The ArgumentA certain man having landed on an island in the Greek sea, found there a beautifuldamsel, whom he would fain have delivered from a strange & dreadful doom, butfailing herein, he died soon afterwards.
    It happened once, some men of Italy
   Midst the Greek Islands went a sea-roving,
   And much good fortune had they on the sea:
   Of many a man they had the ransoming,
   And many a chain they gat and goodly thing;
   And midst their voyage to an isle they came,
   Whereof my story keepeth not the name.
    Now though but little was there left to gain,
   Because the richer folk had gone away,
  Yet since by this of water they were fain
  They came to anchor in a land-locked bay,
  Whence in a while some went ashore to play,
  Going but lightly armed in twos or threes,
  For midst that folk they feared no enemies.

   And of these fellows that thus went ashore,
  One was there who left all his friends behind;
  Who going inland ever more and more,
  And being left quite alone, at last did find
  A lonely valley sheltered from the wind,
  Wherein, amidst an ancient cypress wood,
  A long-deserted ruined castle stood.

   The wood, once ordered in fair grove and glade,
  With gardens overlooked by terraces,
  And marble-pavèd pools for pleasure made,
  Was tangled now and choked with fallen trees;
  And he who went there, with but little ease
  Must stumble by the stream’s side, once made meet
  For tender women’s dainty wandering feet.

   The raven’s croak, the low wind choked and drear,
  The baffled stream, the grey wolf’s doleful cry,
  Were all the sounds that mariner could hear,
  As through the wood he wandered painfully;
  But as unto the house he drew anigh,
  The pillars of a ruined shrine he saw,
  The once fair temple of a fallen law.

   No image was there left behind to tell
  Before whose face the knees of men had bowed;
  An altar of black stone, of old wrought well,
  Alone beneath a ruined roof now showed
  The goal whereto the folk were wont to crowd,
  Seeking for things forgotten long ago,
  Praying for heads long ages laid a-low.

   Close to the temple was the castle-gate,
  Doorless and crumbling; there our fellow turned,
  Trembling indeed at what might chance to wait
  The prey entrapped, yet with a heart that burned
  To know the most of what might there be learned,
  And hoping somewhat too, amid his fear,
  To light on such things as all men hold dear.

   Noble the house was, nor seemed built for war,
  But rather like the work of other days,
  When men, in better peace than now they are,
  Had leisure on the world around to gaze,
  And noted well the past times’ changing ways;
  And fair with sculptured stories it was wrought,
  By lapse of time unto dim ruin brought.

   Now as he looked about on all these things
  And strove to read the mouldering histories,
  Above the door an image with wide wings,
   Whose unclad limbs a serpent seemed to seize,
  He dimly saw, although the western breeze
  And years of biting frost and washing rain
  Had made the carver’s lab our well-nigh vain.

   But this, though perished sore and worn away,
  He noted well, because it seemed to be,
  After the fashion of another day,
  Some great man’s badge of war or armoury;
  And round it a carved wreath he seemed to see:
  But taking note of these things, at the last
  The mariner beneath the gateway passed.

   And there a lovely cloistered court he found,
  A fountain in the mist o’erthrown and dry,
  And in the cloister briers twining round
  The slender shafts; the wondrous imagery
  Outworn by more than many years gone by;
  Because the country people, in their fear
  Of wizardry, had wrought destruction here,

   And piteously these fair things had been maimed;
  There stood great Jove, lacking his head of might;
  Here was the archer, swift Apollo, lamed;
  The shapely limbs of Venus hid from sight
  By weeds and shards; Diana’s ankles light
  Bound with the cable of some coasting ship;
  And rusty nails through Helen’s maddening lip.

   Therefrom unto the chambers did he pass,
  And found them fair still, midst of their decay,
  Though in them now no sign of man there was,
  And everything but stone had passed away
  That made them lovely in that vanished day;
  Nay, the mere walls themselves would soon be gone
  And nought be left but heaps of mouldering stone.

   But he, when all the place he had gone o’er,
  And with much trouble clomb the broken stair,
  And from the topmost turret seen the shore
  And his good ship drawn up at anchor there,
  Came down again, and found a crypt most fair
  Built wonderfully beneath the greatest hall,
  And there he saw a door within the wall,

   Well-hinged, close shut; nor was there in that place
 Another on its hinges, therefore he
 Stood there and pondered for a little space
 And thought: “Perchance some marvel I shall see,
 For surely here some dweller there must be,
 Because this door seems whole and new and sound,
 While nought but ruin I can see around.”

