Lewis Morris

“ This festival? Why was it that he grew
So anxious to go hence and take me with him,
But that guilt made him coward, and he feared
To see his work? Oh, love for ever lost,
And with it faith gone out! what is't remains
But duty, though the path be rough and trod
By bruised and bleeding feet? Oh, what is it
Is left for me in life but death alone,
Which ends it?
Ire.
Gycia, duty bids thee banish
Thy love to his own State, and then disclose
The plot thou hast discovered. It may be
That thou mayst join him yet, and yet grow happy.
Gycia. Never! For duty treads another path
Than that thou knowest. ”

“ From the pity of it—the want, the misery,
And with strong yearnings beat, and rebellions wild,
Seeing death written, and pain, in the face of a child;—
And yet art Thou unmoved!
Ah, Lord, if Thou sawest surely!—and yet Thou dost see;
And if Thou knewest indeed!—and yet all things are clear to Thee.
For, Lord, of a truth Thy great ones,
Who have not their wealth of their own desert,
Live ever equal lives and sure,
And are never vexed nor suffer hurt,
But through long untroubled years endure
Until they join Thee, and are in bliss ”

“ Gycia.
Say on, Asander.
Asan. Know, then, that soldiers sent from Bosphorus
Have long time hid within our palace here—
Long time before I knew, or I had nipt
The treason in the bud; and in an hour
Or less from when we speak, they will go forth,
183
When all the citizens are wrapt in sleep
After the toilsome day, and seize the gate,
And open to the army which lies hid
On board the ships without. They will not shed
The blood of any, since the o'erwhelming force
Will make resistance vain. ”

“ I know that Thou art good and mild,
Though sickness take and break the helpless child;
'Twas Thou, none else, that gav'st the mother's love,
And even her anguish came from Thee above.
I am content to be that which Thou wilt:
Tho' humble be my pathway and obscure,
Yet from all stain of guilt
Keep Thou me pure.
Or if Thy evil still awhile must find
Its seat within my mind,
Be it as Thou wilt, I am not afraid.
And for the world Thy hand has made,
Thy beautiful world, so wondrous fair:
Thy mysteries of dawn, Thy unclouded days;
Thy mountains, soaring high through Thy pure air ”

“ Scene III.—A street in Cherson. Megacles; afterwards Melissa.
Megacles. Well, it is time for the banquet. Somehow, this place improves on acquaintance, after all. Poor, of course, and rude to a degree. But truly the Lady Gycia is fair—as fair, indeed, as if she was the Emperor's daughter. She is a beautiful creature, truly. But give me that delightful lady-in-waiting of hers, the Lady Melissa. What grace! what rounded proportions! I like mature beauty. She is as like the late divine Empress as two peas, and I thought—I dare say I was wrong, but I really thought—I made an impression. ”

“ Fate, the ineffable Word of an Eternal Will.
All things that are or seem,
Whether we wake who see or do but dream,
Are of that Primal Will phantasms, if no more;
He who sees these sees God, and seeing doth adore.
Joy, suffering, evil, good,
Whatever our daily food,
Whate'er the mystery and paradox of things,
Low creeping thoughts and high imaginings.
The laughters of the world, the age-long groan,
Bring to his mind one name, one thought alone;
All beauty, right, deformity, or wrong,
Sing to his ear one high unchanging song ”

“ If it was love that drove, or only pride
To hold what others grudged me. Vain he was,
And selfish, and a coward, as you shall hear,
Handsome enough, I grant you, to betray
A stronger soul than mine. Indeed, I think,
He never cared for me nor I for him
(For there were others after him) : I knew it,
Then chiefest, when our comedy of life
Was turning at the last to tragedy.
"Now that I was unfaithful, a false wife,
I value not men's sneers at a pin's point,
We have a right to love and to be loved;
Not the mere careless tolerance of the spouse
Who has none to give. ”

