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Robert Laurence Binyon - Porphyrion
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 Bearing Porphyrion, fervent to renew
 His lonely pilgrimage; to fate his way
 Committed, and to guiding beams of heaven;
 And careless whither bound, so the remote
 Irradiated circle, ever fresh,
 Glittering into infinity, lead on.

 Soon the bright water and keen kiss of the air
 His clouded courage cleared; uprising wind
 Swelled the resisting sail, and the prow felt
 The supple press of water, cleaving it;
 And the foam flashed and murmured; hope again
 Rose tremulous to that music`s buoyant note.
 Day pursued day on the blue deep, and shores
 Sprang up and faded: still his gaze was cast
 Forward, and followed that undying dream.

 Standing at last above a harbour strange,
 Inland he bent, ever with questioning heart
 Expectant; and through wilderness and town
 Journeyed all summer; nor could autumn tame
 That urging fire; nor mid the gliding leaves
 Of bare December could hope fall from him.

 Ever a stranger roamed he, nor had thought
 To seek a home; for him this vast desire
 Was home, that fed his spirit and sheltered him
 From care and time and the perplexing world.
 For not beside an earthly hearth he deemed
 To find her moving whom he sought, though fair
 With human limbs, and clothed in lovely flesh.
 Rather some visitation swift and strange
 His soul awaited. When at evening`s end
 He rested and each fostered secret wish
 Rose trembling; when the dewy yellow moon
 Slowly on cypress gardens poured her light,
 And from the flowery gloom and whispering
 Of leaves, a hundred odours had released,
 Dimly he knew that she was wandering near,
 A blissful presence, scarce beyond the marge
 Of his veiled senses, in a world of beams.
 Or journeying through the wild forest, he saw
 Her passing robe pale mid the shadowy stems
 A moment shine before his quickened steps
 To leave him in the deep forsaken gloom
 Pining with throbbing breast and desolate eyes;
 And once in the thronged market at hot noon
 Heard his name spoken, and looked round on air.

 So visited, so haunted, he was led
 Onward through many a city of the plain
 Till vaster grew the silence, and far off
 The noise of men; and he began to climb
 Pastoral hills that into mountains rose
 Skyward, with shelving ridges sloped between,
       Long days apart. And as he wound his way
 Thither, from crested town to town, he heard
 Rumours of war all round him, men in arms
 Saw glittering in winding files, and waved
 Banners, and trumpets blown. But all to him
 Was distant, borne from a far alien world
 Where men in ignorant vain deeds embroiled
 Lost the treasure of earth and all their soul.
 Onward he kept his course, nor recked of them,
 Riding the solitary forest ways.

 And now again it was the time of birth,
 When the young year arises in the woods
 From sleep, and tender leaves, and the first flower.
 Old thoughts were stirring in Porphyrion`s breast,
 And old desires, like old wounds, flowed anew.
 It was that hour of hesitating spring
 When with expanded buds and widened heaven
 The heart swells into sadness, wanting joy
 More ample, and unnumbered longings reach
 Into a void, as tendrils into air.
 O now as never seemed he to have need
 Of his beloved, to be with her at last,
 To see her and embrace her with his arms,
 And in her bosom find perpetual peace.
 Scarcely aware of the bright leaves around
 His path, and heedless of his way, he rode
 With bridle slack and forward absent eyes,
 When piercing his deep dream a groaning cry
 Smote on him; he stayed still and from his horse
 Dismounted, and the rough briar pushed aside.

 Hard by the path, amid the trodden grass
 And bloody brambles, lay a wounded man.

