Thomas Hood

The Two Swans



  Immortal Imogen, crown'd queen above
  The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear
  A fairy dream in honor of true love--
  True above ills, and frailty, and all fear,--
  Perchance a shadow of his own career
  Whose youth was darkly prison'd and long-twined
  By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near,
  And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind
A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.


  I saw a tower builded on a lake,
  Mock'd by its inverse shadow, dark and deep--
  That seem'd a still intenser night to make,
  Wherein the quiet waters sank to sleep,--
  And, whatso'er was prison'd in that keep,
  A monstrous Snake was warden:--round and round
  In sable ringlets I beheld him creep
  Blackest amid black shadows to the ground,
Whilst his enormous head, the topmost turret crown'd.


  From whence he shot fierce light against the stars,
  Making the pale moon paler with affright;
  And with his ruby eye out-threaten'd Mars--
  That blaz'd in the mid-heavens, hot and bright--
  Nor slept, nor wink'd, but with a steadfast spite
  Watch'd their wan looks and tremblings in the skies;
  And that he might not slumber in the night,
  The curtain-lids were pluck'd from his large eyes,
So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.


  Prince or princess in dismal durance pent,
  Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate,
  Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent,
  Watching the lonely waters soon and late,
  And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate,
  Or company their grief with heavy tears:--
  Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate
  For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears
They weep and pine away as if immortal years.


  No gentle bird with gold upon its wing
  Will perch upon the grate--the gentle bird
  Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring
  Freedom's sweet key-note and commission-word
  Learn'd of a fairy's lips, for pity stirr'd--
  Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!
  Watch'd by that cruel Snake and darkly heard,
  He leave a widow on her lonely nest,
To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.


  No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,
  Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,
  To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark
  That bear that serpent image on their face.
  And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,
  Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win
  His captive lady from the strict embrace
  Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within
His sable folds--like Eve enthrall'd by the old Sin.


  But there is none--no knight in panoply,
  Nor Love, intrench'd in his strong steely coat:
  No little speck--no sail--no helper nigh,
  No sign--no whispering--no plash of boat:--
  The distant shores show dimly and remote,
  Made of a deeper mist,--serene and gray,--
  And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float
  Over the gloomy wave, and pass away,
Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.


  And bright and silvery the willows sleep
  Over the shady verge--no mad winds tease
  Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep
  Their sprinkling leaves--half fountains and half trees:
  Their lilies be--and fairer than all these,
  A solitary Swan her breast of snow
  Launches against the wave that seems to freeze
  Into a chaste reflection, still below
Twin shadow of herself wherever she may go.


  And forth she paddles in the very noon
  Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing,
  Charm'd into being by the argent moon--
  Whose silver light for love of her fair wing
  Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping
  Her dainty plumage:--all around her grew
  A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;
  And all behind, a tiny little clue
Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.


  And sure she is no meaner than a fay,
  Redeem'd from sleepy death, for beauty's sake,
  By old ordainment:--silent as she lay,
  Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,
  And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake
  The verdant prison of her lily peers,
  That slept amidst the stars upon the lake--
  A breathing shape--restored to human fears,
And new-born love and grief--self-conscious of her tears.


  And now she clasps her wings around her heart,
  And near that lonely isle begins to glide,
  Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start
  Turns her impatient head from side to side
  In universal terrors--all too wide
  To watch; and often to that marble keep
  Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied
  Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep
That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.


  And well she may, to spy that fearful thing
  All down the dusky walls in circlets wound;
  Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ring
  Girding the marble casket round and round?
  His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,
  Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;
  But on the top his monstrous head is crown'd
  With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face
Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.


  Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,
  No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,
  So he may never see beneath the wall
  That timid little creature, all too bright,
  That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,
  Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries
  Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night
  With song--but, hush--it perishes in sighs,
And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!


  She droops--she sinks--she leans upon the lake,
  Fainting again into a lifeless flower;
  But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake
  Her spirit from its death, and with new power
  She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower
  Of tender song, timed to her falling tears--
  That wins the shady summit of that tower,
  And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,
Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.


  And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,
  Subdued like Argus by the might of sound--
  What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest
  To magic converse with the air, and bound
  The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown'd:--
  So on the turret-top that watchful Snake
  Pillows his giant head, and lists profound,
  As if his wrathful spite would never wake,
Charm'd into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!


