Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made available by the Iternet Archive.) A Hermit of Carmel And Other Poems By George Santayana New York Charles Scribner's Sons 1901 CONTENTS A HERMIT OF CARMEL THE KNIGHT'S RETURN. A Sequel to A Hermit of Carmel ELEGIAC AND LYRIC POEMS Premonition Solipsism Sybaris Avila King's College Chapel On an Unfinished Statue Midnight In Grantchester Meadows Futility Before a Statue of Achilles Odi et Amo Cathedrals by the Sea Mont Brevent The Rustic at the Play Resurrection TRANSLATIONS From Michael Angelo From Alfred de Musset: _Souvenir_ From Théophile Gautier: l'_Art_ CONVIVIAL AND OCCASIONAL VERSES Prosit Neujahr Fair Harvard College Drinking Song Six Wise Fools Athletic Ode The Bottles and the Wine The Poetic Medium Young Sammy's first Wild Oats Spain in America Youth's Immortality A HERMIT OF CARMEL SCENE.--_A ravine amid the slopes of Mount Carmel. On one side a hermitage, on the other a rustic cross. The sun is about to set in the sea, which fills the background_. HERMIT. Thou who wast tempted in the wilderness, Guard me this night, for there are snares in sleep That baffle watching. O poisoned, bitter life Of doubt and longing! Were death possible, Who would not choose it? But that dim estate Might plunge my witless ghost in grosser matter And in still closer meshes choke my life. Yet thus to live is grievous agony, When sleep and thirst, hunger and weariness, And the sharp goads of thought-awakened lust Torture the flesh, and inward doubt of all Embitters with its lurking mockery Virtue's sad victories. This wilderness Whither I fly from the approach of men Keeps not the devil out. The treacherous glens Are full of imps, and ghosts in moonlit vesture Startle the watches of the lidless night. The giant forest, in my youth so fair, Is now a den of demons; the hoarse sea Is foul with monsters hungry for my soul; The dark and pregnant soil, once innocent Mother of flowers, reeks with venomous worms, And sore temptation is in all the world. But hist! A sound, as if of clanking hoofs. Saint Anthony protect me from the fiend, Whether he come in guise of horned beast Or of pernicious man! If I must die Be it upon this hallowed ground, O Lord! [_Hides in the hut._ _Enter a young_ KNIGHT. KNIGHT [_reining in his horse_]. Rest, Albus, rest.--Doth the sun sink in glory Because he sinks to rise?-- Breathe here a space; here bends the promontory, There Acra's haven lies. Those specks are galleys waiting for the gale To make for Christian shores. To-morrow they will fly with bellying sail And plash of swinging oars, Bearing us both to where the freeman tills The plot where he was born, And belfry answers belfry from the hills Above the fields of corn. Thence one less sea to traverse ere we come Where all our hopes abide, One truant journey less to end in home, Thy mistress, and my bride. [_He dismounts._ Good Albus, 't is enough for one day's riding. Here shall our bivouac be. Surely by that green sward some brook is hiding To welcome thee and me. Yes, hark! Its laugh betrays it. Graze thou there, Nor fear the camp's alarms. [_Lets the horse go and turns_, _perceiving the cross on the hillside._ See where a cross, inviting me to prayer, Outspreads its sacred arms. O first of many that mine eyes shall see On altar, tomb, and tower, Art thou the last of crosses come to me Before my guerdon's hour? Or first or last, and by whatever hands Here planted in the wild, Hail to thee, cross, that blessest in far lands Thy champion and thy child. [_Goes up to the cross and kneels before it. The angel of the Lord appeared to Mary And she conceived of the Holy Ghost._ [_Continues silently._ HERMIT [_from within]._ All's quiet. God hath made the danger pass. [_Comes out._ Nay, hold! A horse without a rider here? Perchance a devil, come, if I should mount him, To gallop with me into yawning hell. Yet he looks gentle, munching the young grass, The tempting bridle looped about his neck. I will go catch him. When the traders pass-- And they pass after Christmas--I will barter The beast for a good cloak. The winter's blasts Are on us. KNIGHT. _Behold the handmaid of the Lord._ _Be't done to me according to thy word_-- [_Confutes silently_. HERMIT. A voice! A Christian voice! Some winged angel Floats through the ether, magnifying God. Merciful heaven! There, ay, there he kneels Before the cross I planted. 'T is the cross That to earth brings down heaven. Yes, Saint Michael, For he is clad in arms, and his casque fringed With the bright nimbus of his golden hair. Yet he seems wingless; if he stirs a limb The heavy armour clangs. No angel, surely; Rather Saint George, with steed and magic lance Returned to fight against the infidel. KNIGHT. _And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us. [Continues silently._ HERMIT. Listen! they speak my native tongue in heaven. Those are the words my sainted mother spake-- Nightly she crooned them, teaching Palmerin His orisons. [_The_ KNIGHT _rises._ Come, shall I challenge him? No: I am foul. I will hide crouching here And spy him as he goes. KNIGHT. What stirreth there? [_Pushes a branch aside._ HERMIT [_falling on his knees]._ Have mercy, glorious Saint! a sinful man Lives in this hovel; no man's enemy Except his own. Sir, spare an anchorite. KNIGHT. Fear nothing, holy man. I am a Christian Although no saint, but sinful more than thou Who in the desert livest near to God. My sword is stained with blood, my heart is rash, And if my youth is free from foul dishonour 'T is God's good mercies hedge my wayward days And