{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep1/ep119.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep1/ep119.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep1/ep119.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (March-August), by William Morris, [1868]\nTHE case of this Falcon was such, that whoso watched it without sleeping for seven days and seven nights, had his first wish granted him by a fay lady, that appeared to him thereon; and some wished one thing, and some another. But a certain King, who watched the Falcon daily, would wish for nought but the love of that fay; which wish being accomplished, was afterwards his ruin.\nACROSS the sea a land there is,\n Where, if fate will, may men have bliss,\n For it is fair as any land:\n There hath the reaper a full hand,\n While in the orchard hangs aloft\n The purple fig, a-growing soft;\n And fair the trellised vine-bunches\n Are swung across the high elm-trees;\n And in the rivers great fish play,\n While over them pass day by day\n The laden barges to their place.\n There maids are straight, and fair of face, p. 553\n And men are stout for husbandry,\n And all is well as it can be\n Upon this earth where all has end.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For on them God is pleased to send\n The gift of Death down from above,\n That envy, hatred, and hot love,\n Knowledge with hunger by his side,\n And avarice and deadly pride,\n There may have end like everything\n Both to the shepherd and the king:\n Lest this green earth become but hell\n If folk thereon should ever dwell.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full little most men think of this,\n But half in woe and half in bliss\n They pass their lives, and die at last\n Unwilling, though their lot be cast\n In wretched places of the earth,\n Where men have little joy from birth\n Until they die; in no such case\n Were those who tilled this pleasant place.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There soothly men were loth to die,\n Though sometimes in his misery\n A man would say \"Would I were dead!\"\n Alas! full little likelyhead\n That he should live for ever there.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So folk within that country fair\n Lived on unable to forget\n The longed-for things they could not get,\n And without need tormenting still p. 554\n Each other with some bitter ill;\n Yea, and themselves too, growing grey\n With dread of some long-lingering day,\n That never came ere they were dead\n With green sods growing on the head;\n Nowise content with what they had,\n But falling still from good to bad\n While hard they sought the hopeless best;\n And seldom happy or at rest\n Until at last with lessening blood\n One foot within the grave they stood.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now so it chanced that in this land\n There did a certain castle stand,\n Set all alone deep in the hills,\n Amid the sound of falling rills\n Within a valley of sweet grass,\n To which there went one narrow pass\n Through the dark hills, but seldom trod.\n Rarely did horse-hoof press the sod\n About the quiet weedy moat,\n When unscared did the great fish float;\n Because men dreaded there to see\n The uncouth things of fa\u00ebrie;\n Nathless by some few fathers old\n These tales about the place were told\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That neither squire nor seneschal\n Or varlet came in bower or hall,\n Yet all things were in order due, p. 555\n Hangings of gold and red and blue,\n And tables with fair service set;\n Cups that had paid the C\u00e6sar's debt\n Could he have laid his hands on them;\n Dorsars, with pearls in every hem,\n And fair embroidered gold-wrought things,\n Fit for a company of kings;\n And in the chambers dainty beds,\n With pillows dight for fair young heads;\n And horses in the stables were,\n And in the cellars wine full clear\n And strong, and casks of ale and mead;\n Yea, all things a great lord could need.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For whom these things were ready there\n None knew; but if one chanced to fare\n Into that place at Easter-tide,\n There would he find a falcon tied\n Unto a pillar of the Hall;\n And such a fate to him would fall,\n That if unto the seventh night,\n He watched the bird from dark to light,\n And light to dark unceasingly,\n On the last evening he should see\n A lady beautiful past words;\n Then, were he come of clowns or lords,\n Son of a swineherd or a king,\n There must she grant him anything\n Perforce, that he might dare to ask,\n And do his very hardest task. p. 556\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But if he slumbered, ne\u2019er again\n The wretch would wake for he was slain\n Helpless, by hands he could not see,\n And his corpse mangled wretchedly.