And Katharine, raging, invoked her God,
And appealed both far and near,
And fostered the plan of leer and of nod
Which brought you down to the bier …
So is it written in ages past
With a woman’s smile as bait,
A King shall risk his very soul
And change a nation’s fate …
Did you never fear, oh! mother of mine,
When you played on a King’s desire,
When first of a queenly rank you dreamed,
And subtly plotted and boldly schemed
To further your high design?
Did you never dread that the hand which crowned
Could cast you down in the mire,
That a love so swift might be swiftly drowned,
And a King might love—and tire?
Oh! red were your lips as you smiled in his face,
And red was your hair as fire!
And red was the band around your neck
As you met your doom so dire …
An Oath I swore!—and the Pride of Spain
Is driftwood along my coast!
I was not too royal to scheme and to smile,
To pay with a promise—and dally awhile—
Till I changed my mind again …
Your blood, oh! mother, which gave me might,
(Not that of the Tudor host,)
And a woman’s game that was played aright
Is Elizabeth Tudor’s boast.
’Tis perilous work to trifle with France …
To jest with Spain may be death …
But I played my part with a woman’s guile
And never a catch in my breath!
I have hated most women—but one above all,
(No matter her rank or name,)
Fair was her face, and her fame spread wide
When in France she dwelt as a royal bride
Ere she sailed to her fate and fall.
The lure of her beauty drew all mankind
Like a moth to the candle flame …
They brought me the warrant to sign … and I signed
With a flourish my royal name!
(But oh! to think that when I am gone
And laid in my grave so low,
The Crown which rests on my royal head
Shall adorn a Stewart’s false brow!)
She had fostered a plan to seize my throne,
Conspiring with Rome and Spain,
She had aimed at my life, so they said—what then?
It was never fear that drove my pen!
(Who have never a child of my own …)
But the jealous rage that naught can slake
Of a woman who loved in vain …
And she shall die for her beauty’s sake!
Who has loved—and been loved again!
(There are gallants thronging around my throne,
And many a maiden fair,
But the maids who come to Elizabeth’s court
Must coif Saint Catherine’s hair!)
I am Queen of England! I rule unafraid!
(But never a son of my own …)
I have gowns in plenty, and jewels rare,
With many a wench to tire my hair,
And they call me a painted jade!
But many a ship in Elizabeth’s name
Shall open up seas unknown …
And I shall share in my Children’s fame
Who have never a child of my own …
The Bells of Brittany
BELLS are ringing o’er the sea,
The gentle bells of Brittany.
Rock the cradle to and fro,
Croon a lullaby so low,
Mark the cross upon her brow,
She is Christ’s for ever now.
(White thy tiny hands, my dove,
Small and white and made for love.
Love to wake, and love to keep …)
Rock the cradle, let her sleep,
While the bells ring out and say
That a child was born today!
Bells are tolling o’er the sea,
The woeful bells of Brittany.
Rock the cradle lest she wake,
Learn who died for her sweet sake.
Mark a cross upon that brow,
Which shall sleep for ever now.
(Dark thy downy head, my sweet,
Motherless the world to meet,
Fold thy little hands in sleep …)
Rock the cradle lest she weep,
While the bells toll on and say
That a mother died today …
Isolt of Brittany
MY Lord and I upon a hill
Looked out across the sea
And watched the gulls that wheel and turn
And circle endlessly.
And Lo, my Lord was lost in thought
Until to him I said:
“Thy thoughts are very far away
From her thou soon shalt wed.
“In Cornwall, at Queen Isolt’s court
The maids are fair to see
Fairer are they, my Lord, perchance
Than those of Brittany.”
Then Tristan stayed in thought awhile,
Then smiled and answered me:
“There is no maid at Isolt’s court
One half as fair as thee.”
My Lord and I upon a hill
Looked out to sea a while.
I doubt not … yet I would I knew
What lay behind his smile …
My Lord and I in Brittany
Looked out across the sea,
And oh, his thoughts, his wand’ring thoughts,
Were far away from me.
Dark Sheila
SHEILA, dark Sheila, what is it that you’re seeing?
What is it that you’re seeing, that you’re seeing in the fire?
I see a lad that loves me … And I see a lad that leaves me …
And a third lad, a Shadow Lad … (and he’s the lad that grieves me)
And whatever I am seeing,
There’s no fearing and no fleeing …
But whatever I am seeing, it is not my heart’s desire …
Sheila, dark Sheila, with whom will you be roaming?
