Complete Works of William Morris, page 478
And the sore drought and famine that on ship-board fell on us,
Ere the sea was o’erpast, and we came scarcely living
To those keepers of sheep, the poor folk and the kind?
Dost thou mind not the merchants who brought us thence northward,
And this land that we made in the twilight of dawning?
And the city herein where all kindness forsook us,
And our bitter bread sought we from house-door to house-door.
KING PHARAMOND
As the shadow of clouds o’er the summer sea sailing
Is the memory of all now, and whiles I remember
And whiles I forget; and nought it availeth
Remembering, forgetting; for a sleep is upon me
That shall last a long while: — there thou liest, my fosterer,
As thou lay’st a while since ere that twilight of dawning;
And I woke and looked forth, and the dark sea, long changeless,
Was now at last barred by a dim wall that swallowed
The red shapeless moon, and the whole sea was rolling,
Unresting, unvaried, as grey as the void is,
Toward that wall ‘gainst the heavens as though rest were behind it.
Still onward we fared and the moon was forgotten,
And colder the sea grew and colder the heavens,
And blacker the wall grew, and grey, green-besprinkled,
And the sky seemed to breach it; and lo at the last
Many islands of mountains, and a city amongst them.
White clouds of the dawn, not moving yet waning,
Wreathed the high peaks about; and the sea beat for ever
‘Gainst the green sloping hills and the black rocks and beachless.
— Is this the same land that I saw in that dawning?
For sure if it is thou at least shalt hear tidings,
Though I die ere the dark: but for thee, O my fosterer,
Lying there by my side, I had deemed the old vision
Had drawn forth the soul from my body to see her.
And with joy and fear blended leapt the heart in my bosom,
And I cried, “The last land, love; O hast thou abided?”
But since then hath been turmoil, and sickness, and slumber,
And my soul hath been troubled with dreams that I knew not.
And such tangle is round me life fails me to rend it,
And the cold cloud of death rolleth onward to hide me. —
— O well am I hidden, who might not be happy!
I see not, I hear not, my head groweth heavy.
[Falls back as if sleeping.
MASTER OLIVER
— O Son, is it sleep that upon thee is fallen?
Not death, O my dear one! — speak yet but a little!
KING PHARAMOND (raising himself again)
O be glad, foster-father! and those troubles past over, —
Be thou thereby when once more I remember
And sit with my maiden and tell her the story,
And we pity our past selves as a poet may pity
The poor folk he tells of amid plentiful weeping.
Hush now! as faint noise of bells over water
A sweet sound floats towards me, and blesses my slumber:
If I wake never more I shall dream and shall see her. [Sleeps.
MASTER OLIVER
Is it swooning or sleeping? in what wise shall he waken?
— Nay, no sound I hear save the forest wind wailing.
Who shall help us to-day save our yoke-fellow Death?
Yet fain would I die mid the sun and the flowers;
For a tomb seems this yew-wood ere yet we are dead.
And its wailing wind chilleth my yearning for time past,
And my love groweth cold in this dusk of the daytime.
What will be? is worse than death drawing anear us?
Flit past, dreary day! come, night-tide and resting!
Come, to-morrow’s uprising with light and new tidings!
— Lo, Lord, I have borne all with no bright love before me;
Wilt thou break all I had and then give me no blessing?
THE MUSIC
LOVE IS ENOUGH: through the trouble and tangle
From yesterdays dawning to yesterday’s night
I sought through the vales where the prisoned winds wrangle,
Till, wearied and bleeding, at end of the light
I met him, and we wrestled, and great was my might.
O great was my joy, though no rest was around me,
Though mid wastes of the world were we twain all alone,
For methought that I conquered and he knelt and he crowned me,
And the driving rain ceased, and the wind ceased to moan,
And through clefts of the clouds her planet outshone.
O through clefts of the clouds ‘gan the world to awaken,
And the bitter wind piped, and down drifted the rain,
And I was alone — and yet not forsaken,
For the grass was untrodden except by my pain:
With a Shadow of the Night had I wrestled in vain.
And the Shadow of the Night and not Love was departed;
I was sore, I was weary, yet Love lived to seek;
So I scaled the dark mountains, and wandered sad-hearted
Over wearier wastes, where e’en sunlight was bleak,
With no rest of the night for my soul waxen weak.
With no rest of the night; for I waked mid a story
Of a land wherein Love is the light and the lord,
Where my tale shall be heard, and my wounds gain a glory,
And my tears be a treasure to add to the hoard
Of pleasure laid up for his people’s reward.
Ah, pleasure laid up! haste thou onward and listen,
For the wind of the waste has no music like this,
And not thus do the rocks of the wilderness glisten:
With the host of his faithful through sorrow and bliss
My Lord goeth forth now, and knows me for his.