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now said these elders\u2014Ere this tide\n Full many folk this thing have tried,\n But few have got much good thereby;\n For first, a many came to die\n By slumbering ere their watch was done;\n Or else they saw that lovely one,\n And mazed, they knew not what to say;\n Or asked for some small thing that day\n That easily they might have won,\n Nor staked their lives and souls thereon;\n Or asking, asked for some great thing\n That was their bane; as to be king\n One asked, and died the morrow morn\n That he was crowned, of all forlorn.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet thither came a certain man,\n Who from being poor great riches wan\n Past telling, whose grandsons now are\n Great lords thereby in peace and war.\n And in their coat-of-arms they bear,\n Upon a field of azure fair,\n A castle and a falcon, set\n Below a chief of golden fret.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in our day a certain knight\n Prayed to be worsted in no fight, p. 557\n And so it happed to him: yet he\n Died none the less most wretchedly,\n And all his prowess was in vain,\n For by a losel was he slain,\n As on the highway side he slept\n One summer night, of no man kept.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such tales as these the fathers old\n About that lonely castle told;\n And in their day the king must try\n Himself to prove that mystery,\n Although, unless the fay could give\n For ever on the earth to live,\n Nought could he ask that he had not:\n For boundless riches had he got,\n Fair children, and a faithful wife;\n And happily had passed his life,\n And all fulfilled of victory,\n Yet was he fain this thing to see.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So towards the mountains he set out\n One noontide, with a gallant rout\n Of knights and lords, and as the day\n Began to fail came to the way\n Where he must enter all alone,\n Between the dreary walls of stone.\n Thereon to that fair company\n He bade farewell, who wistfully\n Looked backward oft as home they rode.\n But in the entry he abode p. 558\n Of that rough unknown narrowing pass,\n Where twilight at the high noon was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then onward he began to ride:\n Smooth rose the rocks on every side,\n And seemed as they were cut by man;\n Adown them ever water ran,\n But they of living things were bare,\n Yea, not a blade of grass grew there;\n And underfoot rough was the way,\n For scattered all about there lay\n Great jagged pieces of black stone.\n Throughout the pass the wind did moan,\n With such wild noises, that the King\n Could almost think he heard something\n Spoken of men; as one might hear\n The voices of folk standing near\n One's chamber wall: yet saw he nought\n Except those high walls strangely wrought,\n And overhead the strip of sky.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So, going onward painfully,\n He met therein no evil thing,\n But came about the sunsetting\n Unto the opening of the pass,\n And thence beheld a vale of grass\n Bright with the yellow daffodil;\n And all the vale the sun did fill\n With his last glory. Midmost there\n Rose up a stronghold, built four-square,\n Upon a flowery grassy mound, p. 559\n That moat and high wall ran around.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thereby he saw a walled pleasance,\n With walks and sward fit for the dance\n Of Arthur's court in its best time,\n That seemed to feel some magic clime;\n For though through all the vale outside\n Things were as in the April-tide,\n And daffodils and cowslips grew\n And hidden the March violets blew,\n Within the bounds of that sweet close\n Was trellised the bewildering rose;\n There was the lily over-sweet,\n And starry pinks for garlands meet;\n And apricots hung on the wall\n And midst the flowers did peaches fall,\n And nought had blemish there or spot,\n For in that place decay was not.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silent awhile the King abode\n Beholding all, then on he rode\n And to the castle-gate drew nigh,\n Till fell the drawbridge silently,\n And when across it he did ride\n He found the great gates open wide,\n And entered there, but as he passed\n The gates were shut behind him fast,\n But not before that he could see\n The drawbridge rise up silently.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then round he gazed oppressed with awe, p. 560\n And there no living thing he saw\n Except the sparrows in the eaves,\n As restless as light autumn leaves\n Blown by the fitful rainy wind.