She turned, and even as they came they passed From out the place, and reached the gate at last That oped before their feet, and speedily They gained the edges of the murmuring sea, And as they stood in silence, gazing there Out to the west, they vanished into air, I know not how, nor whereto they returned.
But mixed with twilight in the chamber burned The flickering candles, and those dreary folk, Unlike to sleepers, from their trance awoke, But nought of what had happed meanwhile they knew Through the half-opened casements now there blew A sweet fresh air, that of the flowers and sea Mingled together, smelt deliciously, And from the unseen sun the spreading light Began to make the fair June blossoms bright, And midst their weary woe uprose the sun, And thus has Ogier's noble life begun.
Hope is our life, when first our life grows clear; Hope and delight, scarce crossed by lines of fear, Yet the day comes when fain we would not hope, But forasmuch as we with life must cope, Struggling with this and that, who knoweth why? Hope will not give us up to certainty, But still must bide with us: and with this man, Whose life amid such promises began Great things she wrought; but now the time has come When he no more on earth may have his home. Great things he suffered, great delights he had, Unto great kings he gave good deeds for bad; He ruled o'er kingdoms where his name no more Is had in memory, and on many a shore He left his sweat and blood to win a name Passing the bounds of earthly creatures' fame. A love he won and lost, a well-loved son Whose little day of promise soon was done: A tender wife he had, that he must leave Before his heart her love could well receive; Those promised gifts, that on his careless head In those first hours of his fair life were shed He took unwitting, and unwitting spent, Nor gave himself to grief and discontent Because he saw the end a-drawing nigh. Where is he now? in what land must he die, To leave an empty name to us on earth? A tale half true, to cast across our mirth Some pensive thoughts of life that might have been; Where is he now, that all this life has seen?
Behold, another eve upon the earth Than that calm evening of the warrior's birth; The sun is setting in the west, the sky Is bright and clear and hard, and no clouds lie About the golden circle of the sun; But East, aloof from him, heavy and dun Steel-grey they pack with edges red as blood, And underneath them is the weltering flood Of some huge sea, whose tumbling hills, as they Turn restless sides about, are black or grey, Or green, or glittering with the golden flame; The wind has fallen now, but still the same The mighty army moves, as if to drown This lone, bare rock, whose shear scarped sides of brown Cast off the weight of waves in clouds of spray. Alas! what ships upon an evil day Bent over to the wind in this ill sea? What navy, whose rent bones lie wretchedly Beneath these cliffs? a mighty one it was, A fearful storm to bring such things to pass.
