Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  The triumph of that hour.

  Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast

  Was held with costly state; 370

  And there, ‘mid many a noble guest,

  The Foster-parents sate;

  Encouraged by the imperial eye,

  They shrank not into shade;

  Great was their bliss, the honour high

  To them and nature paid!

  1830.

  THE EGYPTIAN MAID

  OR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY

  WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands,

  Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly,

  The pleased Enchanter was aware

  Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,

  Yet was she work of mortal hands,

  And took from men her name—THE WATER LILY.

  Soft was the wind, that landward blew;

  And, as the Moon, o’er some dark hill ascendant,

  Grows from a little edge of light

  To a full orb, this Pinnace bright 10

  Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,

  More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.

  Upon this winged Shape so fair

  Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:

  Her lineaments, thought he, surpass

  Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;

  Was ever built with patient care;

  Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation.

  Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill

  Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, 20

  Grave Merlin (and belike the more

  For practising occult and perilous lore)

  Was subject to a freakish will

  That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.

  Provoked to envious spleen, he cast

  An altered look upon the advancing Stranger

  Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried,

  “My Art shall help to tame her pride—”

  Anon the breeze became a blast,

  And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 30

  With thrilling word, and potent sign

  Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges;

  The clouds in blacker clouds are lost,

  Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed

  By Fiends of aspect more malign;

  And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.

  But worthy of the name she bore

  Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley;

  Supreme in loveliness and grace

  Of motion, whether in the embrace 40

  Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o’er

  The main flood roughened into hill and valley.

  Behold, how wantonly she laves

  Her sides, the Wizard’s craft confounding;

  Like something out of Ocean sprung

  To be for ever fresh and young,

  Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves

  Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!

  But Ocean under magic heaves,

  And cannot spare the Thing he cherished: 50

  Ah! what avails that she was fair,

  Luminous, blithe, and debonair?

  The storm has stripped her of her leaves;

  The Lily floats no longer!—She hath perished.

  Grieve for her,—she deserves no less;

  So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature!

  No heart had she, no busy brain;

  Though loved, she could not love again;

  Though pitied, ‘feel’ her own distress;

  Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. 60

  Yet is there cause for gushing tears;

  So richly was this Galley laden,

  A fairer than herself she bore,

  And, in her struggles, cast ashore;

  A lovely One, who nothing hears

  Of wind or wave—a meek and guileless Maiden.

  Into a cave had Merlin fled

  From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered;

  And while, repentant all too late,

  In moody posture there he sate, 70

  He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head,

  A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;

  “On Christian service this frail Bark

  Sailed” (hear me, Merlin!) “under high protection,

  Though on her prow a sign of heathen power

  Was carved—a Goddess with a Lily flower,

  The old Egyptian’s emblematic mark

  Of joy immortal and of pure affection.

  Her course was for the British strand;

  Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; 80

  God reigns above, and Spirits strong

  May gather to avenge this wrong

  Done to the Princess, and her Land

  Which she in duty left, sad but not cheerless.

  And to Caerleon’s loftiest tower

  Soon will the Knights of Arthur’s Table

  A cry of lamentation send;

  And all will weep who there attend,

  To grace that Stranger’s bridal hour,

  For whom the sea was made unnavigable. 90

  Shame! should a Child of royal line

  Die through the blindness of thy malice?”

  Thus to the Necromancer spake

  Nina, the Lady of the Lake,

  A gentle Sorceress, and benign,

  Who ne’er embittered any good man’s chalice.

  “What boots,” continued she, “to mourn?

  To expiate thy sin endeavour:

  From the bleak isle where she is laid,

  Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid 100

  May yet to Arthur’s court be borne

  Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever.

  My pearly Boat, a shining Light,

  That brought me down that sunless river,

  Will bear me on from wave to wave,

  And back with her to this sea-cave;—

  Then Merlin! for a rapid flight

  Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver.

  The very swiftest of thy cars

  Must, when my part is done, be ready; 110

  Meanwhile, for further guidance, look

  Into thy own prophetic book;

  And, if that fail, consult the Stars

  To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady.”

