THE KNIGHT ERRANT.

CLOUD TO WIND O blow, blow high, for I descend; Friend must go to meet his friend, If to earth you tie your feet You and I will never meet.

WIND Nay, I haste. A trifle wait; I exceed my usual gait. Ha! this hill-top is sublime, But it makes me pant to climb.

CLOUD Once again, a little space, Meet we in this Alpine place, Before you leap adown the vale Or I along my pathway sail.

WIND Then let our little bell of time Ring onward with a chatty chime— How we have fled o'er earth and sky, And what you saw and what saw I.

CLOUD O, I from off my couch serene, Woods, meadows, towns and seas have seen; And in one wood, beside a cave, A hermit kneeling by a grave:— The which I felt so touched to see I wept a shower of sympathy. And in one mead I saw, methought, A brave, dark-armored knight, who fought A shining-dragon in a mist, That, mixed with flames did roll and twist Out of the beast's red mouth—a breath Of choking, blinding, sulphurous death, On which I shot my thickest rain And made the conflict fair again. And from one town I heard the swell Of a loud, melancholy bell, That past me rose in flames of sound And up to Saint Cecilia wound. And on one sea I saw a ship Bend out its full-fed sails and slip So light, so gladly o'er the tide I could not help but look inside— Its passengers were groom and bride. I floated o'er them snowily, They felt my beauty in the sky, Their eyes, their souls, their joy were one, I would not cross their happy sun. I love this life of calm and use— No bonds but windy ribbons loose, No gifts to ask but all to give, Secure Elysium fugitive.

WIND Your life, though, drinks not half the wine Of active gladness that doth mine; I spread my wings and stretch my arms Over a dozen hedgéd farms; I breast steep hills, through pine-groves rush, Rock birds' nests, yet no fledgling crush, Tossing the grain-fields everywhere, The trees, the grass, the school-girl's hair, Whirling away her laugh the while— (We breezes love the children's smile); And then I lag and wander down Among the roofs and dust of town, Bearing cool draughts from lake and moor To fan the faces of the poor, While sick babes, stifled half to death, Grow rosy at my country breath. I lent a shoulder to your ship; I moaned with that sad hermit's lip; I helped disperse the dragon's mist; And some bell's voice, 'twas yours I wist, I handed up to winds on high Who wing a loftier flight than I. But, hark! a rider leaves the vale.

CLOUD Ah, yes, I catch the gleam of mail.

RANDOLPH O speak again ye voicéd ghosts! I heard afar your cheerful boasts. And, if I doubt not, ye are they That here have met me many a day.

WIND We are they.

CLOUD, (echoing) We are they. But whither now doth Randolph stray, And why the mail, and why the steed?

RANDOLPH This is my father's mail indeed, Bequeathed with message to his son: "Stand straight in it and yield to none."

WIND But whither off and why away?

RANDOLPH Off to the world; I cannot stay— That world I have so often viewed Here from this upper solitude— This bulwark barring strife and trade. Love calls me off. I love a maid, Loving her silently and long, Learning for her to hate the wrong, Learning for her to seek the right, To hew at sloth and faint resolve And thoughts that round but self revolve, And pray for grace and virtue—wings That bear men to the highest things, Enwrapt and rising into light. For her, for her, O Cloud and Wind! I trained my limbs and taught my mind, Ran, wrestled, clomb, and learned to bend The cross-bow with each village friend; And by my hermit-guardian spent The earliest dimness morning lent, And the faint torch that evening bore, In science and in saintly lore, Reading the stars and signs of rain, Noting each tree and herb and grain; Each bird that flutters through the leaves, Each beast, each fish that green lake cleaves, The curious deeds Devotion paints In missals and in lives of saints, And every olden subtle trick Of grammar, logic, rhetoric. But most on chivalry I turned A torrent eagerness, and burned To hear of wrong repaired, or read The working of some famous deed, Like those I dreamt that I could do When what I set myself was through: Vexed lest the inward clock of fate That ticked "Too soon!" might tick "Too late!" But now that dial points the hour When I must test my gathered power, And leave my books and leave my dreams Of steeds and towers and knightly themes, Of tourney gay and woodland quest, Of Perceval and Perceforest, Of Richard, Arthur, Charlemain, Amadis and the Cid of Spain— Must leave them all and seek alone Some grand adventure of my own.

CLOUD Yet if you seek and cannot find Or fail to work what you designed, Be it but as the steadfast sun Who bright or dim his course doth run, And last doth reach as far a spot Whether he seems to shine or not.

RANDOLPH The height, the fynial of my aim Is to be worthy of her name.

CLOUD You mortals are a curious race— More whirled by passions, hot in chase Of passions, than myself am whirled When tempests tug me o'er the world; I cannot understand your ways. We clouds live our divinest days Beneath great sunny depths of sky, High above all that you think high, Drifting through sunset's surf of gold, Dawn-lakes and moonlight's clear waves cold, In realms so distant, chill and lone, That Love, impatient, leaves the throne To meditative Amity.

RANDOLPH So would my guardian have it be, So flowed his constant voice to me, Of those to make me one, he sought, Who watch from mountain towers of thought, Or wandering into paths apart Pursue the lonely star of art.

WIND But you would rather love and do. Well said, so much the wiser you! But let your love be false as maid's, Your every fire a flame that fades— A word, a smile, an easy thing To fledge and easy taking wing. Kiss every lip, as tired of rest As I am now. I'm off to west Good-bye, and some day when you're hot I'll meet you cool.

CLOUD And I should not Delay my showers so long as this. God speed! Good-bye!

RANDOLPH Good-bye. I miss Their wonderful companionship. So onward seems the world to slip. Now one glance backward firmly cast; Thy next foot forward bears thee past The mountain's crest. Ah, I behold Our reckless river leaping bold Down all its ledges. And I see The castle where Elaine must be. Lo, in yon window sits she oft.— From yon green maze of willows soft I hear our hermitage's bell. Sweet sound, sweet many scenes, farewell. Elaine! Elaine!