The Iron age / With a pref. by Gilbert Murray.

LO LO :co 'O 6003 E78I8 "ADVENTURERS ALL" SERIES. No. 5. THE IRON AGE «O^v COME: Mr FRIENDS- Vis NOT TOD LATE TO SEEK A NEWER WORL5D IT MAY* BE THAT THE G\AFSVilLTtf& US DOWN • -IT MAY BE WE SHALL TOUCH THE H«PPV ISLETS BEYONO THE THE IRON AGE «JY FRANK BETTS WITH A PREFACE BY GILBERT MURRAY OXFORD B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD ST. 1916 PREFACE. FOR many years past Mr. Belts' unpublished work has been a source of great pleasure to me. I never knew when next it might "blow in," or what new subject it would have swept into its range during the interval. But it was always sure to be full of life and power and sympathy, and curious erudition penetrated by imaginative brooding. And, whether one liked it or not, it was indifferent to fashion and free from the leaven of the scribes. I am sorry the present book is so short. For Mr. Betts is an author who is best read in the mass and not in specimens, and I should have liked readers to know him by his Saga^plays. But after all that can come later. G. M. DEDICATION. TO ERNEST COWARD. IN Whiteley woods the South winds blow Heather scent from Ringinglow ; In Whiteley woods we two have seen The pale June night's uncertain sheen— For how could we two fare to bed With so much crying to be said After so long, on either part Of Aeschylus and of Mozart ? Men say the dreams of twenty'two The winds of thirty shall undo — We prove them liars, do we not ? Which of our dreams have we forgot ? Not this, the lordliest hope on earth To bring new loveliness to birth— Oh, you when heart and hope had lacked Have cheered me here in Pontefract And And I wish you joy, blue skies or brown, Musiomaking in Canning Town. Triumph ? who know ? to serve and strive Enough for any man alive ! Oh, I were proud to hear your name Made equal with your father's fame, And if goodwill good luck could bring Why now, I were the peer of Synge. It lies not in our hands : but this At least, that we need never miss This triumph life can not deny To serve and strive until we die ! 1914, CONTENTS. Page Preface by Gilbert Murray * J 5 Dedication to C. E. Coward . . . . 7 The Magi . . . , . . . 11 Hellas The Deathless . . . . . 23 Dionysos in Inde . . .' . . 27 The Little Anthology . . . . 36 The Goths The Lay of Brynhild . ''• „ . . 41 Angantyr ...... 43 The Norsemen . . . . . . 52 Gyda ...... 56 The Adventurer . . . . . 59 The Normans Montrouge . . . . ,, 65 Crusaders . . . . . .68 The Kesar of Byzant . . « . 71 Mansourah . . . . . 72 Louis XL . . . , « . 73 The Commune The Pawns . . . ' . . 77 The Rider on the Red Horse . 79 THE MAGI. Kings, proud in purple, Crowned with burning gold, Weighed down their labouring camels With treasure manifold. Two Kings rode down the ways of the world On an errand wild and far Over the Eastern deserts Following a star. Their lords rode beside them, Wondering and amazed, Over the Eastern deserts, Where the strange star blazed. I also looked and wondered At the comet's boding hair And I sought a meaning in my scrolls Nor found it there. 11 THE MAGI * » I left my crumbling castle, Where Oxus flows, For the stony paths of the uplands And the eternal snows. No such gift as the other twain Could I bear ? No gold and no frankincense A little myrrh. With me no wondering princes, Rode at my bridle rein : No lords following my banner, O'er the burning plain. A summer and a winter After the ride began, Ere I reached the abiding of the star And the crowded khan. The Lady was pale and gentle Fairer was never seen, And the Star waited over the Child's head The Child of a queen. 12 THE MAGI 'A * Narrow was the Child's bed- CD he was fair When He laughed at the sound of psalteries In the echoing air I Lady and Child were gracious And fair to see, Like a Queen she welcomed the other twain And welcomed me, Like a Queen she took the treasure Of the other twain, Nor was the myrrh I offered Offered in vain. And I turned homeward, haunted By the Lady's eyes, And the shadow of foreknowledge Sad and wise. I rode back across the desert And the ancient streams, And methought I shared her knowledge And dreamed her dreams. 13 THE MAGI * * I forded the Euphrates Rushing to my knee, And I was mazed in the dreams That haunted me. Thronged with visions That waver and go, I rode in the shade of Ararat And the chill of its snow. As I passed alone by the Caspian And its natron-crustedlsand, With desert and desert waters On either hand- As I rode the pathless upland Pathless and blind, •A dream of One crowned— not as I am crowned- Passed through my mind. Crowned not with gold, Crowned with thorn, Girt not with purple and pride Forlorn . 14 THEJMAGI * * I have searched my ancient scrolls To read the dream, And I have pondered it in my crumbling tower By Oxus stream. I saw Three nailed in torment By the soldiers of Rome ; And in vain I sought to read the dream In the scrolls pondered at home* The Lords of the World in purple And their hosts of war, Watched maidens cast before lions On a bloodstained floor. And I saw white temples ruined And groves aflame, i As I rode the desert dreaming : And still dreams came* I saw the Eagle and Raven For an hour proud But I could not read the standard When their pride was bowed. 