| |
| TO heal his heart of long-time pain | |
| One day Prince Love for to travel was fain | |
| With Ministers Mind and Sense. | |
| ‘Now what to thee most strange may be?’ | |
| Quoth Mind and Sense. ‘All things above, | 5 |
| One curious thing I first would see— | |
| Hell,’ quoth Love. | |
| |
| Then Mind rode in and Sense rode out: | |
| They searched the ways of man about. | |
| First frightfully groaneth Sense. | 10 |
| ‘’Tis here, ’tis here,’ and spurreth in fear | |
| To the top of the hill that hangeth above | |
| And plucketh the Prince: ‘Come, come, ’tis here—’ | |
| ‘Where?’ quoth Love— | |
| |
| ‘Not far, not far,’ said shivering Sense | 15 |
| As they rode on. ‘A short way hence, | |
| —But seventy paces hence: | |
| Look, King, dost see where suddenly | |
| This road doth dip from the height above? | |
| Cold blew a mouldy wind by me’ | 20 |
| (‘Cold?’ quoth Love) | |
| |
| ‘As I rode down, and the River was black, | |
| And yon-side, lo! an endless wrack | |
| And rabble of souls,’ sighed Sense, | |
| ‘Their eyes upturned and begged and burned | 25 |
| In brimstone lakes, and a Hand above | |
| Beat back the hands that upward yearned—’ | |
| ‘Nay!’ quoth Love— | |
| |
| ‘Yea, yea, sweet Prince; thyself shalt see, | |
| Wilt thou but down this slope with me; | 30 |
| ’Tis palpable,’ whispered Sense. | |
| At the foot of the hill a living rill | |
| Shone, and the lilies shone white above; | |
| ‘But now ’twas black, ’twas a river, this rill,’ | |
| (‘Black?’ quoth Love) | 35 |
| |
| ‘Ay, black, but lo! the lilies grow, | |
| And yon-side where was woe, was woe,— | |
| Where the rabble of souls,’ cried Sense, | |
| ‘Did shrivel and turn and beg and burn, | |
| Thrust back in the brimstone from above— | 40 |
| Is banked of violet, rose, and fern:’ | |
| ‘How?’ quoth Love: | |
| |
| ‘For lakes of pain, yon pleasant plain | |
| Of woods and grass and yellow grain | |
| Doth ravish the soul and sense: | 45 |
| And never a sigh beneath the sky, | |
| And folk that smile and gaze above—’ | |
| ‘But saw’st thou here, with thine own eye, | |
| Hell?’ quoth Love. | |
| |
| ‘I saw true hell with mine own eye, | 50 |
| True hell, or light hath told a lie, | |
| True, verily,’ quoth stout Sense. | |
| Then Love rode round and searched the ground, | |
| The caves below, the hills above; | |
| ‘But I cannot find where thou hast found | 55 |
| Hell,’ quoth Love. | |
| |
| There, while they stood in a green wood | |
| And marvelled still on Ill and Good, | |
| Came suddenly Minister Mind. | |
| ‘In the heart of sin doth hell begin: | 60 |
| ’Tis not below, ’tis not above, | |
| It lieth within, it lieth within:’ | |
| (‘Where?’ quoth Love) | |
| |
| ‘I saw a man sit by a corse; | |
| Hell’s in the murderer’s breast: remorse! | 65 |
| Thus clamored his mind to his mind: | |
| Not fleshly dole is the sinner’s goal, | |
| Hell’s not below, nor yet above, | |
| ’Tis fixed in the ever-damned soul—’ | |
| ‘Fixed?’ quoth Love— | 70 |
| |
| ‘Fixed: follow me, would’st thou but see: | |
| He weepeth under yon willow tree, | |
| Fast chained to his corse,’ quoth Mind. | |
| Full soon they passed, for they rode fast, | |
| Where the piteous willow bent above. | 75 |
| ‘Now shall I see at last, at last, | |
| Hell,’ quoth Love. | |
| |
| There when they came Mind suffered shame: | |
| ‘These be the same and not the same,’ | |
| A-wondering whispered Mind. | 80 |
| Lo, face by face two spirits pace | |
| Where the blissful willow waves above: | |
| One saith: ‘Do me a friendly grace—’ | |
| (‘Grace!’ quoth Love) | |
| |
| ‘Read me two Dreams that linger long, | 85 |
| Dim as returns of old-time song | |
| That flicker about the mind. | |
| I dreamed (how deep in mortal sleep!) | |
| I struck thee dead, then stood above, | |
| With tears that none but dreamers weep;’ | 90 |
| ‘Dreams,’ quoth Love; | |
| |
| ‘In dreams, again, I plucked a flower | |
| That clung with pain and stung with power, | |
| Yea, nettled me, body and mind.’ | |
| ‘’Twas the nettle of sin, ’twas medicine; | 95 |
| No need nor seed of it here Above; | |
| In dreams of hate true loves begin.’ | |
| ‘True,’ quoth Love. | |
| |
| ‘Now strange,’ quoth Sense, and ‘Strange,’ quoth Mind, | |
| ‘We saw it, and yet ’tis hard to find, | 100 |
| —But we saw it,’ quoth Sense and Mind. | |
| Stretched on the ground, beautiful-crowned | |
| Of the piteous willow that wreathed above, | |
| ‘But I cannot find where ye have found | |
| Hell,’ quoth Love. | 105 |
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