{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep3/ep307.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep3/ep307.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep3/ep307.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (December-February), by William Morris, [1870]\nTHERE was a man in a certain great city who on his wedding- day unwittingly gave his spousal-ring to the Goddess Venus, and for this cause trouble came upon him, till in the end he got his ring back again.\nTHE story of this chronicle\n Doth of an ancient city tell,\n Well built upon a goodly shore;\n The wide lands stretched behind it bore\n Great wealth of oil and wine and wheat;\n The great sea carried to its feet\n The dainty things of many lands;\n There the hid miners\u2019 toiling hands\n Dragged up to light the dull blue lead,\n And silver white, and copper red,\n And dreadful iron; many a time\n The sieves swung to the women's rhyme\n O\u2019er gravelly streams that carried down\n The golden sand from caves unknown;\n Dark basalt o\u2019er the sea's beat stood,\n And porphyry cliffs as red as blood;\n From the white marble quarries' edge\n Down to the sweeping river's sedge, p. 181\n Sheep bore the web that was to be;\n The purple lay beneath the sea,\n The madder waved in the light wind,\n The woad-stalks did the peasant bind\n That were to better his worn hood;\n And ever, amid all things good,\n Least of all things this lucky land\n Lacked for the craftsman's cunning hand.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So richer grew that city still\n Through many a year of good and ill,\n And when the white beasts drew the car\n That bore their banner to the war,\n From out the brazen gates enwrought\n With many a dreamer's steadfast thought,\n An hundred thousand men poured out\n To shake the scared earth with their shout.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now little will your wonder be\n That mid so great prosperity\n Enough there was of ill and sin;\n That many folk who dwelt therein\n Lived evil lives from day to day,\n Nor put their worst desires away.\n But as in otherwise indeed\n Of God's good pardon had they need,\n And were herein as other folk,\n So must they bear this added yoke,\n That rife was wicked sorcery there; p. 182\n And why I know not; if it were\n Wrought by a lingering memory\n Of how that land was wont to be\n A dwelling-place, a great stronghold\n Unto the cozening gods of old.\n It might be so; but add thereto\n That of all men life's sweets they knew,\n That death to them was wholly bad,\n So that perchance a hope they had\n That yet another power there was\n Than His who brought that death to pass.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Howe\u2019er that may be, this I know,\n That in that land men's lives were so\n That they in trouble still must turn\n Unholy things and strange to learn:\n Had this man mid the infidel\n A lost son, folk might buy and sell;\n Did that one fear to pass his life\n With unrewarded love at strife;\n Or had he a long-missing keel;\n Or was he with the commonweal\n In deadly strife; or perchance laid\n Abed, by fever long downweighed;\n Or were his riches well-nigh done;\u2014\n Love, strife, or sickness, all was one,\n This seemed the last resource to them,\n To catch out at the strange-wrought hem\n Of the dark gown that hid away p. 183\n The highest ill from light of day.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yea, though the word unspoken was,\n And though each day the holy mass\n At many an altar gold-arrayed\n From out the painted book was said,\n And though they doubted nought at all\n Of how the day of days must fall\n At last upon the earth, and range\n All things aright that once seemed strange;\n Yet Evil seemed so great a thing\n That \u2019neath its dusk o\u2019ershadowing wing\n They needs must cower down; now at least\n While half a god and half a beast\n Man seemed; some parley must they hold\n With God's foe, nor be overbold\n Before the threatening of a hand\n Whose might they did not understand,\n Though oftentimes they felt it sore:\n And through this faithlessness, the more\n Ill things had power there, as I deem,\n Till some men's lives were like a dream,\n Where nought in order can be set,\n And nought worth thence the soul may get,\n Or weigh one thing for what it is;\n Yea, at the best mid woe and bliss,\n Some dreamlike day would come to most.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now this great city still made boast\n That, mid her merchant's, men there were p. 184\n Who e\u2019en from kings the bell might bear\n For wealth and honour: and I think\n That no men richer wines might drink,\n Were better housed, or braver clad,\n Or more of all the world's joy had\n Than their rich men; that no king's door\n Could show forth greater crowds of poor,\n Who lacked for bread and all things good,\n Than in that land a merchant's could\u2014\n Yea, rich indeed \u2019mongst all were they.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now on a certain summer day\n One of their fairest palaces,\n A paradise midst whispering trees,\n Beyond its wont was bright and fair;\n Great feast did men get ready there,\n Because its young lord, lately come\n Back from the eastlands to his home,\n That day should wed a lovely maid;\n He, for that tide too long delayed,\n A lading of great rarities\n Had brought to dazzle those sweet eyes;\n So had you wandered through the house\n From hall to chamber amorous,\n While in the minster church hard by,\n Mid incense smoke and psalmody,\n The gold-clad priest made one of twain,\n So wandering had you tried in vain\n To light on an uncomely thing; p. 185\n Such dyes as stain the parrot's wing,\n The May-flowers or the evening sky,\n Made bright the silken tapestry;\n And threaded pearls therein were wrought,\n And emeralds from far eastlands brought\n To deck the shapes of knight and king;\u2014\n His maybe who of old did sing\n God's praises \u2019twixt the shield and spear,\n Or his the Trojan folk did fear.\n Or from the silken mimicry\n Of fair Cassandra might you see\n Oileus the red ruby tear,\n As he her snowy breast made bare;\n Since woe itself must there be sweet\n For such a place to be made meet.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If such things hid the marble walls,\n What wonder that the swift footfalls\n Were dulled upon the marble floor\n By silken webs from some far shore,\n Whereon were pictured images\n Of other beasts and other trees\n And other birds than these men knew;\n That from the vaulted ceilings\u2019 blue\n Stars shone like Dana\u00eb's coming shower,\n Or that some deftly painted bower\n Thence mocked the roses of that day?