“ Why, you foolish youngster, ceremony is everything in life. To understand Precedence aright is to know the secrets of nature. The order of Precedence is the order of Creation. It is, in fact, a very cosmogony. Oh, a noble science! a noble science!
1st Court. Right, good Megacles, to magnify your office. Bravery is nothing; goodness is nothing; beauty is a foolish dream. Give us Ceremony, Ceremony, more Ceremony; it is the salt of life.
Meg. A very intelligent youth. But here comes the King.
22
Enter the King, Asander, and Lysimachus. ”

“ The stains of life. No harm shall come to thee,
Nor in those chill dark waters shall thy feet
Slip, nor thy life be swallowed. It is thine
To bear in thy strong arms the fainting souls
Of pilgrims who press onward day and night
Seeking the Lord of Light. Thou, who so long
Didst serve the Lord of Evil, now shalt serve
A higher; and because great penances
Are fitting for great wrong, here shalt thou toil
Long time till haply thou shalt lose the stain
Of sense and of the world, then shall thy eyes
See that thou wouldst.
Go suffer and be strong. ”

“ Of a new sorrow and gloom,
And when his soul to comfort them is fain
Finds his voice mute, his form unknown, unseen,
And thinks with irrepressible pain
Of all the happy days which late have been,
And feels his new life's inmost chambers stirred
If only of his own, he might be seen or heard;
Then if, at length,
The father's yearning and overburdened soul
Burst into shape and voice which scorn control
Of its despairing strength,—
Ah Heaven! ah pity for the present dread
Which strikes the old affection, dull and dead! ”

“ Lys. The lad is a good lad enough, but weak as water. The world always pardons successful enterprises. Besides, I am in great hopes that he has so quarrelled with the ruler of Cherson, and may be, moreover, so out of conceit with his wife, that we can do as we will with him.
2nd Court. But be prudent, my Lord Lysimachus, I beg, for we know not how far he is with us, and if he is against us now, it may take more than we know to keep our heads on our shoulders.
125
Lys. My lords, you shall not lose a drop of your blood. But here is my Lord Asander. He looks cast down enough, in all conscience. ”

“ Through all those hidden depths he strode unmoved,
A strong, laborious, unrewarded soul.
Was it because the stain and blot of wrong
Were on him still uncleansed? I cannot tell.
The stain of ill eats deep, and nought can cleanse it,
Nay hardly tears of blood. But to my thought
Not thus the legend runs; rather I deem
That what of good he loved was only strength,
The pride of conscious Power—that which had led him
To strong rude wrong, the same sense, working on him,
Led him through weariness of wrong to use
His strength for goodness. ”

“ The Greek with the Cimmerian. Father, pray you,
Send them away, with honour if you please,
And soothing words and gifts—only, I pray you,
30
Send them away, this Prince who doth despise us,
And his false retinue of slaves.
Lama.
My daughter,
Thy words are wanting in thy wonted love
And dutiful observance. 'Twere an insult
Unwashed by streams of bloodshed, should our City
Scorn thus the guests it summoned. Come they must,
And with all hospitable care and honour,
Else were thy sire dishonoured. Thou wilt give them
A fitting welcome.
Gycia. ”

“ As life's blithe springtide passed upon its way
And all youth's infinite hope and bloom
Shone round her; nor might any shadow of gloom
Fall on her as she passed from flower to flower;
Love sought her, with full dower
Of happy wedlock and young lives to rear;
Nor shed her eyes a tear,
Save for some passing pity, fancy bred.
All good things were around her—riches, love,
All that the heart and mind can move,
The precious things of art, the undefiled
And innocent affection of a child.
Oh girl, who amid sunny ways dost tread,
What curse is this that blights that comely head? ”

“ Exit Megacles, bowing low to each with exaggerated gestures.
Lys. Poor soul, poor soul! If any fight comes, it would be as cruel to let him take his part with men as it would be if he were a woman or a child.
Enter Asander.
Welcome, my Lord Asander. Hast thou seen our men, and are they ready for to-morrow? ”

