The Three Hills, and Other Poems Part 1

The Three Hills.

by John Collings Squire and Charles Baudelaire.

ANTINOMIES ON A RAILWAY STATION

As I stand waiting in the rain For the foggy hoot of the London train, Gazing at silent wall and lamp And post and rail and platform damp, What is this power that comes to my sight That I see a night without the night, That I see them clear, yet look them through, The silvery things and the darkly blue, That the solid wall seems soft as death, A wavering and unanch.o.r.ed wraith, And rails that s.h.i.+ne and stones that stream Unsubstantial as a dream?

What sudden door has opened so, What hand has pa.s.sed, that I should know This moving vision not of trance That melts the globe of circ.u.mstance, This sight that marks not least or most And makes a stone a pa.s.sing ghost?

Is it that a year ago I stood upon this self-same spot; Is it that since a year ago The place and I have altered not; Is it that I half forgot, A year ago, and all despised For a s.p.a.ce the things that I had prized: The race of life, the glittering show?

Is it that now a year has pa.s.sed Of vain pursuit of glittering things, Of fruitless searching, shouting, running, And greedy lies and candour cunning, Here as I stand the year above Sudden the heats and the strivings fail And fall away, a fluctuant veil, And the fixed familiar stones restore The old appearance-buried core, The moveless and essential me, The eternal personality Alone enduring first and last?

No, this I have known in other ways, In other places, other days.

Not only here, on this one peak, Do fixity and beauty speak Of the delusiveness of change, Of the transparency of form, The bootless stress of minds that range, The awful calm behind the storm.

In many places, many days, The invaded soul receives the rays Of countries she was nurtured in, Speaks in her silent language strange To that beyond which is her kin.

Even in peopled streets at times A metaphysic arm is thrust Through the part.i.tioning fabric thin, And tears away the darkening pall Cast by the bright phenomenal, And clears the obscured spirit's mirror From shadows of deceptive error, And shows the bells and all their ringing, And all the crowds and all their singing, Carillons that are nothing's chimes And dust that is not even dust....

But rarely hold I converse thus Where shapes are bright and clamorous, More often comes the word divine In places motionless and far; Beneath the white peculiar s.h.i.+ne Of sunless summer afternoons; At eventide on pale lagoons Where hangs reflected one pale star; Or deep in the green solitudes Of still erect entranced woods.

O, in the woods alone lying, Scarce a bough in the wind sighing, Gaze I long with fervid power At leaf and branch and gra.s.s and flower, Breathe I breaths of trembling sight Shed from great urns of green delight, Take I draughts and drink them up Poured from many a stalk and cup.

Now do I burn for nothing more Than thus to gaze, thus to adore This exquisiteness of nature ever In silence....

But with instant light Rends the film; with joy I quiver To see with new celestial sight Flower and leaf and gra.s.s and tree, Doomed barks on an eternal sea, Flit phantom-like as transient smoke.

Beauty herself her spell has broke, Beauty, the herald and the lure, Her message told, may not endure; Her portal opened, she has died, Supreme immortal suicide.

Yes, sleepless nature soundless flings Invisible grapples round the soul, Drawing her through the web of things To the primal end of her journeyings, Her ultimate and constant pole.

For Beauty with her hands that beckon Is but the Prophet of a Higher, A flaming and ephemeral beacon, A Phoenix peris.h.i.+ng by fire.

Herself from us herself estranges, Herself her mighty tale doth kill, That all things change yet nothing changes, That all things move yet all are still.

I cannot sink, I cannot climb, Now that I see my ancient dwelling, The central orb untouched of time, And taste a peace all bliss excelling.

Now I have broken Beauty's wall, Now that my kindred world I hold, I care not though the cities fall And the green earth go cold.

THE THREE HILLS

There were three hills that stood alone With woods about their feet.

They dreamed quiet when the sun shone And whispered when the rain beat.

They wore all three their coronals Till men with houses came And scored their heads with pits and walls And thought the hills were tame.

Red and white when day s.h.i.+nes bright They hide the green for miles, Where are the old hills gone? At night The moon looks down and smiles.

She sees the captors small and weak, She knows the prisoners strong, She hears the patient hills that speak: "Brothers, it is not long;

"Brothers, we stood when they were not Ten thousand summers past.

Brothers, when they are clean forgot We shall outlive the last;

"One shall die and one shall flee With terror in his train, And earth shall eat the stones, and we Shall be alone again."

A CHANT

Gently the petals fall as the tree gently sways That has known many springs and many petals fall Year after year to strew the green deserted ways And the statue and the pond and the low, broken wall.

Faded is the memory of old things done, Peace floats on the ruins of ancient festival; They lie and forget in the warmth of the sun, And a sky silver-blue arches over all.

O softly, O tenderly, the heart now stirs With desires faint and formless; and, seeking not, I find Quiet thoughts that flash like azure king-fishers Across the luminous tranquil mirror of the mind.

ARTEMIS ALTERA

O full of candour and compa.s.sion, Whom love and wors.h.i.+p both would praise, Love cannot frame nor wors.h.i.+p fas.h.i.+on The image of your fearless ways!

How show your n.o.ble brow's dark pallor, Your chivalrous casque of ebon hair, Your eyes' bright strength, your lips' soft valour, Your supple shoulders and hands that dare?

Our souls when navely you examine, Your sword of innocence, flaming, huge, Sweeps over us, and there is famine Within the ports of subterfuge.

You hate contempt and love not laughter; With your sharp spear of virgin will You harry the wicked strong; but after, O huntress who could never kill,

Should they be trodden down or pierced, Swift, swift, you fly with burning cheek To place your beauty's s.h.i.+eld reversed Above the vile defenceless weak!

STARLIGHT

Last night I lay in an open field And looked at the stars with lips sealed; No noise moved the windless air, And I looked at the stars with steady stare.

There were some that glittered and some that shone With a soft and equal glow, and one That queened it over the sprinkled round, Swaying the host with silent sound.

"Calm things," I thought, "in your cavern blue, I will learn and hold and master you; I will yoke and scorn you as I can, For the pride of my heart is the pride of a man."

Gra.s.s to my cheek in the dewy field I lay quite still with lips sealed, And the pride of a man and his rigid gaze Stalked like swords on heaven's ways.

But through a sudden gate there stole The Universe and spread in my soul; Quick went my breath and quick my heart, And I looked at the stars with lips apart.