15 THE MAGI * * On strange towers my vision Saw the same standard shine, And bells called out o'er the city From the glimmering shrine. Words I heard spoken Over the bread and wine But no glimmer of the meaning Could I divine. I saw a chalice lifted And wine blood red And the people bowed on their faces As men dead. And I saw bright horsemen riding With golden helm ablaze Across the shadowed woodland On magic ways Wild with the breaking of the snows, White with whirling froth, Oxus burst from out the hills And turned to the North. 16 THE MAGI A <* And the dreams grew harsh and troubled Fire'red and grim And I grasped at a flying meaning Changing and dim. Men strove, and they that vaunted The Lady's part Drave their swords and lances Into her heart ; All they that made semblance To stand on the Child's part Smote with poisoned lances Into His heart. 0 sore was the dream and troubled As I rode by Samarcand, With green palms and green waters On either hand. The market thronged and sounded With a freighted caravan ; 1 heeded not the merchants In the crowded khan. 17 THE MAGI 'A * The silks and Orient spices They spread in the market place , 1 saw beyond the chaffering The Lady's face. And I heard by her truest lovers Their Queen denied, And I saw the bale fires burning Where true men died. And I rode, it seemed, for ever Northward along the stream And for every league of journeying A weary dream. Till I saw far off, o'er a river bend, Threshed by desert sand, Ruinous and solitary, My castle stand. And the dream rolled on and hid it From my sight Darker was never shaken From the wings of night. 18 THE MAGI » * Pale was the sun, to my seeming, And the heavens blood red, And a trumpet called in the silence Living and dead. Living and dead thronged the desert In the blood red glare, That the calling of the trumpet Gathered there. And One crowned in the heavens, With a burning sword And He seemed to my fantasy The Child I had adored And I rode my castle gateway In the breaking of the dream And behold, the empty desert And the swollen stream ! Nightly in my turret I remember Child and Queen And I brood upon my visions What they may mean. 19 THE MAGI * * Nightly I search the stars Afraid, alone, And my desolate castle crumbles Stone by stone. Far off the merchants chaffer, The armies ride, And Oxus runs by my castle Empty and wide. 1913. 20 HELLAS. THE DEATHLESS. THE Gods arc great and silent : they abide Unmoved in highest heaven and behold On the wild surf of time's resistless tide, The dreams and hopes and fears of mortals rolled. Clear corridors and columned palaces Are theirs, and stately halls of echoing song, Where all the changing day they take their ease And banquet carelessly the ages long. With gold and Delphian laurel garlanded Upon their carven couches they recline, Arrayed in lordlier than the Tyrian red And drain from jewelled cups immortal wine. Daily the swiftfoot Dawn with streaming hair Before the splendid sun's tremendous car Opens the Eastern gate and lights the fair Brief lustrous lamp of the white morning star. 23 THE DEATHLESS * * Daily the mighty Sun returns from spilling Through all the air his vase of perfect fire, Ocean to ocean the long path fulfilling Back to the palaces of his desire. Before their eyes with light of silver burning The Moon ariseth lightly from her seat, Nightly at moonset to the couch returning From the pale pathway with unwearied feet. Theirs is the perfect quiet and the rest With perfect beauty and solemnity, And vision of all worlds and ages blest While the light-footed mortal seasons flee. The woven web and tapestries of Time Wrought here with pomp of some infatuate king And there with dens of misery and crime Are theirs : the whole to them is as one thing. They see the hopes of mortals in the flower, They are not glad : they weep not, yet they know That the light passage of a single hour Will lay the sweet and fruitless blossom low. 24 THE DEATHLESS * * They sec the heart that sins, the heart that sins not : Alike to them are blasphemy and praise— The cry of all the suffering nations wins not To touch the dreaming silence of their days. Yea, and they see across a restless sea Stornvriven ships pursue their hopeless way — They see pale lovers meeting solemnly Beneath green branches, happier than they. They know not of delight nor of mutation They know not of desire or any care : Bring not to them your offering or oblation What heed have they of penitence or prayer? From the great heights the Gods behold our passion And from afar our dreams of fading fire : They sit above delight, above compassion And above rapture, and beyond desire. O light unshadowed and unwavering Unpassionate hearts in seats unpassionate, Is not all weary that the slow years bring ? Are not your holy places desolate ? 25 THE DEATHLESS * * For we, beneath the lifted sword of Death, We, whose unstable days so soon take flight, Dreams of a shadow, wavering human breath, Would never choose your shadowless delight. Ah love ! one thing on earth, in heaven be mine Silence amid the deep wood's secrecy- Desire and dream surpass their calm divine And life and death their immortality. 1904. 