Chapter IV: Part 4

"For my father's mind stands fast in this, To do thee to hang upon the bough On the topmost oak in the morning-tide While the sun is yet but low."

But answered thereto young Hafbur Out of a wrathful mind: "Of all heeds I heeded, this was the last, To be prayed for by womankind.

"But hearken, true-love Signy, Good heart to my asking turn, When thou seest me swing on oaken-bough Then let thy high-bower burn."

Then answered the noble Signy, So sore as she must moan, "God to aid, King's son Hafbur, Well will I grant thy boon."

They followed him, King Hafbur, Thick thronging from the castle-bent: And all who saw him needs must greet And in full piteous wise they went.

But when they came to the fair green mead Where Hafbur was to die, He prayed them hold a little while: For his true-love would he try.

"O hang me up my cloak of red, That sight or my ending let me see. Perchance yet may King Siward rue My hanging on the gallows tree."

Now of the cloak was Signy ware And sorely sorrow her heart did rive, She thought: "The ill tale all is told, No longer is there need to live."

Straightway her damsels did she call As weary as she was of mind: "Come, let us go to the bower aloft Game and glee for a while to find."

Yea and withal spake Signy, She spake a word of price: "To-day shall I do myself to death And meet Hafbur in Paradise.

"And whoso there be in this our house Lord Hafbur's death that wrought, Good reward I give them now To red embers to be brought.

"So many there are in the King's garth Of Hafbur's death shall be glad; Good reward for them to lose The trothplight mays they had."

She set alight to the bower aloft And it burned up speedily, And her good love and her great heart Might all with eyen see.

It was the King's son Hafbur O'er his shoulder cast his eye, And beheld how Signy's house of maids On a red low stood on high.

"Now take ye down my cloak of red. Let it lie on the earth a-cold; Had I ten lives of the world for one, Nought of them all would I hold."

King Siward looked out of his window fair In fearful mood enow, For he saw Hafbur hanging on oak And Signy's bower on a low.

Out then spake a little page Was clad in kirtle red: "Sweet Signy burns in her bower aloft, With all her mays unwed."

Therewithal spake King Siward From rueful heart unfain; "Ne'er saw I two King's children erst Such piteous ending gain.

"But had I wist or heard it told That love so strong should be, Ne'er had I held those twain apart For all Denmark given me.

"O hasten and run to Signy's bower For the life of that sweet thing; Hasten and run to the gallows high, No thief is Hafbur the King."

But when they came to Signy's bower Low it lay in embers red; And when they came to the gallows tree, Hafbur was stark and dead.

They took him the King's son Hafbur, Swathed him in linen white, And laid him in the earth of Christ By Signy his delight. _O wilt thou win me then, or as fair a maid as I be?_

GOLDILOCKS AND GOLDILOCKS

It was Goldilocks woke up in the morn At the first of the shearing of the corn.

There stood his mother on the hearth And of new-leased wheat was little dearth.

There stood his sisters by the quern, For the high-noon cakes they needs must earn.

"O tell me Goldilocks my son, Why hast thou coloured raiment on?"

"Why should I wear the hodden grey When I am light of heart to-day?"

"O tell us, brother, why ye wear In reaping-tide the scarlet gear?

Why hangeth the sharp sword at thy side When through the land 'tis the hook goes wide?"

"Gay-clad am I that men may know The freeman's son where'er I go.

The grinded sword at side I bear Lest I the dastard's word should hear."

"O tell me Goldilocks my son, Of whither away thou wilt be gone?"

"The morn is fair and the world is wide, And here no more will I abide."

"O Brother, when wilt thou come again?" "The autumn drought, and the winter rain,

The frost and the snow, and St. David's wind, All these that were time out of mind,

All these a many times shall be Ere the Upland Town again I see."

"O Goldilocks my son, farewell, As thou wendest the world 'twixt home and hell!"

"O brother Goldilocks, farewell, Come back with a tale for men to tell!"

So 'tis wellaway for Goldilocks, As he left the land of the wheaten shocks.

He's gotten him far from the Upland Town, And he's gone by Dale and he's gone by Down.

He's come to the wild-wood dark and drear, Where never the bird's song doth he hear.

He has slept in the moonless wood and dim With never a voice to comfort him.

He has risen up under the little light Where the noon is as dark as the summer night.

Six days therein has he walked alone Till his scrip was bare and his meat was done.

On the seventh morn in the mirk, mirk wood, He saw sight that he deemed was good.

It was as one sees a flower a-bloom In the dusky heat of a shuttered room.

He deemed the fair thing far aloof, And would go and put it to the proof.

But the very first step he made from the place He met a maiden face to face.

Face to face, and so close was she That their lips met soft and lovingly.

Sweet-mouthed she was, and fair he wist; And again in the darksome wood they kissed.

Then first in the wood her voice he heard, As sweet as the song of the summer bird.

"O thou fair man with the golden head. What is the name of thee?" she said.

"My name is Goldilocks," said he; "O sweet-breathed, what is the name of thee?"

"O Goldilocks the Swain," she said, "My name is Goldilocks the Maid."

He spake, "Love me as I love thee, And Goldilocks one flesh shall be."

She said, "Fair man, I wot not how Thou lovest, but I love thee now.

But come a little hence away, That I may see thee in the day.

For hereby is a wood-lawn clear And good for awhile for us it were."

Therewith she took him by the hand And led him into the lighter land.

There on the grass they sat adown. Clad she was in a kirtle brown.

