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Page 16
VI
_Care-charming Sleep ...
... sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince!_
--JOHN FLETCHER.
Away with a blink of his queer green eye over his shoulder he
sauntered by a devious path out of the dell. Forgetful of thorn and
brier, trickery and wantonness, we clambered down after him, out of
the moonlight, into a dark, clear alley, soundless and solitary amid
these enchanted woods.
As I have said already, another air than that of night was abroad in
the green-grey shadows of the woods. Yet between the lofty and
heavy-hooded pines scarce a beam of dawn pierced downward.
Wider swept the avenue, but ever dusky and utterly silent. Deeper moss
couched here; unfallen moondrops glistened; mistletoe palely sprouted
from the gnarled boughs. Nor could I discern, though I searched close
enough, elder or ash tree or bitter rue. We journeyed softly on till I
lost all count of time, lost, too, all guidance; for as a flower falls
had vanished Mustardseed.
Far away and ever increasing in volume I heard the trembling crash of
some great water falling. What narrow isles of sky were visible
between the branches lay sunless and still. Yet already, on a mantled
pool we journeyed softly by, the waterlily was unfolding, the swan
afloat in beauty.
In a dim, still light we at last slowly descended out of the darker
glade into a garden of grey terraces and flowerless walks. Even
Rosinante seemed perturbed by the stillness and solitude of this wild
garden. She trod with cautious foot and peering eye the green,
rainworn paths, that led us down presently to where beneath the vault
of its trees a river flowed.
Surely I could not be mistaken that here a voice was singing as if out
of the black water-deeps, so clear and hollow were the notes. I burst
through the knotted stalks of the ivy, and stooping like some poor
travesty of Narcissus, with shaded face pierced down deep--deep into
eyes not my own, but violet and unendurable and strange--eyes of the
living water-sprite drawing my wits from me, stilling my heart, till I
was very near plunging into that crystal oblivion, to be fishes
evermore.
But my fingers still grasped my friend's kind elf-locks, and her
goose-nose brooded beside mine upon that water of undivulged delight.
Out of the restless silence of the stream floated this long-drawn
singing:
Pilgrim forget; in this dark tide
Sinks the salt tear to peace at last;
Here undeluding dreams abide,
All sorrow past.
Nods the wild ivy on her stem;
The voiceless bird broods on the bough;
The silence and the song of them
Untroubled now.
Free that poor captive's flutterings,
That struggles in thy tired eyes,
Solace its discontented wings,
Quiet its cries!
Knells now the dewdrop to its fall,
The sad wind sleeps no more to rove;
Rest, for my arms ambrosial
Ache for thy love!
I cannot think how one so meekened with hunger as I, resisted that
water-troubled hair, eyes that yet haunt me, that heart-alluring
voice.
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