Enter before the curtain LOVE, with a cup of bitter drink and his hands bloody.
LOVE
O Pharamond, I knew thee brave and strong,
And yet how might’st thou live to bear this wrong?
— A wandering-tide of three long bitter years,
Solaced at whiles by languor of soft tears,
By dreams self-wrought of night and sleep and sorrow,
Holpen by hope of tears to be to-morrow:
Yet all, alas, but wavering memories;
No vision of her hands, her lips, her eyes,
Has blessed him since he seemed to see her weep,
No wandering feet of hers beset his sleep.
Woe’s me then! am I cruel, or am I grown
The scourge of Fate, lest men forget to moan?
What! — is there blood upon these hands of mine?
Is venomed anguish mingled with my wine?
— Blood there may be, and venom in the cup;
But see, Beloved, how the tears well up
From my grieved heart my blinded eyes to grieve,
And in the kindness of old days believe!
So after all then we must weep to-day —
— We, who behold at ending of the way,
These lovers tread a bower they may not miss
Whose door my servant keepeth, Earthly Bliss:
There in a little while shall they abide,
Nor each from each their wounds of wandering hide,
But kiss them, each on each, and find it sweet,
That wounded so the world they may not meet.
— Ah, truly mine! since this your tears may move,
The very sweetness of rewarded love!
Ah, truly mine, that tremble as ye hear
The speech of loving lips grown close and dear;
— Lest other sounds from other doors ye hearken,
Doors that the wings of Earthly Anguish darken.
Scene: On a Highway in a Valley near the last, with a Mist over all things.
KING PHARAMOND, MASTER OLIVER.
KING PHARAMOND
Hold a while, Oliver! my limbs are grown weaker
Than when in the wood I first rose to my feet.
There was hope in my heart then, and now nought but sickness;
There was sight in my eyes then, and now nought but blindness.
Good art thou, hope, while the life yet tormenteth,
But a better help now have I gained than thy goading.
Farewell, O life, wherein once I was merry!
O dream of the world, I depart now, and leave thee
A little tale added to thy long-drawn-out story.
Cruel wert thou, O Love, yet have thou and I conquered.
— Come nearer, O fosterer, come nearer and kiss me,
Bid farewell to thy fosterling while the life yet is in me,
For this farewell to thee is my last word meseemeth.
[He lies down and sleeps.
MASTER OLIVER
O my king, O my son! Ah, woe’s me for my kindness,
For the day when thou drew’st me and I let thee be drawn
Into toils I knew deadly, into death thou desiredst!
And woe’s me that I die not! for my body made hardy
By the battles of old days to bear every anguish!
— Speak a word and forgive me, for who knows how long yet
Are the days of my life, and the hours of my loathing!
He speaks not, he moves not; yet he draweth breath softly:
I have seen men a-dying, and not thus did the end come.
Surely God who made all forgets not love’s rewarding,
Forgets not the faithful, the guileless who fear not.
Oh, might there be help yet, and some new life’s beginning!
— Lo, lighter the mist grows: there come sounds through its dulness,
The lowing of kine, or the whoop of a shepherd,
The bell-wether’s tinkle, or clatter of horse-hoofs.
A homestead is nigh us: I will fare down the highway
And seek for some helping: folk said simple people
Abode in this valley, and these may avail us —
If aught it avail us to live for a little.
— Yea, give it us, God! — all the fame and the glory
We fought for and gained once; the life of well-doing,
Fair deed thrusting on deed, and no day forgotten;
And due worship of folk that his great heart had holpen; —
All I prayed for him once now no longer I pray for.
Let it all pass away as my warm breath now passeth
In the chill of the morning mist wherewith thou hidest
Fair vale and grey mountain of the land we are come to!
Let it all pass away! but some peace and some pleasure
I pray for him yet, and that I may behold it.
A prayer little and lowly, — and we in the old time
When the world lay before us, were we hard to the lowly?
Thou know’st we were kind, howso hard to be beaten;
Wilt thou help us this last time? or what hast thou hidden
We know not, we name not, some crown for our striving?
— O body and soul of my son, may God keep thee!
For, as lone as thou liest in a land that we see not
When the world loseth thee, what is left for its losing?
[Exit OLIVER.
THE MUSIC
LOVE IS ENOUGH: cherish life that abideth,
Lest ye die ere ye know him, and curse and misname him;
For who knows in what ruin of all hope he hideth,
On what wings of the terror of darkness he rideth?
And what is the joy of man’s life that ye blame him
For his bliss grown a sword, and his rest grown a fire?