marvellously guide me through the world. But thou art surely wise. In solitude The mind of the Most High possesseth men, And they whom sorrow chaseth from the world Learn in their grief the purposes of heaven. God's hand appears in this, that here I find thee To shrive me, father. Many months I roam Through heathen wilds in sorry need of shrift. Who knows if in some luckless fray to-morrow I bite the dust, or in that golden sea Perish unknelled and far from Christendom? A soldier's soul should be like his bright blade Ready to unsheathe. HERMIT. O music of high thoughts! O harmony of long-forgotten words! Fair visitation! In her youth the soul, Gathering, the heavy heritage of Adam, Looks with strange horror on her own abyss And on the stars, and her increasing knowledge Ever increaseth sorrow; yet with years, Touching the depths and wholly mortified, She sees her desert bloom with mystic flowers And sweeter smiles of God. O mortal bosom Both in foreboding and in hope beguiled! Not where I fancied in my night of trouble Dawns comfort on mine eyes, but wondrously. Whence earnest thou? Tell me what princely house And fruitful country bred and nurtured thee. KNIGHT. 'T is not a fruitful land. On heathered hills My father fed his flocks. We gazed not down On vineyard slopes and waters blue as these But there a sea of swaying tree-tops spread Boundless beneath us, without path or tower, Save where beside the river's bend the monks Had built their cells and cleared the wood away. We called it milking time when we could hear The distant music of their matin chimes. HERMIT. Be your monks rich? KNIGHT. Their fields are ploughed and brown But the poor upland shepherd has no corn; His flock must feed him with its milk and flesh, Unless he snare a partridge in the wood As I did oft, or standing in the brook Where the green water eddies in the pool Enmesh the foolish fishes. HERMIT. Never shepherd Could bear these arms or show this courtesy. Where wast thou bred, if thou wast born a hind, That thou art gentle? Who hath knighted thee? KNIGHT. The Baron of the Marches is my liege; To him I owe my nurture and my sword, And the sweet hope that leads me. HERMIT. Ah, the faith? KNIGHT. Nay, that my mother gave me with her prayers, Saintliest of women. HERMIT. Thy mother and my own Were then alike. Hast thou another hope Sweeter than faith to thank thy master for? KNIGHT. He hath a daughter for whose hand I serve, Having her love; and on the happy night When I kept vigil o'er the virgin arms In which I should be knighted at the dawn He promised me her hand, if I proved worthy In five years' service. At the morrow's mass When we had both partaken of the Lord, I knelt before him, and while all his vassals Stood in a ring about us, up he rose And with his flat sword struck my shoulder thus, Speaking these words, now graven on my heart: "Arise, Sir Knight, to battle with the world For God and honour. If in youth thou fall, May thy bright soul take instant wing to heaven, But if thou blazon on this argent shield Valorous deeds, and come in safety back, Thy worth shall stand in lieu of ancient blood, For valour was the first nobility, And with the blessing of a hapless man Whom three brave sons, reversing nature's sentence, Condemned to mourn them, I will then deliver My daughter to thy hands. She and her honour, My lands, my castle, and my name be thine." Love is the hope, sweeter than faith in heaven, For which I toil in arms. Enough of that. Methinks thou art a priest, and ere I leave thee I fain would make confession of what sins Lie on my soul. HERMIT. God knoweth what they are, And hath, methinks, forgiven them already, For by the candour of thy looks I know Thou livest in his grace. But tell them o'er, For by the speaking of a word the heart Is lightened of its burden: and the Lord Commissioned us to listen in his name To all men's woes, and counsel and forgive. Therefore say on. KNIGHT. Alas, where all is frail I know not with what sorrow to begin. If I could keep the thought of God alive I might live better; but my wit is loose And wanders into silly dreams awake, All to no purpose. Everything that stirs Sets me athinking of its life and ways And I forget my own. If a frog jump, Or busy squirrel run across my path, Or three sad crows fly cawing through the wood, Or if I spy a fox's trail, or print Of deer's foot in the mould--off go my thoughts And I am many leagues in fairy land Before I shake away the lethargy And say to my weak soul, Thou art a knight, What hast thou done to-day? HERMIT. Be these thy sins? KNIGHT. Nay, not the chief. For in all exercise, Or when in any test or feat of arms I meet another, not the worthy cause, The thought of God, my liege, or beauteous mistress Strengthens my arm, but the mere rage and pride Of the encounter sweeps my soul along, And win I must, whatever goal it be, When I am once engaged. That's in the blood. So were our heathen fathers wont to fight Merciless battles. But glory is the Lord's Who metes with measure. Still I stumble there. And envy, too, I often sin in that, For from my childhood up I never brooked A swifter runner, or a quicker eye To hit the mark, and what another does Better than I, that still I strive to do Till he be worsted. Else I cannot sleep. HERMIT. Thou knowest, child, that victory is God's To give and to deny. He gives it thee: 'T is proof of thy deserving. Use it well, Which if thou do, to crave the victory In thee, a soldier, is no grievous sin. But hast thou not more special sins than these, No wrong, no murder? KNIGHT. Murder have I none, If murder be to kill a man by stealth Or in a private quarrel, but in war I oft have slain my man. I wear a sword Though nature gave me not a butcher's hand That loves to use it.