Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  Knowing how God’s will in all speech endures,

  That save by grace there may no thing be said,

  Then Theophile waxed light from foot to head,

  And softly fell upon this answering.

  It is well seen you are a chosen thing

  To do God service in his gracious way.

  I will that you make haste and holiday

  To go next year upon the Venus stair,

  Covered none else, but crowned upon your hair,

  And do the service that a maiden doth.

  She said: but I that am Christ’s maid were loth

  To do this thing that hath such bitter name.

  Thereat his brows were beaten with sore shame

  And he came off and said no other word.

  Then his eyes chanced upon his banner-bird,

  And he fell fingering at the staff of it

  And laughed for wrath and stared between his feet,

  And out of a chafed heart he spake as thus:

  Lo how she japes at me Theophilus,

  Feigning herself a fool and hard to love;

  Yet in good time for all she boasteth of

  She shall be like a little beaten bird.

  And while his mouth was open in that word

  He came upon the house Janiculum,

  Where some went busily, and other some

  Talked in the gate called the gate glorious.

  The emperor, which was one Gabalus,

  Sat over all and drank chill wine alone.

  To whom is come Theophilus anon,

  And said as thus: Beau sire, Dieu vous aide.

  And afterward sat under him, and said

  All this thing through as ye have wholly heard.

  This Gabalus laughed thickly in his beard.

  Yea, this is righteousness and maiden rule.

  Truly, he said, a maid is but a fool.

  And japed at them as one full villainous,

  In a lewd wise, this heathen Gabalus,

  And sent his men to bind her as he bade.

  Thus have they taken Dorothy the maid,

  And haled her forth as men hale pick-purses:

  A little need God knows they had of this,

  To hale her by her maiden gentle hair.

  Thus went she lowly, making a soft prayer,

  As one who stays the sweet wine in his mouth,

  Murmuring with eased lips, and is most loth

  To have done wholly with the sweet of it.

  Christ king, fair Christ, that knowest all men’s wit

  And all the feeble fashion of my ways,

  O perfect God, that from all yesterdays

  Abidest whole with morrows perfected,

  I pray thee by thy mother’s holy head

  Thou help me to do right, that I not slip:

  I have no speech nor strength upon my lip,

  Except thou help me who art wise and sweet.

  Do this too for those nails that clove thy feet,

  Let me die maiden after many pains.

  Though I be least among thy handmaidens,

  Doubtless I shall take death more sweetly thus.

  Now have they brought her to King Gabalus,

  Who laughed in all his throat some breathing-whiles:

  By God, he said, if one should leap two miles,

  He were not pained about the sides so much.

  This were a soft thing for a man to touch.

  Shall one so chafe that hath such little bones?

  And shook his throat with thick and chuckled moans

  For laughter that she had such holiness.

  What aileth thee, wilt thou do services?

  It were good fare to fare as Venus doth.

  Then said this lady with her maiden mouth,

  Shamefaced, and something paler in the cheek:

  Now, sir, albeit my wit and will to speak

  Give me no grace in sight of worthy men,

  For all my shame yet know I this again,

  I may not speak, nor after downlying

  Rise up to take delight in lute-playing,

  Nor sing nor sleep, nor sit and fold my hands,

  But my soul in some measure understands

  God’s grace laid like a garment over me.

  For this fair God that out of strong sharp sea

  Lifted the shapely and green-coloured land,

  And hath the weight of heaven in his hand

  As one might hold a bird, and under him

  The heavy golden planets beam by beam

  Building the feasting-chambers of his house,

  And the large world he holdeth with his brows,

  And with the light of them astonisheth

  All place and time and face of life and death

  And motion of the north wind and the south,

  And is the sound within his angel’s mouth

  Of singing words and words of thanksgiving,

  And is the colour of the latter spring

  And heat upon the summer and the sun,

  And is beginning of all things begun

  And gathers in him all things to their end,

  And with the fingers of his hand doth bend

  The stretched-out sides of heaven like a sail,

  And with his breath he maketh the red pale

  And fills with blood faint faces of men dead,

  And with the sound between his lips are fed

  Iron and fire and the white body of snow,

  And blossom of all trees in places low,

  And small bright herbs about the little hills,

  And fruit pricked softly with birds’ tender bills,

  And flight of foam about green fields of sea,

  And fourfold strength of the great winds that be

  Moved always outward from beneath his feet,

  And growth of grass and growth of sheavèd wheat

  And all green flower of goodly-growing lands;

  And all these things he gathers with his hands

  And covers all their beauty with his wings;

  The same, even God that governs all these things,

  Hath set my feet to be upon his ways.

  Now therefore for no painfulness of days

  I shall put off this service bound on me.

