Complete Poetical Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti Read online

  Oh when upon each sculptured court,

  Where even the wind might not resort, -

  O’er which Time passed, of like import

  With the wild Arab boys at sport, -

  A living face looked in to see:- 35

  Oh seemed it not - the spell once broke -

  As though the carven warriors woke,

  As though the shaft the string forsook,

  The cymbals clashed, the chariots shook,

  And there was life in Nineveh? 40

  On London stones our sun anew

  The beast’s recovered shadow threw.

  (No shade that plague of darkness knew,

  No light, no shade, while older grew

  By ages the old earth and sea.) 45

  Lo thou! could all thy priests have shown

  Such proof to make thy godhead known?

  From their dead Past thou liv’st alone;

  And still thy shadow is thine own

  Even as of yore in Nineveh. 50

  That day whereof we keep record,

  When near thy city-gates the Lord

  Sheltered his Jonah with a gourd,

  This sun, (I said) here present, pour’d

  Even thus this shadow that I see. 55

  This shadow has been shed the same

  From sun and moon, - from lamps which came

  For prayer, - from fifteen days of flame,

  The last, while smouldered to a name

  Sardanapalus’ Nineveh. 60

  Within thy shadow, haply, once

  Sennacherib has knelt, whose sons

  Smote him between the altar-stones:

  Or pale Semiramis her zones

  Of gold, her incense brought to thee, 65

  In love for grace, in war for aid:...

  Ay, and who else?... till ‘neath thy shade

  Within his trenches newly made

  Last year the Christian knelt and pray’d -

  Not to thy strength - in Nineveh. 70

  Now, thou poor god, within this hall

  Where the blank windows blind the wall

  From pedestal to pedestal,

  The kind of light shall on thee fall

  Which London takes the day to be: 75

  While school-foundations in the act

  Of holiday, three files compact,

  Shall learn to view thee as a fact

  Connected with that zealous tract:

  ‘Rome, - Babylon and Nineveh.’ 80

  Deemed they of this, those worshippers,

  When, in some mythic chain of verse

  Which man shall not again rehearse,

  The faces of thy ministers

  Yearned pale with bitter ecstasy? 85

  Greece, Egypt, Rome, - did any god

  Before whose feet men knelt unshod

  Deem that in this unblest abode

  Another scarce more unknown god

  Should house with him, from Nineveh? 90

  Ah! in what quarries lay the stone

  From which this pillared pile has grown,

  Unto man’s need how long unknown,

  Since those thy temples, court and cone,

  Rose far in desert history? 95

  Ah! what is here that does not lie

  All strange to thine awakened eye?

  Ah! what is here can testify

  (Save that dumb presence of the sky)

  Unto thy day and Nineveh? 100

  Why, of those mummies in the room

  Above, there might indeed have come

  One out of Egypt to thy home,

  An alien. Nay, but were not some

  Of these thine own antiquity? 105

  And now, - they and their gods and thou

  All relics here together - now

  Whose profit? whether bull or cow,

  Isis or Ibis, who or how,

  Whether of Thebes or Nineveh? 110

  The consecrated metals found,

  And ivory tablets, underground,

  Winged teraphim and creatures crown’d,

  When air and daylight filled the mound,

  Fell into dust immediately. 115

  And even as these, the images

  Of awe and worship, — even as these, —

  So, smitten with the sun’s increase,

  Her glory mouldered and did cease

  From immemorial Nineveh.

  The day her builders made their halt,

  Those cities of the lake of salt

  Stood firmly ‘stablished without fault

  Made proud with pillars of basalt,

  With sardonyx and porphyry.

  The day that Jonah bore abroad

  To Nineveh the voice of God,

  A brackish lake lay in his road,

  Where erst Pride fixed her sure abode

  As then in royal Nineveh.

  The day when he, Pride’s lord and Man’s,

  Showed all the kingdoms at a glance

  To Him before whose countenance

  The years recede, the years advance,

  And said, Fall down and worship me: -

  ‘Mid all the pomp beneath that look,

  Then stirred there, haply, some rebuke,

  Where to the wind the Salt Pools shook,

  And in those tracts, of life forsook,

  That knew thee not, O Nineveh!

  Delicate harlot! On thy throne

  Thou with a world beneath thee prone

  In state for ages sat’st alone;

  And needs were years and lustres flown

  Ere strength of man could vanquish thee:

  Whom even thy victor foes must bring,

  Still royal, among maids that sing

  As with doves’ voices, taboring

  Upon their breasts, unto the King, -

  A kingly conquest, Nineveh!

  ... Here woke my thought. The wind’s slow

  Had waxed; and like the human play

  Of scorn that smiling spreads away,

  The sunshine shivered off the day:

  The callous wind, it seemed to me,

  Swept up the shadow from the ground:

  And pale as whom the Fates astound,

  The god forlorn stood winged and crown’d:

  Within I knew the cry lay bound

  Of the dumb soul of Nineveh.