With whom will you be roaming when the summer day has flown?
A lad there is who loved me—but loves me now no longer,
A lad there is who left me (and oh! his love grows stronger!)
But wherever I go roaming,
You shall never find me homing,
For wherever I go roaming, I must wander all alone …
“Sheila, dark Sheila, will you listen to my pleading?
Will you listen to my pleading, will you recompense my pain?
For I’m the lad who loved you, the lad who so deceived you.
I left you for another girl, and oh! I fear I grieved you!
But if you’ll hear my pleading
As across the moor you’re speeding,
Oh! if you’ll hear my pleading, I’ll return to you again.”
“Sheila, dark Sheila, will you hearken to my calling?
Will you hearken to my calling, as I call from far away?
For I’m the lad that left you (but never could forget you),
And I’m the lad that loved you from the very hour he met you!
And if you’ll hear my calling
As the shades of night are falling,
Oh! if you’ll hear my calling, I’ll be yours alone alway!”
But Sheila, dark Sheila, is out upon the moorland.
She’s out upon the moorland where the heather meets the sky!
And the lads shall never find her, for there’s one walks by her side there,
A Stranger Lad, a Shadow Lad, who would not be denied there …
She turned her to his calling
As the shades of night were falling,
She turned her to his calling … and she answered to his Cry …
THE King, he went a-walking, one merry morn in May.
The King, he laid him down to rest, and fell asleep, they say.
And when he woke, ’twas even,
(The hour of magic mood,)
And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, was dancing in the wood.
The King, he gave a banquet to all the flowers (save one),
With hungry eyes he watched them, a-seeking one alone.
The Rose was there in satin,
The Lily with green hood,
But Bluebell, wild Bluebell, only dances in the wood.
The King, he frowned in anger, his hand upon his sword.
He sent his men to seize her, and bring her to their Lord.
With silken cords they bound her,
Before the King she stood,
Bluebell, wild Bluebell, who dances in the wood.
The King, he rose to greet her, the maid he’d sworn to wed.
The King, he took his golden crown and set it on her head.
And then he paled and shivered,
The courtiers gazed in fear,
At Bluebell, grey Bluebell, so pale and ghostly there.
“O King, your crown is heavy, ’twould bow my head with care.
Your palace walls would shut me in, who live as free as air.
The wind, he is my lover,
The sun my lover too,
And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, shall ne’er be Queen to you.”
The King, he mourned a twelvemonth, and none could ease his pain.
The King, he went a-walking a-down a lovers’ lane.
He laid aside his golden crown,
Into the wood went he,
Where Bluebell, wild Bluebell, dances ever wild and free.
The Princess Sings
BRING me my lute and let me play
A bygone ballad of yesterday.
Four knights there were from far away
(Ring out, my lute, on a chord so gay!)
Four knights who came to kiss my hand
From the East and the West
And the far Northland.
And one from the South …
Who kissed my mouth …
And stole my heart away …
Bring me my lute and let me sing
A ballad of yore with the old gay ring.
Out in the West the sun dies red
(Where does my true love lay his head?)
Four knights who came from o’er the sea,
One I hold, and one holds me.
And one I never again shall see …
Who came from the South
And kissed my mouth,
And stole my heart away …
Lost in the West is the setting sun,
Take then my lute, the tale is done!
Dreams and Fantasies
The Dream Spinners
Oh! who shall see the Spinners?
The silent white-robed Spinners?
The tender cruel Spinners
As they spin the Thread of Dreams?
Can you hear the Wheel a-whirring?
And the menace of its purring?
See the colour of a rainbow as it gleams?
Can you see the shining mesh
That is spun for human flesh?
Can you hear them?
Do you fear them?
Will you dare to wander near them?
The silent white-robed Spinners
As they spin the Web of Dreams …
The conqueror from the battle by their gleam is led astray,
Where the fragile threads enfold him—there his armour rusts away …
The boy who goes a-ploughing at the dusky hour of eve
Sees a Vision grey and golden—and his furrow he must leave.
And the maiden in the village, who has knelt beside the lake,
And has seen a Dream-face pictured—goes unwedded for his sake …
Oh! if your eyes shall see them,
You had better turn and flee them,
For no power born of earth shall hold you then.
And you’ll let the world go by,
Seeking Beauty till you die!
If you hear them,
Oh! beware them!
