Part IX

And passing through the city he went outInto the fat fields lying thereabout,And lo the spirit of the emerald stoneWith secret influence to himself unknownGuided the wandering of his errant feet,The servants of the errant soul; and sweetThe meadows were, with babble of birds, and noiseOf brooks, the water's voice and the wind's voice.Howbeit he gave small heed to any of them;And now the subtile spirit of the gemLed him along a winding way that ranBeyond the fields to where the woods beganTo spread green matwork for the mountains' feet;A region where the Silence had her seatAnd hearkened to the sounds that only sheCan hear--the fall of dew on herb and tree;The voice of the growing of the grass; the nightDown-fluttering breathless from the heaven's height;And autumn whispering unawares at timesStrange secrets and dark sayings, wrapt in rhymesWind-won from forest branches. At this placeThe old man rested for a little space,Forgetful that the day was wellnigh flown:But soon the urgent spirit of the stoneItself re-entered and possessed anewHis soul; and led thereby, and wandering throughA mile of trackless and untrodden ground,By favour of the rising moon he foundA rude path, broken here and there by rillsWhich crossed it as they hurried from the hills.And going whitherso the wild path went,A two hours' journeying brought him, wellnigh spentWith toiling upwards, to a mountain pass,A bleak lone place where no trees grew nor grass,But on each hand a peak of rock, high-reared,Uprose: afar the two like horns appearedOf some great beast, so tapering-tall they were.And now with forward gaze the wandererStood where the pass was highest and the trackWent downward both ways; and behind his backThe full moon shone, and lo before his faceThe bright sea glimmered at the mountain's base.It seemed, what way soever he might turn,His fate still led him to that watery bourn.

So journeying down the track which lay before,He came, an hour past midnight, to the shore,And, looking backward, far above espiedThe two sharp peaks, one peak on either sideOf that lone pass; verily like a pairOf monstrous horns, the tips far-seen, up there:And in the nether space betwixt the two,A single monstrous eye the moon shone through.

Now all this while the spirit of the stoneHad led him forward, he, the old man lone,Taking no thought of whither he was bound.And roaming now along the beach he foundA creek, and in the creek, some little wayFrom where it joined the sea, a pinnace layMoored at the marge; and stepping thereinto,He sat him down, and from his bosom drewThe mystic gem, and placed it at the prow,That he might watch its paly splendours, howThey lightened here and there, and flashed aflame,Mocked at the moon and put the stars to shame.But hardly was the stone out of his hand,When the boat wrenched her moorings from the land,And swift as any captive bird set freeShot o'er the shimmering surface of the sea,The spirit of the emerald guiding her;And for a time the old man could not stirFor very greatness of astonishment.

But merrily o'er the moonlit waters wentThe pinnace, till the land was out of sight,Far in the dreaming distance. All that night,Faster than ever wind in winter blew,Faster than quarrel flies the bow, she flew.A moment was a league in that wild flightFrom vast to vast of ocean and the night.And now the moon her lanthorn had withdrawn:And now the pale weak heralds of the dawnLifted the lids of their blear eyes afar:The last belated straggler of a starWent home; and in her season due the mornBrake on a cold and silent sea forlorn--A strange mute sea, where never wave hath stirred,Nor sound of any wandering wind is heard,Nor voice of sailors sailing merrily:A sea untraversed, an enchanted seaFrom all the world fate-folden; hemmed aboutOf linkèd Dreams; encompassed with a Doubt.

But not the less for lack of wind went she,The flying pinnace, o'er that silent sea,Till those dull waters of enchantment layBehind her many a league. And now her wayWas toward a shining tract of ocean, whereLow winds with bland breath flattered the mild air,And low waves did together clasp and close,And skyward yearning from the sea there roseAnd seaward yearning from the sky there fellA Spirit of Deep Content Unspeakable:So midway meeting betwixt sky and sea,These twain are married for eternity,And rule the spirits of that Deep, and shareThe lordship of the legions of the air.

