GAWAYNE<\/p>\n
O Muse!–But no: heaven knows I need a muse;
\nBut which of all the nine, pray, should I choose?
\nThalia, Clio, and Melpomene,
\nI love them all, but none, alas, loves me;
\nFor if you want a muse to take your part
\nYou must be solely hers with all your heart;
\nAnd I have mingled since my earliest youth
\nMy smiles and tears, my fictions and my truth;
\nNay, in this very tale, scarce yet half done,
\nI’ve courted all the nine, and so won none!
\nNot for me, therefore, the Parnassian lyre,
\nOr winged war-horse shod with heavenly fire;
\nHarsh numbers flow from throats whose thirst has been
\nA whole life long unslaked of Hippocrene;
\nBut I will e’en go on as best I can
\nAnd let the story end as it began,–
\nA plain, straightforward man’s unvarnished word,
\nPart sad, part sweet,–and part of it absurd.<\/p>\n
A year passed by, as years are wont to do,
\nWinter and spring, summer and autumn too,
\nTill mid-December’s flaw-blown flakes of snow
\nWarned Gawayne that the time was come to go
\nTo the Green Chapel by the Murmuring Mere,
\nAnd take again the blow he gave last year.
\nIn the great court his charger stamped the ground,
\nWhile knights and weeping ladies thronged around
\nTo arm him (as the custom was of yore)
\nAnd bid him sad farewell for evermore.
\nOne face alone in all that bustling throng
\nOur hero’s eyes sought eagerly, and long
\nSought vainly; for the lady Elfinhart,
\nDebating with herself, stood yet apart;
\nBut as Sir Gawayne gathered up his reins
\nAnd bade the draw-bridge warden loose the chains,
\nSuddenly Elfinhart stood by his side,
\nHer fair face flushed with love, and joy, and pride.
\nShe plucked a sprig of holly from her gown
\nAnd looked up, questioning; and he leaned down,
\nAnd so she placed it in his helm. No word
\nMight Gawayne’s lips then utter, but he heard
\nThe voice that was his music, and could feel
\nThe touch of gentle fingers through the steel.
\n“Wear this, Sir Gawayne, for a loyal friend
\nWhose hopes and prayers go with you to the end.”
\nAnd, staying not for answer, she withdrew,
\nAnd in the throng was lost to Gawayne’s view.
\nHe roused himself, and waving high his hand,
\nStruck spur, and so rode off toward Fairyland.<\/p>\n
Long time he traveled by an unknown way,
\nUnhoused at night, companionless by day.
\nThe cold sleet stung him through his shirt of mail,
\nBut, underneath, his stout heart would not fail,
\nBut beat full measure through the fiercest storm,
\nAnd kept his head clear and his brave soul warm.
\nNo need to tell the perils that he passed;
\nHe conquered all, and came unscathed at last
\nTo where a high-embattled castle stood
\nDeep in the heart of a dense willow-wood.
\nAnd Gawayne called aloud, and to the gate
\nA smiling porter came, who opened straight,
\nAnd bade him enter in and take his rest;
\nAnd Gawayne entered, and the people pressed
\nAbout him with fair speeches; and he laid
\nHis armor off, and gave it them, and prayed
\nThat they would take his message to their lord,–
\nprayer for friendly shelter, bed and board.
\nHe told them whence he was, his birth and name;
\nAnd the bold baron of the castle came,
\nA mighty man, huge-limbed, with flashing eyes,
\nAnd welcomed him with old-time courtesies;
\nFor manners, in those days, were held of worth,
\nAnd gentle breeding went with gentle birth.
\nHe heartily was glad his guest had come,
\nAnd made Sir Gawayne feel himself at home;
\nAnd as they walked in, side by side, each knew
\nThe other for an honest man and true.<\/p>\n
That night our hero and the baron ate
\nA sumptuous dinner in the hall of state,
\nAnd all the household, ranged along the board,
\nMade good cheer with Sir Gawayne and their lord,
\nAnd passed the brimming bowl right merrily
\nWith friendly banter and quick repartee.
