ELFINHART<\/p>\n
In Canto I. I followed the old rule
\nWe learned from Horace when we went to school,
\nAnd took a headlong plunge _in medias res_,
\nAs Maro did, and blind M\u00e6onides;
\nAnd now, still following the ancient mode,
\nI come to the time-honored “episode,”
\nRetrace my way some twenty years or more,
\nAnd tell you what I should have told before.
\nIt seems an awkward method, but it’s art;–
\nBesides, it brings us back to Elfinhart.<\/p>\n
In those dark days before King Arthur came,
\nWhen Britain was laid waste with sword and flame,
\nWhen cut-throats lurked behind the blossoming thorn,
\nAnd young maids cursed the day when they were born,
\nA lady, widowed in one hideous night,
\nFled over heath and hill, and in her flight
\nCame to the magic willow-woods that stand
\nBeside the Murmuring Mere, in Fairyland;
\nAnd there, untimely, by the forest-side,
\nClasping her infant in her arms, she died.
\nYet not all friendless,–for such mortal throes
\nPass not unpitied, though no mortal knows;–
\nThe spirits that infest the clearer air
\nLooked down upon the innocent lady there,
\nWhile troops of fairies smoothed her mossy bed
\nAnd with sweet balsam pillowed her fair head.
\nHer dim eyes could not see them, but she guessed
\nWhose gentle ministrations thus had blessed
\nHer travail; and when pitying fairies laid
\nUpon her heart the child,–a blue-eyed maid,–
\nEre yet her troubled spirit might depart,
\nWith one last word she named her “Elfinhart.”<\/p>\n
So with new-quickened love the fairy elves
\nTook the forlorn child-maiden to themselves
\nAnd reared her in the wildwood, where no jar
\nOf alien discord, echoing from afar,
\nBroke the sweet forest murmur, long years round.
\nHer ears, attuned to every woodland sound,
\nTranslated to her soul the great world’s voice,
\nAnd the world-spirit made her heart rejoice.
\nAnd love was hers,–perennial, intense,–
\nThe love that wells from joy and innocence
\nAnd sanctifies the cloistered heart of youth,–
\nThe love of love, of beauty, and of truth.<\/p>\n
So Elfinhart grew up. Each passing year
\nOf forest life beside the Murmuring Mere
\nEnriched tenfold the natural dower of grace
\nThat shone from the pure spirit in her face.
\nI cannot tell why each revolving season
\nEnhanced her beauty thus. Some say the reason
\nWas in the stars; _I_ think those luminaries
\nHad less to do with it than had the fairies!
\nThe more they found of grace in her, the more
\nTheir silent influence added to her store;
\nFor they were always with her; they and she
\nStill bore each other loving company.<\/p>\n
And yet one further virtue,–not the least
\nOf those that make life lovable,–increased
\nIn Elfinhart’s sweet nature from her birth
\nBy fairy tutelage; and that was mirth.
\nFor fairy natures are compounded all
\nOf whimsies and of freaks fantastical,
\nAnd what the best of fairies loves the best
\n(Except pure kindness) is an artless jest.
\nAnd so wise men have argued, on the whole,
\nThat the misguided creatures have no soul;
\nBut as for me, if the bright fairy elf
\nHas none, I’ll get along without, myself!
\nThese fairies laughed and danced and sang sweet songs,
\nAnd did all else that to their craft belongs,–
\nAll tricks and pranks of whole-souled jollity
\nThat make life merry ‘neath the greenwood tree.
\nThe youngest of them childishly beguiled
\nThe time when Elfinhart was still a child;
\nThey pinched her fingers, and they pulled her ears,
\nOr sometimes, when her blue eyes dreamed of tears,
\nHalf smothered her with showers of four-leafed clover,–
\nThen fled for refuge to some sweet-fern cover;
\nBut she pursued them through their tangled lair
\nAnd caught them, and put fire-flies in their hair;
\nAnd then they all joined hands, and round and round
\nThey danced a morris on the moonlit ground.<\/p>\n
The years went by, and Elfinhart outgrew
\nThe madcap antics of the younger crew,
\n(For fairies age but slowly: don’t forget
\nThat at two hundred they are children yet!)
\nBut still she frolicked with them, though scarce _of_ them,
\nAnd learned each year more tenderly to love them.
