As the red Maclean went to and fro
‘Twixt Duart and Cairnburg tower,
One day he chanced to spy a rose;
It seemed a single flower
With an open eye, but in some close part
The bud was shaping a double heart.
And this flower grew up so fresh and fair
On land that was held in fief,
The Treshnish Isles, which her father owned
Of Maclean, a vassal chief,
And this fair maid, having a vassal soul,
Of her beauty paid the tyrant toll.
And his gall?d spirit found ease in her
From the bond of the proud Argyle,
And his famished pride rose up full-fed,
And rampant beneath her smile,
That he laughed his laugh: “I will take this flower
And plant as a thorn in my lady’s bower.”
So he took the maiden with him in croup,
And to Castle Duart they came,
Where my lady looked her through and through,
Without or pity or blame:
“Would God,” she thought, “this flower would twine
And stablish herself in this place of mine!”
So she let it be, and it wound and wound,
It was so soft and young,
So lithe as the green shoots felt their way,
But they hardened where they clung,
Till they bent the stake the way they chose;
For this plant it was a climbing rose.
And the red Maclean, the chief of the clan,
To her was the chief of men,
And she thought in her pride, “Could I win to his side,
As the mists upon Cruachan-ben,
My matron coif would be borne so high
It would shine the first in the great world’s eye.”
Now Maclean in the strength of others is waxed
So proud that nought avails,
But the ships that traverse the Sound of Mull
Must lower their topmost sails,
When of Duart they come within gun-shot-
Still the woman who called him lord, bent not.
She looked from the seeming single flower
That twined until, none knew how,
The tender shoot that had clasped a twig,
Had all but bent a bough,
To her baffled lord, for his changed desire
Had held her safe in its counter-fire.
And he who noted her morning face
Grow clearer and yet more clear,
Beheld her the only untamed thing
Of all that came him near;
And his longing was as the thirst for blood,
His hate was the hate of fear;
And the fear and longing so grew and grew,
That together they rove his heart in two.
And still he saw her the bond that bound
Clan Campbell to his name,
And knew the issue between them, one
That for very pride and shame,
In his strong walls filled with his vassal kin,
His hand unholpen must lose or win.
The round world spinning about the sun
Appeareth a two-fold arc;
It nothing knoweth of high or low,
But only of light and dark:
That many, dreaming they climb a height,
Are boring deep in the pitchy night.
So the wilding rose it crept and crept,
It was so soft and fair,
That it wound till it reached the chamber door
At the top of the turret stair;
As its sweetness weighted the air within,
She thought, “One night he will tirl the pin.
“He will open and put my lady forth,
And will set me by his side.”
And so it fell; and my lady rose
And past in her virgin pride
From out of the chamber adown the stair
With a foot as light as a bird o’ the air.
Then the fierce Maclean, when as chatelaine
She greeted him from her place,
And he caught the tenser tone of her voice,
The light on her morning face,
Was hounded as by the devils in hell
To quench the spirit he could not quell.
And his limmer, striking deeper root,
Still darkly wound her way,
For she hated, who only reigned at night,
The woman who ruled by day;
And at Castle Duart the fiends full fain
Went up and down betwixt these twain.
Then the limmer made an image of wax,
Alike in every part
To my lady’s self, and when all was done,
She stuck it through the heart:
“Dwindle and dwine in shade and shine,”
She said, “till all of thine be mine.”
And ever beside the waxen shape
In the gloaming of the day,
With folded hands she crooned the curse
As a troubled soul might pray:
“Dwindle and dwine in shade and shine,
Till all be mine that now is thine.”
In an evil hour the baffled chief
Looked in as she crooned the spell;
He plucked the shroud from the waxen shape:
“You have wrought this passing well;
My lady’s face, and the smile thereof;
Here hate hath done the work of love.
“My lady’s face as she lives-not so;
My lady’s face,” he said,
“Not as she lives to flout us two,
But as-she might lie dead.”
Then each glanced up as in vague surprise,
And shrunk at the light in the other’s eyes.
For the wish that was quick in the woman’s breast
Had mothered the thought of the man,
And he said: “Ay, harry this heart of wax,
And the woman you would ban
Shall feel the sting in her heart of stone.”
But his laugh rang hollow, and died a groan.
He seized the knife, he struck it anew
And turned in the wounded wax:
“Take heed of this bloodless beauty,” he said,
“That thereof nothing lacks;
We will keep this saint as in a shrine;
She may be worth your life and mine.”
He led his limmer forth, and turned
The key ere he went his gait:
“If hate can do the work of love,
So love the work of hate.”
Then his fierce heart surged in its beaten pride
As the great waves surged in the high spring-tide.
(Emily Pfeiffer)
More Poetry from Emily Pfeiffer:
Emily Pfeiffer Poems based on Topics: Love, God, Soul, Night, Light, Man, Fairness, Faces, Mind, Youth, Work & Career- Quarterman's Grace. Part II (Emily Pfeiffer Poems)
- A Rhyme For The Time (Emily Pfeiffer Poems)
- The Wynnes Of Wynhavod. Act III (Emily Pfeiffer Poems)
- Six Studies In Exotic Forms Of Verse (Emily Pfeiffer Poems)
- A Lost Eden (Emily Pfeiffer Poems)
- The Rhyme Of The Lady Of The Rock. Fitte The Fifth. (Emily Pfeiffer Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, God Poems, Night Poems, Light Poems, Mind Poems, Soul Poems, Faces Poems, Youth Poems, Fairness Poems, Place PoemsBased on Keywords: wilding, full-fed, fief, hounded, boring, mothered, appeareth, argyle, spring-tide, pitchy, two-fold