\nAnd Gawayne asked if they had chanced to hear
\nOf a Green Chapel by a Murmuring Mere,
\nAnd straightway all grew grave. Within his breast
\nSir Gawayne felt a tremor of unrest,
\nBut told his story with a gay outside,
\nAnd asked for some good man to be his guide
\nTo find his foe. “I promise him,” said he,
\n“No golden guerdon;–his reward shall be
\nThe consciousness that unto him ‘t was given
\nTo show a parting soul the way to heaven!”<\/p>\n
Up jumped his host. “My friend, I like your attitude,
\nAnd know no surer way to win heaven’s gratitude
\nThan sending thither just such men as you;
\nI’ll be your guide. But since you are not due
\nAt the Green Chapel till three nights from now,
\nAnd since the way is short, I’ll tell you how
\nThe interim may be disposed of best:–
\nIn short, let me propose a merry jest!”
\nAt this Sir Gawayne gave a sudden start,
\nFor some old memory seemed to clutch his heart,
\nAnd in the baron’s eyes he seemed to see
\nA twinkling gleam of green benignity
\nNot wholly strange; but like a flash ‘t was gone.
\nGawayne sank back, and his good host went on:
\n“Two days you sojourn here, and while I take
\nMy daily hunting in the wood, you make
\nMy house and castle yours; and then, each night,
\nWe’ll meet together here at candle-light,
\nAnd all my winnings in the wood, and all
\nThat comes to you at home, whate’er befall,
\nWe’ll give each other in exchange; in fine,
\nMy fortune shall be yours, and yours be mine.”
\nTo Gawayne this seemed generous indeed.
\nAnd with most cordial laughter he agreed.
\nThey clasped hands o’er the bargain with good zest,
\nAnd then all said good-night, and went to rest.<\/p>\n
Next morning Gawayne was awakened early
\nFrom a deep slumber by the hurly-burly
\nOf footman, horseman, seneschal, and groom,
\nBustling beneath the windows of his room.
\nHe rose and looked out, just in time to see
\nThe baron and a goodly company
\nOf huntsmen, armed with cross-bow, axe, and spear,
\nRide through the castle gate and disappear.
\nAnd then, while Gawayne dressed, there came a knock
\nUpon his chamber door. He threw the lock,
\nAnd a boy page brought robes of ermine fur
\nAnd Tarsic silk,–black, white, and lavender,–
\nFor his array, and with them a kind message,
\nWhich the good knight received with no ill presage:
\n“Will brave Sir Gawayne spare an idle hour
\nFor quiet converse in my lady’s bower?”
\nThe boy led on, and Gawayne followed him
\nThrough crooked corridors and archways dim,
\nAlong low galleries echoing from afar,
\nAnd down a winding stair; then “Here we are!”
\nThe page cried cheerily, and paused before
\nThe massive carvings of an antique door.
\nThis he swung open; and the knight passed through
\nInto a garden, fresh with summer dew!
\nA lady’s bower in Fairyland! What pen
\nCould make that strange enchantment live again?
\nNot he who drew Acrasia’s Bower of Bliss
\nAnd Ph\u00e6dria’s happy isle could picture this.
\nThat sweet-souled Puritan discerned too well
\nThe serpent’s coil behind the witch’s spell;
\nAnd he who saw–when the dark veil was torn–
\nThe rose of Paradise without the thorn,
\n(Sublimest prophet, whose immortal verse
\nLent mightier thunders to the primal curse),
\nEven he too sternly, in the soul’s defense,
\nRepressed the still importunate cries of sense.
\nBid me not, therefore, task my feebler pen
\nWith dreams beyond the limits of their ken;
\nThe phantom conjurings of the magic hour
\nThat Gawayne passed in that enchanted bower
\nMust be from mortal eyes forever hid.
\nBut yet some part of what he felt and did
\nThese lines must needs disclose. As he stood there,
\nBreathing soft odors from the mellow air,
\nAll hopes, all aims of noble knighthood seemed
\nLike the dim yesterdays of one who dreamed,
\nIn starless caves of memory sunken deep,
\nAnd, like lost music, folded in strange sleep.<\/p>\n
“How long, O mortal man, wilt thou give heed
\nTo the world’s phantom voices? The hours speed,
\nAnd fame and fortune yield to moth and rust,
\nAnd good and evil crumble into dust.