 ``Friend, fetch me water,`` groaned he, ``for I die.
 The spring is near, and I have crawled thus far
 But get no farther, struggle how I may.``
 Quickly Porphyrion ran to where the spring
 Gushed bubbling, and fetched water, and came back.
 The dying man drank deep, and having drunk
 Half rose upon his arm, and eager asked:

 ``How went the battle? have we won or lost?
 I know not whether thou be friend or foe,
       But quick, tell me! I faint.`` ``What sayest thou
 Of battles?`` said Porphyrion; ``I know not
 Of what thou speakest, and I fight for none.``

 Faintly the other with upbraiding eyes
 Regarding him, made answer. ``Art thou young
 And is the blood warm in thy body, and yet
 Thou wanderest idle? But perhaps thy hand
 Knows not the sword, nor thou the ways of men?``

 Then kindled at his heart Porphyrion spoke.
 ``I have no need of fighting, yet my hand
 Knows the sword, and my youth was trained in arms.``

 ``Take then this blade, and bind my armour on.
 For over yonder hill I think even now
 They fight; there is our camp; ah, bid them come
 And bury Orophernes where he fell!``

 Even with the word he sank back and expired,
 Youthful amid the soft green leaves of spring,
 That over his pale cheek and purple lips
       Waved shadowing. Nearer than his inmost thought
 Was then the silence to Porphyrion`s heart,
 As heavily he rode, bearing the sword
 For token, and the helmet on his brows.
 He sought for his old thoughts and found them not.
 Even as when the sudden thunder breaks
 A brooding sky, and the air chills, and strange
 The altered landscape shines in a cold light,
 And they that loitered hasten on, and oft
 Shiver in the untimely falling eve,
 So now on this irruption of the world
 Followed a sadness, and his thoughts were changed
 And yearning chilled. How idle seemed his hope,
 How infinite his quest! Before his mind
 Life spread deserted, vacant as a mist.

 So mournful rode he; when beyond a hill,
 Whose height, with hanging forest interposed,
 Shut off the sun, he came into the light
 Over against a valley broad that sloped
 Before him; and at once burst on him full
 All the glory of war and sounding arms.
 He thought no more, but gazed and gazed again.

 Dark in the middle of the plain beneath
 An army moved against a city towered
 Upon a distant eminence: even now
 From the gate issued troops, with others joined
 New--come to aid them, and together ranked
 Stood to encounter stern the foes` assault.
 These upon either wing had clouded horse
 In squadrons, chafing like a river curbed
 By the firm wind that meets it; crest and hoof
 Shone restless as the white wind--thwarted waves.

 Lonely and loud a sudden trumpet blew;
 And fierce a score of brazen throats replied.
 The sound redoubled in Porphyrion`s soul
 And forward drew him; he remembered now
 His errand. In that instant the ripe war
 Broke like a tempest; the great squadrons loosed
 Shot forward glittering, like a splendid wave
 That rises out of shapeless gloom, a form
 Massy with dancing crest, threatening and huge,
 And effortlessly irresistible
 Bursts on the black rocks turbulently abroad,
 Falling, and roaring, and re--echoing far.
 So rushed that ordered fury of steeds and spears
 Under an arch of arrows hailing dark
 Against the stubborn foe: they from the slope
 Swept onward opposite with clang as fierce:
 Afar, pale women from the wall looked down.

 Porphyrion saw: he was a spirit changed.
 He hearkened not to memory, hope or fear,
 But cast them from him violently, and swift
 To fuse in this fierce impulse all regret,
 To woo annihilation, or to plunge
 At least in fiery action his unused
 Vain life, and in that burning furnace melt
 The idle vessel and re--mould it new,
 Spurred his horse on into the very midst,
 And loud the streaming battle swallowed him.

 Just on that instant when the meeting shock
 Tumultuously clashed, and cries were mixt
 With glitter of blades whirled like spirted spray,
 He came: and as the thundering ranks recoiled,
 They saw him, solitary, flushed and young,
 A radiant ghost in the dead hero`s arms.

 Amazement smote them; in that pause he rode
 Forward; and shouting Orophernes` name
 Jubilant the swayed host came after him.
 Iron on iron gnashed: Porphyrion smote
 Unwearied; the bright peril stilled his brain,
 The terrible joy inspired him: by his side
 Vaunting, young men over their ready graves
 Were rushing glorious: many as they rushed
 Drank violent draughts of darkness unawares,
 And swiftly fell; but he uninjured fought.
 Easily as men conquer in a dream
 He passed through splintered spears, opposing shields
 And shouting faces, and wild cries, and blood;
 Till now a hedge of battle bristling sprang
 All round him, and no way appeared, and dark
 This way and that the rocking weight of war
 Swung heavy, shields and lances interclasped.

