Part II

A fearful and a lovely thing is Sleep,And mighty store of secrets hath in keep;And those there were of old who well could guessWhat meant his fearfulness and loveliness,And all his many shapes of life and death,And all the secret things he uttereth.But Wisdom lacketh sons like those that were,And Sleep hath never an interpreter:So there be none that know to read arightThe riddles he propoundeth every night.

And verily, of all the wondrous thingsBy potence wrought of mortal visioningsIn that dark house whereof Sleep hath the keys--Of suchlike miracles and mysteriesNot least, meseems, is this among them all:That one in dream enamoured should fall,And ever afterward, in waking thought,Worship the phantom which the dream hath brought.Howbeit such things have been, and in such wiseDid that king's son behold, with mortal eyes,A more than mortal loveliness, and thusWas stricken through with love miraculous.

For evermore thereafter he did seemTo see that royal maiden of his dreamUnto her palace riding sovranly;And much he marvelled where that land might beThat basking lay beneath her beauty's beams,Well knowing in his heart that suchlike dreamsCome not in idleness but evermoreAre Fate's veiled heralds that do fly beforeTheir mighty master as he journeyeth,And sing strange songs of life and love and death.And so he did scarce aught but dream all dayOf that far land revealed of sleep, that layHe knew not where; and musing more and moreOn her the mistress of that unknown shore,There fell a sadness on him, thus to beVext with desire of her he might not seeYet could not choose but long for; till erewhileNor man nor woman might behold the smileMake sudden morning of his countenance,But likest one he seemed half-sunk, in trance,That wanders groping in a shadowy land,Hearing strange things that none can understand.Now after many days and nights had passed,The queen, his mother well-beloved, at last,Being sad at heart because his heart was sad,Would e'en be told what hidden cause he hadTo be cast down in so mysterious wise:And he, beholding by her tearful eyesHow of his grief she was compassionate,No more a secret made thereof, but straightDiscovered to her all about his dream--The mystic happy marvel of the stream.A fountain running Youth to all the land;Flowing with deep dim woods on either handWhere through the boughs did birds of strange song flit:And all beside the bloomy banks of itThe city with its towers and domes far-seen.And then he told her how that city's queenDid pass before him like a breathing flower,That he had loved her image from that hour."And sure am I," upspake the Prince at last,"That somewhere in this world so wide and vastLieth the land mine eyes have inly seen;--Perhaps in very truth my spirit hath beenTranslated thither, and in very truthHath seen the brightness of that city of youth.Who knows?--for I have heard a wise man sayHow that in sleep the souls of mortals may,At certain seasons which the stars decree,From bondage of the body be set freeTo visit farthest countries, and be borneBack to their fleshly houses ere the morn."

At this the good queen, greatly marvelling,Made haste to tell the story to the king;Who hearing laughed her tale to scorn. But whenWeeks followed one another, and all menAbout his person had begun to say"What ails our Prince? He groweth day by dayLess like the Prince we knew ... wan cheeks, and eyesHollow for lack of sleep, and secret sighs....Some hidden grief the youth must surely have,"--Then like his queen the king himself wox grave;And thus it chanced one summer eventide,They sitting in an arbour side by side,All unawares the Pince passed by that way,And as he passed, unmark'd of either--theyNought heeding but their own discourse--could hearAmidst thereof his own name uttered clear,And straight was 'ware it was the queen who spake,And spake of him; whereat the king 'gan makeAnswer in this wise, somewhat angerly:"The youth is crazed, and but one remedyKnow I, to cure such madness--he shall wedSome princess; ere another day be sped,Myself will bid this dreamer go prepareTo take whom I shall choose to wife; some fairAnd highborn maiden, worthy to be queenHereafter."--So the Prince, albeit unseen,Heard, and his soul rebelled against the thingHis sire had willed; and slowly wanderingAbout the darkling pleasance--all amidA maze of intertangled walks, or hidIn cedarn glooms, or where mysterious bowersWere heavy with the breath of drowsèd flowers--Something, he knew not what, within his heartRose like a faint-heard voice and said "DepartFrom hence and follow where thy dream shall lead."And fain would he have followed it indeed,But wist not whither it would have him go.

Howbeit, while yet he wandered to and fro,Among his thoughts a chance remembrance leaptAll sudden--like a seed, that long hath sleptIn earth, upspringing as a flower at last,When he that sowed forgetteth where 'twas cast;A chance remembrance of the tales men toldConcerning one whose wisdom manifoldMade all the world to wonder and revere--A mighty mage and learn'd astrologerWho dwelt in honour at a great king's courtIn a far country, whither did resortPilgrims innumerable from many lands,Who crossed the wide seas and the desert sandsTo learn of him the occult significanceOf some perplexing omen, or perchanceTo hear forewhisperings of their destinyAnd know what things in aftertime should be."Now surely," thought the Prince, "this subtile seer,To whom the darkest things belike are clear,Could read the riddle of my dream and tellWhere lieth that strange land delectableWherein mine empress hath her dwelling-place.So might I look at last upon her face,And make an end of all these weary sighs,And melt into the shadow of her eyes!"Thus musing, for a little space he stoodAs holden to the spot; and evil, good,Life, death, and earth beneath and heaven above,Shrank up to less than shadows,--only Love,With harpings of an hundred harps unseen,Filled all the emptiness where these had been.

But soon, like one that hath a sudden thought,He lifted up his eyes, and turning soughtThe halls once more where he was bred, and passedThrough court and corridor, and reached at lastHis chamber, in a world of glimmer and gloom.Here, while the moonrays filled the wide rich room,The Prince in haste put off his courtly dressFor raiment of a lesser sumptuousness(A sober habit such as might disguiseHis royal rank in any stranger's eyes)And taking in his hand three gems that madeThree several splendours in the moonlight, laidThese in his bosom, where no eye might seeThe triple radiance; then all noiselesslyDown the wide stair from creaking floor to floorPassed, and went out from the great palace-door.

Crossing the spacious breadth of garden ground,Wherein his footfalls were the only soundSave the wind's wooing of the tremulous trees,Forth of that region of imperial easeHe fared, amid the doubtful shadows dim,No eye in all the place beholding him;No eye, save only of the warders, whoOpened the gates that he might pass therethrough.

And now to the safe-keeping of the nightIntrusted he the knowledge of his flight;And quitting all the purlieus of the court,Out from the city by a secret portWent, and along the moonlit highway sped.And himself spake unto himself and said(Heard only of the silence in his heart)"Tarry thou here no longer, but departUnto the land of the Great Mage; and seekThe Mage; and whatsoever he shall speak,Give ear to that he saith, and reverent heed;And wheresoever he may bid thee speed,Thitherward thou shalt set thy face and go.For surely one of so great lore must knowWhere lies the land thou sawest in thy dream:Nay, if he know not that,--why, then I deemThe wisdom of exceeding little worthThat reads the heavens but cannot read the earth."