by Fiona Macleod
"There are four cities that no mortal eye has seen but that the soul knows; these are Gorias, that is in the east; and Finias, that is in the south; and Murias, that is in the west; and Falias that is in the, north. And the symbol of Falias is the stone of death, which is crowned with Pale fire. And the symbol of Gorias is the dividing sword. And the symbol of Finias is a spear. And the symbol of Murias is a hollow that is filled with water and fading light."
THE LITTLE BOOK OF THE GREAT ENCHANTMENT.
"Wind comes from the spring star in the East; fire from the summer star in the South; water from the autumn star in the West; wisdom, silence and death from the star in the North."
THE DIVINE ADVENTURE.
THE DIRGE OF THE FOUR CITIES
"The four cities of the world that was: the sunken city of Murias, and the city of Gorias, and the city of Finias, and the city of Falias."
(Ancient Gaelic Chronicle.)
Finias and Falias,
Where are they gone?
Does the wave hide Murias--
Does Gorias know the dawn?
Does not the wind wail
In the city of gems?
Do not the prows sail
Over fallen diadems
And spires of dim gold
And the pale palaces
Of Murias, whose tale was told
Ere the world was old?
Do women cry Alas! . . .
Beyond Finias?
Does the eagle pass
Seeing but her shadow on the grass
Where once was Falias:
And do her towers rise
Silent and lifeless to the frozen skies?
And do whispers and sighs
Fill the twilights of Finias
With love that has not grown cold
Since the days of old?
Hark to the tolling of bells
And the crying of wind!
The old spells
Time out of mind,
They are crying before me and behind!
I know now no more of my pain,
But am as the wandering rain
Or as the wind's shadow on the grass
Beyond Finias of the Dark Rose:
Or, 'mid the pinnacles and still snows
Of the Silence of Falias,
I go: or am as the wave that idly flows
Where the pale weed in songless thickets grows
Over the towers and fallen palaces
Where the Sea-city was,
The city of Murias.
FINIAS
In the torch-lit city of Finias that flames on
the brow of the South
The Spear that divideth the heart is held in
a brazen mouth---
Arias the flame-white keeps it, he whose
laughter is heard
Where never a man has wandered, where
never a god has stirred.
High kings have sought it, great queens have
sought it, poets have dreamed--
And ever louder and louder the flame-white
laughter of Arias streamed.
For kingdoms shaken and queens forsaken and
high hopes starved in their drouth,
These are the torches ablaze on the walls of
Finias that lightens the South.
Forbear, O Arias, forbear, forbear---lift not
the dreadful Spear---
I had but dreamed of thee, Finias, Finias . . .
now I am stricken . . . now I am here!
FALIAS
In the frost-grown city of Falias lit by the
falling stars
I have seen the ravens flying like banners of
old wars--
I have seen the snow-white ravens amid the
ice-green spires
Seeking the long-lost havens of all old lost
desires.
O winged desire and broken, once nested in
my heart,
Canst thou, there, give a token, that, even now,
thou art?
From bitter war defeated thou too hadst
flight afar,
When all my joy was cheated ere set of
Morning Star.
Call loud; O ancient Moirias, who dwellest in
that place,
Tell me if lost in Falias my old desire hath grace?
If now a snow-white raven it haunts the silent
spires
For the old impossible haven 'mid the old
auroral fires?
GORIAS
In Gorias are gems,
And pale gold,
Shining diadems
Gathered of old
From the long fragrant hair
Of dead beautiful queens.
There the reaper gleans
Vast opals of white air:
The dawn leans
Upon emerald there:
Out of the dust of kings
The sunrise lifts a cloud of shimmering wings.
In Gorias of the East
My love was born,
Erias dowered with a sword
And the treasures of the Morn---
But now all the red gems
And the pale gold
Are as the trampled diadems
Of the queens of old
In Gorias the pale-gold.
Have I once heard the least,
But the least breath, again ?
No: my love is no more fain
Of Gorias of the East.
Erias hath sheathed this sword
Long, long ago.
My heart is old . . .
Though in Gorias are gems
And pale gold.
MURIAS
In the sunken city of Murias
A golden Image dwells:
The sea-song of the trampling waves
Is as muffled bells
Where He dwells,
In the city of Murias.
In the sunken city of Murias
A golden Image gleams:
The loud noise of the moving seas
Is as woven beams
Where He dreams,
In the city of Murias.
In the sunken city of Murias,
Deep, deep beneath the sea
The Image sits and hears Time break
The heart I gave to thee
And thou to me,
In the city of Murias.
In the city of Murias,
Long, oh, so long ago,
Our souls were wed when the world
was young;
Are we old now, that we know
This silent woe
In the city of Murias?
In the sunken city of Murias
A graven Image dwells:
The sound of our little sobbing prayer
Is as muffled bells
Where He dwells,
In the city of Murias.