 He in his heart felt hungrier the flame
 Burning for desolation, and he flushed,
 Sanguine of death; the sudden starting blood
 Inflamed him, drunk as with a mighty wine.
 And on an instant terror from the air
 Upon the foemen fell; from heart to heart
 As in mysterious mirrors flashed; afar
 Triumphing cries rose all at once, and death
 Shone dazzling in their eyes, and they were lost.

 Then on them rushed the victors glorying.
 Shaken abroad the battle fiercely flowed,
 Wild--scattering sudden as quicksilver stream
 Spilled in a thousand drops; the electric air
 Pulsed with the vehemence of strong bodies hurled
 In mad pursuit, till yielding or in flight
 Or fallen, the defeated armies ran
 Broken, and on the wall the women wailed.

 Then to their camp the victors came, and all
 Followed Porphyrion wondering, and acclaimed
 His triumph: he in an exultant dream
 Still moved, and had no thought, but from the lips
 Of bearded captains, as around their fires
 That night they told of old heroic deeds,
 Heard his own praise, and feasted, and afar
 Drank, like an ocean wind, the air of fame.


Book V
 Meanwhile in the surrendered city, night
 Went heavy, not in feasting nor in sleep.
 Proud in submission were those stubborn hearts,
 And nursed through darkness thoughts of far revenge,
 Mixt with the glory of their courage vain.
 And now as the first beam revisited
 Their sorrow, and to each his neighbour`s face
 Disclosed, they stood at leisure to perceive
 How grimly famine on their limbs had wrought,
 And on their wasted cheeks and temples worn;
 And from their eyes shone desolated fire,
 Inflexible resolve unstrung in the end.
 They saw the sentinels with haughty pace
 Trample the thresholds of their homes, and watched
 In melancholy indolence all day
 Soldiers upon their errands come and go.

 At evening afar off a bugle blew,
 Sounding humiliation and despair
 To them, but triumph to their conquering foes,
 Who now in bright magnificence arrayed
 Their hosts to enter the dejected walls.
 Feigning indifference, each man to his door
 Came forth; beneath the battlemented arch
 Too soon detested ensign and proud plume
 They saw; the broad flag streaming to the air
 Fresh flowered purples, like a summer field,
 The trumpets blown, the thousand upright spears
 Shining, and drums and ordered trampling feet.

 But in the van of these battalions stern
 All wondered to behold a single youth,
 Riding unhelmeted with ardent mien,
 And all about him casting his bright eyes.
 Up through the thronged street triumphing he rode.
 But as he passed, his radiant look, that seemed
 From some far glory to have taken light,
 Shining among dark faces, suffered change.
 Nothing on either side but hate or woe,
 Defiant or averted, sullen youth
 And wasted age, all misery, smote his gaze.
 As the sun`s splendour leaves a mountain peak
 Sinking into the west, and ashy pale
 Leaves it, the sadder from that former glow,
 So from Porphyrion`s face the glory ebbed,
 His eye grew dim, and pain altered his brow.

 At last that conquering army, with the night,
 Possessed the city; and a hum arose
 Like busy noise of settling bees; and fires,
 Kindled, shed broad into the gloom a blaze;
 And there were sounds of feasting and loud mirth,
 And riot late, until by slow degrees
 Returned darkness and silence, and all slept.

 Only Porphyrion slept not: on his bed,
 Turning from lamentable thoughts in vain,
 He lay. But in that stillest hour, when first
 Stars fade, and mist arises, and air chills,
 Quite wearied out with toil and war within,
 Slumber at length fell on him; but not peace.
 Scarce had he wandered in the ways of sleep
 Some moments, when before his feet appeared,
 Solemn and in the bright attire of dreams,
 She whom his waking soul so many days,
 So many months, had followed still in vain,
 His dearest unattainable desire.
 But now she looked into his face, and saw
 His grief, and met him with reproachful eyes.

