Kitabı oku: «Verses», sayfa 5

THROUGH THE DOOR

 
  The angel opened the door
     A little way,
  And she vanished, as melts a star,
     Into the day,
  And, for just a second's space,
     Ere the bar he drew,
  The pitying angel paused,
     And we looked through.
 
 
  What did we see within?
     Ah! who can tell?
  What glory and glow of light
     Ineffable;
  What peace in the very air,
     What hush and calm,
  Soothing each tired soul
     Like healing balm!
 
 
  Was it a dream we dreamed,
     Or did we hear
  The harping of silver harps,
     Divinely clear?
  A murmur of that "new song,"
     Which, soft and low,
  The happy angels sing,—
     Sing as they go?
 
 
  And, as in the legend old,
     The good monk heard,
  As he paced his cloister dim,
     A heavenly bird,
  And, rapt and lost in the joy
     Of the wondrous song,
  Listened a hundred years,
     Nor deemed them long,
 
 
  So chained in sense and limb,
     All blind with sun,
  We stood and tasted the joy
     Of our vanished one;
  And we took no note of time,
     Till soon or late
  The gentle angel sighed,
     And shut the gate.
 
 
  The vision is closed and sealed.
     We are come back
  To the old, accustomed earth,
     The well-worn track,—
  Back to the daily toil,
     The daily pain,—
  But we never can be the same,
     Never again.
 
 
  We who have bathed in noon,
     All radiant white,
  Shall we come back content
     To sit in night?
  Content with self and sin,
     The stain, the blot?
  To have stood so near the gate
     And enter not?
 
 
  O glimpse so swift, so sweet,
     So soon withdrawn!
  Stay with us; light our dusks
     Till day shall dawn;
  Until the shadows flee,
     And to our view
  Again the gate unbars,
     And we pass through.
 

READJUSTMENT

 
  After the earthquake shock or lightning dart
  Comes a recoil of silence o'er the lands,
  And then, with pulses hot and quivering hands,
  Earth calls up courage to her mighty heart,
  Plies every tender, compensating art,
  Draws her green, flowery veil above the scar,
  Fills the shrunk hollow, smooths the riven plain,
  And with a century's tendance heals again
  The seams and gashes which her fairness mar.
  So we, when sudden woe like lightning sped,
  Finds us and smites us in our guarded place,
  After one brief, bewildered moment's space,
  By the same heavenly instinct taught and led,
  Adjust our lives to loss, make friends with pain,
  Bind all our shattered hopes and bid them bloom again.
 

AT THE GATE

 
"For behold, the kingdom of God is within you."
 
 
      Thy kingdom here?
      Lord, can it be?
  Searching and seeking everywhere
      For many a year,
  "Thy kingdom come" has been my prayer.
  Was that dear kingdom all the while so near?
 
 
      Blinded and dull
      With selfish sin,
  Have I been sitting at the gates
      Called Beautiful,
  Where Thy fair angel stands and waits,
  With hand upon the lock to let me in?
 
 
      Was I the wall
      Which barred the way,
  Darkening the glory of Thy grace,
      Hiding the ray
  Which, shining out as from Thy very face,
  Had shown to other men the perfect day?
 
 
      Was I the bar
      Which shut me out
  From the full joyance which they taste
      Whose spirits are
  Within Thy Paradise embraced,—
  Thy blessed Paradise, which seemed so far?
 
 
      The vision swells:
      I seem to catch
  Celestial breezes, rustling low,
      The asphodels,
  Where, singing softly ever to and fro,
  Moves each fair saint who in Thy presence dwells.
 
 
      Let me not sit
      Another hour,
  Idly awaiting what is mine to win,
      Blinded in wit,
  Lord Jesus, rend these walls of self and sin;
  Beat down the gate, that I may enter it.
 

A HOME

 
  What is a home? A guarded space,
    Wherein a few, unfairly blest,
  Shall sit together, face to face,
    And bask and purr and be at rest?
 
 
  Where cushioned walls rise up between
    Its inmates and the common air,
  The common pain, and pad and screen
    From blows of fate or winds of care?
 
 
  Where Art may blossom strong and free,
    And Pleasure furl her silken wing,
  And every laden moment be
    A precious and peculiar thing?
 
 
  And Past and Future, softly veiled
    In hiding mists, shall float and lie
  Forgotten half, and unassailed
    By either hope or memory,
 
 
  While the luxurious Present weaves
    Her perfumed spells untried, untrue,
  Broiders her garments, heaps her sheaves,
    All for the pleasure of a few?
 
 
  Can it be this, the longed-for thing
    Which wanderers on the restless foam,
  Unsheltered beggars, birds on wing,
    Aspire to, dream of, christen "Home"?
 
 
  No. Art may bloom, and peace and bliss;
    Grief may refrain and Death forget;
  But if there be no more than this,
    The soul of home is wanting yet.
 
