Complete works of willia.., p.532
Complete Works of William Morris, page 532
Of men-at-arms to meet them anywhere
Nigher than Sparta: but the Gods once more
Would not that all too quickly should be o’er;
For when the host was ready to set on
For very Sparta that all men deemed won,
The Arcadian prophets put forth omens dire
Nor would their folk move forth a furlong nigher
Despite the Captain;s prayers, toward the foe.
Then first gan Aristomenes to know
How one man fights against the world and dies
Winning great fame and many miseries.
Yet did the host with plenteous joy wend back
And in the Captain was there little lack
Of smiles for all, and sweet words: why should he
He thought foretell the coming misery
To such as these, a many would die first,
Though he should live to see his life accurst.
So at Ithome was there joyful day
At their returning.
Now would stay
Beside the Captain, and things turned out so
That he had leave his will herein to do,
And thereat glad his friend was for his part;
The young man’s eagerness rejoiced his heart
Old ere its time, in sombre manhood steeped
Its freshness with so many cares oerheaped,
Where day by day some bliss long cherished died
Some hope that once seemed fashioned long to bide.
Truce with Sparta: The Years Get Over.
Fair bloomed meanwhile Messenia’s hap brought back
No fortune now the freed land seemed to lack
For a long space: with the Arcadian aid
And a great host of men right well arrayed
Fared Aristomenes to meet again
The gathered might of these most stubborn men,
Whose good heart at the last did fail them now
When ugly omens did their prophets show
Upon the eve of battle; wherefore they
Made truce until three years should pass away;
And so to rest may all Messenia turn
And it may be before long come to learn
How wealth dulls courage.
But this time of peace
Brought little rest to Aristomenes
Who now must turn his eager heart to deal
with daily troubles of the commonweal;
Wherein, God wot, his heart would sicken oft,
So hard it seemed to bear the head aloft
Mid dull recurring waves of faithlessness,
And cruel folly; young he was no less,
Strong-hearted, and as day passed over day
No added weight he on his soul did lay
That he might scape; so he lived on his life
With calm heart waiting for the coming strife
Nor ill content that not too swift it came.
There dwelt too greedy after fame
Splendid of speech, devouring eagerly
Life as it passed lest too young he should die,
Hot-hearted, longing sorely for all praise
And amorous as the first of April days
Beloved in turn amid his youth’s fresh flower
By many a maid from sweet hour unto hour;
Deeming his friend scarce worser than a God.
And so the days each on the other trod
And months rolled into years: not over well
The truce was kept, and at the last men fell
To open war ere the three years were o’er
As though full fain to make peace never more;
Fierce fights there were, and it fell oft enow;
That neither side much glory had to show;
Defeats borne up against; sad victories
Where dead men lay as thick as autumn flies
For little gain; treachery, faint-heartedness
When courage most was needed – And no less
Than in the first flushed days of glorious strife
Was Aristomenes with all hope rife
In outward seeming; and in sooth, the land,
However buffetted on either hand,
Had still a name and place.
More years passed on
And from all people now had won
The good name Pthat he yearned for; brave and kind
He was, and in his presence would men find
Help against hard things; women loved him well
Of all his happy days twere hard to tell
And how sweet life still seemed to him: most men
Would turn a little grave and silent, when
The eyes or speech of Aristomenes
Came thwart their life; but unto all of these
Did seem most meet for every need;
Folk feared the Captain now; deemed him indeed
Wise, just, but hard; yea ready it might be
As the years changed, for needful cruelty,
Dark-souled they deemed him: but the other one
Across the dull path of the world had shone
A very light from heaven, so brave and true,
So soft e’en when the worst of folk he knew.
So of all men was well beloved
And many hearts of women had he moved
Een as I said; yet was it even so
That Aristomenes still failed to know
Amid his wisdom one thing strange to tell,
That scarcely ever when his feared glance fell
Upon fair women, did it fail to move
Their inmost hearts with thoughts of a sweet love
That brought no shame with it, and it was true
That children well the heart within him knew
Nor feared him though no smile should light his face:
Thrice it befell that in some open place
Mid a wild storm he was, then to the knees
Of this so dreaded Aristomenes
Trusting, unchid, the homely children crept
And unscared watched the lightning as it leapt
From heaven to earth, thinking that surely there
No need there was the Godmade threat to fear.
Men deemed it fair that clung so close
To Aristomenes, who yet might lose
The people’s love, they said, ere all was told;
So did keen eyes and clear the end behold!