--Oh, 't is marvellous How men will slaughter for the sake of blood, And Christians too. Before I crossed the sea, The Margrave fought a battle in the north Against the heathen. I then followed him, And when the fight was over and the foe, Routed, had fled into a deep morass Black 'neath the splendours of a fiery sky, The bugle called us back: and back I rode, My shield slung on my back, my visor up, Saying the Angelus, such peace there was Beneath the twilight heavens, when a groan That seemed the ending of a soul in pain Made me look down; there lay a heathen knight, And on his wounded breast a Christian crouched, Stabbing him still; I snatched the villain's sword, But just in time, and seized him by the throat Amazed, and loud with oaths; "Thou slave," quoth I, "Why wilt thou send a valiant soul to hell, That might be saved for heaven? The man is mine. Take thou his armour, if some happy chance Have made thee victor. But outrage not the cause Which thou wouldst well defend." We stripped the man, Whose gaping wounds were deep and hard to staunch With the few strips remaining of my tunic Torn in the fight; and as he could not sit, We needs must lift and bear him in our arms Back to the camp. He was a knight indeed, And when, his fever passing, I explained Our holy faith--(our chaplains spoke not well His northern tongue)--he listened open-eyed As a child might, and when I stopped and asked, "Dost thou believe?" he gazed and said: "I do. As thou believest, so in life and death Will I believe."--So humble was his soul And open to the sudden grace of heaven. Yet him my Christian ruffian would have slain To see the red blood ooze. 'T is pitiful! And yet I do him wrong. The fellow came The morning after, shy, with heavy looks, And said he begged to bring the armour back. It was not his, he had not felled the knight But found him on the ground; and when I bade him Retain the proffered sword, to use it better, He sobbed aloud, and bathed my hands in tears, So hearty was his grief.--But I confess Another's sins, good father, and forget My own, which I should tell of. HERMIT. Trouble not To tell them over, for I know them now. They are the same which seen in other men The world calls virtues. But one vice there is Which noblest natures in their youth are prone to. Hast thou offended against chastity? KNIGHT. Ah, father, I am guilty too in that, If whosoever looketh on a woman Unholily, already hath committed Adultery in his heart. 'T is in my thoughts, Perhaps, that I have sinned; but I am young, And have from childhood loved one noble maid. All other faces are but mirrors to me Of what she is in truth. When others smile And seem to say that haply they could love me, My heart yearns to them, yet its yearning goes Like incense past a picture, to her spirit. They are memorials of her I review To make me constant. Nay, but that's not all. A heavy season comes,--I know not whether At waxing or at waning of the moon,-- When but the babble of a girlish voice Heard from a window, or a hand stretched forth, Or a chance motion, stops the beating heart Here in my breast, and melts my very soul, And I stand there bewitched, my brain benumbed, And nothing in me but the fell desire To do I know not what.--'T is dreams, dreams, dreams, And they are evil, treacherous, and base When they come so. One day on every side They girt me round. I cried to them "For shame!" They would not go nor quit tormenting me Till I put spurs into my steed, and rode, Rode with clenched teeth, hacking all branches off Within my axe's compass. When I stopped My soul was free: "We have outridden them, Albus," I cried, "the demons of that place Of foul enchantment! Here's the blue again Smiling upon us, God, and all his saints." Father, methinks the agony of death May happen so. A stifling darkness comes Upon the feeble soul, and doubtfully She keeps her strength alive on far-off hopes In that great stress of anguish. But it passes And slowly we awake in paradise. HERMIT. In paradise, my son, when thou awakest If I still suffer in the lake of fire Make me some prayerful alms, who in the name Of God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost Absolve thee now. KNIGHT. And for my penance, father, What lay you on? HERMIT. Three _Aves_ for three days Say for the soul of one unlike thyself Though of thy country. Robbers bore him thence Into their kingdoms. Hast thou never heard Tell of the hordes that ravaged Christendom Ere thou wast born, belike. KNIGHT. Nay, I remember. 'T was then my mother brought me from the hills To dwell beside the castle, for the Huns Had slain my father and my elder brother And driven the sheep away. HERMIT. The Huns? The Huns? KNIGHT. Ay, when they ravaged all the land about Upon their western march. HERMIT. They slew thy brother? Thou sawest his body? KNIGHT. Nay, we saw it not. We fled, and many fearful weeks were past Ere we returned to search. HERMIT. The Lord is great. Thy brother's name was-- KNIGHT. Damian. HERMIT. God of mercies, What shall become of us! KNIGHT. Thy gaze is fixed. What ails thee? Rest thee there. HERMIT. I cannot speak. I faint. Since dawn I have not tasted food. A draught! A morsel! Ah, my end is near. KNIGHT. I have a panier by my saddle-bow With food.--Albus has wandered down the glade.