Madison Cawein - Peredur, the Son of Evrawc lyrics

Beyond the walls, past wood and twilight field, The Usk slipped onward under wharf and wall Of old Caerleon, rolling down, it seemed, – Incarnadined with splendor of the west, – The heathen blood of all of Arthur's wars. So she had left him; and he stood alone Within the carven casement, where a ray Of sunset laid a bleeding spear athwart The dark oak hall, and, on the arras gaunt A crimson blade of battle red that dripped. – And now life's bitterness took Peredur By all his heart's strings, smiting. He would go, Equipped for quest, through all the savagery Of mountain and of forest. And this girl? – Forget her! and her game of shuttleco*k, Of battledore and shuttleco*k with his heart, This Angharad! this child the Court had spoiled! Now he remembered how he once had ridd'n, Spurring his piebald stallion down the square, Upon the King's quest, and a girl had laughed From some be-dragoned balcony of walls That faced the gateway; and in pa**ing he Had glimpsed her beauty. It was she. And then He thought how she had haunted him for days, For weeks; and how, returning to Caerleon, His long quest ended, how it thus befell: Deep snow had fallen and the winter wood Lay carpeted with silence. And he rode Into a vista where a raven lay Slain of a hawk; some blood-drops dyed the snow. He lost himself in quaint comparisons Of how the sifted drift was as her skin; The raven's feathers as her heavy hair; And in her cheeks the health of maidenhood Red as the blood-drops. So he sat and dreamed: When one rode up in angry steel and spoke Thrice to no answer, and in anger dashed A gauntlet in his face and made at him: And how he slew him and rode over him, Fiercer than fire; then how he returned To find her fairer than their Gwenddolen, – Who, ere the coming of this loveliness, Divided all men's hearts with Gwenhwyvar: – Crowned beauty of the beautiful at Court, With Gwenhwyvar, and fair among the fair. Thus while he mused he thought he heard her voice: Or was it fancy? teasing him with sounds Of music and of words: or did he hear Her lute below the creepered walls? whose leaves, Crimson with autumn, reddened all the court, Burning continual sunset, where she sat Beside the ceaseless whisper of the foam Of one faint fountain. Sweeter mockery Had never held him: and he heard her sing: – "Ask me not now to sing to thee Songs I have loved to sing before. I love thee not; it can not be: The dream is done; the song is o'er. "Come, hold my hands: look deep into The heartbreak of my eyes that bore Glad welcome erst and now adieu; Adieu, adieu forevermore! "Once more shalt kiss my mouth and brow; Once more my hair, – as oft of yore When it was love and I and thou, – Then nevermore! ah, nevermore! "Thou must not weep; I can not weep: I love thee not; should I regret? – Nay! go; forget my face and sleep, Sleep and forget! sleep and forget!" "Aye! that I will! thy face, thy form, thy voice, O bird of spring! whose beak is in my heart. Take out thy beak, and sing me back my soul! O bird of spring," he said, "when flowers are dead Thy wing will winter underneath the pine, And hunger, for the summer that is gone, Will slay thy music with the memory. God give thou find no winter in thy heart Whenas dost find the frost invades thy voice! Ah, lovelier than thy song, there 's that in me That harps and sings of thee; that troubadours Thy beauty! ballades, sonnets it! and makes A lyric of each heart-beat – all in vain: Thou dost not heed, thou wilt not hear it sing. Or, if thou dost, 'tis but in wantonness, Indifference pretending interest: then praise, A moiety, in mockery. And this To one who 'd love thee over all belief, Above all women and beyond all men." She strummed her lute. He listened, and then laughed, "God's life! our Dagonet might teach me sense, The folly that I am! – What? have I slept A sennight in the taking of the moon, Or danced, sleep-footed, with the forest fays? – One would imagine . . . No! . . . O silken Lust, O Wantonness! whose soft, voluptuous skirts Trail sweet contamination through these halls! O lawless Love, whose evil influence Haunts and parades Caerleon corridors! O Vanity and Falsehood, throned within The faithless Court, here is another soul, Fresh, fragrant, like a wild-flower of the woods, Ready and willing to be plucked and worn, And placed among those soiled and hothouse flowers, You long have worn, Isolt and Gwenhwyvar! The forest flower, innocent as yet, – The fairest, hence the more to be desired, The quickest, too, to wither, – whose sweet name Is Angharad! . . . Ho! page! my horse! my mail! – God's wounds! my