Ye who tremble for death, or the death of desire,
Pass about the cold winter-tide garden and ponder
On the rose in his glory amidst of June’s fire,
On the languor of noontide that gathered the thunder,
On the morn and its freshness, the eve and its wonder;
Ye may wake it no more — shall Spring come to awaken?
Live on, for Love liveth, and earth shall be shaken
By the wind of his wings on the triumphing morning,
When the dead, and their deeds that die not shall awaken,
And the world’s tale shall sound in your trumpet of warning,
And the sun smite the banner called Scorn of the Scorning,
And dead pain ye shall trample, dead fruitless desire,
As ye wend to pluck out the new world from the fire.
Enter before the curtain, LOVE clad as a Pilgrim.
LOVE
Alone, afar from home doth Pharamond lie,
Drawn near to death, ye deem — or what draws nigh?
Afar from home — and have ye any deeming
How far may be that country of his dreaming?
Is it not time, is it not time, say ye,
That we the day-star in the sky should see?
Patience, Beloved; these may come to live
A life fulfilled of all I have to give,
But bare of strife and story; and ye know well
How wild a tale of him might be to tell
Had I not snatched away the sword and crown;
Yea, and she too was made for world’s renown,
And should have won it, had my bow not been;
These that I love were very king and queen;
I have discrowned them, shall I not crown too?
Ye know, Beloved, what sharp bitter dew,
What parching torment of unresting day
Falls on the garden of my deathless bay:
Hands that have gathered it and feet that came
Beneath its shadow have known flint and flame;
Therefore I love them; and they love no less
Each furlong of the road of past distress.
— Ah, Faithful, tell me for what rest and peace,
What length of happy days and world’s increase,
What hate of wailing, and what love of laughter,
What hope and fear of worlds to be hereafter,
Would ye cast by that crown of bitter leaves?
And yet, ye say, our very heart it grieves
To see him lying there: how may he save
His life and love if he more pain must have?
And she — how fares it with her? is not earth
From winter’s sorrow unto summer’s mirth
Grown all too narrow for her yearning heart?
We pray thee, Love, keep these no more apart.
Ye say but sooth: not long may he endure:
And her heart sickeneth past all help or cure
Unless I hasten to the helping — see,
Am I not girt for going speedily?
— The journey lies before me long? — nay, nay,
Upon my feet the dust is lying grey,
The staff is heavy in my hand. — Ye too,
Have ye not slept? or what is this ye do,
Wearying to find the country ye are in?
[The curtain draws up and
shows the same scene
as the last, with the mist clearing, and
PHARAMOND lying there as before.
Look, look! how sun and morn at last do win
Upon the shifting waves of mist! behold
That mountain-wall the earth-fires rent of old,
Grey toward the valley, sun-gilt at the side!
See the black yew-wood that the pass doth hide!
Search through the mist for knoll, and fruited tree,
And winding stream, and highway white — and see,
See, at my feet lies Pharamond the Freed!
A happy journey have we gone indeed!
Hearken, Beloved, over-long, ye deem,
I let these lovers deal with hope and dream
Alone unholpen. — Somewhat sooth ye say:
But now her feet are on this very way
That leadeth from the city: and she saith
One beckoneth her back hitherward — even Death —
And who was that, Beloved, but even I?
Yet though her feet and sunlight are drawn nigh
The cold grass where he lieth like the dead,
To ease your hearts a little of their dread
I will abide her coming, and in speech
He knoweth, somewhat of his welfare teach.
LOVE goes on to the Stage and stands at PHARAMOND’s head.
LOVE
HEARKEN, O Pharamond, why camest thou hither?
KING PHARAMOND
I came seeking Death; I have found him belike.
LOVE
In what land of the world art thou lying, O Pharamond?
KING PHARAMOND
In a land ‘twixt two worlds: nor long shall I dwell there.
LOVE
Who am I, Pharamond, that stand here beside thee?
KING PHARAMOND
The Death I have sought — thou art welcome; I greet thee.
LOVE
Such a name have I had, but another name have I.
KING PHARAMOND
Art thou God then that helps not until the last season?
LOVE
Yea, God am I surely: yet another name have I.
KING PHARAMOND
Methinks as I hearken, thy voice I should wot of.
LOVE
I called thee, and thou cam’st from thy glory and kingship.
KING PHARAMOND
I was King Pharamond, and love overcame me.
LOVE
Pharamond, thou say’st it. — I am Love and thy master.
KING PHARAMOND
Sooth didst thou say when thou call’dst thyself Death.
LOVE
Though thou diest, yet thy love and thy deeds shall I quicken.
KING PHARAMOND
Be thou God, be thou Death, yet I love thee and dread not.
LOVE
Pharamond, while thou livedst what thing wert thou loving?
KING PHARAMOND
A dream and a lie — and my death — and I love it.