\n Thereon his final goal to find,\n He lighted off his war-horse good\n And let him wander as he would,\n When he had eased him of his gear;\n Then gathering heart against his fear.\n Just at the silent end of day\n Through the fair porch he took his way,\n And found at last a goodly hall\n With glorious hangings on the wall,\n Inwrought with trees of every clime,\n And stories of the ancient time,\n But all of sorcery they were.\n For o\u2019er the dais Venus fair,\n Fluttered about by many a dove,\n Made hopeless men for hopeless love,\n Both sick and sorry; there they stood\n Wrought wonderfully in various mood,\n But wasted all by that hid fire\n Of measureless o\u2019er-sweet desire,\n And let the hurrying world go by\n Forgetting all felicity.\n But down the hall the tale was wrought\n How Argo in old time was brought\n To Colchis for the fleece of gold.\n And on the other side was told p. 561\n How mariners for long years came\n To Circe, winning grief and shame.\n Until at last by hardihead\n And craft, Ulysses won her bed.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Long upon these the King did look\n And of them all good heed he took;\n To see if they would tell him aught\n About the matter that he sought,\n But all were of the times long past;\n So going all about, at last\n When grown nigh weary of his search\n A falcon on a silver perch,\n Anigh the da\u00efs did he see,\n And wondered, because certainly\n At his first coming \u2019twas not there;\n But \u2019neath the bird a scroll most fair,\n With golden letters on the white\n He saw, and in the dim twilight\n By diligence could he read this:\u2014\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A little while did he abide,\n When he had read this, deep in thought,\n Wondering indeed if there were aught\n He had not got, that a wise man\n Would wish; yet in his mind it ran\n That he might win a boundless realm,\n Yea, come to wear upon his helm\n The crown of the whole conquered earth;\n That all who lived thereon, from birth\n To death should call him King and Lord,\n And great kings tremble at his word,\n Until in turn he came to die.\n Therewith a little did he sigh,\n But thought, \"Of Alexander yet\n Men talk, nor would they e\u2019er forget\n My name, if this should come to be,\n Whoever should come after me:\n But while I lay wrapped round with gold\n Should tales and histories manifold\n Be written of me, false and true;\n And as the time still onward drew\n Almost a god would folk count me,\n Saying, 'In our time none such be.'\n But therewith did he sigh again,\n And said, \"Ah, vain, and worse than vain! p. 563\n For though the world forget me nought,\n Yet by that time should I be brought\n Where all the world I should forget,\n And bitterly should I regret\n That I, from godlike great renown,\n To helpless death must fall adown:\n How could I bear to leave it all?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then straight upon his mind did fall\n Thoughts of old longings half forgot,\n Matters for which his heart was hot\n A while ago: whereof no more\n He cared for some, and some right sore\n Had vexed him, being fulfilled at last.\n And when the thought of these had passed\n Still something was there left behind,\n That by no torturing of his mind,\n Could he in any language name,\n Or into form of wishing frame.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last he thought, \"What matters it,\n Before these seven days shall flit\n Some great thing surely shall I find,\n That gained will not leave grief behind,\n Nor turn to deadly injury.\n So now will I let these things be\n And think of some unknown delight.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now, therewithal, was come the night,\n And thus his watch was well begun; p. 564\n And till the rising of the sun,\n Waking, he paced about the hall,\n And saw the hangings on the wall\n Fade into nought, and then grow white\n In patches by the pale moonlight,\n And then again fade utterly\n As still the moonbeams passed them by;\n Then in a while, with hope of day,\n Begin a little to grow grey,\n Until familiar things they grew,\n As up at last the great sun drew,\n And lit them with his yellow light\n At ending of another night.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then right glad was he of the day,\n That passed with him in such like way;\n For neither man nor beast came near,\n Nor any voices did he hear.\n And when again it drew to night\n Silent it passed, till first twilight\n Of morning came, and then he heard\n The feeble twittering of some bird,\n That, in that utter silence drear,\n Smote harsh and startling on his ear.