FIFTY-ONE TALES

by Lord Dunsany

1915

CONTENTS

The Assignation

Charon

The Death of Pan

The Sphinx at Giza

The Hen

Wind and Fog

The Raft-Builders

The Workman

The Guest

Death and Odysseus

Death and the Orange

The Prayer of the Flower

Time and the Tradesman

The Little City

The Unpasturable Fields

The Worm and the Angel

The Songless Country

The Latest Thing

The Demagogue and the Demi-monde

The Giant Poppy

Roses

The Man With the Golden Ear-rings

The Dream of King Karna-Vootra

The Storm

A Mistaken Identity

The True History of the Hare and the Tortoise

Alone the Immortals

A Moral Little Tale

The Return of Song

Spring In Town

How the Enemy Came to Thlunrana

A Losing Game

Taking Up Picadilly

After the Fire

The City

The Food of Death

The Lonely Idol

The Sphinx in Thebes (Massachusetts)

The Reward

The Trouble in Leafy Green Street

The Mist

Furrow-Maker

Lobster Salad

The Return of the Exiles

Nature and Time

The Song of the Blackbird

The Messengers

The Three Tall Sons

Compromise

What We Have Come To

The Tomb of Pan

THE ASSIGNATION

Fame singing in the highways, and trifling as she sang, with sordidadventurers, passed the poet by. 

And still the poet made for her little chaplets of song, to deck herforehead in the courts of Time: and still she wore instead the worthlessgarlands, that boisterous citizens flung to her in the ways, made out ofperishable things. 

And after a while whenever these garlands died the poet came to herwith his chaplets of song; and still she laughed at him and wore theworthless wreaths, though they always died at evening. 

And one day in his bitterness the poet rebuked her, and said to her:"Lovely Fame, even in the highways and the byways you have notforeborne to laugh and shout and jest with worthless men, and I havetoiled for you and dreamed of you and you mock me and pass me by. "

And Fame turned her back on him and walked away, but in departingshe looked over her shoulder and smiled at him as she had not smiledbefore, and, almost speaking in a whisper, said:

"I will meet you in the graveyard at the back of the Workhouse in ahundred years. "

CHARON

Charon leaned forward and rowed. All things were one with hisweariness. 

It was not with him a matter of years or of centuries, but of widefloods of time, and an old heaviness and a pain in the arms that hadbecome for him part of the scheme that the gods had made and wasof a piece with Eternity. 

If the gods had even sent him a contrary wind it would have dividedall time in his memory into two equal slabs. 

So grey were all things always where he was that if any radiancelingered a moment among the dead, on the face of such a queenperhaps as Cleopatra, his eyes could not have perceived it. 

It was strange that the dead nowadays were coming in such numbers. They were coming in thousands where they used to come in fifties. Itwas neither Charon's duty nor his wont to ponder in his grey soul whythese things might be. Charon leaned forward and rowed. 

Then no one came for a while. It was not usual for the gods to sendno one down from Earth for such a space. But the gods knew best. 

Then one man came alone. And the little shade sat shivering on alonely bench and the great boat pushed off. Only one passenger:the gods knew best. And great and weary Charon rowed on and onbeside the little, silent, shivering ghost. 

And the sound of the river was like a mighty sigh that Grief in thebeginning had sighed among her sisters, and that could not die likethe echoes of human sorrow failing on earthly hills, but was as oldas time and the pain in Charon's arms. 

Then the boat from the slow, grey river loomed up to the coast ofDis and the little, silent shade still shivering stepped ashore, andCharon turned the boat to go wearily back to the world. Then thelittle shadow spoke, that had been a man. 

"I am the last, " he said. 

No one had ever made Charon smile before, no one before had evermade him weep. 

THE DEATH OF PAN

When travellers from London entered Arcady they lamented one toanother the death of Pan. 

And anon they saw him lying stiff and still. 

Horned Pan was still and the dew was on his fur; he had not the lookof a live animal. And then they said, "It is true that Pan is dead. "

And, standing melancholy by that huge prone body, they looked forlong at memorable Pan. 

And evening came and a small star appeared. 

And presently from a hamlet of some Arcadian valley, with a soundof idle song, Arcadian maidens came. 

And, when they saw there, suddenly in the twilight, that old recumbentgod, they stopped in their running and whispered among themselves. "How silly he looks, " they said, and thereat they laughed a little. 

And at the sound of their laughter Pan leaped up and the gravel flewfrom his hooves. 

And, for as long as the travellers stood and listened, the crags andthe hill-tops of Arcady rang with the sounds of pursuit. 

THE SPHINX AT GIZEH

I saw the other day the Sphinx's painted face. 

She had painted her face in order to ogle Time. 

And he has spared no other painted face in all the world but hers. 

Delilah was younger than she, and Delilah is dust. Time hath lovednothing but this worthless painted face. 

I do not care that she is ugly, nor that she has painted her face, sothat she only lure his secret from Time. 

Time dallies like a fool at her feet when he should be smiting cities. 

Time never wearies of her silly smile. 

There are temples all about her that he has forgotten to spoil. 

I saw an old man go by, and Time never touched him. 

Time that has carried away the seven gates of Thebes!

She has tried to bind him with ropes of eternal sand, she had hopedto oppress him with the Pyramids. 

He lies there in the sand with his foolish hair all spread about her paws. 

If she ever finds his secret we will put out his eyes, so that he shallfind no more our beautiful things--there are lovely gates in Florencethat I fear he will carry away. 

We have tried to bind him with song and with old customs, but theyonly held him for a little while, and he has always smitten us andmocked us. 

When he is blind he shall dance to us and make sport. 

Great clumsy time shall stumble and dance, who liked to kill littlechildren, and can hurt even the daisies no longer. 

Then shall our children laugh at him who slew Babylon's winged bulls, and smote great numbers of the gods and fairies--when he is shornof his hours and his years. 

We will shut him up in the Pyramid of Cheops, in the great chamberwhere the sarcophagus is. Thence we will lead him out when wegive our feasts. He shall ripen our corn for us and do menial work. 

We will kiss they painted face, O Sphinx, if thou wilt betray to us Time. 

And yet I fear that in his ultimate anguish he may take hold blindlyof the world and the moon, and slowly pull down upon him theHouse of Man. 

THE HEN

All along the farmyard gables the swallows sat a-row, twitteringuneasily to one another, telling of many things, but thinking only ofSummer and the South, for Autumn was afoot and the North windwaiting. 

And suddenly one day they were all quite gone. And everyonespoke of the swallows and the South. 

"I think I shall go South myself next year, " said a hen. 

And the year wore on and the swallows came again, and the yearwore on and they sat again on the gables, and all the poultry discussedthe departure of the hen. 

And very early one morning, the wind being from the North, theswallows all soared suddenly and felt the wind in their wings; and astrength came upon them and a strange old knowledge and a morethan human faith, and flying high they left the smoke of our cities andsmall remembered eaves, and saw at last the huge and homeless sea, and steering by grey sea-currents went southward with the wind. Andgoing South they went by glittering fog-banks and saw old islands liftingtheir heads above them; they saw the slow quests of the wanderingships, and divers seeking pearls, and lands at war, till there came inview the mountains that they sought and the sight of the peaks theyknew; and they descended into an austral valley, and saw Summersometimes sleeping and sometimes singing song. 

"I think the wind is about right, " said the hen; and she spread herwings and ran out of the poultry-yard. And she ran fluttering out onto the road and some way down it until she came to a garden. 

At evening she came back panting. 

And in the poultry-yard she told the poultry how she had gone Southas far as the high road, and saw the great world's traffic going by, and came to lands where the potato grew, and saw the stubble uponwhich men live, and at the end of the road had found a garden, andthere were roses in it--beautiful roses!--and the gardener himself wasthere with his braces on. 

"How extremely interesting, " the poultry said, "and what a reallybeautiful description!"

And the Winter wore away, and the bitter months went by, and theSpring of the year appeared, and the swallows came again. 

"We have been to the South, " they said, "and the valleys beyondthe sea. "

But the poultry would not agree that there was a sea in the South:"You should hear our hen, " they said. 

WIND AND FOG

"Way for us, " said the North Wind as he came down the sea on anerrand of old Winter. 

And he saw before him the grey silent fog that lay along the tides. 

"Way for us, " said the North Wind, "O ineffectual fog, for I amWinter's leader in his age-old war with the ships. I overwhelmthem suddenly in my strength, or drive upon them the huge seafaringbergs. I cross an ocean while you move a mile. There is mourning ininland places when I have met the ships. I drive them upon the rocksand feed the sea. Wherever I appear they bow to our lord the Winter. "

And to his arrogant boasting nothing said the fog. Only he rose upslowly and trailed away from the sea and, crawling up long valleys, took refuge among the hills; and night came down and everything wasstill, and the fog began to mumble in the stillness. And I hear him tellinginfamously to himself the tale of his horrible spoils. "A hundred andfifteen galleons of old Spain, a certain argosy that went from Tyre, eight fisher-fleets and ninety ships of the line, twelve warships undersail, with their carronades, three hundred and eighty-seven river-craft, forty-two merchantmen that carried spice, thirty yachts, twenty-onebattleships of the modern time, nine thousand admirals. . . . " he mumbledand chuckled on, till I suddenly rose and fled from his fearfulcontamination. 

THE RAFT-BUILDERS

All we who write put me in mind of sailors hastily making rafts upondoomed ships. 

When we break up under the heavy years and go down into eternitywith all that is ours our thoughts like small lost rafts float on awhileupon Oblivion's sea. They will not carry much over those tides, ournames and a phrase or two and little else. 

They that write as a trade to please the whim of the day, they are likesailors that work at the rafts only to warm their hands and to distracttheir thoughts from their certain doom; their rafts go all to piecesbefore the ship breaks up. 

See now Oblivion shimmering all around us, its very tranquility deadlierthan tempest. How little all our keels have troubled it. Time in its deepsswims like a monstrous whale; and, like a whale, feeds on the littlestthings--small tunes and little unskilled songs of the olden, goldenevenings--and anon turneth whale-like to overthrow whole ships. 

See now the wreckage of Babylon floating idly, and something therethat once was Nineveh; already their kings and queens are in thedeeps among the weedy masses of old centuries that hide the soddenbulk of sunken Tyre and make a darkness round Persepolis. 

For the rest I dimly see the forms of foundered ships on the sea-floorstrewn with crowns. 

Our ships were all unseaworthy from the first. 

There goes the raft that Homer made for Helen. 

THE WORKMAN

I saw a workman fall with his scaffolding right from the summit ofsome vast hotel. And as he came down I saw him holding a knifeand trying to cut his name on the scaffolding. He had time to try anddo this for he must have had nearly three hundred feet to fall. And Icould think of nothing but his folly in doing this futile thing, for notonly would the man be unrecognizably dead in three seconds, but thevery pole on which he tried to scratch whatever of his name he hadtime for was certain to be burnt in a few weeks for firewood. 

Then I went home for I had work to do. And all that evening I thoughtof the man's folly, till the thought hindered me from serious work. 

And late that night while I was still at work, the ghost of the workmanfloated through my wall and stood before me laughing. 

I heard no sound until after I spoke to it; but I could see the greydiaphanous form standing before me shuddering with laughter. 

I spoke at last and asked what it was laughing at, and then the ghostspoke. It said: "I'm a laughin' at you sittin' and workin' there. "

"And why, " I asked, "do you laugh at serious work?"

"Why, yer bloomin' life 'ull go by like a wind, " he said, "and yer 'olesilly civilization 'ull be tidied up in a few centuries. "

Then he fell to laughing again and this time audibly; and, laughingstill, faded back through the wall again and into the eternity fromwhich he had come. 

THE GUEST

A young man came into an ornate restaurant at eight o'clock inLondon. 

He was alone, but two places had been laid at the table which wasreserved for him. He had chosen the dinner very carefully, by lettera week before. 

A waiter asked him about the other guest. 

"You probably won't see him till the coffee comes, " the young mantold him; so he was served alone. 

Those at adjacent tables might have noticed the young man continuallyaddressing the empty chair and carrying on a monologue with itthroughout his elaborate dinner. 

"I think you knew my father, " he said to it over the soup. 

"I sent for you this evening, " he continued, "because I want you todo me a good turn; in fact I must insist on it. "

There was nothing eccentric about the man except for this habit ofaddressing an empty chair, certainly he was eating as good a dinneras any sane man could wish for. 

After the Burgundy had been served he became more voluble in hismonologue, not that he spoiled his wine by drinking excessively. 

"We have several acquaintances in common, " he said. "I met King Setia year ago in Thebes. I think he has altered very little since you knewhim. I thought his forehead a little low for a king's. Cheops has left thehouse that he built for your reception, he must have prepared for youfor years and years. I suppose you have seldom been entertained likethat. I ordered this dinner over a week ago. I thought then that a ladymight have come with me, but as she wouldn't I've asked you. She maynot after all be as lovely as Helen of Troy. Was Helen very lovely? Notwhen you knew her, perhaps. You were lucky in Cleopatra, you musthave known her when she was in her prime. 

"You never knew the mermaids nor the fairies nor the lovely goddessesof long ago, that's where we have the best of you. "

He was silent when the waiters came to his table, but rambled merrilyon as soon as they left, still turned to the empty chair. 

"You know I saw you here in London only the other day. You wereon a motor bus going down Ludgate Hill. It was going much too fast. London is a good place. But I shall be glad enough to leave it. It wasin London that I met the lady I that was speaking about. If it hadn'tbeen for London I probably shouldn't have met her, and if it hadn'tbeen for London she probably wouldn't have had so much besidesme to amuse her. It cuts both ways. "

He paused once to order coffee, gazing earnestly at the waiter andputting a sovereign in his hand. "Don't let it be chicory, " said he. 

The waiter brought the coffee, and the young man dropped a tabloidof some sort into his cup. 

"I don't suppose you come here very often, " he went on. "Well, youprobably want to be going. I haven't taken you much out of your way, there is plenty for you to do in London. "

Then having drunk his coffee he fell on the floor by a foot of theempty chair, and a doctor who was dining in the room bent overhim and announced to the anxious manager the visible presence ofthe young man's guest. 

DEATH AND ODYSSEUS

In the Olympian courts Love laughed at Death, because he wasunsightly, and because She couldn't help it, and because he neverdid anything worth doing, and because She would. 

And Death hated being laughed at, and used to brood apart thinkingonly of his wrongs and of what he could do to end this intolerabletreatment. 

But one day Death appeared in the courts with an air and They allnoticed it. "What are you up to now?" said Love. And Death withsome solemnity said to Her: "I am going to frighten Odysseus"; anddrawing about him his grey traveller's cloak went out through thewindy door with his jowl turned earthwards. 

And he came soon to Ithaca and the hall that Athene knew, andopened the door and saw there famous Odysseus, with his whitelocks bending close over the fire, trying to warm his hands. 

And the wind through the open door blew bitterly on Odysseus. 

And Death came up behind him, and suddenly shouted. 

And Odysseus went on warming his pale hands. 

Then Death came close and began to mouth at him. And after awhile Odysseus turned and spoke. And "Well, old servant, " he said, "have your masters been kind to you since I made you work for meround Ilion?"

And Death for some while stood mute, for the thought of the laughterof Love. 

Then "Come now, " said Odysseus, "lend me your shoulder, " and heleaning heavily on that bony joint, they went together through the opendoor. 

DEATH AND THE ORANGE

Two dark young men in a foreign southern land sat at a restauranttable with one woman. 

And on the woman's plate was a small orange which had an evillaughter in its heart. 

And both of the men would be looking at the woman all the time, andthey ate little and they drank much. 

And the woman was smiling equally at each. 

Then the small orange that had the laughter in its heart rolledslowly off the plate on to the floor. And the dark young men bothsought for it at once, and they met suddenly beneath the table, andsoon they were speaking swift words to one another, and a horrorand an impotence came over the Reason of each as she sat helplessat the back of the mind, and the heart of the orange laughed and thewoman went on smiling; and Death, who was sitting at another table, tête-à-tête with an old man, rose and came over to listen to the quarrel. 

THE PRAYER OF THE FLOWERS

It was the voice of the flowers on the West wind, the lovable, theold, the lazy West wind, blowing ceaselessly, blowing sleepily, goingGreecewards. 

"The woods have gone away, they have fallen and left us; men loveus no longer, we are lonely by moonlight. Great engines rush overthe beautiful fields, their ways lie hard and terrible up and down theland. 

"The cancrous cities spread over the grass, they clatter in their lairscontinually, they glitter about us blemishing the night. 

"The woods are gone, O Pan, the woods, the woods. And thou artfar, O Pan, and far away. "

I was standing by night between two railway embankments on theedge of a Midland city. On one of them I saw the trains go by, oncein every two minutes, and on the other, the trains went by twice inevery five. 

Quite close were the glaring factories, and the sky above them worethe fearful look that it wears in dreams of fever. 

The flowers were right in the stride of that advancing city, andthence I heard them sending up their cry. And then I heard, beatingmusically up wind, the voice of Pan reproving them from Arcady--

"Be patient a little, these things are not for long. "

TIME AND THE TRADESMAN

Once Time as he prowled the world, his hair grey not with weaknessbut with dust of the ruin of cities, came to a furniture shop and enteredthe Antique department. And there he saw a man darkening the woodof a chair with dye and beating it with chains and making imitationwormholes in it. 

And when Time saw another doing his work he stood by him awhileand looked on critically. 

And at last he said: "That is not how I work, " and he turned the man'shair white and bent his back and put some furrows in his little cunningface; then turned and strode away, for a mighty city that was wearyand sick and too long had troubled the fields was sore in need of him. 

THE LITTLE CITY

I was in the pre-destined 11. 8 from Goraghwood to Drogheda, whenI suddenly saw the city. It was a little city in a valley, and only seemedto have a little smoke, and the sun caught the smoke and turned itgolden, so that it looked like an old Italian picture where angels walkin the foreground and the rest is a blaze of gold. And beyond, as onecould tell by the lie of land although one could not see through thegolden smoke, I knew that there lay the paths of the roving ships. 

