Selected Poems (Penguin Classics) (18 page)

Who lived at Pornic, down by the sea,

Just where the sea and the Loire unite!

And a boasted name in Brittany

She bore, which I will not write.

II

Too white, for the flower of life is red;

Her flesh was the soft seraphic screen

Of a soul that is meant (her parents said)

To just see earth, and hardly be seen,

[10] And blossom in heaven instead.

III

Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair!

One grace that grew to its full on earth:

Smiles might be sparse on her cheek so spare,

And her waist want half a girdle’s girth,

But she had her great gold hair.

IV

Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss,

Freshness and fragrance – floods of it, too!

Gold, did I say? Nay, gold’s mere dross:

Here, Life smiled, ‘Think what I meant to do!’

[20] And Love sighed, ‘Fancy my loss!’

V

So, when she died, it was scarce more strange

Than that, when delicate evening dies,

And you follow its spent sun’s pallid range,

There’s a shoot of colour startles the skies

With sudden, violent change, –

VI

That, while the breath was nearly to seek,

As they put the little cross to her lips,

She changed; a spot came out on her cheek,

A spark from her eye in mid-eclipse,

[30] And she broke forth, ‘I must speak!’

VII

‘Not my hair!’ made the girl her moan –

‘All the rest is gone or to go;

But the last, last grace, my all, my own,

Let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know!

Leave my poor gold hair alone!’

VIII

The passion thus vented, dead lay she;

Her parents sobbed their worst on that;

All friends joined in, nor observed degree:

For indeed the hair was to wonder at,

[40] As it spread – not flowing free,

IX

But curled around her brow, like a crown,

And coiled beside her cheeks, like a cap,

And calmed about her neck – ay, down

To her breast, pressed flat, without a gap

I’ the gold, it reached her gown.

X

All kissed that face, like a silver wedge

’Mid the yellow wealth, nor disturbed its hair:

E’en the priest allowed death’s privilege,

As he planted the crucifix with care

[50] On her breast, ’twixt edge and edge.

XI

And thus was she buried, inviolate

Of body and soul, in the very space

By the altar; keeping saintly state

In Pornic church, for her pride of race,

Pure life and piteous fate.

XII

And in after-time would your fresh tear fall,

Though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile,

As they told you of gold, both robe and pall,

How she prayed them leave it alone awhile,

[60] So it never was touched at all.

XIII

Years flew; this legend grew at last

The life of the lady; all she had done,

All been, in the memories fading fast

Of lover and friend, was summed in one

Sentence survivors passed:

XIV

To wit, she was meant for heaven, not earth;

Had turned an angel before the time:

Yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth

Of frailty, all you could count a crime

[70] Was – she knew her gold hair’s worth.

XV

At little pleasant Pornic church,

It chanced, the pavement wanted repair,

Was taken to pieces: left in the lurch,

A certain sacred space lay bare,

And the boys began research.

XVI

’Twas the space where our sires would lay a saint,

A benefactor, – a bishop, suppose,

A baron with armour-adornments quaint,

Dame with chased ring and jewelled rose,

[80] Things sanctity saves from taint;

XVII

So we come to find them in after-days

When the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds

Of use to the living, in many ways:

For the boys get pelf, and the town applauds,

And the church deserves the praise.

XVIII

They grubbed with a will: and at length –
O cor

Humanum, pectora caeca
, and the rest! –

They found – no gaud they were prying for,

No ring, no rose, but – who would have guessed? –

[90] A double Louis-d’or!

XIX

Here was a case for the priest: he heard,

Marked, inwardly digested, laid

Finger on nose, smiled, ‘There’s a bird

Chirps in my ear’: then, ‘Bring a spade,

Dig deeper!’ – he gave the word.

XX

And lo, when they came to the coffin-lid,

Or rotten planks which composed it once,

Why, there lay the girl’s skull wedged amid

A mint of money, it served for the nonce

[100] To hold in its hair-heaps hid!

XXI

Hid there? Why? Could the girl be wont

(She the stainless soul) to treasure up

Money, earth’s trash and heaven’s affront?

Had a spider found out the communion-cup,

Was a toad in the christening-font?

XXII

Truth is truth: too true it was.

Gold! She hoarded and hugged it first,

Longed for it, leaned o’er it, loved it – alas –

Till the humour grew to a head and burst,

[110] And she cried, at the final pass, –

XXIII

‘Talk not of God, my heart is stone!

Nor lover nor friend – be gold for both!

Gold I lack; and, my all, my own,

It shall hide in my hair. I scarce die loth

If they let my hair alone!’

XXIV

Louis-d’or, some six times five,

And duly double, every piece.