 So with that word, moved by a strong desire,
 He tried the hasp, that yielded to his hand,
 And in a strange place, lit as by a fire
 Unseen but near, he presently did stand;
 And by an odorous breeze his face was fanned,
 As though in some Arabian plain he stood,
 Anigh the border of a spice-tree wood.

 He moved not for awhile, but looking round,
 He wondered much to see the place so fair,
 Because, unlike the castle above ground,
 No pillager or wrecker had been there;
 It seemed that time had passed on otherwhere,
 Nor laid a finger on this hidden place
 Rich with the wealth of some forgotten race.

 With hangings, fresh as when they left the loom,
 The walls were hung a space above the head,
 Slim ivory chairs were set about the room,
 And in one corner was a dainty bed
 That seemed for some fair queen apparellèd;
 And marble was the worst stone on the floor,
 That with rich Indian webs was covered o’er.

 The wanderer trembled when he saw all this,
 Because he deemed by magic it was wrought;
 Yet in his heart a longing for some bliss
 Whereof the hard and changing world knows nought,
 Arose and urged him on, and dimmed the thought
 That there perchance some devil lurked to slay
 The heedless wanderer from the light of day.

 Over against him was another door
 Set in the wall, so casting fear aside,
 With hurried steps he crossed the varied floor,
 And there again the silver latch he tried
 And with no pain the door he opened wide,
 And entering the new chamber cautiously
 The glory of great heaps of gold could see.

 Upon the floor uncounted medals lay
 Like things of little value; here and there
 Stood golden caldrons, that might well outweigh
 The biggest midst an emperor’s copper-ware,
 And golden cups were set on tables fair,
 Themselves of gold; and in all hollow things
 Were stored great gems, worthy the crowns of kings.

 The walls and roof with gold were overlaid,
 And precious raiment from the wall hung down;
 The fall of kings that treasure might have stayed,
 Or gained some longing conqueror great renown,
 Or built again some God-destroyed old town;
 What wonder if this plunderer of the sea
 Stood gazing at it long and dizzily?

 But at the last his troubled eyes and dazed
 He lifted from the glory of that gold,
 And then the image, that well-nigh erased
 Over the castle-gate he did behold,
 Above a door well wrought in coloured gold
 Again he saw; a naked girl with wings
 Enfolded in a serpent’s scaly rings.

 And even as his eyes were fixed on it
 A woman’s voice came from the other side,
 And through his heart strange hopes began to flit
 That in some wondrous land he might abide
 Not dying, master of a deathless bride,
 So o’er the gold which now he scarce could see
 He went, and passed this last door eagerly.

 Then in a room he stood wherein there was
 A marble bath, whose brimming water yet
 Was scarcely still; a vessel of green glass
 Half full of odorous ointment was there set
 Upon the topmost step that still was wet,
 And jewelled shoes and women’s dainty gear,
 Lay cast upon the varied pavement near.

 In one quick glance these things his eyes did see,
 But speedily they turned round to behold
 Another sight, for throned on ivory
 There sat a woman, whose wet tresses rolled
 On to the floor in waves of gleaming gold,
 Cast back from such a form as, erewhile shown
 To one poor shepherd, lighted up Troy town.

 Naked she was, the kisses of her feet
 Upon the floor a dying path had made
 From the full bath unto her ivory seat;
 In her right hand, upon her bosom laid,
 She held a golden comb, a mirror weighed
 Her left hand down, aback her fair head lay
 Dreaming awake of some long vanished day.

 Her eyes were shut but she seemed not to sleep,
 Her lips were murmuring things unheard and low,
 Or sometimes twitched as though she needs must weep,
 Though from her eyes the tears refused to flow,
 And oft with heavenly red her cheek did glow,
 As if remembrance of some half-sweet shame
 Across the web of many memories came.

 There stood the man, scarce daring to draw breath
 For fear the lovely sight should fade away;
 Forgetting heaven, forgetting life and death,
 Trembling for fear lest something he should say
 Unwitting, lest some sob should yet betray
 His presence there, for to his eager eyes
 Already did the tears begin to rise.