Here winds but came to rest them from their warsWith far seas waged. Here Darkness had her starsAlways, a nightly multitudinous birth.And entering on this happier zone of earth,The boat 'gan bate her speed, and by degreesTempered her motion to the tranquil seas,As if she knew the land not far ahead,The port not far: so forward pilotedBy that sweet spirit and strong, she held her wayUnveering. And a little past midday,The wanderer lifted up his eyes, and rightBefore him saw what seemed a great wall, whiteAs alabaster, builded o'er the sea,High as the heaven; but drawing nearer hePerceived it was a mighty mist that layUpon the ocean, stretching far awayNorthward and southward, and the sun appearedPowerless to melt its mass. And while he nearedThis cloudy barrier stretching north and south,A tale once told him by his mother's mouth,In childhood, while he sat upon her knee,Rose to remembrance: how that on the sea.Sat somewhere a Great Mist which no sun's heatCould melt, nor wind make wander from, its seat.So great it was, the fastest ship would needSeven days to compass it, with all her speed.And they of deepest lore and wisest witDeemed that an island in the midst of itBloomed like a rosebush ring'd with snows, a placeOf pleasance, folded in that white embraceAnd chill. But never yet would pilot steerInto the fog that wrapped it round, for fearOf running blindfold in that sightless mistOn sunken reefs whereof no mariner wist:And so from all the world this happy isleLay hidden. Thus the queen, long since; and whileHe marvelled if the mist before his kenCould be the same she told of--even then,Hardly a furlong 'fore the pinnace' prowIt lay: and now 'twas hard at hand: and nowThe boat had swept into the folds of it!But all that vision of white darkness--litBy the full splendour of the emerald stoneThat from the forepart of the pinnace shone--Melted around her, as in sunder cleftBy that strong spirit of light; and there was leftA wandering space, behind her and before,Of radiance, roofed and walled with mist, the floorA liquid pavement large. And so she passedThrough twilight immemorial, and at lastIssued upon the other side, where layThe land no mortal knew before that day.

There wilding orchards faced the beach, and bareAll manner of delicious fruit and rare,Such as in gardens of kings' palacesTrembles upon the sultry-scented trees,The soul of many sunbeams at its core.Well-pleased the wanderer landed on this shore,Beholding all its pleasantness, how sweetAnd soft, to the tired soul, to the tired feet.And so he sat him down beneath the boughs,And there a low wind seemed to drone and drowseAmong the leaves as it were gone astrayAnd like to faint forwearied by the way;Till the persistence of the sound begatAn heaviness within him as he sat:So when Sleep chanced to come that way, he foundA captive not unwilling to be bound,And on his body those fine fetters putWherewith he bindeth mortals hand and foot.

When the tired sleeper oped again his eyes,'Twas early morn, and he beheld the skiesGlowing from those deep hours of rest and dewWherein all creatures do themselves renew.The laughing leaves blink'd in the sun, throughoutThose dewy realms of orchard thereabout;But green fields lay beyond, and farther still,Betwixt them and the sun, a great high hillKept these in shadow, and the brighter madeThe fruitlands look for all that neighbouring shade.And he the solitary man uprose,His face toward the mountain beyond thoseFair fields not yet acquainted with the sun;And crossed the fields, and climbed the hill, and wonThe top; and journeying down the eastern sideEntered upon a grassy vale and wide,Where in the midst a pure stream ran, as yetA youngling, hardly able to forgetThe lofty place of its nativity,Nor lusting yet for union with the sea.And through this valley, taking for his guideThe stream, and walking by the waterside,He wandered on, but had at whiles to fordThe lesser brooks that from the mountains pouredInto this greater; which by slow degrees,Enlarged with such continual soft increase,Became a river broad and fair, but stillAs clear as when it flowed a mountain-rill:And he the wanderer wandering by that streamSaw 'twas the river he had known in dream.

So day by day he journeyed; and it chancedOne day he fared till night was well advancedEre lying down to sleep; and when he wakedNext morn, his bones and all his body ached,And on his temples lay a weary heat,And with sore pain he got upon his feet.Yet when he rose and hard at hand espiedThe City sloping to the riverside,With bright white walls and golden port agleam,Such as he saw them figured in the dream--Then the blood leapt as fire along his veinsAnd the o'erwearied limbs forgat their pains.But when he strove to make what speed he mightToward the happy haven full in sight,The feet that would have hastened thereuntoCould not; and heavily, as old men do,He fell to earth, and groaned aloud and said,"Old man, what would'st thou, with thy silvered head,Yonder, where all their tresses be as goldForever?--Thou art suffered to beholdThe city of thy search: what wilt thou more?Tarry thou here upon this river-shore;Thou mightest farther go nor find the grassGreener, whereon to lay thy head, and passInto the deep dark populous empty land."

So spake the man, not able to withstandThis dumb remonstrance of the flesh, now firstThwarting the soul. Howbeit a mighty thirstConsumed him, and he crawled unto the brinkOf the clear stream hard by, that he might drinkOne draught thereof, and with the water stillHis deep desire. When lo a miracle!No sooner had he drunken than his wholeBody was changed and did from crown to soleThe likeness of its youthful self put on,The Prince of half-an-hundred years agone,Wearing the very garments that he woreWhat time his years were but a single score.

Then he remembered how that in The DreamOne told him of the marvel of that stream,Whose waters are a well of youth eterne.And night and day its crystal heart doth yearnTo wed its youthhood with the sea's old age;And faring on that bridal pilgrimage,Its waters past the shining city are rolled,And all the people drink and wax not old.