Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc | Page 4

record, being born of woman? Surely not thy Furies near, Surely this beheld, this only, blasted hearts to death with fear. Not the hissing hair, nor flakes of blood that oozed from eyes of
fire,?Nor the snort of savage sleep that snuffed the hungering heart's
desire?Where the hunted prey found hardly space and harbour to respire; She whose likeness called them--"Sleep ye, ho? what need of you
that sleep?"?(Ah, what need indeed, where she was, of all shapes that night may
keep?Hidden dark as death and deeper than men's dreams of hell are
deep?)?She the murderess of her husband, she the huntress of her son, More than ye was she, the shadow that no God withstands but one, Wisdom equal-eyed and stronger and more splendid than the sun. Yea, no God may stand betwixt us and the shadows of our deeds, Nor the light of dreams that lighten darkness, nor the prayer that
pleads,?But the wisdom equal-souled with heaven, the light alone that
leads.?Light whose law bids home those childless children of eternal
night,?Soothed and reconciled and mastered and transmuted in men's sight Who behold their own souls, clothed with darkness once, now clothed
with light.?King of kings and father crowned of all our fathers crowned of
yore,?Lord of all the lords of song, whose head all heads bow down
before,?Glory be to thee from all thy sons in all tongues evermore.
Rose and vine and olive and deep ivy-bloom entwining [_Str. 3._ Close the goodliest grave that e'er they closeliest might entwine Keep the wind from wasting and the sun from too strong shining Where the sound and light of sweetest songs still float and
shine.?Here the music seems to illume the shade, the light to whisper Song, the flowers to put not odours only forth, but words Sweeter far than fragrance: here the wandering wreaths twine
crisper?Far, and louder far exults the note of all wild birds. Thoughts that change us, joys that crown and sorrows that enthrone
us,?Passions that enrobe us with a clearer air than ours, Move and breathe as living things beheld round white Colonus, Audibler than melodies and visibler than flowers.?Love, in fight unconquered, Love, with spoils of great men laden, Never sang so sweet from throat of woman or of dove: Love, whose bed by night is in the soft cheeks of a maiden, And his march is over seas, and low roofs lack not Love; Nor may one of all that live, ephemeral or eternal,?Fly nor hide from Love; but whoso clasps him fast goes mad. Never since the first-born year with flowers first-born grew vernal Such a song made listening hearts of lovers glad or sad. Never sounded note so radiant at the rayless portal?Opening wide on the all-concealing lowland of the dead As the music mingling, when her doomsday marked her mortal, From her own and old men's voices round the bride's way shed, Round the grave her bride-house, hewn for endless habitation, Where, shut out from sunshine, with no bridegroom by, she slept; But beloved of all her dark and fateful generation,?But with all time's tears and praise besprinkled and bewept: Well-beloved of outcast father and self-slaughtered mother, Born, yet unpolluted, of their blind incestuous bed; Best-beloved of him for whose dead sake she died, her brother, Hallowing by her own life's gift her own born brother's head;
Not with wine or oil nor any less libation [_Ant. 3._ Hallowed, nor made sweet with humbler perfume's breath; Not with only these redeemed from desecration,?But with blood and spirit of life poured forth to death; Blood unspotted, spirit unsullied, life devoted,?Sister too supreme to make the bride's hope good,?Daughter too divine as woman to be noted,?Spouse of only death in mateless maidenhood.?Yea, in her was all the prayer fulfilled, the saying?All accomplished--_Would that fate would let me wear Hallowed innocence of words and all deeds, weighing?Well the laws thereof, begot on holier air,?Far on high sublimely stablished, whereof only?Heaven is father; nor did birth of mortal mould?Bring them forth, nor shall oblivion lull to lonely?Slumber. Great in these is God, and grows not old._?Therefore even that inner darkness where she perished?Surely seems as holy and lovely, seen aright,?As desirable and as dearly to be cherished,?As the haunt closed in with laurels from the light,?Deep inwound with olive and wild vine inwoven,?Where a godhead known and unknown makes men pale,?But the darkness of the twilight noon is cloven?Still with shrill sweet moan of many a nightingale.?Closer clustering there they make sweet noise together, Where the fearful gods look gentler than our fear,?And the grove thronged through with birds of holiest feather Grows nor pale nor dumb with sense of dark things near. There her father, called upon with signs of wonder,?Passed with tenderest words away by ways unknown,?Not by sea-storm stricken down, nor touched of thunder, To the dark benign deep underworld, alone.
Third of three that ruled