Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY 187 The king was silent. None of us would stir. I sat, struck dumb, a living sepulchre, For—hear me! in my heart this thing be- came My sacrament, my pentecostal flame. And with it grew a fear—a fear of Ller. What Her? Shame had not found itself a name, I brood the Simply I knew it in myself. Ten years—so seemed it-—O! food In my mouth nauseate! In the silent hall One might have heard God’s sparrow in its fall. But I was lost in mine own solitude— 1 should not hear Mikhael’s ! trumpet-call. bitter Yet there did grow a clamour shrill and loud : , One cursed, one crossed himself, another vowed His soul against the quest ; the tumult ran Indecorous in that presence, man to man. Stilled suddenly, beholding how I bowed My soul in thought: another cry began. ‘*Gereth the dauntless ! Gereth of the Sea! Gereth the loyal! Child of royalty ! Witch-mothered Gereth! Sword above the strong, Heart pure, head knightly throng Clamour my name, and flattering words, to me— If they may ’scape the quest—I do them wrong ; The many-wiled !” They are my friends! terrible Rings in the manly music that they swell. They are all caught in this immense desire Deeper than heaven, tameless as the fire. All catch the fear—the fear of Her—as well, And dare not—even afraid, I must aspire. Yet something 1 Correct for ‘‘ Michael.” A_ piece of pedantry pardonable in a youth of 25. A spirit walking in a dream, I went To the high throne—they shook the firma- ment With foolish cheers. queen And wept in silence. Then, as it had been An angel’s voice and touch, her face she bent, Lifted and kissed me—oh! her lips were keen! I knelt before the ler voice was softer than a virgin’s eyes: ‘Go! my true knight: for thither, thither lies The only road for thee ; thou hast a prayer Walted each hour—my spirit will be there !” Too late I knew what subtle Paradise [Ter dreams and prayers portend: too fresh, too fair! I turned more wretched than myself knew yet. + I told my nameless pain I should forget Its shadow as it passed. The king did start, Gripped my strong hands, and held me to his heart, And could not speak a moment. set A curb on sorrow and subdued its dart. Then he ‘Go! and the blessing of high God attend Thy path, and lead thee to the doubtful end. No tongue that secret ever may reveal. Thy soul is God-like and thy frame is steel ; Thou mayst win the quest—the king, thy friend, Gives thee his sword to keep thee—Gereth, kneel ! ‘¢T dub thee Earl; arise!” rings The queen’s voice: match the king’s? Here, from my finger drawn, this gem of power Shall guard thee in some unimagined hour. And then there “Shall my love not It hath strange virtue over mortal things. I freely give it for thy stirrup’s dower.”