Part VII

But Sleep, who makes a mist about the sense,Doth ope the eyelids of the soul, and thenceLifteth a heavier cloud than that wherebyHe veils the vision of the fleshly eye.And not alone by dreams doth Sleep make knownThe sealèd things and covert--not aloneIn visions of the night do mortals hearThe fatal feet and whispering wings draw near;But dimly and in darkness doth the soulDrink of the streams of slumber as they roll,And win fine secrets from their waters deep:Yea, of a truth, the spirit doth grow in sleep.

Howbeit I know not whether as he sleptA voice from out the depth of dream upleaptAnd whispered in his ear; or whether heGrew to the knowledge blindly, as a treeWaxes from bloom to fruitage, knowing notThe manner of its growth: but this I wot,That rising from that sleep beside the springThe Prince had knowledge of a certain thingWhereof he had not wist until that hour--To wit, that two contending spirits had powerOver his spirit, ruling him with swayAltern; as 'twere dominion now of DayAnd now of Dark; for one was of the light,And one was of the blackness of the night.

Now there be certain evil spirits whomThe mother of the darkness in her wombConceived ere darkness' self; and one of theseDid rule that island of the middle seasHemmed round with silence and enchantment dim.Nothing in all the world so pleasured himAs filling human hearts with dolorousnessAnd banning where another sprite did bless;But chiefly did his malice take delightIn thwarting lovers' hopes and breathing blightInto the blossoms newly-openèdOf sweet desire, till all of sweet were fled:And (for he knew what secret hopes did fillThe minds of men) 'twas even now his willTo step between the Prince and his desire,Nor suffer him to fare one furlong nigherUnto that distant-shining golden goalThat beacon'd through the darkness to his soul.

And so the days, the sultry summer days,Went by, and wimpled over with fine hazeThe noiseless nights stole after them, as stealsThe moon-made shadow at some traveller's heels.And day by day and night by night the PrinceDwelt in that island of enchantment, sinceThe hour when Evil Hap, in likeness ofAn eagle swooping from the clouds above,Did bind him body and soul unto that place.And in due time the summer waxed apace,And in due time the summer waned: and nowThe withered leaf had fallen from the bough,And now the winter came and now the spring;Yea, summer's self was toward on the wingFrom wandering overseas: and all this whileThe Prince abode in that enchanted isle,Marvelling much at Fortune and her ways.

And by degrees the slowly-sliding daysGathered themselves together into years,And oftentimes his spirit welled in tearsFrom dawn to darkness and from dark to dawn,By reason of the light of life withdrawn.And if the night brought sleep, a fitful sleep,The phantoms of a buried time would creepOut of their hollow hiding-places vast,Peopling his Present from the wizard Past.Sometimes between the whirl of dream and dream,All in a doubtful middle-world, a gleamWent shivering past him through the chill grey space,And lo he knew it for his mother's face,And wept; and all the silence where he stoodWept with him. And at times the dreamer wouldDream himself back beneath his father's roofAt eventide, and there would hold aloofIn silence, clothed upon with shadows dim,To hear if any spake concerning him;But the hours came and went and went and came,And no man's mouth did ever name his name.And year by year he saw the queen and kingWax older, and beheld a shadowy thingLurking behind them, till it came betweenHis dreamsight and the semblance of the queen,From which time forth he saw her not: and whenAnother year had been it came again,And after that he saw his sire the kingNo more, by reason of the shadowy thingStepping between; and all the place becameAs darkness, and the echo of a name.

What need to loiter o'er the chronicleOf days that brought no change? What boots it tellThe tale of hours whereof each moment wasAs like its fellow as one blade of grassIs to another, when the dew doth fallWithout respect of any amongst them all?Enow that time in that enchanted airNor slept nor tarried more than otherwhere,And so at last the captive lived to seeThe fiftieth year of his captivity.And on a day within that fiftieth yearHe wandered down unto the beach, to hearThe breaking of the breakers on the shore,As he had heard them ofttimes heretoforeIn days when he would sit and watch the sea,If peradventure there some ship might be.But now his soul no longer yearned as thenTo win her way back to the world of men:For what could now his freedom profit him?The hope that filled youth's beaker to its brimThe tremulous hand of age had long outspilled,And whence might now the vessel be refilled?Moreover, after length of days and yearsThe soul had ceased to beat her barriers,And like a freeborn bird that cagèd singsHad grown at last forgetful of her wings.

And so he took his way toward the sea--Not, as in former days, if haply heMight spy some ship upon the nether blue,And beckon with his hands unto the crew,But rather with an easeful heart to hearWhat things the waves might whisper to his earOf counsel wise and comfortable speech.But while he walked about the yellow beach,There came upon his limbs an heaviness,For languor of the sultry time's excess;And so he lay him down under a treeHard by a little cove, and there the seaSang him to sleep. And sleeping thus, he dreamedA dream of very wonderment: himseemed,The spirit that half an hundred years beforeIn likeness of an eagle came and boreHis body to that island on a day,Came yet again and found him where he lay,And taking him betwixt his talons flewO'er seas and far-off countries, till they drewNigh to a city that was built betweenFour mountains in a pleasant land and green;And there upon the highest mountain's topThe bird that was no bird at all let dropIts burthen, and was seen of him no more.

Thereat he waked, and issuing from the doorOf dream did marvel in his heart; becauseHe found he had but dreamed the thing that was:For there, assuredly, was neither seaNor Isle Enchanted; and assuredlyHe sat upon the peak of a great hill;And far below him, looking strangely still,Uptowered a city exceeding fair to ken,And murmurous with multitude of men.