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

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  And lacks her lord and light of wedded life

  Whilst thou far off art famous: yet thy fame,

  If thou take pity on me that bear thy name

  Unworthily, but by that name implore

  Thy grace, how shall not even thy fame grow more?

  But be thy will as God’s among us done,

  Who art far in fame above us as the sun:

  Yet only of him have all men help and grace.”

  And all the lordly light of Tristram’s face

  Was softened as the sun’s in kindly spring.

  “Nay, then may God send me as evil a thing

  When I give ear not to such prayers,” he said,

  “And make my place among the nameless dead

  When I put back one hour the time to smite

  And do the unrighteous griefs of good men right.

  Behold, I will not enter in nor rest

  Here in mine own halls till this piteous quest

  Find end ere noon to-morrow: but do thou,

  Whose sister’s face I may not look on now,

  Go, Ganhardine, with tiding of the vow

  That bids me turn aside for one day’s strife

  Or live dishonoured all my days of life,

  And greet for me in brother’s wise my wife,

  And crave her pardon that for knighthood’s sake

  And womanhood’s, whose bands may no man break

  And keep the bands of bounden honour fast,

  I seek not her till two nights yet be past

  And this my quest accomplished, so God please

  By me to give this young man’s anguish ease

  And on his wrongdoer’s head his wrong requite.”

  And Tristram with that woful thankful knight

  Rode by the seaside moorland wastes away

  Between the quickening night and darkening day

  Ere half the gathering stars had heart to shine.

  And lightly toward his sister Ganhardine

  Sped, where she sat and gazed alone afar

  Above the grey sea for the sunset star,

  And lightly kissed her hand and lightly spake

  His tiding of that quest for knighthood’s sake.

  And the white-handed Iseult, bowing her head,

  Gleamed on him with a glance athwart, and said,

  “As God’s on earth and far above the sun,

  So toward his handmaid be my lord’s will done.”

  And doubts too dim to question or divine

  Touched as with shade the spirit of Ganhardine,

  Hearing; and scarce for half a doubtful breath

  His bright light heart held half a thought of death

  And knew not whence this darkling thought might be,

  But surely not his sister’s work: for she

  Was ever sweet and good as summer air,

  And soft as dew when all the night is fair,

  And gracious as the golden maiden moon

  When darkness craves her blessing: so full soon

  His mind was light again as leaping waves,

  Nor dreamed that hers was like a field of graves

  Where no man’s foot dares swerve to left or right,

  Nor ear dares hearken, nor dares eye take sight

  Of aught that moves and murmurs there at night.

  But by the sea-banks where at morn their foes

  Might find them, lay those knightly name-fellows,

  One sick with grief of heart and sleepless, one

  With heart of hope triumphant as the sun

  Dreaming asleep of love and fame and fight:

  But sleep at last wrapped warm the wan young knight;

  And Tristram with the first pale windy light

  Woke ere the sun spake summons, and his ear

  Caught the sea’s call that fired his heart to hear,

  A noise of waking waters: for till dawn

  The sea was silent as a mountain lawn

  When the wind speaks not, and the pines are dumb

  And summer takes her fill ere autumn come

  Of life more soft than slumber: but ere day

  Rose, and the first beam smote the bounding bay,

  Up sprang the strength of the dark East, and took

  With its wide wings the waters as they shook,

  And hurled them huddling on aheap, and cast

  The full sea shoreward with a great glad blast,

  Blown from the heart of morning: and with joy

  Full-souled and perfect passion, as a boy

  That leaps up light to wrestle with the sea

  For pure heart’s gladness and large ecstasy,

  Up sprang the might of Tristram: and his soul

  Yearned for delight within him, and waxed whole

  As a young child’s with rapture of the hour

  That brought his spirit and all the world to flower,

  And all the bright blood in his veins beat time

  To the wind’s clarion and the water’s chime

  That called him and he followed it and stood

  On the sand’s verge before the great grey flood

  Where the white hurtling heads of waves that met

  Rose unsaluted of the sunrise yet.

  And from his heart’s root outward shot the sweet

  Strong joy that thrilled him to the hands and feet,

  Filling his limbs with pleasure and glad might,

  And his soul drank the immeasurable delight

  That earth drinks in with morning, and the free

  Limitless love that lifts the stirring sea

  When on her bare bright bosom as a bride

  She takes the young sun, perfect in his pride,

  Home to his place with passion: and the heart

  Trembled for joy within the man whose part

  Was here not least in living; and his mind

  Was rapt abroad beyond man’s meaner kind

  And pierced with love of all things and with mirth

  Moved to make one with heaven and heavenlike earth

  And with the light live water. So awhile

  He watched the dim sea with a deepening smile,

  And felt the sound and savour and swift flight

  Of waves that fled beneath the fading night

  And died before the darkness, like a song

  With harps between and trumpets blown along

  Through the loud air of some triumphant day,

  Sink through his spirit and purge all sense away

  Save of the glorious gladness of his hour

  And all the world about the break in flower

  Before the sovereign laughter of the sun;