In all the world was never maid So fair, so evilly arrayed.

No shoes upon her feet she had, And scantly were her shoulders clad;

Through her brown kirtle's rents full wide Shone out the sleekness of her side.

An old scrip hung about her neck, Nought of her raiment did she reck.

No shame of all her rents had she; She gazed upon him eagerly.

She leaned across the grassy space And put her hands about his face.

She said: "O hunger-pale art thou, Yet shalt thou eat though I hunger now."

She took him apples from her scrip, She kissed him, cheek and chin and lip.

She took him cakes of woodland bread: "Whiles am I hunger-pinched," she said.

She had a gourd and a pilgrim shell; She took him water from the well.

She stroked his breast and his scarlet gear; She spake, "How brave thou art and dear!"

Her arms about him did she wind; He felt her body dear and kind.

"O love," she said, "now two are one, And whither hence shall we be gone?"

"Shall we fare further than this wood," Quoth he, "I deem it dear and good?"

She shook her head, and laughed, and spake; "Rise up! For thee, not me, I quake.

Had she been minded me to slay Sure she had done it ere to-day.

But thou: this hour the crone shall know That thou art come, her very foe.

No minute more on tidings wait, Lest e'en this minute be too late."

She led him from the sunlit green, Going sweet-stately as a queen.

There in the dusky wood, and dim, As forth they went, she spake to him:

"Fair man, few people have I seen Amidst this world of woodland green:

But I would have thee tell me now If there be many such as thou."

"Betwixt the mountains and the sea, O Sweet, be many such," said he.

Athwart the glimmering air and dim With wistful eyes she looked on him.

"But ne'er an one so shapely made Mine eyes have looked upon," she said.

He kissed her face, and cried in mirth: "Where hast thou dwelt then on the earth?"

"Ever," she said, "I dwell alone With a hard-handed cruel crone.

And of this crone am I the thrall To serve her still in bower and hall;

And fetch and carry in the wood, And do whate'er she deemeth good.

But whiles a sort of folk there come And seek my mistress at her home;

But such-like are they to behold As make my very blood run cold.

Oft have I thought, if there be none On earth save these, would all were done!

Forsooth, I knew it was not so, But that fairer folk on earth did grow.

But fain and full is the heart in me To know that folk are like to thee."

Then hand in hand they stood awhile Till her tears rose up beneath his smile.

And he must fold her to his breast To give her heart a while of rest.

Till sundered she and gazed about, And bent her brows as one in doubt.

She spake: "The wood is growing thin, Into the full light soon shall we win.

Now crouch we that we be not seen, Under yon bramble-bushes green."

Under the bramble-bush they lay Betwixt the dusk and the open day.

"O Goldilocks my love, look forth And let me know what thou seest of worth."

He said: "I see a house of stone, A castle excellently done."

"Yea," quoth she, "There doth the mistress dwell. What next thou seest shalt thou tell."

"What lookest thou to see come forth?" "Maybe a white bear of the North."

"Then shall my sharp sword lock his mouth." "Nay," she said, "or a worm of the South."

"Then shall my sword his hot blood cool." "Nay, or a whelming poison-pool."

"The trees its swelling flood shall stay, And thrust its venomed lip away."

"Nay, it may be a wild-fire flash To burn thy lovely limbs to ash."

"On mine own hallows shall I call, And dead its flickering flame shall fall."

"O Goldilocks my love, I fear That ugly death shall seek us here.

Look forth, O Goldilocks my love. That I thine hardy heart may prove.

What cometh down the stone-wrought stair That leadeth up to the castle fair?"

"Adown the doorward stair of stone There cometh a woman all alone."

"Yea, that forsooth shall my mistress be: O Goldilocks, what like is she?"

"O fair she is of her array, As hitherward she wends her way."

"Unlike her wont is that indeed: Is she not foul beneath her weed?"

"O nay, nay! But most wondrous fair Of all the women earth doth bear."

"O Goldilocks, my heart, my heart! Woe, woe! for now we drift apart."

But up he sprang from the bramble-side, And "O thou fairest one!" he cried:

And forth he ran that Queen to meet, And fell before her gold-clad feet.

About his neck her arms she cast, And into the fair-built house they passed.

And under the bramble-bushes lay Unholpen, Goldilocks the may.

Thenceforth a while of time there wore, And Goldilocks came forth no more.

Throughout that house he wandered wide, Both up and down, from side to side.

But never he saw an evil crone, But a full fair Queen on a golden throne.

Never a barefoot maid did he see, But a gay and gallant company.

He sat upon the golden throne, And beside him sat the Queen alone.

Kind she was, as she loved him well, And many a merry tale did tell.

But nought he laughed, nor spake again, For all his life was waste and vain.

Cold was his heart, and all afraid To think on Goldilocks the Maid.

Withal now was the wedding dight When he should wed that lady bright.

The night was gone, and the day was up When they should drink the bridal cup.

And he sat at the board beside the Queen, Amidst of a guest-folk well beseen.

But scarce was midmorn on the hall, When down did the mirk of midnight fall.

Then up and down from the board they ran, And man laid angry hand on man.

There was the cry, and the laughter shrill, And every manner word of ill.

Whoso of men had hearkened it, Had deemed he had woke up over the Pit.

Then spake the Queen o'er all the crowd, And grim was her speech, and harsh, and loud:

"Hold now your peace, ye routing swine, While I sit with mine own love over the wine!

For this dusk is the very deed of a foe, Or under the sun no man I know."

