Complete Works of William Morris, page 533
And within yearning vain and ravelled doubt –
– And all this oer and oer and oer again!
Ah is there one who has not deemed it vain
A life like this? who has not cried to live
Some fairer life, with hope and fear to strive,
That dying they might leave a little done,
Nor while they lived be utterly alone?”
The nurse smiled on her, and said; “Fair my child,
Een such a life as folk hath oft beguiled
To thinking hopeful yet may come to thee:
When thou wert little often might I see
Glimpses of this thy coming life; but now
Misty do all foreshadowings to me grow,
Because perchance the things that they foretell
Are nigh at hand now.”
Een therewith there fell
Upon their ears the sound of a great horn,
And either started with new thoughts halfborn
From anxious hearts, and the nurse said;
“Woe’s me
Shall our stead at the last war’s ruin see?
This was a blast of war that we have heard.”
But some fresh hope within the maid’s heart stirred;
“Come,” said she, and fear not, nought will it save
Of harm if here the meeting we shall have
And catching up her skirts she hurried on
Into the paved court flooded with the sun,
Where ‘bove a crowd of men newcome field
Raised high on a great spear shone forth a shield
Wherein on golden ground wrought cunningly
With outstretched wings an eagle seemed to fly,
And well the nurse deemed that that shield of yore
Had hung in their own shrine the God before;
But midst the knot of home folk they could see
Were men at arms, and one spoke eagerly,
As one who tells a fair tale; “Well,” he said,
As they drew nigh, “not ill the trap was laid,
This man – behold him, a mere man he is! –
Works hard, God wot, to win his people bliss,
And mad things must he do to make them think
That he no more than Hercules would shrink
From dealing with a host – that he is God –
Whereby it came that in the springe he trod:
He fell Upon the chapmen, as I say
And with his spoil he followed up the way
To where the pass makes dusk at the noontide
And there we bode him by the highway side;
No need to make long tale for there were we
With bows and spears, sixscore in company
And when the whistle let the shafts fly forth
And they were sped, but ten of his were worth
Touching with edge or point, and he fled not
And sooth to say was nowise over hot
In handy blows, so here without a wound
We have him, a fair sight thus safe & sound
For the old town – ah your dame is here,
Stand by my masters leave a good space clear.”
Indeed the good wife came from out the hall
Fair clad, and back fell serving-man & thrall,
And midst the men those twain could now behold
A goodly one in armour dight with gold
But swordless and fast bound, who in calm wise
Now turned his sunburned face & light grey eyes
Toward Glauce, and a faint smile crossed his face
As though her fairness pleased him; neath his gaze
She changed and trembled sore, and the hot blood
Seemed stayed about her heart, as there she stood
Twitching her hands as though to reach to him,
And feeling faint and weak of heart and limb,
Yet ever counting oer and oer again
Those men-at-arms and muttering, ‘Ten, yea ten.’
But now whereas the goodwife was come forth
The spokesman said; “A thing once deemed of worth
We bring you, lady, though perchance tomorn
It shall but be a thing of all to scorn,
And the next day an ass-load of worm’s meat,
Though once indeed it went on eager feet
And had the name of Aristomenes
“Welcome,” she said, “in what thing may I please
Thee and thy fellows? all is not enow
Some honour to this happy hour to show.”
“Lady,” he said, “here would we lie tonight;
Our company shall come back with the light
Tomorrow morn, & with them shall they have
Enow to meet whoso shall try to save
This treasure here, when they shall hear of it,
How it is vanished.”
A light smile did flit
Across the Captain’s face; but the dame cried
Be welcome here as long as ye will bide,
And sooth I hope to make you say henceforth
That This is a fair stead of plenteous worth.
Ah I am glad to day – for thou, for thou
Didst speak thy name here once – cried far enow
Since that tide now some five years past away.
How sayst thou, art thou glad yet of that day?
Speak is thy tongue bound too?”
A murmur ran
With chuckling laughter on from man to man
But Glauce flushed blood-red and new strength came
Into her heart as he spake out;
“Nay dame,
Gladness and sorrow for a long time past
Are grown mere words to me; if life shall last
Beyond tomorrow I shall hope again,
As I hope now, yet not for loss of pain,
Nay I scarce know for what. But now behold
If any tale of this thine house is told
This shall it be, that Aristomenes
Guested here twice.”
“Nay, bondsman, hold thy peace.”