\nBut most of all she loved with all her heart
\nOn quiet summer nights to walk apart
\nAnd hold close converse with the fairies’ queen,–
\nA radiant maiden princess who had seen
\nSome twenty centuries of revolving suns
\nPass over Fairyland,–all golden ones!
\nSometimes they sat still in the mild moon’s light,
\nWhere chestnut blooms made sweet the breath of night,
\nAnd talked of the great world beyond the wood,–
\nOf death, or sin, or sorrow, understood
\nOf neither,–till the twinkling stars were gone,
\nAnd bustling Chanticleer proclaimed the dawn.
\nAnd Elfinhart grew wise in fairy learning;
\nBut by degrees a half unconscious yearning
\nFor humankind stirred in her gentle heart,
\nAnd woke a deep desire to bear her part
\nOf love and sorrow in the larger life
\nAs sister, helper,–nay, perhaps as wife;–
\nFor such vague instincts, after all, are human,
\nAnd Elfinhart herself was but a woman.
\nAnd yet, for all this new desire, I doubt
\nIf Elfinhart would e’er have spoken out,
\nAnd told the fairies of her wish to leave them,
\n(A wish her conscious heart well knew would grieve them),
\nIf in the ripening of her silent thought
\nA still voice had not whispered that she ought
\nTo leave that world of love and mirth and beauty,
\nTo share man’s burden in this world of duty.
\n(There’s anticlimax for you! Most provoking,
\nJust when you thought that I was only joking,
\nOr idly fingering the poet’s laurel,
\nTo find my story threatens to be moral!
\nBut as for morals, though in verse we scout them,
\nIn life we somehow can’t get on without them;
\nSo if I don’t insert a moral distich
\nOnce in a while, I can’t be realistic;–
\nAnd in this tale, I solemnly aver,
\nMy one wish is to tell things as they were!
\nBut not _all_ things; time flies, and art is long,
\nAnd I must hurry onward with my song.)
\nHow Elfinhart at last told what she wanted,
\nAnd what the fairies said, please take for granted.
\nShe prayed, they yielded; Elfinhart full loth
\nTo leave, as they to let her go, but both
\nAgreeing that this bitter thing must be;
\nFor they were fairies, and a mortal she.
\nBut ere they yielded, they made imposition
\nOf what then seemed to her a light condition.
\n‘Twas done in kindness, be it understood,
\nWith fairy foresight for the maiden’s good.
\nThe elf-queen spoke for all: “Dear Elfinhart,
\nWe bind you to one promise ere we part.
\nWe fear naught from men’s malice; hate and wrath
\nAnd every evil thing will shun your path,
\nAnd sunshine will go with you when you move;
\nThe only danger that we dread is love.
\nIf in the after days, when suitors woo you,
\nYour heart makes choice of one, as dearest to you,
\nBefore you put your hand in his and own
\nThe sacred trust reserved for him alone,
\nLet us make trial of him, and approve
\nHis virtue, and his manhood, and his love.
\nSend him to us; and if he bears the test,
\nAnd if we find him worthy to be blest
\nWith love like yours, be sure we will befriend him;
\nAnd may a life-long happiness attend him!
\nBut if he prove a traitor, or faint-hearted,
\nOr if his love and he are lightly parted,
\nIn the deep willow-woods he shall remain,
\nAnd never look upon your face again!”
\nThe maiden, fancy-free, was well content,
\nAnd with light laughter gave her full consent;
\nFor when maids think of love (as maidens do)
\nIt seems a far-off thing; and well she knew
\nHer lover, if she loved, would be both brave and true!
\nNot long thereafter came an errant band
\nRiding along the edge of Fairyland,–
\nStout men-at-arms, without reproach or spot,
\nAnd in the lead the bold Sir Launcelot.
\nHe, riding on ahead, silent, alone,
\nWas stopped by a beseeching ancient crone
\nWho hobbled to his side, as if in pain,
\nAnd clutched with palsied fingers at his rein.
\nAnd there behind her, from the leafage green,
\nThe sweetest eyes his eyes had ever seen
\nWere gazing at him with wide wonderment,
\nNor bold nor fearful; innocence unshent
\nShone from their blue depths, and old dreams awoke
\nIn Launcelot’s breast, while thus the beldame spoke:
\n“A boon, a boon, Sir Launcelot of the Lake!