And hard she spake, and loud she cried Till the noise of the bickering guests had died.

Then again she spake amidst of the mirk, In a voice like an unoiled wheel at work:

"Whoso would have a goodly gift, Let him bring aback the sun to the lift.

Let him bring aback the light and the day, And rich and in peace he shall go his way."

Out spake a voice was clean and clear: "Lo, I am she to dight your gear;

But I for the deed a gift shall gain, To sit by Goldilocks the Swain.

I shall sit at the board by the bridegroom's side, And be betwixt him and the bride.

I shall eat of his dish, and drink of his cup, Until for the bride-bed ye rise up."

Then was the Queen's word wailing-wild: "E'en so must it be, thou Angel's child.

Thou shalt sit by my groom till the dawn of night, And then shalt thou wend thy ways aright."

Said the voice, "Yet shalt thou swear an oath That free I shall go though ye be loth."

"How shall I swear?" the false Queen spake: "Wherewith the sure oath shall I make?"

"Thou shalt swear by the one eye left in thine head, And the throng of the ghosts of the evil dead."

She swore the oath, and then she spake: "Now let the second dawn awake."

And e'en therewith the thing was done; There was peace in the hall, and the light of the sun.

And again the Queen was calm and fair, And courteous sat the guest-folk there.

Yet unto Goldilocks it seemed As if amidst the night he dreamed;

As if he sat in a grassy place, While slim hands framed his hungry face;

As if in the clearing of the wood One gave him bread and apples good;

And nought he saw of the guest-folk gay, And nought of all the Queen's array.

Yet saw he betwixt board and door, A slim maid tread the chequered floor.

Her gown of green so fair was wrought, That clad her body seemed with nought

But blossoms of the summer-tide, That wreathed her, limbs and breast and side.

And, stepping towards him daintily, A basket in her hand had she.

And as she went, from head to feet, Surely was she most dainty-sweet.

Love floated round her, and her eyes Gazed from her fairness glad and wise;

But babbling-loud the guests were grown; Unnoted was she and unknown.

Now Goldilocks she sat beside, But nothing changed was the Queenly bride;

Yea too, and Goldilocks the Swain Was grown but dull and dazed again.

The Queen smiled o'er the guest-rich board, Although his wine the Maiden poured;

Though from his dish the Maiden ate, The Queen sat happy and sedate.

But now the Maiden fell to speak From lips that well-nigh touched his cheek:

"O Goldilocks, dost thou forget? Or mindest thou the mirk-wood yet?

Forgettest thou the hunger-pain And all thy young life made but vain?

How there was nought to help or aid, But for poor Goldilocks the Maid?"

She murmured, "Each to each we two, Our faces from the wood-mirk grew.

Hast thou forgot the grassy place, And love betwixt us face to face?

Hast thou forgot how fair I deemed Thy face? How fair thy garment seemed?

Thy kisses on my shoulders bare, Through rents of the poor raiment there?

My arms that loved thee nought unkissed All o'er from shoulder unto wrist?

Hast thou forgot how brave thou wert, Thou with thy fathers' weapon girt;

When underneath the bramble-bush I quaked like river-shaken rash,

Wondering what new-wrought shape of death Should quench my new love-quickened breath?

Or else: forget'st thou, Goldilocks, Thine own land of the wheaten shocks?

Thy mother and thy sisters dear, Thou said'st would bide thy true-love there?

Hast thou forgot? Hast thou forgot? O love, my love, I move thee not."

Silent the fair Queen sat and smiled, And heeded nought the Angel's child,

For like an image fashioned fair Still sat the Swain with empty stare.

These words seemed spoken not, but writ As foolish tales through night-dreams flit.

Vague pictures passed before his sight, As in the first dream of the night.

But the Maiden opened her basket fair, And set two doves on the table there.

And soft they cooed, and sweet they billed Like man and maid with love fulfilled.

Therewith the Maiden reached a hand To a dish that on the board did stand;

And she crumbled a share of the spice-loaf brown, And the Swain upon her hand looked down;

Then unto the fowl his eyes he turned; And as in a dream his bowels yearned

For somewhat that he could not name; And into his heart a hope there came.

And still he looked on the hands of the Maid, As before the fowl the crumbs she laid.

And he murmured low, "O Goldilocks! Were we but amid the wheaten shocks!"

Then the false Queen knit her brows and laid A fair white hand by the hand of the Maid.

He turned his eyes away thereat, And closer to the Maiden sat.

But the queen-bird now the carle-bird fed Till all was gone of the sugared bread.

Then with wheedling voice for more he craved, And the Maid a share from the spice-loaf shaved;

And the crumbs within her hollow hand She held where the creeping doves did stand.

But Goldilocks, he looked and longed, And saw how the carle the queen-bird wronged.

For when she came to the hand to eat The hungry queen-bird thence he beat.

Then Goldilocks the Swain spake low: "Foul fall thee, bird, thou doest now

As I to Goldilocks, my sweet, Who gave my hungry mouth to eat."

He felt her hand as he did speak, He felt her face against his cheek.

He turned and stood in the evil hall, And swept her up in arms withal.

Then was there hubbub wild and strange, And swiftly all things there 'gan change.

The fair Queen into a troll was grown, A one-eyed, bow-backed, haggard crone.

And though the hall was yet full fair, And bright the sunshine streamed in there,

On evil shapes it fell forsooth: Swine-heads; small red eyes void of ruth;

And bare-boned bodies of vile things, And evil-feathered bat-felled wings.