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full many a life had passed away,\n And many a once young hand grown old, p. 186\n Dealing with silk and gems and gold,\n Through weary days and anxious nights,\n That went to fashion those delights,\n Which added now small bliss indeed\n To those who pleasure had to meed\n Upon a day when all were glad:\n Yet when the Church all dues had had,\n And the street, filled with minstrelsy,\n Gave token of the twain anigh;\n When through the hall-doors, open wide,\n Streamed in the damsels of the bride;\n When the tall brown-cheeked bridegroom came\n Flushed with hot love and pride and shame,\n And by the hand his love led on,\n Who midst that glorious company shone\n Like some piece of the pale moonlight\n Cut off from quietness and night,\u2014\n Then all these dainty things in sooth\n Seemed meet for such an hour of youth;\n And vain were words such joy to stay;\n And deathless seemed that little day,\n And as a fitful hapless dream\n The past and future well might seem.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What need to tell how sea and earth\n Had been run through to make more mirth,\n For folk already overglad\u2014\n What cunning pageants there they had;\n What old tales acted o\u2019er again, p. 187\n Where grief and death glad folk did feign,\n Who deemed their own joy still would bide;\n What old songs sung wherein did hide\n Meet meanings for that lovesome day;\n What singing of the bridal lay\n By a fair, soft-voiced trembling maid,\n Like to the Goddess well arrayed,\n Who, dreaded once, was grown to be\n A pageant-maker's imagery?\n Why make long words of that sweet band\n Who scattered flowers from slender hand,\n And brought the garlands forth? How tell\n What music on the feasters fell,\n So sweet and solemn, that from mirth\n O\u2019erstrained well-nigh must tears have birth?\u2014\n Nay, let all pass, and deem indeed\n That every joyance was their meed\n Wherewith men cheat themselves to think\n That they of endless joy may drink;\n That every sense in turn must bear\n Of o\u2019er-sweet pleasure its full share,\n Till for awhile the very best\n They next might gain seemed utter rest,\n And of some freshness were they fain.\n So then the garden did they gain,\n And wandered there by twos and threes\n Amidst the flowers, or \u2019neath the trees,\n Sat, keeping troublous thoughts at bay. p. 188\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So fared they through the earlier day;\n But when the sun did now decline,\n And men grew graver for the wine\n That erst such noble tales had told;\n And maids no more were free and bold,\n But reddened at the words half-said,\n While round about the rebecks played;\n Then needs must the feastmasters strive\n Too pensive thoughts away to drive,\n And make the sun go down with mirth\n At least upon that spot of earth;\n So did the minstrel men come in,\n And tale-tellers the lay begin,\n And men by fabled woes were stirred,\n Or smiling their own follies heard\n Told of some other; and withal\n Here did the dice on table fall,\n Here stout in arms the chess-king stood;\n There young men stirred their sluggish blood\n With clattering sword and buckler play,\n There others on the daisies lay\n Above the moat, and watched their quill\n Make circles in the water still,\n Or laughed to see the damsel hold\n Her dainty skirt enwrought with gold\n Back from the flapping tench's tail,\n Or to his close-set dusky mail\n With gentle force brought laughingly\n The shrinking finger-tip anigh. p. 189\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Midst these abode a little knot\n Of youths and maidens, on a spot\n Fenced by a cloister of delight,\n Well wrought of marble green and white;\n Wherein upon a wall of gold\n Of Tristram was the story told,\n Well done by cunning hands that knew\n What form to man and beast was due;\n Midmost, upon a space of green,\n Half shaded from the summer sheen,\n Half with the afternoon sun thrown\n Upon its daisies glittering strewn,\n Was gathered that fair company\n Wherewith the bridegroom chanced to be,\n Who through the cloister door must gaze\n From time to time \u2019thwart the sun's blaze\n On to a shaded space of grass\n Whereon his new-wed maiden was,\n Hearkening in seeming to a song\n That told of some past love and wrong;\n But as he strained his ear to catch\n Across the wind some louder snatch\n Of the sweet tune, new-coming folk\n The sweet sight hid, the music broke;\n Of these one maiden trimly girt\n Bore in her gleaming upheld skirt\n Fair silken balls sewed round with gold;\n Which when the others did behold\n Men cast their mantles unto earth, p. 190\n And maids within their raiments\u2019 girth\n Drew up their gown-skirts, loosening here\n Some button on their bosoms clear\n Or slender wrists, there making tight\n The laces round their ankles light;\n For folk were wont within that land\n To cast the ball from hand to hand,\n Dancing meanwhile full orderly;\n So now the bridegroom with a sigh,\n Struggling with love's quick-gathering yoke,\n Turned round unto that joyous folk,\n And gat him ready for the play.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lovely to look on was the sway\n Of the slim maidens \u2019neath the ball\n As they swung back to note its fall\n With dainty balanced feet; and fair\n The bright outflowing golden hair,\n As swiftly, yet in measured wise\n One maid ran forth to gain the prize;\n Eyes glittered and young cheeks glowed bright,\n And gold-shod foot, round limb and light,\n Gleamed from beneath the girded gown\n That, unrebuked, untouched, was thrown\n Hither and thither by the breeze;\n Shrill, laughter smote the thick-leaved trees,\n Familiar names clear voices cried,\n Sweet sound rose up as sweet sound died,\n And still the circle spread and spread, p. 191\n As folk to all that goodlihead\n Kept thronging in, till they must stay\n A little while the eager play,\n And now, for very breathlessness,\n With rest the trodden daisies bless.\n So now against the wall some leaned,\n Some from amidst the daisies gleaned\n The yellow trefoil, and the blue\n Faint speedwell in the shade that grew;\n Some panting sat and clasped their knees\n With faces turned unto the breeze,\n And midst them the new-corners stood,\n With hair smooth yet and unstirred blood.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Laurence, the bridegroom, as the game\n Unto this tide of resting came,\n Turned idle eyes about, and met\n An image in the grey wall set,\n A thing he knew from early days:\n There in a gilded carven place\n Queen Venus\u2019 semblance stood, more fair\n Than women whom that day did bear,\n And yet a marvel for the life\n Wherewith its brazen limbs were rife.\n Not in that country was she wrought,\n Or in those days; she had been brought\n From a fair city far away,\n Ruined e\u2019en then for many a day;\n Full many a tale had there been told p. 192\n Of him who once that Queen did mould,\n And all of these were strange to hear,\n And dreadful some, and full of fear.