  This scarcely spoken, she again

  Was seated in her gleaming shallop,

  That, o’er the yet-distempered Deep,

  Pursued its way with bird-like sweep,

  Or like a steed, without a rein,

  Urged o’er the wilderness in sportive gallop. 120

  Soon did the gentle Nina reach

  That Isle without a house or haven;

  Landing, she found not what she sought,

  Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught

  But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach

  By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven.

  Sad relique, but how fair the while!

  For gently each from each retreating

  With backward curve, the leaves revealed

  The bosom half, and half concealed, 130

  Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile

  On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting.

  No quest was hers of vague desire,

  Of tortured hope and purpose shaken;

  Following the margin of a bay,

  She spied the lonely Castaway,

  Unmarred, unstripped of her attire,

  But with closed eyes,—of breath and bloom forsaken.

  Then Nina, stooping down, embraced,

  With tenderness and mild emotion, 140

  The Damsel, in that trance embound;

  And, while she raised her from the ground,

  And in the pearly shallop placed,

  Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean.

  The turm
oil hushed, celestial springs

  Of music opened, and there came a blending

  Of fragrance, underived from earth,

  With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth,

  And that soft rustling of invisible wings

  Which Angels make, on works of love descending. 150

  And Nina heard a sweeter voice

  Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken:

  “Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none

  Less pure in spirit could have done;

  Go, in thy enterprise rejoice!

  Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken.”

  So cheered, she left that Island bleak,

  A bare rock of the Scilly cluster;

  And, as they traversed the smooth brine,

  The self-illumined Brigantine 160

  Shed, on the Slumberer’s cold wan cheek

  And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.

  Fleet was their course, and when they came

  To the dim cavern, whence the river

  Issued into the salt-sea flood,

  Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood,

  Was thus accosted by the Dame;

  “Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver!

  But where attends thy chariot—where?”—

  Quoth Merlin, “Even as I was bidden, 170

  So have I done; as trusty as thy barge

  My vehicle shall prove—O precious Charge!

  If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair!

  Much have my books disclosed, but the end is hidden.”

  He spake; and gliding into view

  Forth from the grotto’s dimmest chamber

  Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky white

  Changed, as the pair approached the light,

  Drawing an ebon car, their hue

  (Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. 180

  Once more did gentle Nina lift

  The Princess, passive to all changes:

  The car received her:—then up-went

  Into the ethereal element

  The Birds with progress smooth and swift

  As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges.

  Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer’s side,

  Instructs the Swans their way to measure;

  And soon Caerleon’s towers appeared,

  And notes of minstrelsy were heard 190

  From rich pavilions spreading wide,

  For some high day of long-expected pleasure.

  Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames

  Ere on firm ground the car alighted;

  Eftsoons astonishment was past,

  For in that face they saw the last

  Last lingering look of clay, that tames

  All pride; by which all happiness is blighted.

  Said Merlin, “Mighty King, fair Lords,

  Away with feast and tilt and tourney! 200

  Ye saw, throughout this royal House,

  Ye heard, a rocking marvellous

  Of turrets, and a clash of swords

  Self-shaken, as I closed my airy journey.

  Lo! by a destiny well known

  To mortals, joy is turned to sorrow;

  This is the wished-for Bride, the Maid

  Of Egypt, from a rock conveyed

  Where she by shipwreck had been thrown,

  Ill sight! but grief may vanish ere the morrow.” 210

  “Though vast thy power, thy words are weak,”

  Exclaimed the King, “a mockery hateful;

  Dutiful Child, her lot how hard!

  Is this her piety’s reward?

  Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek!

  O winds without remorse! O shore ungrateful!

  Rich robes are fretted by the moth;

  Towers, temples, fall by stroke of thunder;

  Will that, or deeper thoughts, abate

  A Father’s sorrow for her fate? 220

  He will repent him of his troth;

  His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder.

  Alas! and I have caused this woe;

  For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours

  Had freed his Realm, he plighted word

  That he would turn to Christ our Lord,

  And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow

  Whom I should choose for love and matchless labours.