26 DIONYSOS IN INDE. The Rajput horsemen bear tidings to the Brahmans of the coming of outiand folk. T 'RACKLESS the Northern forest, stainless the North* ern snow And beneath in glen and garden yearlong the roses blow: Mighty the sweep of the rivers to the meadows glad with grain And the throng of the kine in the pastures, and the many'titied plain : Here is the land of Agni and here the Sacrifice Is daily wrought by the Masters in the Holy Ancient wise. Calm, O calm is the Middle Land, happy and warded well By cragg and cliff and torrent and swords most terrible. And the love of the most High Gods and the power of the Ancient Rite : And ever the chant and the offering welcome the morn* ing light. It is well : what hath been ever, shall endure eternally 27 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * Peace in the land and wisdom : it is nothing, let it be The rumour and sound of storm, the folly from afar A thousand miles where the Khyber lies dusk neath the evening star The mail'dad Guards of the Khyber and the ancient gates of war— 44 Dionysos." The unclean outer peoples, like the waves of the hate* ful sea Rage neath an angry heaven, tormented endlessly, Hither and thither swept down deadly paths and strange : But the Land of the Holy Cities shall know no breath of change. Often and often we heard them, rumour and threatening •Of deeds toward in the Marches and the wrath of an outland king ; We have learned to heed them little and much to heed the Rite, The words our fathers taught us and the Sacrifice of might, The Rite that sways the Seasons, the rains and suns that bless, 28 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * That sways the stars of heaven with its great stead' fastness— Small gain, O mail'dad wardens, who ride so fast and far To bear us a madman's raving and the lies of the bazaar From the iron cliffs of the Khyber and the ancient gates of war. Old the tale and idle of the Afghan rievers' woe, Swords ablaze in the outlands and strife in the Afghan snow; They have ridden oft, the mighty, and well may they ride again And find their death in the passes that open to the plain— And ye have swords to meet them and high the Rajput mood That wards the Land of the Rivers where the Masters of Wisdom brood. The Kings may ride to the onslaught in their majesty and greed We have found your hearts and lances stark in the hour of need 29 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * And the Silent Gods are watchers o'er the peace of the Holy Stream Yet ye fear a foolish wonder and the marvels of a dream— Fire, ye say, in the passes and a song in the heart of the fire That rends the outer peoples and calls to the heart's desire. And they follow and none may withstand them, a storm lured on by a star, Hosts from the cities of Iran, from Balkh and Kan* dahar— It is yours to hold the Khyber and the ancient gates of war. 44 Dionysos." Little ye feared the arrows and the unclean Tartar hordes And the might of the Mede embattled shrank from your eager swords, "But these— their mail the fawnskin and the tangled ivy crown 30 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * And their vine'Wreathed wands more dreadful than the swords of old renown ; Their van the wild'heart maidens, white bosomed, white of hand, And the thunder of their onset no serried spears with' stand, And the terror that rides before them, and the frenzied revelry That has torn the outer peoples from the shore of the Western Sea: The wild rock'Carven gorges echo the Maenad tread, And a very God is among them, laughing and gar* landed With the breath of sacred vine leaf and the berried ivy twine And he bears a gift of renewal and the wonder of the vine, And fleet are the fawning panthers that draw his ivory car/' -The High Gods know him not— the stranger from afar, It is yours to hold the Khyber, and the ancient gates of war. "Dionysos." 31 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * " There is change and wonder behind him : the raven- ing desert sand Bursts into glory of blossom at the tread of his hurrying band. Grim are the Afghan passes : yet the iron gorges shine With tangled breadth of vine leaf and the promise of the vine, And the eyes of the folk are eager that were heavy overlong, And a wilder beat is throbbing in the heart of the harvest song. A cry is abroad in the nations and a stir of marvellous springs, And the pride and terror crumble and the awe of the solemn Kings, Flame in the cramping cities the folk would build again— For the might of the cup of renewal burns in the hearts of men. Old loves wail forgotten : a new divine desire Leaps to the very heaven, a world'Consuming fire, Eager to rend and create, mighty to build and undo. Dreadful the God, without pity, to make all creatures 32 DIONYSOS IN INDE » * — These are strong to withstand him : the order of day and night, The stars and signs of the heavens and the old star* steadfast Rite Demon and demon guided, the rabble from afar, Let them wander and rave as they will, mocked by the steadfast star They shall beat in vain at the Khyber, to waken the ancient war "Dionysos!" " He cries in the lonely places to the shepherd on the hills, Where the meadows gleam and the lotus lights up the lowland rills. He cries in the thronging cities, and the startled folk draw near In court and temple and palace and the Kings and their hosts must hear. His cup is poured and he cries : 4 Now lies it in your hand 33 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * To drink