\n And now as Laurence gazed upon\n That beauty, in the old days won\n He knew not from what pain and toil,\n Vague fear new-risen-up seemed to spoil\n The summer joy; her loveliness\n That hearts, long dead now, once did bless,\n Grown dangerous, \u2019gan to lead his mind\n On through a troublous maze and blind\n Of unnamed thoughts, and silently,\n With knitted brow, he drew anigh,\n And midst the babbling close did gaze\n Into the marvel of her face:\n Till, with a sudden start, at last\n His straying thoughts he seemed to cast\n Aside, and laughed aloud, and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O cold and brazen goodlihead,\n How lookest thou on those that live?\n Thou who, tales say, wert wont to strive\n On earth, in heaven, and \u2019neath the earth,\n To wrap all in thy net of mirth,\n And drag them down to misery\n Past telling\u2014and didst thou know why?\u2014\n And what has God done with thee then,\n That thou art perished from midst men\n E\u2019en as the things thou didst destroy, p. 193\n Thy Paris and thy town of Troy,\n And many a man and maid and town?\n How is thy glory fallen adown,\n That I, even I, must sigh for thee!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So spake he, as the minstrelsy\n Struck up once more a joyous strain,\n And called them to the play again;\n And therewithal he looked about,\n In answer to the merry shout\n That called on him by name to turn.\n But even therewith the sun did burn\n Upon his new-gained spousal-ring\u2014\n A wondrous work, a priceless thing,\n Whereon, \u2019neath mulberries white and red,\n And green leaves, lay fair Thisbe dead\n By her dead love; the low sun's blaze\n It caught now, and he fell to gaze\n Thereon, and said at last:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Perchance\n The ball might break it in the dance,\n And that an ugly omen were;\n Nay, one to ward it well is here.\n Thou, Goddess, that heardst Thisbe's vow,\n From blind eyes gaze upon her now\n Till I return mine own to claim;\n And as thou mayst, bear thou the shame\n Of being the handmaid to my love;\n Full sure I am thou wilt not move.\" p. 194\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Know that this image there did stand\n With arm put forth and open hand,\n As erst on Ida triumphing;\n And now did Laurence set the ring\n On the fourth finger fair and straight,\n And laughing, \"Thou mayst bear the weight,\"\n Turned back again unto the play.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To him slow passed the time away;\n But when at last in purple shade\n \u2019Twixt wall and wall the grass was laid,\n And he grew gladder therewithal,\n Then weariness on folk \u2019gan fall;\n The fifes left off their dancing tune,\n And sang of lovers fain of June,\n And thence that company \u2019gan go\n By twos and threes with footsteps slow,\n Pensive at end of mirthful day;\n But from them Laurence turned away\n Unto the carven dame, to take\n The ring he wore for true-love's sake;\u2014\n Daylight it was, though broad and red\n The sun was grown, and shadows led\n Eastward with long lines o\u2019er the grass\u2014\n \u2014Daylight, but what had come to pass?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nearby those voices still he heard\n In laugh and talk and careless word;\n Upon his cheek the wind blew cold;\n His own fair house he did behold p. 195\n Changed nowise; from the little close\n The scent of trodden grass arose\u2014\n How could it be a dream?\u2014Yet there\n She stood, the moveless image fair,\n The little-noticed, oft-seen thing,\n With hand fast closed upon his ring.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At first, in agony and haste,\n A frantic minute did he waste\n In pulling at the brazen hand,\n That was as firm as rocks that stand\n The day-long beating of the sea;\n Then did he reel back dizzily,\n And gaze at sky and earth and trees\n Once more, as asking words from these\n To ravel out his tale for him.\n But now as they were waxing dim\n Before his eyes, he heard his name\n Called out, and therewith fear of shame\n Brought back his heart and made him man.\n Unto his fellows, pale and wan,\n He turned, who, when they saw him so,\n What thing might ail him fain would know,\n For wild and strange he looked indeed;\n Then stammered he, \"Nay, nought I need\n But wine, in sooth: John, mind\u2019st thou not\n How on the steaming shore and hot\n Of Serendib a sting I gat\n From some unseen worm, as we sat p. 196\n Feasting one eve? Well, the black folk\n E\u2019en saved my life from that ill stroke,\n By leech-craft; yet they told me then\n I oft should feel that wound again,\n Till I had fifty years or more:\n This is a memory of that shore;\n A thing to be right soon forgot.\"\n And to himself, \"If this is not\n An empty dream, a cutting file\n My ring therefrom shall soon beguile,\n When, at the ending of the day,\n These wearying guests have gone away.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now unto supper all folk turned,\n And \u2019neath the torches red gold burned,\n And the best pageants of the day\n Swept through the hall and said their say,\n Departing e\u2019en as men's lives go:\n But though to Laurence slow and slow\n Those hours must needs seem, none the less\n He gave himself to mirthfulness,\n At least in seeming; till at last\n All guests from out the palace passed.\n And now the short soft summer night\n Was left at peace for their delight;\n But Laurence, muffled up and hid,\n Shrinking, betwixt his servants slid,\n For now he had a little space\n To come unto that mystic place, p. 197\n Where still his ring he thought to see.\n A file and chisel now had he,\n And weighty hammer; yet withal\n As he drew toward the cloister-wall,\n Well-nigh he called himself a fool,\n To go with cloak and blacksmith's tool,\n And lay hard blows upon a dream;\n For now in sooth he nigh must deem\n His eyes had mocked him; reaching soon\n That cloister by the broad high moon\n He hurried through the door, and heard\n All round the sound of June's brown bird\n Above the voices of the night;\n Trembling, he sprang into the light\n Through the black arches of the place,\n And stealing on stood face to face\n With the old smiling image there,\n And lowered to her fingers fair\n His troubled, wild, and shrinking eyes,\n And stretched his hand out to the prize:\u2014\n His eyes, his hand, were there in vain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Once more, as sure of coming gain,\n As erst in Ida she did stand,\n So stood she now; her open hand,\n That late he saw closed round the ring,\n Empty and bare of anything:\n Gaping awhile he stood, for fear\n Now made him think a voice to hear, p. 198\n And see her change soon, and depart\n From out her midst; but gathering heart,\n He muttered, \"Yet, what have I seen?\n Should it not even thus have been,\n If the closed hand was but a dream?\n Of some guest worser must I deem;\n Go, fool; thine own love waiteth thee.\"\n Therewith he went, yet fearfully\n Looked o\u2019er his shoulder on the way,\n And terror on his heart still lay.