“ Have pity on me; let me love my love,
If not with recompense of love, alone;
For I can love none else."
Then the King said:
"Daughter, to me thy happiness is life,
And more; but now, I pray thee, let my words
Sink deep within thy mind. Thou canst not know
If this strange vision through the gate of truth
Came or the gate of error. Oftentimes
The gods send strong delusions to ensnare
Too credulous hearts. Thou canst not know, in sooth,
If 'twas the Prince thou saw'st, or, were it he,
If love be his to give ”

“ To love and to be loved! And yet methinks
Love is not always thus. To some he brings
Deep disappointment only, and the pain
Of melancholy years. I have a lady
Who loves, but is unloved. Poor soul! she lives
A weary life. Some youth of Bosphorus
53
Stole her poor heart.
Asan.
Of Bosphorus saidst thou?
And her name is?
Gycia.
Irene. Didst thou know her?
Asan. Nay, love, or if I did I have forgot her.
Gycia. Poor soul! to-day when first we met, she saw
Her lover 'midst thy train and swooned away.
Asan. Poor heart! This shall be seen to. Tell me, Gycia,
Didst love me at first sight?
Gycia. ”

“ Now, therefore, since to wed is good, and life
To the unwedded woman seems a load
Which few may bear, and none desire, I prithee,
This jewelled chalice taking, mingle wine
As well thou knowest, and the honeyed draught
Give to some noble youth of those thou seest
Along the well-ranged tables, knowing well
That him to whom thou givest, thou shalt wed.
I fetter not thy choice, girl. I grow old;
I have no son to share the weight of rule,
And fain would see thy children ere I die."
Then, with a kiss upon her blushing cheek,
He gave the maid the cup. ”

“ To turn from the most noteworthy of modern poetry to the verse in which 'Gwen' is written is like turning from a brilliant painting to a fine statue. We are scarcely sensible of want of colour, so refreshed are we by purity of outline. All, indeed, is graceful, good, and poetical work, as pure and limpid in flow as a brook."—Sunday Times, February 2nd, 1879. ”

“ Here the eternal problems grow,
And with each day are solved and done,
When some spent life, like melting snow,
Breathes forth its essence to the sun.
As death is, life is—without end;
Wrong with right mingles, joy with pain;
Forbid two meeting streams to blend,
'Twere not more hopeless, nor more vain.
Though Death with Life, though Wrong with Right,
Are bound within the scheme of things,
Yet can our souls, on soaring wings,
Gain to a loftier purer height,
Where death is not, nor any life,
Nor right nor wrong, nor joy nor pain ”

“ Oh, my lord, forbear! The Empress! and I 48 have never been out of Cherson! You flatter me, you flatter me, indeed. That is the way with all you courtiers from Constantinople. Now, if you had said that my Lady Gycia was beautiful——
Meg. My dear lady, I do not admire her in the least. She has no manners, really—nothing, at any rate, to attract a man of the great world; a mere undeveloped girl, with all the passion to come. No, no, my good lady, give me a woman who has lived. We courtiers know manners and breeding when we see them, and yours are simply perfect, not to say Imperial. ”

“ The Prince he sought, only great princes, strong
And valorous he found, who bowed them down
Before the power of Evil; but for them
He took no thought, who had seen their master blench
Before the Lord of Light; but him indeed
He saw not yet; filled with the pride of life,
A satisfied soul which bowed not down to wrong,
Touched with desire for good, since good was strong,
But loving strength alone. ”

“ There will be ample work for you all ere long. The Lady Gycia is projecting a great festival in memory of her father, and all that the wealth of Cherson can do to honour him will be done. There will be solemn processions, a banquet, and a people's holiday. Dost thou not spy some good ceremonial work there, my good Megacles? Why, thou wilt be as happy as if thou wert at Byzantium itself, marshalling the processions, arranging the banquet, ushering in the guests in due precedence, the shipowner before the merchant, the merchant before the retailer. Why, what couldst thou want more, old Trusty? ”

“ Old as the tale of passing hopes and fears!
New as the springtide air, which day by day
Breathes on young lives, and speeds them on their way.
The Roman knew it, and the Hellene too;
Assyrian and Egyptian proved it true;
Who found for youth's young glory and its glow
Serener life, and calmer tides run slow.
And them oblivion takes, and those before,
Whose very name and race we know no more,
To whom, oh Spirit of the World and Man,
Thou didst reveal Thyself when Time began,—
They felt, as I, what none may understand ”