 But as he gazed she moved, and with a sigh
 Bent forward, dropping down her golden head:
 “Alas, alas! another day gone by,
 Another day and no soul come,” she said;
 “Another year, and still I am not dead!”
 And with that word once more her head she raised,
 And on the trembling man with great eyes gazed.

 Then he imploring hands to her did reach,
 And toward her very slowly 'gan to move
 And with wet eyes her pity did beseech,
 And seeing her about to speak he strove
 From trembling lips to utter words of love;
 But with a look she stayed his doubtful feet,
 And made sweet music as their eyes did meet.

  For now she spoke in gentle voice and clear,
 Using the Greek tongue that he knew full well:
 “What man art thou that thus hast wandered here,
 And found this lonely chamber where I dwell?
 Beware, beware! for I have many a spell;
 If greed of power and gold have led thee on,
 Not lightly shall this untold wealth be won.

 ”But if thou com’st here knowing of my tale,
 In hope to bear away my body fair,
 Stout must thine heart be, nor shall that avail
 If thou a wicked soul in thee dost bear;
 So once again I bid thee to beware,
 Because no base man things like this may see,
 And live thereafter long and happily.”

 “Lady,” he said, “in Florence is my home,
 And in my city noble is my name;
 Neither on peddling voyage am I come,
 But, like my fathers, bent to gather fame;
 And though thy face has set my heart a-flame
 Yet of thy story nothing do I know
 But here have wandered heedlessly enow.

 ”But since the sight of thee mine eyes did bless,
 What can I be but thine? what would’st thou have?
 From those thy words, I deem from some distress
 By deeds of mine thy dear life I might save;
 O then, delay not! if one ever gave
 His life to any, mine I give to thee;
 Come, tell me what the price of love must be?

 “Swift death, to be with thee a day and night
 And with the earliest dawning to be slain?
 Or better, a long year of great delight,
 And many years of misery and pain?
 Or worse, and this poor hour for all my gain?
 A sorry merchant am I on this day,
 E’en as thou willest so must I obey.”

 She said, “What brave words! nought divine am I,
 But an unhappy and unheard-of maid
 Compelled by evil fate and destiny
 To live, who long ago should have been laid
 Under the earth within the cypress shade.
 Hearken awhile, and quickly shalt thou know
 What deed I pray thee to accomplish now.

 ”God grant indeed thy words are not for nought!
 Then shalt thou save me, since for many a day
 To such a dreadful life I have been brought:
 Nor will I spare with all my heart to pay
 What man soever takes my grief away;
 Ah! I will love thee, if thou lovest me
 But well enough my saviour now to be.

 “My father lived a many years agone
 Lord of this land, master of all cunning,
 Who ruddy gold could draw from out grey stone
 And gather wealth from many an uncouth thing;
 He made the wilderness rejoice and sing,
 And such a leech he was that none could say
 Without his word what soul should pass away.

 ”Unto Diana such a gift he gave,
 Goddess above, below and on the earth,
 That I should be her virgin and her slave
 From the first hour of my most wretched birth;
 Therefore my life had known but little mirth
 When I had come unto my twentieth year
 And the last time of hallowing drew anear.

 “So in her temple had I lived and died
 And all would long ago have passed away,
 But ere that time came, did strange things betide,
 Whereby I am alive unto this day;
 Alas, the bitter words that I must say!
 Ah! can I bring my wretched tongue to tell
 How I was brought unto this fearful hell.

 ”A queen I was, what Gods I knew I loved,
 And nothing evil was there in my thought,
 And yet by love my wretched heart was moved
 Until to utter ruin I was brought!
 Alas! thou sayest our gods were vain and nought,
 Wait, wait, till thou hast heard this tale of mine,
 Then shalt thou think them devilish or divine.

 “Hearken! in spite of father and of vow
 I loved a man; but for that sin I think
 Men had forgiven me—yea, yea, even thou;
 But from the Gods the full cup must I drink
 And into misery unheard-of sink,
 Tormented when their own names are forgot,
 And men must doubt e’er if they lived or not.

 ”Glorious my lover was unto my sight,
 Most beautiful; of love we grew so fain
 That we at last agreed, that on a night
 We should be happy, but that he were slain
 Or shut in hold; and neither joy nor pain
 Should else forbid that hoped-for time to be;
 So came the night that made a wretch of me.

