Star over Bethlehem Read online

  And Katharine, raging, invoked her God,

  And appealed both far and near,

  And fostered the plan of leer and of nod

  Which brought you down to the bier …

  So is it written in ages past

  With a woman’s smile as bait,

  A King shall risk his very soul

  And change a nation’s fate …

  Did you never fear, oh! mother of mine,

  When you played on a King’s desire,

  When first of a queenly rank you dreamed,

  And subtly plotted and boldly schemed

  To further your high design?

  Did you never dread that the hand which crowned

  Could cast you down in the mire,

  That a love so swift might be swiftly drowned,

  And a King might love—and tire?

  Oh! red were your lips as you smiled in his face,

  And red was your hair as fire!

  And red was the band around your neck

  As you met your doom so dire …

  An Oath I swore!—and the Pride of Spain

  Is driftwood along my coast!

  I was not too royal to scheme and to smile,

  To pay with a promise—and dally awhile—

  Till I changed my mind again …

  Your blood, oh! mother, which gave me might,

  (Not that of the Tudor host,)

  And a woman’s game that was played aright

  Is Elizabeth Tudor’s boast.

  ’Tis perilous work to trifle with France …

  To jest with Spain may be death …

  But I played my part with a woman’s guile

  And never a catch in my breath!

  I have hated most women—but one above all,

  (No matter her rank or name,)

  Fair was her face, and her fame spread wide

  When in France she dwelt as a royal bride

  Ere she sailed to her fate and fall.

  The lure of her beauty drew all mankind

  Like a moth to the candle flame …

  They brought me the warrant to sign … and I signed

  With a flourish my royal name!

  (But oh! to think that when I am gone

  And laid in my grave so low,

  The Crown which rests on my royal head

  Shall adorn a Stewart’s false brow!)

  She had fostered a plan to seize my throne,

  Conspiring with Rome and Spain,

  She had aimed at my life, so they said—what then?

  It was never fear that drove my pen!

  (Who have never a child of my own …)

  But the jealous rage that naught can slake

  Of a woman who loved in vain …

  And she shall die for her beauty’s sake!

  Who has loved—and been loved again!

  (There are gallants thronging around my throne,

  And many a maiden fair,

  But the maids who come to Elizabeth’s court

  Must coif Saint Catherine’s hair!)

  I am Queen of England! I rule unafraid!

  (But never a son of my own …)

  I have gowns in plenty, and jewels rare,

  With many a wench to tire my hair,

  And they call me a painted jade!

  But many a ship in Elizabeth’s name

  Shall open up seas unknown …

  And I shall share in my Children’s fame

  Who have never a child of my own …

  The Bells of Brittany

  BELLS are ringing o’er the sea,

  The gentle bells of Brittany.

  Rock the cradle to and fro,

  Croon a lullaby so low,

  Mark the cross upon her brow,

  She is Christ’s for ever now.

  (White thy tiny hands, my dove,

  Small and white and made for love.

  Love to wake, and love to keep …)

  Rock the cradle, let her sleep,

  While the bells ring out and say

  That a child was born today!

  Bells are tolling o’er the sea,

  The woeful bells of Brittany.

  Rock the cradle lest she wake,

  Learn who died for her sweet sake.

  Mark a cross upon that brow,

  Which shall sleep for ever now.

  (Dark thy downy head, my sweet,

  Motherless the world to meet,

  Fold thy little hands in sleep …)

  Rock the cradle lest she weep,

  While the bells toll on and say

  That a mother died today …

  Isolt of Brittany

  MY Lord and I upon a hill

  Looked out across the sea

  And watched the gulls that wheel and turn

  And circle endlessly.

  And Lo, my Lord was lost in thought

  Until to him I said:

  “Thy thoughts are very far away

  From her thou soon shalt wed.

  “In Cornwall, at Queen Isolt’s court

  The maids are fair to see

  Fairer are they, my Lord, perchance

  Than those of Brittany.”

  Then Tristan stayed in thought awhile,

  Then smiled and answered me:

  “There is no maid at Isolt’s court

  One half as fair as thee.”

  My Lord and I upon a hill

  Looked out to sea a while.

  I doubt not … yet I would I knew

  What lay behind his smile …

  My Lord and I in Brittany

  Looked out across the sea,

  And oh, his thoughts, his wand’ring thoughts,

  Were far away from me.

  Dark Sheila

  SHEILA, dark Sheila, what is it that you’re seeing?

  What is it that you’re seeing, that you’re seeing in the fire?

  I see a lad that loves me … And I see a lad that leaves me …

  And a third lad, a Shadow Lad … (and he’s the lad that grieves me)

  And whatever I am seeing,

  There’s no fearing and no fleeing …

  But whatever I am seeing, it is not my heart’s desire …

  Sheila, dark Sheila, with whom will you be roaming?