  Her birth was heathen; but a fence

  Of holy Angels round her hovered: 230

  A Lady added to my court

  So fair, of such divine report

  And worship, seemed a recompence

  For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered.

  Ask not for whom, O Champions true!

  She was reserved by me her life’s betrayer;

  She who was meant to be a bride

  Is now a corse: then put aside

  Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance due

  Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her.” 240

  “The tomb,” said Merlin, “may not close

  Upon her yet, earth hide her beauty;

  Not froward to thy sovereign will

  Esteem me, Liege! if I, whose skill

  Wafted her hither, interpose

  To check this pious haste of erring duty.

  My books command me to lay bare

  The secret thou art bent on keeping:

  Here must a high attest be given,

  ‘What’ Bridegroom was for her ordained by Heaven. 250

  And in my glass significants there are

  Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping.

  For this, approaching, One by One,

  Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the Virgin;

  So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom

  Once more: but, if unchangeable her doom,

  If life departed be for ever gone,

  Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging,

  May teach him to bewail his loss;

  Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 260

  And melts; but grief devout that shall endure,

  And a perpetual growth secure

  Of purposes which no false thought shall cross,

  A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises.”

  “So be it,” said the King;—”anon,

  Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial;

  Knights each in order as ye stand

  Step forth.”—To touch the pallid hand

  Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won

  From Heaven or earth;—Sir Kaye had like denial. 270

  Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away;

  Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure;

  Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere

  He reached that ebon car, the bier

  Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay,

  Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure.

  Imagine (but ye Saints! who can?)

  How in still air the balance trembled—

  The wishes, peradventure the despites

  That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; 280

  And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span

  Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled.

  What patient confidence was here!

  And there how many bosoms panted!

  While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed

  For tournament, his beaver vailed,

  And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer

  And high expectancy, no sign was granted.

  Next, disencumbered of his harp,

  Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 290

  Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued

  No change;—the fair Izonda he had wooed

  With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp,

  From hope too distant, not to dread another.

  Not so Sir Launcelot;—from Heaven’s grace

  A sign he crave
d, tired slave of vain contrition;

  The royal Guinever looked passing glad

  When his touch failed.—Next came Sir Galahad;

  He paused, and stood entranced by that still face

  Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 300

  For late, as near a murmuring stream

  He rested ‘mid an arbour green and shady.

  Nina, the good Enchantress, shed

  A light around his mossy bed;

  And, at her call, a waking dream

  Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady.

  Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed,

  And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with ermine,

  As o’er the insensate Body hung

  The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, 310

  Belief sank deep into the crowd

  That he the solemn issue would determine.

  Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn

  That very mantle on a day of glory,

  The day when he achieved that matchless feat,

  The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT,

  Which whosoe’er approached of strength was shorn,

  Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.

  He touched with hesitating hand—

  And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love’s dominions, 320

  The Swans, in triumph clap their wings;

  And their necks play, involved in rings,

  Like sinless snakes in Eden’s happy land;—

  “Mine is she,” cried the Knight;—again they clapped their

  pinions.

  “Mine was she—mine she is, though dead,

  And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;”

  Whereat, a tender twilight streak

  Of colour dawned upon the Damsel’s cheek;

  And her lips, quickening with uncertain red,

  Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow. 330

  Deep was the awe, the rapture high,

  Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining,

  When, to the mouth, relenting Death

  Allowed a soft and flower-like breath,

  Precursor to a timid sigh,

  To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.

  In silence did King Arthur gaze

  Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;

  In silence watched the gentle strife

  Of Nature leading back to life; 340

  Then eased his soul at length by praise

  Of God, and Heaven’s pure Queen—the blissful Mary.

  Then said he, “Take her to thy heart,

  Sir Galahad! a treasure, that God giveth,

  Bound by indissoluble ties to thee

  Through mortal change and immortality;

  Be happy and unenvied, thou who art

  A goodly Knight that hath no peer that liveth!”

  Not long the Nuptials were delayed;

  And sage tradition still rehearses 350

  The pomp, the glory of that hour