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15 THE SEA-BELL

I walked by the sea, and there came to me,Advertisement

as a star-beam on the wet sand,

a white shell like a sea-bell;

trembling it lay in my wet hand.

In my fingers shaken I heard waken

a ding within, by a harbour bar

a buoy swinging, a call ringing

over endless seas, faint now and far.

Then I saw a boat silently float

on the night-tide, empty and grey.

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'It is later than late! Why do we wait?'

I leapt in and cried: 'Bear me away!'

It bore me away, wetted with spray,

wrapped in a mist, wound in a sleep,

to a forgotten strand in a strange land.

In the twilight beyond the deep

I heard a sea-bell swing in the swell,

dinging, dinging, and the breakers roar

on the hidden teeth of a perilous reef;

and at last I came to a long shore.

White it glimmered, and the sea simmered

with star-mirrors in a silver net;

cliffs of stone pale as ruel-bone

in the moon-foam were gleaming wet.

Glittering sand slid through my hand,

dust of pearl and jewel-grist,

trumpets of opal, roses of coral,

flutes of green and amethyst.

But under cliff-eaves there were glooming caves,

weed-curtained, dark and grey;

a cold air stirred in my hair,

and the light waned, as I hurried away.

Down from a hill ran a green rill;

its water I drank to my heart's ease.

Up its fountain-stair to a country fair

of ever-eve I came, far from the seas,

climbing into meadows of fluttering shadows:

flowers lay there like fallen stars,

and on a blue pool, glassy and cool,

like floating moons the nenuphars.

Alders were sleeping, and willows weeping

by a slow river of rippling weeds;

gladdon-swords guarded the fords,

and green spears, and arrow-reeds.

There was echo of song all the evening long

down in the valley; many a thing

running to and fro: hares white as snow,

voles out of holes; moths on the wing

with lantern-eyes; in quiet surprise

brocks were staring out of dark doors.

I heard dancing there, music in the air,

feet going quick on the green floors.

But whenever I came it was ever the same:

the feet fled, and all was still;

never a greeting, only the fleeting

pipes, voices, horns on the hill.

Of river-leaves and the rush-sheaves

I made me a mantle of jewel-green,

a tall wand to hold, and a flag of gold;

my eyes shone like the star-sheen.

With flowers crowned I stood on a mound,

and shrill as a call at cock-crow

proudly I cried: 'Why do you hide?

Why do none speak, wherever I go?

Here now I stand, king of this land,

with gladdon-sword and reed-mace.

Answer my call! Come forth all!

Speak to me words! Show me a face!'

Black came a cloud as a night-shroud.

Like a dark mole groping I went,

to the ground falling, on my hands crawling

with eyes blind and my back bent.

I crept to a wood: silent it stood

in its dead leaves, bare were its boughs.

There must I sit, wandering in wit,

while owls snored in their hollow house.

For a year and a day there must I stay:

beetles were tapping in the rotten trees,

spiders were weaving, in the mould heaving

puffballs loomed about my knees.

At last there came light in my long night,

and I saw my hair hanging grey.

'Bent though I be, I must find the sea!

I have lost myself, and I know not the way,

but let me be gone!' Then I stumbled on;

like a hunting bat shadow was over me;

in my ears dinned a withering wind,

and with ragged briars I tried to cover me.

My hands were torn and my knees worn,

and years were heavy upon my back,

when the rain in my face took a salt taste,

and I smelled the smell of sea-wrack.

Birds came sailing, mewing, wailing;

I heard voices in cold caves,

seals barking, and rocks snarling,

and in spout-holes the gulping of waves.

Winter came fast; into a mist I passed,

to land's end my years I bore;

snow was in the air, ice in my hair,

darkness was lying on the last shore.

There still afloat waited the boat,

in the tide lifting, its prow tossing.

Weary I lay, as it bore me away,

the waves climbing, the seas crossing,

passing old hulls clustered with gulls

and great ships laden with light,

coming to haven, dark as a raven,

silent as snow, deep in the night.

Houses were shuttered, wind round them muttered,

roads were empty. I sat by a door,

and where drizzling rain poured down a drain

I cast away all that I bore:

in my clutching hand some grains of sand,

and a sea-shell silent and dead.

Never will my ear that bell hear,

never my feet that shore tread

Never again, as in sad lane,

in blind alley and in long street

ragged I walk. To myself I talk;

for still they speak not, men that I meet. pqdm.com