 
  Dim image from far glory caught,
    Fair type of fairer things to be,
  The true home rises in our thought,
    A beacon set for men to see.
 
 
  Its lamps burn freely in the night,
    Its fire-glows unchidden shed
  Their cheering and abounding light
    On homeless folk uncomforted.
 
 
  Each sweet and secret thing within
    Gives out a fragrance on the air,—
  A thankful breath, sent forth to win
    A little smile from others' care.
 
 
  The few, they bask in closer heat;
    The many catch the farther ray.
  Life higher seems, the world more sweet,
    And hope and Heaven less far away.
 
 
  So the old miracle anew
    Is wrought on earth and proved good,
  And crumbs apportioned for a few,
    God-blessed, suffice a multitude.
 

THE LEGEND OF KINTU

 
  When earth was young and men were few,
  And all things freshly born and new
  Seemed made for blessing, not for ban,
  Kintu, the god, appeared as man.
  Clad in the plain white priestly dress,
  He journeyed through the wilderness,
  His wife beside. A mild-faced cow
  They drove, and one low-bleating lamb;
  He bore a ripe banana-bough,
  And she a root of fruitful yam:
  This was their worldly worth and store,
  But God can make the little more.
  The glad earth knew his feet; her mould
  Trembled with quickening thrills, and stirred.
  Miraculous harvests spread and rolled,
  The orchards shone with ruddy gold;
  The flocks increased, increased the herd,
  And a great nation spread and grew
  From the swift lineage of the two,
  Peopling the solitary place;
  A fair and strong and fruitful race,
  Who knew not pain nor want nor grief,
  And Kintu reigned their lord and chief.
 
 
  So sped three centuries along,
  Till Kintu's sons waxed fierce and strong;
  They learned to war, they loved to slay;
  Cruel and dark grew all their faces;
  Discordant death-cries scared the day,
  Blood stained the green and holy places;
  And drunk with lust, with anger hot,
  His sons mild Kintu heeded not.
  At last the god arose in wrath,
  His sandals tied, and down the path,
  His wife beside him, as of yore,
  He went. A cow, a single lamb
  They took; one tuber of the yam;
  One yellow-podded branch they bore
  Of ripe banana,—these, no more,
  Of all the heaped-up harvest store.
  They left the huts, they left the tent,
  Nor turned, nor cast a backward look:
  Behind, the thick boughs met and shook.
  They vanished. Long with wild lament
  Mourned all the tribe, in vain, in vain;
  The gift once given was given no more,
  The grieved god came not again.
 
 
  To what far paradise they fared,
  That heavenly pair, what wilderness
  Their gentle rule next owned and shared,
  Knoweth no man,—no man can guess.
  On secret roads, by pathways blind,
  The gods go forth, and none may find;
  But sad the world where God is not!
  By man was Kintu soon forgot,
  Or named and held as legend dim,
  But the wronged earth, remembering him,
  By scanty fruit and tardy grain
  And silent song revealed her pain.
  So centuries came, and centuries went,
  And heaped the graves and filled the tent.
  Kings rose, and fought their royal way
  To conquest over heaps of slain,
  And reigned a little. Then, one day,
  They vanished into dust again.
  And other kings usurped their place,
  Who called themselves of Kintu's race,
  And worshipped Kintu; not as he,
  The mild, benignant deity,
  Who held all life a holy thing,
  Be it of insect or of king,
  Would have ordained, but with wild rite,
  With altars heaped, and dolorous cries,
  And savage dance, and bale-fires light,
  An unaccepted sacrifice.
  At last, when thousand years were flown,
  The great Ma-anda filled the throne:
  A prince of generous heart and high,
  Impetuous, noble, fierce, and true;
  His wrath like lightning hurtling by,
  His pardon like the healing dew.
  And chiefs and sages swore each one
  He was great Kintu's worthiest son.
 