the wine or reject it: to welcome or with* stand : Yet small my gain from your greeting— yours is the boon or the curse. Your wise have wailed the seasons and the days that drift to the worse, And the haunt of the rose grown barren, and the dark that draws apace — \ Yet I think it shall be the simple rejoice to see my face : I am Spring and Youth and Renewal: through me they shall not die. Earth's glory of summer and blossom to laugh against the sky, I am Strife and Storm, the Destroyer : out of the travail pain The dying world awakens to glad the Gods again. Not once I have smitten the nations, and ever out of the fire The Phoenix has arisen, strong'winged : and the heart's desire Is yours to be reached and the passion and glory of my wine. Gather to me ye nations and drain this cup of mine, 34 DIONYSOS IN INDE * * Battle and laugh and create and undo, in the strength of my might/' We turn to the ancient order, the service of the Rite And the Gods we know are for ever, unmoved, a steadfast star, Nor shall the Land of the Rivers echo his trampling car: We hold the rock-girt Khyber and the ancient gates of war. "Dionysos!" 1914. 35 THE LITTLE ANTHOLOGY. I. EPITAPH.— AN ACHAEAN SLAIN AT PLATAEA. PLANETREE and poplar and elm, cool shadow beside the river, Springs in the heart of the hills, roofs of the murmur* ing town, Comrades of race and wrestle and elders who gazed on the racing, Fired in the fleetest of foot, dreams of Olympian crown ; Though I return not to you from the war^beaten slopes of Cithaeron Your ancient peace shall abide: year after year in the dell Spring, enchanted, shall murmur beneath the whisper* ing poplars Lads be wistful or blythe that I know not : it is well. 1914. 36 THE LITTLE ANTHOLOGY IL ON THE TOMB OF ONE LOST AT SEA. WANDERER, gaze as I gaze, daylong, from my rock- built eyrie, Over the angry foam, winter wrath of the tides, Or over the glimmering pools to the murmur of far off waters, Stretches of reef and wrack, haunts where the sea swallow glides ; Hateful I held them once as I strove for my life with the tempest, Thou too shalt forget thy strife; learn that beauty abides* 1914. •57 THE LITTLE ANTHOLOGY III. TO ARTEMIS. ARTEMIS hail I for the woods are thine and the sounding of rivers Breaking beneath the moon : ocean is drawn to thy spell. Thine are the forest dwellers, the wolf and otter and falcon, Queen of the dreaming dead, Queen by the waters of Hell. Threefold thy lordship and holy, but, for me, from afar I salute thee— Fragrant and cold the night, stirred by thy virginal breath ; But my heart is like fire as I wait in the glimmering dusk of my chamber And I cry unto Cypris alone; little I think upon death. 1914. 38 THE GOTHS. THE LAY OF BRYNHILD. 44 rr^HE wind wanders ••• The Southron ships My brothers are riding And my father's sword 44 Gold and gem O bitter the skald's praise Hateful the loom, Byrnie on breast 44 My brothers may ride A fire on the fells And my heart is akin Of the smiting storm, Odin hearkens The sleepless sword Byrnie on breast, Shall ride the fells the Western fells, cleave the storm : the sea wrath a flame on the fells. gleam on my heart— 4 bright in bower ' heavy the load- were a burden less sore— the wrath of the foam my father's sword to the high heart of the smiting sword." the high heart, has set in her hand— Budli's daughter and the wrath of the storm. 41 THE LAY OF BRYNHILD * The others labour Pour the ale Bear the burdens Little their heart Beats the thunder The raven shrieks But the sword triumphant The victory harvest distaff and loom, to the battle proud of garth and bower— is like Brynhild's heart. o'er the broken battle, in the rain-swept mirk- is a torch that lights the Valkyrs glean. Who shall tell of the strife and change, Mood over-mighty of the shield may, The heart that must choose as the heart listeth The Valkyr's wrong, the Valkyr's woe ? Flame on the crest Circling flame All-Father's doom Like the faint-heart may's few may climb, round the Shield-May's sleep, love and death of field and bower. This is left to the lofty hearted When the charm must be broken, shattered the sleep- He that wooes, the Wild-Fire-Rider, Shall be of all men boldest and best. 1915. 42 ANGANTYR. The mound of JL 1TIGHTILY lowering o'er the Frisian surf M And the sea's stir Glooms on the tide'Swept beach the mounded turf Of Angantyr. The storm blows all its clarions ; and the sea Sends forth its cry As when they blow to battle ; recklessly Men charge and die. Across the gleaming sand the maddened tide Rides in its wrath, Foanvcrested : as unconquerably ride Kings from the North. 43 ANGANTYR The noon is pale : the Northern tempest swoops As war^arrayed. Westward across the waste the sunset droops A bloodied blade* Night and the battle wanes : the charging wave Dies to a moan ; The murmuring darkness and the mounded grave Brood there alone. And as a woman seeks her father's place Amid the dead, The shrouded moon looks through the flickering race Far overhead. In the dark you rest. In the uttermost night, The doonvheavy sword Laid on your heart : The barrows height Piled on your breast I rend apart With a woeful word. 44 ANGANTYR » * The storm swept loud O'er the dauntless ones- Little they stir The stark and tall: The sword has thy sons, The glory is bowed : Unavenged the fall Of Angantyr I And the task is laid On a woman's head. 0 awake at the word Of my despair— 1 cry to the dead, To the dead, for aid, You shall hear the prayer. The ancient sword ! Tbe dead makes The very heart of the dark that I deemed no storm answer from tbe barrow. should awaken With a voice far off, half heard, insistent, is smitten and shaken. The woman cries The ancient sword 1 again. 