Aylwin

Aylwin

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aylwin, by Theodore Watts-Dunton
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Title: Aylwin
Author: Theodore Watts-Dunton
Release Date: September 14, 2004 [eBook #13454]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AYLWIN***
E-text prepared by Roy Brown, Trowbridge, England

AYLWIN
With Two Appendices, One Containing a Note on the Character of
D'arcy; the Other a Key to the Story, Reprinted from Notes and Queries
by
THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON
Author of 'The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story,' etc. etc.

TO C. J. R. IN REMEMBRANCE OF SUNNY DAYS AND
STARLIT NIGHTS WHEN WE RAMBLED TOGETHER ON
CRUMBLING CLIFFS THAT ARE NOW AT THE BOTTOM OF
THE SEA THIS EDITION OF A STORY WHICH HAS BEEN A
LINK BETWEEN US IS INSCRIBED

CAUGHT IN THE EBBING TIDE
A REMINISCENCE OF RAXTOX CLIFFS
The mightiest Titan's stroke could not withstand An ebbing tide like

this. These swirls denote How wind and tide conspire. I can but float
To the open sea and strike no more for land. Farewell, brown cliffs,
farewell, beloved sand Her feet have pressed--farewell, dear little boat
Where Gelert,[Footnote] calmly sitting on my coat, Unconscious of my
peril, gazes bland!
All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear: Yet these air-pictures of
the past that glide-- These death-mirages o'er the heaving tide--
Showing two lovers in an alcove clear, Will break my heart. I see them
and I hear As there they sit at morning, side by side.
[Footnote: A famous swimming dog.]
THE VISION
_With Barton elms behind--in front the sea, Sitting in rosy light in that
alcove, They hear the first lark rise o'er Raxton Grove: 'What should I
do with fame, dear heart?' says he, 'You talk of fame, poetic fame, to
me Whose crown is not of laurel but of love-- To me who would not
give this little glove On this dear hand for Shakespeare's dower in fee.
While, rising red and kindling every billow, The sun's shield shines
'neath many a golden spear, To lean with you, against this leafy pillow,
To murmur words of love in this loved ear-- To feel you bending like a
bending willow, This is to be a poet--this, my dear!'_
O God, to die and leave her--die and leave The heaven so lately
won!--And then, to know What misery will be hers--what lonely woe!--
To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve Will make me a coward
as I sink, and cleave To life though Destiny has bid me go. How shall I
bear the pictures that will glow Above the glowing billows as they
heave?
One picture fades, and now above the spray Another shines: ah, do I
know the bowers Where yon sweet woman stands--the woodland
flowers, In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay-- That
birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours Wore angel-wings,--till
portents brought dismay?
Shall I turn coward here who sailed with Death Through many a
tempest on mine own North Sea, And quail like him of old who bowed
the knee-- Faithless--to billows of Genesereth? Did I turn coward when
my very breath Froze on my lips that Alpine night when He Stood
glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me, While avalanches rolled from
peaks beneath?

Each billow bears me nearer to the verge Of realms where she is
not--where love must wait. If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge
That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate, To come and help me, or to
share my fate. Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge. [_The
dog, plunging into the tide and striking towards his master with
immense strength, reaches him and swims round him._]
Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw, Here gazing like your
namesake, 'Snowdon's Hound,' When great Llewelyn's child could not
be found, And all the warriors stood in speechless awe-- Mute as your
namesake when his master saw The cradle tossed--the rushes red
around-- With never a word, but only a whimpering sound To tell what
meant the blood on lip and jaw!
In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond, Should I, brave friend, have
needed other speech Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond
Stronger than words that binds us each to each?-- But Death has caught
us both. 'Tis far beyond The strength of man or dog to win the beach.
Through tangle-weed--through coils of slippery kelp Decking your
shaggy forehead, those brave eyes Shine true--shine deep of love's
divine surmise As hers who