“ Well, to say the truth, the Lady Gycia is not at all to my taste. It is a cold, insipid style of beauty, at the best; and she is as self-willed and as straitlaced as a lady abbess. I suppose she is well matched with the Prince Asander?
Meg. Well, he is a handsome lad enough, and virtuous, but weak, as youth always is, and pliable. Now, for 49 myself, I am happy to say I am steadfast and firm as a rock.
Mel. Ah, my lord, if all women saw with my eyes, there would not be such a run after youth. Give me a mature man, who has seen the world and knows something of life and manners. ”

“ But is filled with great love for them as Thou art for these,
And would give his life for their good, and is filled day and night
With fatherly thoughts of fear and yearning for right,
And grows sick, if evil come nigh them body or soul,
And yet is but a feeble thing, without strength or control.
But Thou art almighty for good; yet Thy plagues, they come,
Hunger and want and disease, in a terrible sum;
And the poor fathers waste, and are stricken with slow decay ”

“ The stream is bound fast and the wolds are chill;
And by the dead flats, where the cold blasts moan,
A bent body wearily plods alone.
THE PATHOS OF ART. Oft seeing the old painters' art,
We find the tear unbidden start,
And feel our full hearts closer grow
To the far days of long ago.
Not burning faith, or godlike pain,
Can thus our careless thought enchain;
The heavenward gaze of souls sublime,
At once transcends, and conquers time.
Nor pictured form of seer or saint,
Which hands inspired delight to paint;
Art's highest aims of hand or tongue,
Age not, but are for ever young. ”

“ Surely, good Megacles.
Meg. Then, how many steps should Prince Asander take to meet his father-in-law Lamachus—eh? And how many steps should Lamachus take? You never gave the matter a thought? Of course not. And these are questions to be settled on the spot, and scores like them.
3rd Court. I dare say it won't matter at all, or very little.
Meg. Matter very little, indeed! very little, forsooth! Why, in the name of all the saints, do not alliances fall through for less? Are not bloody wars fought for less? ”

“ Which to heights greater than the earth can gain,
And can our little minds project to Thee,
Through Infinite Space—across Eternity.
For these I praise Thy name; but above all
The precious gifts Thy bounteous hand lets fall,
I praise Thee for the power to love the Right,
Though Wrong awhile show fairer to the sight;
The power to sin, the dreadful power to choose
The evil portion and the good refuse ”

“ By Thy great winds as by an unknown word;
Thy fair, light-winged creatures, blithe and free;
Thy dear brutes living, dying, silently:
Shall I from them no voice to praise Thee find?
Thy praise is hymned by every balmy wind
That wanders o'er a wilderness of flowers;
By every happy brute which asks not why,
But rears its brood and is content to die.
From Thee has come whatever good is ours;—
The gift of love that doth exalt the race;
The gift of childhood with its nameless grace;
The gift of age which slow through ripe decay,
Like some fair fading sunset dies away ”

“ For right or wrong there is no further place than here,
No sanctities of hope, no chastening fear?
"There is nowhere else," she said.
"There is nowhere else," and in the wintry ground
When we have laid the darlings of our love—
The little lad with eyes of blue,
The little maid with curls of gold,
Or the beloved aged face
On which each passing year stamps a diviner grace—
That is the end of all, the narrow bound.
Why look our eyes above
To an unreal home which mortal never knew—
Fold the hands on the breast, the clay-cold fingers fold?
No waking comes there to the uncaring dead! ”

“ Thou art, which doth transcend and doth determine Force!
Fare onward to the end; not from Force, dead and blind,
Thou comest, but from the depths of the Creative Mind.
Fare on to the end, but how should ending be,
If Will be in the Universe, and plan?
Some higher thing shall be, that which to-day is Man.
Undying is each cosmic force:
Undying, but transformed, it runs its endless course;
It cannot wane, or sink, or be no more.
Not even the dust and lime which clothe us round
Lose their own substance in the charnel-ground,
Or carried far upon the weltering wind ”