  Also, fair sir, ye know this certainly,

  How God was in his flesh full chaste and meek

  And gave his face to shame, and either cheek

  Gave up to smiting of men tyrannous.

  And here with a great voice this Gabalus

  Cried out and said: By God’s blood and his bones,

  This were good game betwixen night and nones

  For one to sit and hearken to such saws:

  I were as lief fall in some big beast’s jaws

  As hear these women’s jaw-teeth clattering;

  By God a woman is the harder thing,

  One may not put a hook into her mouth.

  Now by St. Luke I am so sore adrouth

  For all these saws I must needs drink again.

  But I pray God deliver all us men

  From all such noise of women and their heat.

  That is a noble scripture, well I weet,

  That likens women to an empty can;

  When God said that he was a full wise man,

  I trow no man may blame him as for that.

  And herewithal he drank a draught, and spat,

  And said: Now shall I make an end hereof.

  Come near all men and hearken for God’s love,

  And ye shall hear a jest or twain, God wot.

  And spake as thus with mouth full thick and hot;

  But thou do this thou shalt be shortly slain.

  Lo, sir, she said, this death and all this pain

  I take in penance of my bitter sins.

  Yea now, quoth Gabalus, this game begins.

  Lo, without sin one shall not live a span.

  Lo, this is she that would not look on man

  Between her
fingers folded in thwart wise.

  See how her shame hath smitten in her eyes

  That was so clean she had not heard of shame.

  Certes, he said, by Gabalus my name,

  This two years back I was not so well pleased.

  This were good mirth for sick men to be eased

  And rise up whole and laugh at hearing of.

  I pray thee show us something of thy love,

  Since thou wast maid thy gown is waxen wide.

  Yea, maid I am, she said, and somewhat sighed,

  As one who thought upon the low fair house

  Where she sat working, with soft bended brows

  Watching her threads, among the school-maidens.

  And she thought well now God had brought her thence

  She should not come to sew her gold again.

  Then cried King Gabalus upon his men

  To have her forth and draw her with steel gins.

  And as a man hag-ridden beats and grins

  And bends his body sidelong in his bed,

  So wagged he with his body and knave’s head,

  Gaping at her, and blowing with his breath.

  And in good time he gat an evil death

  Out of his lewdness with his cursèd wives:

  His bones were hewn asunder as with knives

  For his misliving, certes it is said.

  But all the evil wrought upon this maid,

  It were full hard for one to handle it.

  For her soft blood was shed upon her feet,

  And all her body’s colour bruised and faint.

  But she, as one abiding God’s great saint,

  Spake not nor wept for all this travail hard.

  Wherefore the king commanded afterward

  To slay her presently in all men’s sight.

  And it was now an hour upon the night

  And winter-time, and a few stars began.

  The weather was yet feeble and all wan

  For beating of a weighty wind and snow.

  And she came walking in soft wise and slow,

  And many men with faces piteous.

  Then came this heavy cursing Gabalus,

  That swore full hard into his drunken beard;

  And faintly after without any word

  Came Theophile some paces off the king.

  And in the middle of this wayfaring

  Full tenderly beholding her he said:

  There is no word of comfort with men dead

  Nor any face and colour of things sweet;

  But always with lean cheeks and lifted feet

  These dead men lie all aching to the blood

  With bitter cold, their brows withouten hood

  Beating for chill, their bodies swathed full thin:

  Alas, what hire shall any have herein

  To give his life and get such bitterness?

  Also the soul going forth bodiless

  Is hurt with naked cold, and no man saith

  If there be house or covering for death

  To hide the soul that is discomforted.

  Then she beholding him a little said:

  Alas, fair lord, ye have no wit of this;

  For on one side death is full poor of bliss

  And as ye say full sharp of bone and lean:

  But on the other side is good and green

  And hath soft flower of tender-coloured hair

  Grown on his head, and a red mouth as fair

  As may be kissed with lips; thereto his face

  Is as God’s face, and in a perfect place

  Full of all sun and colour of straight boughs

  And waterheads about a painted house

  That hath a mile of flowers either way

  Outward from it, and blossom-grass of May

  Thickening on many a side for length of heat,

  Hath God set death upon a noble seat

  Covered with green and flowered in the fold,

  In likeness of a great king grown full old

  And gentle with new temperance of blood;

  And on his brows a purfled purple hood,

  They may not carry any golden thing;

  And plays some tune with subtle fingering

  On a small cithern, full of tears and sleep

  And heavy pleasure that is quick to weep

  And sorrow with the honey in her mouth;

  And for this might of music that he doth

  Are all souls drawn toward him with great love

  And weep for sweetness of the noise thereof

  And bow to him with worship of their knees;

  And all the field is thick with companies

  Of fair-clothed men that play on shawms and lutes

  And gather honey of the yellow fruits

  Between the branches waxen soft and wide:

  And all this peace endures in either side

  Of the green land, and God beholdeth all.