45 ANGANTYR Tbe voice from A voice breaks in on the night, agelong, that the tomb make* . . . , answer. weighed on my heart And,' wails: the mounded clay at the cry is riven apart. The woman. The sword, father, the sword. The mound is rent and the dead rises. In the cloud driven moon stands one who beats at the gate of the dead And the sleep rolls heavily back that weighed, vast as the sea, on my head. Tbe*woman. Father, I call for the sword. Angantyr. Hercor tells ber errand to be* father. Is it wife or sister or child that cries so loud to the deep? Amazement and agony to break the eternal sleep. It is I, the last of the line Hervor, a feeble thing- Have then the dead no word Of the sons who fain would wreak The wrongs of the smitten King ? Their heads lie low as thine, I am left, desolate, weak, Father give me the sword. 46 ANGANTYR * * Angantyr. Wrong, and the wreaking of wrong, and the hate that was flame in my breast. All these are dark in the dark and I heed not— let me rest. Heroor tells of Father they pour the wine $£$*** And they triumph over the dead And the song rings loud in the hall Of the death of Angantyr. 44 Unavenged he lies in his bed And of all the lordly line There is none left save her And shall she avenge his fall ? " Angantyr. Your cry tears at my heart: let our house fare well or ill 1 can neither heed it nor aid: let me rest and Doom drive as it will. Htroor renumbers Though you have drained death's wine fatherland child And forgotten the ancient foe : Yet, to my agony, I live, I may not forget. Hearken, at least, my woe, Thy child, the last of thy line Overborne : and my heart is set On a task too great for me. 47 ANGANTYR Is this thing also forgotten That once, whatever I would crave I found thy hands more swift To give, than my lips to the word ? Is this also dark in the grave, And the love of the late begotten ? One prayer, the last : the sword To avenge : no other gift. Angantyr. Not twice, O child, may we speak in the drift of the cloud<swept moon And the dead have little to give, and you ask a bitter boon. Hervor. \ ask for the sword. Angantyr. \ have found the snare of the sword : I smote and laughed o'er the slain, Two-edged the ancient iron and the stroke crashes home again. Heroor. It is mine by right, the sword. 48 ANGANTYR Angantyr. •^v •^^' Heavy and grievous the doom, to give the heart of a maid To slaying and blood avenging: death broods in the blade. Hereof chooses as her blood and ancient kin bid ber. Angantyr is weary of ber beseeching. Hercor. Angantyr. I have drunk the lees of pain— What is there left to bear Though I choose the iron part ? Let me smite once as I would, Little I fear the snare Or the death hurled home again — Father, I share your blood Shall I not share your heart ? Grievous the broken sleep, cloud drift and the surf's roar And your pleading agony: let me rest— I can strive no more. I have chosen. I choose the sword. Once more I speak : the last : my child will you not hear? Grievous doom in the sword, and my heart is heavy with fear. 49 ANGANTYR * * Henor. \ am constant, father ; the sword. In vab l would sparc y°u: the ni"sht drivcs back and tears us apart, I can strive no more with doom : take the blade from my heart. The dying storm murmurs across the sea : Westward the shattered moon droops heavily, Cloud'thronged and weary, to the restless wave, Dark on the utter darkness looms the grave. Night triumphs : save beneath the mounded height The sea^foam glimmers ghostlike in the night. The hours that lead the morning shall unfold Their pageant of triumphant flame and gold. Day thunders Eastward and the wind of day Smites into wrath the sullen seas and gray. Day rides the heaven, and day shall bring to birth All joy and grief and wonder upon earth The wind and sea awake and hearts of men To take their doom of storm and strife again, 50 ANGANTYR * » The ships race down the foam and the kings ride Helmed, and the sleeping death couched at their side, The churl takes up his task in field and byre And the whole world pursues the heart's desire Highhearted, or with sail or sword or plough ; But darkness broods across the lonely Howe, Dark o'er the barren sands and the sea's stir, And darkness on the heart of Angantyr. 1913. 