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith came on that lonely day\n That passed him in no other way;\n And thus six days and nights went by\n And nothing strange had come anigh.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And on that day he well-nigh deemed\n That all that story had been dreamed. p. 565\n Daylight and dark, and night and day,\n Passed ever in their wonted way;\n The wind played in the trees outside,\n The rooks from out the high trees cried;\n And all seemed natural and fair,\n With little signs of magic there.\n Yet neither could he quite forget\n That close with summer blossoms set,\n And fruit hung on trees blossoming,\n When all about was early spring.\n Yea, if all this by man were made,\n Strange was it that still undecayed\n The food lay on the tables still\n Unchanged by man, that wine did fill\n The golden cups, still bright and red.\n And all was so apparelled\n For guests that came not, yet was all\n As though that servants filled the hall.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So waxed and waned his hopes, and still\n He formed no wish for good or ill.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And while he thought of this and that\n Upon his perch the falcon sat\n Unfed, unhooded, his bright eyes\n Beholders of the hard-earned prize,\n Glancing around him restlessly,\n As though he knew the time drew nigh\n When this long watching should be done.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So little by little fell the sun, p. 566\n From high noon unto sun-setting;\n And in that lapse of time the King,\n Though still he woke, yet none the less\n Was dreaming in his sleeplessness\n Of this and that which he had done\n Before this watch he had begun;\n Till, with a start, he looked at last\n About him, and all dreams were past;\n For now, though it was past twilight\n Without, within all grew as bright\n As when the noon-sun smote the wall,\n Though no lamp shone within the hall.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then rose the King upon his feet,\n And well-nigh heard his own heart beat,\n And grew all pale for hope and fear,\n As sound of footsteps caught his ear\n But soft, and as some fair lady,\n Going as gently as might be,\n Stopped now and then awhile, distraught\n By pleasant wanderings of sweet thought.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nigher the sound came, and more nigh,\n Until the King unwittingly\n Trembled, and felt his hair arise,\n But on the door still kept his eyes.\n That opened soon, and in the light\n There stepped alone a lady bright,\n And made straight toward him up the hall.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In golden garments was she clad\n And round her waist a belt she had p. 567\n Of emeralds fair, and from her feet\n She held the raiment daintily,\n And on her golden head had she\n A rose-wreath round a pearl-wrought crown,\n Softly she walked with eyes cast down,\n Nor looked she any other than\n An earthly lady, though no man\n Has seen so fair a thing as she.,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So when her face the King could see\n Still more he trembled, and he thought\n \"Surely my wish is hither brought,\n And this will be a goodly day\n If for mine own I win this may.\"\n And therewithal she drew anear\n Until the trembling King could hear\n Her very breathing, and she raised\n Her head and on the King's face gazed\n With serious eyes, and stopping there,\n Swept from her shoulders her long hair,\n And let her gown fall on her feet,\n Then spoke in a clear voice and sweet.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well hast thou watched, so now O King,\n Be bold, and wish for some good thing;\n And yet, I counsel thee, be wise.\n Behold, spite of these lips and eyes,\n Hundreds of years old now am I\n And have seen joy and misery.\n And thou, who yet hast lived in bliss, p. 568\n I bid thee well consider this;\n Better it were that men should live\n As beasts, and take what earth can give,\n The air, the warm sun and the grass\n Until unto the earth they pass,\n And gain perchance nought worse than rest,\n Than that not knowing what is best\n For sons of men, they needs must thirst\n For what shall make their lives accurst.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Therefore I bid thee now beware,\n Lest getting something seeming fair,\n Thou com\u2019st in vain to long for more;\n Or lest the thing thou wishest for\n Make thee unhappy till thou diest,\n Or lest with speedy death thou buyest\n A little hour of happiness\n Or lazy joy with sharp distress.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Alas, why say I this to thee,\n For now I see full certainly,\n That thou wilt ask for such a thing,\n It had been best for thee to fling\n Thy body from a mountain top,\n Or in a white hot fire to drop,\n Or ever thou hadst seen me here,\n Nay then be speedy and speak clear.