Classic and Contemporary Poetry
FOOTSTEPS OF PROSERPINE: 3. SOLDANELLA, by NEWMAN HOWARD Poet's Biography First Line: Hermit: / what wilt thou with me, maiden? Little wins Last Line: That snow environed blossom, woman's love. Subject(s): Death; Forests; Hermits; Plays & Playwrights ; Soul; Spring; Dead, The; Woods; Dramatists | ||||||||
HERMIT WHAT wilt thou with me, maiden? Little wins In amorous dalliance or delicious sins Frail womankind of me, a ruined tower Wind-rifted, no warm habitable bower; A moment of accumulated woes Made monumental; one whom earth in throes Raised as a mountain, whose devoted front, A nation's bulwark, bore the impact and brunt Of all the blasts and buffetings of Fate; For such beholdest thou; and that ingrate, The nation, battening on my toil's repast, Whom I preserved, behold; for me they cast, Exiled, to this bleak vestibule of death. SOLDANELLA I love the kiss of Boreas; his rude breath, Cold as my lost beloved's, wins my blood To blushes, and I foot the frozen wood To gather fuel, and (for gamesome Spring Tarries) to pasture these thy goats, and bring Meal for thy bakehouse, trip the happy vale Each sunrise, and the frore sweet air inhale. HERMIT Truly in vigils oft mine eyes have praised, Most rathe of roses, her whose kirtle, raised About the dimpled knee, bears o'er the snow The faggots wherewithal my rafters glow; Yea, praised with clinging glances, yet till now Speechless these nine weeks, careful of my vow No more with man or maiden to converse; Which I but break to bid thee fly my curse, And brave no more a couchant lion's cage. SOLDANELLA Nay, but I fly not, nor the leonine rage Fear, though it plough deep furrows in my heart; For reft of me thy soul would too depart Its rugged habitation; since thy hand, Maugre its might, doth little understand To feed thy lips, O Hermit of the wood! HERMIT Well mayst thou mock the might that once subdued A world, but now droops impotent to tame One virgin! Yet if no voluptuous aim Hath sped thee here, but thou fall immolate By rigour of Love as I by wrath of Fate On this cold altar of ashen solitude, Still, though I may not curse thee, it is good Thou shouldst depart, and in yon happier plain, If there he dwell, seek thy beloved again, Or, if Death bind him, sojourn by his tomb. SOLDANELLA He dwells not yonder, nor was death his doom; Neither will I repair to seek him now; Yet should he seek me, and his love avow, Him loving through the loveless world I follow. HERMIT Stranger, thou lovest not! As well the swallow Shall linger all the winter in the north As thou beneath my frown, who mayst go forth Into the summer of thy leman's smile. Natheless, if such vain colloquy beguile A girl's heart, somewhat of thy lover tell. SOLDANELLA When last he smiled on me, my love did dwell Where the three lions ward the tranquil wave. HERMIT Ah! Was he then of those base folk who drave The great Duke into exile? SOLDANELLA Yea, for lo, My hero was the doge's fellest foe. HERMIT Then name no more the recreant knave to me. SOLDANELLA O peaceful hermit, wherefore not to thee? HERMIT Knowest thou, wanton, whom thou dost behold? . . . I am the Duke! SOLDANELLA I know, and yet am bold, -- The woman's way, -- aware the proudest king Discrowned is but a fangless, futile thing: The nations leagued against him -- Thirst, Hunger, and Cold; and of his foes the worst -- Those factions in his narrowed government, Pride, his old paramour, and Malcontent, The new one, who debar him from domains Of passionate pleasance, towers, and shining plains, And all Love's heritage: O happier far These than the realms he lost! For while one star Glows in eve's brow, while yet new dawns array The ebon arch of night with azure day, While Earth, mailed sleeper, wakes at kiss of Spring With laugh of leafy brake and whirr of wing, To blush of bloom and harvest, -- all Love's heirs Are princes, and the mortal who despairs Builds his own dungeon and secretes the key. HERMIT So say ye, glib-mouthed, mocking Vanity? Beware! For lo, the madness comes apace! Walled round with silence, long I fought disgrace, But in the deadly grapple now grow weak. Speech hast thou wrenched from me: shall I not wreak On thee eternal silence? What art thou? A glittering snake coiled round an April bough, Her venom masked with fragrance! Haply he Thou braggest of suborned thee treacherously To watch, and in good time betray his foe. SOLDANELLA Fiercely thou risest; and the fitful glow Flung from the embers clothes thy shape in dread. So once an eagle in a flame of red, -- Shot from the savage dying eyes of day, -- Swooped, and a small warm trembling bird, his prey, Fell in my lap for succour. Such am I; But such a lap beneath my soul doth lie Odorous, the lap of Love: so, Eagle, strike! I fear thee not. Thy frown and smile alike My roots sustain. O thou Implacable, Think not to affray me! I will serve thee still! HERMIT Truly thy hardihood is