-- I shall be here anon. [_Exit._ HERMIT. What bodes this portent? My practised soul well knows the things of earth, And there is none like this. Impossible. This is some essence metaphysical, And not the thing it seems. So much is sure; But whether fiend or minister of grace How shall I know? Is he a subtle demon And wins my ear? I am the devil's pawn. Is he an angel and I put him by? Then I am damned for that. All other sins Shall be forgiven, save such blasphemy Against the Holy Ghost. And being dead Might not my brother's spirit come from heaven? And though I be unworthy in my sins Of saintly visitation, I believe This vision is from God. 'T is beautiful And clothed in Christian speech and charity. Was not Mount Carmel, Lord, thy haunt of old Where men went up to meet thee? Show thy face. The Apostles at Emmaus knew the Lord When he broke bread. Blind heart, an angel comes To sup with thee to-night. Misknow him not. The ravens of Elijah, who were black, Came from the Lord, and Raphael himself Who led the lost Tobias by the hand Was black beside this vision's loveliness. Yea, by its glory pale the three bright strangers That from the desert came to Abraham's tent In figure of the blessed Trinity.-- What am I raving? Am I Abraham, Tobias, or Elijah, that the gods Should visit me? Did not the artful devil Come to Saint Anthony in beauteous form? When first this ghost approached I dreaded him,-- A certain sign. Yet by his subtle wiles, Flattering my earthly hopes, he vanquished me And quieted my doubts--as if Beelzebub Could not feign piety to murder souls! What, my young brother, whom I counted dead, Found in this shape, a knight, a Paladin, A vision such as minstrels sing about? Palpable lie, abominable snare The demon mocks me with! Let me but cry, "I am thy brother, I am Damian," Let me but clasp his knees and with a flood Of joyful penitential childish tears Water his feet, and then look up again To drink the grace of his benignant eyes And by his kiss be healed in soul and body, And I shall see the grinning demon's self And feel that icy manacle, his claw, Clasping my wrist for ever. "Thou art damned, Damned," shrieks the fiend, "damned in believing lies, Damned in renouncing for a dreamful joy Thy solitude and penance. Thou art damned." Yes, 't is a hellish plot confronts me here. A knight, my brother, come to comfort me! 'T is madness and wild dreams.--Again he comes. His gesture says, Here's food. Pitiful heaven, Assist me now. Let me not now be lost. Suffer my vigils and perpetual fasts To strengthen my resolve. To be so happy Were rash, and ah, how vain! To drown their sorrow Fools barter heaven for a drunkard's joy. [_Re-enter_ KNIGHT. KNIGHT. Drink this. 'T is water from the virgin springs Of Carmel, pure and cold. Stains of the world That leave the heavens clean leave earth's own heart Immaculate. 'T is but her outer garment That man and roving beast avail to smear. The curse of Adam stops at living things And Nature sleeps untainted. There is healing In such a fountain draught. Taste of this bread. Acorns I also bring and well-dried figs. Take freely: there is plenteous store for both. For often as I ride a village through Or tighten as I start from hostelries My horse's girth, the hospitable dame Or her young daughter brings me something forth From the rich larder, now a loaf or fowl And now a goat-skin full of seasoned wine. God prompts their kindly hearts and makes them bounteous Lest my strength fail me ere my journey's end, Who knows how distant yet.--Come, break thy fast. Remember, father, this is Christmas Eve When angels, joining in the songs of earth, Make mortals joyful, knowing their painful flesh Allied to deity. HERMIT. I crave no food. KNIGHT. Nay, nay, thy faintness called for it but now. HERMIT. Not hunger gave that cry but wonderment. KNIGHT. At my poor brother's name? HERMIT. Thy brother lives. KNIGHT. Where? Dost thou know him? In this Holy Land? HERMIT. Poor Damian of the Marches! Verily His sins are scarlet. Pray for him, fair Knight, But seek not to discover his abode. If thou should st find him he would die of shame For bringing shame upon thee. KNIGHT. Hast thou seen him Or is it slander of a gossip's mouth That now usurps thy tongue? If he be fallen He hath the greater need of charity And some late succour. HERMIT. Through long wanderings We never once were parted. In his youth I deemed him honest, loved him as myself, Nor doubted he should richly thrive and prosper Amongst the sons of men. But day by day The hand of opportunity unmasked The sleeping guilt within. Envy and greed, Pitiless malice, pride, and wantonness Started like lion's cubs that scent their prey And roared increasingly. Time drew aside Veil after veil that cloaked his villainy, Till looking on his stark and naked soul I stood aghast and trembled. KNIGHT. God, that made us, Engraved his sacred image in our hearts Deeper than cruel eyes may boast to pierce. Has not my brother too a priceless soul For which Christ died? Did God not ransom it? Yes, I will find him, lift him to my breast And say, "Forget the past. Thy home is here." HERMIT. Beware! Didst thou embrace him he would die, And he hath grievous penance yet to do Ere he be ripe for heaven. In purgatory The pains are doubly sharp and manifold With which our guilt is cleansed. Forbear to search. KNIGHT. This ministration is a task that heaven Now lays upon me. Hinder not his weal. What better battle could approve my courage Than in a brother's soul to fight despair? If I could bring that brother back to life Long dead to me, and dead, it seems, to God, Were't not a deed of Christian chivalry To win my lady by? Father, I