Ride to the Lady | Page 3

since the birth of light
As the strong
agony and mortal fight
Of human souls, blind-reaching, with the
Power
Aloof, unmoved, impossible to cross,
Whose law is seeming
loss.
Low-sunken from the longed-for triumph-mark;
The spent sea sighs
as one that grieves in sleep.
The unveiled moon along the rippling
plain
Casts many a keen, cold, shifting silvery spark,
Wild as the
pulses of strange joy, that leap
Even in the quick of pain.
And she compelling, she that stands for law,--
As law for Will
eternal,--perfect, clear,
And uncompassionate shines: to her appear


Vast sequences close-linked without a flaw.
All past despairs of
ocean unforgot,
All raptures past, serene her light she gives,
The
moon too high for pity, since she lives
Aware that loss is not.
KING RAEDWALD
Will you hear now the speech of King Raedwald,--heathen Raedwald,
the simple yet wise?
He, the ruler of North-folk and South-folk, a
man open-browed
as the skies,
Held the eyes of the eager Italians with his blue, bold,
Englishman's eyes.
In his hall, on his throne, so he sat, with the light of the fire
on him full:
Colored bright as the ring of red gold on his hand, fit to
buffet
a bull,
Was the mane that grew down on his neck, was the beard he
would
pondering pull.
To the priests, to the eager Italians, thus fearless less he poured
his free speech;
"O my honey-tongued fathers, I turn not away from
the faith that ye
teach!
Not the less hath a man many moods, and may ask a religion
for each.
"Grant that all things are well with the realm on a delicate day
of the spring,
Easter month, time of hopes and of swallows!
The praises, the psalms that ye sing,
As in pleasant accord they float

heavenward, are good in the ears
of the king.
"Then the heart bubbles forth with clear waters, to the time
of this wonder-word Peace,
From the chanting and preaching whereof
ye who serve the
white Christ never cease;
And your curly, soft incense ascending
enwraps my content
like a fleece.
"But a churl comes adrip from the rivers, pants me out, fallen
spent on the floor,
'O King Raedwald, Northumberland marches, and
to-morrow knocks
hard at thy door,
Hot for melting thy crown on the hearth!'
Then commend me to Woden and Thor!
"Could I sit then and listen to preachments on turning the cheek
to the blow,
And saying a prayer for the smiter, and holding my seen
treasure low For the sake of a treasure unseen? By the sledge of the
Thunderer, no!
"For my thought flashes out as a sword, cleaving counsel as
clottage of cream;
And your incense and chanting are but as the
smoke of burnt
towns and the scream;
And I quaff me the thick mead of triumph
from enemies' skulls
in my dream!

"And 'tis therefore this day I resolve me,--for King Raedwald
will cringe not, nor lie!--
I will bring back the altar of Woden; in the
temple will have it,
hard by
The new altar of this your white Christ. As my mood may
decide,
worship I!"
So he spake in his large self-reliance,--he, a man open-browed
as the skies;
Would not measure his soul by a standard that was
womanish-weak
to his eyes,
Smite his breast and go on with his sinning,--savage
Raedwald,
the simple yet wise!
And the centuries bloom o'er his barrow. But for us,--have we
mastered it quite,
The old riddle, that sweet is strong's outcome, the
old marvel,
that meekness is might,
That the child is the leader of lions, that
forgiveness is force
at its height?
When we summon the shade of rude Raedwald, in his candor how
king-like he towers!
Have the centuries, over his slumber, only borne
sterile falsehoods
for flowers?
Pray you, what if Christ found him the nobler, having
weighed his

frank manhood with ours?
IVO OF CHARTRES
Now may it please my lord, Louis the king,
Lily of Christ and France!
riding his quest,
I, Bishop Ivo, saw a wondrous thing.
There was no light of sun left in the west,
And slowly did the moon's
new light increase.
Heaven, without cloud, above the near hill's crest,

Lay passion purple in a breathless peace.
Stars started like still
tears, in rapture shed,
Which without consciousness the lids release.
All steadily, one little sparkle red,
Afar, drew close. A woman's form
grew up
Out of the dimness, tall, with queen-like head,
And in one
hand was fire; in one, a cup.
Of aspect grave she was, with eyes
upraised,
As one whose thoughts perpetually did sup
At the Lord's
table.
While the cresset blazed,
Her I regarded. "Daughter, whither bent,

And wherefore?" As by speech of man amazed,
One moment her
deep look to me she lent;
Then, in a voice of hymn-like, solemn fall,

Calm, as by role, she spake out her intent:
"I in my cruse bear water, wherewithal
To quench the flames of Hell;
and with my fire
I Paradise would burn: that hence no small
Fear
shall impel, and no mean hope shall hire,
Men to serve God as they