  And this is girdled with a round fair wall

  Made of red stone and cool with heavy leaves

  Grown out against it, and green blossom cleaves

  To the green chinks, and lesser wall-weed sweet,

  Kissing the crannies that are split with heat,

  And branches where the summer draws to head.

  And Theophile burnt in the cheek, and said:

  Yea, could one see it, this were marvellous.

  I pray you, at your coming to this house,

  Give me some leaf of all those tree-branches;

  Seeing how so sharp and white our weather is,

  There is no green nor gracious red to see.

  Yea, sir, she said, that shall I certainly.

  And from her long sweet throat without a fleck

  Undid the gold, and through her stretched-out neck

  The cold axe clove, and smote away her head:

  Out of her throat the tender blood full red

  Fell suddenly through all her long soft hair.

  And with good speed for hardness of the air

  Each man departed to his house again.

  Lo, as fair colour in the face of men

  At seed-time of their blood, or in such wise

  As a thing seen increaseth in men’s eyes,

  Caught first far off by sickly fits of sight,

  So a word said, if one shall hear aright,

  Abides against the season of its growth.

  This Theophile went slowly, as one doth

  That is not sure for sickness of his feet;

  And counting the white stonework of the street,

  Tears fell out of his eyes for wrath and love,

  Making him weep more for the shame thereof

  Than for true pain: so went he half a mile.

  And women mocked him, saying: Theophile,

  Lo, she is dead; what shall a woman have

  That loveth such an one? so Christ me save,

  I were as lief to love a man new-hung.

  Surely this man has bitten on his tongue,

  This makes him sad and writhled in his face.

  And when they came upon the paven place

  That was called sometime the place amorous

  There came a child before Theophilus

  Bearing a basket, and said suddenly:

  Fair sir, this is my mistress Dorothy

  That sends you gifts; and with this he was gone.

  In all this earth there is not such an one

  For colour and straight stature made so fair.

  The tender growing gold of his pure hair

  Was as wheat growing, and his mouth as flame.

  God called him Holy after his own name;

  With gold cloth like fire burning he was clad.

  But for the fair green basket that he had,

  It was filled up with heavy white and red;

  Great roses stained still where the first rose bled,

  Burning at heart for shame their heart withholds:

  And the sad colour of strong marigolds

/>   That have the sun to kiss their lips for love;

  The flower that Venus’ hair is woven of,

  The colour of fair apples in the sun,

  Late peaches gathered when the heat was done

  And the slain air got breath; and after these

  The fair faint-headed poppies drunk with ease,

  And heaviness of hollow lilies red.

  Then cried they all that saw these things, and said

  It was God’s doing, and was marvellous.

  And in brief while this knight Theophilus

  Is waxen full of faith, and witnesseth

  Before the king of God and love and death,

  For which the king bade hang him presently.

  A gallows of a goodly piece of tree

  This Gabalus hath made to hang him on.

  Forth of this world lo Theophile is gone

  With a wried neck, God give us better fare

  Than his that hath a twisted throat to wear;

  But truly for his love God hath him brought

  There where his heavy body grieves him nought

  Nor all the people plucking at his feet;

  But in his face his lady’s face is sweet,

  And through his lips her kissing lips are gone:

  God send him peace, and joy of such an one.

  This is the story of St. Dorothy.

  I will you of your mercy pray for me

  Because I wrote these sayings for your grace,

  That I may one day see her in the face.

  THE TWO DREAMS

  (FROM BOCCACCIO)

  I will that if I say a heavy thing

  Your tongues forgive me; seeing ye know that spring

  Has flecks and fits of pain to keep her sweet,

  And walks somewhile with winter-bitten feet.

  Moreover it sounds often well to let

  One string, when ye play music, keep at fret

  The whole song through; one petal that is dead

  Confirms the roses, be they white or red;

  Dead sorrow is not sorrowful to hear

  As the thick noise that breaks mid weeping were;

  The sick sound aching in a lifted throat

  Turns to sharp silver of a perfect note;

  And though the rain falls often, and with rain

  Late autumn falls on the old red leaves like pain,

  I deem that God is not disquieted.

  Also while men are fed with wine and bread,

  They shall be fed with sorrow at his hand.

  There grew a rose-garden in Florence land

  More fair than many; all red summers through

  The leaves smelt sweet and sharp of rain, and blew

  Sideways with tender wind; and therein fell

  Sweet sound wherewith the green waxed audible,

  As a bird’s will to sing disturbed his throat

  And set the sharp wings forward like a boat

  Pushed through soft water, moving his brown side