And all these mopped and mowed and grinned, And sent strange noises down the wind.

There stood those twain unchanged alone To face the horror of the crone;

She crouched against them by the board; And cried the Maid: "Thy sword, thy sword!

Thy sword, O Goldilocks! For see She will not keep her oath to me."

Out flashed the blade therewith. He saw The foul thing sidelong toward them draw,

Holding within her hand a cup Wherein some dreadful drink seethed up.

Then Goldilocks cried out and smote, And the sharp blade sheared the evil throat.

The head fell noseling to the floor; The liquor from the cup did pour,

And ran along a sparkling flame That nigh unto their footsoles came.

Then empty straightway was the hall, Save for those twain, and she withal.

So fled away the Maid and Man, And down the stony stairway ran.

Fast fled they o'er the sunny grass, Yet but a little way did pass

Ere cried the Maid: "Now cometh forth The snow-white ice-bear of the North;

Turn, Goldilocks, and heave up sword!" Then fast he stood upon the sward,

And faced the beast, that whined and cried, And shook his head from side to side.

But round him the Swain danced and leaped, And soon the grisly head he reaped.

And then the ancient blade he sheathed, And ran unto his love sweet-breathed;

And caught her in his arms and ran Fast from that house, the bane of man.

Yet therewithal he spake her soft And kissed her over oft and oft,

Until from kissed and trembling mouth She cried: "The Dragon of the South!"

He set her down and turned about, And drew the eager edges out.

And therewith scaly coil on coil Reared 'gainst his face the mouth aboil:

The gaping jaw and teeth of dread Was dark 'twixt heaven and his head.

But with no fear, no thought, no word, He thrust the thin-edged ancient sword.

And the hot blood ran from the hairy throat, And set the summer grass afloat.

Then back he turned and caught her hand, And never a minute did they stand.

But as they ran on toward the wood, He deemed her swift feet fair and good.

She looked back o'er her shoulder fair: "The whelming poison-pool is here;

And now availeth nought the blade: O if my cherished trees might aid!

But now my feet fail. Leave me then! And hold my memory dear of men."

He caught her in his arms again; Of her dear side was he full fain.

Her body in his arms was dear: "Sweet art thou, though we perish here!"

Like quicksilver came on the flood: But lo, the borders of the wood!

She slid from out his arms and stayed; Round a great oak her arms she laid.

"If e'er I saved thee, lovely tree, From axe and saw, now succour me:

Look how the venom creeps anigh, Help! lest thou see me writhe and die."

She crouched beside the upheaved root, The bubbling venom touched her foot;

Then with a sucking gasping sound It ebbed back o'er the blighted ground.

Up then she rose and took his hand And never a moment did they stand.

"Come, love," she cried, "the ways I know, How thick soe'er the thickets grow.

O love, I love thee! O thine heart! How mighty and how kind thou art!"

Therewith they saw the tree-dusk lit, Bright grey the great boles gleamed on it.

"O flee," she said, "the sword is nought Against the flickering fire-flaught."

"But this availeth yet," said he, "That Hallows All our love may see."

He turned about and faced the glare: "O Mother, help us, kind and fair!

Now help me, true St. Nicholas, If ever truly thine I was!"

Therewith the wild-fire waned and paled, And in the wood the light nigh failed;

And all about 'twas as the night. He said: "Now won is all our fight,

And now meseems all were but good If thou mightst bring us from the wood."

She fawned upon him, face and breast; She said: "It hangs 'twixt worst and best.

And yet, O love, if thou be true, One thing alone thou hast to do."

Sweetly he kissed her, cheek and chin: "What work thou biddest will I win."

"O love, my love, I needs must sleep; Wilt thou my slumbering body keep,

And, toiling sorely, still bear on The love thou seemest to have won?"

"O easy toil," he said, "to bless Mine arms with all thy loveliness."

She smiled; "Yea, easy it may seem, But harder is it than ye deem.

For hearken! Whatso thou mayst see, Piteous as it may seem to thee,

Heed not nor hearken! bear me forth, As though nought else were aught of worth.

For all earth's wealth that may be found Lay me not sleeping on the ground,

To help, to hinder, or to save! Or there for me thou diggest a grave."

He took her body on his arm, Her slumbering head lay on his barm.

Then glad he bore her on the way, And the wood grew lighter with the day.

All still it was, till suddenly He heard a bitter wail near by.

Yet on he went until he heard The cry become a shapen word:

"Help me, O help, thou passer by! Turn from the path, let me not die!

I am a woman; bound and left To perish; of all help bereft."

Then died the voice out in a moan; He looked upon his love, his own,

And minding all she spake to him Strode onward through the wild-wood dim.

But lighter grew the woodland green Till clear the shapes of things were seen.

And therewith wild halloos he heard, And shrieks, and cries of one afeard.

Nigher it grew and yet more nigh Till burst from out a brake near by

A woman bare of breast and limb, Who turned a piteous face to him

E'en as she ran: for hard at heel Followed a man with brandished steel,

And yelling mouth. Then the Swain stood One moment in the glimmering wood

Trembling, ashamed: Yet now grown wise Deemed all a snare for ears and eyes.

So onward swiftlier still he strode And cast all thought on his fair load.

And yet in but a little space Back came the yelling shrieking chase,

And well-nigh gripped now by the man, Straight unto him the woman ran;

And underneath the gleaming steel E'en at his very feet did kneel.