 ``What dost thou here, Porphyrion?`` Her grave voice
 Was musical with sorrow. ``Faintest thou
 In seeking me, thy joy, tired of the way
 Because the hour is not yet come to find?
 Dost thou forget what in thy desert cell
 I warned thee to be perilous on thy path,
 Luring of loud distraction, and delay,
 The vastness of the world and thy frail heart?
 Seek on, faint not, prove all things till thou find;
 And still take comfort; where thou art, I am.``

 Her voice, that trembled in the dreamer`s soul
 From some celestial distance, like a breeze,
 Ended: the brightness went, and he awoke.
 And lo, the placid colours of the dawn
 Were stealing in: he rose, and came without.

 Ah, now, sweet vision, O my perfect light,
 I come to thee, my love, my only truth!
 It was not I, but some false clouding self
 That fell bewildered in this erring way;
 Or an oblivion rose from underground
 To blind me; but this place of grief and blood
 I leave, to follow thee for evermore.

 Full of this fervent prayer, through the dim street
 He went: the stillness hearkened at his heels.
 Now as he passed, in chilly waftings fresh
 He scented the far morning: the blue night
 Thinned, and all pale things were disclosed; and now
 Even in his earnest pace he could not choose
 But pause a moment; for all round he saw
 Faces and forms lying in shadowy sleep
 Within dark porches, and by sheltering walls,
 And under giant temple--colonnades,
 Utterly wearied. Some in armour lay
 Dewy, with forehead upturned to the dawn;
 And some against a pillar leaned, with hands
 Open and head thrown back; an ancient pair
 With fingers clasping slumbered, by whose side
 A bearded warrior moved in his dark dream
 Exclaiming fiercely; and a mother pressed
 Her baby closer, even in her sleep.
 He gazed upon them by a charm detained.
 For heavy over all their slumber weighed;
 And if one lifted voice or arm, it was
 As plants that in deep water idly stir
 And then are still: so these, bodies entranced,
 Lay under soft oblivion deeply drowned.
 But, as they slept, the light stole over them
 By pale degrees, and each unconscious soul
 Yielded his secret: with the hues of dawn
 Into that calm of faces floated up
 Out of their living and profound abyss
 What thoughts, what dreams, what terrors, what dumb wails!
 What gleams of ever--burning funeral fires
 On haunted deserts where delight had been!

 Glories, and dying memories, and desires!
 What sighs, that like a piercing odour rose
 From the long pain of love, what beauty strange
 Of joy, and sweetness unreleased, and strength
 Fatally strong to bear immortal woe,
 And anguish darkly sepulchred in peace.

 Porphyrion gazed, and as he gazed, he wept.
 For he beheld how in those spirits frail,
 Slept also passions mightier than themselves,
 Waiting to rend and toss them; tiger thoughts,
 Ecstasies, hungers, and disastrous loves,
 Violent as storms that sleep under the wave,
 Vast longings cruelly in flesh confined,
 And wrecking winds of madness and of doom.
 He trembled; yet as knowledge, even of things
 Terrible, hath power to calm and to sustain,
 His soul endured that truth, and to its depth
 Feared not to plunge. Now he began to love,
 And to be sorrowful with a new sorrow.

 ``What have I done,`` he sighed, ``what have I lost,
 My brothers, that I have no part in you?
 Yet am I of your flesh and you of mine.
 Sleep for this hour hath separated you
 From one another, but from me for ever.
 O that I could delay with you, and bear
 Your lot! or with enchanting wand have power
 To raise you out of slumber into peace!
 To be entwined and rooted in that life
 Which brings you want of one another, pain
 Borne not alone, and all that human joy,
 How sweet it were to me! O you of whom,
 When you awaken, others will have need,
 I envy you those trusting eyes, and hands
 Put forth for help: I envy all your grief.
 But I am all made of untimeless.
 Necessity drives on my soul to pass
 Another way; my errand is not here.
 Farewell, farewell, O happy, troubled hearts!``

 As a blind man who feels around him move
 The blest, who see, and fancies them embraced
 Or feasting in each other`s joyous eyes;
 With such deep envy often he turned back,
 Even as he went, to those unconscious forms
 That slumbered. But his spirit urged him on,
 With kindled heart and quickened feet: and now
 He neared the shadow of the city gate,
 And saw the mountains rise beyond, far off.