horse! my arms! – I will away!" And many knights he pa**ed, nor saw; who asked What quest he rode. Inscrutable deeds behind His visor, and along his sullen spear Adventure bitter as a burning ray, Into the night he galloped with the stars. . . . . . . . And one lone night, two years thereafter, – lost Within a forest wilder than wild Dean; Where neither wind nor water shook the leaves, That hung as turned to stone above the moss And gra**, that wrapped the scaly rocks, d**h-dry, And barren torrents; where he had not found Or man or hut, or slot of boar or deer, Through miles and miles of lamentable trees And twisted thorns; beneath the autumn moon, – (Pale as a nun's face seen in cloistered walks) – Above dead tree-tops, like the rugged rock Of melancholy cliffs, he saw wild walls Of some vague castle thrust gray battlements And hoary towers, like a wizard's dream. Great greedy weeds and burrs and briers packed Its moat and roadway: at the very gate Weeds higher than a man; their ancient stalks Devoured with the dust and spider-webs, Or smothered with the slime where croaked the toad. And Peredur against the portal rode, And with his spear-point beat upon its bolts A sounding minute. But no wolf-hound bayed; Only dull echoes of interior walls And hollow rock that arched the empty halls. And once again his truncheon shook the gate And roused a round-eyed owl that screamed and blinked, Like some fierce gargoyle, on the bartizan; And from a crevice, like an omen, hurled A frantic bat. And then he heard a grate, Concealed within the gloomy battlements, Slide slowly; and a lean, gaunt, red-haired youth, Lit with a link, addressed him. And he saw That famine had sunk hollows in his cheeks, And fixed gaunt misery in mouth and eyes. "What knight art thou?" he asked. "And whence dost come?" – And Peredur replied, "First let me in. I am of Arthur's Court. Long have I ridd'n Through miles and miles of melancholy woods. The night begins to storm. And I would rest." Then said the youth, sad mirth about his mouth, "Rest shalt thou; yea: and since thou, haply, hast Fasted all day, thou shalt break bread with us." – Then he retired from the grated slide: Undid harsh chains and shot back stubborn bolts; And, stiff with rust, the snarling hinges swung. And Peredur rode armed into a court, Neglected, and pathetic with strewn leaves And offal, where the weed and wire-gra** Creviced with wisps the loose and broken stones: And overhead, around the mournful walls, Huge oaks thrust ancient boughs of mistletoe And withered leaves, whose twisted wildness seemed The beckoning arms of hunger, and the hands, Hooked and distorted, darkly threatening, Of murder; enemies that, pitiless, Had laid long siege to that old forest hold. And he dismounted. And in clanking mail Strode down the hall. And in the hall beheld Youths, lean and auburn-haired, around the hearth; Some eighteen of an equal height, and clad Alike in dingy garments that looked worn And old. And these were like to him who first Had bid him welcome. And they greeted him And took his arms; and bade him to a seat. And then an inner door flung wide; and, lo, Five maidens, like five forest flowers, came; Dark-eyed, dark-haired. Behold, the queen of these Was Angharad. Clad in a ragged robe Of faded satin that had once been rich. She looked at Peredur, and he at her: And with glad eyes once more his soul beheld The hair far blacker than the bird that wings Athwart the milk-white moon: the matchless skin, Inviolably white as wind-flowers blown Among the mighty gospels of the trees: And in her cheeks, the rose of maidenhood Red as round berries winter bushes dot The dimpled drift with under loaded boughs. She knew him not, or seemed to; or forgot To speak his name whenas she looked at him And, blushing, welcomed. And they sat and talked Until the night waxed late. And as they talked He marked that hunger had made hollow haunts Of all their eyes; and so he longed to ask, But courtesy forbade him. Late it grew, And late and later; and at last there came A knocking, and, as shadowy as two ghosts, Two nuns came gliding; sandalled silence in Frail footsteps, and pale caution on pale lips. One brought a jar of wine, and one brought bread, Six loaves of wheaten flour. And these said, "God bear us witness, Lady, this is all! Now is our Convent barren as thy board;" And so departed. And they sat and ate. . . . . . . . The wind upon the forest and the rain Upon the turrets. Had he heard a sigh Or was it but the echo of his own, Born of great weariness, that broke his rest? – A dream! a dream! – The autumn storm is on, And sows the wood with witchcraft, and