  With whom will you be roaming when the summer day has flown?

  A lad there is who loved me—but loves me now no longer,

  A lad there is who left me (and oh! his love grows stronger!)

  But wherever I go roaming,

  You shall never find me homing,

  For wherever I go roaming, I must wander all alone …

  “Sheila, dark Sheila, will you listen to my pleading?

  Will you listen to my pleading, will you recompense my pain?

  For I’m the lad who loved you, the lad who so deceived you.

  I left you for another girl, and oh! I fear I grieved you!

  But if you’ll hear my pleading

  As across the moor you’re speeding,

  Oh! if you’ll hear my pleading, I’ll return to you again.”

  “Sheila, dark Sheila, will you hearken to my calling?

  Will you hearken to my calling, as I call from far away?

  For I’m the lad that left you (but never could forget you),

  And I’m the lad that loved you from the very hour he met you!

  And if you’ll hear my calling

  As the shades of night are falling,

  Oh! if you’ll hear my calling, I’ll be yours alone alway!”

  But Sheila, dark Sheila, is out upon the moorland.

  She’s out upon the moorland where the heather meets the sky!

  And the lads shall never find her, for there’s one walks by her side there,

  A Stranger Lad, a Shadow Lad, who would not be denied there …

  She turned her to his calling

  As the shades of night were falling,

  She turned her to his calling … and she answered to his Cry …
/>   Ballad of the Maytime

  THE King, he went a-walking, one merry morn in May.

  The King, he laid him down to rest, and fell asleep, they say.

  And when he woke, ’twas even,

  (The hour of magic mood,)

  And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, was dancing in the wood.

  The King, he gave a banquet to all the flowers (save one),

  With hungry eyes he watched them, a-seeking one alone.

  The Rose was there in satin,

  The Lily with green hood,

  But Bluebell, wild Bluebell, only dances in the wood.

  The King, he frowned in anger, his hand upon his sword.

  He sent his men to seize her, and bring her to their Lord.

  With silken cords they bound her,

  Before the King she stood,

  Bluebell, wild Bluebell, who dances in the wood.

  The King, he rose to greet her, the maid he’d sworn to wed.

  The King, he took his golden crown and set it on her head.

  And then he paled and shivered,

  The courtiers gazed in fear,

  At Bluebell, grey Bluebell, so pale and ghostly there.

  “O King, your crown is heavy, ’twould bow my head with care.

  Your palace walls would shut me in, who live as free as air.

  The wind, he is my lover,

  The sun my lover too,

  And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, shall ne’er be Queen to you.”

  The King, he mourned a twelvemonth, and none could ease his pain.

  The King, he went a-walking a-down a lovers’ lane.

  He laid aside his golden crown,

  Into the wood went he,

  Where Bluebell, wild Bluebell, dances ever wild and free.

  The Princess Sings

  BRING me my lute and let me play

  A bygone ballad of yesterday.

  Four knights there were from far away

  (Ring out, my lute, on a chord so gay!)

  Four knights who came to kiss my hand

  From the East and the West

  And the far Northland.

  And one from the South …

  Who kissed my mouth …

  And stole my heart away …

  Bring me my lute and let me sing

  A ballad of yore with the old gay ring.

  Out in the West the sun dies red

  (Where does my true love lay his head?)

  Four knights who came from o’er the sea,

  One I hold, and one holds me.

  And one I never again shall see …

  Who came from the South

  And kissed my mouth,

  And stole my heart away …

  Lost in the West is the setting sun,

  Take then my lute, the tale is done!

  Dreams and Fantasies

  The Dream Spinners

  Oh! who shall see the Spinners?

  The silent white-robed Spinners?

  The tender cruel Spinners

  As they spin the Thread of Dreams?

  Can you hear the Wheel a-whirring?

  And the menace of its purring?

  See the colour of a rainbow as it gleams?

  Can you see the shining mesh

  That is spun for human flesh?

  Can you hear them?

  Do you fear them?

  Will you dare to wander near them?

  The silent white-robed Spinners

  As they spin the Web of Dreams …

  The conqueror from the battle by their gleam is led astray,

  Where the fragile threads enfold him—there his armour rusts away …

  The boy who goes a-ploughing at the dusky hour of eve

  Sees a Vision grey and golden—and his furrow he must leave.

  And the maiden in the village, who has knelt beside the lake,

  And has seen a Dream-face pictured—goes unwedded for his sake …

  Oh! if your eyes shall see them,

  You had better turn and flee them,

  For no power born of earth shall hold you then.

  And you’ll let the world go by,

  Seeking Beauty till you die!

