PART THE NINTH

And passing through the city he went out Into the fat fields lying thereabout, And lo the spirit of the emerald stone With secret influence to himself unknown

Guided the wandering of his errant feet, The servants of the errant soul; and sweet The meadows were, with babble of birds, and noise Of brooks, the water's voice and the wind's voice.

Howbeit he gave small heed to any of them; And now the subtile spirit of the gem Led him along a winding way that ran Beyond the fields to where the woods began

To spread green matwork for the mountains’ feet; A region where the Silence had her seat And hearkened to the sounds that only she Can hear — the fall of dew on herb and tree;

The voice of the growing of the grass; the night Down-fluttering breathless from the heaven's height; And autumn whispering unawares at times Strange secrets and dark sayings, wrapt in rhymes

Wind-won from forest branches. At this place The old man rested for a little space, Forgetful that the day was wellnigh flown: But soon the urgent spirit of the stone

Itself re-entered and possessed anew His soul; and led thereby, and wandering through A mile of trackless and untrodden ground, By favour of the rising moon he found

A rude path, broken here and there by rills Which crossed it as they hurried from the hills. And going whitherso the wild path went, A two hours’ journeying brought him, wellnigh spent

With toiling upwards, to a mountain pass, A bleak lone place where no trees grew nor grass, But on each hand a peak of rock, high-reared, Uprose: afar the two like horns appeared

Of some great beast, so tapering-tall they were. And now with forward gaze the wanderer Stood where the pass was highest and the track Went downward both ways; and behind his back

The full moon shone, and lo before his face The bright sea glimmered at the mountain's base. It seemed, what way soever he might turn, His fate still led him to that watery bourn.

So journeying down the track which lay before, He came, an hour past midnight, to the shore, And, looking backward, far above espied The two sharp peaks, one peak on either side

Of that lone pass; verily like a pair Of monstrous horns, the tips far-seen, up there: And in the nether space betwixt the two, A single monstrous eye the moon shone through.

Now all this while the spirit of the stone Had led him forward, he, the old man lone, Taking no thought of whither he was bound. And roaming now along the beach he found

A creek, and in the creek, some little way From where it joined the sea, a pinnace lay Moored at the marge; and stepping thereinto, He sat him down, and from his bosom drew

The mystic gem, and placed it at the prow, That he might watch its paly splendours, how They lightened here and there, and flashed aflame, Mocked at the moon and put the stars to shame.

But hardly was the stone out of his hand, When the boat wrenched her moorings from the land, And swift as any captive bird set free Shot o'er the shimmering surface of the sea,

The spirit of the emerald guiding her; And for a time the old man could not stir For very greatness of astonishment. But merrily o'er the moonlit waters went

The pinnace, till the land was out of sight, Far in the dreaming distance. All that night, Faster than ever wind in winter blew, Faster than quarrel flies the bow, she flew.

A moment was a league in that wild flight From vast to vast of ocean and the night. And now the moon her lanthorn had withdrawn: And now the pale weak heralds of the dawn

Lifted the lids of their blear eyes afar: The last belated straggler of a star Went home; and in her season due the morn Brake on a cold and silent sea forlorn —

A strange mute sea, where never wave hath stirred, Nor sound of any wandering wind is heard, Nor voice of sailors sailing merrily: A sea untraversed, an enchanted sea

From all the world fate-folden; hemmed about Of linkèd Dreams; encompassed with a Doubt. But not the less for lack of wind went she, The flying pinnace, o'er that silent sea,

Till those dull waters of enchantment lay Behind her many a league. And now her way Was toward a shining tract of ocean, where Low winds with bland breath flattered the mild air,

And low waves did together clasp and close, And skyward yearning from the sea there rose And seaward yearning from the sky there fell A Spirit of Deep Content Unspeakable:

So midway meeting betwixt sky and sea, These twain are married for eternity, And rule the spirits of that Deep, and share The lordship of the legions of the air.

Here winds but came to rest them from their wars With far seas waged. Here Darkness had her stars Always, a nightly multitudinous birth. And entering on this happier zone of earth,

The boat‘ gan bate her speed, and by degrees Tempered her motion to the tranquil seas, As if she knew the land not far ahead, The port not far: so forward piloted

By that sweet spirit and strong, she held her way Unveering. And a little past midday, The wanderer lifted up his eyes, and right Before him saw what seemed a great wall, white

As alabaster, builded o'er the sea, High as the heaven; but drawing nearer he Perceived it was a mighty mist that lay Upon the ocean, stretching far away

Northward and southward, and the sun appeared Powerless to melt its mass. And while he neared This cloudy barrier stretching north and south, A tale once told him by his mother's mouth,

In childhood, while he sat upon her knee, Rose to remembrance: how that on the sea. Sat somewhere a Great Mist which no sun's heat Could melt, nor wind make wander from, its seat.

