The Knight and the Witch.

A voice cried over the Hills “Follow the strange desire. Oh! follow, follow, follow, The world is on fire.

Day burns on funeral bed In flame of sky and sea, And, black against that red, Is the tower where dwelleth she

And gazeth, white foot pressed On bruisèd heaps of bloom, O'er the sea which cannot rest And sounds thro’ her room.

Murmurs in her room Thro’ a casement open wide The sea which is a tomb For mariners of pride.

Oh! follow, follow, follow, Come quickly unto her, Her body is more sweet Than cassia or myrrh,

She is whiter than the moon, She is stranger than death, Stronger than the new moon Which the waters draweth.

More lovely are her words More lovely is she Than the flight of white birds O'er a halcyon sea.

She took the stars for toys — Her magic was so strong — Murmurs of earth and the noise Of green seas for a song.

She leant down on the sill And called across the sea. ... Oh! follow, follow, follow, Come quickly unto me....”

A voice cried over the Hills “Oh! come, I fail, I swoon, Pale with my love's excess, Paler than our pale moon.

Oh! come, Oh! come, Oh! come, Before the days eclipse We'll meet with brimming eyes And kiss with quivering lips.

Love-drunken, breast to breast, With half-closed eyes we'll kiss, And reel from bliss to pain From pain again to bliss.

The sea which cannot rest From its undernote of doom ( We swooning breast on breast ) Shall murmur thro’ my room.

Shall murmur all night long Thro’ a casement open wide. The sea, which is a tomb For mariners of pride,

With an undernote of doom Shall murmur evermore That love is in the room And Death is at the door,

That Death will bruise to dust Our flower-drenched passion soon Darker than darkest night Colder than our cold moon.

So shall it ebb and flow Our love like those sea-tides For a space... a little space — What matter?... nought abides.”

A voice cried over the Hills, “What matter?... all things die, Our quivering love's excess, Our rose-drenched ecstasy

As glimmering waters drawn By the magic of the moon, As the moon itself at dawn Our love shall vanish soon.

So swift ( my love-pale groom ) A white bird wings its flight. Then find you Death's cold room, Darker than darkest night;

Then find you that dark door ( And find it all men must ) And love there nevermore But crumble back to dust,

And kiss there nevermore In flower-drenched ecstasy; Too late then to implore, Too cold to hear a cry.”

And then towards the shelving beach A cedar shallop drew, With silver prow shaped like a swan And sails of rainbow hue.

Swiftly it came with a wake of foam And lying on its side Like an arrow's flight towards the Knight, Tho’ none sat there to guide.

And in the shallows by the shore It came to rest at last, The cordage slacked and the rainbow sail Flapped idly on the mast.

And the Swan-prow with the ruby eyes Opened his silver beak, And with a musical, magic voice He thus began to speak.

“Step in, step in, my gallant lad, Your youth shall be my fare. For you my mistress opes her door And combs her wine-dark hair.

She swelled my sail with an eager wind And drove me to this beach, She gave strange sight to my ruby eyes And filled my beak with speech.

“She saw you in the magic glass The hour that she has might, As you rode across the purple heath, Honour and armour bright.

Step in, step in, my lover bold And come to the West with me Where the young nymphs play in the wave and lift Their white arms from the sea;

And the Tritons chase the laughing rout And swim by the vessel's side, Blowing on horns confusedly, Or shouting words of pride.

You hear it now, but the time will come When you shall hear no more The ceaseless wash of a dreaming sea, Its ripples on the shore.

Oh! follow, follow the sinking sun And the great white Evening Star, A magic wind shall breathe behind Our sail, and bear us far.”

He doffed his red-plumed casque of steel, All flaxen was his hair, And he was clad from throat to heel In the armour princes wear,

From throat to heel in silver mail Like a shining prince in a fairy-tale. The witch Hegertha o'er him bent, ( Ah! God, her face was fair )

Her breath blew on him like a scent, She touched him with her hair. There was no stronger witch than this, And she gave the Knight her first kiss.

And he was bound to her sword and hand, To do whatever she might command. Then up to her full height she drew, Down poured her hair like wine,

Her pale, proud face looked sadly through — A moon in a wood of pine — She breathed a spell in a low, sweet tone Which none of woman born could disown.

And he was bound to her side till death By the spell just uttered above her breath. She drew his soul forth with her eyes, As a drinker slakes his drouth,

A little smile played sorrowful, wise, About her rose-red mouth. She stooped down and called his soul forth, And left him naught but his body's earth.

And he was bound to her evermore By the soul he lost and the word he swore. For evermore and evermore In the chamber by the sea,

Till death should break the spell-bound door And end his slavery; In the chamber strewn with flowers in bloom With a heavy scent like death,

Echoing ever the song of doom Which the sad sea moaned beneath. For evermore and evermore Till life ceased in his side,

Bound to the room and the rose-strewn floor And the strange, unholy bride. And naught could save him now, when once the spell Had fallen on him, binding limbs and will,

Where he sat listening to the sad sea swell, Amid the roses which no time could kill. Naught could restore lost courage to his eyes, The Knightly ardour that he used to feel,

Or make his heart the seat of high emprise, Or nerve his hand to grasp the shining steel. Whether she kept him fast by her enchantment, Or drove him forth to roam death-pale and weeping,

Naught could remind him what his life's fair grant meant, Now that his soul was in Hegertha's keeping.