All round there lay a patchwork of small fields all over the slopes ofthe hills, and the snow had come upon them tentatively, but alreadythe birds of the waste had moved to the sheltered places for everyomen boded more to fall. Far away some little hills blazed like anaureate bulwark broken off by age and fallen from the earthwardrampart of Paradise. And aloof and dark the mountains staredunconcernedly seawards. 

And when I saw those grey and watchful mountains sitting wherethey sat while the cities of the civilization of Araby and Asia aroselike crocuses, and like crocuses fell, I wondered for how long therewould be smoke in the valley and little fields on the hills. 

THE UNPASTURABLE FIELDS

Thus spake the mountains: "Behold us, even us; the old ones, thegrey ones, that wear the feet of Time. Time on our rocks shall breakhis staff and stumble: and still we shall sit majestic, even as now, hearing the sound of the sea, our old coeval sister, who nurses thebones of her children and weeps for the things she has done. 

"Far, far, we stand above all things; befriending the little cities untilthey grow old and leave us to go among the myths. 

"We are the most imperishable mountains. "

And softly the clouds foregathered from far places, and crag oncrag and mountain upon mountain in the likeness of Caucasus uponHimalaya came riding past the sunlight upon the backs of storms andlooked down idly from their golden heights upon the crests of themountains. 

"Ye pass away, " said the mountains. 

And the clouds answered, as I dreamed or fancied, "We pass away, indeed we pass away, but upon our unpasturablefields Pegasus prances. Here Pegasus gallops and browses uponsong which the larks bring to him every morning from far terrestrialfields. His hoof-beats ring upon our slopes at sunrise as though ourfields were of silver. And breathing the dawn-wind in dilated nostrils, with head tossed upwards and with quivering wings, he stands andstares from our tremendous heights, and snorts and sees far-futurewonderful wars rage in the creases and the folds of the togas thatcover the knees of the gods. "

THE WORM AND THE ANGEL

As he crawled from the tombs of the fallen a worm met with an angel. 

And together they looked upon the kings and kingdoms, and youthsand maidens and the cities of men. They saw the old men heavy intheir chairs and heard the children singing in the fields. They saw farwars and warriors and walled towns, wisdom and wickedness, andthe pomp of kings, and the people of all the lands that the sunlight knew. 

And the worm spake to the angel saying: "Behold my food. "

"Be dakeon para Thina poluphloisboio Thalassaes, " murmured theangel, for they walked by the sea, "and can you destroy that too?"

And the worm paled in his anger to a greyness ill to behold, for forthree thousand years he had tried to destroy that line and still itsmelody was ringing in _his head_. 

THE SONGLESS COUNTRY

The poet came unto a great country in which there were no songs. And he lamented gently for the nation that had not any little foolishsongs to sing to itself at evening. 

And at last he said: "I will make for them myself some little foolishsongs so that they may be merry in the lanes and happy by thefireside. " And for some days he made for them aimless songs suchas maidens sing on the hills in the older happier countries. 

Then he went to some of that nation as they sat weary with thework of the day and said to them: "I have made you some aimlesssongs out of the small unreasonable legends, that are somewhat akinto the wind in the vales of my childhood; and you may care to singthem in your disconsolate evenings. "

And they said to him:

"If you think we have time for that sort of nonsense nowadaysyou cannot know much of the progress of modern commerce. "

And the poet wept for he said: "Alas! They are damned. "

THE LATEST THING

I saw an unclean-feeder by the banks of the river of Time. He crouchedby orchards numerous with apples in a happy land of flowers; colossalbarns stood near which the ancients had stored with grain, and the sunwas golden on serene far hills behind the level lands. But his back wasto all these things. He crouched and watched the river. And whateverthe river chanced to send him down the unclean-feeder clutched atgreedily with his arms, wading out into the water. 

Now there were in those days, and indeed still are, certain uncleanlycities upon the river of Time; and from them fearfully nameless thingscame floating shapelessly by. And whenever the odor of these camedown the river before them the unclean-feeder plunged into the dirtywater and stood far out, expectant. And if he opened his mouth onesaw these things on his lips. 

Indeed from the upper reaches there came down sometimes thefallen rhododendron's petal, sometimes a rose; but they were uselessto the unclean-feeder, and when he saw them he growled. 

A poet walked beside the river's bank; his head was lifted and hislook was afar; I think he saw the sea, and the hills of Fate from whichthe river ran. I saw the unclean-feeder standing voracious, up to hiswaist in that evil-smelling river. 

"Look, " I said to the poet. 

"The current will sweep him away, " the poet said. 

"But those cities that poison the river, " I said to him. 

He answered: "Whenever the centuries melt on the hills of Fate theriver terribly floods. "

THE DEMAGOGUE AND THE DEMI-MONDE

A demagogue and a demi-mondaine chanced to arrive together atthe gate of Paradise. And the Saint looked sorrowfully at them both. 

"Why were you a demagogue?" he said to the first. 

"Because, " said the demagogue, "I stood for those principles thathave made us what we are and have endeared our Party to the greatheart of the people. In a word I stood unflinchingly on the plank ofpopular representation. "

"And you?" said the Saint to her of the demi-monde. 

"I wanted money, " said the demi-mondaine. 

And after some moments' thought the Saint said: "Well, come in;though you don't deserve to. "

But to the demagogue he said: "We genuinely regret that the limitedspace at our disposal and our unfortunate lack of interest in thoseQuestions that you have gone so far to inculate and have so ablyupheld in the past, prevent us from giving you the support for whichyou seek. "

And he shut the golden door. 

THE GIANT POPPY

I dreamt that I went back to the hills I knew, whence on a clear dayyou can see the walls of Ilion and the plains of Roncesvalles. Thereused to be woods along the tops of those hills with clearings in themwhere the moonlight fell, and there when no one watched the fairiesdanced. 

But there were no woods when I went back, no fairies nor distantglimpse of Ilion or plains of Roncesvalles, only one giant poppy wavedin the wind, and as it waved it hummed "Remember not. " And by itsoak-like stem a poet sat, dressed like a shepherd and playing anancient tune softly upon a pipe. I asked him if the fairies had passedthat way or anything olden. 

He said: "The poppy has grown apace and is killing gods andfairies. Its fumes are suffocating the world, and its roots drain itof its beautiful strength. " And I asked him why he sat on the hills Iknew, playing an olden tune. 

And he answered: "Because the tune is bad for the poppy, whichwould otherwise grow more swiftly; and because if the brotherhoodof which I am one were to cease to pipe on the hills men would strayover the world and be lost or come to terrible ends. We think we havesaved Agamemnon. "

Then he fell to piping again that olden tune, while the wind among thepoppy's sleepy petals murmured "Remember not. Remember not. "

ROSES

I know a roadside where the wild rose blooms with a strangeabundance. There is a beauty in the blossoms too of an almostexotic kind, a taint of deeper pink that shocks the Puritan flowers. Two hundred generations ago (generations, I mean, of roses) thiswas a village street; there was a floral decadence when they left theirsimple life and the roses came from the wilderness to clamber roundhouses of men. 

Of all the memories of that little village, of all the cottages that stoodthere, of all the men and women whose homes they were, nothingremains but a more beautiful blush on the faces of the roses. 

I hope that when London is clean passed away and the defeated fieldscome back again, like an exiled people returning after a war, they mayfind some beautiful thing to remind them of it all; because we have loveda little that swart old city. 

THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN EAR-RINGS

It may be that I dreamed this. So much at least is certain--that Iturned one day from the traffic of a city, and came to its docks andsaw its slimy wharves going down green and steep into the water, andsaw the huge grey river slipping by and the lost things that went with itturning over and over, and I thought of the nations and unpitying Time, and saw and marvelled at the queenly ships come newly from the sea. 

It was then, if I mistake not, that I saw leaning against a wall, with hisface to the ships, a man with golden ear-rings. His skin had the darktint of the southern men: the deep black hairs of his moustache werewhitened a little with salt; he wore a dark blue jacket such as sailorswear, and the long boots of seafarers, but the look in his eyes wasfurther afield than the ships, he seemed to be beholding the farthestthings. 

Even when I spoke to him he did not call home that look, butanswered me dreamily with that same fixed stare as though histhoughts were heaving on far and lonely seas. I asked him what shiphe had come by, for there were many there. The sailing ships werethere with their sails all furled and their masts straight and still like awintry forest; the steamers were there, and great liners, puffing up idlesmoke into the twilight. He answered he had come by none of them. I asked him what line he worked on, for he was clearly a sailor; Imentioned well-known lines, but he did not know them. Then I askedhim where he worked and what he was. And he said: "I work in theSargasso Sea, and I am the last of the pirates, the last left alive. " AndI shook him by the hand I do not know how many times. I said: "Wefeared you were dead. We feared you were dead. " And he answeredsadly: "No. No. I have sinned too deeply on the Spanish seas: I amnot allowed to die. "

THE DREAM OF KING KARNA-VOOTRA

King Karna-Vootra sitting on his throne commanding all things said:"I very clearly saw last night the queenly Vava-Nyria. Though partlyshe was hidden by great clouds that swept continually by her, rollingover and over, yet her face was unhidden and shone, being full ofmoonlight. 

