Sire of Chivalry!

Ever by Minstrel watch'd, and Knight adored, King of the halo-brow, and diamond sword!"

Then, as from all the courts of all the earth, 59 The reverent pilgrims, countless, cl.u.s.tering came; They whom the seas of fabled Sirens girth, Or Baltic freezing in the Boreal flame; Or they, who watch the Star of Bethlem quiver By Carmel's Olive mount, and Judah's river.

From violet Provence comes the Troubadour; 60 Ferrara sends her clarion-sounding son; Comes from Iberian halls the turban'd Moor With cymbals chiming to the clarion; And, with large stride, amid the gaudier throng, Stalks the vast Scald of Scandinavian song.

Pa.s.s'd he who bore the lions and the cross, 61 And all that gorgeous pageant left the s.p.a.ce Void as a heart that mourns the golden loss Of young illusions beautiful. A Race Sedate supplants upon the changeful stage Light's early sires,--the Song-World's hero-age.

Slow come the Shapes from out the dim Obscure, 62 A noon-like quiet circles swarming bays, Seas gleam with sails, and wall-less towns secure, Rise from the donjon sites of antique days; Lo, the calm sovereign of that sober reign!

Unarm'd,--with burghers in his pompless train.

And by the corpse of Arthur kneels that king, 63 And murmurs, "Father of the Tudor, hail!

To thee nor bays, nor myrtle wreath I bring; But in thy Son, the Dragon-born prevail, And in my rule Right first deposes Wrong, And first the Weak undaunted face the Strong."

He pa.s.s'd--Another, with a Nero's frown 64 Shading the quick light of impatient eyes, Strides on--and casts his sceptre, clattering, down, And from the sceptre rus.h.i.+ngly arise Fierce sparks; along the heath they hissing run, And the dull earth glows lurid as a sun.

And there is heard afar the hollow crash 65 Of ruin;--wind-borne, on the flames are driven: But where, round falling shrines, they coil and flash, A seraph's hand extends a scroll from heaven, And the rude shape cries loud, "Behold, ye blind, I who have trampled Men have freed the Mind!"

So laughing grim, pa.s.s'd the Destroyer on; 66 And, after two pale shadows, to the sound Of lutes more musical than Helicon, A manlike Woman march'd:--The graves around Yawn'd, and the ghosts of Knighthood, more serene In death, arose, and smiled upon the Queen.

With her (at either hand) two starry forms 67 Glide--than herself more royal--and the glow Of their own l.u.s.tre, each pale phantom warms Into the lovely life the angels know, And as they pa.s.s, each Fairy leaves its cell, And GLORIANA calls on ARIEL!

Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen 68 Of orbs whose brightness makes her image bright, Haught and imperious, through the borrow'd sheen, Claims to herself the sovereignty of light; And is herself so stately to survey, That orbs which lend, but seem to steal, the ray.

Elf-land divine, and Chivalry sublime, 69 Seem there to hold their last high jubilee-- One glorious _Sabbat_ of enchanted Time, Ere the dull spell seals the sweet glamoury.

And all those wonder-shapes in subject ring Kneel where the Bard still sits beside the King.

Slow falls a mist, far booms a labouring wind, 70 As into night reluctant fades the Dream; And lo, the smouldering embers left behind From the old sceptre-flame, with blood-red beam, Kindle afresh, and the thick smoke-reeks go Heavily up from marching fires below.

Hark! through sulphureous cloud the jarring bray 71 Of trumpet-clangours--the strong shock of steel; And fitful flashes light the fierce array Of faces gloomy with the calm of zeal, Or knightlier forms, on wheeling chargers borne; Gay in despair, and meeting zeal with scorn.

Forth from the throng came a majestic Woe, 72 That wore the shape of man--"And I"--It said "I am thy Son; and if the Fates bestow Blood on my soul and ashes on my head; Time's is the guilt, though mine the misery-- This teach me, Father--to forgive and die!"

But here stern voices drown'd the mournful word, 73 Crying--"Men's freedom is the heritage Left by the Hero of the Diamond Sword,"

And others answer'd--"Nay, the knightly age Leaves, as its heirloom, knighthood, and that high Life in sublimer life called loyalty."

Then, through the hurtling clamour came a fair 74 Shape like a sworded seraph--sweet and grave; And when the war heaved distant down the air And died, as dies a whirlwind, on the wave, By the two forms upon the starry hill, Stood the Arch Beautiful, august and still.