  And he, ere night’s wide work lay all undone,

  As earth from her bright body casts off night,

  Cast off his raiment for a rapturous fight

  And stood between the sea’s edge and the sea

  Naked, and godlike of his mould as he

  Whose swift foot’s sound shook all the towers of Troy;

  So clothed with might, so girt upon with joy

  As, ere the knife had shorn to feed the fire

  His glorious hair before the unkindled pyre

  Whereon the half of his great heart was laid,

  Stood, in the light of his live limbs arrayed,

  Child of heroic earth and heavenly sea,

  The flower of all men: scarce less bright than he,

  If any of all men latter-born might stand,

  Stood Tristram, silent, on the glimmering strand.

  Not long: but with a cry of love that rang

  As from a trumpet golden-mouthed he sprang,

  As toward a mother’s where his head might rest

  That none may gird nor measure: and his heart

  Sent forth a shout that bade his lips not part,

  But triumphed in him silent: no man’s voice,

  No song, no sound of clarions that rejoice,

  Can set that glory forth which fills with fire
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br />   The body and soul that have their whole desire

  Silent, and freer than birds or dreams are free

  Take all their will of all the encountering sea.

  And toward the foam he bent and forward smote,

  Laughing, and launched his body like a boat

  Full to the sea-breach, and against the tide

  Struck strongly forth with amorous arms make wide

  To take the bright breast of the wave to his

  And on his lips the sharp sweet minute’s kiss

  Given of the wave’s lip for a breath’s space curled

  And pure as at the daydawn of the world.

  And round him all the bright rough shuddering sea

  Kindled, as though the world were even as he,

  Heart-stung with exultations of desire:

  And all the life that moved him seemed to aspire,

  As all the sea’s life toward the sun: and still

  Delight within him waxed with quickening will

  More smooth and strong and perfect as a flame

  That springs and spreads, till each glad limb became

  A note of rapture in the tune of life,

  Live music mild and keen as sleep and strife:

  Till the sweet change that bids the sense grow sure

  Of deeper depth and purity more pure

  Wrapped him and lapped him round with clearer cold,

  And all the rippling green grew royal gold

  Between him and the far sun’s rising rim.

  And like the sun his heart rejoiced in him,

  And brightened with a broadening flame of mirth:

  But the life kindled of a fiery birth

  And passion of a new-begotten son

  Between the live sea and the living sun.

  And mightier grew the joy to meet full-faced

  Each wave, and mount with upward plunge, and taste

  The rapture of its rolling strength, and cross

  Its flickering crown of snows that flash and toss

  Like plumes in battle’s blithest charge, and thence

  To match the next with yet more strenuous sense;

  Till on his eyes the light beat hard and bade

  His face turn west and shoreward through the glad

  Swift revel of the waters golden-clad,

  And back with light reluctant heart he bore

  Across the broad-backed rollers in to shore;

  Strong-spirited for the chance and cheer of fight,

  And donned his arms again, and felt the might

  In all his limbs rejoice for strength, and praised

  God for such life as that wheron he gazed,

  And wist not surely its joy was even as fleet

  As that which laughed and lapsed against his feet,

  The bright thin grey foam-blossom, glad and hoar,

  That flings its flower along the flowerless shore

  On sand or shingle, and still with sweet strange snows,

  As where one great white storm-dishevelled rose

  May rain her wild leaves on a windy land,

  Strews for long leagues the sounding slope of strand

  And flower on flower falls flashing, and anew

  A fresh light leaps up whence the last flash flew,

  And casts its brief glad gleam of life away

  To fade not flowerwise but as drops the day

  Storm-smitten, when at once the dark devours

  Heaven and the sea and earth with all their flowers;

  No star in heaven, on earth no rose to see,

  But the white blown brief blossoms of the sea,

  That make her green gloom starrier than the sky,

  Dance yet before the tempest’s tune, and die.

  And all these things he glanced upon, and knew

  How fair they shone, from earth’s least flake of dew

  To stretch of seas and imminence of skies,

  Unwittingly, with unpresageful eyes,

  For the last time. The world’s half heavenly face,

  The music of the silence of the place,

  The confluence and the refluence of the sea,

  The wind’s note ringing over wold and lea,

  Smote once more through him keen as fire that smote,

  Rang once more through him one reverberate note,

  That faded as he turned again and went,

  Fulfilled by strenuous joy with strong content,

  To take his last delight of labour done

  That yet should be beholden of the sun

  Or ever give man comfort of his hand.