 With longing he drew in the freshened air.
 But even at that moment he perceived,
 Standing before a doorway in the dawn,
 A solitary woman, motionless
 As cloud at evening piled in the pale east
 After retreating thunder: like the ash
 Of a spent flame her cheek, and in her eyes
 Deep--gazing, a great anguish lay becalmed.
 Coldly she looked on him, and calmly spoke
 In marble accent: ``Enter and behold
       What thou hast done!`` He would have passed due on,
 Following his way resolved, but like a charm
 Beautiful sorrow in this grave regard
 Drew him aside. He entered and beheld.

 Upon a bed, unstirring and supine,
 Lay an old man, so old that the live breath
 Seemed rather hovering over him, than warm
 Within his placid limbs; yet had he strapped
 Ancient armour upon him, and unused
 A heavy sword lay by him on the ground.
 Dim was the room: a table in the midst
 Stood empty; in the whole house all was bare.

 Now when Porphyrion entered, and with him
 The woman, the old man nothing perceived:
 But at the sound a boy, that by the wall
 Was leaning, opened wide his painful eyes.
 Porphyrion with accusing heart beheld.
 Then to the woman turning, of their story
 He questioned: quietly she answered him.

 ``We were four souls under a happy roof
 Until your armies came. Then was our need
 More cruel every day. When first our meat
 Grew scarce, we sat with feigning eyes and each
 The other shunned. I know not who thou art,
 But if thou takest pity upon pain,
 I pray that no necessity bring thee
 Hunger more dear than love. With me it was
 So that I dared not look upon my child
 Lest I should grudge him eat. To my old father,
 Whom age makes helpless as a child, my breast
 As to a child I gave: and I have stood
 Under the trees and cursed them that so slow
 They budded for our want: the buds we tore
 Ere they could grow to leaf. So passed our days.
 But worse the nights were, when sleep would not come
 For hunger, and the dreadful morn seemed sweet.
 And if thou wonder that I weep not now
 Recounting them, it is that I have borne
       What carries beyond grief.`` She in her tale
 Spoke nothing of her husband: he lay cold
 Without the city fallen; but as now
 She ended, the returning thought of him
 Absented her sad eyes. And suddenly
 Her heart, of a strange tenderness aware,
 Out of its heavy frost was melted: then
 She bowed her head, and she let forth her tears.

 You that have known that bitter wound, of all
 The bitterest, since no courage brings it balm,
 When silent all the misery of the world
 Knocks at your door and you have empty hands,
 You know what dart entered Porphyrion`s breast,
       As he beheld and heard. But now the boy
 Turning with restless body and parched lip
 Sighed, ``Give me water! I am so thirsty, mother,
 I cannot fetch the breath into my throat.``

 Porphyrion filled a cup and gave to him.
 Deeply he drank, closing his eyes, as bliss
 Were in the cold fresh drops: unwillingly
 His fingers from the cup relaxed; and now
       The mother spoke. ``Yesterday on the walls
 One of your arrows smote him, and the wound
 Torments him. If thou wilt, make water warm,
 I pray thee, and bind up his cruel hurt
 Afresh; for my hand trembles, I am weak.``

 So he made water warm, and washed the wound
 With careful tender hands, and ointment soft
 Laid on, and in sweet linen bound it up.
 Comforted then the boy put round his neck
 One arm, and sighing thanks, as a child will,
 With faltering hand caressed him. That fond touch
 Porphyrion endured not. Are men born
 So apt to misery, thought he, that even this
 Is worthy thanks? Yet his wrought heart attained
 Even in such slender spending of its love
       A little ease. Now, said he, I must go,
 I must not longer tarry: for she calls,
 Whom I am vowed to follow and to find.
 But when he looked upon those three, they seemed
 To need him in their helplessness; the child
 Divining, mutely prayed him: he resolved
 For that day to remain and then to go.

 So all that day he tended them and went
 Abroad into the town, and brought them food,
 Bartering his share of spoil for meat and bread,
 And freshest fruit, and delicatest wine;
 Nor marked he as he went the frowning eyes
 Of the stern soldiers, how they stood and watched
 Murmuring together, sullen and askance.