She looked up; sobs were all her speech, Yet sorely did her face beseech.

While o'er her head the chaser stared, Shaking aloft the edges bared.

Doubted the Swain, and a while did stand As she took his coat-lap in her hand.

Upon his hand he felt her breath Hot with the dread of present death.

Sleek was her arm on his scarlet coat, The sobbing passion rose in his throat.

But e'en therewith he looked aside And saw the face of the sleeping bride.

Then he tore his coat from the woman's hand, And never a moment there did stand.

But swiftly thence away he strode Along the dusky forest road.

And there rose behind him laughter shrill, And then was the windless wood all still,

He looked around o'er all the place, But saw no image of the chase.

And as he looked the night-mirk now O'er all the tangled wood 'gan flow.

Then stirred the sweetling that he bore, And she slid adown from his arms once more.

Nought might he see her well-loved face; But he felt her lips in the mirky place.

"'Tis night," she said, "and the false day's gone, And we twain in the wild-wood all alone.

Night o'er the earth; so rest we here Until to-morrow's sun is clear.

For overcome is every foe And home to-morrow shall we go."

So 'neath the trees they lay, those twain, And to them the darksome night was gain.

But when the morrow's dawn was grey They woke and kissed whereas they lay.

And when on their feet they came to stand Swain Goldilocks stretched out his hand.

And he spake: "O love, my love indeed, Where now is gone thy goodly weed?

For again thy naked feet I see, And thy sweet sleek arms so kind to me.

Through thy rent kirtle once again Thy shining shoulder showeth plain."

She blushed as red as the sun-sweet rose: "My garments gay were e'en of those

That the false Queen dight to slay my heart; And sore indeed was their fleshly smart.

Yet must I bear them, well-beloved, Until thy truth and troth was proved

And this tattered coat is now for a sign That thou hast won me to be thine.

Now wilt thou lead along thy maid To meet thy kindred unafraid."

As stoops the falcon on the dove He cast himself about her love.

He kissed her over, cheek and chin, He kissed the sweetness of her skin.

Then hand in hand they went their way Till the wood grew light with the outer day.

At last behind them lies the wood, And before are the Upland Acres good.

On the hill's brow awhile they stay At midmorn of the merry day.

He sheareth a deal from his kirtle meet, To make her sandals for her feet.

He windeth a wreath of the beechen tree, Lest men her shining shoulders see.

And a wreath of woodbine sweet, to hide The rended raiment of her side;

And a crown of poppies red as wine, Lest on her head the hot sun shine.

She kissed her love withal and smiled: "Lead forth, O love, the Woodland Child!

Most meet and right meseems it now That I am clad with the woodland bough.

For betwixt the oak-tree and the thorn Meseemeth erewhile was I born.

And if my mother aught I knew, It was of the woodland folk she grew.

And O that thou art well at ease To wed the daughter of the trees!"

Now Goldilocks and Goldilocks Go down amidst the wheaten shocks,

But when anigh to the town they come, Lo there is the wain a-wending home,

And many a man and maid beside, Who tossed the sickles up, and cried:

"O Goldilocks, now whither away? And what wilt thou with the woodland may?"

"O this is Goldilocks my bride, And we come adown from the wild-wood side,

And unto the Fathers' House we wend To dwell therein till life shall end."

"Up then on the wain, that ye may see From afar how thy mother bideth thee.

That ye may see how kith and kin Abide thee, bridal brave to win."

So Goldilocks and Goldilocks Sit high aloft on the wheaten shocks,

And fair maids sing before the wain, For all of Goldilocks are fain.

But when they came to the Fathers' door, There stood his mother old and hoar.

Yet was her hair with grey but blent, When forth from the Upland Town he went.

There by the door his sisters stood: Full fair they were and fresh of blood;

Little they were when he went away; Now each is meet for a young man's may.

"O tell me, Goldilocks, my son, What are the deeds that thou hast done?"

"I have wooed me a wife in the forest wild, And home I bring the Woodland Child."

"A little deed to do, O son, So long a while as thou wert gone."

"O mother, yet is the summer here Now I bring aback my true-love dear.

And therewith an Evil Thing have I slain; Yet I come with the first-come harvest-wain."

"O Goldilocks, my son, my son! How good is the deed that thou hast done?

But how long the time that is worn away! Lo! white is my hair that was but grey.

And lo these sisters here, thine own, How tall, how meet for men-folk grown!

Come, see thy kin in the feasting-hall, And tell me if thou knowest them all!

O son, O son, we are blithe and fain; But the autumn drought, and the winter rain,

The frost and the snow, and St. David's wind, All these that were, time out of mind,

All these a many times have been Since thou the Upland Town hast seen."

Then never a word spake Goldilocks Till they came adown from the wheaten shocks.

And there beside his love he stood And he saw her body sweet and good.

Then round her love his arms he cast: "The years are as a tale gone past.

But many the years that yet shall be Of the merry tale of thee and me.

Come, love, and look on the Fathers' Hall, And the folk of the kindred one and all!

For now the Fathers' House is kind, And all the ill is left behind.

And Goldilocks and Goldilocks Shall dwell in the land of the Wheaten Shocks."

LOVE IS ENOUGH

OR

THE FREEING OF PHARAMOND

_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_

GILES, } _Peasant-folk._ JOAN, _his Wife_, }

THE EMPEROR.

THE EMPRESS.

THE MAYOR.

A COUNCILLOR.

MASTER OLIVER, _King Pharamond's Foster-father_.