 “Ah! well do I remember all that night,
 When through the window shone the orb of June,
 And by the bed flickered the taper’s light,
 Whereby I trembled, gazing at the moon:
 Ah me! the meeting that we had, when soon
 Into his strong, well-trusted arms I fell
 And many a sorrow we began to tell.

 ”Ah me! what parting on that night we had!
 I think the story of my great despair
 A little while might merry folk make sad;
 For, as he swept away my yellow hair
 To make my shoulder and my bosom bare,
 I raised mine eyes, and shuddering could behold
 A shadow cast upon the bed of gold:

 “Then suddenly was quenched my hot desire
 And he untwined his arms; the moon so pale
 A while ago, seemed changed to blood and fire,
 And yet my limbs beneath me did not fail,
 And neither had I strength to cry or wail,
 But stood there helpless, bare and shivering,
 With staring eyes still fixed upon the thing.

 ”Because the shade that on the bed of gold
 The changed and dreadful moon was throwing down
 Was of Diana, whom I did behold
 With knotted hair and shining girt-up gown,
 And on the high white brow a deadly frown
 Bent upon us, who stood scarce drawing breath,
 Striving to meet the horrible sure death.

 “No word at all the dreadful Goddess said,
 But soon across my feet my lover lay,
 And well indeed I knew that he was dead;
 And would that I had died on that same day!
 For in a while the image turned away,
 And without words my doom I understood,
 And felt a horror change my human blood.

 ”And there I fell, and on the floor I lay
 By the dead man, till daylight came on me,
 And not a word thenceforward could I say
 For three years; till of grief and misery,
 The lingering pest, the cruel enemy,
 My father and his folk were dead and gone,
 And in this castle I was left alone:

 “And then the doom foreseen upon me fell,
 For Queen Diana did my body change
 Into a fork-tongued dragon flesh and fell,
 And through the island nightly do I range,
 Or in the green sea mate with monsters strange,
 When in the middle of the moonlit night
 The sleepy mariner I do affright.

 ”But all day long upon this gold I lie
 Within this place, where never mason’s hand
 Smote trowel on the marble noisily;
 Drowsy I lie, no folk at my command,
 Who once was called the Lady of the Land;
 Who might have bought a kingdom with a kiss,
 Yea, half the world with such a sight as this.”

 And therewithal, with rosy fingers light,
 Backward her heavy-hanging hair she threw,
 To give her naked beauty more to sight;
 But when, forgetting all the things he knew,
 Maddened with love unto the prize he drew,
 She cried: “Nay, wait! for wherefore wilt thou die,
 Why should we not be happy, thou and I?

 ”Wilt thou not save me? once in every year
 This rightful form of mine that thou dost see
 By favour of the Goddess have I here
 From sunrise unto sunset given me,
 That some brave man may end my misery.
 And thou—art thou not brave? can thy heart fail,
 Whose eyes e’en now are weeping at my tale?

  “Then listen! when this day is overpast,
 A fearful monster shall I be again,
 And thou mayst be my saviour at the last,
 Unless, once more, thy words are nought and vain.
 If thou of love and sovereignty art fain,
 Come thou next morn, and when thou seest here
 A hideous dragon, have thereof no fear,

  ”But take the loathsome head up in thine hands
 And kiss it, and be master presently
 Of twice the wealth that is in all the lands
 From Cathay to the head of Italy;
 And master also, if it pleaseth thee,
 Of all thou praisest as so fresh and bright,
 Of what thou callest crown of all delight.

 “Ah! with what joy then shall I see again
 The sunlight on the green grass and the trees,
 And hear the clatter of the summer rain,
 And see the joyous folk beyond the seas.
 Ah, me! to hold my child upon my knees
 After the weeping of unkindly tears
 And all the wrongs of these four hundred years.

 ”Go now, go quick! leave this grey heap of stone;
 And from thy glad heart think upon thy way,
 How I shall love thee—yea, love thee alone,
 That bringest me from dark death unto day;
 For this shall be thy wages and thy pay;
 Unheard-of wealth, unheard-of love is near,
 If thou hast heart a little dread to bear.”

 Therewith she turned to go; but he cried out:
 “Ah! wilt thou leave me then without one kiss,
 To slay the very seeds of fear and doubt,
 That glad to-morrow may bring certain bliss?
 Hast thou forgotten how love lives by this,
 The memory of some hopeful close embrace,
 Low whispered words within some lonely place?”