"I said to her:

"'Walk with me by the great pools in many-gardened, beautifulIstrakhan where the lilies float that give delectable dreams; or, drawing aside the curtain of hanging orchids, pass with me thencefrom the pools by a secret path through the else impassable junglethat fills the only way between the mountains that shut in Istrakhan. They shut it in and look on it with joy at morning and at evening whenthe pools are strange with light, till in their gladness sometimes theremelts the deadly snow that kills upon lonely heights the mountaineer. They have valleys among them older than the wrinkles in the moon. 

"'Come with me thence or linger with me there and either we shallcome to romantic lands which the men of the caravans only speakof in song; or else we shall listlessly walk in a land so lovely thateven the butterflies that float about it when they see their imagesflash in the sacred pools are terrified by their beauty, and each nightwe shall hear the myriad nightingales all in one chorus sing the starsto death. Do this and I will send heralds far from here with tidingsof thy beauty; and they shall run and come to Séndara and menshall know it there who herd brown sheep; and from Séndara therumour shall spread on, down either bank of the holy river of Zoth, till the people that make wattles in the plains shall hear of it and sing;but the heralds shall go northward along the hills until they come toSooma. And in that golden city they shall tell the kings, that sit in theirlofty alabaster house, of thy strange and sudden smiles. And often indistant markets shall thy story be told by merchants out from Soomaas they sit telling careless tales to lure men to their wares. 

"'And the heralds passing thence shall come even to Ingra, toIngra where they dance. And there they shall tell of thee, so thatthy name long hence shall be sung in that joyous city. And there theyshall borrow camels and pass over the sands and go by desert waysto distant Nirid to tell of thee to the lonely men in the mountainmonasteries. 

"'Come with me even now for it is Spring. '"

"And as I said this she faintly yet perceptibly shook her head. And itwas only then I remembered my youth was gone, and she dead fortyyears. "

THE STORM

They saw a little ship that was far at sea and that went by the nameof the _Petite Espérance_. And because of its uncouth rig and itslonely air and the look that it had of coming from strangers' lands theysaid: "It is neither a ship to greet nor desire, nor yet to succor when inthe hands of the sea. "

And the sea rose up as is the wont of the sea and the little ship fromafar was in his hands, and frailer than ever seemed its feeble mastswith their sails of fantastic cut and their alien flags. And the sea madea great and very triumphing voice, as the sea doth. And then therearose a wave that was very strong, even the ninth-born son of thehurricane and the tide, and hid the little ship and hid the whole of thefar parts of the sea. Thereat said those who stood on the good dryland:

"'Twas but a little, worthless alien ship and it is sunk at sea, and it isgood and right that the storm have spoil. " And they turned and watchedthe course of the merchant-men, laden with silver and appeasing spice;year after year they cheered them into port and praised their goods andtheir familiar sails. And many years went by. 

And at last with decks and bulwarks covered with cloth of gold; withage-old parrots that had known the troubadours, singing illustrioussongs and preening their feathers of gold; with a hold full of emeraldsand rubies; all silken with Indian loot; furling as it came in its way-wornalien sails, a galleon glided into port, shutting the sunlight from themerchantmen: and lo! it loomed the equal of the cliffs. 

"Who are you?" they asked, "far-travelled wonderful ship?"

And they said: "The _Petite Espérance_. "

"O, " said the people on shore. "We thought you were sunk at sea. "

"Sunk at sea?" sang the sailors. "We could not be sunk at sea--wehad the gods on board. "

A MISTAKEN IDENTITY

Fame as she walked at evening in a city saw the painted face ofNotoriety flaunting beneath a gas-lamp, and many kneeled unto herin the dirt of the road. 

"Who are you?" Fame said to her. 

"I am Fame, " said Notoriety. 

Then Fame stole softly away so that no one knew she had gone. 

And Notoriety presently went forth and all her worshippers rose andfollowed after, and she led them, as was most meet, to her native Pit. 

THE TRUE HISTORY OF THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE

For a long time there was doubt with acrimony among the beasts asto whether the Hare or the Tortoise could run the swifter. Some saidthe Hare was the swifter of the two because he had such long ears, and others said the Tortoise was the swifter because anyone whoseshell was so hard as that should be able to run hard too. And lo, theforces of estrangement and disorder perpetually postponed a decisivecontest. 

But when there was nearly war among the beasts, at last anarrangement was come to and it was decided that the Hare and theTortoise should run a race of five hundred yards so that all shouldsee who was right. 

"Ridiculous nonsense!" said the Hare, and it was all his backers coulddo to get him to run. 

"The contest is most welcome to me, " said the Tortoise, "I shall notshirk it. "

O, how his backers cheered. 

Feeling ran high on the day of the race; the goose rushed at the foxand nearly pecked him. Both sides spoke loudly of the approachingvictory up to the very moment of the race. 

"I am absolutely confident of success, " said the Tortoise. Butthe Hare said nothing, he looked bored and cross. Some of hissupporters deserted him then and went to the other side, who wereloudly cheering the Tortoise's inspiriting words. But many remainedwith the Hare. "We shall not be disappointed in him, " they said. "Abeast with such long ears is bound to win. "

"Run hard, " said the supporters of the Tortoise. 

And "run hard" became a kind of catch-phrase which everybodyrepeated to one another. "Hard shell and hard living. That's whatthe country wants. Run hard, " they said. And these words werenever uttered but multitudes cheered from their hearts. 

Then they were off, and suddenly there was a hush. 

The Hare dashed off for about a hundred yards, then he lookedround to see where his rival was. 

"It is rather absurd, " he said, "to race with a Tortoise. " And he satdown and scratched himself. "Run hard! Run hard!" shouted some. 

"Let him rest, " shouted others. And "let him rest" became acatch-phrase too. 

And after a while his rival drew near to him. 

"There comes that damned Tortoise, " said the Hare, and he got upand ran as hard as could be so that he should not let the Tortoisebeat him. 

"Those ears will win, " said his friends. "Those ears will win; andestablish upon an incontestable footing the truth of what we havesaid. " And some of them turned to the backers of the Tortoise andsaid: "What about your beast now?"

"Run hard, " they replied. "Run hard. "

The Hare ran on for nearly three hundred yards, nearly in fact as faras the winning-post, when it suddenly struck him what a fool he lookedrunning races with a Tortoise who was nowhere in sight, and he satdown again and scratched. 

"Run hard. Run hard, " said the crowd, and "Let him rest. "

"Whatever is the use of it?" said the Hare, and this time he stoppedfor good. Some say he slept. 

There was desperate excitement for an hour or two, and then theTortoise won. 

"Run hard. Run hard, " shouted his backers. "Hard shell and hardliving: that's what has done it. " And then they asked the Tortoise whathis achievement signified, and he went and asked the Turtle. And theTurtle said, "It is a glorious victory for the forces of swiftness. " Andthen the Tortoise repeated it to his friends. And all the beasts saidnothing else for years. And even to this day, "a glorious victory forthe forces of swiftness" is a catch-phrase in the house of the snail. 

And the reason that this version of the race is not widely known isthat very few of those that witnessed it survived the great forest-firethat happened shortly after. It came up over the weald by night witha great wind. The Hare and the Tortoise and a very few of the beastssaw it far off from a high bare hill that was at the edge of the trees, andthey hurriedly called a meeting to decide what messenger they shouldsend to warn the beasts in the forest. 

They sent the Tortoise. 

ALONE THE IMMORTALS

I heard it said that very far away from here, on the wrong side of thedeserts of Cathay and in a country dedicate to winter, are all the yearsthat are dead. And there a certain valley shuts them in and hides them, as rumor has it, from the world, but not from the sight of the moon norfrom those that dream in his rays. 

And I said: I will go from here by ways of dream and I will come tothat valley and enter in and mourn there for the good years that aredead. And I said: I will take a wreath, a wreath of mourning, and layit at their feet in token of my sorrow for their dooms. 

And when I sought about among the flowers, among the flowers formy wreath of mourning, the lily looked too large and the laurel lookedtoo solemn and I found nothing frail enough nor slender to serve as anoffering to the years that were dead. And at last I made a slenderwreath of daisies in the manner that I had seen them made in one ofthe years that is dead. 

"This, " said I, "is scarce less fragile or less frail than one of thosedelicate forgotten years. " Then I took my wreath in my hand andwent from here. And when I had come by paths of mystery to thatromantic land, where the valley that rumour told of lies close to themountainous moon, I searched among the grass for those poor slightyears for whom I bought my sorrow and my wreath. And when I foundthere nothing in the grass I said: "Time has shattered them and sweptthem away and left not even any faint remains. "

But looking upwards in the blaze of the moon I suddenly saw colossisitting near, and towering up and blotting out the stars and filling thenight with blackness; and at those idols' feet I saw praying and makingobeisance kings and the days that are and all times and all cities and allnations and all their gods. Neither the smoke of incense nor of thesacrifice burning reached those colossal heads, they sat there not tobe measured, not to be over-thrown, not to be worn away. 

I said: "Who are those?"

