Ride to the Lady | Page 7

be."
"But shall one find it, brother? Where I ride,?Men mock and stare, who never had the dream,?Yet hope within my breast has never died."?"Nor ever died in mine that trembling gleam."
"Eastward, I deem: the sun and all good things?Are born to bless us of the Orient old."?"Westward, I deem: an untried ocean sings?Against that coast, 'New shores await the bold.'"
"God speed or thee or me, so coming men?But have the Cup!" "God speed!"--Not once before?Their eyes had met, nor ever met again,?Yet were they loving comrades evermore.
THE HOUSE OF HATE
Mine enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight; But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite: And the name thereof I set in the stone-work over the gate, With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it the House of Hate.
And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair; Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair; That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue, It must fall on mine evil work, and my hatred should pierce
him through.
And I said, "I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire On my foe;" and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with fire; But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled man, And the hearth was cold from the day that the House of Hate began.
And I called at the open door, "Make ye merry, all friends of mine, In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine. We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled!" And they stared and they passed me by; but I scorned to be thereby
schooled.
And I ordered my board for feast; and I drank, in the topmost seat, Choice grape from a curious cup; and the first it was wonder-sweet; But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black, And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack.
Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear; And thinly I laughed, but once, for the echoes were strange to hear; And the wind in the hallways howled as a green-eyed wolf might cry, And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man, or die!
So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked, and I saw it grown (By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone; And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled, And a fire-snake writhed where it fell; and at midnight
the sky was red.
And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin, despoiled of flame, I fell at mine enemy's feet, and besought him to slay my shame; But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were
calm and great:?"You rave, or have dreamed," he said; "I saw not your House of Hate."
THE ARROWMAKER
Day in, day out, or sun or rain,?Or sallow leaf, or summer grain,?Beneath a wintry morning moon?Or through red smouldering afternoon,?With simple joy, with careful pride,?He plies the craft he long has plied:?To shape the stave, to set the sting,?To fit the shaft with irised wing;?And farers by may hear him sing,?For still his door is wide:?"Laugh and sigh, live and die,--?The world swings round; I know not, I,?If north or south mine arrows fly!"
And sometimes, while he works, he dreams,?And on his soul a vision gleams:?Some storied field fought long ago,?Where arrows fell as thick as snow.?His breath comes fast, his eyes grow bright,?To think upon that ancient fight.?Oh, leaping from the strained string?Against an armored Wrong to ring,?Brave the songs that arrows sing!?He weighs the finished flight:?"Live and die; by and by?The sun kills dark; I know not, I,?In what good fight mine arrows fly!"
Or at the gray hour, weary grown,?When curfew o'er the wold is blown,?He sees, as in a magic glass,?Some lost and lonely mountain-pass;?And lo! a sign of deathful rout?The mocking vine has wound about,--?An earth-fixed arrow by a spring,?All greenly mossed, a mouldered thing;?That stifled shaft no more shall sing!?He shakes his head in doubt.?"Laugh and sigh, live and die,--?The hand is blind: I know not, I,?In what lost pass mine arrows lie!?One to east, one to west,?Another for the eagle's breast,--?The archer and the wind know best!"?The stars are in the sky;?He lays his arrows by.
A NEST IN A LYRE
As sign before a playhouse serves?A giant Lyre, ornately gilded,?On whose convenient coignes and curves?The pert brown sparrows late have builded.?They flit, and flirt, and prune their wings,?Not awed at all by golden glitter,?And make among the silent strings?Their satisfied ephemeral twitter.
Ah, somewhat so we