wondrous great; Nor less thy vision, keen to penetrate That iron crust of wrongs which binds the world, And see beneath the broad soft wings unfurled Old fables prate of. As for me, I trace In Fate's cold eyes, clenched teeth, and cruel face, No smile. But, if thou art forsooth so wise, Speak! Tell what joy a man shall have who dies Biting, for fruit of all good labours done, Dust and the venom spat by each vile one He lived to serve? This, maiden Wisdom, say, And thou by grace of me shalt live -- one day! SOLDANELLA Such joy he hath, O Hermit, as the lark, Who from the clod mounts up, nor waits to mark What praise he wins, but to the great Sun's call Answers like dew; for though unthanked he fall Midway, yet doubtless on his life's brave song His soul shall mount to Heav'n, and all his wrong Rest like a cloud beneath: such joy he hath! HERMIT Thou liest, girl! Not so, but as the bath God takes who laves Himself in human woe His joy is; and as God with one fierce blow Hath paid my life's hard service, thus I pay Thee who served me; avenging in one day On God's best work the wrong it was His joy To lay on me, as ill-used slaves destroy Their tyrants' treasure; then, wrapt round with Hate, In black clouds charioted, the ebon gate My blasted soul shall pass, -- by thee in death Dove-convoyed to that kingdom where each breath Is righteous hate of God's unrighteousness: So will I slay thee, and, in slaying, bless, Not curse thee. SOLDANELLA Lost! O king! My king! All lost! Shall dews of love quench madness? Nay! Love's cost Wins only tears! Ah, like a swift gazelle, Soft Love upleapeth, deeming all is well; Fool! Fate hath fostered thee in life's fair bounds, As deer in parks, to flesh the Hunter's hounds! Woe numbed my lord, but "Love's great warmth," I said, "Like living blood in frozen limbs, thought dead, Stirs in his soul, and though his lips but move To utter groans, yet is it well; for love Conquers!" And so I toyed with two-edged speech To rouse him, and I said "He shall beseech The love I die to lavish." Hapless maid! In longed-for sport of love, all unafraid, I cried, "Pursue!" But lo, his lip's award Followed not: only madness, and a sword! HERMIT Of me thou pratest now. Afraid to die, This other love thou wouldst unshamed deny? Or shall a maid's lust caper like a mob's From one lord to the next, and cheers or sobs Dance wanton in the wake? SOLDANELLA O noble Duke, Mock not in this last morning, nor rebuke The love that called thee noblest son of Earth! To thee my soul gave all her virgin worth, Thee only, finding else no paragon With that fair image of a man which shone Apparelled in all my dreams with haze of gold. . . . HERMIT Oho! Ye merry gods, who love to mould Your lies of woman's flesh and make them fair, Hearken! In Venice dwells her love, and there Stood foremost of my foes: but me she loved, Me only! SOLDANELLA Truly, since my heart approved The Duke's foe in the Duke. For I am she He smiled on, when amid the howling sea Of those who cried, "The war wins Venice wealth!" I heard him answer, "Never came of stealth True weal, nor shall the state I bled for fight To wrench a prize from Liberty and Right, Nor Venice crave more weal than to be Just!" Yea, I am that unknown who thereat thrust Her painful way through all the yelping press, And kissed and clasped thy feet in wild caress, Until men trampled her, and from a swoon She woke to find thee exiled; whom full soon She followed hither, and unloved, forlorn, Have tended since. . . . Alack that I was born! HERMIT Thy tale is wondrous, stranger! Who art thou To set white sail and weak unweathered prow Abreast the deep in search of beacons bright, -- Souls of just men to anchor by, despite The storms which gird at Justice? SOLDANELLA Ask me not, But strike, O madman! Let not sorrow blot SOLDANELLA Love's sunlight; if the earth be dark, then death Is surely bright. Heed not my smock: beneath Throbbeth no craven heart. O sword, my bliss! I'll dream thou art my hero's longed-for kiss! HERMIT Breast of a woman! How the ruthless sword Falters before that hallowed ivory ward! SOLDANELLA Jesu! The eagle hath a ring-dove's voice! HERMIT The mist rolls back! O heart, be glad! Rejoice! This stranger, strange no more, but mate of me, Sweet fearless fellow of my lone destiny, Who fronts all ill below and all above, And lives or dies for that sole good of love, This slave shall grow my sovereign, I her slave! There is no Phlegethon, no gulf, no grave, So dread as that mad height man climbs in pride Whence no peak higher shows! -- Self-deified By sense of virtue sterner than his peers', His worship weds its shadow, and uprears A brood of sallow doubts, and sick disdains, Which torture, madden, goad him, till his pains Close in the chasm despair! Pray heav'n it grant Ever thy feet a hill, thy heart a want, Thy soul a soul more noble to revere! SOLDANELLA Praised be the saints, and Love the vanquisher! The