\nEven now the sands are running in the glass;
\nSet not your heart upon vain things that pass;
\nAmbitions, honors, toils, are but the snare
\nWhere lurks for aye the blind old world’s despair.
\nNay, quiet the bootless striving in your breast
\nAnd let your tired heart here at last find rest.
\nIn vain have joy, love, beauty, struck deep root
\nIn your heart’s heart, unless you pluck the fruit;
\nThen put away the cheating soul’s pretense,
\nHeap high the press, fill full the cup of sense;
\nShatter the idols of blind yesterday,
\nAnd let love, joy, and beauty reign alway!”<\/p>\n
Such thoughts as these, confused and unexpressed,
\nFlooded the silence in Sir Gawayne’s breast.
\nMeanwhile a brasier filled the scented air
\nWith wreaths of magic mist, and he was ware
\nThat the mist drew together like a shroud;
\nAnd then the veil was rent, and in the cloud
\nStood one who seemed, in features, form, and dress,
\nThe perfect image of all loveliness.<\/p>\n
The wonders of that vision none could tell
\nSave one whose heart had felt the mystic spell.
\nOnce and once only, in the golden days
\nWhen youth made melody for love’s sweet lays,
\nIn two dark eyes (yet oh, how bright, how bright!)
\nI saw the wakening rapture of love’s light,
\nAnd, in the hush of that still dawning, heard
\nFrom two sweet trembling lips love’s whispered word.
\nThe twilight deepens when the sun has set;
\nIn memory golden glories linger yet;
\nBut these avail not. Though my soul lay bare,
\nWith all those memories sanctuaried there,
\nThat spell was human. But the unseen power
\nThat wove the witchery of this fairy bower,
\nIn Gawayne’s heart such subtle magic wrought
\nThat past and future were well-nigh forgot,
\nAnd all that earth holds else, or heaven above,
\nSeemed naught worth keeping, save this dream of love.<\/p>\n
And now, as the strange cloud of incense broke,
\nThe vision, if it were a vision, spoke,–
\nIf it were speech that filled the quivering air
\nWith low harmonious music. Let none dare
\nIn the rude jargons of this world to fashion
\nThat sweet, wild anthem of unearthly passion.
\nCould I from the broad-billowing ocean borrow
\nOf Tristan’s love and of Isolde’s sorrow,
\nThe flood of those world-darkening surges, wrought
\nWith thoughts that lie beyond the reach of thought,
\nMight bring me succor where weak words must fail.
\nBut Gawayne saw and heard, and passion-pale
\nShrank back, and made a darkness of his face;
\n(As though the unplumbed deeps of starless space
\nCould quench those lustrous eyes, or close his ears
\nTo the eternal music of love’s spheres!)
\nBut the voice changed, and Gawayne, listening there,
\nHeard now a heart’s low cry of wild despair.
\nHe turned again, and lo! the vision knelt
\nAnd drew a jeweled poniard from her belt,
\nTo arm herself against her own dear life;
\nBut as she bared her white breast to the knife
\nHe started quickly forward, and he grasped
\nThe hand that held the hilt; and then she clasped
\nHer soft arms round his neck, and as their lips
\nMet in the shadowing fold of love’s eclipse,
\nAll earth, all heaven, all knightly hopes of grace,
\nDied in the darkness of one blind embrace.<\/p>\n
Died? Nay; for Gawayne, ere the moment passed,
\nBroke from the arms that strove to bind him fast,
\nAnd turned away once more; and, as he pressed
\nA trembling hand against his throbbing breast,
\nHis aimless fingers touched a treasured part
\nOf the green holly-branch of Elfinhart,
\nLaid in his breast when he put off his arms.
\nWhat perils now are left in fairy charms?
\nFor poets fable when they call love blind;
\nLove’s habitation is the purer mind,
\nWhence with his keen eyes he may penetrate
\nAll mists and fogs that baser spells create.
\nLove? What is love? Not the wild feverish thrill,
\nWhen heart to heart the thronging pulses fill,
\nAnd lips that close in parching kisses find
\nNo speech but those;–the best remains behind.