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet to his chamber at the last\n He came, and to the floor he cast\n His wrapping mantle, and alone\n He strove to think of all things done,\n And strove once more to bring again\n The longing sweet, the joy and pain\n That on that morn he called desire;\n For wretched fear had dulled that fire:\n And, whereas erewhile he had deemed\n That life was joy, and it had seemed\n A never-ending game to be,\n A fair and rich eternity\n Before him, now was it indeed\n A troublous fight, where he should need\n Help on the left hand and the right,\n Nor yet so \u2019scape the certain night.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But mid these thoughts he heard withal\n The chamberlain to pages call, p. 199\n To bear the bridal wine to him;\n And as he might he strove to dim\n His anxious thought, and with a smile\n The coming curious eyes beguile.\n They entered now, and whiles that he\n Drank from the gold cup feverishly,\n The minstrels, ere his draught was done,\n Struck up The King of England's Son,\n And soon amid that ordered word\n The lessening sound of feet he heard,\n And then the song itself must die.\n But from the bridechamber nearby\n Now for a space rose clear and sweet\n The damsels\u2019 song, Fair Marguerite;\n And when that ended all was still,\n And he with strained, divided will,\n Trembling with love, yet pale with fear,\n To the bridechamber door drew near,\n Muttering some well-remembered charm\n That erst had kept his soul from harm.\n Yet misty seemed the place; the wall\u2014\n Its woven waters seemed to fall,\n Its trees, its beasts, its loom-wrought folk,\n Now seemed indeed as though they woke,\n And moved unto him as he went.\n The room seemed full of some strange scent;\n And strains of wicked songs he heard,\n And half-said God-denying word:\n He reeled, and cried aloud, and strove p. 200\n To gain the door that hid his love;\n It seemed to him that, were he there,\n All would again be calm and fair.\n But in the way before his eyes\n A cloudy column seemed to rise,\n Cold, odorous, impalpable,\n And a voice cried, \"I love thee well,\n And thou hast loved me ere to-night,\n And longed for this o\u2019ergreat delight,\n And had no words therefor to pray.\n Come, have thy will, and cast away\n Thy foolish fear, thy foolish love,\n Since me at least thou canst not move,\n Now thou with ring hast wedded me:\n Come, cast the hope away from thee\n Wherewith unhappy brooding men\n Must mock their threescore years and ten;\n Come, thou that mockest me, I live!\n How with my beauty canst thou strive?\n Unhappy if thou couldst! for see\n What depth of joy there is in me!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then round about him closed the mist;\n It was as though his lips were kissed,\n His body by soft arms embraced,\n His fingers lovingly enlaced\n By other fingers; until he\n Midst darkness his own ring did see.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nought else awhile; then back there came p. 201\n New vision: as amidst white flame,\n The flower-girt goddess wavered there,\n Nor knew he now where they twain were,\n Midst wild desire that nigh did rend\n His changed heart; then there came an end\n Of all that light and ecstasy;\n His soul grew blind, his eyes could see;\n And, moaning from an empty heart,\n He saw the hangings blown apart\n By the night wind, the lights flare red\n In the white light the high moon shed\n O\u2019er all the place he knew so well,\n And senseless on the floor he fell.\nAH, what a night to what a morn!\n Ah, what a morrow black with scorn,\n And hapless end of happy love!\n What shame his helpless shame to prove!\n For who, indeed, alone could bear\n The dreadful shame, the shameful fear,\n Of such a bridal? Think withal,\n More trusted such a tale would fall\n Upon those folks' ears than on most,\n Who, as I said erst, saw a host\n Of wild things lurking in the night;\n To whom was magic much as right\n As prayers or holy psalmody. p. 202\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So nothing else it seemed might be,\n When Laurence for three nights had striven\n To gain the fair maid to him given,\n But that her sire should know the thing\n And help him with his counselling.\n So, weary, wasted with his shame,\n Unto his house the bridegroom came,\n And when the twain were left alone\n He told him how the thing had gone.\n The old man doubted not the sooth\n Of what he said, but, touched with ruth,\n Yet spent no time in mourning vain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Son,\" said he, \"idle were the pain\n To seek if thou some deed hast wrought\n Which on thine head this grief hath brought\u2014\n Some curse for which this doth atone,\n Some laugh whereby is honour gone\n From the dread powers unnameable:\n Rather, who now can help thee well?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Small heed, my father,\" Laurence said,\n \"Gave I to such things, and small dread\n To anything I could not see,\n But it were God who fashioned me:\n From witch-wives have I bought ere now\n Wind-bags indeed, but yet did trow\n Nothing therein, but dealt with these\n My shipmen's clamour to appease.\" p. 203\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well,\" said he, \"that perchance is worse\n For thee, yea, may have gained this curse.\n But come, I know a certain man\n Who in these things great marvels can,\n And something of an age are we,\n Yoke-fellows in astronomy\u2014\n \u00a0A many years agone, alas!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So therewithal the twain did pass\n Toward the great church, and entered there,\n And, going \u2019twixt the pillars fair,\n Came to a chapel, where a priest\n Made ready now the Holy Feast:\n \"Hist,\" said the old man, \"there he is;\n May he find healing for all this!\n Kneel down, and note him not too much,\n No easy man he is to touch.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So down upon the floor of stone\n They knelt, until the mass was done,\n Midst peasant folk, and sailors\u2019 wives,\n Sore careful for their husbands\u2019 lives;\n But when the mass was fully o\u2019er\n They made good haste unto the door\n That led unto the sacristy:\n And there a ring right fair to see\n The old man to a verger gave\n In token, praying much to have\n With Dan Palumbus speech awhile:\n The verger took it with a smile, p. 204\n As one who says, 'Ye ask in vain;'\n But presently he came again,\n And said, \"Fair sir, come hither then,\n The priest will see you of all men!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With eyes made grave by their intent\n From out the lordly church they went\n Into the precinct, and withal\n They passed along the minster wall,\n And heard amid the buttresses\n The grey hawks chatter to the breeze,\n The sanctus bell run down the wind;\n Until the priest's house did they find,\n Built \u2019neath the belfry huge and high,\n Fluttered about perpetually\n By chattering daws, and shaken well\n From roof to pavement, when the bell\n Flung out its sound o\u2019er night or day.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Sirs, Dan Palumbus takes his way\n E\u2019en now from out the sacristy,\"\n The verger said, \"sirs, well be ye!