THE HOUSE OF THE SOUL: LAY

I.

I HAVE forgotten my name and the name of my nation . . . yea,
I know alone I have lost myself, and have wandered far astray
From the land where the magical fir-trees grow, farther than far Cathay,
Farther than fair Atlantis or the hills of Tir-fa-tonn,
Or the isles of Bran and Mailduin, or the isle of Avalon;
From the city built on the rivers, where the willow-branches sway
To a quiet tune all night to the moon, and dream in the sun all day,
Where the gardens drink at the water's brink and the poppies dip to the water wan,
And the roses fall from the hot red wall like showers of light on the water grey.

Now and again by night, when the sun's last ray
Has crawled under the sky-line, and I hear the waves' array
March clip-clap after me, driving me up the bay
That is ringed with cliffs and foam-girt, and the bats wheel out anon,
Sometimes I half remember . . . and again the word is gone;
And I know that I am lonely, and the night and the sea and the spray,

Unrestingly, unhastingly, march on with no delay,
And the sheer height of the cliffs' white sands like the base of the great white throne,
And I seem to be left with God, bereft of any wisdom to plead or pray.

II.

Some one has leased me a house that is huge and dark and old
And filled with other men's dust;
I do not remember bargaining, but I pay the price in gold,
Year after year . . . a heavy price . . . and pay it because I must.
Its rafters are full of mould
And its bars, of rust;
The slates fly from the roof at every gust
Of the wind over the wold.

I should like to search my house, if only I were bold,
And scrape the mildew-crust
From cobweb-curtained corners that are quaintly-shaped and cold
And heaped with curious hangings; yet I have but little lust
To find what may not be told
Or ever discussed
Hid in a closet, maybe, or carefully thrust
Into a curtain's fold.

III.

I am afraid of my house, and I wish I knew
Who
Those other tenants were
That my landlord leased it to;
I know that they have been there,
For sometimes I find a shoe
Or a ribbon for the hair . . .
There's a grandfather clock on the stair,
And an odd little bust on a bracket, for which I don't very much care.

"They have left long since; what matter to you?" . . .
True.
But I wish my house was bare
And perfectly clean and new,
For the hollowed seat of a chair
Or a rod wrenched askew
Gives me the creeps, and I dare
Hardly breathe in an air
So thick with the dust of those who once were here, and who now are . . . where?

IV.

One day the storm was loud, the clouds clung thick and red
Close to the windows, the sky glowed like a copper pan,
The thunder muttered and cracked, the lightning leapt from its bed
Like a beast, the rain ripped down like a curtain of iron thread;

And every nook of the house was dim and strange and dread,
And odd things shuffled and squeaked in the corners, and queer feet ran
Hither and thither . . . the light was split, furled and unfurled like a fan . . .
That was a day of God's ban.

And it suddenly came to my mind that the house was inhabited
By people that hid themselves, and I swore to seek and scan
And find those flittering feet, and the voices, and what they said;
But the lightning flashed and shook me, and dizzied all my head,
And I searched each room and closet, and I sped and sped and sped
Through turret and tower and corridor, till trembling I began
To open the dungeon doors, and lo! in the deepest, an old, old man
That sat, and sang, and span.

V.

And, do you know, I could not find him again!
Not once! Though I sometimes fancied I heard a strain
With a sort of humming refrain;
And I'd tip-toe down the staircase, close to the wall
To deaden my footfall;
And the singing would rise and wane,
And the flame of my secret candle shrink, and shoot up smoky and tall.

So, very quietly creeping, I'd suddenly gain
A little, low, iron-bound door, and "Not in vain
This time," I would whisper, "my pain!"
Then I'd fling the door back quick with a cheery call . . .
Silence, nothing at all!
Now is it not wholly plain
That here was something of wizardry, mystical, magical?

VI.

I hate the clock;
It first says Tick,
It then says Tock;
I hear days flick,
I see years flock,
The whole world rock;
Had I the trick
I'd like to lock
Time with a block
To make it stick.

Hic, haec, and hoc,
Hoc, haec, and hic,
Each, at each knock
Drop likes a brick,
Sticks like a stock
Just at the shock
Caught in the nick;
Therefore the mock
Of that red cock
Turned Peter sick.

VII.

My house upon the landward side
Looks out toward the town;
Pleasant it is all day to bide
High in the thin air rarified,
And gaze delighted down
On busy folk that drive and ride
And run and crawl and hop and stride
Like beetles black and brown.

Stiff soldiers stalk, kings pace in pride,
And statesmen stoop and frown,
The women strut and mince and glide,
Priests bustle round at Eastertide, . . .
All but their boots their broad hats hide,
The wind blows out their gown, . . .
Tramps slouch and spit, boys jump and slide,
They look all head. How I deride
King, lady, priest and clown!

VIII.