One answered: "Alone the Immortals. "

And I said sadly: "I came not to see dread gods, but I came to shedmy tears and to offer flowers at the feet of certain little years that aredead and may not come again. "

He answered me: "These _are_ the years that are dead, alone theimmortals; all years to be are Their children--They fashioned theirsmiles and their laughter; all earthly kings They have crowned, allgods They have created; all the events to be flow down from theirfeet like a river, the worlds are flying pebbles that They have alreadythrown, and Time and all his centuries behind him kneel there withbended crests in token of vassalage at Their potent feet. "

And when I heard this I turned away with my wreath, and went backto my own land comforted. 

A MORAL LITTLE TALE

There was once an earnest Puritan who held it wrong to dance. Andfor his principles he labored hard, his was a zealous life. And thereloved him all of those who hated the dance; and those that loved thedance respected him too; they said "He is a pure, good man and actsaccording to his lights. "

He did much to discourage dancing and helped to close severalSunday entertainments. Some kinds of poetry, he said, he liked, butnot the fanciful kind as that might corrupt the thoughts of the very young. He always dressed in black. 

He was quite interested in morality and was quite sincere and theregrew to be much respect on Earth for his honest face and his flowingpure-white beard. 

One night the Devil appeared unto him in a dream and said "Well done. "

"Avaunt, " said that earnest man. 

"No, no, friend, " said the Devil. 

"Dare not to call me 'friend, '" he answered bravely. 

"Come, come, friend, " said the Devil. "Have you not put apart thecouples that would dance? Have you not checked their laughter andtheir accursed mirth? Have you not worn my livery of black? O friend, friend, you do not know what a detestable thing it is to sit in hell andhear people being happy, and singing in theatres and singing in the fields, and whispering after dances under the moon, " and he fell to cursingfearfully. 

"It is you, " said the Puritan, "that put into their hearts the evil desireto dance; and black is God's own livery, not yours. "

And the Devil laughed contemptuously and spoke. 

"He only made the silly colors, " he said, "and useless dawns onhill-slopes facing South, and butterflies flapping along them as soonas the sun rose high, and foolish maidens coming out to dance, andthe warm mad West wind, and worst of all that pernicious influenceLove. "

And when the Devil said that God made Love that earnest mansat up in bed and shouted "Blasphemy! Blasphemy!"

"It's true, " said the Devil. "It isn't I that send the village foolsmuttering and whispering two by two in the woods when theharvest moon is high, it's as much as I can bear even to see themdancing. "

"Then, " said the man, "I have mistaken right for wrong; but as soonas I wake I will fight you yet. "

"O, no you don't, " said the Devil. "You don't wake up out of this sleep. "

And somewhere far away Hell's black steel doors were opened, andarm in arm those two were drawn within, and the doors shut behindthem and still they went arm in arm, trudging further and further intothe deeps of Hell, and it was that Puritan's punishment to know thatthose that he cared for on Earth would do evil as he had done. 

THE RETURN OF SONG

"The swans are singing again, " said to one another the gods. Andlooking downwards, for my dreams had taken me to some fair andfar Valhalla, I saw below me an iridescent bubble not greatly largerthan a star shine beautifully but faintly, and up and up from it lookinglarger and larger came a flock of white, innumerable swans, singingand singing and singing, till it seemed as though even the gods werewild ships swimming in music. 

"What is it?" I said to one that was humble among the gods. 

"Only a world has ended, " he said to me, "and the swans are comingback to the gods returning the gift of song. "

"A whole world dead!" I said. 

"Dead, " said he that was humble among the gods. "The worlds arenot for ever; only song is immortal. "

"Look! Look!" he said. "There will be a new one soon. "

And I looked and saw the larks, going down from the gods. 

SPRING IN TOWN

At a street corner sat, and played with a wind, Winter disconsolate. 

Still tingled the fingers of the passers-by and still their breath wasvisible, and still they huddled their chins into their coats when turninga corner they met with a new wind, still windows lighted sent out intothe street the thought of romantic comfort by evening fires; these thingsstill were, yet the throne of Winter tottered, and every breeze broughttidings of further fortresses lost on lakes or boreal hill-slopes. And notany longer as a king did Winter appear in those streets, as when thecity was decked with gleaming white to greet him as a conqueror andhe rode in with his glittering icicles and haughty retinue of prancingwinds, but he sat there with a little wind at the corner of the street likesome old blind beggar with his hungry dog. And as to some old blindbeggar Death approaches, and the alert ears of the sightless manprophetically hear his far-off footfall, so there came suddenly toWinter's ears the sound, from some neighbouring garden, of Springapproaching as she walked on daisies. And Spring approaching lookedat huddled inglorious Winter. 

"Begone, " said Spring. 

"There is nothing for you to do here, " said Winter to her. Neverthelesshe drew about him his grey and battered cloak and rose and called tohis little bitter wind and up a side street that led northward strode away. 

Pieces of paper and tall clouds of dust went with him as far as the city'souter gate. He turned then and called to Spring: "You can do nothingin this city, " he said; then he marched homeward over plains and seaand heard his old winds howling as he marched. The ice broke upbehind him and foundered like navies. To left and to right of him flewthe flocks of the sea-birds, and far before him the geese's triumphantcry went like a clarion. Greater and greater grew his stature as he wentnorthwards and ever more kingly his mien. Now he took baronies ata stride and now counties and came again to the snow-white frozenlands where the wolves came out to meet him and, draping himselfanew with old grey clouds, strode through the gates of his invinciblehome, two old ice barriers swinging on pillars of ice that had neverknown the sun. 

So the town was left to Spring. And she peered about to seewhat she could do with it. Presently she saw a dejected dog comingprowling down the road, so she sang to him and he gambolled. I sawhim next day strutting by with something of an air. Where there weretrees she went to them and whispered, and they sang the arborealsong that only trees can hear, and the green buds came peeping out asstars while yet it is twilight, secretly one by one. She went to gardensand awaked from dreaming the warm maternal earth. In little patchesbare and desolate she called up like a flame the golden crocus, or itspurple brother like an emperor's ghost. She gladdened the gracelessbacks of untidy houses, here with a weed, there with a little grass. She said to the air, "Be joyous. "

Children began to know that daisies blew in unfrequented corners. Buttonholes began to appear in the coats of the young men. The workof Spring was accomplished. 

HOW THE ENEMY CAME TO THLUNRANA

It had been prophesied of old and foreseen from the ancient days thatits enemy would come upon Thlunrana. And the date of its doom wasknown and the gate by which it would enter, yet none had prophesiedof the enemy who he was save that he was of the gods though he dweltwith men. Meanwhile Thlunrana, that secret lamaserai, that chiefcathedral of wizardry, was the terror of the valley in which it stoodand of all lands round about it. So narrow and high were the windowsand so strange when lighted at night that they seemed to regard menwith the demoniac leer of something that had a secret in the dark. Whowere the magicians and the deputy-magicians and the great arch-wizardof that furtive place nobody knew, for they went veiled and hooded andcloaked completely in black. 

Though her doom was close upon her and the enemy of prophecyshould come that very night through the open, southward door thatwas named the Gate of the Doom, yet that rocky edifice Thlunranaremained mysterious still, venerable, terrible, dark, and dreadfullycrowned with her doom. It was not often that anyone dared wandernear to Thlunrana by night when the moan of the magicians invokingwe know not Whom rose faintly from inner chambers, scaring thedrifting bats: but on the last night of all the man from the black-thatchedcottage by the five pine-trees came, because he would see Thlunranaonce again before the enemy that was divine, but that dwelt with men, should come against it and it should be no more. Up the dark valley hewent like a bold man, but his fears were thick upon him; his braverybore their weight but stooped a little beneath them. He went in at thesouthward gate that is named the Gate of the Doom. He came into adark hall, and up a marble stairway passed to see the last of Thlunrana. At the top a curtain of black velvet hung and he passed into a chamberheavily hung with curtains, with a gloom in it that was blacker thananything they could account for. In a sombre chamber beyond, seenthrough a vacant archway, magicians with lighted tapers plied theirwizardry and whispered incantations. All the rats in the place werepassing away, going whimpering down the stairway. The man fromthe black-thatched cottage passed through that second chamber: themagicians did not look at him and did not cease to whisper. He passedfrom them through heavy curtains still of black velvet and came into achamber of black marble where nothing stirred. Only one taper burnedin the third chamber; there were no windows. On the smooth floor andunder the smooth wall a silk pavilion stood with its curtains drawn closetogether: this was the holy of holies of that ominous place, its innermystery. One on each side of it dark figures crouched, either of menor women or cloaked stone, or of beasts trained to be silent. Whenthe awful stillness of the mystery was more than he could bear theman from the black-thatched cottage by the five pine-trees went upto the silk pavilion, and with a bold and nervous clutch of the handdrew one of the curtains aside, and saw the inner mystery, and laughed. And the prophecy was fulfilled, and Thlunrana was never more a terrorto the valley, but the magicians passed away from their terrific halls andfled through the open fields wailing and beating their breasts, forlaughter was the enemy that was doomed to come against Thlunranathrough her southward gate (that was named the Gate of the Doom), and it is of the gods but dwells with man. 

A LOSING GAME

Once in a tavern Man met face to skull with Death. Man enteredgaily but Death gave no greeting, he sat with his jowl morosely overan ominous wine. 