The goodwife cried, a long tale dost thou make,
Thou needst not weep belike for thy life’s sake;
I deem not they will slay thee; rather thou
In some barred cage shall be full-fed enow,
And children shall be brought to see thee eat
And laugh because thou thinkst a beasts life sweet.”
But Aristomenes laughed out and said;
Well, when the turf upon my breast is laid
I shall lie still perchance, nor heed mocks aught;
But more fools are the Spartans than I thought
Unless they lay me in that strait abode.”
Then from the homefolk one unto him strode
And smote him with a rake-staff from behind
And the rest laughed and jeered; but deaf & blind
Grew Glauce now, and well nigh had cried out,
But the nurse whispered low; “Have thou no doubt
That the Gods need us; strive then with thine heart
Till the time come for us to play our part!”
But now the goodwife led into the hall
And there was good cheer dealt out unto all,
And men were merry; mocking at their prize,
Who sat amid their jeers with unchanged eyes
And ate the meat they brought him, though indeed
For that they mocked him more & said;
“Small need For thee to eat, Messenian, unless thou
Deem’st thou hast not yet wasted us enow!
wilt thou die drunk then?
Nought at all he said
Nor changed his colour, nor abased his head
Whatso they spake; but Glauce sat all pale
And quivering, till she, fearing for the tale
Her face might tell said;
“Mother, dost thou see,
What an ill face I bear about with me?
Scarce now this place, this man s eyes may I bear,
Because methinks I see my father here,
And those eyes glaring on him.”
But with that
Must her face turn to where in bonds he sat
With a strange look that did belie her speech
For pardon rather did that look beseech
As her eyes met his solemn eyes, wherein
Through wonder did a troubled pity win
As of a seer who seeth the end so well
Yet nought to any man thereof may tell.
Sick yearning took her soul amid that gaze,
She strove her hand to failing eyes to raise
And might not, but sank backward fainting there,
Whom to her bower the maids did straightly bear
While spake her mother;
“Ah poor maid, she grows
Changed now ailing and dreamy, but who knows
But a man’s love might somewhat change her dream.
Love-Psick without a lover doth she seem.”
But Aristomenes as one whom death
Made clear of vision muttered neath his breath;
“Woes me, that yet my dying face should make
The heart of such a lovely thing to ache;
My face, that living had no power to move
The heart of any woman unto love!
Ah if my soul shrinks from the coming end
God wot that from great troubles do I wend
Wherewith I Pthought full surely once to strive
Yet were I fain a little while to live –
Well a few hours proves all for good or ill.”
“What bondsman,” wilt thou mutter at us still?”
A homeman cried, “hast thou some magic then
To cast oer us, the best of the world’s men
And so oercome us vilely? deemest thou
Perchance that thou wilt scape us even now?”
Then with a smile said Aristomenes;
“Fair fellow nay, I dreamed I was at peace,
For that a God had taken me by the hand
Een at the entrance of a flowery land,
Fairer than my Messenia.”
His calm voice
Thrilled through the hearts of men mid all the noise
And something like a dread across them crept,
As though they doubted that some vengeance slept
Anigh them, and no man spake to him more,
But from the hall to a strong room they bore
Their Terror soon, and there they guarded him
Nor durst do off the bonds on hand and limb.
Day waned and died, and with the first night fall
Again gan men make merry in the hall
And drank deep, but five men at arms bode still
With Aristomenes and ate their fill,
And drank, but sparingly. Now ye shall wot
That the nurse that night had got
Charge o er the drink; according to their need
Unto the maids she dealt out; and indeed
There ever would the drink be clear and good,
And strong enow, and midst their joyous mood
Small marvel if they deemed it best that eer
Their lips had touched, and the feast wondrous fair
So into deep night did the first dark pass,
And dreadful all that noise of feasting was
To Glauce, as she lay awake and clad
Within her bower, and in her mind still had
Through yearning, and confused grief, a doubt
Of something great at hand, that should lead out
Her feet from that dull maze of fear and woe.
But where the Captain bounden lay alow
More muffled came the noise, that still he heard
Twixt harsh laughter and loud scornful word
His guards raised, as he watched them at some game,
Till over him a gentle slumber came
Bearing soft dreams, that vague and meaningless
Did yet with some familiar happiness
Float round his rest,
In such wise the night grew
But as close unto midnight now it drew
The noise of feasting somewhat suddenly
Seemed to fade out, till on the house did lie
Dead silence; then fair Glauce, sunk ere now
Into a half dream broad awake did grow
With heart that beat quick and a sudden fear
At that deep stillness, midst which did she hear
Footsteps a-drawing nigh; the moon’s grey light
Wherein she trembled seemed to grow o’er bright,
Panting she waited till some fearful scream
Should break the silence: then a sudden stream
Of red light through the half shut door did fall,
And then it opened – and she knew it all
What was to do, when on the threshold there
The old nurse stood and beckoned; strange & fair
Showed Glauce, bright her face flushed, as she went
Up to her nurse and whispered, “Thine intent
Methinks I know, so no more need for words
Among the edges of the poisoned swords.”