\nThe tranquil spirit–the divine assurance
\nThat this life’s seemings have a high endurance–
\nThoughts that allay this restless striving, calm
\nThe passionate heart, and fill old wounds with balm;–
\nThese are the choirs invisible that move
\nIn white processionals up the aisles of love.<\/p>\n
Such love was Gawayne’s,–love that sanctifies
\nThe heart’s most secret altar; and his eyes
\nWere opened, and his pulses beat once more
\nTheir old true rhythm. And so the strife was o’er,
\nAnd all the perilous wiles of magic art
\nWere foiled by Gawayne–and by Elfinhart.<\/p>\n
But time flies, and ‘t were tedious to delay
\nMy song for all the trials of that day.
\nLight summer breezes, skurrying o’er the deep,
\nRipple and foam and flash,–then sink to sleep;
\nBut underneath, serene and changing never,
\nThe mighty heart of ocean beats forever,
\nAnd his deep streams renew from pole to pole
\nThe living world’s indomitable soul.
\nEnough, then, of the spells that vexed the brain
\nOf Gawayne; love and knighthood made all
\nvain.<\/p>\n
And in the afternoon, when Gawayne learned
\nThat his good host, the baron, had returned,
\nHe met him in the hall at candle-light,
\nAccording to his promise of last night.
\nAnd then the baron motioned to a page,
\nAnd straightway six tall men, of lusty age
\nAnd mighty sinews, entered the great door,
\nBearing the carcass of a huge wild boar,
\nIn all its uncouth ugliness complete,
\nAnd dropped it quivering at our hero’s feet.
\n“What do you say to that, Sir Gawayne?” cried
\nThe baron, swelling with true sportsman’s pride
\n“But come: your promise, now, of yester-eve;
\n‘T is blesseder to give than to receive!
\nThough I’ll be sworn you’ll find it hard to pay
\nFull value for the winnings of this day.”
\n“Not so,” said Gawayne; “you will rest my debtor;
\nYour gift is good, but mine will be far better.”
\nAnd then he strode with solemn steps along
\nThe echoing hall, and through the listening throng,
\nAnd with the words, “My noble lord, take this!”
\nHe gave the baron a resounding kiss.
\nThe baron jumped up in ecstatic glee.
\n“Now by my great-great-grandsire’s beard,” quoth he,
\n“Better than all dead boars in Christendom
\nIs one sweet loving kiss!–Whence did it come?”
\n“Nay, there,” Sir Gawayne said, “you step beyond
\nThe terms we stipulated in our bond.
\nTake you my kiss in peace, as I your boar;
\nBe glad; give thanks;–and seek to know no more.”
\nLoud laughter made the baron’s eyes grow bright
\nAnd glitter with green sparkles of delight;
\nAnd then he chuckled: “Sir, I’m proud of you;
\nI drink your best of health; _I think you’ll do!_”<\/p>\n
And now the board was laid and dressed, and all
\nSat down to dinner at the baron’s call;
\nAnd Gawayne looked along the room askance,
\nSeeking the lady; and he caught one glance
\nOf laughing eyes–then looked away in haste,
\nBut turned again, and wondered why his taste
\nHad erred so strangely, for the lady seemed
\nNot fairer now than others. Had he dreamed?
\nHe rubbed his eyes and pondered,–though in sooth
\nWithout one glimmering presage of the truth,–
\nTill all passed lightly from his puzzled mind,
\nLeaving contentment and good cheer behind.
\nSo all the company feasted well, and sped
\nThe flying hours, till it was time for bed.<\/p>\n
One whole day longer must our hero rest
\nWithin doors, to fulfill the merry jest.
\nSo when, next morning, Gawayne once more heard
\nThe hunt’s-up in the court, he never stirred,
\nBut let the merry horsemen ride away
\nWhile he slept soundly well into the day.
\nLater he rose, and strolled from room to room,
\nThrough vaulted twilights of ancestral gloom,
\nUntil, descending a long stair, he found
\nThe dim-lit castle crypt, deep under ground,
\nWhere sculptured effigies forever kept
\nTheir long last marble silence as they slept,
\nAnd iron sentinels, on bended knees,
\nHeld eyeless vigil in old panoplies.<\/p>\n
Sir Gawayne, wandering on in aimless mood,
\nPondered the tomb-stone legends, quaint and rude,
\nWherein the pensive dreamer might divine
\nA tragic history in every line;
\nFor so does fate, with bitterest irony,
\nEpitomize fame’s immortality,
\nPerpetuating for all after days
\nMute lamentations and unnoted praise.