And never venture near them!
The silent white-robed Spinners
As they spin the Thread of Dreams …
There are Threads of Red and Golden! There are Threads of Grey and Green!
There are Threads of White and Silver. And they merge in dazzling sheen!
There’s a Web of wondrous weaving that is Rose and Amethyst,
And a Purple Strand of Mystery that fades into the mist …
And oh! there’s love and longing! There’s a heart to laugh and grieve,
There’s Wonder … and there’s Pity—where the white-robed Spinners weave …
Oh! who shall find the Spinners?
The silent white-robed Spinners?
The tender cruel Spinners
As they spin the Web of Dreams …
Down in the Wood
BARE brown branches against a blue sky
(And Silence within the wood),
Leaves that, listless, lie under your feet,
Bold brown boles that are biding their time
(And Silence within the wood).
Spring has been fair in the fashion of youth,
Summer with languorous largesse of love,
Autumn with passion that passes to pain,
Leaf, flower, and flame—they have fallen and failed
And Beauty—bare Beauty is left in the wood!
Bare brown branches against a mad moon
(And Something that stirs in the wood),
Leaves that rustle and rise from the dead,
Branches that beckon and leer in the light
(And Something that walks in the wood).
Skirling and whirling, the leaves are alive!
Driven by Death in a devilish dance!
Shrieking and swaying of terrified trees!
A wind that goes sobbing and shivering by …
And Fear—naked Fear passes out of the wood!
The Road of Dreams
The Road of Dreams leads up the Hill
So straight and white
And bordered wide
With almond trees on either side
In rosy flush of Spring’s delight!
Against the frown
Of branches brown
The blossoms laugh and gleam,
Within my dream …
There is no Joy like Joy in Dreams …
Up—up the Hill
My flying feet
Go magically winged and fleet
And like a bird that flies at will!
So shall I find
What God designed
There—where the Open Country lies
Before my eyes …
There is no Fear like Fear in Dreams …
Which, swift as Death
Pursuing fast,
Gains on me, till I feel at last
Upon my neck its icy breath …
The Dream is dead!
The Joy is fled!
The Road of Dreams
Leads up the Hill and faintly gleams …
Oh! Dream most fond,
What lies beyond?
Beyond the Hill …
Heritage
THE South Wind comes a-whispering, a-whispering from the Sea,
And tells of waters cool and clear,
Of far off strands
With golden sands
And Halcyon days to be.
And oh! there’s life a-stirring at the very heart of me
That listens to the South Wind, to the South Wind from the Sea.
The Forest come a-murmuring, a-murmuring all around,
And speaks of magic dark and sweet,
Of charms untold,
Enchantments old,
Of nymphs with hair unbound …
And
oh! the life a-stirring, it quivers at the sound,
It quivers at the murmur of the Forest all around.
There’s a Voice that comes a-calling, a-calling from the Lea:
“Who walks with Me in wind and storm,
He knows no rest
But only zest
God’s great wide world to see!”
And oh! the life that’s stirring, it struggles to be free
As it hears the Voice a-calling, a-calling from the Lea!
The Wanderer
IN the dark woods I shall find peace!
There shall I learn at last
Forgetfulness!
Or, if that may not be,
I will remember what is past
Most joyfully!
On the high hills where once I went,
I shall not come again
Triumphantly!
But it remains for me
To laugh into the face of pain
Defiantly!
By the deep seas I dwelt content,
There, by your side,
In harmony …
Now there is left for me
Naught but to face the incoming tide
Courageously!
In the dark grave there lies release,
There shall I sleep anew
Nor wake again …
And if that shall not be,
I will remember only you,
And live as you would have me do
Most valiantly!
The Dream City
I KNOW a city where black lions dwell
And guard a fountain in a giant square.
The City rises round it, white and proud.
The streets are broad and wide—and you and I
Walk there together, gladly, side by side;
We go in silence—speak no word, but each
The other’s thought has understood and heard …
Our feet seem not to touch the ground, so swift
And fleet we speed together on our way.
Between us there is understanding. Ay!
And all around is Beauty—also Peace …
It is a dream … But oh! when Life shall cease,
And many thousand years have passed away,
We may be born again, perchance, and dwell
In that great city built by mightier men
Who toiling through long centuries, have learnt
To banish Pain … It may be so—who knows …?
It may be you and I shall live again …
Star over Bethlehem Page 7