  And as I turned, my sense half shut

  Still saw the crowds of kerbs and rut

  Go past as marshalled to the strut

  Of ranks in gypsum quaintly cut.

  It seemed in one same pageantry 165

  They followed forms which had been erst;

  To pass, till on my sight should burst

  That future of the best or worst

  When some may question which was first,

  Of London or of Nineveh. 170

  For as that Bull-god once did stand

  And watched the burial-clouds of sand,

  Till these at last without a hand

  Rose o’er his eyes, another land,

  And blinded him with destiny: - 175

  So may he stand again; till now,

  In ships of unknown sail and prow,

  Some tribe of the Australian plough

  Bear him afar, - a relic now

  Of London, not of Nineveh! 180

  Or it may chance indeed that when

  Man’s age is hoary among men, -

  His centuries threescore and ten, -

  His furthest childhood shall seem then

  More clear than later times may be: 185

  Who, finding in this desert place

  This form, shall hold us for some race

  That walked not in Christ’s lowly ways,

  But bowed its pride and vowed its praise

  Unto the God of Nineveh. 190

  The smile rose first, - anon drew nigh

  The thought:... Those heavy wings spread high

  So sure of flight, which do not fly;

  That set gaze never on the sky;

 
Those scriptured flanks it cannot see; 195

  Its crown, a brow-contracting load;

  Its planted feet which trust the sod:...

  (So grew the image as I trod:)

  O Nineveh, was this thy God, -

  Thine also, mighty Nineveh?

  MIDDLE POEMS

  THE STAFF AND SCRIP

  ‘Who owns these lands?’ the Pilgrim said.

  ‘Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.’

  ‘And who has thus harried them?’ he said.

  ‘It was Duke Luke did this:

  God’s ban be his!’ 5

  The Pilgrim said: ‘Where is your house?

  I’ll rest there, with your will.’

  ‘You’ve but to climb these blackened boughs

  And you’ll see it over the hill,

  For it burns still.’ 10

  ‘Which road, to seek your Queen?’ said he.

  ‘Nay, nay, but with some wound

  You’ll fly back hither, it may be,

  And by your blood i’ the ground

  My place be found.’ 15

  ‘Friend, stay in peace. God keep your head,

  And mine, where I will go;

  For He is here and there,’ he said.

  He passed the hill-side, slow,

  And stood below. 20

  The Queen sat idle by her loom:

  She heard the arras stir,

  And looked up sadly: through the room

  The sweetness sickened her

  Of musk and myrrh. 25

  Her women, standing two and two,

  In silence combed the fleece.

  The pilgrim said, ‘Peace be with you,

  Lady;’ and bent his knees.

  She answered, ‘Peace.’ 30

  Her eyes were like the wave within;

  Like water-reeds the poise

  Of her soft body, dainty thin;

  And like the water’s noise

  Her plaintive voice. 35

  For him, the stream had never well’d

  In desert tracts malign

  So sweet; nor had he ever felt

  So faint in the sunshine

  Of Palestine. 40

  Right so, he knew that he saw weep

  Each night through every dream

  The Queen’s own face, confused in sleep

  With visages supreme

  Not known to him. 45

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘your lands lie burnt

  And waste: to meet your foe

  All fear: this I have seen and learnt.

  Say that it shall be so,

  And I will go.’ 50

  She gazed at him. ‘Your cause is just,

  For I have heard the same:’

  He said: ‘God’s strength shall be my trust.

  Fall it to good or grame,

  ’Tis in His name.’ 55

  ‘Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead.

  Why should you toil to break

  A grave, and fall therein?’ she said.

  He did not pause but spake:

  ‘For my vow’s sake.’ 60

  ‘Can such vows be, Sir - to God’s ear,

  Not to God’s will?’

  ‘My vow

  Remains: God heard me there as here,’

  He said with reverent brow,

  ‘Both then and now.’ 65

  They gazed together, he and she,

  The minute while he spoke;

  And when he ceased, she suddenly

  Looked round upon her folk

  As though she woke. 70

  ‘Fight, Sir,’ she said: ‘my prayers in pain

  Shall be your fellowship.’

  He whispered one among her train, -

  ‘To-morrow bid her keep

  This staff and scrip.’ 75

  She sent him a sharp sword, whose belt

  About his body there

  As sweet as her own arms he felt.

  He kissed its blade, all bare,

  Instead of her. 80

  She sent him a green banner wrought

  With one white lily stem,

  To bind his lance with when he fought.

