Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FOOTSTEPS OF PROSERPINE: 3. SOLDANELLA, by NEWMAN HOWARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FOOTSTEPS OF PROSERPINE: 3. SOLDANELLA, by                     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.





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