\nI Pray you of your courtesy to take
\nThis damsel to the King. Her enemies
\nHave spoiled her of her birthright, and she flees
\nAn innocent outcast from her wasted lands,
\nTo lay her life and fortune in his hands.”
\nShe spoke, and vanished in the woodland shade.<\/p>\n
Then Launcelot, leaning over helped the maid
\nTo mount behind and at an easy trot
\nThey and the troop rode on to Camelot.
\nHe asked no questions for some fairy spell
\nMade light his heart, and told him all was well;
\nAnd as these two rode through the land together,
\nBy dappled greenwood shade and sunlit heather,
\nHer soft voice in his ears, the innocent charm
\nOf her light, steady touch upon his arm,
\nWrought magic in his soul. That day, I ween,
\nSir Launcelot well-nigh forgot his queen.
\nAnd Elfinhart (you knew those eyes were hers!)
\nLaughed with the silvery jingle of his spurs,
\nAnd from her heart the new world’s rapture drove
\nAll thought of Fairyland–excepting love.<\/p>\n
And so to high-towered Camelot they came,
\nThe golden city,–now a shadowy name;
\nFor over heath-clad hills the wild-winds blow
\nWhere Arthur’s halls, a thousand years ago
\nBright with all far-fetched gems of curious art,
\nShone brighter with the eyes of Elfinhart.
\nShe came to Camelot; the king receives her;
\nAnd there for five glad years my story leaves her.
\nFive glad years, and this “episode” is done,
\nAnd we are back again at Canto I.
\nI write of merry jest and greenwood shade,
\nBut tales of chivalry are not my trade;
\nSo if you wish to read that five years’ story
\nOf lady-love, romance, and martial glory,–
\nThe mighty feats of arms that Gawayne did,–
\nThe ever ripening love that Gawayne hid
\nFive long years in his breast, biding his time,–
\nGo seek it in some abler poet’s rime.
\nMy tale begins with the young knight’s brave soul
\nAll Elfinhart’s. She thinks herself heart-whole.<\/p>\n
But at that Christmas feast, in Arthur’s hall,
\nWith night’s soft mantle folded over all,
\nThe magic influence of the evening tide
\nStole on their two hearts beating side by side.
\nAnd Gawayne talked of troubles long ago,
\nWhen each man’s neighbor was his dearest foe,
\nAnd of the trials he himself had passed,
\nAnd the high purpose that from first to last
\nHad been his stay and spur, he scarce knew how,
\nSince on Excalibur he took the vow.
\nHe told of his own hopes for future days,
\nAnd how he wrought and fought not for men’s praise,
\n(Though like all good men Gawayne held that dear),
\nYet trusting, when men laid him on his bier,
\nThey might remember, as they gathered round it,
\n“He left this good world better than he found it.”
\nHe talked as true men seldom talk, unless
\nSwayed utterly by some pure passion’s stress,
\nAnd ever gently, though with heart on fire,
\nStill hovered nearer to his soul’s desire.
\nAnd Elfinhart in gravest silence listened,
\nBut her sweet heart beat high, her blue eyes glistened;
\nFor as he bared his soul to her she dreamed
\nA day-dream strange and new, wherein it seemed
\nThat in that soul’s clear depth she saw her own,
\nAnd his most secret thought (till then unknown)
\nSeemed hers eternally. He spoke of death,
\nAnd then her heart shrank, and she drew deep breath.
\nSuddenly, ere she understood at all
\nWhat new life dawned before her, came the call
\nOf fairy horns; and so the Green Knight burst
\nUpon the scene, as told in Canto First.<\/p>\n
One jarring note, the tuneful chords among,
\nMay make mad discord of the sweetest song.
\nE’en so with dissonant clamor through the breast
\nOf Gawayne rang the Green Knight’s merry jest;
\nBut what wild meaning must it not impart
\nTo the vague fears of gentle Elfinhart?
\nFor she had heard in the first trumpet-blast
\nA signal to her from the far-gone past;
\nAnd now, of all the strange things that had been,
\nHer half forgotten compact with the queen
\nFlushed through her memory, and a swift thought came
\nLike sudden fear, a thought without a name,
\nAn unvoiced question and a blind alarm;
\nAnd in sheer helplessness she reached an arm
\nToward Gawayne scarcely knowing what she would;
\nHer eyes beheld him, and she understood.