“ Some, on a cliff at dawn, in agony;
Below, a scaly horror on the sea,
Lashing the leaden surge. Fast-bound, a maid
Waits on the verge, alone, but unafraid.
——————
A poisonous, dead, sad sea-marsh, fringed with pines,
Thin-set with mouldering churches, old as Time;
Beyond, on high, just touched with wintry rime,
The long chain of the autumnal Apennines.
——————
A god-like Presence, beautiful as dawn,
Watching, upon an untrodden summit white,
The Earth's last day grow full, and fade in night ”

“ Which scarce has risen ere it die;
Or to a bird, whose rapid flight
Eludes the dazed observer's sight,
Or a stray shaft of glancing light,
That breaks upon the gathered gloom
Which veils some monumental tomb;
Or some sweet Spring flowers' fleeting bloom;—
Mixed part of reason, part belief,
Of pain and pleasure, joy and grief,
As changeful as the Spring, and brief;—
A wave, a shadow, a breath, a strife,
With change on change for ever rife:—
This is the thing we know as life. ”

“ Held him nor sensual ease who was too great
For silken fetters, a strong soul and hand
Bent to a higher end than theirs, and touched
To higher issues; a fair beacon set
Upon a lordly hill above the marsh
Of common life, but all the more laid bare
To the beating of the whirlwind.
Every soul
Knows its particular weakness: so for him
This great strong soul set in its pride of place;
The charm of Power worked like a spell; high power
Unchecked, untrammelled, fixed with none to rule
Above it, this could bend the nobler soul
Which naught might conquer. ”

“ Who after lifelong strivings and great pain
And buffetings had gained the perilous stream
With heaven beyond; wan age and budding youth
And childhood fallen untimely. He stooped down
With wonder mixed with pity, raising up
The weakling limbs, and bearing in his arms
The heavy burden, through the chill dark depths
Of those cold swirling waters without fear
Strode onward. Oftentimes the dreadful force
Of that resistless current, which had whelmed
A lower soul, bore on him ”

“ Eternal are the worlds, and all that them do fill;
Eternal is the march of the Creative Will;
Eternal is the life of man, and sun, and star;
Ay, even though they fade a while, they are;
And though they pause from shining, speed for ever still.
A GREAT GULF. If any tender sire
Who sits girt round by loving faces
And happy childhood's thousand graces,
Through sudden crash or fire
Should 'scape from this poor life to some mysterious air,
And, dwelling solitary there,
Should feel his unfilled yearning father's heart
Pierced through by some intolerable smart ”

“ Hard by, a cool spring bubbled clear, a fountain without stain,
Whereof the dead lips tasting, grew warm with life again.
There was Gwennola's mother mild, and eke her sisters dear:
Oh, land of joy and bliss and love!—oh, land without a tear!
VI.
But when the next sun on the earth, brake from the gathered gloom,
From the white church, the young maids bore, the virgin to her tomb. ”

“ New busy crowds pass on with hurrying feet,
The young lives grow old and the old pass away;
But unchanged, 'mid the graves, at the fated day,
The green sheath bursts upwards and grows complete.
From the grave it bursts forth, 'mid the graves it shall die,
It shall die as we die, as it lives we shall live;
And this poor flower has stronger assurance to give,
Than volumes of learning, which blunder or lie.
For out of the dust and decay of the tomb,
It springs, the sun calling, to beauty and bloom ”

“ With passionate stress and mighty yearning stirred,—
It strives to stand revealed in shape and word
In vain; or by strong travail visible grown,
Finds but a world estranged, and lives and dies alone!
ONE DAY. One day, one day, our lives shall seem
Thin as a brief forgotten dream:
One day, our souls by life opprest,
Shall ask no other boon than rest.
And shall no hope nor longing come,
No memory of our former home,
No yearning for the loved, the dear
Dead lives that are no longer here? ”