Read Ebook: Accolon of Gaul with Other Poems by Cawein Madison Julius

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Some slim bud-bound Leimoniad hath flocked, The birds to Echo's shores, where flossy foams Boom low long cream-white cliffs.--Where once buzzed Unmillioned bees within unmillioned blooms, One hairy hummer cramps one bloom, frost mocked,--rocked A miser whose rich hives squeeze oozing combs.

Twist some lithe maple and right suddenly A leafy storm of stars about you breaks-- Some Hamadryad's tears: Unto her knee Wading the Naiad clears her brook that streaks Thro' wadded waifs: Hark! Pan for Helike Flutes melancholy by the minty creeks.

AN ANEMONE.

"Teach me the wisdom of thy beauty, pray, That, being thus wise, I may aspire to see What beauty is, whence, why, and in what way Immortal, yet how mortal utterly: For, shrinking loveliness, thy brow of day Pleads plaintive as a prayer, anemone.

"Teach me wood-wisdom, I am petulant: Thou hast the wildness of a Dryad's eyes, The shyness of an Oread's, wild plant:-- Behold the bashful goddess where she lies Distinctly delicate!--inhabitant Ambrosial-earthed, star-cousin of the skies.

"Teach me thy wisdom, for, thro' knowing, yet, When I have drunk dull Lethe till each vein Thuds full oblivion, I shall not forget;-- For beauty known is beauty; to sustain Glad memories with life, while mad regret And sorrow perish, being Lethe slain."

"Teach thee my beauty being beautiful And beauty wise?--My slight perfections, whole As world, as man, in their creation full As old a Power's cogitation roll. Teach thee?--Presumption! thought is young and dull-- Question thy God what God is, soul what soul."

THE RAIN-CROW.

Thee freckled August, dozing hot and blonde Oft 'neath a wheat-stack in the white-topped mead-- In her full hair brown ox-eyed daisies wound-- O water-gurgler, lends a sleepy heed: Half-lidded eyes a purple iron-weed Blows slimly o'er; beyond, a path-found pond Basks flint-bright, hedged with pink-plumed pepper-grasses, A coigne for vainest dragonflies, which glasses Their blue in diamond.

Oft from some dusty locust, that thick weaves With crescent pulse-pods its thin foliage gray, Thou,--o'er the shambling lane, which past the sheaves Of sun-tanned oats winds, red with rutty clay, One league of rude rail-fence,--some panting day, When each parched meadow quivering vapor grieves, Nature's Astrologist, dost promise rain, In seeping language of the thirsty plain, Cool from the burning leaves.

And, in good faith, aye! best of faith, art true; And welcome that rune-chuckled forecasting, When up the faded fierceness of scorched blue Strong water-carrier winds big buckets bring, Black with stored freshness: how their dippers ring And flash and rattle! lavishing large dew On tall, good-humored corn that, streaming wet, Laughs long; while woods and leas, shut in a net Of mist, dream vague in view.

And thou, safe-hous?d in some pawpaw bower Of close, broad, gold-green leaves, contented art In thy prediction, fall'n within the hour; While fuss the brown bees hiveward from the heart Of honey-filtering bloom; beneath the cart Droop pompous barnyard cocks damped by the shower: And deep-eyed August, bonnetless, a beech Hugs in disheveled beauty, safe from reach On starry moss and flower.

LOVELINESS.

Then we surprise each Naiad ere she slips-- Nude at her toilette--in her fountain's glass, With damp locks dewy, and large godlike hips Cool-glittering; but discovered, when--alas! From green, indented moss and plushy grass,-- Her great eyes' pansy-black reproaching,--dips She white the cloven waters ere we pass: And a broad, orbing ripple makes to hide From our desirous gaze provoked what path She gleaming took; what haunt she bashful hath In minnowy freshness, where her murmurous lips Bubbling make merry 'neath the rocky tide.

Oft do we meet the Oread whose eyes Are dew-drops where twin heavens shine confessed; She, all the maiden modesty's surprise Blushing her temples,--to deep loins and breast Tempestuous, brown bewildering tresses pressed,-- Stands one scared moment's moiety, in wise Of some delicious dream, then shrinks distressed, Like some weak wind that, haply heard, is gone, In rapport with shy Silence to make sound; So, like storm sunlight, bares clean limbs to bound A thistle's flashing to a woody rise, A graceful glimmer up the ferny lawn.

