Poems (Greenwell)/God's Singer
GOD'S SINGER
He bore a harp within his hand, And on his breast outspread The flower, that from the dawn to dusk, For love of one o'erhead. Still follows on a look, till all Its golden leaves are shed; Ye had not called him grave or gay, For old nor yet for young Ye had not known him; so he seem'd To be them all in one; And only in his smile ye knew The Singer ere he sung.
"A Name,a Name is in my heart, It bideth, hidden long, Because my hand hath not a chord That would not do it wrong; So pure is it, so sweet, unmeet For rounding of a song, Yet in the cleft, its honey left Hath made my spirit strong. "A thought, a thought is in my heart Though seldom on the string; I keep it, round all other thoughts Its sweetnesses to fling: Yea! were it not within my soul, Methinks I could not sing, Nor ever raise my voice in praise Of any other thing."
So sang he sweet, so sang he clear, and lift his look above, They said that listened, "Now he thinks of her, his ladye love;" But through the wood, where in the calm of summer's noon hung still And motionless each little leaf, there ran a sudden thrill.
He stood within a Castle's keep, A Castle that could wear—Stern looming o'er its rocky steep— As dark a frown as Care. Yet now it smiled, as one beguiled Of ruggedness through sleep, So sweet a sunshine on from tower To tower did flash and leap, And all the summer's noon did swoon About it, breathing deep.
On coigne and gurgoyle little heads In carven stone did seem To wink and peep, as they did creep From out some evil dream; And over each, on leaf and scroll, Strange words were writ, that seem'd to flit Within each mask, and be to it Interpreter of soul:"Sans Roi, sans Loi, sans Foi:" and there, Above the gate, a time-gnawed wreath And legend mouldered half away. Spoke fair to passer underneath:"Entres dans le Chateau des delices, et fais ce que boudray."
A fountain warbled, more it seemed In weariness than play; The birds sang loud, but not as in The forest depths sing they; Yet ringing clear above them all. Up rose the minstrel's lay, As freshly shook as when the brook Sang with him on his way.
The soft air lifted it on high, Through pleasant bower and hall, And ladies o'er the balcony Leant, holden in its thrall; It floated in above the din That rose within the Court,—The grey-beards paused above the cup, The gallants 'mid their sport; "Ha!" spake the Baron, "bring him in, The merry Jongleur! to the strings The wine will move, and dance within Our beakers while he sings."
As came the minstrel in the hall, He bore him high and free, Yet lowly bowed, as one long vowed To gentle courtesy. Then o'er his harp, with thought to claim A silence ere he sung,He passed his hand, as if to tame Each bounding chord that sprung Beneath it; as a loving heart, Now fretted, and now wrung. Must rise and fall unto the thrall That over it is flung; Then soft and low, as is the flow Of waters, to whose drip A child hath danced, his finger fine From string to string did slip,Till, gathered in a sudden shower, The spray-drops glanced and flew As light as when, 'mid thick-wove boughs, The sunbeams trickle through.
And then, with firmer, bolder touch, he struck a deeper strain,And high amid the cloven hills, by thunder rift in twain, The swollen torrents leapt and sprang, and down the flashing rain
Poured in through ghastly rents, while swift, from giant hand to hand, Like arrows torn from fiery sheaf, the lightning's jagged brand,Flung careless on from peak to peak, lit up the startled land;
And then a swell, a rush as of broad rivers in their flow, Ran through it, and the forest shook with rustlings light, and low Smooth-sweeping winds, till underneath you heard the grasses grow.
And as the stormy waves withdrew, Disparting here and there The flood rolled backward, and to view The mountain summits bare Pierced upwards, till a world swept out Green, jubilant, and fair; Then clear the singer's voice arose Upon the freshened air.
He sang an old and simple tale, A sad and earnest song,Of things most frail that did prevail, Of weakest things made strong; Of tender Truth, that did not fail For time or change, and long Long suffered, rather than to give Content to suffer wrong; A song that hath been oft-times sung, A tale that hath been told Since first this world of ours was young, Nor with it groweth old; While human eyes keep tears to weep, And hearts have love to hold For friend or lover under sun, Or underneath the mould.
The matron on her Dais high, That held her place of pride, Turned, with a trouble in her eye, Her stately head aside; For through the music little feet Went moving, and the child That One who loveth souls took back, Unaltered, unbeguiled,With sweet voice small did seem to call Upon her name, and smiled. The Gallant drew his plumèd cap Across his brow, and sighed; A hand was clasped within his own, A step was by his side; A soft low voice he seemed to meet, Each whispered tone he knew; None since had ever been so sweet, Nor any since so true, For like a child, unto the hill Whence springs the rainbow, driven. His mind on many a glittering quest Since then had toiled and striven, Yet never had he touched again The point where Earth meets Heaven.
The grey-haired Seneschal, that leant Upon his staff apart, Felt somewhat trembling on his lip, And tightening round his heart,—A ruined shrine, that had not seen Its angels all depart; For now he felt his mother s kiss Upon his cheek, and heard—Oh! sound approved from lips beloved— Her fond and praiseful word. And as each aged fibre shook. And trembled to the strain. He heard the cawing of the rook,— He was a boy again! With glad feet plashing in the brook That wimpled onwards, fain Its shining boundary to trace, And clip his little world within Too small a space to leave a place For sorrow and for sin. And through each heart a pang shot strong, And on it darkly bore A sense of somewhat that had long Been lost, unmissed before; But now, to reach a guiding Hand, The Spirit groped and felt Across the void, and for the land It j^earned where once it dwelt; It longed to knit some broken troth, And then, as if it knew All good below is but the show And shadow of the true, Each thirsted sore to claim once more His birthright, and renew A higher 'legiance, whence the soul Had lapsed and fallen through.
And there was Silence, such as falls On one that, musing lone At midnight on a city's walls, Sees moonlight round him thrown, So heavenly fair, ere he is ware His inner sense hath grown More pure, and may not well endure To think on Pain and Sin, On all that shines so fair without That lurks so foul within Our mortal state, and ill can wait Those clearer Heights to win, Where never goodly thing goes out, Nor evil cometh in!
At length the Baron broke the spell: "Sir Minstrel! sorry cheer—For all thou playest deft and well— Methinks thou bringest here; So now, that ye have made us grave. Your penance I will choose To troll us out a joyous stave, As merry Trouveurs use,—A song of jest and gaillardise To wreathe about the cup, That, while we drain it, ladies' eyes May glisten from it up."
"Fain is my harp," the minstrel spake, "To bring you joy and ease,Yet would it break if I should take A strain on it like these: Its only skill is such to wake As may my Master please." "Thy Master!" then the Baron smiled A scornful smile and proud, "I did not deem ye brethren free To other service vowed Than flowing of the Malvoisie And largesse clinking loud." "Yea," said the Minstrel, "I am free, And yet a Lord is mine— A Service that is liberty, A Master who is Thine!"
Then sprang the Baron from his seat; "A priest without the frock! Now bind him, varlets, hands and feet. And fling him down the rock; For I have sworn, no hireling shorn Among their tribe should cross My threshold, but have cause to mourn His boldness to his loss."
"They bar against Thy priest the gate. Thy Singer passeth free,So hold me ever consecrate Thy Witness still to be." Thus, looking up, the minstrel spake. And, turning, went his way From out them all, and none did seek To hinder him or stay;—And as he passed beneath the gate, A bird was singing free,And from the chapel in the wood Rose vespers solemnly; And as upon the air serene His song ascended calm, Methought it filled the space between The Carol and the Psalm!