Nor would you if you could. You call yourself 2505
A fool, because the world and you are strangers.
You are a proud man, Dagonet; you have suffered
What I alone have seen. You are no fool;
And surely you are not a fly to sting
My love to last regret. Believe or not 2510
What I have seen, or what I say to you,
But say no more to me that I am dead
Because the King is mad, and you are old,
And I am older. In Broceliande
Time overtook me as I knew he must; 2515
And I, with a fond overplus of words,
Had warned the lady Vivian already,
Before these wrinkles and this hesitancy
Inhibiting my joints oppressed her sight
With age and dissolution. She said once 2520
That she was cold and cruel; but she meant
That she was warm and kind, and over-wise
For woman in a world where men see not
Beyond themselves. She saw beyond them all,
As I did; and she waited, as I did, 2525
The coming of a day when cherry-blossoms
Were to fall down all over me like snow
In springtime. I was far from Camelot
That afternoon; and I am farther now
From her. I see no more for me to do 2530
Than to leave her and Arthur and the world
Behind me, and to pray that all be well
With Vivian, whose unquiet heart is hungry
For what is not, and what shall never be
Without her, in a world that men are making, 2535
Knowing not how, nor caring yet to know
How slowly and how grievously they do it, —
Though Vivian, in her golden shell of exile,
Knows now and cares, not knowing that she cares,
Nor caring that she knows. In time to be, 2540
The like of her shall have another name
Than Vivian, and her laugh shall be a fire,
Not shining only to consume itself
With what it burns. She knows not yet the name
Of what she is, for now there is no name; 2545
Some day there shall be. Time has many names,
Unwritten yet, for what we say is old
Because we are so young that it seems old.
And this is all a part of what I saw
Before you saw King Arthur. When we parted. 2550
I told her I should see the King again,
And, having seen him, might go back again
To see her face once more. But I shall see
No more the lady Vivian. Let her love
What man she may, no other love than mine 2555
Shall be an index of her memories.
I fear no man who may come after me,
And I see none. I see her, still in green,
Beside the fountain. I shall not go back.
We pay for going back; and all we get 2560
Is one more needless ounce of weary wisdom
To bring away with us. If I come not,
The lady Vivian will remember me,
And say: ‘I knew him when his heart was young,
Though I have lost him now. Time called him home, 2565
And that was as it was; for much is lost
Between Broceliande and Camelot.’”
He stared away into the west again,
Where now no crimson cloud or phantom town
Deceived his eyes. Above a living town 2570
There were gray clouds and ultimate suspense,
And a cold wind was coming. Dagonet,
Now crouched at Merlin’s feet in his dejection,
Saw multiplying lights far down below,
Where lay the fevered streets. At length he felt 2575
On his lean shoulder Merlin’s tragic hand
And trembled, knowing that a few more days
Would see the last of Arthur and the first
Of Modred, whose dark patience had attained
To one precarious half of what he sought: 2580
“And even the Queen herself may fall to him,”
Dagonet murmured.— “The Queen fall to Modred?
Is that your only fear tonight?” said Merlin;
“She may, but not for long.”— “No, not my fear;
For I fear nothing. But I wish no fate 2585
Like that for any woman the King loves,
Although she be the scourge and the end of him
That you saw coming, as I see it now.”
Dagonet shook, but he would have no tears,
He swore, for any king, queen, knave, or wizard — 2590
Albeit he was a stranger among those
Who laughed at him because he was a fool.
“You said the truth, I cannot leave you now,”
He stammered, and was angry for the tears
That mocked his will and choked him. 2595
Merlin smiled,
Faintly, and for the moment: “Dagonet,
I need your word as one of Arthur’s knights
That you will go on with me to the end
Of my short way, and say unto no man 2600
Or woman that you found or saw me here.
No good would follow, for a doubt would live
Unstifled of my loyalty to him
Whose deeds are wrought for those who are to come;
And many who see not what I have seen, 2605
Or what you see tonight, would prattle on
For ever, and their children after them,
Of what might once have been had I gone down
With you to Camelot to see the King.
I came to see the King, — but why see kings? 2610
All this that was to be is what I saw
Before there was an Arthur to be king,
And so to be a mirror wherein men
May see themselves, and pause. If they see not,
Or if they do see and they ponder not, — 2615
I saw; but I was neither Fate nor God.
I saw too much; and this would be the end,
Were there to be end. I saw myself —
A sight no other man has ever seen;
And through the dark that lay beyond myself 2620
I saw two fires that are to light the world.”
On Dagonet the silent hand of Merlin
Weighed now as living iron that held him down
With a primeval power. Doubt, wonderment,
Impatience, and a self-accusing sorrow 2625
Born of an ancient love, possessed and held him
Until his love was more than he could name,
And he was Merlin’s fool, not Arthur’s now:
“Say what you will, I say that I’m the fool
Of Merlin, King of Nowhere; which is Here. 2630
With you for king and me for court, what else
Have we to sigh for but a place to sleep?
I know a tavern that will take us in;
And on the morrow I shall follow you
Until I die for you. And when I die…” — 2635
“Well, Dagonet, the King is listening.” —
And Dagonet answered, hearing in the words
Of Merlin a grave humor and a sound
Of graver pity, “I shall die a fool.”
He heard what might have been a father’s laugh, 2640
Faintly behind him; and the living weight
Of Merlin’s hand was lifted. They arose,
And, saying nothing, found a groping way
Down through the gloom together. Fiercer now,
The wind was like a flying animal 2645
That beat the two of them incessantly
With icy wings, and bit them as they went.
The rock above them was an empty place
Where neither seer nor fool should view again
The stricken city. Colder
blew the wind 2650
Across the world, and on it heavier lay
The shadow and the burden of the night;
And there was darkness over Camelot.
THE END
The Town Down the River
TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT
The Master
(LINCOLN)
A FLYING word from here and there
Had sown the name at which we sneered,
But soon the name was everywhere,
To be reviled and then revered:
A presence to be loved and feared, 5
We cannot hide it, or deny
That we, the gentlemen who jeered,
May be forgotten by and by.
He came when days were perilous
And hearts of men were sore beguiled; 10
And having made his note of us,
He pondered and was reconciled.
Was ever master yet so mild
As he, and so untamable?
We doubted, even when he smiled, 15
Not knowing what he knew so well.
He knew that undeceiving fate
Would shame us whom he served unsought;
He knew that he must wince and wait —
The jest of those for whom he fought; 20
He knew devoutly what he thought
Of us and of our ridicule;
He knew that we must all be taught
Like little children in a school.
We gave a glamour to the task 25
That he encountered and saw through,
But little of us did he ask,
And little did we ever do.
And what appears if we review
The season when we railed and chaffed? 30
It is the face of one who knew
That we were learning while we laughed.
The face that in our vision feels
Again the venom that we flung,
Transfigured to the world reveals 35
The vigilance to which we clung.
Shrewd, hallowed, harassed, and among
The mysteries that are untold,
The face we see was never young
Nor could it wholly have been old. 40
For he, to whom we had applied
Our shopman’s test of age and worth,
Was elemental when he died,
As he was ancient at his birth:
The saddest among kings of earth, 45
Bowed with a galling crown, this man
Met rancor with a cryptic mirth,
Laconic — and Olympian.
The love, the grandeur, and the fame
Are bounded by the world alone; 50
The calm, the smouldering, and the flame
Of awful patience were his own:
With him they are forever flown
Past all our fond self-shadowings,
Wherewith we cumber the Unknown 55
As with inept, Icarian wings.
For we were not as other men:
’Twas ours to soar and his to see;
But we are coming down again,
And we shall come down pleasantly; 60
Nor shall we longer disagree
On what it is to be sublime,
But flourish in our perigee
And have one Titan at a time.
The Town Down the River
I
SAID the Watcher by the Way
To the young and the unladen,
To the boy and to the maiden,
“God be with you both to-day.
First your song came ringing, 5
Now you come, you two, —
Knowing naught of what you do,
Or of what your dreams are bringing.
“O you children who go singing
To the Town down the River, 10
Where the millions cringe and shiver,
Tell me what you know to-day;
Tell me how far you are going,
Tell me how you find your way.
O you children who go dreaming, 15
Tell me what you dream to-day.”
“He is old and we have heard him,”
Said the boy then to the maiden;
“He is old and heavy laden
With a load we throw away. 20
Care may come to find us,
Age may lay us low;
Still, we seek the light we know,
And the dead we leave behind us.
“Did he think that he would blind us 25
Into such a small believing
As to live without achieving,
When the lights have led so far?
Let him watch or let him wither, —
Shall he tell us where we are? 30
We know best who go together,
Downward, onward, and so far.”
II
SAID the Watcher by the Way
To the fiery folk that hastened,
To the loud and the unchastened, 35
“You are strong, I see, to-day.
Strength and hope may lead you
To the journey’s end, —
Each to be the other’s friend
If the Town should fail to need you. 40
“And are ravens there to feed you
In the Town down the River,
Where the gift appalls the giver
And youth hardens day by day?
O you brave and you unshaken, 45
Are you truly on your way?
And are sirens in the River,
That you come so far to-day?”
“You are old, and we have listened,”
Said the voice of one who halted; 50
“You are sage and self-exalted,
But your way is not our way.
You that cannot aid us
Give us words to eat.
Be assured that they are sweet, 55
And that we are as God made us.
“Not in vain have you delayed us,
Though the River still be calling
Through the twilight that is falling
And the Town be still so far. 60
By the whirlwind of your wisdom
Leagues are lifted as leaves are;
But a king without a kingdom
Fails us, who have come so far.”
III
SAID the Watcher by the Way 65
To the slower folk who stumbled,
To the weak and the world-humbled,
“Tell me how you fare to-day.
Some with ardor shaken,
All with honor scarred, 70
Do you falter, finding hard
The far chance that you have taken?
“Or, do you at length awaken
To an antic retribution,
Goading to a new confusion 75
The drugged hopes of yesterday?
O you poor mad men that hobble,
Will you not return, or stay?
Do you trust, you broken people,
To a dawn without the day?” 80
“You speak well of what you know not,”
Muttered one; and then a second:
“You have begged and you have beckoned,
But you see us on our way.
Who are you to scold us, 85
Knowing what we know?
Jeremiah, long ago,
Said as much as you have told us.
“As we are, then, you behold us:
Derelicts of all conditions, 90
Poets, rogues, and sick physicians,
Plodding forward from afar;
Forward now into the darkness
Where the men before us are;
Forward, onward, out of grayness, 95
To the light that shone so far.”
IV
SAID the Watcher by the Way
To some aged ones who lingered,
To the shrunken, the claw-fingered,
“So you come for me to-day.” — 100
“Yes, to give you warning;
“You have old hairs on your head,
Fit for laurel, not for scorning.
“From the first of early morning 105
We have toiled along to find you;
We, as others, have maligned you,
But we need your scorn to-day.
By the light that we saw shining,
Let us not be lured alway; 110
Let us hear no River calling
When to-morrow is to-day.”
“But your lanterns are unlighted
And the Town is far before you:
Let us hasten, I implore you,” 115
Said the Watcher by the Way.
“Long have I waited,
Longer have I known
That the Town would have its own,
And the call be for the fated. 120
“In the name of all created,
Let us hear no more, my brothers;
Are we older than all others?
Are the planets in our way?” —
“Hark,” said one; “I hear the River, 125
Calling always, night and day.” —
“Forward, then! The lights are shining,”
Said the Watcher by the Way.
An Island
(SAINT HELENA, 1821)
TAKE it away, and swallow it yourself.
Ha! Look you, there’s a rat.
Last night there were a dozen on that shelf,
And two of them were living in my hat.
Look! Now he goes, but he’ll come back — 5
Ha? But he will, I say …
Il reviendra-z-à Pâques,
Ou à la Trinité …
Be very sure that he’ll return again;
For said the Lord: Imprimis, we have rats, 10
And having rats, we have rain. —
So on the seventh day
He rested, and made Pain.
— Man, if you love the Lord, and if the Lord
Love liars, I will have you at your word 15
And swallow it. Voilà. Bah!
Where do I say it is
That I have lain so long?
Where do I count myself among the dead,
As once above the living and the strong? 20
And what is this that comes and goes,
Fades and swells and overflows,
Like music underneath and overhead?
What is it in me now that rings and roars
Works of Edwin Arlington Robinson Page 29