The nurse smiled and led straight into the hall
Through whose high windows didP the moonlight fall
Upon the feasters sunken as they sat
Blind motionless and rigid; and thereat
Somewhat did Glauce start, and whispered: “Yea
Have we then slain them, are they passed away?”
She smiled and said, “Nay, surely they will wake
Sometime morrow angry for our sake,
They have but had a sleepy draught of me.”
And therewithal she led on speedily
Unto the hall’s end by the high-seat fair
And held aloft her taper, in whose glare
Did Glauce see the helm and erne-wrought eagle shield
Hung up beside the sword that he did wield;
Old trophies new come back unto that house.
Which things on tiptoe, with her tremulous
White fingers straight she took adown and bore
After the nurse, who hastened toward the door
That led unto the dungeon; weight enow
That gear was of, but if she went oer-slow
Beneath it, she but stayed to set her lip
Unto the well-worn silver of the grip
Of that good sword.
And so they reached the place
Wherein she knew was hidden the dear face
That had changed all her life; she hung aback
As the door opened now, and seemed to lack
All strength at once; strange noises seemed astir
About the dank walls and the prisoned air;
Strange doubts came oer her of the days to be,
Of those grey eyes that she so longed to see,
Of the brave life, and great and glorious heart
Wherein she longed so sore to have a part;
But the nurse drew her in, and she must gaze
Despite herself upon his solemn face
Calm in the depths of sleep: then down she knelt
And all the joy of utter love she felt
Sweep oer her heart, as, like a wandering bird
Her mouth stole o’er his face, and her ears heard
His light breath from the lips that sleep did part
A moment, and the beating of her heart
Stopped as her burning lips were pressed to his
And all her soul went from her in a kiss;
Then his eyes opened slowly, and his hands
Moved somewhat underneath the iron bands,
And sweet his smile was, and a bright flush ran
Across his face; but, even as a man
Who wakes up to a well-expected fate,
He started not, but silent there did wait,
While from a guards belt a small fetter-key
The soft-foot nurse had stolen silently
Which into Glauce’s trembling hand she slid;
Who took it and scarce knowing what she did
Unlocked the bonds on foot and hand: but he
Waited for that last clicking of the key,
Watching her slender hand, then to his feet
He rose up stiffly, and his hand did meet
Her hand outstretched; but as they stood there close
Each to the other, on his prostrate foes
His eyes he cast, a moment did he stand
Unsteadily, while her deserted hand
Fell down, and felt no love left there with it,
And o’er her heart a great pain did there flit.
But he knelt down, and smiled & neath his breath
Muttered a word, then drew from each sheath
Each sword of those his guards, & the bare blade
Across the throat of each dull sleeper laid,
Then rose and saw her standing with the sword
And shield and helm, and took them with no word
But followed as the old nurse led the way,
But when they had passed through the hall where lay
Broad stripes of moonlight yet, & all about
The sleepers wallowed, as a man in doubt
He paused beside the door, as though he thought
No further on his way he should be brought
By those who led him, and he made as though
He would have spoken there, his heart to show;
But the old woman, who had laid adown
Her taper quenched muttered, “Haste haste, pass on,
Who knows when vengeance will awake tonight”
And forth she led out into the grey light
That flooded half the court: you might have deemed
For the great silence twas some city dreamed
In olden tales, where fast as sleep the dead
All people sleep; but onward still she led
And after her white gleamed the Captain’s helm,
And fluttered Glauces gown; in some strange realm
She seemed to be where none should know her more;
The kindness of old days, a burden sore
Lay on her soul; a many images
Seemed sweeping past her in the fitful breeze,
A many hopes of unregarded years,
And on her feet fast fell adown the tears:
Once or twice he looked back: and then she turned
Her face away; ’twas as the moonlight burned,
Burned as her tears burned.
Groaned the heavy key
In the outer gate now, and the silent three
Drew close by its great leaves; then back they swung,
But still her feet upon the threshold hung
A little while, and dreadful thoughts did rise
Within her heart, as there with close shut eyes
She dealt with fear and thrust regret aside,