\n For time it is that I were gone.\"\n Therewith he left the twain alone\n Beside the door, and, sooth to say,\n In haste he seemed to get away\n As one afeard; but they bode there,\n And round about the house did peer,\n But found nought dreadful: small it was,\n Set on a tiny plot of grass, p. 205\n And on each side the door a bay\n Brushed \u2019gainst the oak porch rent and grey;\n A yard-wide garden ran along\n The wall, by ancient box fenced strong;\n And in the corner, where it met\n The belfry, was a great yew set,\n Where sat the blackbird-hen in spring,\n Hearkening her bright-billed husband sing.\n A peaceful place it should have been\n For one who of the world had seen\n O\u2019er much, and quiet watch would keep\n Over his soul awaiting sleep.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now they heard the priest draw nigh,\n And saw him and his shadow high\n Wind round the wind-worn buttresses;\n So coming by the last of these\n He met them face to face: right tall\n He was; his straight black hair did fall\n About his shoulders; strong he seemed,\n His eyes look far off, as he dreamed\n Of other things than what they saw;\n Strange lines his thin pale face did draw\n Into a set wild look of pain\n And terror. As he met the twain\n He greeted well his ancient friend,\n And prayed them within doors to wend.\n Small was his chamber; books were there\n Right many, and in seeming fair. p. 206\n But who knows what therein might be\n \u2019Twixt board and board of oaken tree?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Palumbus bade them sit, and sat,\n And talked apace of this and that,\n Nor heeded that the youth spake wild,\n Nor that his old friend coughed and smiled,\n As ill at ease, while the priest spake,\n Then from his cloak a purse did take,\n And at the last pushed in his word\n Edgewise, as \u2019twere. Palumbus heard\n As one who fain had been born deaf,\n Then rose and cried, \"Thou fill\u2019st the sheaf,\n Thou fill\u2019st the sheaf! this is my doom,\n Well may the sexton make my tomb!\"\n And up and down he walked, muttering,\n \u2019Twixt closed teeth, many a nameless thing.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last he stopped and said, \"O ye,\n I knew that ye would come to me,\n And offer me great store of gold:\n Full often good help have I sold,\n And thus this tide should I have done;\n But on this mountain of grey stone\n I stood last night, and in my art\n I dealt; and terror filled my heart,\n And hope, and great uncertainty;\n Therefore I deem that I shall die;\n For cool and bold erst have I been, p. 207\n Whatever I have heard and seen;\n But the old Master of my fear\n Seems afar now, and God grown near;\n And soon I look to see his face.\n Therefore, if but for a short space,\n Would I be on his side, and do\n A good deed; all the more for you;\n Since thou art part of sweet days, friend,\n That once we deemed would never end;\n And in thine eyes meseems, O youth,\n Kindness I see and hope and truth;\n And thou and he may speak a word\n For me unto my master's Lord:\u2014\n Well, I must reap that I did sow\u2014\n But take your gold again and go:\n And thou for six days fast and pray,\n And come here on the seventh day\n About nightfall; then shalt thou learn\n In what way doth the matter turn,\n And fully know of time and place,\n And be well armed thy foe to face.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So homeward doubtful went the twain,\n And Laurence spent in fear and pain\n The six long days; and so at last,\n When the seventh sun was well-nigh past,\n Came to that dark man's fair abode;\n The grey tower with the sunset glowed,\n The daws wheeled black against the sky p. 208\n About the belfry windows high,\n Or here and there one sank adown\n The dizzy shaft of panelled stone;\n And sound of children nigh the close\n Was mingled with the cries of those;\n And e\u2019en as Laurence laid his hand\n Upon the latch, and there did stand\n Lingering a space, most startling clear\n The sweet chime filled the evening air.\n He entered mid the great bell's drone,\n And found Palumbus all alone\n Mid books laid open:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Rest,\" said he;\n \"Time presses not for thee or me:\n Surely shall I die soon enow.\"\n Silent, with hands laid to his brow,\n He sat then, nor did Laurence speak,\n Fearing perchance some spell to break:\n At last the priest caught up a book,\n And from its leaves a letter took,\n And unknown words there were on it\n For superscription duly writ,\n And sealed it was in solemn wise.\n He said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Thou knowest where there lies\n Five leagues hence, or a little less,\n North of the town, a sandy ness\n That shipmen call St. Clement's Head;\n South of it dreary land and dead p. 209\n Lies stretched now, and the sea bears o\u2019er\n Ruin of shingle evermore,\n And saps the headland year by year,\n And long have husbandmen had fear\n Of its short-lived and treacherous soil,\n And left it free from any toil.\n There, with thy face turned toward the rand,\n At the hill's foot take thou thy stand,\n Just where the turf the shingle meets,\n Wherewith the sea the marshland eats;\n But seaward if thy face thou turn,\n What I have learned then shalt thou learn\n With like reward\u2014watch carefully\n And well, and a strange company\n Shall pass thee as thou standest there,\n And heed thee not\u2014some foul some fair,\n Some glad some sorry; rule thy heart,\n And heed them nothing for thy part,\n Till at the end of all thou seest\n A great lord on a marvellous beast\n Unnameable; on him cry out,\n And he thereon shall turn about\n And ask thy need; have thou no fear,\n But give him what I give thee here,\n And let him read, and thou shalt win\n Thine happiness, and have no sin.\n But as for me, be witness thou\n That in the scroll I give thee now,\n My death lies, and I know it well, p. 210\n And cry to God against his hell.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In languid voice he spake as one,\n Who knows the task that must be done,\n And how each word from him should fall,\n And gives no heed to it at all;\n But here he stopped a little space,\n And once more covered up his face;\n But soon began his speech again\n In a soft voice, and freed from pain:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"And for the folk that thou shalt see,\n Whence cometh all that company,\u2014\n Marvel thou not thereat, for know\n That this is sure; long years ago,\n Leagues seaward of that barren place,\n The temple of a glorious race,\n Built with far mightier walls than these,\n Stood fair midst groves of whispering trees.\n Thence come these folk remembering\n Their glory once so great a thing\u2014\n I have said: 'Could they be once more\n As they have been,\u2014but all is o\u2019er,\n What matters what is, what has been,\n And what shall be, when I have seen\n The last few hours of my last day?