 But she, when his bright glittering eyes she saw
 And burning cheeks, cried out: “Alas, alas!
 Must I be quite undone, and wilt thou draw
 A worse fate on me than the first one was?
 O haste thee from this fatal place to pass!
 Yet, ere thou goest, take this, lest thou shouldst deem
 Thou hast been fooled by some strange midday dream.”

 So saying, blushing like a new-kissed maid,
 From off her neck a little gem she drew,
 That 'twixt those snowy rose-tinged hillocks laid,
 The secrets of her glorious beauty knew;
 And ere he well perceived what she would do,
 She touched his hand, the gem within it lay,
 And, turning, from his sight she fled away.

  Then at the doorway where her rosy heel
 Had glanced and vanished, he awhile did stare,
 And still upon his hand he seemed to feel
 The varying kisses of her fingers fair;
 Then turned he toward the dreary crypt and bare,
 And dizzily throughout the castle passed
 Till by the ruined fane he stood at last.

 Then weighing still the gem within his hand,
 He stumbled backward through the cypress wood,
 Thinking the while of some strange lovely land
 Where all his life should be most fair and good;
 Till on the valley’s wall of hills he stood,
 And slowly thence passed down unto the bay
 Red with the death of that bewildering day.

 The next day came, and he, who all the night
 Had ceaselessly been turning in his bed,
 Arose and clad himself in armour bright,
 And many a danger he rememberèd;
 Storming of towns, lone sieges full of dread,
 That with renown his heart had borne him through,
 And this thing seemed a little thing to do.

  So on he went, and on the way he thought
 Of all the glorious things of yesterday,
 Nought of the price whereat they must be bought,
 But ever to himself did softly say
 “No roaming now, my wars are passed away,
 No long dull days devoid of happiness,
 When such a love my yearning heart shall bless.”

 Thus to the castle did he come at last,
 But when unto the gateway he drew near,
 And underneath its ruined archway passed
 Into the court, a strange noise did he hear,
 And through his heart there shot a pang of fear;
 Trembling, he gat his sword into his hand,
 And midmost of the cloisters took his stand.

 But for a while that unknown noise increased,
 A rattling, that with strident roars did blend
 And whining moans; but suddenly it ceased,
 A fearful thing stood at the cloister’s end
 And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to wend
 Adown the cloisters, and began again
 That rattling, and the moan like fiends in pain.

 And as it came on towards him, with its teeth
 The body of a slain goat did it tear,
 The blood whereof in its hot jaws did seethe,
 And on its tongue he saw the smoking hair;
 Then his heart sank, and standing trembling there,
 Throughout his mind wild thoughts and fearful ran:
 “Some fiend she was,” he said, “the bane of man.”

 Yet he abode her still, although his blood
 Curdled within him: the thing dropped the goat,
 And creeping on, came close to where he stood,
 And raised its head to him and wrinkled throat.
 Then he cried out and wildly at her smote,
 Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the place
 Ran swiftly, with a white and ghastly face.

 But little things rough stones and tree-trunks seemed,
 And if he fell, he rose and ran on still;
 No more he felt his hurts than if he dreamed,
 He made no stay for valley or steep hill,
 Heedless he dashed through many a foaming rill,
 Until he came unto the ship at last
 And with no word into the deep hold passed.

 Meanwhile the dragon, seeing him clean gone,
 Followed him not, but crying horribly,
 Caught up within her jaws a block of stone
 And ground it into powder, then turned she,
 With cries that folk could hear far out at sea,
 And reached the treasure set apart of old,
 To brood above the hidden heaps of gold.

 Yet was she seen again on many a day
 By some half-waking mariner or herd,
 Playing amid the ripples of the bay,
 Or on the hills making all things afeard,
 Or in the wood that did that castle gird,
 But never any man again durst go
 To seek her woman 's form, and end her woe.

 As for the man, who knows what things he bore?
 What mournful faces peopled the sad night,
 What wailings vexed him with reproaches sore,
 What images of that nigh-gained delight!
 What dreamed caresses from soft hands and white,
 Turning to horrors ere they reached the best;
 What struggles vain, what shame, what huge unrest?

 No man he knew, three days he lay and raved
 And cried for death, until a lethargy
 Fell on him, and his fellows thought him saved;
 But on the third night he awoke to die;
 And at Byzantium doth his body lie
 Between two blossoming pomegranate trees,
 Within the churchyard of the Genoese.