The Dream of Glauce
Say that five years are worn by since the day
When Aristomenes first reft away
Peace from Laconia; at the very stead
Where those first wild defiant words were said
My tale deals now; there dwelt the widow still
Of the slain man: her barns the year did fill
With plenteous increase now, and rich she was
For ever had it chanced all war to pass
This side or that of her fair fruitful lands;
Nor had she had a trouble on her hands
Since that ill day long bygone. Still waxed there
That daughter, now a woman wondrous fair
Great-hearted by folks deeming, and most wise,
And yet a trouble to mens hearts and eyes.
So on this summer morn behold her go
About a garden-alley to and fro;
Fresher than are the daisies swept aside
By the fair wrought hem that her feet doth hide
Has she been wont to walk there; but today,
Yea for a many days, her eyen grey
Show heavy thoughts, and her fair brow is drawn
With memories of the slow-foot leaden dawn
When weary with wild longings of the night,
Empty of thought, she chid the lingering light.
She stayeth now, and with a languid hand
Plucks at the raspberry bramble & doth stand
Gazing with listless eyes upon the wealth
Of the full garden, till at last by stealth
Come through unnoted sound and scent & sight
Dear memories of her childhood’s fresh delight,
Which little by little draw her on to see
That summer morn, when, somewhat wearied, she
From out the murmuring scented place had turned
Into the court wherein the hot sun burned,
And so with slow feet reached the peopled hall,
Amid its coolness into dreams to fall,
That were dreams still, when those Messenian folk
With woe and wrong across her young life broke.
So now she stood awhile, and scarce, I deem,
Could have told out what things were in her dream
If one had asked her; yet therein indeed
Were images of war, and days of need,
Sick-hearted striving, utter loneliness,
That may not ask for any heart to bless
Its gain and loss; all this borne in such wise,
For such a glorious end, that men’s cleared eyes
When the worn heart rest’s, lonely still at last.
Behold a dead God from amidst them past,
And make long tales of it – her dream saw then
Another life apart from striving men
Listless and self-despising and alone
Till death should find it out with nothing done,
– What if a third dream swept in with the breeze,
That bore the scent of blossomed linden trees,
And fruits full ripe, unto her weary face,
Sometimes within her heart with these had place
A dream of eager life and happy rest
Lonely no more, still striving for the best?
– Whate’er she dreamed like dreams of sleep it was,
Unmastered by her, as her feet ‘gan pass
Once more between the lilies.
So she came
Unto a yew set place, and her own name
Seemed in the throbbing air, as dreamily
She sat her down beneath the darkest tree
And heavy with unrest sank back at last
Against the trunk and into real sleep past
And still in sleep her name she seemed to hear
Each time called louder, yet she might not stir,
Till like a shrieck throughout the place it rang
‘Glauce O Glauce!’ and she heard a clang
As of an armed man fallen, and upright
She stood awake again, the sudden light
Making the sweet place dreadful; but withal
She heard one close anigh her name out call,
And turning pale and trembling still she saw
Her fostermother through the dark boughs draw;
A woman old and wise, and somewhat feared,
Because men deemed that from the Fates she heard
More than the most of folk: with anxious eyes
She gazed at Glauce, till there gan to rise
A great dread in her heart, and she cried out:
“O mother, hast thou given me then this doubt
Of what today shall bring?”
She set her hand
Upon her breast, and panting there did stand,
Till the old woman came to her, and laid
A kind hand on her slender hand & said:
Fear not, my child, sure nought goes wrong with thee,
Though thou and I belike somewhat may see
This morn of what is coming.”
She sat down
As one o’er-weary on the bench of stone
Beneath the tree, but the maid stood a space
Gazing upon her with an anxious face,
Then sank adown upon the grass beside
And, while her lashes her deep eyes did hide
Spake out:
“Thou knowest. mother, time agone
While I was yet a child, thou deemd’st me one
Who knew of unseen things; myself I knew
As one who cast all heart and hope unto
Great things and far off: but time passed and I
Waxed, and at last, was somewhat womanly,
Then gloomy dreaming left me clean, and thou,
As well beseemed, thereat wert glad enow;
For I grew lithe therewith and strong and fair
Glad with my life alone and the world’s air
And common sights and sounds – wise as a man,
Thou calledst me once, and a pain through me ran,
As thou saidst that – yet surely with good days
My life went by along those pleasant ways,
Too happy to need hope or passion aught.
