Leaning into the hollow with loose hair
And throat let back and heartsick trail of limb.
The sky is harsh, and the sea shrewd and salt:
Under his lord the griffin-horse ramps blind
With rigid wings and tail. The spear’s lithe stem
Thrills in the roaring of those jaws: behind,
That evil length of body chafes at fault.
She doth not hear nor see - she knows of them.
II
Clench thine eyes now, - ’tis the last instant, girl:
Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
One breath for all: thy life is keen awake, -
Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl
Of its foam drenched thee? - or the waves that curl
And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
Or was it his the champion’s blood to flake
Thy flesh? - or thine own blood’s anointing, girl?
Now, silence: for the sea’s is such a sound
As irks not silence; and except the sea,
All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease
To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her: and she,
Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,
Again a woman in her nakedness.
RUGGIERO AND ANGELICA, BY INGRES
THE CARD-DEALER
Could you not drink her gaze like wine?
Yet though its splendour swoon
Into the silence languidly
As a tune into a tune,
Those eyes unravel the coiled night 5
And know the stars at noon.
The gold that’s heaped beside her hand,
In truth rich prize it were;
And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows
With magic stillness there; 10
And he were rich who should unwind
That woven golden hair.
Around her, where she sits, the dance
Now breathes its eager heat;
And not more lightly or more true 15
Fall there the dancers’ feet
Than fall her cards on the bright board
As ‘twere an heart that beat.
Her fingers let them softly through,
Smooth polished silent things; 20
And each one as it falls reflects
In swift light-shadowings,
Blood-red and purple, green and blue
The great eyes of her rings.
Whom plays she with? With thee, who lov’st 25
Those gems upon her hand;
With me, who search her secret brows;
With all men, bless’d or bann’d.
We play together, she and we,
Within a vain strange land: 30
A land without any order, -
Day even as night, (one saith,)-
Where who lieth down ariseth not
Nor the sleeper awakeneth;
A land of darkness as darkness itself 35
And of the shadow of death.
What be her cards, you ask? Even these:-
The heart, that doth but crave
More, having fed; the diamond,
Skilled to make base seem brave; 40
The club, for smiting in the dark;
The spade, to dig a grave.
And do you ask what game she plays?
With me ’tis lost or won;
With thee it is playing still; with him 45
It is not well begun;
But ’tis a game she plays with all
Beneath the sway o’ the sun.
Thou seest the card that falls, - she knows
The card that followeth: 50
Her game in thy tongue is called Life,
As ebbs thy daily breath:
When she shall speak, thou’lt learn her tongue
And know she calls it Death.
SISTER HELEN
“Why did you melt your waxen man,
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began.”
“The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother.” 5
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)
“But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
You’ll let me play, for you said I might.” 10
“Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Third night, tonight, between Hell and Heaven!)
“You said it must melt ere vesper-bell, 15
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well.”
“Even so, - nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother, 20
O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)
“Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
How like dead folk he has dropped away!”
“Nay now, of the dead what can you say, 25
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)
“See, see, the sunken pile of wood,
Sister Helen, 30
Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!”
“Nay now, when looked you yet on blood,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!) 35
“Now close your eyes, for they’re sick and sore,
Sister Helen,
And I’ll play without the gallery door.”
“Aye, let me rest, - I’ll lie on the floor,
Little brother.” 40
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What rest to-night between Hell and Heaven?)
“Here high up in the balcony,
Sister Helen;
The moon flies face to face with me.” 45
“Aye, look and say whatever you see,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)
“Outside it’s merry in the wind’s wake, 50
Sister Helen,
In the shaken trees the chill stars shake.”
“Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother, 55
What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)
“I hear a horse-tread, and I see,
Sister Helen,
Three horsemen that ride terribly.”
“Little brother, whence come the three,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)
“They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar,
Sister Helen,
And one draws nigh, but two are afar.”
“Look, look, do you know them who they are,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Who should they be, between Hell and Heaven?)
“Oh, it’s Keith of Eastholm rides so fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white mane on the blast.”
“The hour has come, has come at last,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!)
“He has made a sign and called Halloo!
Sister Helen,
And he says that he would speak with you.”
“Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?)
“The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,
Sister Helen,
That Keith of Ewern’s like to die.”
“And he and thou, a
nd thou and I,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Three days ago, on his marriage-morn,
Sister Helen,
He sickened, and lies since then forlorn.”
“For bridegroom’s side is the bride a thorn,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Three days and nights he has lain abed,
Sister Helen, 100
And he prays in torment to be dead.”
“The thing may chance, if he have prayed,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!) 105
“But he has not ceased to cry to-day,
Sister Helen,
That you should take your curse away.”
“My prayer was heard, - he need but pray,
Little brother!” 110
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?)
“But he says, till you take back your ban,
Sister Helen,
His soul would pass, yet never can.” 115
“Nay then, shall I slay a living man,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!)
“But he calls for ever on your name, 120
Sister Helen,
And says that he melts before a flame.”
“My heart for his pleasure fared the same,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother, 125
Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Here’s Keith of Westholm riding fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white plume on the blast.”
“The hour, the sweet hour I forecast, 130
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?)
“He stops to speak, and he stills his horse,
Sister Helen; 135
But his words are drowned in the wind’s course.”
“Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?) 140
“Oh he says that Keith of Ewern’s cry,
Sister Helen,
Is ever to see you ere he die.’
“In all that his soul sees, there am I,
Little brother!” 145
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The soul’s one sight, between Hell and Heaven!)
“He sends a ring and a broken coin,
Sister Helen,
And bids you mind the banks of Boyne.” 150
“What else he broke will he ever join,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
No, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!)
“He yields you these and craves full fain, 155
Sister Helen,
You pardon him in his mortal pain.”
“What else he took will he give again,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother, 160
Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!)
“He calls your name in an agony,
Sister Helen,
That even dead Love must weep to see.”
“Hate, born of Love, is blind as he, 165
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Love turned to hate, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Oh it’s Keith of Keith now that rides fast,
Sister Helen, 170
For I know the white hair on the blast.”
“The short short hour will soon be past,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!) 175
“He looks at me and he tries to speak,
Sister Helen,
But oh! his voice is sad and weak!”
“What here should the mighty Baron seek,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?)
“Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,
Sister Helen,
The body dies but the soul shall live.”
“Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,
Sister Helen,
To save his dear son’s soul alive.”
“Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)
“He cries to you, kneeling in the road,
Sister Helen,
To go with him for the love of God!”
“The way is long to his son’s abode,
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!)
“A lady’s here, by a dark steed brought,
Sister Helen,
So darkly clad, I saw her not.”
“See her now or never see aught,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?)
“Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair,
Sister Helen,
On the Lady of Ewern’s golden hair.”
“Blest hour of my power and her despair,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Hour blest and bann’d, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow,
Sister Helen,
‘Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago.”
“One morn for pride and three days for woe,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head,
Sister Helen;
With the loud wind’s wail her sobs are wed.”
“What wedding-strains hath her bridal-bed,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What strain but death’s, between Hell and Heaven!)
“She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,
Sister Helen, -
She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon.”
“Oh! might I but hear her soul’s blithe tune,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Her woe’s dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!)
“They’ve caught her to Westholm’s saddle-bow,
Sister Helen,
And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow.”
“Let it turn whiter than winter snow,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Woe-withered gold, between Hell and Heaven!)
“O Sister Helen, you heard the bell.
Sister Helen!
More loud than the vesper-chime it fell.”
“No vesper-chime, but a dying knell,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
Sister Helen;
Is it in the sky or in the ground?” 255
“Say, have they turned their horses round,
Little brother?”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?)
“They have raised th
e old man from his knee, 260
Sister Helen,
And they ride in silence hastily.”
“More fast the naked soul doth flee,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother, 265
The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Flank to flank are the three steeds gone,
Sister Helen,
But the lady’s dark steed goes alone.”
“And lonely her bridegroom’s soul hath flown, 270
Little brother.”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
Sister Helen, 275
And weary sad they look by the hill.”
“But he and I are sadder still,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!) 280
“See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
Sister Helen,
And the flames are winning up apace!”
“Yet here they burn but for a space,
Little brother!” 285
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!)
“Ah! what white thing at the door has cross’d,
Sister Helen?
Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?” 290
“A soul that’s lost as mine is lost,
Little brother!”
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)
THE BURDEN OF NINEVEH
In our Museum galleries
To-day I lingered o’er the prize
Dead Greece vouchsafes to living eyes, —
Her Art for ever in fresh wise
From hour to hour rejoicing me. 5
Sighing I turned at last to win
Once more the London dirt and din;
And as I made the swing-door spin
And issued, they were hoisting in
A wingèd beast from Nineveh. 10
A human face the creature wore,
And hoofs behind and hoofs before,
And flanks with dark runes fretted o’er.
’Twas bull, ’twas mitred Minotaur,
A dead disbowelled mystery; 15
The mummy of a buried faith
Stark from the charnel without scathe,
Its wings stood for the light to bathe, -
Such fossil cerements as might swathe
The very corpse of Nineveh. 20
The print of its first rush-wrapping,
Wound ere it dried, still ribbed the thing.
What song did the brown maidens sing,
From purple mouths alternating,
When that was woven languidly? 25
What vows, what rites, what prayers preferr’d,
What songs has the strange image heard?
In what blind vigil stood interr’d
For ages, till an English word
Broke silence first at Nineveh? 30
Complete Poetical Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti Page 4
