Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Tennyson Alfred

  Clanged on the bridge; and then another shriek,

  ‘The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!’

  For blind with rage she missed the plank, and rolled

  In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom:

  There whirled her white robe like a blossomed branch

  Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave,

  No more; but woman-vested as I was

  Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then

  Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left

  The weight of all the hopes of half the world,

  Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree

  Was half-disrooted from his place and stooped

  To wrench his dark locks in the gurgling wave

  Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught,

  And grasping down the boughs I gained the shore.

  There stood her maidens glimmeringly grouped

  In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew

  My burthen from mine arms; they cried ‘she lives:’

  They bore her back into the tent: but I,

  So much a kind of shame within me wrought,

  Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes,

  Nor found my friends; but pushed alone on foot

  (For since her horse was lost I left her mine)

  Across the woods, and less from Indian craft

  Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length

  The garden portals. Two great statues, Art

  And Science, Caryatids, lifted up

  A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves

  Of open-work in which the hunter rued

  His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows

  Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon

  Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates.

  A little space was left between the horns,

  Through which I clambered o’er at top with pain,

  Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks,

  And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue,

  Now poring on the glowworm, now the star,

  I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheeled

  Through a great arc his seven slow suns.

  A step

  Of lightest echo, then a loftier form

  Than female, moving through the uncertain gloom,

  Disturbed me with the doubt ‘if this were she,’

  But it was Florian. ‘Hist O Hist,’ he said,

  ‘They seek us: out so late is out of rules.

  Moreover “seize the strangers” is the cry.

  How came you here?’ I told him: ‘I’ said he,

  ‘Last of the train, a moral leper, I,

  To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, returned.

  Arriving all confused among the rest

  With hooded brows I crept into the hall,

  And, couched behind a Judith, underneath

  The head of Holofernes peeped and saw.

  Girl after girl was called to trial: each

  Disclaimed all knowledge of us: last of all,

  Melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitied her.

  She, questioned if she knew us men, at first

  Was silent; closer prest, denied it not:

  And then, demanded if her mother knew,

  Or Psyche, she affirmed not, or denied:

  From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her,

  Easily gathered either guilt. She sent

  For Psyche, but she was not there; she called

  For Psyche’s child to cast it from the doors;

  She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face;

  And I slipt out: but whither will you now?

  And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled:

  What, if together? that were not so well.

  Would rather we had never come! I dread

  His wildness, and the chances of the dark.’

  ‘And yet,’ I said, ‘you wrong him more than I

  That struck him: this is proper to the clown,

  Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still the clown,

  To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame

  That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe’er

  He deal in frolic, as tonight — the song

  Might have been worse and sinned in grosser lips

  Beyond all pardon — as it is, I hold

  These flashes on the surface are not he.

  He has a solid base of temperament:

  But as the waterlily starts and slides

  Upon the level in little puffs of wind,

  Though anchored to the bottom, such is he.’

  Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near

  Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, ‘Names:’

  He, standing still, was clutched; but I began

  To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind

  And double in and out the boles, and race

  By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot:

  Before me showered the rose in flakes; behind

  I heard the puffed pursuer; at mine ear

  Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not,

  And secret laughter tickled all my soul.

  At last I hooked my ankle in a vine,

  That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne,

  And falling on my face was caught and known.

  They haled us to the Princess where she sat

  High in the hall: above her drooped a lamp,

  And made the single jewel on her brow

  Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head,

  Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side

  Bowed toward her, combing out her long black hair

  Damp from the river; and close behind her stood

  Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men,

  Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain,

  And labour. Each was like a Druid rock;

  Or like a spire of land that stands apart

  Cleft from the main, and wailed about with mews.

  Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove

  An advent to the throne: and therebeside,

  Half-naked as if caught at once from bed

  And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay

  The lily-shining child; and on the left,

  Bowed on her palms and folded up from wrong,

  Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs,

  Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect

  Stood up and spake, an affluent orator.