Hear Satyrs and Sylvanus in sad shades Of dozy dells pipe: Pan and Fauns hark dance With rattling hoofs dim in low, mottled glades: Hidden in spice-bush-bowered banks, perchance, Mark Slyness waiting with an animal glance The advent of some Innocence, who wades Thro' thigh-deep flowers, naked as Romance, In braided shadows, when two hairy arms Hug her unconscious beauty panting white; Till tearful terror, struggling into might, Beats the brute brow resisting; yields and fades, Exhausted, to the grim Lust her rich charms.

THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE.

He loved and was loved,--why, I knew!--for look, All other sports for the chase he forsook; To ride in the Raglan marches and hawk And to hunt and to wander. And found a lair, In the Strongbow forest, of bush and of rock, Of moss and thick ferns; where Hortense of Clare, How often I wis not, met him by chance-- Perhaps!--Sweet sorceress out of romance, Those tomes of Geoffrey--for she was fair! Her large, warm eyes and hair,... ah, hair, How may one picture or liken it! With the golden gloss of its full brown, fit For the Viviane face of lovable white Beneath;--like a star that a cloud of night Stops over to threaten but never will drench Its tremulous beauty with mists that quench.--

And we were there, and a void horse too: Armed: for a journey I hardly knew Whither, but why you well can guess. I could have uttered a certain name-- Our comrade's sure--of what loveliness! Waited with love, impatience aflame. While Raglan bulged its baronial girth To roar to its battlements Yule and song; Retainers loud rollicked in wassail and mirth Where the mistletoe 'round the vast hearths hung, And holly beberried the elden wall Of curious oak in the banqueting hall. And the spits, I trow, by the scullions turned O'er the snoring logs, rich steamed and burned With flesh; where the whole wild-boar was roasted And the dun-deer flanks and the roebuck haunches; Fat tuns of ale, that the cellars boasted, Old casks of wine were broached for paunches Of the vassals that reveled in bower and stall; Pale pages who diced and bluff henchmen who quarr'led Or swore in their cups, while lean mastiffs all, O'er bones of the feast in their kennels snarled; For Hortense--drink! drink!--by the Virgin's leave, Were wed to this Lovell this Christmas Eve.

So over the channel to France with his King And the Black Prince, sailed to the wars--to deaden The ache of the mystery--Hugh that Spring, And fell at Poitiers: for his loss lay leaden On hope, and his life was a weary sadness, So he flung it away with a very gladness. And the baron died--and the bridegroom, well,-- Unlucky that bridegroom, sooth!--to tell Of him there is nothing. The baron died; The last of the Strongbows he, gramercy! And the Clare estate with its wealth and its pride Devolved to the Bloets, Walter or Percy.

Ten years and a score thereafter. And they Ransacked the old castle and mark!--one day In a lonesome tower uprummaged a chest From Flanders, of sinister ebon, carved Sardonic with masks 'round an olden crest, Gargoyle faces distorted and starved: Fast fixed with a spring which they forced and lo! When they opened it--ha, Hortense!--or, no!-- Fantastic a skeleton jeweled and wreathed With flowers of dust, and a minever About it hugged, which quaint richness sheathed Of a bridal raiment and lace with fur. --I'd have given such years of my life--yes, well!-- As were left me then so her lover, Hugh, For such time breathed as it took one to tell How she forever, deemed false, was true! He'd have known how it was, "For, you see, in groping For the puny spring of that panel--hoping And fearing as nearer and nearer grew The boisterous scramble--why, out she blew Her windy taper and quick--in this chest Wary would lie for--a minute, mayhap, Till the hurry all passed; but the death-lock pressed --Ere her heart was aware--with a hungry snap."

ON THE JELLICO-SPUR.

TO MY FRIEND, JOHN FOX, JR.

SE?ORITA.

An agate black thy roguish eyes Claim no proud lineage of skies, No velvet blue, but of sweet Earth, Rude, reckless witchery and mirth.

Thy ears,--two dainty bits of song Of unpretending charm, which wrong Would jewels rich, whose restless fire Courts coarse attention,--such inspire.