pray thee, Where is my brother now? HERMIT. A mystery Enshrouds his penance. Vain to question more. A secret vow on which salvation hangs Lies between him and all men. KNIGHT. Marvellous! Where hath he roamed, what nameless sin committed That I may not embrace him? HERMIT. Listen, Knight, For I may tell thee that; and when thou knowest The sins he shrives and what his penance is, Assist him with thy charitable prayers To bear his cross, but lift it not away, For with it goes his hope of paradise. KNIGHT. There is indeed some mystery in this. The pain of it doth weigh upon thy soul Even in the telling. HERMIT. Did his own pale lips Read from the branded tablets of his heart The record of his sorrows, they could never More truly speak than I, for all his woes I knew, and inly felt them as my own. Would that some ruffian knife had gashed his throat On that foul day of slaughter, when thy mother Bore thee afar to safety. Ah, how near Salvation hung that day above his head! But wondrously, as Isaac once was spared, Some voice he heard not stayed the murderous hand, Then dealing death abroad; and from that mercy The dreadful brood of all his torments sprang. They bound his wrists with painful twisted thongs And drove him with the flocks and captive women Into their camp, across the smouldering heaps Of burning rubbish and through sulphurous fumes. That night he found him tied behind a cart-- The crawling palace of that savage chief Whose greed had saved him. Shivering he stood, For they had stripped him, through the starlight hours, And found no piteous orb less bright above him For looking on his grief. Alas, his soul Entered that night into the maze of hell. For gazing on those stars and on the corpses Of all he loved and knew, mangled and bare, Upbraiding heaven with their lidless eyes, And heaven's eyes still smiling back at them, He said to his cold heart, "There is no God." And when the rosy dawn with jocund seeming Gilded the valley as if naught had chanced, He, like the morning, banished grief and love, And in his vain and cruel heart repeating "There is no God," arose to greet the sun. They took him to a village by a stream, And in the market sold him to a Jew, A long-robed man, who stroked thy brother's hair-- 'T was flaxen then and silken as thy own-- And chuckled as he hurried him away Into a galley, by the margin moored. They voyaged long, until they reached a vast And splendid city. Egypt's sunken shore Stretches behind it, and before its walls Pharos, by day a pillar and by night A flaming beacon, greets the mariner. 'T is Satan's capital. If holy men Have dwelt within it, teaching all the Church, That was of old. Now Saracens and Jews Possess it wholly. There no Christian thrives, But every monstrous and lascivious crime Findeth a palace or a den to hide it. There did thy brother waste his youth, a slave, And no unwilling service did he render To every base command. His shepherd's skin, Ruddy with mountain suns, they smoothed with unguents, And bleached in pillared courts; they shaved his hair, Forbade him labour, save to hold a torch While his young masters read, or at the banquet To mix the lucent sherbets with the snows Of Sinai's deepest gorge, or in the censer To drop large incense-grains. He learned to sing What songs of wine their ribald poets penned, And all the witch of Lesbos raved of love. The lute and timbrel in his skilful hands They loved to place; oft in their languid souls His wild chant roused some savage memory And their hearts leapt like leopards in the night That prowl through broad Sahara. His delight Was henceforth the choice morsel, the fat fee, The subtle theft. He brought the gossip home From the loud market, lest his lord should yawn The morning long beneath the barber's hands, Nor praise his wit and to the tittering group Repeat his story. In the brothel streets He ran sly errands, nor escaped in fear If as he passed some wife of Potiphar Plucked at his tunic. His best art it was To know the cunning mixture of good wines And poisons too, if some adulterous slave Or long-lived uncle or importunate brother Needed a poison.--Close about his soul This bitter flood of luxury crept up Until it choked him. He forgot the past And blushed to be a Christian. Their vain prayers He learned to mutter, and was circumcised. Thrice in the day, and dawn and noon and eve, He washed his feet and hands, a foolish rite That left the soul still foul. Twice seven devils Lodged in his body and tormented him, And lust pursued him when all ways of lust Were stale and sickened. But there came an end. For by the flesh as he had chiefly sinned, So in the flesh he had his punishment. Ulcers and boils, to make another Job, Thickened upon him, and his beauty gone, They drove him like a pest from all their gates Among the lepers. Then he called on God. Then he remembered all he once had heard But understood not touching Calvary; And rising up, all naked as he was, He plucked the stout stem of a bramble-bush To be his palmer's staff, and with a rag That once had been the blanket of a mule Girded his loins, and stalked into the wild. KNIGHT. And whither, father, whither did he go? HERMIT. Mount Sinai first received him, on whose crests The Lord in the beginning reared his throne, And from whose spurs and watered crevices The children of Saint Anthony for ever Pour praise and supplication. There he dwelt, Recalling to his troubled memory The precepts of the faith; but from those haunts He journeyed soon to deeper solitudes. KNIGHT. Then he repented and is surely saved? HERMIT. God grant it, son, God grant it for thy sake. 