51 THE NORSEMEN. THE ice and iron of the bitter North Were fast about their house : their coming forth Was down the path and driving of the sleet The sun was faint to them, the summer fleet No spring with music in the budded leaf And in the summer days unsure and brief They forced from narrow lands and perilous sea, With toil a scanty harvest perilously ; And on the hills that girt the barren stead, .With winter dark, with fire of sunset red, They see unchanged, while light is born and dies, The horror of unvintageable ice. Because 52 THE NORSEMEN Because our woven garment of deceit- Sweet birds a'singing in the hawthorn sweet In spring, that sets a song in every mouth And all the lying glamour of the South, Laughter and magic of the warm moonshine, Rose and love dreaming and enchanted wine— Because all this was stripped, as the storm strips The flaunting pennons from the smitten ships, In the cold Northern daylight they saw clear How empty hope, how less than empty fear. They saw the day how brief, the night how long, The purpose faint, how stark the groping wrong, Man's lighted world how narrow, and how wide The untrodden dark where all dark things abide, With what grim toil the high Gods keep at bay The desperate leaguer of the haunts of day, How at their side the shades of men outworn Battle to hold the perilous pass of morn And, overborne, with agony maintain The high adventure of the world, in vain. God 53 THE NORSEMEN * * God beat aback the Wolf a little space To build his dream— a little moment's grace, Before the drifting dark should turn and hide His work, as children's battlements the tide* Grini'hearted, Odin wrought, till for their hour The burning pinnacles of Godholme tower, Walled in with cliff and forest mightily Girt with the beating of the outer sea, With ice and fog and darkness, and on high Roofed with the ordered changes of the sky. O great and stark he made his hall divine ; He clad the walls with multitudinous pine, The wind'tormented crown of the wild hill, Torrent and storm obeyed his craftsman's will— No delicate rose^hidden Southern house But mountain'built, with high seat mountainous Granite : and sits and drinks the festal ale With those high spirits who know that all things fail Save valour, and the unconquerable heart, Who watch, while all the lights from heaven depart Unmoved, the death and passage of the day ; There, while beneath his stalwart housecarles play, He sits and broods the deeds that must befall Until the hour that brings the end of all. 54 THE NORSEMEN * * O hearts a ruined battle could not break, Who might indeed despair, but not forsake In the eclipse and silence of the sun, The cause of day eternally undone, Who of us all, as you, is resolute Mid all defeat and terror to refute The ancient lie that bids us live at ease And let the years bring evil as they please And strive not ? You were great indeed, but we Ask Doom to bribe our swords with victory : You nursed no hopes like ours : you smote in vain And held the losing battle worth the pain, Invulnerable ; until at last One came Strong even your heroic hearts to tame- As spring comes, when the winds of April blow, Faint spring and soft, to melt the iron floe And set the forests and the waters free And hurl the streams headforemost to the sea- Like spring unarmed and helmed with stubborn thorn That melts to laughing leaf ; and every mom Sees new fantastic blossoms sally forth And strange birds thronging to the broken North . . , It was found impossible to complete this poem for more reasons than one. The intention was to conclude with a reference to the contribution of a people of Norse blood to the Mediaeval Renais* sance, and to the achievments of Norman knights in the First Crusade. 1912. 55 GYDA. THEY tell of a may in Harald's hall Gracious, and high of heart, and tall, 44 Woo me the fairest may of all ! " (Ride on the wooing of Gyda) 44 Gifts and gold he lays at your feet, Bids you sit in a Queen's high seat ; Lucky the hap of Harald's sweet/' (Lucky the hap of Gyda) 44 Light I hold your offering And Harald's love no glorious thing- Narrow lands and a little King— (High the mood of Gyda) — The "y" in "Gyda" is pronounced as the French "u. 56 GYDA 44 Let him master Northern land, Nidaross to Sogn strand : Set all Norway under his hand — (War in the heart of Gyda) " Take my answer and homeward ride— My pride mates with a King's pride Who rules all Norway far and wide*" (Ah, the pride of Gyda) Harald laughed and sware an oath 44 1 take the challenge, little loath, I give my troth against her troth." (Plighted troth of Gyda) East and West they sally forth— Who shall stand before Harald's wrath Starkest sword in all the North ? (Swords ablaze for Gyda) Harald 57 GYDA Harald rides over Northern land, Nidaross to Sogn strand, Norway laid beneath his hand. (Morning gift for Gyda) Dreamers dream of the kings to be Crowned and ruling mightily- First of the mighty line is he. (Lulled on the breast of Gyda) Gyda fondles Harald's son— O the tale to-day begun— The starkest line beneath the sun. (And the mother of all— Queen Gyda) 1913. 58 THE ADVENTURER. A KESAR rules in Micklegard, '^^ In gold his house^carles shine ; He seeks strong arms for service, And a strong arm is mine. Grim his feuds, and his foemen wroth— He will need swords when he sallies forth Swords like mine, from the iron North— Farewell to Whitewater I I sail for Micklegard. It's a strong place, is Micklegard Great and stark its wall. But they need swords to keep the place Be the towers never so tall. There's many are fain to win the hold— Spoil and to spare of the gathered gold— Watch less your raids be overbold ! Farewell to Whitewater I I sail for Micklegard. It's 59 THE ADVENTURER It's good to cross the world betimes When eye and steel are keen, East and South is a fine faring, And the whole world lies between ; Strange cities to see, new friends to find— 0 the world and the winds are more to my mind ! Barren the land I leave behind- Farewell to Whitewater ! I sail for Micklegard. There's pride enow in Micklegard, Pomp and pride to spare ; 1 have my pride in Northern blood To keep my honour there— None who drinks the Kesar's wine For all his carven sword hilt shine Shall wear a blade more bleak than mine- Farewell to Whitewater ! I sail for Micklegard. 