Now do you see? With the priest to shrive,

With parents preventing her soul’s release

[120] By kisses that kept alive, –

XXV

With heaven’s gold gates about to ope,

With friends’ praise, gold-like, lingering still,

An instinct had bidden the girl’s hand grope

For gold, the true sort – ‘Gold in heaven, if you will;

But I keep earth’s too, I hope.’

XXVI

Enough! The priest took the grave’s grim yield:

The parents, they eyed that price of sin

As if
thirty pieces
lay revealed

On the place
to bury strangers in
,

[130] The hideous Potter’s Field.

XXVII

But the priest bethought him: ‘“Milk that’s spilt”

– You know the adage! Watch and pray!

Saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt!

It would build a new altar; that, we may!’

And the altar therewith was built.

XXVIII

Why I deliver this horrible verse?

As the text of a sermon, which now I preach:

Evil or good may be better or worse

In the human heart, but the mixture of each

[140] Is a marvel and a curse.

XXIX

The candid incline to surmise of late

That the Christian faith proves false, I find;

For our Essays-and-Reviews’ debate

Begins to tell on the public mind,

And Colenso’s words have weight:

XXX

I still, to suppose it true, for my part,

See reasons and reasons; this, to begin:

’Tis the faith that launched point-blank her dart

At the head of a lie – taught Original Sin,

[150] The Corruption of Man’s Heart.

Dîs Aliter Visum; or, Le Byron de Nos Jours

I

Stop, let me have the truth of that!

Is that all true? I say, the day

Ten years ago when both of us

Met on a morning, friends – as thus

We meet this evening, friends or what? –

II

Did you – because I took your arm

And sillily smiled, ‘A mass of brass

That sea looks, blazing underneath!’

While up the cliff-road edged with heath,

[10] We took the turns nor came to harm –

III

Did you consider ‘Now makes twice

That I have seen her, walked and talked

With this poor pretty thoughtful thing,

Whose worth I weigh: she tries to sing;

Draws, hopes in time the eye grows nice;

IV

‘Reads verse and thinks she understands;

Loves all, at any rate, that’s great,

Good, beautiful; but much as we

Down at the bath-house love the sea,

[20] Who breathe its salt and bruise its sands:

V

‘While … do but follow the fishing-gull

That flaps and floats from wave to cave!

There’s the sea-lover, fair my friend!

What then? Be patient, mark and mend!

Had you the making of your skull?’

VI

And did you, when we faced the church

With spire and sad slate roof, aloof

From human fellowship so far,

Where a few graveyard crosses are,

[30] And garlands for the swallows’ perch, –

VII

Did you determine, as we stepped

O’er the lone stone fence, ‘Let me get

Her for myself, and what’s the earth

With all its art, verse, music, worth –

Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?

VIII

‘Schumann’s our music-maker now;

Has his march-movement youth and mouth?

Ingres’s the modern man that paints;

Which will lean on me, of his saints?

[40] Heine for songs; for kisses, how?’

IX

And did you, when we entered, reached

The votive frigate, soft aloft

Riding on air this hundred years,

Safe-smiling at old hopes and fears, –

Did you draw profit while she preached?

X

Resolving, ‘Fools we wise men grow!

Yes, I could easily blurt out curt

Some question that might find reply

As prompt in her stopped lips, dropped eye,

[50] And rush of red to cheek and brow:

XI

‘Thus were a match made, sure and fast,

’Mid the blue weed-flowers round the mound

Where, issuing, we shall stand and stay

For one more look at baths and bay,

Sands, sea-gulls, and the old church last –

XII

‘A match ’twixt me, bent, wigged and lamed,

Famous, however, for verse and worse,

Sure of the Fortieth spare Arm-chair

When gout and glory seat me there,

[60] So, one whose love-freaks pass unblamed, –

XIII

‘And this young beauty, round and sound

As a mountain-apple, youth and truth

With loves and doves, at all events

With money in the Three per Cents;

Whose choice of me would seem profound:-

XIV

‘She might take me as I take her.

Perfect the hour would pass, alas!

Climb high, love high, what matter? Still,

Feet, feelings, must descend the hill:

[70] An hour’s perfection can’t recur.

XV

‘Then follows Paris and full time

For both to reason: “Thus with us!”

She’ll sigh, “Thus girls give body and soul

At first word, think they gain the goal,

When ’tis the starting-place they climb!

XVI

‘“My friend makes verse and gets renown;

Have they all fifty years, his peers?

He knows the world, firm, quiet and gay;

Boys will become as much one day:

[80] They’re fools; he cheats, with beard less brown.

XVII

‘“For boys say,
Love me or I die!

He did not say,
The truth is, youth

I want, who am old and know too much;

I’d catch youth: lend me sight and touch!

Drop heart’s blood where life’s wheels grate dry!”

XVIII