Ballads of Lost Haven | Page 7

the morning I am with them?As they clear the island bar,--?Fade, till speck by speck the midday?Has forgotten where they are.
But I sight a vaster sea-line,?Wider lee-way, longer run,?Whose discoverers return not?With the ships of gray St. John.
THE KING OF YS
Wild across the Breton country,?Fabled centuries ago,?Riding from the black sea border,?Came the squadrons of the snow.
Piping dread at every latch-hole,?Moaning death at every sill,?The white Yule came down in vengeance?Upon Ys, and had its will.
Walled and dreamy stood the city,?Wide and dazzling shone the sea,?When the gods set hand to smother?Ys, the pride of Brittany.
Morning drenched her towers in purple;?Light of heart were king and fool;?Fair forebode the merrymaking?Of the seven days of Yule.
Laughed the king, "Once more, my mistress,?Time and place and joy are one!"?Bade the balconies with banners?Match the splendor of the sun;
Eyes of urchins shine with silver,?And with gold the pavement ring;?Bade the war-horns sound their bravest?In _The Mistress of the King_.
Mountebanks and ballad-mongers?And all strolling traffickers?Should block up the market corners?With none other name than hers.
Laughed the fool, "To-day, my Folly,?Thou shalt be the king of Ys!"?O wise fool! How long must wisdom?Under motley hold her peace?
Then the storm came down. The valleys?Wailed and ciphered to the dune?Like huge organ pipes; a midnight?Stalked those gala streets at noon;
And the sea rose, rocked and tilted?Like a beaker in the hand,?Till the moon-hung tide broke tether?And stampeded in for land.
All day long with doom portentous,?Shreds of pennons shrieked and flew?Over Ys; and black fear shuddered?On the hearthstone all night through.
Fear, which freezes up the marrow?Of the heart, from door to door?Like a plague went through the city,?And filled up the devil's score;
Filled her tally of the craven,?To the sea-wind's dismal note;?While a panic superstition?Took the people by the throat.
As with morning still the sea rose?With vast wreckage on the tide,?And their pasture rills, grown rivers,?Thundered in the mountain side,
"Vengeance, vengeance, gods to vengeance!"?Rose a storm of muttering;?And the human flood came pouring?To the palace of the king.
"Save, O king, before we perish?In the whirlpools of the sea,?Ys thy city, us thy people!"?Growled the king then, "What would ye?"
But his wolf's eyes talked defiance,?And his bearded mouth meant scorn.?"O our king, the gods are angry;?And no longer to be borne
"Is the shameless face that greets us?From thy windows, at thy side,?Smiling infamy. And therefore?Thou shall take her up, and ride
"Down with her into the sea's mouth,?And there leave her; else we die,?And thy name goes down to story?A new word for cruelty."
Ah, but she was fair, this woman!?Warm and flaxen waved her hair;?Her blue Breton eyes made summer?In that bleak December air.
There she stood whose burning beauty?Made the world's high roof tree ring,?A white poppy tall and wind-blown?In the garden of the king.
Her throat shook, but not with terror;?Her eyes swam, but not with fear;?While her two hands caught and clung to?The one man they had found dear.
"Lord and lover,"--thus she smiled him?Her last word,--"it shall be so,?Only the sea's arms shall hold me,?When from out thine arms I go."
Swore he, "By the gods, my mistress,?Thou shall have queen's burial.?Pearls and amber shall thy tomb be;?Shot with gold and green thy pall.
"And a million-throated chorus?Shall take up thy dirge to-night;?Where thy slumber's starry watch-fires?Shall a thousand years be bright."
Then they brought the coal-black stallion,?Chafing on the bit. Astride?Sprang the young king; shouted, "Way there!"?Caught the girl up to his side;
And a path through that scared rabble?Rode in pageant to the sea.?And the coal-black mane was mingled?With gold hair against his knee.
Sure as the wild gulls make seaward,?From the west gate to the beach?Rode these two for whom now freedom?Landward lay beyond their reach.
And the great horse, scenting peril,?Snorted at the flying spume,?Flicked with courage, as how often,?When the tides were racing doom,
Ridden, he had plunged to rescue?From that seething icy hell?Some poor sailor wrecked a-fishing?On the coast. What fears should quell
That high spirit? Knee to shoulder,?King and stallion reared and sprang?Clear above the long white combers?And that turmoil's iron clang.
What a launching! For a moment,?While the tempest held its breath?And a thousand eyes looked wonder,?Swimming in that trough of death,
Steering seaward through the welter,?Ere they settled out of sight,?Waved above them one gold streamer.?Valor, bid the world good-night!...
Not a trace, while the long summers?Warm the heart of Brittany,?Save one stone of Ys, as remnant,?For a white mark in the sea.
THE KELPIE RIDERS
I
Buried alive in calm Rochelle,?Six in a row by a crystal well,
All Summer long on Bareau Fen?Slumber and sleep the Kelpie men;
By the side of each to cheer his ghost,?A flagon of foam with a crumpet of frost.
Hear me, friends, for the years are fleet;?Soon I leave the noise and the street
For the silent uncompanioned way?Where the inn is cold and the night is gray.
But noon is warm and the world is still?Where the Kelpie riders have