'T is not a day can change the heart of man, Though grace doth much. The ancient demons lurk Still in their dark recesses, and at night, Or in the idle moments when the soul Breathes 'mid her travail, suddenly assail. In the vast wilderness the starving eye Spies many shapes that feed its lust. To me The buzz of bees, the lizard's sunny sleep, The snake's lithe coils are full of languishment. Oh, how the base blood then assaults the heart Crying, "Fool, fool, what were the life of heaven Unless in heaven too the sun were warm And the blood rose and all the passions flared, Even as in worms compact of earth and fire That lecherously writhe? Their goads and stings Are in thy flesh, why not their ravishment?" They are strange shapes the devil sometimes takes. There was a vine that crept along this wall, Ancient and knotted; far its branches spread And with their leafy greenness made a bower Over my cell. The juicy clusters hung Not far above me, and the little birds Chirped in the sun-flecked tangle all day long, Hopping from twig to twig and carolling. I sat and listened, and methought they said: "Bad hairy man, thou only in this world Repinest, hater of thyself and us, Thou art all nature's single enemy." And with a doubt that cleft my heart in twain I sat and pondered what they sang to me. Then I looked up into the sunlit maze Of that old vine, I breathed its subtle scent, I watched its spotted shadows shift and change With gusty murmurous tremblings of its leaves And eager tendrils, curling through the air, Until it seemed as if the thing had life And was a devil stooping over me With the obsession of his purring breath Wooing me to perdition. But I laughed, For I had dealt with imps of hell before. I searched the stubble till I found two flints, Sharp and with something like a cross upon them, And straight about the vine's outspreading roots Began to dig. A week, methinks, I dug With secret joy, well knowing that in vain The demon thought to ripen all his grapes. His filthy roots, now dangling in the air, Dried in the sun. In August fell the leaves, And the dead branches with the autumn's flaw Rotted and broke; now, see, they feed my fire. And when the Spring returns no silly birds Will fret me with their singing. God be praise That I could balk that devil: long he mocked My lonely penance with his evil eye. But others come anon; and what I suffer 'T is very like thy brother suffers too. KNIGHT. I cannot think so, father. Thou art weak And long hast laid the hopes of youth aside. Thou canst not love. My brother still is young-- HERMIT. Alas, if grief had multiplied his years! KNIGHT. He yet can love, and any natural voice Of wood or mountain, or perchance my own, Might wake in him another better life Of peace and happy hopes. We love the forest, We who were nurtured in its magic depths. Oft has it seemed as if God spoke to us In the low voices of the prayerful boughs That whisper nighest heaven. HERMIT. This false world Is naught, my son, but what we make of it. KNIGHT. Then I must think my brother loves the woods And hears God's message in their murmuring. Had he dwelt here, a hermit like thyself, He would have suffered that old vine to grow And those blithe birds to sing. 'T is positive, Else other blood than mine must fill his veins. Oh, I will find him yet.--I leave thee, father. Thou hast with heavy tidings and great hope Burdened my soul. Now I must journey on. I pray, thy blessing. HERMIT. Kneel, thou happy stranger, Kneel, for a vision comes into my heart And I must prophesy. Thus saith the Lord: "Thou shalt not know thy brother upon earth; My will forbids. But thou shalt pass him by, And as Saint Peter's shadow healed a man, The passing of thee, by my grace and mercy, Shall save thy brother's soul." This comfort take And go thy ways. KNIGHT. The will of God be done. If not on earth, we yet may meet in heaven. HERMIT. God grant it. KNIGHT. May God keep thee. HERMIT. Fare thee well. KNIGHT [_sings as he goes_]. _The star stood still o'er Bethlehem_ _That showed the wise the way_, _And where the shepherds sleeping lay_ _The angels sang to them:_ _Glory be to God on high_ _And peace on earth to men._ HERMIT. Lord of Mount Carmel, hearken to my prayer. God of the hills, accept my sacrifice. THE KNIGHT'S RETURN A SEQUEL TO A HERMIT OF CARMEL SCENE.--_A wooded lawn before the gate of a castle. In an arbour_ LADY FLERIDA _and_ NURSE _at their handiwork._ NURSE. The dews will soon be falling, Flerida. Come in, sweet lady. FLERIDA. Hush! 'T is early yet. NURSE. 'T is time, methinks, to say the rosary. FLERIDA. See the sun hanging o'er the darkened hills Bright as the Host above the multitude Of bending worshippers! Tell thy beads here, The congregation of these rustling leaves Will answer all thy _Aves_ patiently. NURSE. I 've dropped a stitch. I cannot see to work 'Neath trellises. These gentlefolk are mad. The mistress of a castle sits without, Like a poor homeless beggar! FLERIDA. Nay, go in And burn thy rush-light while the sun is shining, Or, by the casement squinting, knit thy hose While in these gilded clouds the seraphim Are singing Glory. Go, I follow thee. NURSE [_getting up to go_]. Alack, this rheum. Young bones will brave the cold Till the twitch comes.--Trust me, 't is hazardous, Sweet child, to tarry here beyond the moat Alone, when evening falls. Once at thy age My mother sent me on a night like this To good old Prior Bennet, at Saint Giles. He was her uncle and a saintly man-- How well do I remember his grey beard!