the leaves Are chased by imps of darkness through the hail And hurling rain. The wind is wild with leaves. Again he slept. The rain among the trees, The wind upon the turrets. Had he moaned, Now that he lay awake and heard the wind Hoot on the towers like a green-eyed owl? The rain and wind. The night is black with rain. Within the forest like a voice the wind; And on the turrets, like swift feet, the rain. Now was he sure 't was weeping; and arose, And found her at his door; and took her hand, That like a soft persuasion lay in his. He felt long sobbings shake it. And he said, "Tell me, my sister, wherefore dost thou weep?" And Angharad, "Yea, I will tell it thee. – My name is Angharad. My father held An Earldom under Arthur, yea, the first In all his Kingdom: and this Castle, too, Was his with cantrevs to the west and east. When I was but a girl Earl Addanc met And loved me. Once, when hunting, he came here And sought my father and demanded me. He said he loved me, and would have but me To grace his bed and board, this Earl! But I – I did not love him, being but a child, My father's only child; I could not love. And so my father said this should not be. The Earl was wroth. I heard his furious stride Beneath my casement; double demons pinched His evil eyes and twenty gnarled his face. He cursed us ere he rode beyond our walls Then to Caerleon was I sent; and there Became a woman of young Gwenhwyvar, Until my father's d**h two years agone, When I returned, a Countess, to find war And Addanc here around beleaguered walls. So hath he stripped me of my appanage; Save this one keep, whose strength hath held out long, Manned by my foster brothers, brave and young, Strong to endure, but lacking still in arms; No match for knights like Addanc. Thou hast met The eighteen youths whose valor will not yield. But what avail their valor and their will Against hard hunger, now our larder lacks, And lacks the Convent, too, whereon we leaned? And Addanc comes to-morrow morn; the truce For our one day's deliberation done. If he prevail – the thought is like hot hands Here on my brain! – his oath is 'that the night Shall see me given over to his grooms.' " She wept with tremblings. Then said Peredur: "Go, dry thy tears, my sister. And this Earl – If he be early, call me not too late. Fear not. I will not go until my sword Hath crossed the sword of so much wickedness, And proved this base ambition. Go and sleep." . . . . . . . A morning gray with mist that gathered drops Of drizzle on the ever dripping leaves. And then the mist divided: ghostly mail, Spears and limp pennons, and the shadowy steeds Of shadowy knights and chieftains. And it seemed A host of phantoms come to lay dim siege To phantom walls whose warriors were ghosts. Afar a bugle flourished in the fog, Disconsolate; no echo of the wood To bear its music burden. To the moat Advanced a herald. And within the wall The grate was opened; and the gaunt-eyed youth Held parley with him: "How the Earl would make End of the long dispute to-day, and leave, 'Twixt three a single combat to decide." So Peredur bade arm him, and prepare His horse for battle; and bade give the Earl His answer for the Castle: "That one knight Would try the hauberks of the banded three." And he rode forth: and one rode up and scoffed, – A knight in russet armor with loud words, – "Small means to large results, forsooth! Thou boast! A vicious palate hath thy appetite That feasted long with hunger and must now Conclude the banquet with three d**hs! – Sir d**h, Here is thy d**h!" and hacked at Peredur A heavy stroke that gashed his chain camail. But, rising in stiff stirrups, ere he pa**ed, Two-handed swung the sword of Peredur, And helm and head of him who fell were twain, Halved like an apple. And the walls were glad. Then came another, clad in silver mail, As he were Galahad; and in the mist Glimmered like moonlight. And with levelled spear Demanded: "Whence and what art thou? this stroke Was never fathered by long fasting." – Then Quoth Peredur, "I am of Arthur's Court." – Then sneered the other with a mocking laugh, "A goodly service truly that of his, Since all his knights, whom I have met, have died!" – Quoth Peredur: "Thy falsehood choke thee dead! Within thy throat thus do I nail thy lie!" And at his gorget hurled his ponderous spear, Ere that one met him, spurring at full speed, Disdainful. And the desperate stroke of him Who had wrought havoc with the Table Round, Glanced shattering from the sloping shield, while he, Bent backwards o'er his saddle, rolled – his tongue Cleft at the root. And all the walls were glad. Now came a third: a black knight and