"Come, come, " said Man, "we have been antagonists long, and if Iwere losing yet I should not be surly. "

But Death remained unfriendly watching his bowl of wine and gaveno word in answer. 

Then Man solicitously moved nearer to him and, speaking cheerilystill, "Come, come, " he said again, "you must not resent defeat. "

And still Death was gloomy and cross and sipped at his infamouswine and would not look up at Man and would not be companionable. 

But Man hated gloom either in beast or god, and it made himunhappy to see his adversary's discomfort, all the more because hewas the cause, and still he tried to cheer him. 

"Have you not slain the Dinatherium?" he said. "Have you not put outthe Moon? Why! you will beat me yet. "

And with a dry and barking sound Death wept and nothing said; andpresently Man arose and went wondering away; for he knew not ifDeath wept out of pity for his opponent, or because he knew that heshould not have such sport again when the old game was over andMan was gone, or whether because perhaps, for some hidden reason, he could never repeat on Earth his triumph over the Moon. 

TAKING UP PICADILLY

Going down Picadilly one day and nearing Grosvenor Place I saw, if my memory is not at fault, some workmen with their coats off--orso they seemed. They had pickaxes in their hands and wore corduroytrousers and that little leather band below the knee that goes by theastonishing name of "York-to-London. "

They seemed to be working with peculiar vehemence, so that Istopped and asked one what they were doing. 

"We are taking up Picadilly, " he said to me. 

"But at this time of year?" I said. "Is it usual in June?"

"We are not what we seem, " said he. 

"Oh, I see, " I said, "you are doing it for a joke. "

"Well, not exactly that, " he answered me. 

"For a bet?" I said. 

"Not precisely, " said he. 

And then I looked at the bit that they had already picked, andthough it was broad daylight over my head it was darkness downthere, all full of the southern stars. 

"It was noisy and bad and we grew aweary of it, " said he that worecorduroy trousers. "We are not what we appear. "

They were taking up Picadilly altogether. 

AFTER THE FIRE

When that happened which had been so long in happening and theworld hit a black, uncharted star, certain tremendous creatures outof some other world came peering among the cinders to see if therewere anything there that it were worth while to remember. Theyspoke of the great things that the world was known to have had;they mentioned the mammoth. And presently they saw man's temples, silent and windowless, staring like empty skulls. 

"Some great thing has been here, " one said, "in these huge places. ""It was the mammoth, " said one. "Something greater than he, " saidanother. 

And then they found that the greatest thing in the world had beenthe dreams of man. 

THE CITY

In time as well as space my fancy roams far from here. It led meonce to the edge of certain cliffs that were low and red and roseup out of a desert: a little way off in the desert there was a city. Itwas evening, and I sat and watched the city. 

Presently I saw men by threes and fours come softly stealing outof that city's gate to the number of about twenty. I heard the humof men's voices speaking at evening. 

"It is well they are gone, " they said. "It is well they are gone. Wecan do business now. It is well they are gone. " And the men thathad left the city sped away over the sand and so passed into thetwilight. 

"Who are these men?" I said to my glittering leader. 

"The poets, " my fancy answered. "The poets and artists. "

"Why do they steal away?" I said to him. "And why are the peopleglad that they have gone?"

He said: "It must be some doom that is going to fall on the city, something has warned them and they have stolen away. Nothingmay warn the people. "

I heard the wrangling voices, glad with commerce, rise up fromthe city. And then I also departed, for there was an ominous lookon the face of the sky. 

And only a thousand years later I passed that way, and there wasnothing, even among the weeds, of what had been that city. 

THE FOOD OF DEATH

Death was sick. But they brought him bread that the modern bakersmake, whitened with alum, and the tinned meats of Chicago, with apinch of our modern substitute for salt. They carried him into thedining-room of a great hotel (in that close atmosphere Death breathedmore freely), and there they gave him their cheap Indian tea. Theybrought him a bottle of wine that they called champagne. Deathdrank it up. They brought a newspaper and looked up the patentmedicines; they gave him the foods that it recommended for invalids, and a little medicine as prescribed in the paper. They gave him somemilk and borax, such as children drink in England. 

Death arose ravening, strong, and strode again through the cities. 

THE LONELY IDOL

I had from a friend an old outlandish stone, a little swine-faced idolto whom no one prayed. 

And when I saw his melancholy case as he sat cross-legged atreceipt of prayer, holding a little scourge that the years had broken(and no one heeded the scourge and no one prayed and no onecame with squealing sacrifice; and he had been a god), then I tookpity on the little forgotten thing and prayed to it as perhaps they prayedlong since, before the coming of the strange dark ships, and humbledmyself and said:

"O idol, idol of the hard pale stone, invincible to the years, Oscourge-holder, give ear for behold I pray. 

"O little pale-green image whose wanderings are from far, knowthou that here in Europe and in other lands near by, too soon therepass from us the sweets and song and the lion strength of youth:too soon do their cheeks fade, their hair grow grey and our beloveddie; too brittle is beauty, too far off is fame and the years are gatheredtoo soon; there are leaves, leaves falling, everywhere falling; there isautumn among men, autumn and reaping; failure there is, struggle, dying and weeping, and all that is beautiful hath not remained but iseven as the glory of morning upon the water. 

"Even our memories are gathered too with the sound of the ancientvoices, the pleasant ancient voices that come to our ears no more;the very gardens of our childhood fade, and there dims with the speedof the years even the mind's own eye. 

"O be not any more the friend of Time, for the silent hurry of hismalevolent feet have trodden down what's fairest; I almost hear thewhimper of the years running behind him hound-like, and it takes fewto tear us. 

"All that is beautiful he crushes down as a big man tramples daises, all that is fairest. How very fair are the little children of men. It isautumn with all the world, and the stars weep to see it. 

"Therefore no longer be the friend of Time, who will not let us be, and be not good to him but pity us, and let lovely things live on forthe sake of our tears. "

Thus prayed I out of compassion one windy day to the snout-facedidol to whom no one kneeled. 

THE SPHINX IN THEBES (MASSACHUSETTS)

There was a woman in a steel-built city who had all that moneycould buy, she had gold and dividends and trains and houses, andshe had pets to play with, but she had no sphinx. 

So she besought them to bring her a live sphinx; and therefore theywent to the menageries, and then to the forests and the desert places, and yet could find no sphinx. 

And she would have been content with a little lion but that one wasalready owned by a woman she knew; so they had to search theworld again for a sphinx. 

And still there was none. 

But they were not men that it is easy to baffle, and at last they founda sphinx in a desert at evening watching a ruined temple whose godsshe had eaten hundreds of years ago when her hunger was on her. And they cast chains on her, who was still with an ominous stillness, and took her westwards with them and brought her home. 

And so the sphinx came to the steel-built city. 

And the woman was very glad that she owned a sphinx: but thesphinx stared long into her eyes one day, and softly asked a riddleof the woman. 

And the woman could not answer, and she died. 

And the sphinx is silent again and none knows what she will do. 

THE REWARD

One's spirit goes further in dreams than it does by day. Wanderingonce by night from a factory city I came to the edge of Hell. 

The place was foul with cinders and cast-off things, and jagged, half-buried things with shapeless edges, and there was a huge angelwith a hammer building in plaster and steel. I wondered what he didin that dreadful place. I hesitated, then asked him what he wasbuilding. "We are adding to Hell, " he said, "to keep pace with thetimes. " "Don't be too hard on them, " I said, for I had just come outof a compromising age and a weakening country. The angel did notanswer. "It won't be as bad as the old hell, will it?" I said. "Worse, "said the angel. 

"How can you reconcile it with your conscience as a Minister ofGrace, " I said, "to inflict such a punishment?" (They talked like thisin the city whence I had come and I could not avoid the habit of it. )

"They have invented a new cheap yeast, " said the angel. 

I looked at the legend on the walls of the hell that the angel wasbuilding, the words were written in flame, every fifteen seconds theychanged their color, "Yeasto, the great new yeast, it builds up bodyand brain, and something more. "

"They shall look at it for ever, " the angel said. 

"But they drove a perfectly legitimate trade, " I said, "the law allowedit. "

The angel went on hammering into place the huge steel uprights. 

"You are very revengeful, " I said. "Do you never rest from doingthis terrible work?"

"I rested one Christmas Day, " the angel said, "and looked andsaw little children dying of cancer. I shall go on now until the firesare lit. "

"It is very hard to prove, " I said, "that the yeast is as bad as youthink. "

"After all, " I said, "they must live. "

And the angel made no answer but went on building his hell. 

THE TROUBLE IN LEAFY GREEN STREET

She went to the idol-shop in Moleshill Street, where the old manmumbles, and said: "I want a god to worship when it is wet. "

The old man reminded her of the heavy penalties that rightly attachto idolatry and, when he had enumerated all, she answered him aswas meet: "Give me a god to worship when it is wet. "

And he went to the back places of his shop and sought out andbrought her a god. The same was carved of grey stone and wore apropitious look and was named, as the old man mumbled, The Godof Rainy Cheerfulness. 