\nAnd is it Gawayne? He? Yes, Elfinhart,
\nThe hour has come, and you must play your part.<\/p>\n
* * * * *<\/p>\n
So now it’s all explained; and I intend
\nTo go straight onward to the story’s end.
\nSir Gawayne had cut off the Green Knight’s head,
\nAnd Arthur and his court had gone to bed;
\nIn the great hall the dying embers shone
\nWith a faint ghostly gleam, and there, alone,
\nWhile all the rest of Camelot was sleeping,
\nIn the dark alcove Elfinhart lay weeping.
\nBut as she lay there, all about her head
\nThere fell a checkered beam of moonlight, shed
\nThrough the barred casement; and she faintly stirred,
\nFor in her troubled soul it seemed she heard
\nVague music from some region far away!
\nShe raised her head and, turning where she lay,
\nSaw in the silver moonlight the serene
\nAnd tranquil beauty of the fairy queen!<\/p>\n
“We sent before you called us, Elfinhart,
\nFor love lent keener magic to our art,
\nAnd warned us of the thoughts that in your breast
\nAwoke new rapture, trembling unconfessed.”
\nAnd Elfinhart moved closer to her knees
\nAnd hid her face in the white draperies
\nThat veiled the fairy form, till, nestling there,
\nHer heart recovered from that blank despair,
\nAnd whispered her that whatsoe’er befell
\nLove ruled the world, and all would yet be well.
\nAnd the good fairy stroked the maiden’s head
\nAnd kissed her tear-starred eyes, and smiling said:
\n“Fie on you women’s hearts! Consistency
\nHides her shamed head where mortal women be!
\nTrue love breeds faith and trust, it makes hearts strong;
\nThe heart’s anointed king can do no wrong!
\nAnd yet you weep as if you feared to prove him;–
\nUpon my word, I don’t believe you love him!”
\nAnd Elfinhart replied: “Laugh if you will,
\nMy queen, but let me be a woman still.
\nYou fairies love where love is wise and just;
\nWe mortal women love because we must:
\nAnd if I feared to prove him, I confess
\nI fear I still must love him none the less.”
\nShe paused, for once again her eyes grew dim:
\n“Think you I love his virtues? I love him!
\nBut yet you judged me wrongly, for believe me,
\n(And then laugh once again, and so forgive me),
\nIf at the first I feared what you might do,
\nMy doubts were not of Gawayne, but of you!”
\nAnd so both laughed, and for a little space
\nFolded each other in a glad embrace;
\n(For fairies, bathed the whole year round in bliss,
\nMay yet be gladdened by a fair maid’s kiss);
\nAnd Elfinhart spoke on: “Do what you will,
\nI trust you with my all, and fear no ill.
\nBut oh, my friend, to wait the long, long year,–
\nTo keep my heart in silence, not to hear
\nThe words my whole soul hungers for, nor say
\nOne syllable to brighten his dark day!
\nMust it be so, my queen? And how shall I
\nSchool eyes and lips to act this year-long lie?
\nFrom the dear teacher-guardian of my youth
\nThe only ways I learned were ways of truth!
\nI tried my skill this night, and learned to know
\nThat there are deeps below the deeps of woe;
\nHearts may be bruised and broken, yet still live;–
\nThe wounds that kill us are the wounds we give!”<\/p>\n
And so these two talked on, until the night
\nBegan to shiver with the gray dawn’s light,
\nAnd in the deep-dyed casement they might see
\nNew life flush through old dreams of chivalry.
\nAnd then they parted. What the queen had said
\nI know not, but the lady, comforted,
\nBade farewell with calm voice and tranquil eyes,
\nAnd saw with new-born strength the new sun rise.
\nPerhaps in Fairyland there chanced to be
\nFor them that grieve some sovereign alchemy
\nTo turn the worst to best, and the good queen
\nApplied this soothing balm. Such things have been;
\nBut yet I doubt if any fairy art
\nWas needed in the case of Elfinhart;
\nThe medicine that charmed away her dole
\nNature had planted in her own sweet soul.
\nOf all sure things, this thing I’m surest of,–
\nThat the best cure for love’s own ills is love.<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t