But now a long while something has been brougt
Anigh my eyes that I may see not clear
Yet know that change and trouble doth it bear
For me and for my life.”
Her hand fell down
From off her gown’s hem to the grass, as she
Spake these words; but the old dame curiously
Gazed on her, yet said nought; until she saw
A rising pain her fair lips downward draw
And down her cheeks slow tears began to fall;
Yet she spake on:
“Nor mother is that all;
Behold me; has not my bright face grown wan
These days past – those wise words as of a man,
Hast thou heard aught of them for long? scarce now
I heed in what wise the fair flowers may blow
In this desired summer-tide; my eyes
See and see not; scarce have I will to rise
In the sweet morn, although I loathe my bed;
Night comes and I am weary, yet my head
May have no rest upon the pillow there;
And yet I dream, and wild eyes seem to stare
On my unhappy face, that once would smile
So frankly upon all things; and meanwhile
Nought know I why these things should fall on me
For I ail nought; in fair estate are we,
And all the trouble of this dragging war
Is but a murmur to us heard afar.”
She stopped, and her head fell, her eyes did meet
In empty wise the gems upon her feet
And her fair-broidered hem: but the nurse spake:
“Some little while, belike, thou didst not wake
Last night, O dear one; for I mind me well
That years agone when weighty dreaming fell
On me, thy night was dreamful too, and now
A dream I hold of import could I show.”
Glauce turned not to her, but wearily
Made answer; “Yea I dreamed last night; for I
Thought I abode with hunters in the wood,
And wove a wreath of flowers as red as blood,
The while they told of all their cares & foils,
And how the King-beast had escaped their toils;
Nor did I think that ill; but midst of this
Things changed without surprise, as still it is
The wont of dreams; amid grey wolves I sat
Who snarled and whined in hungry wise; with that
From out the dusk came other dog wolves ten,
Marshalled indeed after the guise of men
About a mighty lion, who me thought
Nobler than all beasts; but his claws were gone
And his jaws bound: well, so my dream went on
That well I knew these wolves had done the thing,
And long they snarled about the yellow king
Rejoicing, till at last they lay down there
And fell asleep: then was I full of care
For that great beast, and rose and went about
To rend his bonds; and then without a doubt
Of aught of folly, as in dreams it goes,
I gave him other claws in place of those
That they had had from him, and glad at heart,
Roaring like thunder, then did he depart
Into the waste, and I – I cowered down
Among the brake, for grass-green was my gown,
And from the wakening wolves I strove to hide,
But now my gown at first full long & wide
Grew short and strait, and therewith did I seem
To see my bare limbs in the moonlight gleam,
And knew the grey beasts, white-toothed red of tongue
Beheld them too – but through the air there rung
Great sound of trumpets as my terror grew
Unto its height, nor more of dream I knew,
But in the moonlight lay awake and cold.”
“E’en such a dream I looked thou wouldsPt have told”
The crone said, “but upon a hill of grass
Amid my dream last night methought I was
And saw an eagle struggling in a gin,
And would have told thee, but might nowise win
Away from where I stood, till presently
Lo, even thy very self came hurrying by
And freed the noble bird, then didst thou reach
Thy white wrist out, and seemed fain to beseech
That he would perch there, neither did he fail
To do thy will, then did thine arm avail
To bear him up, and thou didst turn to me,
And I came to thee, and we went all three
Through pleasant meads until I woke to day.”
Sidelong upon the grass fair Glauce lay
As the nurse spake, nor seemed to heed at all;
Nay mid her own tale the words seemed to fall
From out her lips, as though she scarce knew aught
Of what she said: clear now the soft wind brought
The throstles song from the deep wood-side near
And mingled sweet scents with that sound did bear;
Short grew the shadows, and the conduit noise
Was a fair sound to make parched lips rejoice,
For not a cloud there was in all the sky;
Silent were both there, until suddenly
Unto her feet leapt Glauce, and the sun
White with the noon adown her side did run
As she cried out;
“Is there no more than this
In such a life as folk call full of bliss?
The daily rising to soft words of slaves,
The flute a-babbling while the bath’s cool waves
Lap one about; the scented essences,
The lordly loitering neath the blossomed trees,
Hearkening the hum of working maids anigh;
The word scarce uttered that one’s will may fly
To folk that fear us; then the harp-soothed meal
The talk of little things while sleep doth steal
Over the weary soul; the lingering sun
So weary hot een with day well nigh done,
And then the night, with change & hope shut out,