A NORTHERN LORD.

KING PHARAMOND.

AZALAIS, _his Love_.

KING THEOBALD.

HONORIUS, _the Councillor_.

LOVE.

LOVE IS ENOUGH

ARGUMENT

This story, which is told by way of a morality set before an Emperor and Empress newly wedded, showeth of a King whom nothing but Love might satisfy, who left all to seek Love, and, having found it, found this also, that he had enough, though he lacked all else.

_In the streets of a great town where the people are gathered together thronging to see the Emperor and Empress pass_.

GILES

Look long, Joan, while I hold you so, For the silver trumpets come arow.

JOAN

O the sweet sound! the glorious sight! O Giles, Giles, see this glittering Knight!

GILES

Nay 'tis the Marshalls'-sergeant, sweet-- --Hold, neighbour, let me keep my feet!-- There, now your head is up again; Thus held up have you aught of pain?

JOAN

Nay, clear I see, and well at ease! God's body! what fair Kings be these?

GILES

The Emperor's chamberlains, behold Their silver shoes and staves of gold. Look, look! how like some heaven come down The maidens go with girded gown!

JOAN

Yea, yea, and this last row of them Draw up their kirtles by the hem, And scatter roses e'en like those About my father's garden-close.

GILES

Ah! have I hurt you? See the girls Whose slim hands scatter very pearls.

JOAN

Hold me fast, Giles! here comes one Whose raiment flashes down the sun.

GILES

O sweet mouth! O fair lids cast down! O white brow! O the crown, the crown!

JOAN

How near! if nigher I might stand By one ell, I could touch his hand.

GILES

Look, Joan! if on this side she were Almost my hand might touch her hair.

JOAN

Ah me! what is she thinking on?

GILES

Is he content now all is won?

JOAN

And does she think as I thought, when Betwixt the dancing maids and men, Twixt the porch rose-boughs blossomed red I saw the roses on my bed?

GILES

Hath he such fear within his heart As I had, when the wind did part The jasmine-leaves, and there within The new-lit taper glimmered thin?

THE MUSIC

(As the EMPEROR and EMPRESS enter.)

_LOVE IS ENOUGH; though the World be a-waning And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining, Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder; Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder, And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over, Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter, The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover._

THE EMPEROR

The spears flashed by me, and the swords swept round, And in war's hopeless tangle was I bound, But straw and stubble were the cold points found, For still thy hands led down the weary way.

THE EMPRESS

Through hall and street they led me as a queen, They looked to see me proud and cold of mien, I heeded not though all my tears were seen, For still I dreamed of thee throughout the day.

THE EMPEROR

Wild over bow and bulwark swept the sea Unto the iron coast upon our lee, Like painted cloth its fury was to me, For still thy hands led down the weary way.

THE EMPRESS

They spoke to me of war within the land, They bade me sign defiance and command; I heeded not though thy name left my hand, For still I dreamed of thee throughout the day.

THE EMPEROR

But now that I am come, and side by side We go, and men cry gladly on the bride And tremble at the image of my pride, Where is thy hand to lead me down the way?

THE EMPRESS

But now that thou art come, and heaven and earth Are laughing in the fulness of their mirth, A shame I knew not in my heart has birth-- --Draw me through dreams unto the end of day!

THE EMPEROR

Behold, behold, how weak my heart is grown Now all the heat of its desire is known! Pearl beyond price I fear to call mine own, Where is thy hand to lead me down the way?

THE EMPRESS

Behold, behold, how little I may move! Think in thy heart how terrible is Love, O thou who know'st my soul as God above-- --Draw me through dreams unto the end of day!

_The stage for the play in another part of the street, and the people thronging all about_.

GILES

Here, Joan, this is so good a place 'Tis worth the scramble and the race! There is the Empress just sat down, Her white hands on her golden gown, While yet the Emperor stands to hear The welcome of the bald-head Mayor Unto the show; and you shall see The player-folk come in presently. The king of whom is e'en that one, Who wandering but a while agone Stumbled upon our harvest-home That August when you might not come. Betwixt the stubble and the grass Great mirth indeed he brought to pass. But liefer were I to have seen Your nimble feet tread down the green In threesome dance to pipe and fife.

JOAN

Thou art a dear thing to my life, And nought good have I far to seek-- But hearken! for the Mayor will speak.

THE MAYOR

Since your grace bids me speak without stint or sparing A thing little splendid I pray you to see: Early is the day yet, for we near the dawning Drew on chains dear-bought, and gowns done with gold; So may ye high ones hearken an hour A tale that our hearts hold worthy and good, Of Pharamond the Freed, who, a king feared and honoured, Fled away to find love from his crown and his folk. E'en as I tell of it somewhat I tremble Lest we, fearful of treason to the love that fulfils you, Should seem to make little of the love that ye give us, Of your lives full of glory, of the deeds that your lifetime Shall gleam with for ever when we are forgotten. Forgive it for the greatness of that Love who compels us.-- Hark! in the minster-tower minish the joy-bells, And all men are hushed now these marvels to hear.

THE EMPEROR (_to the MAYOR_)

We thank your love, that sees our love indeed Toward you, toward Love, toward life of toil and need: We shall not falter though your poet sings Of all defeat, strewing the crowns of kings About the thorny ways where Love doth wend, Because we know us faithful to the end Toward you, toward Love, toward life of war and deed, And well we deem your tale shall help our need.

(_To the EMPRESS_)

So many hours to pass before the sun Shall blush ere sleeping, and the day be done! How thinkest thou, my sweet, shall such a tale For lengthening or for shortening them avail?

THE EMPRESS

Nay, dreamland has no clocks the wise ones say, And while our hands move at the break of day We dream of years: and I am dreaming still And need no change my cup of joy to fill: Let them say on, and I shall hear thy voice Telling the tale, and in its love rejoice.

THE MUSIC

(As the singers enter and stand before the curtain, the player-king and player-maiden in the midst.)

_LOVE IS ENOUGH: have no thought for to-morrow
If ye lie down this even in rest from your pain,
Ye who have paid for your bliss with great sorrow:
For as it was once so it shall be again.
Ye shall cry out for death as ye stretch forth in vain.

Feeble hands to the hands that would help but they may not,
Cry out to deaf ears that would hear if they could;
Till again shall the change come, and words your lips say not
Your hearts make all plain in the best wise they would
And the world ye thought waning is glorious and good:

And no morning now mocks you and no nightfall is weary,
The plains are not empty of song and of deed:
The sea strayeth not, nor the mountains are dreary;
The wind is not helpless for any man's need,
Nor falleth the rain but for thistle and weed.

O surely this morning all sorrow is hidden,
All battle is hushed for this even at least;
And no one this noontide may hunger, unbidden
To the flowers and the singing and the joy of your feast
Where silent ye sit midst the world's tale increased.

Lo, the lovers unloved that draw nigh for your blessing!
For your tale makes the dreaming whereby yet they live
The dreams of the day with their hopes of redressing,
The dreams of the night with the kisses they give,
The dreams of the dawn wherein death and hope strive.

Ah, what shall we say then, but that earth threatened often
Shall live on for ever that such things may be,
That the dry seed shall quicken, the hard earth shall soften,
And the spring-bearing birds flutter north o'er the sea,
That earth's garden may bloom round my love's feet and me?_

THE EMPEROR

Lo you, my sweet, fair folk are one and all And with good grace their broidered robes do fall, And sweet they sing indeed: but he, the King, Look but a little how his fingers cling To her's, his love that shall be in the play-- His love that hath been surely ere to-day: And see, her wide soft eyes cast down at whiles Are opened not to note the people's smiles But her love's lips, and dreamily they stare As though they sought the happy country, where They two shall be alone, and the world dead.

THE EMPRESS

Most faithful eyes indeed look from the head The sun has burnt, and wind and rain has beat, Well may he find her slim brown fingers sweet. And he--methinks he trembles, lest he find That song of his not wholly to her mind. Note how his grey eyes look askance to see Her bosom heaving with the melody His heart loves well: rough with the wind and rain His cheek is, hollow with some ancient pain; The sun has burned and blanched his crispy hair, And over him hath swept a world of care And left him careless, rugged, and her own; Still fresh desired, still strange and new, though known.

THE EMPEROR

His eyes seem dreaming of the mysteries Deep in the depths of her familiar eyes, Tormenting and alluring; does he dream, As I ofttime this morn, how they would seem Loved but unloving?--Nay the world's too sweet That we the ghost of such a pain should meet-- Behold, she goes, and he too, turning round, Remembers that his love must yet be found, That he is King and loveless in this story Wrought long ago for some dead poet's glory.

[_Exeunt players behind the curtain_.

_Enter before the curtain LOVE crowned as a King_.

LOVE

All hail, my servants! tremble ye, my foes! A hope for these I have, a fear for those Hid in this tale of Pharamond the Freed. To-day, my Faithful, nought shall be your need Of tears compassionate:--although full oft The crown of love laid on my bosom soft Be woven of bitter death and deathless fame, Bethorned with woe, and fruited thick with shame. --This for the mighty of my courts I keep, Lest through the world there should be none to weep Except for sordid loss; and not to gain But satiate pleasure making mock of pain. --Yea, in the heaven from whence my dreams go forth Are stored the signs that make the world of worth: There is the wavering wall of mighty Troy About my Helen's hope and Paris' joy: There lying neath the fresh dyed mulberry-tree The sword and cloth of Pyramus I see: There is the number of the joyless days Wherein Medea won no love nor praise: There is the sand my Ariadne pressed; The footprints of the feet that knew no rest While o'er the sea forth went the fatal sign: The asp of Egypt, the Numidian wine, My Sigurd's sword, my Brynhild's fiery bed, The tale of years of Gudrun's drearihead, And Tristram's glaive, and Iseult's shriek are here, And cloister-gown of joyless Guenevere.

Save you, my Faithful! how your loving eyes Grow soft and gleam with all these memories! But on this day my crown is not of death: My fire-tipped arrows, and my kindling breath Are all the weapons I shall need to-day. Nor shall my tale in measured cadence play About the golden lyre of Gods long gone, Nor dim and doubtful 'twixt the ocean's moan Wail out about the Northern fiddle-bow, Stammering with pride or quivering shrill with woe. Rather caught up at hazard is the pipe That mixed with scent of roses over ripe, And murmur of the summer afternoon, May charm you somewhat with its wavering tune 'Twixt joy and sadness: whatsoe'er it saith, I know at least there breathes through it my breath

OF PHARAMOND THE FREED

_Scene: In the Kings Chamber of Audience.

MASTER OLIVER and many LORDS and COUNCILLORS_.