  If you hear them,

  Oh! beware them!

  And never venture near them!

  The silent white-robed Spinners

  As they spin the Thread of Dreams …

  There are Threads of Red and Golden! There are Threads of Grey and Green!

  There are Threads of White and Silver. And they merge in dazzling sheen!

  There’s a Web of wondrous weaving that is Rose and Amethyst,

  And a Purple Strand of Mystery that fades into the mist …

  And oh! there’s love and longing! There’s a heart to laugh and grieve,

  There’s Wonder … and there’s Pity—where the white-robed Spinners weave …

  Oh! who shall find the Spinners?

  The silent white-robed Spinners?

  The tender cruel Spinners

  As they spin the Web of Dreams …

  Down in the Wood

  BARE brown branches against a blue sky

  (And Silence within the wood),

  Leaves that, listless, lie under your feet,

  Bold brown boles that are biding their time

  (And Silence within the wood).

  Spring has been fair in the fashion of youth,

  Summer with languorous largesse of love,

  Autumn with passion that passes to pain,

  Leaf, flower, and flame—they have fallen and failed

  And Beauty—bare Beauty is left in the wood!

  Bare brown branches against a mad moon

  (And Something that stirs in the wood),

  Leaves that rustle and rise from the dead,

  Branches that beckon and leer in the light

  (And Something that walks in the wood).

  Skirling and whirling, the leaves are alive!

  Driven by Death in a devilish dance!

  Shrieking and swaying of terrified trees!

  A wind that goes sobbing and shivering by …

  And Fear—naked Fear passes out of the wood!

  The Road of Dreams

  The Road of Dreams leads up the Hill

  So straight and white

  And bordered wide

  With almond trees on either side

  In rosy flush of Spring’s delight!

  Against the frown

  Of branches brown

  The blossoms laugh and gleam,

  Within my dream …

  There is no Joy like Joy in Dreams …

  Up—up the Hill

  My flying feet

  Go magically winged and fleet

  And like a bird that flies at will!

  So shall I find

  What God designed

  There—where the Open Country lies

  Before my eyes …

  There is no Fear like Fear in Dreams …

  Which, swift as Death

  Pursuing fast,

  Gains on me, till I feel at last

  Upon my neck its icy breath …

  The Dream is dead!

  The Joy is fled!

  The Road of Dreams

  Leads up the Hill and faintly gleams …

  Oh! Dream most fond,

  What lies beyond?

  Beyond the Hill …

  Heritage

  THE South Wind comes a-whispering, a-whispering from the Sea,

  And tells of waters cool and clear,

  Of far off strands

  With golden sands

  And Halcyon days to be.

  And oh! there’s life a-stirring at the very heart of me

  That listens to the South Wind, to the South Wind from the Sea.

  The Forest come a-murmuring, a-murmuring all around,

  And speaks of magic dark and sweet,

  Of charms untold,

  Enchantments old,

  Of nymphs with hair unbound …

  And
oh! the life a-stirring, it quivers at the sound,

  It quivers at the murmur of the Forest all around.

  There’s a Voice that comes a-calling, a-calling from the Lea:

  “Who walks with Me in wind and storm,

  He knows no rest

  But only zest

  God’s great wide world to see!”

  And oh! the life that’s stirring, it struggles to be free

  As it hears the Voice a-calling, a-calling from the Lea!

  The Wanderer

  IN the dark woods I shall find peace!

  There shall I learn at last

  Forgetfulness!

  Or, if that may not be,

  I will remember what is past

  Most joyfully!

  On the high hills where once I went,

  I shall not come again

  Triumphantly!

  But it remains for me

  To laugh into the face of pain

  Defiantly!

  By the deep seas I dwelt content,

  There, by your side,

  In harmony …

  Now there is left for me

  Naught but to face the incoming tide

  Courageously!

  In the dark grave there lies release,

  There shall I sleep anew

  Nor wake again …

  And if that shall not be,

  I will remember only you,

  And live as you would have me do

  Most valiantly!

  The Dream City

  I KNOW a city where black lions dwell

  And guard a fountain in a giant square.

  The City rises round it, white and proud.

  The streets are broad and wide—and you and I

  Walk there together, gladly, side by side;

  We go in silence—speak no word, but each

  The other’s thought has understood and heard …

  Our feet seem not to touch the ground, so swift

  And fleet we speed together on our way.

  Between us there is understanding. Ay!

  And all around is Beauty—also Peace …

  It is a dream … But oh! when Life shall cease,

  And many thousand years have passed away,

  We may be born again, perchance, and dwell

  In that great city built by mightier men

  Who toiling through long centuries, have learnt

  To banish Pain … It may be so—who knows …?

  It may be you and I shall live again …