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1915
the first version:
*The First
Verses
O fading town
upon a little hill,
Old
memory is waning in thine ancient gates,
The robe gone
gray, thine old heart almost still;
The
castle only, frowning, ever waits
And ponders
how among the towering elms
The Gliding
Water leaves this inland realms
And
slips between long meadows to the western sea -
Still bearing
downward over murmurous falls
One
year and then another to the sea;
And slowly
thither have a many gone
Since first
the fairies built Kortirion
O spiry town
upon a windy hill
With
sudden-winding alleys shady-walled
(Where even
now the peacocks pace a stately drill,
Majestic,
sapphirine, and emerald),
Behold they
girdle of a wide champain
Sunlit, and
watered with a silver rain,
And
richly wooden with a thousand whispering trees
That cast
long shadows in many a bygone noon,
And
murmured many centures in the breeze.
Thou art the
city of the Land of Elms,
Alalminore
in the Faery Realms.
Sing of thy
trees, old, old Kortirion!
Thine oaks,
and maples with their tassels on,
Thy singing
poplars; and the splendid yews
That crown
thine agÂd walls and muse
Of sombre
grandeur all the day -
Until the
twinkle of early stars
Is tangled
palely in their sable bars;
Until the
seven lampads of the Silver Bear
Swing slowly
in their shrouded hair
And
diadem the fallen day.
O tower and
citadel of the world!
When bannered
summer is unfurled
Most full
of music are thine elms -
A gathered
sound that overwhelms
The
voices of all other trees.
Sing then
of elms, belov'd Kortirion,
How summer
crowds their full sails on,
Like clothÂd
masts of verdurous ships,
A fleet of
galleons that proudly slips
Across
long sunlit seas.
*The Second
Verses
Thou
art the inmost province of the fading isle
Where
linger yet the Lonely Companies.
Still, undespairing,
do they sometimes slowly file
Along
thy paths with plaintive harmonies:
The holy fairies
and immortal elves
That dance
among the trees and sing themselves
A wistful
song of things that were, and could be yet.
They pass
and vanish in a sudden breeze,
A wave
of bowling grass - and we forget
Their tender
voices like wind-shaken bells
Of flowers,
their gleaming hair like golden asphodels.
Spring still
hath joy: thy spring is ever fair
Among
the trees; but drowsy summer by thy streams
Already stoops
to hear the secret player
Pipe
out beyond the tangle of her forest dreams
The long thin
tune that still do sing
The elvish
harebells nodding in a jacinth ring
Upon
the castle walls;
Already stoops
to listen to the clear cold spell
Come
up her sunny aisles and perfumed halls;
A sad and
haunting magic note,
A strand
of silver glass remote.
Then all thy
trees, old town upon a windy bent,
Do loose a
long sad whisper and lament;
For going
are rich-hued hours, th'enchanted nights
When flitting
ghost-moths dance like satellites
Round
tapers in the moveless air;
And doomed
already are the radiant dawns,
The fingered
sunlight dripping on long lawns;
The odour
and the slumbrous noise of meads,
When all the
sorrel, flowers, and plumÂd weeds
Go down
before the scyther's share.
Strange sad
October robes her dewy furze
In netted
sheen of gold-shot gossamers,
And then the
wide-umbraged elm begins to fail;
Her mourning
multitudes of leaves go pale
Seeing
afar the icy shears
Of Winter,
and his blue-tipped spears
Marching unconquerable
upon the sun
Of bright
All-Hallows. Then their hour is done,
And wanly
borne on wings of amber pale
They beat
the wide airs of the fading vale
And
fly like birds across the misty meres.
*The Third
Verse
Yet is this
season dearest to my heart,
Most
fitting to the little faded town
With sense
of splendid pomps that now depart
In mellow
sounds of sadness echoing down
The paths
of stranded mists. O! gentle time
When the late
mornings are bejewelled with rime
And
the blue shadows gather on the distant woods.
The fairies
know thy early crystal dusk
And
put in secret on their twilit hoods
Of grey and
filmy purple, and long bands
Of frosted
starlight sewn by silver hands.
They know the
season of the brilliant night,
When
naked elms entwine in cloudy lace
The Pleiades,
and long-armed poplars bar the light
Of golden-rondured
moons with glorius face.
O fading fairies
and most lonely elves
Then sing
ye, sing ye to yourselves
A woven
song of stars and gleaming leaves;
Then whirl
ye with the sapphire-wingÂd winds;
Then
do ye pipe and call with heart that grieves
To sombre
men: 'Remember what is gone -
The magic
sun that lit Kortirion!'
Now are thy
trees, old, old Kortirion,
Seen rising
up through pallid mists and wan,
Like vessels
floating vague and long afar
Down opal
seas beyond the shadowy bar
Of cloudy
ports forlorn:
They leave
behind for ever havens throng'd
Wherein their
crews a while held feasting long
And gorgeous
ease, who now like windy ghosts
Are wafted
by slow airs to empty coasts;
There
are they sadly glimmering borne
Across
the plumbless ocean of oblivion
Bare are thy
trees become, Kortirion,
And all their
summer glory swiftly gone
The seven
lampads of the Silver Bear
Are waxen
to a wondrous flare
That
flames above the fallen year.
Though cold
thy windy squares and empty streets;
Though elves
dance seldom in thy pale retreats
(Save on some
rare and moonlit night,
A flash, a
whispering glint of white),
Yet
would I never need depart from here.
*The Last
Verse
I need not
know the desert or red palaces
Where
dwells the sun, the great seas of magic isles,
The pinewoods
piled on mountain-terraces;
And
calling faintly down the windy miles
Touches my
heart no distant bell that rings
In populous
cities of the Earthly Kings.
Here
do I find a haunting ever-near content
Set midmost
of the Land of withered Elms
(Alalminore
of the Faery Realms);
Here
circling slowly in a sweet lament
Linger the
holy fairies and immortal elves
Singing a
song of faded longing to themselves
====================================
...There is
a cave, boy. A cave of wonders.
...Filled
with treasures beyond your wildest dreams.