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then the king cried out eagerly,\n Grown fearless, \"Ah, be kind to me!\n Thou knowest what I long for then!\n Thou know\u2019st that I, a king of men, p. 569\n Will ask for nothing else than thee!\n Thou didst not say this could not be,\n And I have had enow of bliss,\n If I may end my life with this.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Hearken,\" she said, \"what men will say\n When they are mad; before to-day\n I knew that words such things could mean,\n And wondered that it could have been.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Think well, because this wished-for joy,\n That surely will thy bliss destroy,\n Will let thee live, until thy life\n Is wrapped in such bewildering strife\n That all thy days will seem but ill\u2014\n Now wilt thou wish for this thing still?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Wilt thou then grant it?\" cried the King;\n \"Surely thou art an earthly thing,\n And all this is but mockery,\n And thou canst tell no more than I\n What ending to my life shall be.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, then,\" she said, \"I grant it thee\n Perforce; come nigh, for I am thine\n Until the morning sun doth shine,\n And only coming time can prove\n What thing I am.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Dizzy with love,\n And with surprise struck motionless\n That this divine thing, with far less\n Of striving than a village maid,\n Had yielded, there he stood afraid, p. 570\n Spite of hot words and passionate,\n And strove to think upon his fate.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But as he stood there, presently\n With smiling face she drew anigh,\n And on his face he felt her breath.\n \"O love,\" she said, \"dost thou fear death?\n Not till next morning shalt thou die,\n Or fall into thy misery.\"\n Then on his hand her hand did fall,\n And forth she led him down the hall,\n Going full softly by his side.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O love,\" she said, \"now well betide\n The day whereon thou cam\u2019st to me.\n I would this night a year might be,\n Yea, life-long; such life as we have,\n A thousand years from womb to grave.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And then that clinging hand seemed worth\n Whatever joy was left on earth,\n And every trouble he forgot,\n And time and death remembered not:\n Kinder she grew, she clung to him\n With loving arms, her eyes did swim\n With love and pity, as he strove\n To show the wisdom of his love;\n With trembling lips she praised his choice,\n And said, \"Ah, well may\u2019st thou rejoice, p. 571\n Well may\u2019st thou think this one short night\n Worth years of other men's delight,\n If thy own heart as my heart is,\n Sunk in a boundless sea of bliss;\n O love, rejoice with me! rejoice!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But as she spoke, her honied voice\n Trembled, and midst of sobs she said,\n \"O love, and art thou still afraid?\n Return, then, to thine happiness,\n Nor will I love thee any less;\n But watch thee as a mother might\n Her child at play.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With strange delight\n He stammered out, \"Nay, keep thy tears\n For me, and for my ruined years\n Weep love, that I may love thee more,\n My little hour will soon be o\u2019er.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Ah, love,\" she said, \"and thou art wise\n As men are, with long miseries\n Buying these idle words and vain,\n My foolish love, with lasting pain;\n And yet, thou wouldst have died at last\n If in all wisdom thou hadst passed\n Thy weary life: forgive me then,\n In pitying the sad life of men.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then in such bliss his soul did swim,\n But tender music unto him\n Her words were; death and misery\n But empty names were grown to be, p. 572\n As from that place his steps she drew,\n And dark the hall behind them grew.\nBUT end comes to all earthly bliss,\n And by his choice full short was his;\n And in the morning, grey and cold,\n Beside the dais did she hold\n His trembling hand, and wistfully\n He, doubting what his fate should be,\n Gazed at her solemn eyes, that now,\n Beneath her calm, untroubled brow,\n Were fixed on his wild face and wan;\n At last she said, \"Oh, hapless man,\n Depart! your full wish you have had;\n A little time you have been glad,\n You shall be sorry till you die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"And though, indeed, full fain am I\n This might not be; nathless, as day\n Night follows, colourless and grey,\n So this shall follow your delight,\n Your joy hath ending with last night\u2014\n Nay, peace, and hearken to your fate.