  ‘It was not thus, O Princess, in old days:

  You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips:

  I led you then to all the Castalies;

  I fed you with the milk of every Muse;

  I loved you like this kneeler, and you me

  Your second mother: those were gracious times.

  Then came your new friend: you began to change —

  I saw it and grieved — to slacken and to cool;

  Till taken with her seeming openness

  You turned your warmer currents all to her,

  To me you froze: this was my meed for all.

  Yet I bore up in part from ancient love,

  And partly that I hoped to win you back,

  And partly conscious of my own deserts,

  And partly that you were my civil head,

  And chiefly you were born for something great,

  In which I might your fellow-worker be,

  When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme

  Grew up from seed we two long since had sown;

  In us true growth, in her a Jonah’s gourd,

  Up in one night and due to sudden sun:

  We took this palace; but even from the first

  You stood in your own light and darkened mine.

  What student came but that you planed her path

  To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise,

  A foreigner, and I your countrywoman,

 
; I your old friend and tried, she new in all?

  But still her lists were swelled and mine were lean;

  Yet I bore up in hope she would be known:

  Then came these wolves: they knew her: they endured,

  Long-closeted with her the yestermorn,

  To tell her what they were, and she to hear:

  And me none told: not less to an eye like mine

  A lidless watcher of the public weal,

  Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot

  Was to you: but I thought again: I feared

  To meet a cold “We thank you, we shall hear of it

  From Lady Psyche:” you had gone to her,

  She told, perforce; and winning easy grace

  No doubt, for slight delay, remained among us

  In our young nursery still unknown, the stem

  Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat

  Were all miscounted as malignant haste

  To push my rival out of place and power.

  But public use required she should be known;

  And since my oath was ta’en for public use,

  I broke the letter of it to keep the sense.

  I spoke not then at first, but watched them well,

  Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done;

  And yet this day (though you should hate me for it)

  I came to tell you; found that you had gone,

  Ridden to the hills, she likewise: now, I thought,

  That surely she will speak; if not, then I:

  Did she? These monsters blazoned what they were,

  According to the coarseness of their kind,

  For thus I hear; and known at last (my work)

  And full of cowardice and guilty shame,

  I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies;

  And I remain on whom to wreak your rage,

  I, that have lent my life to build up yours,

  I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time,

  And talent, I — you know it — I will not boast:

  Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan,

  Divorced from my experience, will be chaff

  For every gust of chance, and men will say

  We did not know the real light, but chased

  The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.’

  She ceased: the Princess answered coldly, ‘Good:

  Your oath is broken: we dismiss you: go.

  For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child)

  Our mind is changed: we take it to ourself.’

  Thereat the Lady stretched a vulture throat,

  And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile.

  ‘The plan was mine. I built the nest’ she said

  ‘To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!’ and stooped to updrag

  Melissa: she, half on her mother propt,

  Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast

  A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer,

  Which melted Florian’s fancy as she hung,

  A Niobëan daughter, one arm out,

  Appealing to the bolts of Heaven; and while

  We gazed upon her came a little stir

  About the doors, and on a sudden rushed

  Among us, out of breath as one pursued,

  A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear

  Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face, and winged

  Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell

  Delivering sealed dispatches which the Head

  Took half-amazed, and in her lion’s mood

  Tore open, silent we with blind surmise

  Regarding, while she read, till over brow

  And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom

  As of some fire against a stormy cloud,

  When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick

  Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens;

  For anger most it seemed, while now her breast,

  Beaten with some great passion at her heart,

  Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard

  In the dead hush the papers that she held

  Rustle: at once the lost lamb at her feet

  Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam;

  The plaintive cry jarred on her ire; she crushed

  The scrolls together, made a sudden turn

  As if to speak, but, utterance failing her,

  She whirled them on to me, as who should say

  ‘Read,’ and I read — two letters — one her sire’s.

