Theodore Watts-Dunton: Poet, Novelist, Critic

One picture fades, and now above the spray
Another shines: ah, do I know the bowers
Where that sweet woman stands – the woodland flowers,
In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay —
That birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours
Wore angel-wings, – till portents brought dismay?

The Second Vision

Proud of her wreath as laureate of his laurel,
She smiles on him—on him, the prouder giver,
As there they stand beside the sunlit river
Where petals flush with rose the grass and sorrel:
The chirping reed-birds, in their play or quarrel,
Make musical the stream where lilies quiver—
Ah! suddenly he feels her slim waist shiver:
She speaks: her lips grow grey—her lips of coral!

‘From out my wreath two heart-shaped seeds are swaying,
The seeds of which that gypsy girl has spoken—
’Tis fairy grass, alas! the lover’s token.’
She lifts her fingers to her forehead, saying,
‘Touch the twin hearts.’  Says he, ‘’Tis idle playing’:
He touches them; they fall—fall bruised and broken.

* * * * *

Shall I turn coward here who sailed with Death
Through many a tempest on mine own North Sea,
And quail like him of old who bowed the knee —
Faithless – to billows of Genesereth?
Did I turn coward when my very breath
Froze on my lips that Alpine night when he
Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me,
While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath?

Each billow bears me nearer to the verge
Of realms where she is not – where love must wait. —
If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge
That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate,
To come and help me, or to share my fate.
Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge.

    [The dog, plunging into the tide and striking
    towards him with immense strength, reaches
    him and swims round him.]
Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw
Here gazing like your namesake, ‘Snowdon’s Hound,’
When great Llewelyn’s child could not be found,
And all the warriors stood in speechless awe —
Mute as your namesake when his master saw
The cradle tossed – the rushes red around —
With never a word, but only a whimpering sound
To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw.

In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond,
Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech
Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond
Stronger than words that binds us each to each? —
But Death has caught us both. ’Tis far beyond
The strength of man or dog to win the beach.

Through tangle-weed – through coils of slippery kelp
Decking your shaggy forehead, those brave eyes
Shine true – shine deep of love’s divine surmise
As hers who gave you – then a Titan whelp!
I think you know my danger and would help!
See how I point to yonder smack that lies
At anchor – Go! His countenance replies.
Hope’s music rings in Gelert’s eager yelp!

    [The dog swims swiftly away down the tide.
Now, life and love and death swim out with him!
If he should reach the smack, the men will guess
The dog has left his master in distress.
You taught him in these very waves to swim —
‘The prince of pups,’ you said, ‘for wind and limb’ —
And now those lessons, darling, come to bless.

Envoy

(The day after the rescue: Gelert and I walking along the sand.)

’Twas in no glittering tourney’s mimic strife, —
’Twas in that bloody fight in Raxton Grove,
While hungry ravens croaked from boughs above,
And frightened blackbirds shrilled the warning fife —
’Twas there, in days when Friendship still was rife,
Mine ancestor who threw the challenge-glove
Conquered and found his foe a soul to love,
Found friendship – Life’s great second crown of life.

So I this morning love our North Sea more
Because he fought me well, because these waves
Now weaving sunbows for us by the shore
Strove with me, tossed me in those emerald caves
That yawned above my head like conscious graves —
I love him as I never loved before.