Now it may be that long confinement to the house affects adverselythe liver, or these things may be of the soul, but certain it is that ona rainy day her spirits so far descended that those cheerful creaturescame within sight of the Pit, and, having tried cigarettes to no goodend, she bethought her of Moleshill Street and the mumbling man. 

He brought the grey idol forth and mumbled of guarantees, althoughhe put nothing on paper, and she paid him there and then hispreposterous price and took the idol away. 

And on the next wet day that there ever was she prayed to thegrey-stone idol that she had bought, the God of Rainy Cheerfulness(who knows with what ceremony or what lack of it?), and sobrought down on her in Leafy Green Street, in the preposteroushouse at the corner, that doom of which all men speak. 

THE MIST

The mist said unto the mist: "Let us go up into the Downs. " Andthe mist came up weeping. 

And the mist went into the high places and the hollows. 

And clumps of trees in the distance stood ghostly in the haze. 

But I went to a prophet, one who loved the Downs, and I said tohim: "Why does the mist come up weeping into the Downs when itgoes into the high places and the hollows?"

And he answered: "The mist is the company of a multitude of soulswho never saw the Downs, and now are dead. Therefore they comeup weeping into the Downs, who are dead and never saw them. "

FURROW-MAKER

He was all in black, but his friend was dressed in brown, membersof two old families. 

"Is there any change in the way you build your houses?" said he inblack. 

"No change, " said the other. "And you?"

"We change not, " he said. 

A man went by in the distance riding a bicycle. 

"He is always changing, " said the one in black, "of late almost everycentury. He is uneasy. Always changing. "

"He changes the way he builds his house, does he not?" said thebrown one. 

"So my family say, " said the other. "They say he has changed of late. "

"They say he takes much to cities?" the brown one said. 

"My cousin who lives in belfries tells me so, " said the black one. "He says he is much in cities. "

"And there he grows lean?" said the brown one. 

"Yes, he grows lean. "

"Is it true what they say?" said the brown one. 

"Caw, " said the black one. 

"Is it true that he cannot live many centuries?"

"No, no, " said the black one. "Furrow-maker will not die. We mustnot lose furrow-maker. He has been foolish of late, he has playedwith smoke and is sick. His engines have wearied him and his citiesare evil. Yes, he is very sick. But in a few centuries he will forgethis folly and we shall not lose furrow-maker. Time out of mind hehas delved and my family have got their food from the raw earthbehind him. He will not die. "

"But they say, do they not?" said the brown one, "his cities arenoisome, and that he grows sick in them and can run no longer, andthat it is with him as it is with us when we grow too many, and thegrass has the bitter taste in the rainy season, and our young growbloated and die. "

"Who says it?" replied the black one. 

"Pigeon, " the brown one answered. "He came back all dirty. And Hare went down to the edge of the cities once. He says ittoo. Man was too sick to chase him. He thinks that Man will die, and his wicked friend Dog with him. Dog, he will die. That nastyfellow Dog. He will die too, the dirty fellow!"

"Pigeon and Hare!" said the black one. "We shall not losefurrow-maker. "

"Who told you he will not die?" his brown friend said. 

"Who told me!" the black one said. "My family and his haveunderstood each other times out of mind. We know what follieswill kill each other and what each may survive, and I say thatfurrow-maker will not die. "

"He will die, " said the brown one. 

"Caw, " said the other. 

And Man said in his heart: "Just one invention more. There issomething I want to do with petrol yet, and then I will give it allup and go back to the woods. "

LOBSTER SALAD

I was climbing round the perilous outside of the Palace ofColquonhombros. So far below me that in the tranquil twilightand clear air of those lands I could only barely see them lay thecraggy tops of the mountains. 

It was along no battlements or terrace edge I was climbing, buton the sheer face of the wall itself, getting what foothold I couldwhere the boulders joined. 

Had my feet been bare I was done, but though I was in mynight-shirt I had on stout leather boots, and their edges somehowheld in those narrow cracks. My fingers and wrists were aching. 

Had it been possible to stop for a moment I might have been luredto give a second look at the fearful peaks of the mountains downthere in the twilight, and this must have been fatal. 

That the thing was all a dream is beside the point. We have fallenin dreams before, but it is well known that if in one of those fallsyou ever hit the ground--you die: I had looked at those menacingmountaintops and knew well that such a fall as the one I fearedmust have such a termination. Then I went on. 

It is strange what different sensations there can be in differentboulders--every one gleaming with the same white light and everyone chosen to match the rest by minions of ancient kings--whenyour life depends on the edges of every one you come to. Thoseedges seemed strangely different. It was of no avail to overcomethe terror of one, for the next would give you a hold in quite adifferent way or hand you over to death in a different manner. Some were too sharp to hold and some too flush with the wall, those whose hold was the best crumbled the soonest; each rockhad its different terror: and then there were those things that followedbehind me. 

And at last I came to a breach made long ago by earthquake, lightning or war: I should have had to go down a thousand feetto get round it and they would come up with me while I was doingthat, for certain sable apes that I have not mentioned as yet, thingsthat had tigerish teeth and were born and bred on that wall, hadpursued me all the evening. In any case I could have gone nofarther, nor did I know what the king would do along whose wallI was climbing. It was time to drop and be done with it or stop andawait those apes. 

And then it was that I remembered a pin, thrown carelessly downout of an evening-tie in another world to the one where grew thatglittering wall, and lying now if no evil chance had removed it on achest of drawers by my bed. The apes were very close, and hurrying, for they knew my fingers were slipping, and the cruel peaks of thoseinfernal mountains seemed surer of me than the apes. I reached outwith a desperate effort of will towards where the pin lay on the chestof drawers. I groped about. I found it! I ran it into my arm. Saved!

THE RETURN OF THE EXILES

The old man with a hammer and the one-eyed man with a spear wereseated by the roadside talking as I came up the hill. 

"It isn't as though they hadn't asked us, " the one with the hammer said. 

"There ain't no more than twenty as knows about it, " said the other. 

"Twenty's twenty, " said the first. 

"After all these years, " said the one-eyed man with the spear. "Afterall these years. We might go back just once. "

"O' course we might, " said the other. 

Their clothes were old even for laborers, the one with the hammerhad a leather apron full of holes and blackened, and their handslooked like leather. But whatever they were they were English, andthis was pleasant to see after all the motors that had passed me thatday with their burden of mixed and doubtful nationalities. 

When they saw me the one with the hammer touched his greasy cap. 

"Might we make so bold, sir, " he said, "as the ask the way toStonehenge?"

"We never ought to go, " mumbled the other plaintively. "There'snot more than twenty as knows, but. . . . "

I was bicycling there myself to see the place so I pointed out theway and rode on at once, for there was something so utterly servileabout them both that I did not care for their company. They seemedby their wretched mien to have been persecuted or utterly neglectedfor many years, I thought that very likely they had done long termsof penal servitude. 

When I came to Stonehenge I saw a group of about a score of menstanding among the stones. They asked me with some solemnity ifI was expecting anyone, and when I said No they spoke to me nomore. It was three miles back where I left those strange old men, but I had not been in the stone circle long when they appeared, coming with great strides along the road. When they saw them allthe people took off their hats and acted very strangely, and I sawthat they had a goat which they led up then to the old altar stone. And the two old men came up with their hammer and spear andbegan apologizing plaintively for the liberty they had taken in comingback to that place, and all the people knelt on the grass before them. And then still kneeling they killed the goat by the altar, and when thetwo old men saw this they came up with many excuses and eagerlysniffed the blood. And at first this made them happy. But soon theone with the spear began to whimper. "It used to be men, " helamented. "It used to be men. "

And the twenty men began looking uneasily at each other, and theplaint of the one-eyed man went on in that tearful voice, and all ofa sudden they all looked at me. I do not know who the two old menwere or what any of them were doing, but there are moments whenit is clearly time to go, and I left them there and then. And just as Igot up on to my bicycle I heard the plaintive voice of the one with thehammer apologizing for the liberty he had taken in coming back toStonehenge. 

"But after all these years, " I heard him crying, "After all theseyears. . . . "

And the one with the spear said: "Yes, after three thousand years. . . . "

NATURE AND TIME

Through the streets of Coventry one winter's night strode atriumphant spirit. Behind him stooping, unkempt, utterly ragged, wearing the clothes and look that outcasts have, whining, weeping, reproaching, an ill-used spirit tried to keep pace with him. Continuallyshe plucked him by the sleeve and cried out to him as she pantedafter and he strode resolute on. 

It was a bitter night, yet it did not seem to be the cold that she feared, ill-clad though she was, but the trams and the ugly shops and the glareof the factories, from which she continually winced as she hobbled on, and the pavement hurt her feet. 

He that strode on in front seemed to care for nothing, it might be hotor cold, silent or noisy, pavement or open fields, he merely had theair of striding on. 

And she caught up and clutched him by the elbow. I heard herspeak in her unhappy voice, you scarcely heard it for the noise ofthe traffic. 

"You have forgotten me, " she complained to him. "You have forsakenme here. "

She pointed to Coventry with a wide wave of her arm and seemedto indicate other cities beyond. And he gruffly told her to keeppace with him and that he did not forsake her. And she went onwith her pitiful lamentation. 

