Here you will find the Long Poem The Princes' Quest - Part the Ninth of poet William Watson
And passing through the city he went out Into the fat fields lying thereabout, And lo the spirit of the emerald stone With secret influence to himself unknown Guided the wandering of his errant feet, The servants of the errant soul; and sweet The meadows were, with babble of birds, and noise Of brooks, the water's voice and the wind's voice. Howbeit he gave small heed to any of them; And now the subtile spirit of the gem Led him along a winding way that ran Beyond the fields to where the woods began To spread green matwork for the mountains' feet; A region where the Silence had her seat And hearkened to the sounds that only she Can hear-the fall of dew on herb and tree; The voice of the growing of the grass; the night Down-fluttering breathless from the heaven's height; And autumn whispering unawares at times Strange secrets and dark sayings, wrapt in rhymes Wind-won from forest branches. At this place The old man rested for a little space, Forgetful that the day was wellnigh flown: But soon the urgent spirit of the stone Itself re-entered and possessed anew His soul; and led thereby, and wandering through A mile of trackless and untrodden ground, By favour of the rising moon he found A rude path, broken here and there by rills Which crossed it as they hurried from the hills. And going whitherso the wild path went, A two hours' journeying brought him, wellnigh spent With toiling upwards, to a mountain pass, A bleak lone place where no trees grew nor grass, But on each hand a peak of rock, high-reared, Uprose: afar the two like horns appeared Of some great beast, so tapering-tall they were. And now with forward gaze the wanderer Stood where the pass was highest and the track Went downward both ways; and behind his back The full moon shone, and lo before his face The bright sea glimmered at the mountain's base. It seemed, what way soever he might turn, His fate still led him to that watery bourn. So journeying down the track which lay before, He came, an hour past midnight, to the shore, And, looking backward, far above espied The two sharp peaks, one peak on either side Of that lone pass; verily like a pair Of monstrous horns, the tips far-seen, up there: And in the nether space betwixt the two, A single monstrous eye the moon shone through. Now all this while the spirit of the stone Had led him forward, he, the old man lone, Taking no thought of whither he was bound. And roaming now along the beach he found A creek, and in the creek, some little way From where it joined the sea, a pinnace lay Moored at the marge; and stepping thereinto, He sat him down, and from his bosom drew The mystic gem, and placed it at the prow, That he might watch its paly splendours, how They lightened here and there, and flashed aflame, Mocked at the moon and put the stars to shame. But hardly was the stone out of his hand, When the boat wrenched her moorings from the land, And swift as any captive bird set free Shot o'er the shimmering surface of the sea, The spirit of the emerald guiding her; And for a time the old man could not stir For very greatness of astonishment. But merrily o'er the moonlit waters went The pinnace, till the land was out of sight, Far in the dreaming distance. All that night, Faster than ever wind in winter blew, Faster than quarrel flies the bow, she flew. A moment was a league in that wild flight From vast to vast of ocean and the night. And now the moon her lanthorn had withdrawn: And now the pale weak heralds of the dawn Lifted the lids of their blear eyes afar: The last belated straggler of a star Went home; and in her season due the morn Brake on a cold and silent sea forlorn- A strange mute sea, where never wave hath stirred, Nor sound of any wandering wind is heard, Nor voice of sailors sailing merrily: A sea untraversed, an enchanted sea From all the world fate-folden; hemmed about Of linkèd Dreams; encompassed with a Doubt. But not the less for lack of wind went she, The flying pinnace, o'er that silent sea, Till those dull waters of enchantment lay Behind her many a league. And now her way Was toward a shining tract of ocean, where Low winds with bland breath flattered the mild air, And low waves did together clasp and close, And skyward yearning from the sea there rose And seaward yearning from the sky there fell A Spirit of Deep Content Unspeakable: So midway meeting betwixt sky and sea, These twain are married for eternity, And rule the spirits of that Deep, and share The lordship of the legions of the air. Here winds but came to rest them from their wars With far seas waged. Here Darkness had her stars Always, a nightly multitudinous birth. And entering on