60 THE ADVENTURER There's not room here for a sword sweep ; My dreams weary me ? High hearts in a narrow land Between mountain and sea. Through the heaths where I was bred Whitewater runs in a stony bed From barren stead to barren stead ; 0 farewell to Whitewater! 1 sail for Micklegard. There's no white Christ in Micklegard To stay the swing of the sword j Deeds to do, and gold for the doing From the Kesar's hoard— O the ravens swoop from a burning sky And the sound of swords goes up on high— Who were more glad at heart than I ? Farewell to Whitewater ! I sail for Micklegard ! I shall 61 THE ADVENTURER I shall not pine in Micklegard For the sleet and the North land ; I shall win my place with outland lords By strength of hand. Honour and wealth are the stake of war- Skerry and heath and lonely shore And driving firth— I shall come no more- Farewell to Whitewater I I sail for Micklegard. 1911, 62 THE NORMANS. MONTROUGE. BLEAK Montrouge in the winter tide, Listless and heavy the long days glide : Barren and bleak the countryside : I hearken the sea on the barren shore, And gaze on the hills and the drifted snow And I weary for spring when the swift streams flow. And the lists are pitched and the wild horns blow War! Grim Montrouge in the sunniest weather, Castle and moorland matched together, Barren rock on the barren heather. Narrow and sheer the track That leads from the harbour to my hold : O ! the sunset over the sea unrolled And my towers that stand against the gold Black. Leagues 65 E MONTROUGE Leagues over hill, leagues over down They drink and ruffle in Rouen town, Laugh their fill at the crafty clown, The jongleur fiddles his lay To lord and lady merry of cheer, A tale of Tristram or Guinevere- Leagues of rain between Rouen and here, Gray. 0 in Rouen a merry throng : Here, one rogue knows Roland's song, Somewhat ancient and overlong, 1 were fain of a blither tune* My sergeants wrangle and drink all day And I . . I kill the hours as they— Oh I we were blither at Tenchebrai Last June ! 66 MONTROUGE In his castle leagues away Broodeth Richard Yea-and'Nay And he hates as I the empty day, Wearies of sleep and wine, Broods and chafes as the great cups brim, And the blood runs wild in every limb : Like as hound on leash the heart of him, As mine. Once let Spring set Richard free To hurl his riders oversea- Swords are out in Normandy As soon as the thrushes sing. Montrouge gates flung open wide, East and South by horsemen ride : For me— I care not on which side. Spring ! 1914. 67 THE CRUSADERS. 1204. ACRE scowls on the blue water, The Templars keep the hold ;— We sailed, for Acre, ten thousand strong And our galleys aflower with gold. We turned on another errand Than that lured us from home — Acre may fall and welcome- War! On the Emperor of Rome. The last hold in the Holy Land Trodden by Christ's fair feet— They are pressed, hard pressed in Acre And the watchmen look for the fleet. Long they may look and wearily Across the empty foam— We turned aside at the Cyclades, War On the Emperor of Rome ! 68 THE CRUSADERS Kerak stands sheer, where Sodom stood In a waste of deadly sand : Not ours to ride by the Bitter Sea On the accursed strand. All the mosques of the infidel Have no such sapphire dome As the shrine we'll sack, by the Golden Horn- War On the Emperor of Rome I There's treason in the city And a high queen betrayed. Her wrong calls out across the world And swords are swift to aid : Alone she sits in the donjon tower Plying her jewelled comb— The spoil of a thousand years for the aiding I War On the Emperor of Rome ! Owe 69 THE CRUSADERS O we sail with the Venice galleys And the high lord Dandalo— Who heeds the barren Holy Land And the heathen foe ? O, burned and bare is the Holy Land On other roads we roam, A wilder venture, a fairer spoil— The loot Of the Emperor of Rome I 1911. 70 THE KESAR OF BYZANT. 1204. HALLOWED God's riders, and the cross their sign The stark Crusaders set the prisoner free And bring him to his ancient sovrainty, The heritage of his imperial line : Joy in Byzant and feast : the torches shine, The dim vast domes and gaunt mosaics see Kyrsaac resume, with orient pageantry, The purple and the crown of Constantine. Eyeless and old and broken : yet restored He comes, past hoping, into his desire, Blind to the glitter of the banquet board, The courtiers worshipping, the jewelled fire, Blind where, impassive, waiting for his hire His iron ally leans upon his sword. 1912. 71 MANSOURAH. AN EPISODE OF ST. LOUIS' CRUSADE. THE squalid ferry, choking with the slain Stank, and the sun in heaven was merciless. Here, where the dust shielded the eddying press, The Mameluke whirled back and charged again : Nacaire and tamour roared : like poisonous rain The arrows pelted on the battle dress. How the day went elsewhere was hard to guess Mansourah blazed across the farther plain. Lo I clarions from the causeway on the right, And the King's battle, pausing in advance Like some strong eagle poised in middle flight ! Louis, a head above his tallest lord, Overlooks the field, gold helmed, with naked sword And on his surcoat burn the flowers of France. 