-- She went to him for shrift, and on that day She had a fainting turn: she had them oft Till in the last, poor sainted soul, she died. I needs must run and fetch him, for to die Unreconciled was all my mother feared, And but for that, she had so hard a life She would have changed it any day for heaven, And on the way ('t was scarce a rood from home) An idle foul young lout that sauntered by Griped at my frock--I tremble at it still-- Thank God, the Virgin willed that at the trice Friar Peter (he was porter all that month) Opened the gate to let two pilgrims out, Bound, as they told us, for Jerusalem. Else Heaven knows what had become of me, Or whether I had ever had the face To cheat my husband, as most wenches do, Without confessing aught: for I am honest If ever woman was. FLERIDA. Go in, go in. NURSE. Seest thou not I go? Can I make haste With these poor aching joints? Thou think'st thee safe? Remember Ulric in his dungeon plans Vengeance upon you, and his friends abroad Hatch plans for his deliverance. Thou a maid, An orphan, friendless, with these ill-paid men Guarding thy walls, what dost thou fading here? Who knows but he is dead, thy pretty knight? His time is up. Were he alive and true He had spurred home, hearing thy father's death, To claim thee and make good his heritage. Fie on this fondness, girl! It had been wiser To yield to Ulric. Was it not his place To guard thee? Led he not thy father's men? Ah, better be his wife, rich, safe, and loved, Than wait for ever among enemies For what will never come. FLERIDA. Poor soul, go in. The five years are not passed, and if they were And I had ocular proof that he was dead, Ulric should not be master in these walls. But I should open arches in the tower For bells to swing in, and the grass should grow Upon the buried hinges of the draw. Veiled we should walk within the garden-close, And in the dimmed hall chant our psalmodies With the frail voice of nuns. So get thee gone, And summon better counsel to thy heart Than quavers on thy lips. Go light thy taper, And pray for the safe-coming of thy liege. NURSE. I go. But thou, sweet lady, linger not. The victuals will grow cold, as many a night They have, since summer makes the twilight long And thou com'st late to supper.--Ah, poor bones! [_Exit._ FLERIDA. Day wanes: full summer's hanging in the air. Oh, tarry not, my own. See! the first withered leaf is fallen there And I am here alone. Hath not my sorrow magic o'er thy breast? Hath not my weary plight The wings of love to fly into thy nest And reach thee in the night? Come to me, Palmerin. Thy trial's o'er, Thy knightly vow fulfilled. Come before winter chokes the ways, before My inmost soul is chilled. Where dost thou wander? From what lonely moor Dost thou salute this sun? Forget'st thou in gay courts what I endure? Lov'st thou some happier one? Weak woman! Can my doubting heart not wait While his true heart can fight? Why should I falter while he fronts his fate, Or mourn while he doth right? Keep him, great world, till the white shield he bore Be blazoned rich in pride. Fear not to echo, deserts, he's no more, If he have nobly died. _Re-enter_ NURSE; _later_ HUGH, _a page._ NURSE. Run hither quickly, mistress. Hasten in And bid them raise the bridge. Some horsemen climb The western hill. Make haste, or all is lost. Young Hugh espied them from the northern tower, And gave us warning. FLERIDA. Heaven hears my prayer. NURSE. Madness. Come in. I prithee hasten, Hugh. She 'll take thy word, though she mistrusts my oath Who never lied to her in all these years That I have served her, and her mother, too, Long before she was thought of. Speak, boy, speak. Assure thy mistress that a host arrives. HUGH. A single knight, my lady, clad in arms. FLERIDA. Young, with fair locks? HUGH. He had his helmet on. FLERIDA. Saw'st thou his shield? HUGH. It bore a rich device. But what I know not. FLERIDA. Came he mounted well? HUGH. Right well, on a white steed. But at the turn Dismounted, and now leads the charger up. NURSE. O God, 't is he! I know him by that sign. He always did so. [_A bugle is heard in the distance._ FLERIDA. God be my strength! Answer the bugle, Hugh. Thy master's call. It is Sir Palmerin. Again, again.--Summon the men-at-arms And fetch my father's sword, his helm and shield, That, with the great keys, I deliver them To him whose right they are. [_Exit_ HUGH. The day is come, Merciful God, the day is come at last. NURSE. Runnest thou not to meet him? Flyest thou not? Oh, if I could, I'd rush to kiss his hands Full half-way down the steep. Alas! these bones. FLERIDA. I, who have waited for him five long years, May well be patient now. Here let him find me Where last we parted, at the castle gate. _Re-enter_ HUGH, _men-at-arms, and attendant, bearing some pieces of armour._ NURSE. Oh, I must weep for joy! See, where he comes, Not so much changed but I should know him still Among a thousand. Such a pretty child As the knight was, and such a roguish boy! Can this be Palmerin? Who could have fancied That he should ever be this stalwart man? _Enter_ SIR PALMERIN, _who, seeing the lady_ FLERIDA, _who remains motionless, goes to kneel before her._ PALMERIN. Lady, hast thou forgotten Palmerin? FLERIDA. Were memory dead, that voice would waken it. PALMERIN. What mean these weeds, these arms? FLERIDA. That thou, my liege, Art master in this castle. PALMERIN. Ah, thy father-- How long have we been orphaned, Flerida? FLERIDA. Ten moons have shed their light upon his grave. PALMERIN. Oh, more than father-- FLERIDA. And thou more than son Wast ever to him. He remembered thee With his last breath, and bade me, when thou earnest, Render his arms, his vassals, and his towers Into thy hand. My lord, receive the keys. [_Kneels_. PALMERIN [_raising her_]. How gladly, if these keys unlock thy heart, Dear lady. For my prize is not these walls, Nor these stout men and honourable arms. 