And thus It spoke--"I, too, will hail thee, 'Sire,' 75 Type of the Hero-age!--thy sons are not On the earth's thrones. They who, with stately lyre, Make kingly thoughts immortal, and the lot Of the hard life divine with visitings Of the far angels--are thy race of Kings.

"All that enn.o.bles strife in either cause, 76 And, rendering service stately, freedom wise, Knits to the throne of G.o.d our human laws-- Doth heir earth's humblest son with royalties Born from the Hero of the diamond sword, Watch'd by the Bard, and by the Brave adored.

Then the Bard, seated by the halo'd dead, 77 Lifts his sad eyes--and murmurs, "Sing of Him!"

Doubtful the stranger bows his lofty head, When down descend his kindred Seraphim; Borne on their wings he soars from human sight, And Heaven regains the Habitant of Light.

Again, and once again, from many a pale 78 And swift-succeeding, dim-distinguish'd, crowd, Swells slow the pausing pageant. Mount and vale Mingle in gentle daylight, with one cloud On the fair welkin, which the iris hues Steal from its gloom with rays that interfuse.

Mild, like all strength, sits Crowned Liberty, 79 Wearing the aspect of a youthful Queen: And far outstretch'd along the unmeasured sea Rests the vast shadow of her throne; serene From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone, Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne.

And round her group the Cymrian's changeless race 80 Blent with the Saxon, brother-like; and both Saxon and Cymrian from that sovereign trace Their hero line;--sweet flower of age-long growth; The single blossom on the twofold stem;-- Arthur's white plume crests Cerdic's diadem.

Yet the same harp that Taliessin strung 81 Delights the sons whose sires the chords delighted; Still the old music of the mountain tongue Tells of a race not conquer'd but united; That, losing nought, wins all the Saxon won, And shares the realm "where never sets the sun."

Afar is heard the fall of headlong thrones, 82 But from that throne as calm the shadow falls; And where Oppression threats and Sorrow groans Justice sits listening in her gateless halls, And ev'n, if powerless, still intent, to cure, Whispers to Truth, "Truths conquer that endure."

Yet still on that horizon hangs the cloud, 83 And on the cloud still rests the Cymrian's eye; "Alas," he murmur'd, "that one mist should shroud, Perchance from sorrow, that benignant sky!"

But while he sigh'd the Vision vanished, And left once more the lone Bard by the dead.

"Behold the close of thirteen hundred years; 84 Lo, Cymri's Daughter on the Saxon's throne!

Free as their air thy Cymrian mountaineers, And in the heavens one rainbow cloud alone, Which shall not pa.s.s, until, the cycle o'er, The soul of Arthur comes to earth once more.

"Dost thou choose Death?" the giant Dreamer said. 85 "Ay, for in death I seize the life of fame, And link the eternal millions with the dead,"

Replied the King--and to the sword he came Large-striding;--grasp'd the hilt;--the charmed brand Clove to the rock, and stirr'd not to his hand.

The Dreaming Genius has his throne resumed; 86 Sit the Great Three with Silence for their reign, Awful as earliest Theban kings entomb'd, Or idols granite-hewn in Indian fane; When lo, the dove flew forth, and circling round, Dropp'd on the thorn-wreath which the Statue crown'd.

Rose then the Vulture with its carnage-shriek, 87 Up coil'd the darting Asps; the bird above; Below the reptiles:--poison-fang and beak, Nearer and nearer gather'd round the dove; When with strange life the marble Image stirr'd, And sudden pause the Asps--and rests the Bird.

"Mortal," the Image murmur'd, "I am He, 88 Whose voice alone the enchanted sword unsheathes, Mightier than yonder Shapes--eternally Throned upon light, though crown'd with th.o.r.n.y wreaths; Changeless amid the Halls of Time; my name In heaven is YOUTH, and on the earth is FAME,

"All altars need their sacrifice; and mine 89 Asks every bloom in which thy heart delighted.

Thorns are my garlands--wouldst thou serve the shrine, Drear is the faith to which thy vows are plighted.

The Asp shall twine, the Vulture watch the prey, And Horror rend thee, let but Hope give way.

"Wilt thou the falchion with the thorns it brings?" 90 "Yea--for the thorn-wreath hath not dimm'd thy smile."

"Lo, thy first offering to the Vulture's wings, And the Asp's fangs!"--the cold lips answer'd, while Nearer and nearer the devourers came, Where the Dove resting hid the thorns of fame.

And all the memories of that faithful guide, 91 The sweet companion of unfriended ways, When danger threaten'd, ever at his side, And ever, in the grief of later days, Soothing his heart with its mysterious love, Till aegle's soul seem'd hovering in the Dove,--