Slim hands, that crumple listless lace About thy white breasts' swelling grace, And falter at thy samite throat, To such harmonious efforts float.

Seven stars stop o'er thy balcony Cored in taunt heaven's canopy; No moon flows up the satin night In pearl-pierced raiment spun of light.

From orange orchards dark in dew Vague, odorous lips the West wind blew, Or thou, a new Angelica From Ariosto, breath'd'st Cathay.

Oh, stoop to me and speaking reach My soul like song, that learned low speech From some sad instrument, who knows? Or bloom,--a dulcimer or rose.

LEANDER TO HERO.

Brows wan thro' blue-black tresses Wet with sharp rain and kisses; Locks loose the sea-wind scatters, Like torn wings fierce for flight; Cold brows, whose sadness flatters, One kiss and then--good-night.

Can this thy love undo me When in the heavy waves? Nay; it must make unto me Their groaning backs but slaves! For its magic doth indue me With strength o'er all their graves.

Weep not as heavy-hearted Before I go! For thou Wilt follow as we parted-- A something hollow-hearted, Dark eyes whence cold tears started, Gray, ghostly arms out-darted To take me, even as now, To drag me, their weak lover, To caves where sirens hover, Deep caves the dark waves cover, Down! throat and hair and brow.

But in thy sleep shalt follow-- Thy bosom fierce to mine, Long arms wound warm and hollow,-- In sleep, in sleep shalt follow,-- To save me from the brine; Dim eyes on mine divine; Deep breath at mine like wine; Sweet thou, with dream-soft kisses To dream me onward home, White in white foam that hisses, Love's creature safe in foam.

What, Hero, else for weeping Than long, lost hours of sleeping And vestal-vestured Dreams, Where thy Leander stooping Sighs; no dead eyelids drooping; No harsh, hard looks accusing; No curls with ocean oozing; But then as now he seems, Sweet-favored as can make him Thy smile, which is a might, A hope, a god to take him Thro' all this hell of night.

Then where thy breasts are hollow One kiss! one kiss! I go! Sweet soul! a kiss to follow Up whence thy breasts bud hollow, Cheeks than wood-blossoms whiter, Eyes than dark waters brighter Wherein the far stars glow. Look lovely when I leave thee!-- I go, my love, I go! Look lovely, love, nor grieve thee, That I must leave thee so.

MUSAGETES.

For the mountains' hoarse greetings came hollow From stormy wind-chasms and caves, And I heard their wild cataracts wallow Huge bulks in long spasms of waves, And that Demon said, "Lo! you must follow! And our path is o'er myriads of graves."

Then I felt that the black earth was porous And rotten with worms and with bones; And I knew that the ground that now bore us Was cadaverous with Death's skeletons; And I saw horrid eyes, heard sonorous And dolorous gnashings and groans.

But the night of the tempest and thunder, The might of the terrible skies, And the fire of Hell that,--coiled under The hollow Earth,--smoulders and sighs, And the laughter of stars and their wonder Mingled and mixed in its eyes.

And we clomb--and the moon old and sterile Clomb with us o'er torrent and scar! And I yearned towards her oceans of beryl, Wan mountains and cities of spar-- "'Tis not well," that one said, "you're in peril Of falling and failing your star."

And we clomb--through a murmur of pinions, Thin rattle of talons and plumes; And a sense as of Boreal dominions Clove down to the abysms and tombs; And the Night's naked, Ethiope minions Swarmed on us in legions of glooms.

And we clomb--till we stood at the portal Of the uttermost point of the peak, And it led with a step more than mortal Far upward some presence to seek; And I felt that this love was immortal, This love which had made me so weak.

We had clomb till the limbo of spirits Of darkness and crime deep below Swung nebular; nor could we hear its Lost wailings and moanings of woe,-- For we stood in a realm that inherits A vanquishing virgin of snow.

THE QUARREL.

Could I divine how her gray eyes Gat such cold haughtiness of skies;

How, some wood-flower's shadow brown, Dimmed her fair forehead's wrath a frown;

How, rippled sunshine blown thro' air, Tossed scorn her eloquence of hair;

How to a folded bud again She drew her blossomed lips' disdain;

Naught deigning save eyes' utterance, Star-words, which quicker reach the sense;

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