  ‘Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way,

  We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt,

  We, conscious of what temper you are built,

  Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell

  Into his father’s hands, who has this night,

  You lying close upon his territory,

  Slipt round and in the dark invested you,

  And here he keeps me hostage for his son.’

  The second was my father’s running thus:

  ‘You have our son: touch not a hair of his head:

  Render him up unscathed: give him your hand:

  Cleave to your contract: though indeed we hear

  You hold the woman is the better man;

  A rampant heresy, such as if it spread

  Would make all women kick against their Lords

  Through all the world, and which might well deserve

  That we this night should pluck your palace down;

  And we will do it, unless you send us back

  Our son, on the instant, whole.’

  So far I read;

  And then stood up and spoke impetuously.

  ‘O not to pry and peer on your reserve,

  But led by golden wishes, and a hope

  The child of regal compact, did I break

  Your precinct; not a scorner of your sex

  But venerator, zealous it should be

  All that it might be: hear me, for I bear,

  Though man, yet human, whatsoe’er your wrongs,

  From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life

  Less mine than yours: my nurse would tell me of you;

  I babbled for you, as babies for the moon,

  Vague brightness; when a boy, you stooped to me

  From all high places, lived in all fair lights,

  Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south

  And blown to inmost north; at eve and dawn

  With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods;

  The leader wildswan in among the stars

  Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm light

  The mellow breaker murmured Ida. Now,

  Because I would have reached you, had you been

  Sphered up with Cassiopëia, or the enthroned

  Persephonè in Hades, now at length,

  Those winters of abeyance all worn out,

  A man I came to see you: but indeed,

  Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue,

  O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait

  On you, their centre: let me say but this,

  That many a famous man and woman, town

  And landskip, have I heard of, after seen

  The dwarfs of presage: though when known, there grew

  Another kind of beauty in detail

  Made them worth knowing; but in your I found

  My boyish dream involved and dazzled down

  And mastered, while that after-beauty makes

  Such head from act to act, from hour to hour,

  Within me, that except you slay me here,

  According to your bitter statute-book,

  I cannot cease to follow you, as they say

  The seal does music; who desire you more

  Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips,

  With many thousand matters left to do,

  The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth,

  Than sick men health — yours, yours, not mine — but h
alf

  Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves

  You worthiest; and howe’er you block and bar

  Your heart with system out from mine, I hold

  That it becomes no man to nurse despair,

  But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms

  To follow up the worthiest till he die:

  Yet that I came not all unauthorized

  Behold your father’s letter.’

  On one knee

  Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dashed

  Unopened at her feet: a tide of fierce

  Invective seemed to wait behind her lips,

  As waits a river level with the dam

  Ready to burst and flood the world with foam:

  And so she would have spoken, but there rose

  A hubbub in the court of half the maids

  Gathered together: from the illumined hall

  Long lanes of splendour slanted o’er a press

  Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes,

  And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes,

  And gold and golden heads; they to and fro

  Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale,

  All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light,

  Some crying there was an army in the land,

  And some that men were in the very walls,

  And some they cared not; till a clamour grew

  As of a new-world Babel, woman-built,

  And worse-confounded: high above them stood

  The placid marble Muses, looking peace.

  Not peace she looked, the Head: but rising up

  Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so

  To the open window moved, remaining there

  Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves

  Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye

  Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light

  Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and called

  Across the tumult and the tumult fell.

  ‘What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head?

  On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: I dare

  All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear?

  Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come:

  If not, — myself were like enough, O girls,

  To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights,

  And clad in iron burst the ranks of war,

  Or, falling, promartyr of our cause,

  Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear:

  Six thousand years of fear have made you that

  From which I would redeem you: but for those

  That stir this hubbub — you and you — I know

  Your faces there in the crowd — tomorrow morn

  We hold a great convention: then shall they

  That love their voices more than duty, learn

  With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live

  No wiser than their mothers, household stuff,