1912. 72 w LOUIS XI. r AR in the land or treachery ? The palace gates are grim to see And the guard of outland soldiery- Night, and the torches burning red Swords around the old King's bed— Who knows, outside, if alive or dead ? Silence, and swords in the palace gate : Breathless, afraid, the nations wait News of the King whose craft was as Fate. "Louis, King Louis is dying. Vain, men said, to seek the gold Once grasped in King Louis' hold— At morn, another tale is told. East and West the riders bear The offerings of a King's despair- No gift grudged to buy a prayer. Gold 73 LOUIS XL Gold and gifts in sacrifice, Gold and jewels beyond price— What worth gold to a man that dies ? Louis, King Louis, is dying. Charles rode out of Burgundy And his men at arms were proud to see— France the price of victory. Subtle and deadly is the snare Louis weaves in his lonely lair- Vain to bid Duke Charles beware ! Sold and trapped and brought to bay, Charles charged home through the mellay : Charles died : King Louis' turn to-day, Louis, King Louis, is dying. At Amboise also a guard in the gate— A little longer, Francis, to wait Dauphin Francis, be still and wait, Louis, King Louis, is dying. 1914. 74 THE COMMUNE. THE PAWNS. It was reported in the Press a few years ago that a certain Bishop, opening a chess tournament, stated that he might well be interested in the game, for he had been Chaplain to a King and a Queen, he lived in a Castle, he was a Bishop and his brother was a Knight ; in fact, the only piece on the board with which he had not a first-hand acquaintance was the Pawn. The Pawns are the soul of Chess. — Pbilidor. PURPLE robed, with crowned hair, Caesar sits in a golden chair, And a proud cold Queen beside him there. Knights in armour, many and tall, And the holy Bishops throng the hall ; Why trouble your head with the pawns at'all, Iscariot ? He sits at the chess and he plays with skill On a board far flung over river and hill, And many a pawn works out his will. At the chess of war to be bold is wise, And little he recks of sacrifice :— For what are a pawn or two in our eyes, Iscariot ? 77 THE PAWNS Years agone, and a world away Lived One who did not praise the play, And He loved the pawns the best, men say* And He damned the pieces for their pride : So you sold Him to be crucified, And bared unto the spear His side, Iscariot ? You sold Him and you thought Him slain, And the old proud game begins again, And Caesar plays with might and main, But a hidden Player has the Black, And the craft is foiled and the White attack, Move by move is beaten back, Iscariot. Knight nor Bishop can resist The pawns of this Antagonist Whose countenance is dark with mist. The game goes on and will not wait, Caesar is gripped in a deadly strait— What if the pawns should give checkmate, Iscariot? 78 THE RIDER ON THE RED HORSE. JUNE, 1916. ED morn, send forth thy torches— break away The vast and cloudy panoplies of night ; Upon a world's avenging send the light ! Behold, O flame of steel I thy royal prey The pomp and heraldries of their array, The cursed gold with which their kings are dight The armour adamantine : and their might Shall be as dust before the close of day." Save where there burns the sunset thunder-red Dark falls like dew across a silent plain Where gold and adamant have been in vain And all in vain their pride and hardihead ; Where paladins are dust amid the dead And ancient kingdoms buried with the slain. 1916. 79 AD VENTURERS ALL — A SERIES OF YOl -^ POETS UNKNOWN TO FAME. <J UNIFORM VOLI IN DOLPHIN OLD STYLE TYPE, CROWN 8vo, ART WRAPPER; NET EACH; POSTAGE EXTRA. *$ ALREADY PUBLISHED L THE ESCAPED PRINCESS, AND OTHER POEMS. WILFRID ROWLAND CHILDE II. THURSDAY'S CHILD. By ELIZABETH RENDALL. III. BOHEMIAN GLASS. By ESTHER LILIAN DUFF. IV. CONTACTS, AND OTHER POEMS. By T. W. EAI *S FORTHCOMING V. THE IRON AGE. By FRANK BETTS. With an Introdi by GILBERT MURRAY. VI. THE TWO WORLDS. By SHERARD VINES. VII. THE BURNING WHEEL. By A. L. HUXLEY. VIII. A VAGABOND'S WALLET. By STEPHEN REID-HEYM IX. OR L By DOROTHY L SAYERS. *$ Others to follow. O. The object of this Series is to remove from the work of young the reproach of insolvency. Ct. The Series will be confined to such as would seem to deserve publicity. C. It is hoped that these Advent may justly claim the attention of those intellects which, in resistin enervating influence of the novel, look for something of permanent • in the more arduous pursuit of poetry. FFKST PRESS OPINIONS OF THIS SERIES "Beautiful little books . . . containing poetry, real poetry."— THE NEW WIT 11 Without doubt the inauguration of the Series promises well." THE LITERARY W(. "The get up of this Series is very attractive. Type, paper, and the shape pages are all good, and the poems are printed with a nice regard for margins." THE OBSEt " Paper and printing are excellent, and the title pages are striking and contait artistic work."— THE ABERDEEN JOUR^ CAL. OXFORD: B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET Z. APR 3. PR Betts, Frank 6003 The iron age E78I8 PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE CARDS OR SUPS FROM THIS POCKET UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY