Julius Bailey's Blog - Posts Tagged "enchantment"

Greetings, everyone.

   So, those who know me (the number of which I hope is growing *ahem*) will know that I quite like good poetry. I am, of course, partial to the olden style of it, such things as the beauties scattered throughout the Lord of the Rings novels, some of the works of Robert Frost, and the Lays of Beleriand (a special favorite!). I am also partial to rhyming verse. I mean really; if one is going to work so hard at a language as complicated as English, one may as well exercise the full use of it. In the long labors of my own writing, and the numerous talks I've had with other writers and poets, I've come to realize that good rhyming verse, really good rhyming verse, is often much harder to produce than non-rhyming verse. In a way, you set bonds about the realm of your creativity, because you must establish a discernible flow and keep to it, you cannot continuously use the same ending words line after line, and what's more, it is often the case that the last word in a line that you really wish to jot down simply doesn't flow with the last word in the line above it! But in my humble opinion, there are few things as rewarding as sitting back and reading over a well crafted rhyming poem. It lifts the mind when read silently, and lightens the tongue when read aloud.

   I have decided to share a rhyming poem of mine with you all today. I am going to split it into two parts (did I mention that I am also a fan of lengthy poems that tell stories? Epics, some call them, but I rarely use the term.). Unlike others I've shared in the past this one does have a title. Now, beware, it's a bit long, but I put a lot of work into it, and it rhymes! (How about that?) Hope you all enjoy.


The Coldest Heart of All




                                               











Hear now a tale of woe.
A story that a heart quite old did know
When she gave of her love long ago
On an endless night of moon-swathed
snow.

A house there was upon a hill,
Which sheltered a woman most
strangely ill
Who warmed by a fire of ice and snow
In a land that was, so long ago.

Enchantment she wove about her
domain
To fend off sunlight, wind and rain,
To stay the beasts, and to keep a chill
Within this house upon a hill.
A chill that suffered no warmth of
breath,
A chill that promised naught but death
To those shrouded beneath its folds. And
so,
We shall hear what tale from long ago.

Enchantment the more this woman had,
For though in mortal form she was clad
She ensnared age, the decay of years,
And locked it in a bottle of silver tears.
And though all seasons might come and
go
Neither dim nor failing durst her eyes
grow.
Neither bent of back nor gray of hair,
But tall and slender; cold and fair.
Fair as a hilltop crowned with rain;
Fair as white mist in a darkened plain;
Fair as a stream of calming flow,
But colder than the coldest night may
grow.

Now on a night she gathered food for
meat
She heard, as it were, the sound of
faltering feet
And, turning about, she beheld a form,
Stumbling upon her hill where was no
thing warm.
‘Twas a man, haggard, grim, and worn;
In his eyes a look most forlorn.
Scarce a moment later he staggered and
fell,
As though smitten by a sudden, crippling
spell.

Then she arose and went to his side.
‘How came ye here?’ she asked. ‘By tide
Of magic? Enchantment’s grace?
Whither came ye from your own place?’
In her words was neither anger nor
scorn,
But rather likened to a murmur borne
On a wind that drifts without a care.
A wind that warmth may never share.

His eyes uplifted. He beheld her face.
‘By magic?’ said he. ‘Enchantment’s
grace?
Nay. But cut off from my company have I
been,
By a storm that ravaged, but was not
seen.
Many days have I wondered, seeking aid,
Stumbling ‘neath the trees whose casting
shade
Has hemmed me in. My hope was lost
and I was ill,
Yet from afar I descried this house and
hill.
And with the last of my strength up I
strode,
Seeing no path or walking road.
And help, most truly, I would now ask of
thee,
For death has sought, and is seeking for
me.’

‘And death shall find you,’ she,
answering, said.
‘Even here, where thou layest thine
head.’

‘Those words are cruel. Cruel indeed.
To withhold help from one in need.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘to those who know
Whither to walk and where never to go.
For none venture here and none return,
Though for warmth and day they may
ever yearn.’

‘In truth I tell you,’ he bestirringly said,
‘That when first my eyes opened, I
thought myself dead.
For I looked on a sight of beauty
unbound,
A loveliness most profound.
But your heart is cold and without
regret.
This is not the aid I thought to have met.’

‘Perhaps, perchance, but your thoughts
are not mine.
Little good will it do thee to beg and
pine.’

‘A barter then, a covenant true,
An unfaltering oath shall I swear to you.’
Then reaching weakly to his breast,
As though it were some enfolding nest,
He drew out with care a band of gold
That flared to silver in his hold.
‘Lo! My greatest treasure ever won,
Gained in battle under scorching sun.
To thee I offer it in return
For the help I asked that you did spurn.’

As she looked upon his band of shifting
hue
The desire to possess it swiftly grew.
For many things could she do with silver-
gold.
‘If in truth you make me an offer so bold
Then enter now my delicate home.
Fear no longer in pain to roam.’
Into her abode she led him by hand,
Her eyes ever lighting upon his band,
And there she tended him in his pain,
She who had nigh afore been his bane.

She laid him upon a couch of cold,
But he cried: ‘Nay! Even now the hold
Of death draws nigh.
Do not chill my blood with beguiling ply.’

‘How then shall I warm you, o weakling
dire?’

‘Bestir a flame. Rouse a fire.’

At this bidding she drew swiftly back.
‘That alone of the arts I lack.’

‘I doubt not that such a thing would be
lost
To she who hems herself in with frost.
But I cannot weather such clinging
freeze.
I shall keep my band you think to seize
If you will not hearken to me in any wise.
I shall bear it beyond the boundless
skies.’

But lust overcame her wavering.
The lust for so small and precious a
thing.
And with commanding voice but head
bowed low
She bid her fire of ice and snow
Become a flame. And a reddened flame
indeed up-started,
And from it the chill swiftly departed.
His limbs were heated, his blood was
warmed.
But in her there arose and a-sudden
stormed
An agony burning, and with it a dread.
And, raising herself, the room she fled
And afterwards returned not, save to
visit his bed
To soothe his wounds and provide water
and bread.




Keep Strong!

Well, here a day after Valentine's, comes the part two and conclusion of our tale. (For those of you just joining us, drop by HERE to read part one. I think you'll like it. (Or, at least, I hope so...?))








                                               













Thus it was for many night-cloaked days.
Once a time she bore to him trays
Laden with fare and water that eased
All his hurt. Not long it was that the
Wounds that seized
His battered body slowly mended.
And the fire kept, though to its flame she
Never tended.
Nor, though her steps he saw and doings
He heard,
Unto him did she ever utter a word.

To him her silence seemed wrought in pain,
As though she knew of naught but that domain.
At last he asked: ‘Why movest thou so,
As one who sleeps,
Or one who oft lonely sits and weeps?’

She turned upon him silver eyes,
Like starlight seen through clouded skies.
“The answer to thy query I need not to show,
For ‘tis something thyself in truth doth know.
Why went you and your company out at all?
Was it not at the summoning and the call
Of thy greedy hearts that, seeking praise,
Lost thee in the wild as a fool that strays?
Thou would have done well to keep thy house. But there!
There lies all thy heart and all thy care.
Is it not vain to rise and vain to sleep?
Vain thy mind and body to keep?
Is it not vain to name aught as foul or fair?
Is it not vain to harbor a single care?
Life to death, not life to life, is the way of all.
Are not all these things in the end to thy gall?”

“But what of life?” said he aghast.
“How canst thou discount that which has not yet passed?
True, all mortals are mortal indeed.
But for this thou would loose thy bonds and be freed?
Death cometh swiftly, but while it be at bay
Should one not enjoy the sunrise of a dawning day?
Should one not share in the joy of a song?
Or even a smile to bear along?
Ah! To know faithful comrades to see one through!
To know love, blissed love, tried and true.”

Suddenly he fell silent, and she was still.
For a time naught stirred in that house on the hill
Save the fire that flared and fanned.
Soft as a whisper she out-stretched her hand,
Seeming to wish his cheek to clasp.
But when his palm found hers in soft caress a gasp
Escaped her lips, and back she drew.
Within her something stirred anew.
A feeling slow yet overpowering wormed
It’s way deeply, and there it burned.
Again she rose and again she fled,
Again left him lying upon the bed.

Still more time passed, and more strength he gained.
And he nurtured a new thought, and himself ordained
To be a light within her darkened world.
Visions new and sights that swirled
He caused to dance before her silver eyes,
For he spoke of all that under heaven lies.
Of the Springtide sun that shone with glee,
And of the white breakers of the boundless sea.
He spoke of the glades of endless flowers,
And mist of the valleys after gentle showers.
But most of all he spoke of men, whose hearts
Were not always so easily read as jottings in charts.
Yea, there were those who would destroy without cease,
But others there were also; seekers of peace.

“But what availeth all this,” she said at last,
“If, when all is spoken and done and passed,
Death awaits like a clinging net?”

He answered: “Death awaits, and none forget.
Life is as a passing mist and dew.
Yet all things in it may seem bright and new
If hearts walk together to bear on and through.
If instead of being lived by one, it is shared in love by two.”

To this she made no reply.

The day came at last, by and by,
That his wounds and weariness was healed.
With humbled heart at her feet he kneeled.
“Behold,” he said, “here is thy due,
The costly jewel that I swore to you.”
But when she reached out to take his band
He a-sudden clutched her pale hand,
And, looking into her silver eyes, declared:
“Many ways and many evils have I betimes fared,
And I perceive my suffering has been small to thine.
Therefore, do not shirk to accept this that was mine,
But I beg thee to accept yet more.
But for you I would have passed through death’s black door.
Little and small my offering may seem for its part,
Though it is the greatest thing I can give: My heart.”

She gazed on him and indeed it seemed
That in her eyes there boiled and steamed
A fierce desire, but this time true.
She looked on him with sight anew.
His tender words, his warming soul,
Warm as a glinting ember coal,
Had reached down deep and taken hold
Had wrought a wonder in her heart of cold.
Yet the availing of this was due to him only in part,
This wonder that worked within her heart.
The fire that had burned e’er since he came,
The glittering, fanning, dancing flame,
Had wrought on her also. And slow as a coming tide,
Had thawed the chill that lay inside.

Therefore, she marveled at the warmth that spread in her,
The coming of Spring to her forced Winter.
She took in her grasp his trembling hand,
Pressing thither his silver-golden band.
Then she touched his cheek in unbridled embrace,
As tears of delight bathed his shining face.

Now fate is a thing most strange indeed,
For it both caters to want and ignores need.
It is kinder than joy, the master of bliss,
And it is crueler than death’s blackened kiss.

Scarcely had she caressed his cheek
Than the support of his strengthened knees grew weak.
He quivered once, then down he fell,
Lifeless as a withered, hollow shell.
Death had locked him in its hold
From the instant he had touched her couch of cold.

And even as she stared in silent grief
At the man death had stolen as a thief,
She felt within her a subtle pain,
And her own strength began to wane.
A moment later she lay at his side,
Lifeless as the sand washed by the tide.
For death was assured to her the moment he came
And bid her rouse a warming flame.
For the power to weather such things had been lost
To she who had hemmed herself in with frost.

And there they two lay for evermore,
Corpses behind a frozen door.
For none found them, and even now none know
Whither lies that house, moon-cloaked with snow.

And thusly runs this tale of woe,
A story that a self-tortured heart did know,
When she gave of her love long ago
On an endless night of whiting glow.



Keep Strong!