"My anemones are dead for miles, " she said, "all my woods arefallen and still the cities grow. My child Man is unhappy and my otherchildren are dying, and still the cities grow and you have forgotten me!"

And then he turned angrily on her, almost stopping in that stride ofhis that began when the stars were made. 

"When have I ever forgotten you?" he said, "or when forsaken youever? Did I not throw down Babylon for you? And is not Ninevehgone? Where is Persepolis that troubled you? Where Tarshish andTyre? And you have said I forget you. "

And at this she seemed to take a little comfort. I heard her speakonce more, looking wistfully at her companion. "When will the fieldscome back and the grass for my children?"

"Soon, soon, " he said: then they were silent. And he strode away, she limping along behind him, and all the clocks in the towers chimedas he passed. 

THE SONG OF THE BLACKBIRD

As the poet passed the thorn-tree the blackbird sang. 

"How ever do you do it?" the poet said, for he knew bird language. 

"It was like this, " said the blackbird. "It really was the mostextraordinary thing. I made that song last Spring, it came to meall of a sudden. There was the most beautiful she-blackbird thatthe world has ever seen. Her eyes were blacker than lakes are atnight, her feathers were blacker than the night itself, and nothing wasas yellow as her beak; she could fly much faster than the lightning. She was not an ordinary she-blackbird, there has never been anyother like her at all. I did not dare go near her because she was sowonderful. One day last Spring when it got warm again--it had beencold, we ate berries, things were quite different then, but Spring cameand it got warm--one day I was thinking how wonderful she was andit seemed so extraordinary to think that I should ever have seen her, the only really wonderful she-blackbird in the world, that I openedmy beak to give a shout, and then this song came, and there hadnever been anything like it before, and luckily I remembered it, thevery song that I sang just now. But what is so extraordinary, the mostamazing occurence of that marvellous day, was that no sooner had Isung the song than that very bird, the most wonderful she-blackbirdin the world, flew right up to me and sat quite close to me on the sametree. I never remember such wonderful times as those. 

"Yes, the song came in a moment, and as I was saying. . . . "

And an old wanderer walking with a stick came by and the blackbirdflew away, and the poet told the old man the blackbird's wonderfulstory. 

"That song new?" said the wanderer. "Not a bit of it. God made ityears ago. All the blackbirds used to sing it when I was young. Itwas new then. "

THE MESSENGERS

One wandering nigh Parnassus chasing hares heard the high Muses. 

"Take us a message to the Golden Town. "

Thus sang the Muses. 

But the man said: "They do not call to me. Not to such as me speakthe Muses. "

And the Muses called him by name. 

"Take us a message, " they said, "to the Golden Town. "

And the man was downcast for he would have chased hares. 

And the Muses called again. 

And when whether in valleys or on high crags of the hills he stillheard the Muses he went at last to them and heard their message, though he would fain have left it to other men and chased the fleethares still in happy valleys. 

And they gave him a wreath of laurels carved out of emeralds asonly the Muses can carve. "By this, " they said, "they shall know thatyou come from the Muses. "

And the man went from that place and dressed in scarlet silksas befitted one that came from the high Muses. And through thegateway of the Golden Town he ran and cried his message, and hiscloak floated behind him. All silent sat the wise men and the aged, they of the Golden Town; cross-legged they sat before their housesreading from parchments a message of the Muses that they sent longbefore. 

And the young man cried his message from the Muses. 

And they rose up and said: "Thou art not from the Muses. Otherwisespake they. " And they stoned him and he died. 

And afterwards they carved his message upon gold; and read it intheir temples on holy days. 

When will the Muses rest? When are they weary? They sentanother messenger to the Golden Town. And they gave him awand of ivory to carry in his hand with all the beautiful stories ofthe world wondrously carved thereon. And only the Muses couldhave carved it. "By this, " they said, "they shall know that you comefrom the Muses. "

And he came through the gateway of the Golden Town with themessage he had for its people. And they rose up at once in theGolden street, they rose from reading the message that they hadcarved upon gold. "The last who came, " they said, "came with awreath of laurels carved out of emeralds, as only the Muses cancarve. You are not from the Muses. " And even as they had stonedthe last so also they stoned him. And afterwards they carved hismessage on gold and laid it up in their temples. 

When will the Muses rest? When are they weary? Even yet onceagain they sent a messenger under the gateway into the GoldenTown. And for all that he wore a garland of gold that the high Musesgave him, a garland of kingcups soft and yellow on his head, yetfashioned of pure gold and by whom but the Muses, yet did theystone him in the Golden Town. But they had the message, and whatcare the Muses?

And yet they will not rest, for some while since I heard them call to me. 

"Go take our message, " they said, "unto the Golden Town. "

But I would not go. And they spake a second time. "Go take ourmessage, " they said. 

And still I would not go, and they cried out a third time: "Go takeour message. "

And though they cried a third time I would not go. But morning andnight they cried and through long evenings. 

When will the Muses rest? When are they weary? And when theywould not cease to call to me I went to them and I said: "TheGolden Town is the Golden Town no longer. They have sold theirpillars for brass and their temples for money, they have made coinsout of their golden doors. It is become a dark town full of trouble, there is no ease in its streets, beauty has left it and the old songs aregone. "

"Go take our message, " they cried. 

And I said to the high Muses: "You do not understand. You haveno message for the Golden Town, the holy city no longer. "

"Go take our message, " they cried. 

"What is your message?" I said to the high Muses. 

And when I heard their message I made excuses, dreading to speaksuch things in the Golden Town; and again they bade me go. 

And I said: "I will not go. None will believe me. "

And still the Muses cry to me all night long. 

They do not understand. How should they know?

THE THREE TALL SONS

And at last Man raised on high the final glory of his civilization, the towering edifice of the ultimate city. 

Softly beneath him in the deeps of the earth purred his machineryfulfilling all his needs, there was no more toil for man. There he satat ease discussing the Sex Problem. 

And sometimes painfully out of forgotten fields, there came to hisouter door, came to the furthest rampart of the final glory of Man, a poor old woman begging. And always they turned her away. This glory of Man's achievement, this city was not for her. 

It was Nature that came thus begging in from the fields, whom theyalways turned away. 

And away she went again alone to her fields. 

And one day she came again, and again they sent her hence. Buther three tall sons came too. 

"These shall go in, " she said. "Even these my sons to your city. "

And the three tall sons went in. 

And these are Nature's sons, the forlorn one's terrible children, War, Famine and Plague. 

Yea and they went in there and found Man unawares in his citystill poring over his Problems, obsessed with his civilization, andnever hearing their tread as those three came up behind. 

COMPROMISE

They built their gorgeous home, their city of glory, above the lairof the earthquake. They built it of marble and gold in the shiningyouth of the world. There they feasted and fought and called theircity immortal, and danced and sang songs to the gods. None heededthe earthquake in all those joyous streets. And down in the deepsof the earth, on the black feet of the abyss, they that would conquerMan mumbled long in the darkness, mumbled and goaded theearthquake to try his strength with that city, to go forth blithely atnight and to gnaw its pillars like bones. And down in those grimydeeps the earthquake answered them, and would not do theirpleasure and would not stir from thence, for who knew who theywere who danced all day where he rumbled, and what if the lordsof that city that had no fear of his anger were haply even the gods!

And the centuries plodded by, on and on round the world, and oneday they that had danced, they that had sung in that city, rememberedthe lair of the earthquake in the deeps down under their feet, and madeplans one with another and sought to avert the danger, sought toappease the earthquake and turn his anger away. 

They sent down singing girls, and priests with oats and wine, theysent down garlands and propitious berries, down by dark steps tothe black depths of the earth, they sent peacocks newly slain, andboys with burning spices, and their thin white sacred cats with collarsof pearls all newly drawn from sea, they sent huge diamonds down incoffers of teak, and ointment and strange oriental dyes, arrows andarmor and the rings of their queen. 

"Oho, " said the earthquake in the coolth of the earth, "so they arenot the gods. "

WHAT WE HAVE COME TO

When the advertiser saw the cathedral spires over the downs in thedistance, he looked at them and wept. 

"If only, " he said, "this were an advertisement of Beefo, so nice, sonutritious, try it in your soup, ladies like it. "

THE TOMB OF PAN

"Seeing, " they said, "that old-time Pan is dead, let us now makea tomb for him and a monument, that the dreadful worship of longago may be remembered and avoided by all. "

So said the people of the enlightened lands. And they built awhite and mighty tomb of marble. Slowly it rose under the handsof the builders and longer every evening after sunset it gleamed withrays of the departed sun. 

And many mourned for Pan while the builders built; many reviledhim. Some called the builders to cease and to weep for Pan andothers called them to leave no memorial at all of so infamous a god. But the builders built on steadily. 

And one day all was finished, and the tomb stood there like asteep sea-cliff. And Pan was carved thereon with humbled headand the feet of angels pressed upon his neck. And when the tombwas finished the sun had already set, but the afterglow was rosy onthe huge bulk of Pan. 

And presently all the enlightened people came, and saw the tomband remembered Pan who was dead, and all deplored him and hiswicked age. But a few wept apart because of the death of Pan. 

But at evening as he stole out of the forest, and slipped like a shadowsoftly along the hills, Pan saw the tomb and laughed.