  He writ upon the same

  And kissed her name. 85

  She sent him a white shield, whereon

  She bade that he should trace

  His will. He blent fair hues that shone,

  And in a golden space

  He kissed her face. 90

  Right so, the sunset skies unseal’d,

  Like lands he never knew,

  Beyond to-morrow’s battle-field

  Lay open out of view

  To ride into. 95

  Next day till dark the women pray’d:

  Nor any might know there

  How the fight went: the Queen has bade

  That there do come to her

  No messenger. 100

  Weak now to them the voice o’ the priest

  As any trance affords;

  And when each anthem failed and ceas’d,

  It seemed that the last chords

  Still sang the words. 105

  Lo, Father, is thine ear inclin’d,

  And hath thine angel pass’d?

  For these thy watchers now are blind

  With vigil, and at last

  Dizzy with fast. 110

  ‘Oh what is the light that shines so red?

  ’Tis long since the sun set;’

  Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid:

  “Twas dim but now, and yet

  The light is great.’ 115

  Quoth the other: “Tis our sight is dazed

  That we see flame i’ the air.’

  But the Queen held her brows and gazed,

  And said, ‘It is the glare

  Of torches there.’ 120

  ‘Oh what are the sounds that rise and spread?

  All day it was so still;’

  Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid;

  ‘Unto the furthest hill

  The air they fill.’ 125

  Quoth the other; “Tis our sense is blurr’d

  With all the chants gone by.’

  But the Queen held her breath and heard,

  And said, ‘It is the cry

  Of Victory.’ 130

  The first of all the rout was sound,

  The next were dust and flame,

  And then the horses shook the ground:

  And in the thick of them

  A still band came. 135

  ‘Oh what do ye bring out of the fight,

  Thus hid beneath these boughs?’

  ‘Even him, thy conquering guest to-night,

  Who yet shall not carouse,

  Queen, in thy house.’ 140

  ‘Uncover ye his face,’ she said.

  ‘O changed in little space!’

  She cried, ‘O pale that was so red!

  O God, O God of grace!

  Cover his face.’ 145

  His sword was broken in his hand

  Where he had kissed the blade.

  ‘O soft steel that could not withstand!

  O my hard heart unstayed,

  That prayed and prayed!’ 150

  His bloodied banner crossed his mouth

  Where he had kissed her name.

  ‘O east, and west, and north, and south,

  Fair flew my web, for shame,

  To guide Death’s aim!’ 155

  The tints were shredded from his shield

  Where he had kissed her face.

  Oh, of all gifts that I could yield,

  Death only keeps its place,

  My gift and grace!’ 160

  Then stepped a damsel to her side,

  And spoke, and needs must weep:

  ‘For his sake, lady, if he died,

  He prayed of thee to keep

  This staff and scrip. 165

  That night they hung above her bed,

  Till morning wet with tears.

  Year after year above her head

  Her bed his to
ken wears,

  Five years, ten years. 170

  That night the passion of her grief

  Shook them as there they hung.

  Each year the wind that shed the leaf

  Shook them and in its tongue

  A message flung. 175

  And once she woke with a clear mind

  That letters writ to calm

  Her soul lay in the scrip; to find

  Only a torpid balm

  And dust of palm. 180

  They shook far off with palace sport

  When joust and dance were rife;

  And the hunt shook them from the court;

  For hers, in peace or strife,

  Was a Queen’s life. 185

  A Queen’s death now: as now they shake

  To gusts in chapel dim,-

  Hung where she sleeps, not seen to wake,

  (Carved lovely white and slim,)

  With them by him. 190

  Stand up to-day, still armed, with her,

  Good knight, before His brow

  Who then as now was here and there,

  Who had in mind thy vow

  Then even as now. 195

  The lists are set in Heaven to-day,

  The bright pavilions shine;

  Fair hangs thy shield, and none gainsay;

  The trumpets sound in sign

  That she is thine. 200

  Not tithed with days’ and years’ decrease

  He pays thy wage He owed,

  But with imperishable peace

  Here in His own abode,

  Thy jealous God. 205

  SUDDEN LIGHT

  I have been here before,

  But when or how I cannot tell:

  I know the grass beyond the door,

  The sweet keen smell,

  The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. 5

  You have been mine before, -

  How long ago I may not know:

  But just when at that swallow’s soar

  Your neck turned so,

  Some veil did fall, - I knew it all of yore. 10

  Then, now, - perchance again!...

  O round mine eyes your tresses shake!

  Shall we not lie as we have lain

  Thus for Love’s sake,

  And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain? 15

  THE PORTRAIT

  This is her picture as she was:

  It seems a thing to wonder on,

  As though mine image in the glass

  Should tarry when myself am gone.

  I gaze until she seems to stir, - 5

  Until mine eyes almost aver

  That now, even now, the sweet lips part

  To breathe the words of the sweet heart: -

  And yet the earth is over her.

  Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray 10

  That makes the prison-depths more rude, -

  The drip of water night and day

  Giving a tongue to solitude.

  Yet this, of all love’s perfect prize,

  Remains; save what in mournful guise 15