He cried no cry when they drave the nails And the blood gushed hot and free, The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue But never a cry cried he. I ha’ seen him cow a thousand men On the hills o’ Galilee, They whined as he walked out calm between, Wi’ his eyes like the grey o’ the sea. Like the sea that brooks no voyaging With the winds unleashed and free, Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret Wi’ twey words spoke’ suddently. A master of men was the Goodly Fere, A mate of the wind and sea, If they think they ha’ slain our Goodly Fere They are fools eternally. I ha’ seen him eat o’ the honey-comb Sin’ they nailed him to the tree. [9] Fere = Mate, Companion. PORTRAIT From “La Mère Inconnue.” Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour. Of Provence and far halls of memory, Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity Of blended bells at even’s end, or As the distant seas should send her The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, Silence himself is grown her worshipper And ever doth attend her in that land Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir Naught but the softest voices, praising her. THE EYES Rest, Master, for we be a-weary, weary, And would feel the fingers of the wind Upon these lids that lie over us Sodden and lead-heavy. Rest, brother, for lo! the dawn is without! The yellow flame paleth And the wax runs low. Free us, for without be goodly colours, Green of the wood-moss and flower-colours, And coolness beneath the trees. Free us, for we perish In this ever-flowing monotony Of ugly print marks, black Upon white parchment. Free us, for there is one Whose smile more availeth Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: And we would look thereon. NILS LYKKE “Beautiful, infinite memories That are a-plucking at my heart, Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, And a-murmuring in the dark there? And a-reaching out your long hands Between me and my beloved? “And why will you be ever a-casting The black shadow of your beauty On the white face of my beloved And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes?” “FAIR HELENA” BY RACKHAM “_What I love best in all the world?_”