Furies fly! He falls upon my breast! HERMIT I said, "This summer fly is like the rest: Death's cloak will brush the silver from her wings!" Wherefore I conjured Death, and lo, he flings No veil on her; but like a star she glows At eve's first kiss; and, as the shadows close About her path, her beauties brightlier shine! SOLDANELLA O golden hour! This king of earth is mine! HERMIT No king but thrall of thee! For I have said, "Men have no righteousness; their days are sped Pursuing lusts and trampling each his kind. God is less just; His vasty mill doth grind Diamonds with dross; He guerdons wrong with weal, And lashes noble souls, refined to feel The ruthless scourge: God, man and beast alike, -- Yea beasts, who howling o'er their victims strike The shuddering keynote of the spheral song, -- Clothed round in ravening cruelty and wrong, Jibe with wry mouths at Justice; I alone Smote with my sword to kindle from a stone The flame of Right -- and snapt the sword in twain." Thus did I musing, maddened, long remain Lonely above the world, an evil god Proclaiming all things evil, -- sky and sod. My Flower hath sprung, and clod and cloud are good. Her star athwart Time's dark tumultuous brood Beams, an Aurora calming tumbled seas Whereon my soul was tossed, and found no ease Until this hour; but, ever urged alone With stress of loveless Duty, still did groan; Like these rock solitudes with ice encased: Rigid, austere, and desolate, a waste Populous with moaning winds and massy clouds: Comfortless comrades, nodding ghostly shrouds, Hurtling in dismal vales, where pines are torn, And snow gales blind the blinking eyes of morn: A fruitless waste, where never grass or wheat Sang, or one blossom kissed the traveller's feet. SOLDANELLA Nay, for flowers peep already through the snow: I gathered these to-day: where'er they blow Yon ermine cloak about the mountain's breast, Pierced with their warmth, reveals the mossy vest Above the mighty heart. I pray thee speak No ill of this dear land of rock and peak! These pigmy prophet-flowers sang in mine ear: "Not winter evermore, -- not all the year Ice pendants on the pines, black, gaunt, and bowed With flaky manna kneaded by bluff cloud And boisterous hurricane, -- not lintels crost With white mark of the pestilence of frost, -- Not in the passes eddying drifts and wind To scourge the temples and the eyesight blind, -- Not clogged and muffled feet and dole of heart, But soon the warm sun-solace, and a start, Momently sweet, of myriad panting things, Chimes of sweet shaken bells and blossomings The insects hear, and drowsed with odours drone Vagrant, or swayed on grasses, tossed and blown Beneath the sailing clouds. . . ." Ah, faint and low, Hear we not now Spring's chariot o'er the snow? Hark to the whirling wheels and galloping feet! She comes! She comes! The savage blasts retreat. HERMIT I hear the gush and hurry of many rills Born of the melting snow. SOLDANELLA The assembled hills Find voice with thee: their snowfields melt and brim A million channels. HERMIT Oh, these eyes were dim! Cold Earth I saw, not Loveliness the blossom. Now let me clasp mine April to my bosom! Closer! ah, closer! SOLDANELLA Stay! My flowers are there! Fie! would he crush you, little flowers, nor spare One frail fringed tunic? -- Look how every bell Droops! HERMIT Like her lashes: oft I marked them well. Tears clung there; brave she looked, though flushed and shamed, -- But what are these in shepherd language named? SOLDANELLA I know not. HERMIT Tell me thy own name, maiden, then. SOLDANELLA They call me Soldanella. HERMIT So let men Name these, for hither they have climbed to bloom Beneath the frowning summit's bastioned gloom, And prank with emerald lawns the winter snow; As thou didst climb, and, shadowed by my woe, Melt my cold armour, thaw my blank despair, And fill the space with warmth and fragrant air. For life were naught but one bleak mountain range, Sunless and lashed with wild tempestuous change, Whose pinnacles interrogate a sky Thunderous with dark oracular reply; Nor in man's soul had there been any lake To glass the overarching heavens, which ache With infinite tenderness, nor any hope In lack of that one clue whereby we grope, That gleam in darkness of the light above, That snow environed blossom, woman's love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENDING WITH A LINE FROM LEAR by MARVIN BELL ENDING WITH A LINE FROM LEAR by MARVIN BELL SOUNDS OF THE RESURRECTED DEAD MAN'S FOOTSTEPS (#20): 1. SHAKESPEARE by MARVIN BELL SOUNDS OF THE RESURRECTED DEAD MAN'S FOOTSTEPS (#20): 1. SHAKESPEARE by MARVIN BELL SOUNDS OF THE RESURRECTED DEAD MAN'S FOOTSTEPS (#20): 2. SHAKESPEARE by MARVIN BELL SOUNDS OF THE RESURRECTED DEAD MAN'S FOOTSTEPS (#20): 2. SHAKESPEARE by MARVIN BELL YOUR SHAKESPEARE by MARVIN BELL YOUR SHAKESPEARE by MARVIN BELL A BALLAD OF SIR KAY by NEWMAN HOWARD |
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