-\n Depart.\u2014Ah me, to cast away\n Such power as I on earth have had!\n I who could make the lover glad\n Above his love's dead face,\u2014at least p. 211\n A little while\u2014now has all ceased\n With that small scrap of black and white:\n Think of me, God, midst thy delight,\n And save me! yea, or do thy will!\n For thou too hast beheld my skill.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The scroll did Laurence hold in hand,\n And silent he a space did stand,\n Gazing upon Palumbus, who\n Sat open-eyed, as though he knew\n Nought of what things were round about;\n So, stealthily, and in great doubt\n Of strange things yet to come to pass,\n Did Laurence gain the darkening grass,\n And through the precinct and the town\n He passed, and reached the foreshores brown,\n And gathered heart, and as he might\n Went boldly forward through the night.\n At first on his left hand uprose\n Great cliffs and sheer, and, rent from those,\n Boulders strewn thick across the strand,\n Made weary work for foot and hand;\n But well he knew the path indeed,\n And scarce of such light had he need\n As still the summer eve might shed\n From the high stars or sunset dead.\n Soft was the lovely time and fair,\n A little sea-wind raised his hair,\n That seemed as though from heaven it blew. p. 212\n All sordid thoughts the sweet time slew,\n And gave good hope such welcoming,\n That presently he \u2019gan to sing,\n Though still amid the quiet night\n He could not hear his song aright\n For the grave thunder of the sea\n That smote the beach so musically,\n And in the dim light seemed so soft\n As each great wave was raised aloft\n To fall in foam, you might have deemed\n That waste of ocean was but dreamed,\n And that the surf's strong music was\n By some unknown thing brought to pass;\n And Laurence, singing as he went,\n As in some lower firmament,\n Beneath the line that marked where met\n The world's roof and the highway wet,\n Could see a ship's light gleam afar\n Scarce otherwise than as a star,\n While o\u2019erhead fields of thin white cloud\n The more part of the stars did shroud.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So on he went, and here and there\n A few rough fisher-caries there were,\n Launching their ordered keels to sea\n Eager to gain, if it might be,\n The harbour-mouth with morning-light,\n Or else some bird that flies by night\n Wheeled round about with his harsh cry; p. 213\n Or as the cliffs sank he could spy\n Afar some homestead glittering\n With high feast or some other thing.\n Such gleams of fellowship had he\n At first along the unquiet sea,\n But when a long way off the town\n The cliffs were wholly sunken down,\n And on the marshland's edge he went,\n For all sounds then the night-jar sent\n Its melancholy laugh across\n The sea-wind moaning for the loss\n Of long-drowned lands, that in old time\n Were known for great in many a clime.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But the moon rose, and \u2019neath its light,\n Cloud-barred, the wide wastes came in sight,\n With gleaming, sand-choked, reed-clad pools,\n And marsh-lights for the mock of fools;\n And o\u2019er the waste beneath the moon\n The sea-wind piped a dreary tune,\n And louder grew, and the world then\n No more seemed made for sons of men,\n And summer seemed an empty name,\n And harvest-time a mock and shame:\n Such hopeless ruin seemed settled there,\n On acres sunny once and fair.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But Laurence now could well behold\n The sandy headland bare and bold p. 214\n Against the sea, and stayed his feet\n Awhile, to think how he should meet\n These nameless things, his enemies,\n The lords of terror and disease;\n Then trembling, hastened on, for thought\n Full many an image to him brought,\n Once seen, with loathing cast aside,\n But ready e\u2019en for such a tide,\n Come back with longing's added sting,\n And whatso horrors time could bring.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now thrusting all these thoughts apart\n He hastened on with hardy heart,\n Till on the doubtful place he stood\n Where the sea sucked the pasture's blood,\n And with back turned unto the sea\n He strove to think right strenuously\n Of this and that well-liking place;\n The merry clamour of the chase,\n Pageant of soldier or of priest,\n Or market-place or crowded feast,\n Or splintered spears for ladies' sake,\n Until he \u2019gan to dream awake:\n Then, midst of all his striving, still\n His happiest thoughts must turn to ill,\n As in a fevered, restless dream.\n He thought about some flowery stream,\n Himself in gilded boat thereon\u2014\n A livid cloud came o\u2019er the sun,\n A great wave swept from bank to bank; p. 215\n Or flower-crowned amid friends he drank,\n And as he raised the red wine up\n Fell poison shrieked from out the cup;\n The garland when his heart was full\n He set upon a fleshless skull;\n The lute turned to a funeral bell,\n The golden door led down to hell.\n Then back from dreams his soul he brought,\n And of his own ill matters thought,\n And found his fear the lesser grew\n When all his heart therein he threw.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet awful was the time indeed,\n And of good heart sore had he need:\n The wind's moan louder than before,\n Some wave cast higher up the shore,\n The night-bird's brushing past his head,\u2014\n All little things grew full of dread;\n Yet did he waver nought at all,\n Or turn, for whatso thing might fall.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moon was growing higher now,\n The east wind had been strong to blow\n The night sky clear from vexing cloud,\n And in the west his flock did crowd;\n Sharper things grew beneath the light,\n As with a false dawn; thin and bright\n The horned poppies\u2019 blossoms shone\n Upon a shingle-bank, thrust on p. 216\n By the high tide to choke the grass;\n And nigh it the sea-holly was,\n Whose cold grey leaves and stiff stark shade\n On earth a double moonlight made:\n Above him, specked with thorn and whin,\n And clad with short grey grass and thin,\n The hill ran up, and Laurence knew\n That down the other slope there grew\n A dark pine-wood, whose added sound\n Scarce noted, yet did more confound,\n With changing note, his wearied mind.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now with drowsiness grown blind,\n Once more he tottered on his place,\n And let fall down his weary face;\n But then remembering all his part,\n Once and again woke with a start,\n And dozed again; and then at last,\n Shuddering, all slumber from him cast,\n Yet scarce knew if he lived or no:\n For by his scared wild eyes did go\n A wondrous pageant, noiselessly,\n Although so close it passed him by;\n The fluttering raiment by him brushed,\n As through its folds the sea-wind rushed.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By then his eyes were opened wide.