My house is haunted and hell-enchanted by a conjuror vaunted . . . hear them tripping,
Chattering, scattering, imps undaunted, here they come battering, pattering, skipping,
Dancing and prancing, gloating and glancing, bawling, brawling, leering, and lipping,
Snarling and nipping
Clinging and gripping
Winding and whirling, twisting and twirling, sliding and sprawling askew and slipping . . .

And they revel, vitriolic,
Diabolic,
Like a devil with the colic . . .
Topping! ripping!

O the smashing and O the crashing, O the hashing and slashing and snipping
My goods! . . . If I could give you a thrashing, send you home with a good sound whipping,
Bestial brood of a brutal mood, when the devil and I lay kissing and clipping . . .
Now curtseying, dipping,
Sweating and dripping,
Heel-and-toeing, to-and-froing, winking, blinking, bibbing and sipping . . .
How you frolic alcoholic,
How you rollick,
Me, a wretched melancholic,
Shaming, stripping!

IX.

This was the song that, like a distant bell
Exceeding light and thin,
Came at the dawning after nights of hell
From far away within;
Maybe from that unsearchable dark cell
It did begin
Where that old man, whose name I cannot tell,
Doth sit and spin.

"Empty the winds that can the clouds dispel,
And silence after din,
Water has virtue heats of wine to quell,
Fatigue gives pause to sin,
And rest seemed good to Adam when he fell,
As to his kin;
O well it is for me, O well, O well
This way to win."

X.

Yesterday, looking through my window-bars,
The whole sad sea was changed resplendently
By one great ship that sailed with raking spars
Into the sunshine; and her masts were three,
Red, splendid banners in the wind flew free,
Her blown white sails were thick with tempest-scars,
Twelve blazoned shields along her sides had she,
And round about her prow, the name of the Trinity.

By night she lit her lanterns from the stars
And on her decks held mighty jubilee
With wine poured out from strange Assyrian jars
And wheaten bread for all her company.
"O sirs," I cried, "whither with such good glee
Sail ye for merchandise or mighty wars?"
The Captain said: "Come down, take ship with me." . . .
Then with this song we weighed and sailed across the sea.

XI.

"We that speed on the shifting floor
Where the green waters vary
With many a song and stroke of oar,
Sail for the chase of the silver boar
That's horned and hoofed and hairy:
His eyes are bright, his bristles hoar,
And hung with golden bells galore;
O many a time he flees and flies across the uplands airy,
And fierce he is, and fleet he is, and light and wight and wary,
And bravely famed in faery lore
By many a hunter sought of yore.

"The dark, salt sea is bitter and frore,
The wind of comfort chary,
But though the drenching sleet downpour
And Manawyddan's green steeds roar,
We are not solitary,
For Rhiannon's green song-birds soar
About our heads for evermore.
With the first stroke for Jesus King, the second stroke for Mary,
The third stroke for the Trinity, the fourth for the land of faery,
By one, by two, by three, by four,
We reach the wonderful, weirded shore."

XII.

I am sailing to seek my name and the name of my nation . . . nay,
For I know the land that bore me, where the marvellous sea-beasts play,

Where are silver bells on the blackthorn boughs, and golden bells on the may,
Where the magical Boar abideth, and the birds of Rhiannon,
And Adam and Eve and Enoch, and Arthur and Prester John.
I have learnt the name of my city, and learnt to ask my way,
And the whole ship's crew are my fellows too, and a merry crew be they;
All day we sail with a favouring gale or gird ourselves as the storm draws on
, And strive and cope and rudder and rope, and sing aloud in the loud affray.

And other things I have learnt, and the first is still to say
To myself, "O unlearned fool!" and also, "Fool, be gay!"
O well for the glorious chase of God, and well for the hot assay!
Well for the noise of water, for the hills where the sun has shone,
For the trees on the far horizon and the chart we may not con!
Well for the terrible mer-wolf, and the caves where the witch-wife lay
Till we touched her brows where the fir-trees stand and all we witless wanderers wonne!
God bless the fools and the wise in schools, et gloria tibi, Domine!

THESE CATHOLIC TALES WERE PRINTED
AT THE VINCENT WORKS, OXFORD, AND
FINISHED IN SEPTEMBER IN THE YEAR OF
OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST, MDCCCCXVIII.
PUBLISHED BY B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD
STREET, OXFORD, AND SOLD IN AMERICA
BY LONGMANS, GREEN & CO., NEW YORK.

This electronic edition was prepared by John Mark Ockerbloom and released July 26, 1996. Corrections may be sent to spok+books@cs.cmu.edu.

This edition uses the text of the 1918 edition of Catholic Tales and Christian Songs by Dorothy L. Sayers (1893-1957) and published by B.H. Blackwell. Horizontal rules in the HTML indicate page breaks. Some Greek letters and printer's glyphs could not be reproduced exactly in this edition.

The preparer of this edition believes the text to be in the public domain in the United States of America, but notes that it may still be copyrighted in other countries. Consult local copyright laws before using or storing this text outside the USA.