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Strife without peace, early and late,\n Lasting long after you are dead,\n And laid with earth upon your head;\n War without victory shall you have p. 573\n Defeat, nor honour shall you save;\n Your fair land shall be rent and torn,\n Your people be of all forlorn,\n And all men curse you for this thing.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She loosed his hand, but yet the King\n Said, \"Yea, and I may go with thee?\n Why should we part? then let things be\n E\u2019en as they will!\" \"Poor man,\" she said,\n \"Thou ravest; our hot love is dead,\n If ever it had any life:\n Go, make thee ready for the strife\n Wherein thy life shall soon be wrapped;\n And of the things that here have happed\n Make thou such joy as thou may\u2019st do;\n But I from this place needs must go,\n Nor shalt thou ever see me more\n Until thy troubled life is o\u2019er:\n Alas! to say 'farewell' to thee\n Were nought but bitter mockery.\n Fare as thou may\u2019st, and with good heart\n Play to the end thy wretched part.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith she turned and went from him,\n And with such pain his eyes did swim\n He scarce could see her leave the place.\n And then, with troubled and pale face,\n He gat him thence: and soon he found\n His good horse in the base-court bound;\n So, loosing him, forth did he ride, p. 574\n For the great gates were open wide,\n And flat the heavy draw-bridge lay.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So by the middle of the day,\n That murky pass had he gone through,\n And come to country that he knew;\n And homeward turned his horse's head,\n And passing village and homestead\n Nigh to his palace came at last;\n And still the further that he passed\n From that strange castle of the fays,\n More dreamlike seemed those seven days,\n And dreamlike the delicious night;\n And like a dream the shoulders white,\n And clinging arms and yellow hair,\n And dreamlike the sad morning there.\n Until at last he \u2019gan to deem\n That all might well have been a dream\u2014\n Yet why was life a weariness?\n What meant this sting of sharp distress?\n This longing for a hopeless love,\n No sighing from his heart could move?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or else, 'she did not come and go\n As fays might do, but soft and slow\n Her lovely feet fell on the floor;\n She set her fair hand to the door\n As any dainty maid might do;\n And though, indeed, there are but few p. 575\n Beneath the sun as fair as she,\n She seemed a fleshly thing to be.\n Perchance a merry mock this is,\n And I may some day have the bliss\n To see her lovely face again,\n As smiling she makes all things plain.\n And then as I am still a king,\n With me may she make tarrying\n Full long, yea, till I come to die.'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith at last being come anigh\n Unto his very palace gate,\n He saw his knights and squires wait\n His coming, therefore on the ground\n He lighted, and they flocked around\n Till he should tell them of his fare.\n Then mocking said he, \"Ye may dare,\n The worst man of you all, to go\n And watch as I was bold to do;\n For nought I heard except the wind;\n And nought I saw to call to mind.\"\n So said he, but they noted well\n That something more he had to tell\n If it had pleased him; one old man,\n Beholding his changed face and wan,\n Muttered, \"Would God it might be so!\n Alas! I fear what fate may do;\n Too much good fortune hast thou had\n By anything to be more glad\n Than thou hast been, I fear thee then p. 576\n Lest thou becom\u2019st a curse to men.\"\n But to his place the doomed King passed,\n And all remembrance strove to cast\n From out his mind of that past day,\n And spent his life in sport and play.\nGREAT among other kings, I said\n He was before he first was led\n Unto that castle of the fays,\n But soon he lost his happy days\n And all his goodly life was done.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And first indeed his best-loved son,\n The very apple of his eye,\n Waged war against him bitterly;\n And when this son was overcome\n And taken, and folk led him home,\n And him the King had gone to meet,\n Meaning with gentle words and sweet\n To win him to his love again,\n By his own hand he found him slain.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I know not if the doomed King yet\n Remembered the fay lady's threat,\n But troubles upon troubles came:\n His daughter next was brought to shame,\n Who unto all eyes seemed to be\n The image of all purity, p. 577\n And fleeing from the royal place\n The King no more beheld her face.