\n Already up the grey hill-side\n The backs of two were turned to him: p. 217\n One like a young man tall and slim,\n Whose heels with rosy wings were dight;\n One like a woman clad in white,\n With glittering wings of many a hue,\n Still changing, and whose shape none knew.\n In aftertime would Laurence say,\n That though the moonshine, cold and grey,\n Flooded the lonely earth that night,\n These creatures in the moon's despite\n Were coloured clear, as though the sun\n Shone through the earth to light each one,\n And terrible was that to see.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But while he stood, and shudderingly\n Still gazed on those departing twain,\n Yet \u2019gan to gather heart again,\n A noise like echoes of a shout\n Seemed in the cold air all about,\n And therewithal came faint and thin\n What seemed a far-off battle's din,\n And on a sight most terrible\n His eyes in that same minute fell,\u2014\n The images of slaughtered men,\n With set eyes and wide wounds, as when\n Upon the field they first lay slain;\n And those who there had been their bane\n With open mouths as if to shout,\n And frightful eyes of rage and doubt,\n And hate that never more should die. p. 218\n Then went the shivering fleers by,\n With death's fear ever in their eyes;\n And then the heaped-up fatal prize,\n The blood-stained coin, the unset gem,\n The gold robe torn from hem to hem,\n The headless, shattered golden God,\n The dead priest's crushed divining-rod;\n The captives, weak from blow and wound,\n Toiling along; the maiden, bound\n And helpless, in her raiment torn;\n The ancient man's last day forlorn:\n Onward they pressed, and though no sound\n Their footfalls made upon the ground,\n Most real indeed they seemed to be.\n The spilt blood savoured horribly,\n Heart-breaking the dumb writhings were,\n Unuttered curses filled the air;\n Yea, as the wretched band went past,\n A dreadful look one woman cast\n On Laurence, and upon his breast\n A wounded blood-stained hand she pressed.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But on the heels of these there came\n A King, that through the night did flame,\n For something more than steel or brass\n The matter of his armour was;\n Its fashion strange past words to say;\n Who knows where first it saw the day?\n On a red horse he rode; his face p. 219\n Gave no more hope of any grace\n Than through the blackness of the night\n The swift-descending lightning might;\n And yet therein great joy indeed\n The brightness of his eyes did feed;;\u2014\n A joy as of the leaping fire\n Over the house-roof rising higher\n To greet the noon-sun, when the glaive\n Forbids all folk to help or save.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet harmless this one passed him by,\n And through the air deliciously\n Faint pensive music breathed, and then\n There came a throng of maids and men\u2014\n A young and fair and gentle band;\n Whereof some passed him hand in hand,\n Some side by side not touching walked,\n As though of happy things they talked;\n Noiseless they were like all the rest\n As past him up the hill they pressed;\n Yet she who brushed by him most close\n Cast to his feet a fresh red rose.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then somewhat of a space there was\n Before the next band \u2019gan to pass,\n So faint they moved for very woe;\n And these were men and maids also,\n And young were most, and most were fair;\n And hand in hand some few went there,\n And still were fain with love to see p. 220\n Each other's bitter misery;\n But most, just sundered, went along,\n With faces drawn by hidden wrong,\n Clenched hands and muttering lips that cursed\n From brooding hearts their sin that nursed.\n And she that went the last of all,\n Black-robed, in passing by let fall\n At Laurence's feet a black-bound wreath\n Of bitter herbs long come to death.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alone, afoot, when these were gone,\n A bright one came, whose garments shone\n In wondrous wise; a bow he bore,\n And deadly feathered shafts' good store;\n Winged was he and most Godlike fair;\n Slowly he went, and oft would stare\n With eyes distraught down on the grass,\n As waiting what might come to pass;\n Then whiles would he look up again,\n And set his teeth as if with pain;\n And whiles for very joy of heart\n His eyes would gleam, his lips would part\n With such a smile as though the earth\n Were newly made to give him mirth;\n Back o\u2019er his shoulder would he gaze\n Seaward, or through the marshland haze\n That lay before, strain long and hard,\n Till fast the tears fell on the sward:\u2014\n So towards the hill's brow wandered he. p. 221\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then through the moaning of the sea\n There came a faint and thrilling strain,\n Till Laurence strove with tears in vain,\n I And his flesh trembled, part with fear,\n Part as with some great pleasure near,\n And then his dazzled eyes could see\n Once more a noiseless company;\n And his heart failed him at the sight,\n And he forgot both wrong and right,\n And nothing thought of his intent;\n For close before him now there went\n Fair women clad in ancient guise\n That hid but little from his eyes\n More loveliness than earth doth hold\n Now, when her bones are growing old;\n But all too swift they went by him,\n And fluttering gown and ivory limb\n Went twinkling up the bare hill-side,\n And lonely there must he abide.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then seaward had he nigh turned round,\n And thus the end of life had found,\n When even before his wildered sight\n There glided forth a figure white,\n And passed him by afoot, alone;\n No raiment on her sweet limbs shone,\n Only the tresses of her hair\n The wind drove round her body fair;\n No sandals were there on her feet, p. 222\n But still before them blossoms sweet\n Unnamed, unknown within that land,\n Sprang up; she held aloft her hand\n As to the trembling man she turned\n Her glorious eyes, and on it burned\n The dreadful pledge, the looked-for thing,\n The well-wrought, lovely spousal ring.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then Laurence trembled more and more;\n Huge longing his faint heart swept o\u2019er,\n As one who would a boon beseech.\n His fevered hand forth did he reach,\n And then she stayed and gazed at him,\n Just moving lightly each fair limb\n As one who loiters, but must go;\n But even as the twain stood so,\n She saying nought, he saying nought,\n And who knows what wild wave of thought\n Beating betwixt them, from his girth\n The dread scroll loosened fell to earth,\n And to his ears where sounds waxed dim\n Louder its rustle seemed to him\n Than loudest thunder; down he bent,\n Remembering now his good intent,\n And got the scroll within his hand;\n And when mid prayers he came to stand\n Upright again, then was she gone,\n And he once more was left alone. p. 223\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Foredone, bewildered, downcast now,\n Confused clamour heard he grow,\n And then swept onward through the night\n A babbling crowd in raiment bright,\n Wherein none listened aught at all\n To what from other lips might fall,\n And none might meet his fellow's gaze;\n And still o\u2019er every restless face\n Passed restless shades of rage and pain,\n And sickening fear and longing vain.