  Beside a wood’s edge in the broken land

  An hour at wait the twain together stood,

  Till swift between the moorside and the wood

  Flashed the spears forward of the coming train;

  And seeing beside the strong chief spoiler’s rein

  His wan love riding prisoner in the crew,

  Forth with a cry the young man leapt, and flew

  Right on that felon sudden as a flame;

  And hard at hand the mightier Tristram came,

  Bright as the sun and terrible as fire:

  And there had sword and spear their soul’s desire,

  And blood that quenched the spear’s thirst as it poured

  Slaked royally the hunger of the sword,

  Till the fierce heat of steel could scarce fulfil

  Its greed and ravin of insatiate will.

  For three the fiery spear of Tristram drove

  Down ere a point of theirs his harness clove

  Or its own sheer mid shaft splintered in twain

  And his heart bounded in him , and was fain

  As fire or wind that takes its fill by night

  Of tempest and of triumph: so the knight

  Rejoiced and ranged among them, great of hand,

  Till seven lay slain upon the heathery sand

  Or in the dense breadth of the woodside fern.

  Nor did his heart not mightier in him burn

  Seeing at his hand that young knight fallen, and high

  The red sword reared again that bade him die.

  But on the slayer exulting like the flame

  Whose foot foreshines the thunder Tristram came

  Raging, for piteous wrath had made him fire;

  And as a lion’s look his face was dire

  That flashed against his foeman ere the sword

  Lightened and wrought the heart’s will of its lord

  And clove through casque and crown the wrongdoer’s head.

  And right and left about their dark chief dead

  Hurtled and hurled those felons to and fro,

  Till as a storm-wind scatters leaves and snow

  His right hand ravening scattered them; but one

  That fled with sidelong glance athwart the sun

  Shot, and the shaft flew sure, and smote aright,

  Full in the wound’s print of his great first fight

  When at his young strength’s peril he made free

  Cornwall, and slew beside its bordering seas

  The fair land’s foe, who yielding up his breath

  Yet left him wounded night to dark slow death.

  And hardly with long toil thence he won home

  Between the grey moor and the glimmering foam,

  And halting fared through his own gate, and fell,

  Thirsting: for as the sleepless fire of hell

  The fire within him of his wound again

  Burned, and his face was dark as death for pain,

  And blind the blithe light of his eyes: but they

  Within that watched wist not of the fray

  Came forth and cried aloud on him for woe.

  And scarce aloud his thanks fell faint and slow

  As men reared up the strong man fallen and bore

  Down the deep hall that looked along the shore,

  And laid him soft abed, and sought in vain

  If herb or hand of leech might h
eal his pain.

  And the white-handed Iseult hearkening heard

  All, and drew night, and spake no wifely word,

  But gazed upon his doubtfully, with eyes

  Clouded; and he in kindly knightly wise

  Spake with scant breath, and smiling: “Surely this

  Is penance for discourteous lips to kiss

  And feel the brand burn through them, here to lie

  And lack the strength here to do more than sigh

  And hope not hence for pardon.” Then she bowed

  Her head, still silent as a stooping cloud,

  And laid her lips against his face; and he

  Felt sink a shadow across him as the sea

  Might feel a cloud stoop toward it: and his heart

  Darkened as one that wastes by sorcerous art

  And knows not whence it withers: and he turned

  Back from her emerald eyes his own, and yearned

  All night for eyes all golden: and the dark

  Hung sleepless round him till the loud first lark

  Rang record forth once more of darkness done,

  And all things born took comfort from the sun.

  THE SAILING OF THE SWAN

  Fate, that was born ere spirit and flesh were made,

  The fire that fills man’s life with light and shade;

  The power beyond all godhead which puts on

  All forms of multitudinous unison,

  A raiment of eternal change inwrought

  With shapes and hues more subtly spun than thought,

  Where all things old bear fruit of all things new

  And one deep chord throbs all the music through,

  The chord of change unchanging, shadow and light

  Inseparable as reverberate day from night;

  Fate, that of all things save the soul of man

  Is lord and God since body and soul began;

  Fate, that breathes power upon the lips of time;

  That smites and soothes with heavy and healing hand

  All joys and sorrows born in life’s dim land,

  Till joy be found a shadow and sorrow a breath

  And life no discord in the tune with death,

  But all things fain alike to die and live

  In pulse and lapse of tides alternative,

  Through silence and through sound of peace and strife

  Till birth and death be one in sight of life;

  Fate, heard and seen of no man’s eyes or ears,

  To no man shown through light of smiles or tears,

  And moved of no man’s prayer to fold its wings;

  Fate, that is night and light on worldly things;

  Fate, that is fire to burn and sea to drown,

  Strength to build up and thunder to cast down;

  Fate, shield and screen for each man’s lifelong head,