 As in a slumbering great city, snow
 With gentle foot comes muffling empty ways,
 Corners and alleys, and to the tardy dawn
 Faint the murmur of toil ascends, and dumb
 The wheels roll, and the many feet go hushed,
 So on his mind lay sorrow: hum of arms
 And voices, all were soft to him and strange.

 Day passed, and evening fell, and in that house
 All slept; and once again he would renew
 His journey; but once more his heart perplexed
 Smote him, to leave them so: They have no friend,
 He said, and who will tend them, if not I?
 The next day he abode, and with fond care
 Ministered to their need, and still the next
 Found him delaying and his own dim pain
 Solacing sweetly; for the old man now
 By faint degrees returned to healthful warmth,
 And grave with open eyes serenely looked
 In a mild wonder on this unknown friend:
 The mother, taxed no longer to endure
 Even to her utmost strength, permitted calm
 To her worn spirit, and her wasted limbs
 Resigned into a happy weariness;
 And the child`s hurt began to be appeased.

 On the fourth morn Porphyrion arose,
 And saw them all still laid in peaceful sleep.
 Now, said he, will I go upon my quest,
 Less troubled: they have need of me no more.
 He turned to go, but in the early light
 Still looked upon them, and his heart was full;
 And softly he unbarred the door, and seemed
 Within his soul to see the whole great world
 Await his coming, and its wounded breast
 Disclose, and all life radiantly unroll
 Her riches, opening to an endless end.

 Filled with the power of that impassioned thought,
 Into the silence of the morning sun
 He came; and on a sudden was aware
 Of men about the entrance thronged; they set
 Their bright spears forward, and his path opposed.
 Astonished, he looked on them, and perceived
 The faces of those warriors he had brought
 Thither exulting, and in victory led;
 Yet on their faces he beheld his doom.
 He stood in that great moment greatly calm,
 Proudly confronting them, and cried aloud:

 ``What murmur you against me? I for you
 Fought, and you triumphed. Have I asked of one
 A single boon? Soldiers, will you take arms
 Against your captain? Men, will you dare to strike
 A man unarmed? You answer not a word!
 Put up your swords; for now I will pass on
 To my own work, and as I came will go.``

 There was a stillness as he ceased, and none
 Answered, but none gave way. As when in heaven
 Clouds curdle, and the heavy thunder holds
 All things in stupor hushed, they stood constrained,
 Menacing and mistrustful; and their hearts
 Grew cruel: the uncomprehended light,
 That in Porphyrion shone and flushed his brow
 With radiance, like the bright ambassador
 Come from an unknown power, tormented them;
 And dark enchanting terror drove them on.
 Then one by stealth an arrow to his bow
 Fitted, and strung, and drew it, and the shaft
 Beside Porphyrion in the lintel stuck
 Quivering: and at once they fiercely cried.
 Like the loud drop that loosens the pent storm,
 That loosened arrow drew tempestuous hail
 From every bow: they lusted after blood,
 And put far from them pity: and he fell
 Before them. Yet astonished and dismayed,
 Those sacrificers saw the victim smile
 Triumphing and incredulous of death,
 Even in anguish: pang upon fresh pang
 Rekindled the lost light, the perished bloom
 Of memory, and he was lifted far
 In exaltation above death; he drank
 Wine at the banquet, and the stormy thrill
 Of battle caught him, and he knew again
 The dart of love and the sweet wound of grief
 In one transfigured instant, that illumed
 And pierced him, as the arrows pierced his side.
 Then, mingling all those bright beams into one
 Full glory, dawned upon his dying sense
 She whom his feet followed through all the world
 Out of the waste, and over perilous paths,
 Dearer than breath and lovelier than desire.
 Like the first kiss of love recovered new
 Was the undreamed--of joy, that he in death
 With the last ecstasy of living found,
 Tasted and touched, as she embraced his soul.
 Then the world perished: stretching forth his arms,
 Into the unknown vastness eagerly
 He went, and like a bridegroom to his bride.
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