\n On wound that manifold agony\n Unholpen, vile, till earth and sea\n Grew silent, till the moonlight died\n Before a false light blaring wide,\n And from amidst that fearful folk\n The Lord of all the pageant broke.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Most like a mighty king was he,\n And crowned and sceptered royally;\n As a white flame his visage shone,\n Sharp, clear-cut as a face of stone;\n But flickering flame, not flesh, it was;\n And over it such looks did pass\n Of wild desire, and pain, and fear,\n As in his people's faces were,\n But tenfold fiercer: furthermore,\n A wondrous steed the Master bore,\n Unnameable of kind or make,\n Not horse, nor hippogriff, nor drake. p. 224\n Like and unlike to all of these,\n And flickering like the semblances\n Of an ill dream, wrought as in scorn\n Of sunny noon, fresh eve, and morn,\n That feed the fair things of the earth.\n And now brake out a mock of mirth\n From all that host, and all their eyes\n Were turned on Laurence in strange wise,\n Who met the maddening fear that burned\n Round his unholpen heart, and turned\n Unto the dreadful king and cried:\n \"What errand go ye on? Abide,\n Abide! for I have tarried long;\n Turn thou to me, and right my wrong!\n One of thy servants keeps from me\n That which I gave her not; nay, see\n What thing thy Master bids thee do!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then wearily, as though he knew\n How all should be, the Master turned,\n And his red eyes on Laurence burned,\n As without word the scroll he took;\n But as he touched the skin he shook\n As though for fear, and presently\n In a great voice he \u2019gan to cry:\n \"Shall this endure for ever, Lord?\n Hast thou no care to keep thy word?\n And must such double men abide?\n Not mine, not mine, nor on thy side? p. 225\n For as thou cursest them I curse:\u2014\n Make thy souls better, Lord, or worse!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then spake he to the trembling man,\n \"What I am bidden, that I can;\n Bide here, and thou shalt see thine own\n Unto thy very feet cast down;\n Then go and dwell in peace awhile.\"\n Then round he turned with sneering smile,\n And once more lonely was the night,\n And colourless with grey moonlight.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But soon indeed the dawn drew near,\n As Laurence stood \u2019twixt hope and fear,\n Still doubting, now that all was gone,\n If his own heart the thing had done,\n Though on his coat the blood-mark was,\n Though rose and wreath lay on the grass;\n So long he waited wearily,\n Until, when dawn \u2019gan stripe the sky,\n If he were waking scarce he knew,\n When, as he deemed, a white cloud drew\n Anigh him from the marshland grey,\n Over the empty ghost-trod way,\n And from its midst a voice there' came:\n \"Thou who hast wrought me added shame,\n Take back thine own and go thy ways;\n And think, perchance, in coming days, p. 226\n When all grows old about thee, how\n From foolish hands thou needs must throw\n A gift of unhoped great delight.\"\n It vanished as the east grew bright,\n And in the shadowless still morn\n A sense of rest to him was born,\n And looking down unto his feet,\n His eyes the spousal-ring did meet.\n He caught it up with a glad cry,\n And kissed it over longingly,\n And set it on his hand again;\n And dreamlike now, and vague and vain,\n Seemed all those images of fear,\n The wicked sights that held him there;\n And rather now his eyes could see\n Her that was his now verily.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then from that drear unhallowed place\n With merry heart he set his face.\n A light wind o\u2019er the ocean blew,\n And fresh and fair the young day grew;\n The sun rose o\u2019er the green sea's rim,\n And gave new life and joy to him;\n The white birds crying o\u2019er his head\n Seemed praising all his hardihead,\n And laughing at the worsted foe;\n So, joyous, onward did he go,\n And in a little sheltered bay\n His weariness he washed away, p. 227\n And made afresh on toward the town:\n He met the fish-wife coming down\n From her red cottage to the strand,\n The fisher-children hand in hand\n Over some wonder washed ashore;\n The old man muttering words of lore\n About the wind that was to be;\n And soon the white sails specked the sea,\n And fisher-keel on fisher-keel\n The furrowed sand again did feel,\n And round them many a barefoot maid\n The burden on her shoulders laid,\n While unto rest the fishers went,\n And grumbling songs from rough throats sent.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now all is done, and he at last,\n Weary, but full of joy, has passed\n Over his threshold once again,\n And scarce believed is all the pain\n And all the fear that he has had,\n Now night and day shall make him glad.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As for Palumbus, tossed about\n His soul might be in dread and doubt,\n In rest at least his body lay\n Ere the great bell struck noon that day.\n And soon a carver did his best\n To make an image of that rest, p. 228\n Nor aught of gold did Laurence spare\n To make his tomb both rich and fair;\n And o\u2019er his clasped hands and his head\n Thereafter many a mass was said.\nSO when the tale was clean done, with a smile\n The old priest looked around a little while,\n That grew, as young and old \u2019gan say their say\n On that strange dream of time long past away;\n So listening, with his pleased and thoughtful look\n He \u2019gan turn o\u2019er the worn leaves of his book,\n Half noting at the first the flowers therein,\n Drawn on the margin of the yellowing skin\n Where chapters ended; or fair images\n Of kings and lords amidst of war and peace\n At books\u2019 beginnings; till within a space\n His eyes grew fixed upon a certain place,\n And he seemed reading. Was it then the name\n Of some old town before his eyes that came,\n And drew his thoughts there? Did he see it now?\n The bridge across the river choked with snow;\n The pillared market-place, not thronged this eve;\n The muffled goodwives making haste to leave\n The gusty minster porch, whose windows shone\n With the firs t-litten candles; while the drone\n Of the great organ shook the leaded panes,\n And the wind moaned about the turret vanes?\n \u2014Nought changed there, and himself so changed mid change,\n That the next land\u2014Death's land\u2014would seem nought strange p. 230\n To his awakening eyes!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ah! good and ill,\n When will your strife the fated measure fill?\n When will the tangled veil be drawn away,\n And show us all that unimagined day?","title":"The Earthly Paradise (December-February): January: The Ring Given to Venus","type":"page"}