\n Then next a folk that came from far\n Sent to the King great threats of war,\n But he, full-fed of victory,\n Deemed this a little thing to be,\n And thought the troubles of his home\n Thereby he well might overcome\n Amid the hurry of the fight.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His foemen seemed of little might,\n Although they thronged like summer bees\n About the outlying villages,\n And on the land great ruin brought.\n Well, he this barbarous people sought\n With such an army as seemed meet\n To put the world beneath his feet;\n The day of battle came, and he,\n Flushed with the hope of victory,\n Grew happy, as he had not been\n Since he those glorious eyes had seen.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They met,\u2014his solid ranks of steel\n There scarcely more the darts could feel\n Of those new foemen, than if they\n Had been a hundred miles away:\u2014\n They met,\u2014a storied folk were his\n To whom sharp war had long been bliss,\n A thousand years of memories\n Were flashing in their shielded eyes;\n And grave philosophers they had p. 578\n To bid them ever to be glad\n To meet their death and get life done\n Midst glorious deeds from sire to son.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And those they met were beasts, or worse,\n To whom life seemed a jest, a curse;\n Of fame and name they had not heard;\n Honour to them was but a word,\n A word spoke in another tongue;\n No memories round their banners clung,\n No walls they knew, no art of war,\n By hunger were they driven afar\n Unto the place whereon they stood,\n Hungry for bestial joys and blood.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No wonder if these barbarous men\n Were slain by hundreds to each ten\n Of the King's brave well-armoured folk,\n No wonder if their charges broke\n To nothing, on the walls of steel,\n And back the baffled hordes must reel.\n So stood throughout a summer day\n Scarce touched the King's most fair array,\n Yet as it drew to even-tide\n The foe still surged on every side,\n As hopeless hunger-bitten men,\n About his folk grown wearied then.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith the King beheld that crowd\n Howling and dusk, and cried aloud,\n \"What do ye, soldiers? and how long p. 579\n Shall weak folk hold in check the strong.\n Nay, forward banners! end the day\n And show these folk how brave men play.\"\n The young knights shouted at his word,\n But the old folk in terror heard\n The shouting run adown the line,\n And saw men flush as if with wine\u2014\n \"O Sire\" they said \"the day is sure,\n Nor will these folk the night endure\n Beset with misery and fears.\"\n Alas! they spoke to heedless ears;\n For scarce one look on them he cast\n But forward through the ranks he passed,\n And cried out, \"Who will follow me\n To win a fruitful victory?\"\n And toward the foe in haste he spurred,\n And at his back their shouts he heard,\n Such shouts as he ne\u2019er heard again.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They met\u2014ere moonrise all the plain\n Was filled by men in hurrying flight\n The relics of that shameful fight;\n The close array, the full-armed men,\n The ancient fame availed not then,\n The dark night only was a friend\n To bring that slaughter to an end;\n And surely there the King had died,\n But driven by that back-rushing tide\n Against his will he needs must flee; p. 580\n And as he pondered bitterly\n On all that wreck that he had wrought,\n From time to time indeed he thought\n Of the fay woman's dreadful threat.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"But everything was not lost yet;\"\n Next day he said, great was the rout\n And shameful beyond any doubt,\n But since indeed at eventide\n The rout began, not many died,\n And gathering all the stragglers now\n His troops still made a gallant show\u2014\n Alas! it was a show indeed;\n Himself desponding, did he lead\n His beaten men against the foe,\n Thinking at least to lie alow\n Before the final rout should be;\n But scarce upon the enemy\n Could these, whose shaken banners shook\n The frightened world, now dare to look;\n Nor yet could the doomed King die there\n A death he once had held most fair;\n Amid unwounded men he came\n Back to his city, bent with shame,\n Unkingly, midst his great distress,\n Yea, weeping at the bitterness\n Of women's curses that did greet\n His passage down the troubled street.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But sight of all the things they loved, p. 581\n The memory of their manhood moved\n Within the troops, and aged men\n And boys must think of battle then,\n And men that had not seen the foe\n Must clamour to the war to go.