So great it was, the fastest ship would need Seven days to compass it, with all her speed. And they of deepest lore and wisest wit Deemed that an island in the midst of it

Bloomed like a rosebush ring'd with snows, a place Of pleasance, folded in that white embrace And chill. But never yet would pilot steer Into the fog that wrapped it round, for fear

Of running blindfold in that sightless mist On sunken reefs whereof no mariner wist: And so from all the world this happy isle Lay hidden. Thus the queen, long since; and while

He marvelled if the mist before his ken Could be the same she told of — even then, Hardly a furlong‘ fore the pinnace’ prow It lay: and now‘ twas hard at hand: and now

The boat had swept into the folds of it! But all that vision of white darkness — lit By the full splendour of the emerald stone That from the forepart of the pinnace shone —

Melted around her, as in sunder cleft By that strong spirit of light; and there was left A wandering space, behind her and before, Of radiance, roofed and walled with mist, the floor

A liquid pavement large. And so she passed Through twilight immemorial, and at last Issued upon the other side, where lay The land no mortal knew before that day.

There wilding orchards faced the beach, and bare All manner of delicious fruit and rare, Such as in gardens of kings’ palaces Trembles upon the sultry-scented trees,

The soul of many sunbeams at its core. Well-pleased the wanderer landed on this shore, Beholding all its pleasantness, how sweet And soft, to the tired soul, to the tired feet.

And so he sat him down beneath the boughs, And there a low wind seemed to drone and drowse Among the leaves as it were gone astray And like to faint forwearied by the way;

Till the persistence of the sound begat An heaviness within him as he sat: So when Sleep chanced to come that way, he found A captive not unwilling to be bound,

And on his body those fine fetters put Wherewith he bindeth mortals hand and foot. When the tired sleeper oped again his eyes, ‘ Twas early morn, and he beheld the skies

Glowing from those deep hours of rest and dew Wherein all creatures do themselves renew. The laughing leaves blink'd in the sun, throughout Those dewy realms of orchard thereabout;

But green fields lay beyond, and farther still, Betwixt them and the sun, a great high hill Kept these in shadow, and the brighter made The fruitlands look for all that neighbouring shade.

And he the solitary man uprose, His face toward the mountain beyond those Fair fields not yet acquainted with the sun; And crossed the fields, and climbed the hill, and won

The top; and journeying down the eastern side Entered upon a grassy vale and wide, Where in the midst a pure stream ran, as yet A youngling, hardly able to forget

The lofty place of its nativity, Nor lusting yet for union with the sea. And through this valley, taking for his guide The stream, and walking by the waterside,

He wandered on, but had at whiles to ford The lesser brooks that from the mountains poured Into this greater; which by slow degrees, Enlarged with such continual soft increase,

Became a river broad and fair, but still As clear as when it flowed a mountain-rill: And he the wanderer wandering by that stream Saw‘ twas the river he had known in dream.

So day by day he journeyed; and it chanced One day he fared till night was well advanced Ere lying down to sleep; and when he waked Next morn, his bones and all his body ached,

And on his temples lay a weary heat, And with sore pain he got upon his feet. Yet when he rose and hard at hand espied The City sloping to the riverside,

With bright white walls and golden port agleam, Such as he saw them figured in the dream — Then the blood leapt as fire along his veins And the o'erwearied limbs forgat their pains.

But when he strove to make what speed he might Toward the happy haven full in sight, The feet that would have hastened thereunto Could not; and heavily, as old men do,

He fell to earth, and groaned aloud and said, “Old man, what would'st thou, with thy silvered head, Yonder, where all their tresses be as gold Forever?— Thou art suffered to behold

The city of thy search: what wilt thou more? Tarry thou here upon this river-shore; Thou mightest farther go nor find the grass Greener, whereon to lay thy head, and pass

Into the deep dark populous empty land.” So spake the man, not able to withstand This dumb remonstrance of the flesh, now first Thwarting the soul. Howbeit a mighty thirst

Consumed him, and he crawled unto the brink Of the clear stream hard by, that he might drink One draught thereof, and with the water still His deep desire. When lo a miracle!

No sooner had he drunken than his whole Body was changed and did from crown to sole The likeness of its youthful self put on, The Prince of half-an-hundred years agone,

Wearing the very garments that he wore What time his years were but a single score. Then he remembered how that in The Dream One told him of the marvel of that stream,

Whose waters are a well of youth eterne. And night and day its crystal heart doth yearn To wed its youthhood with the sea's old age; And faring on that bridal pilgrimage,

Its waters past the shining city are rolled, And all the people drink and wax not old.