A COUNCILLOR

Fair Master Oliver, thou who at all times Mayst open thy heart to our lord and master, Tell us what tidings thou hast to deliver; For our hearts are grown heavy, and where shall we turn to If thus the king's glory, our gain and salvation, Must go down the wind amid gloom and despairing?

MASTER OLIVER

Little may be looked for, fair lords, in my story, To lighten your hearts of the load lying on them. For nine days the king hath slept not an hour, And taketh no heed of soft words or beseeching. Yea, look you, my lords, if a body late dead In the lips and the cheeks should gain some little colour, And arise and wend forth with no change in the eyes, And wander about as if seeking its soul-- Lo, e'en so sad is my lord and my master; Yea, e'en so far hath his soul drifted from us.

A COUNCILLOR

What say the leeches? Is all their skill left them?

MASTER OLIVER

Nay, they bade lead him to hunt and to tilting, To set him on high in the throne of his honour To judge heavy deeds: bade him handle the tiller, And drive through the sea with the wind at its wildest; All things he was wont to hold kingly and good. So we led out his steed and he straight leapt upon him With no word, and no looking to right nor to left, And into the forest we fared as aforetime: Fast on the king followed, and cheered without stinting The hounds to the strife till the bear stood at bay; Then there he alone by the beech-trees alighted; Barehanded, unarmoured, he handled the spear-shaft, And blew up the death on the horn of his father; Yet still in his eyes was no look of rejoicing, And no life in his lips; but I likened him rather To King Nimrod carved fair on the back of the high-seat When the candles are dying, and the high moon is streaming Through window and luffer white on the lone pavement Whence the guests are departed in the hall of the palace.-- --Rode we home heavily, he with his rein loose, Feet hanging free from the stirrups, and staring At a clot of the bear's blood that stained his green kirtle;-- Unkingly, unhappy, he rode his ways homeward.

A COUNCILLOR

Was this all ye tried, or have ye more tidings? For the wall tottereth not at first stroke of the ram.

MASTER OLIVER

Nay, we brought him a-board the Great Dragon one dawning, When the cold bay was flecked with the crests of white billows And the clouds lay alow on the earth and the sea; He looked not aloft as they hoisted the sail, But with hand on the tiller hallooed to the shipmen In a voice grown so strange, that it scarce had seemed stranger If from the ship Argo, in seemly wise woven On the guard-chamber hangings, some early grey dawning Great Jason had cried, and his golden locks wavered. Then e'en as the oars ran outboard, and dashed In the wind-scattered foam and the sails bellied out, His hand dropped from the tiller, and with feet all uncertain And dull eye he wended him down to the midship, And gazing about for the place of the gangway Made for the gate of the bulwark half open, And stood there and stared at the swallowing sea, Then turned, and uncertain went wandering back sternward, And sat down on the deck by the side of the helmsman, Wrapt in dreams of despair; so I bade them turn shoreward, And slowly he rose as the side grated stoutly 'Gainst the stones of the quay and they cast forth the hawser.-- Unkingly, unhappy, he went his ways homeward.

A COUNCILLOR

But by other ways yet had thy wisdom to travel; How else did ye work for the winning him peace?

MASTER OLIVER

We bade gather the knights for the goodliest tilting, There the ladies went lightly in glorious array; In the old arms we armed him whose dints well he knew That the night dew had dulled and the sea salt had sullied: On the old roan yet sturdy we set him astride; So he stretched forth his hand to lay hold of the spear Neither laughing nor frowning, as lightly his wont was When the knights are awaiting the voice of the trumpet. It awoke, and back beaten from barrier to barrier Was caught up by knights' cries, by the cry of the king.-- --Such a cry as red Mars in the Council-room window May awake with some noon when the last horn is winded, And the bones of the world are dashed grinding together. So it seemed to my heart, and a horror came o'er me, As the spears met, and splinters flew high o'er the field, And I saw the king stay when his course was at swiftest, His horse straining hard on the bit, and he standing Stiff and stark in his stirrups, his spear held by the midmost, His helm cast a-back, his teeth set hard together; E'en as one might, who, riding to heaven, feels round him The devils unseen: then he raised up the spear As to cast it away, but therewith failed his fury, He dropped it, and faintly sank back in the saddle, And, turning his horse from the press and the turmoil, Came sighing to me, and sore grieving I took him And led him away, while the lists were fallen silent As a fight in a dream that the light breaketh through.-- To the tune of the clinking of his fight-honoured armour Unkingly, unhappy, he went his ways homeward.

A COUNCILLOR

What thing worse than the worst in the budget yet lieth?

MASTER OLIVER

To the high court we brought him, and bade him to hearken The pleading of his people, and pass sentence on evil. His face changed with great pain, and his brow grew all furrowed, As a grim tale was told there of the griefs of the lowly; Till he took up the word, mid the trembling of tyrants, As his calm voice and cold wrought death on ill doers-- --E'en so might King Minos in marble there carven Mid old dreaming of Crete give doom on the dead, When the world and its deeds are dead too and buried.-- But lo, as I looked, his clenched hands were loosened, His lips grew all soft, and his eyes were beholding Strange things we beheld not about and above him. So he sat for a while, and then swept his robe round him And arose and departed, not heeding his people, The strange looks, the peering, the rustle and whisper; But or ever he gained the gate that gave streetward, Dull were his eyes grown, his feet were grown heavy, His lips crooned complaining, as onward he stumbled;-- Unhappy, unkingly, he went his ways homeward.

A COUNCILLOR

Is all striving over then, fair Master Oliver?

MASTER OLIVER