Once more that stately structure of his dreams

Melted like mist. His eagles perished like clouds.

Death wound a thin horn through the centuries.

The grave resumed his forlorn emperors.
His empires crumbled back to a little ash 500
Knocked from his pipe.

He dropped his pen in homage to the truth.
The truth? O, eloquent, just and mighty
Death!

Then, when he forged, out of one golden thought,

A key to open his prison; when the King, 505
Released him for a tale of faerie gold
Under the tropic palms; when those grey
walls

Melted before his passion; do you think
The gold that lured the King was quite the

Vinegar? He must fawn, haul down his flag, And count all nations nobler than his own, 535

Tear out the lions from the painted shields That hung his poop, for fear that he offend The pride of Spain? Treason to sack the ships

Of Spain? The wounds of slaughtered Englishmen

Cried out- there is no law beyond the line!

540

550

His battles in the sunset. Yet he knew
That all his life had passed in that brief day;
And he was old, too old to understand
The smile upon the face of Buckingham,
The smile on Cobham's face, at that great
word

England!

He knew the solid earth was changed To something less than dust among the stars

And, O, be sure he knew that he was

wrong,

That gleams would come,

555

Gleams of a happier world for younger men, That Commonwealth, far off. This was a

time

Therein you shall find true and lasting riches; But all the rest is nothing. When you have tired

Your thoughts on earthly things, when you have travelled

Through all the glittering pomps of this proud world

You shall sit down by Sorrow in the end. 640
Begin betimes, and teach your little son
To serve and fear God also.

Then God will be a husband unto you,
And unto him a father; nor can Death
Bereave you any more. When I am gone, 645
No doubt you shall be sought unto by many
For the world thinks that I was very rich.
No greater misery can befall you, Bess,
Than to become a prey, and, afterwards,
To be despised."

'Human enough,' said Stukeley, 650 'And yet self-love, self-love!'

'Ah no,' quoth she, 'You have not heard the end: “God knows, I speak it

Not to dissuade you". not to dissuade you,

mark

655

"From marriage. That will be the best for you,
Both in respect of God and of the world."
Was that self-love, Sir Lewis? Ah, not all.
And thus he ended: "For his father's sake
That chose and loved you in his happiest times,
Remember your poor child! The Everlasting,
Infinite, powerful, and inscrutable God, 660
Keep you and yours, have mercy upon me,
And teach me to forgive my false accusers"
Wrong, even in death, you see.

Then

There was a dreadful silence in that room, Silence that, as I know, shattered the brain Of Stukeley. When I dared to raise my head

Beneath that silent thunder of our God, The man had gone

This is his letter, sirs, 690 Written from Lundy Island: "For God's love, Tell them it is a cruel thing to say That I drink blood. I have no secret sin, A thousand pound is not so great a sum; And that is all they paid me, every penny. 695 Salt water, that is all the drink I taste On this rough island. Somebody has taught The sea-gulls how to wail around my hut All night, like lost souls. And there is a face, A dead man's face that laughs in every storm,

700

And sleeps in every pool along the coast.
I thought it was my own, once. But I know
These actions never, never, on God's earth,
Will turn out to their credit, who believe
That I drink blood."

He crumpled up the letter 705 And tossed it into the fire.

'I think you are rightpity villains.'

'Galen,' said Ben, that one should

The clock struck twelve. The bells began to peal.

We drank a cup of sack to the New Year. 'New songs, new voices, all as fresh as may,' Said Ben to Brome, 'but I shall never live To hear them.'

710

All was not so well, indeed, With Ben, as hitherto. Age had come upon him.

675

He dragged one foot as in paralysis.

And called him arrogant. 'My brain,' he said,

'Is yet unhurt although, set round with pain, It cannot long hold out.' He never stopped, Never once pandered to that brainless hour. His coat was thread-bare. Weeks had passed of late 720

Without his voice resounding in our inn. 'The statues are defiled, the gods dethroned, The Ionian movement reigns, not the free soul.

And, as for me, I have lived too long,' he said.

'Well I can weave the old threnodies anew.'

725

I drink to that great Inn beyond the grave;

750

And hope to greet my golden lads ere long.

He raised his cup and drank in silence. Brome

Drank with him, too. The bells had ceased to peal.

Galen shook hands, and bade us all good. night.

Then Brome, a little wistfully, I thought, 755 Looked at his old-time master, and prepared To follow.

'Good night Before he spoke the Good night!

Ben,' he said, a pause name. 'Good night!

And like a shadow I crept back again, 770 And stole into the night.

There as I stood Under the painted sign, I could have vowed That I, too, heard the voices of the dead, The voices of his old companions, Gathering round him in that lonely room, 775 Till all the timbers of the Mermaid Inn Trembled above me with their ghostly song: