and in the garden of his dream
the lord would walk, and there would deem
he saw two children, boy and maid,
that fair as flowers danced and played
on lawns of sunlight without hedge
save a dark shadow at their edge.
Though spring and summer wear and fade,
though flowers fall and leaves are laid,
and winter winds his trumpet loud,
and snows both fell and forest shroud,
though roaring seas upon the shore
go long and white, and neath the door
the wind cries with houseless voice,
in fire and song yet men rejoice,
till as a ship returns to port
the spring comes back to field and court.
A song now falls from windows high,
like silver dropping from the sky,
soft in the early eve of spring.
"Why do they play? Why do they sing?"
"Light may she lie, our lady fair!
Too long hath been her cradle bare.
Yestreve there came as I passed by
the cry of babes from windows high.
Twin children, I am told there be.
Light may they lie and sleep, all three!"
"Would every prayer were answered twice!
the half or nought must oft suffice
for humbler men, who wear their knees
more bare than lords, as oft one sees."
"Not every lord wins such fair grace.
Come wish them speed with kinder face!
Light may she lie, my lady fair;
long live her lord her joy to share!"
A manchild and an infant maid
as fair as flowers in bed were laid.
Her joy was come, her pain was passed;
in mirth and ease Itroun at last
in her fair chamber softly lay
singing to her babes lullay.
Glad was her lord, as grave he stood
beside her bed of carven wood.
"Now full" he said, "is granted me
both hope and prayer, and what of thee?
Is 't not, fair love, most passing sweet
the heart's desire at last to meet?
Yet if thy heart still longing hold,
or lightest wish remain untold,
that will I find and bring to thee,
though I should ride both land and sea!"
"Aotrou mine," she said, " 'tis sweet
at last the heart's desire to meet,
thus after waiting, after prayer,
thus after hope and nigh despair.
I would not have, thee run nor ride
to-day nor ever from my side;
yet after sickness, after pain,
oft cometh hunger sharp again."
"Nay, love, if thirst or hunger strange
for bird or beast on earth that range,
for wine, or water from what well
in any secret fount or dell,
vex thee," he smiled, "now swift declare!
If more than gold or jewel rare,
from greenwood, haply, fallow deer,
or fowl that swims the shallow mere
thou cravest, I will bring it thee,
though I should hunt o'er land and lea.
No gold nor silk nor jewel bright
can match my gladness and delight,
the boy and maiden lily-fair
that here do lie and thou did'st bear."
"Aotrou, lord," she said, " 'tis, true,
a longing strong and sharp I knew
in dream for water cool and clear,
and venison of the greenwood deer
for waters crystal-clear and cold
and deer no earthly forests hold,
and still in waking comes unsought
the foolish wish to vex my thought.
But I would not have thee run nor ride
to-day nor ever from my side"
In Brittany beyond the seas
the wind blows ever through the trees;
in Brittany the forest pale
marches slow over hill and dale.
There seldom far the horns were wound,
and seldom hunted horse and hound.
The lord his lance of ashwood caught,
the wine was to his stirrup brought;
with bow and horn he rode alone,
and iron smote the fire from stone,
as his horse bore him o'er the land
to the green boughs of Broceliande,
to the green dales where listening deer
seldom a mortal hunter hear:
there startling now they stare and stand,
as his horn winds in Broceliande.
Beneath the woodland's hanging eaves
a white doe startled under leaves;
strangely she glistered in the sun
as she leaped forth and turned to run.
Then reckless after her he spurred;
dim laughter in the woods he heard,
but heeded not, a longing strange
for deer that fair and fearless range
vexed him, for venison of the beast
whereon no mortal hunt shall feast,
for waters crystal-clear and cold
that never in holy fountain rolled.
He hunted her from the forest-eaves
into the twilight under leaves;
the earth was shaken under hoof,
till the boughs were bent into a roof,
and the sun was woven in a snare;
and laughter still was on the air.
The sun was falling. In the dell
deep in the forest silence fell.
No sight nor slot of doe he found
but roots of trees upon the ground,
and trees like shadows waiting stood
for night to come upon the wood.
The sun was lost, all green was grey.
There twinkled the fountain of the fay,
before a cave, on silver sand,
under dark boughs in Broceliande.
Soft was the grass and clear the pool;
he laved his face in water cool.
He saw her then, on silver chair
before her cavern, pale her hair,
slow was her smile, and white her hand
beckoning in Broceliande.
The moonlight falling clear and cold
her long hair lit; through comb of gold
she drew each lock, and down it fell
like the fountain falling in the dell.
He heard her voice, and it was cold
as echo from the world of old,
ere fire was found or iron hewn,
when young was mountain under moon.
He heard her voice like water falling
or wind upon a long shore calling,
yet sweet the words: "We meet again
here after waiting, after pain!
Aotrou! Lo! thou hast returned–
perchance some kindness I have earned?
What hast thou, lord, to give to me
whom thou hast come thus far to see,"
"I know thee not, I know thee not,
nor ever saw thy darkling grot.
O Corrigan! 'twas not for thee
I hither came a-hunting free!"
"How darest, then, my water wan
to trouble thus, or look me on?
For this of least I claim my fee,
if ever thou wouldst wander free.
With love thou shall me here requite,
for here to long and sweet the night;
in druery dear thou here shall deal,
in bliss more deep than mortals feel."