  His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown,
  And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies,
  To drink that dainty flood of music down--
  His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs--
  And whilst his hollow ear entranced lies,
  His looks for envy of the charmed sense
  Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes,
  Stung into pain by their own impotence,
Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.


  Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird!
  Sweet was that midnight miracle of song,
  Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word
  To tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong--
  Hinting a piteous tale--perchance how long
  Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake,
  What time disguised thy leafy mates among--
  And no eye knew what human love and ache
Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.


  Therefore no poet will ungently touch
  The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew
  Trembles like tears; but ever hold it such
  As human pain may wander through and through,
  Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue--
  Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entomb'd,
  By magic spells. Alas! who ever knew
  Sorrow in all its shapes, leafy and plumed,
Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?


  And now the winged song has scaled the height
  Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair,
  And soon a little casement flashing bright
  Widens self-open'd into the cool air--
  That music like a bird may enter there
  And soothe the captive in his stony cage;
  For there is nought of grief, or painful care,
  But plaintive song may happily engage
From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.


  And forth into the light, small and remote,
  A creature, like the fair son of a king,
  Draws to the lattice in his jewell'd coat
  Against the silver moonlight glistening,
  And leans upon his white hand listening
  To that sweet music that with tenderer tone
  Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing
  Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan,
Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!


  And while he listens, the mysterious song,
  Woven with timid particles of speech.
  Twines into passionate words that grieve along
  The melancholy notes, and softly teach
  The secrets of true love,--that trembling reach
  His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun
  He missions like replies, and each to each
  Their silver voices mingle into one,
Like blended streams that make one music as they run.


  "Ah! Love, my hope is swooning in my heart,--"
  "Ay, sweet, my cage is strong and hung full high--"
  "Alas! our lips are held so far apart,
  Thy words come faint,--they have so far to fly!--"
  "If I may only shun that serpent-eye,--"
  "Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep;--"
  "Then, nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die!--"
  "Alas, alas! that word has made me weep!
For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep!"


  "My marble keep! it is my marble tomb--"
  "Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath--"
  "Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom;--"
  "But I will come to thee and sing beneath,"
  "And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath;--"
  "Nay, I will find a path from these despairs."
  "Ah, needs then thou must tread the back of death,
  Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs.--
  Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!"


  Full sudden at these words, the princely youth
  Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still
  Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,
  But numb'd to dulness by the fairy skill
  Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill
  For intense fear) that charm'd him as he lay--
  Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,
  Held some short throbs by natural dismay,
Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.


  Now dimly seen--now toiling out of sight,
  Eclipsed and cover'd by the envious wall;
  Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,
  And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall;
  Now dark and shelter'd by a kindly pall
  Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;
  Slowly he winds adown--dimly and small,
  Watch'd by the gentle Swan that sings below,
Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.


  But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace
  The marble walls about--which he must tread
  Before his anxious foot may touch the base:
  Long in the dreary path, and must be sped!
  But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,
  Braces his spirit, and with constant toil
  He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,
  Impatient plunges from the last long coil;
So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!


  The song is hush'd, the charm is all complete,
  And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:
  But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,
  When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake--
  His steely scales a fearful rustling make,
  Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell
  The sable storm;--the plumy lovers quake--
  And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,
Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.


  His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,
  Hiss horrible pursuit--his red eyes glare
  The waters into blood--his eager breath
  Grows hot upon their plumes:--now, minstrel fair!
  She drops her ring into the waves, and there
  It widens all around, a fairy ring
  Wrought of the silver light--the fearful pair
  Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling
The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.


  Bending their course over the pale gray lake,
  Against the pallid East, wherein light play'd
  In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake
  Circled them round continually, and bay'd
  Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade
  The sanctuary ring--his sable mail
  Roll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and made
  A shining track over the waters pale,
Lash'd into boiling foam by his enormous tail.


  And so they sail'd into the distance dim,
  Into the very distance--small and white,
  Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim
  Over the brooklets--follow'd by the spite
  Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright
  Worried them on their course, and sore annoy,
  Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light,
  And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,
Lock'd in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!


  Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers
  Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes
  Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers
  The Oriental sun began to rise,
  Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;
  Wherewith that sable Serpent far away
  Fled, like a part of night--delicious sighs
  From waking blossoms purified the day,
And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.

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