\n So a great army poured once more\n From out the city, and before\n The very gates they fought again,.\n But their late valour was in vain;\n They died indeed, and that was good,\n But nought they gained for all the blood\n Poured out like water; for the foe,\n Men might have stayed a while ago,\n A match for very gods were grown,\n So like the field in June-tide mown\n The king's men fell, and but in vain\n The remnant strove the town to gain;\n Whose battlements were nought to stay\n An untaught foe upon that day,\n Though many a tale the annals told\n Of sieges in the days of old,\n When all the world then knew of war\n From that fair place was driven afar.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As for the King, a charmed life\n He seemed to bear; from out that strife\n He came unhurt, and he could see,\n As down the valley he did flee\n With his most wretched company, p. 582\n His palace flaming to the sky.\n Then in the very midst of woe\n His yearning thoughts would backward go\n Unto the castle of the fay;\n He muttered, \"Shall I curse that day,\n The last delight that I have had,\n For certainly I then was glad?\n And who knows if what men call bliss\n Had been much better now than this\n When I am hastening to the end.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That fearful rest, that dreaded friend,\n That Death, he did not gain as yet;\n A band of men he soon did get,\n A ruined rout of bad and good,\n With whom within the tangled wood,\n The rugged mountain, he abode,\n And thenceforth oftentimes they rode\n Into the fair land once called his,\n And yet but little came of this,\n Except some added misery\n Unto that miserable realm:\n The barbarous foe did overwhelm\n The cities and the fertile plain,\n And many a peaceful man was slain,\n And many a maiden brought to shame,\n And yielded towns were set aflame;\n For all the land was masterless.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Long dwelt the King in great distress p. 583\n From wood to mountain ever tost,\n Mourning for all that he had lost,\n Until it chanced upon a day,\n Asleep in early morn he lay,\n And in a vision there did see\n Clad all in black, that fay lady\n Whereby all this had come to pass,\n But dim as in a misty glass:\n She said \"I come thy death to tell\n Yet now to thee may say 'farewell,'\n For in a short space wilt thou be\n Within an endless dim country\n Where thou mayest well win woe or bliss.\"\n Therewith she stooped his lips to kiss\n And vanished straightway from his sight,\n So waking there he sat upright\n And looked around, but nought could see\n And heard but song-birds\u2019 melody,\n For it was the first hour of day.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then with a sigh adown he lay\n And slept, nor ever woke again,\n For that same hour was he slain\n By stealthy traitors as he slept.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He of a few was much bewept,\n But of most men was well forgot\n While that town's ashes still were hot\n The foeman on that day did burn. p. 584\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As for the land, great Time did turn\n The bloody fields to deep green grass,\n And from the minds of men did pass\n The memory of that time of woe,\n And at this day all things are so\n As first I said; a land it is\n Where men may dwell in rest and bliss\n If so they will\u2014Who yet will not,\n Because their hasty hearts are hot\n With foolish hate, and longing vain\n The sire and dam of grief and pain.\nNEATH the bright sky cool grew the weary earth,\n And many a bud in that fair hour had birth\n Upon the garden bushes; in the west\n The sky got ready for the great sun's rest,\n And all was fresh and lovely; none the less\n Although those old men shared the happiness\n Of the bright eve, \u2019twas mixed with memories\n Of how they might in old times have been wise,\n Not casting by for very wilfulness\n What wealth might come their changing life to bless;\n Lulling their hearts to sleep, amid the cold\n Of bitter times, that so they might behold\n Some joy at last, e\u2019en if it lingered long.\n That, wearing not their souls with grief and wrong,\n They still might watch the changing world go by,\n Content to live, content at last to die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alas! if they had reached content at last,\n It was perforce when all their strength was past;\n And after loss of many days once bright,\n With foolish hopes of unattained delight.","title":"The Earthly Paradise (March-August): July: The Watching of the Falcon","type":"page"}