\nAnd Gawayne, reading here and there the story
\nOf fame obscure and unremembered glory,
\nFound on a tablet these words: “Where he lies,
\nThe gray wave breaks and the wild sea-mew flies:
\nIf any be that loved him, seek not here,
\nBut in the lone hills by the Murmuring Mere.”
\nA nameless cenotaph!–perhaps of one
\nLike Gawayne’s self deluded and undone
\nBy the green stranger; and the legend brought
\nA tide of passion flooding Gawayne’s thought;
\nA flood-tide, not of fear,–for Gawayne’s breast
\nShrank never at the perilous behest
\nOf noble knighthood,–but the love of life,
\nCompassion, and soul-sickness of the strife.
\n“If any be that loved him!” Oh, to die
\nFar from green-swarded Camelot, and lie
\nAmong these bleak and barren hills alone,
\nHis end unwept for and his grave unknown,–
\nNever again to see the glad sunrise
\nThat brightened all his world in those dear eyes!<\/p>\n
Half suffocating in the charneled air
\nOf that low vault, he staggered up the stair,
\nOut of the dim-lit halls of silent death
\nInto the living light, and drew quick breath
\nWhere, through a casement-arch of ivied stone,
\nBright from the clear blue sky the warm sun shone.
\nThe whole of life’s glad rapture thrilled his heart;
\nTill a quick step behind him made him start,
\nAnd there, deep-veiled, in muffling cloak and hood,
\nOnce more the lady of the castle stood.<\/p>\n
Low-voiced she spoke, as if with studied care
\nWeighing the syllables of her parting prayer.
\n“Sir Gawayne–nay, I pray you, turn not yet,
\nBut hear me;–though my heart may not forget
\nThat once, for one sweet moment, you were kind,
\nI come not to recall that to your mind;–
\nBetween us two be love’s words aye unspoken!
\nYet ere you go, I pray you, leave some token
\nThat in the long, long years may comfort me
\nFor the dear face I nevermore shall see.”
\n“Nay, lady,” said the knight, “I have no gifts
\nTo give you. Errant knighthood ever drifts
\nFrom shore to shore, by wandering breezes blown,
\nWith naught save its good name to call its own.
\nIn friendship, then, I pray you keep for me
\nMy name untarnished in your memory.”
\n“Ah, sir,” she said, “my memory bears that name
\nBurnt in with characters of living flame.
\nBut though you give me naught, I pray you take
\nThis girdle from me;–wear it for my sake;
\nNay, but refuse me not; you little know
\nIts magic power. I had it long ago
\nFrom Fairyland; and its encircling charm
\nKeeps scathless him who wears it from all harm;
\nNo evil thing can touch him. Gird it on,
\nIf but to ease my heart when you are gone.”<\/p>\n
She held a plain green girdle in her hand,
\nIn outward seeming just a narrow band
\nOf silk, with silver clasps; but in those days
\nThe strangest things were wrought in simplest ways,
\nAs Gawayne knew full well; and he could see
\nThat all the lady said was verity.
\nHe took the girdle, held it, fingered it,
\nThen clasped it round his waist to try the fit,
\nIrresolutely dallying with temptation,
\nTill conscience grew too weak for inclination;
\nFor at the last he threw one wandering glance
\nOut at the casement, and the merry dance
\nOf sparkling sunbeams on the fields of snow
\nWrought havoc in his wavering heart; and so,
\nRepeating to himself one word: “Life, life!”
\nHe took the token from the baron’s wife.<\/p>\n
That evening, when the baron and our knight
\nMet to exchange their gifts at candle-light,
\nThe baron, looking graver than before,
\nSaid: “Sir, my luck has left me; not a boar
\nDid we get wind of, all this blessed day.
\nI come with empty hands, only to pray
\nYour pardon. What good fortune do _you_ bring?”
\nAnd Gawayne answered firmly: “Not a thing!”<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t