a black Enormous steed. No words he wasted. But, The fierce spears splintered, from the baldrics burned Swift blades: and Battle held his breath a while To see the great shields rock beneath great blows, Oppose, deploy, as hilt to hilt they hewed At heaume and gorget. While the conflict dripped Between the splintered greaves from many wounds. Then Peredur, his whole strength wrenching at Unyielding shelter of his foeman's shield, Beat down his guard and smote. – And Addanc lay Beneath the son of Evrawc, whose swift hands Razed off his casque and laid a blind blade bare Across hot eyes, and set a heel of steel Upon his throat and said: "Thou coward curse! What woman wilt thou war with now? – 'Tis well Thy features are thus evil and might breed Nightmares among the kestrels, kites, and crows, Else hadst thou been, ere this, – so says my sword, – A head the shorter! and that head hung high Upon the highest battlement. What now! What wilt thou do for thy vile life? what now! Speak! or I smite! O thou base villainy, Out on thy ugly mouth! – Speak!" Cursing, he, A striken bulk, growled, "Let me live! And I, Upon my knighthood, swear that I will make Unto this woman, Angharad, returns For all her losses. Let me live." – And so The sword slid from his eyes and from his neck The heel. And he arose – to make in full Due restitution of her lands to her He had so robbed and hara**ed. And in time This was fulfilled. But Peredur remained, – For, to be near her and do for her Was all his happiness, – until the land Acknowledged her with all obedience. Her rights established, what more now remained To lend excuse unto his long delay? – And so he went to her, and led her from Amid her maidens, and bespoke her how "He would ride hence and would but say farewell." A while she gazed at him. And when she spoke The springs of tears seemed starting in her throat, Crystal and quivering. But with steady gaze, "Dost thou, my knight, desire then to go? Methought that thou wouldst tarry yet a while. – A little while. – Well hast thou fought for me." A moment was he silent; turning then, Ground iron strides along the lofty hall, And so returned with iron strides and said: "Ay, by my God! Who knows I have not fought For thee but still against thee. 'T is my curse, To love thee, love thee, love thee all these years! – I came not here to woo. Thou wouldst but laugh. – Haply thou hast forgotten me – thou hast! – Yea, hast forgotten, aye long, long ago, That son of Evrawc, Evrawc of the North, Who wooed thee once! . . . Hast memory of him yet? . . . Look in his eyes once more and say farewell." "My soul, my soul!" she said; "O my true soul! This shall not be, my soul!" – He heard her low Voice pleading softly, and, deep in his heart, New life leapt up, and sang in every pulse, "She loves me! yea, she loves me!" – And it seemed He heard her as men hear the voice of hope Upon despair's black brink; and see one star Bloom, like a lily with a heart of fire Throbbing within it, slowly out of night. Each syllable the petal of a flower, A rose of music, welcome as the star, The first the eve gives silvery utterance to; Or as the firstling bud, the wildwood rose, Dropped from the rosy lips of laughing Spring: – "I have remembered. Think'st thou I have not? – O son of Evrawc, thou who couldst not see, 'Neath bells of folly and a merry mask, A girl's dear secret through her tinsel acts. – Or was thy love but fancy? – Ah, too soon, I heard the vapid ending of a tale Coquetry had begun for other end. – But, if thou wilt, we can resume the tale; The beautiful story of true love. – Tell on! Tell on, my heart! Or have we reached the end? And is it wedlock? – Both were wrong. The one: Because his love was blind, impetuous, Nor saw the love that would have proved 't was love Not lust, before surrender. The other: that She sought for wisdom in the frivolous, And so made falsehood of her dearest truth, Deceived more than deceiving. – Wilt thou go?" He had no rhetoric to make reply: Only his arms about her, and his eyes Upon her eyes, and kisses on her mouth. Long time they stood. – Outside, the sunset flung Barbaric glory on the autumn wood. – And lifting up her face he said to her: "Hast thou thy lute still? Then come sing to me; That song again, that pleased me once so ill – Two years ago at parting. If it please No better now, straitway I will depart, And – thou with me. Yea, on one steed, if needs, We will ride forth together to the Queen, To old Caerleon, and King Arthur's Court; And Gwenhwyvar shall kiss thee and confess Thou art her loveliest flower, my own wild rose, And give thee to me who will wear thee here."