'T was not for them I served the Emperor In many a battle waged in heathen lands. 'T was in the hope of what no strength of arm Nor kingly favour, without grace of thine, Could win for any man. If thou canst love me, I take all else to do thee homage with; But if thy heart, in my long absence won By some more worthy suitor, would withdraw, Keep the rest too, for to be wretched in I have this whole vast world for heritage. FLERIDA. My hand and heart my father plighted thee Upon the morning when he dubbed thee knight. Both shall be true. If other ground were lacking, My father's choice were ground enough for love. PALMERIN. Nay, let not duty and thy father's will Force thee to wed me. Bid thy heart pronounce. FLERIDA. A holy love is not the fancy's choice. A mother cherishes the child she bore, Nature's dear gift, bestowed with many a pang And weary vigil and sweet fluttering joy That flies over a sea of brooding care. A father is not chosen but revered, For God appointed him. 'T is destiny, And no man's wayward will, binds brothers, kindred, And childhood's friends in everlasting bonds. Our native land we chose not, nor our king, Nor our first sovereign, God. All sacred ties Are woven round us by the hand of heaven And therefore bear us up. Let homeless traitors Reject their lot, like fallen Lucifer Wretched 'neath every sky; let the false rabble Change with the moon its despicable chiefs; Let the vain fop and goaded libertine Pick their poor pleasures, and adulterous spirits Pursue a phantom down the drifts of hell. But we will breathe the air that quickened us And see by this same light that gave us eyes, Here rooted where God sowed us, flowering here Where we have grown, making our constancy A pivot for this wheeling universe. Ah! 't is a fickle and unholy fondness Springs from caprice of will. Who doteth once May dote again, for who shall fetter fancy? As thou couldst bare thy breast to fortune's arrows Undaunted, for thy hope was all in God And life or death must crown it, so my bosom, Enshrining his good gifts, is satisfied And cannot speak again. Him heaven gave me Shall be my lord and my unchangeable love. PALMERIN. O constant lady! Let me then thank heaven, That graced me with the treasure of thy troth. Rejoice with me, my comrades. Say no more That time has parted us, and devious chances Governed our lives. How now, is this good Carl? And little Hugh, so grown? And thou, old gossip, Goes thy rheum better now the season warms? But where is Ulric? FLERIDA. Thou shalt know anon. First bid the people give us leave awhile. PALMERIN. Make ready, then; we follow you. [_Exeunt all save_ PALMERIN _and_ FLERIDA. Dear saint, Is this a vision or a waking truth In which I see thee, smiling on my hopes, As only visions smile on Jack-a-dreams? How often have I dreamt between two battles Thou stoodest thus above me in the dusk Half joy, half courage! FLERIDA. Haply't was my prayer, For prayer hath wings to travel in the night. PALMERIN. Didst thou remember FLERIDA. Not as others pray. What need of blessings to protest I loved thee, When benediction rose with every breath From my dumb heart to thee? Awake, adream, In woodland rambles or in household tasks, I moved in thy love's presence as in God's, One deity to me. PALMERIN. How undeserving, Fair angel, are my merits of thy love! How could I win it! FLERIDA. Ah, if God can love thee, Why should a mortal give a cause for love? PALMERIN. They say God loves us all. FLERIDA. Such pitying love Is his alone who knows the unsullied spirit Shrouded at birth beneath this fleshly coil, And can divine the stature of that virtue Each yet might climb to. But in thee declared Shine, Palmerin, the hopes of all the world. What God beheld and destined when he called thee Out of the void, he granted me to see First through the haze of maiden dreams and now With the deep glance of woman. PALMERIN. Then in sooth 'T was no vain fancy, as the learned say, That made thy silent presence cross my path Where'er I turned, for if I slept my dream Painted thy smile, and when the vision fled The sunlit fountain met me with thy gaze. If the birds chirruped, it was _Flerida_, And _Flerida_ if any minstrel sang. Thy mien was in the lilies, the thin clouds Contrived thy garments' fashion, and thy courage Breathed from the mountains to renew my soul. Nor was there need, for in these tables here Thy name, thy looks, thy words, thy noble ways Were graven deep, and, as the gaudy shadows Stalked by me which men take for beauteous thing, I laughed to scorn each feeble counterfeit, And cried to the sweet image in my soul How much more bright thou wast and beautiful. Little I thought the love that brought me blessing Brought sorrow here to thee. FLERIDA. If it brought sorrow That grief was consecrate and offered up To aid thy noble venture. 'T was my hope That thy young sinews in a dreamless sleep Might knit them for the battle, while my vigils Kept trimmed thy spirit's lamp; so might thy valour, Fed on my sorrow's riches, greet the morn With more unsullied and resplendent rays Than her own shining, and the wondering world Should praise
{'title': 'A Hermit of Carmel, and Other Poems by George Santayana', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}