 
  One night, in forests still and deep,
  A shepherd sat to watch his sheep,
  And started, as through darkness dim
  A strange voice rang and calmed to him:
  "Wake! there are wonders waiting thee!
  Go where the thick mimosas be,
  Fringing a little open plain,
  Honor and power wouldest thou gain?
  Go, foolish man, to fortune blind;
  Follow the stream, and thou shall find."
  Three several nights the voice was heard,
  Louder and more emphatic grown.
  Then, at the thrice-repeated word,
  The shepherd rose and went alone,
  Threading the mazes of the stream
  Like one who wanders in a dream.
  Long miles he ran, the stream beside,
  Which this way, that way, turned and sped,
  And called and sang, a noisy guide.
  At last its vagrant dances led
  To where the thick mimosas' shade
  Circled and fringed an open glade;
  There the wild streamlet danced away,
  The moon was shining strangely white,
  And by its fitful, gleaming ray
  The shepherd saw a wondrous sight;
  In the glade's midst, each on his mat,
  A group of armed warriors sat,
  White-robed, majestic, with deep eyes
  Fixed on him with a stern surprise;
  And in their midst an aged chief
  Enthroned sat, whose beard, like foam,
  Caressed his mighty knees. As leaf
  Shakes in the wind the shepherd shook,
  And veiled his eyes before that look,
  And prayed, and thought upon his home,
  Nor spoke, nor moved, till the old man,
  In voice like waterfall, began:
  "Shepherd, how names himself thy king?"
  "Ma-anda," answered, shuddering,
  The shepherd. "Good, thou speakest well.
  And now, my son, I bid thee tell
  Thy first king's name." "It was Kintu."
  "'Tis rightly said, thou answerest true.
  Hark! To Ma-anda, Kintu's son,
  Hasten, and bid him, fearing naught,
  Come hither, taking thee for guide;
  Thou and he, not another one,
  Not even a dog may run beside!
  Long has Ma-anda Kintu sought
  With spell and conjuration dim,
  Now Kintu has a word for him.
  Go, do thy errand, haste thee hence,
  Kintu insures thy recompense."
  All night the shepherd ran, star-led,
  All the hot day he hastened straight,
  Nor stopped for sleep, nor stopped for bread,
  Until he reached the city gate,
  And saw red rays of evening fall
  On the leaf-hutted capital.
  He sought the king, his tale he told.
  Ma-anda faltered not, nor stayed.
  He seized his spear, he left the tent:
  Shook off the brown arms of his queens,
  Who clasped his knees with wailing screams;
  On pain of instant death forbade
  That man should spy or follow him;
  And down the pathway, arching dim,
  Fearless and light of heart and bold
  Followed the shepherd where he went.
 
 
  But one there was who loved his king
  Too well to suffer such strange thing,—
  The chieftain of the host was he,
  Next to the monarch in degree;
  And, fearing wile or stratagem
  Menaced the king, he followed them
  With noiseless tread and out of sight.
  So on they fared the forest through,
  From evening shades to dawning light,
  From damning to the dusk and dew,—
  The unseen follower and the two.
  Ofttimes the king turned back to scan
  The path, but never saw he man.
  At last the forest-guarded space
  They reached, where, ranged in order, sat,
  Each couched upon his braided mat,
  The white-robed warriors, face to face
  With their majestic chief. The king,
  Albeit unused to fear or awe,
  Bowed down in homage, wondering,
  And bent his eyes, as fearing to be
  Blinded by rays of deity.
  Then asked the mighty voice and calm,
  "Art thou Ma-anda called?" "I am."
  "And art thou king?" "The king am I,"
  The bold Ma-anda made reply.
  "Tis rightly spoken; but, my son,
  Why hast thou my command forgot,
  That no man with thee to this spot
  Should come, except thy guide alone?"
  "No man has come," Ma-anda said.
 
 
  "Alone we journeyed, he and I;
  And often have I turned my head,
  And never living thing could spy.
  None is there, on my faith as king."
  "A king's word is a weighty thing,"
  The old man answered. "Let it be,—
  But still a man HAS followed thee!
  Now answer, Ma-anda, one more thing:
  Who, first of all thy line, was king?"
  "Kintu the god." "'Tis well, my son,
  All creatures Kintu loved,—not one
  Too pitiful or weak or small;
  He knew them and he loved them all;
  And never did a living thing,
  Or bird in air or fish in lake,
  Endure a pang for Kintu's sake.
  Then rose his sons, of differing mind,
  Who gorged on cruel feasts each day,
  And bathed in blood, and joyed to slay,
  And laughed at pain and suffering.
  Then Kintu sadly went his way.
  The gods long-suffering are and kind,
  Often they pardon, long they wait;
  But men are evil, men are blind.
  After much tarriance, much debate,
  The good gods leave them to their fate;
  So Kintu went where none may find.
 
 
  Each king in turn has sought since then,
  From Chora down, the first in line,
  To win lost Kintu back to men.
  Vain was his search, and vain were thine,
  Save that the gods have special grace
  To thee, Ma-anda. Face to face
  With Kintu thou shall stand, and he
  Shall speak the word of power to thee;
  Clasped to his bosom, thou shall share
  His knowledge of the earth, the air,
  And deep things, secret things, shall learn.
  But stay,"—the old man's voice grew stern,—
  "Before I further speak, declare
  Who is that man in ambush there!"
  "There is no man,—no man I see."
  "Deny no longer, it is vain.
  Within the shadow of the tree
  He lurketh; lo, behold him plain!"
  And the king saw;—for at the word
  From covert stole the hidden spy,
  And sought his monarch's side. One cry,
  A lion's roar, Ma-anda gave,
  Then seized his spear, and poised and drave.
  Like lightning bolt it hissed and whirred,
  A flash across the midnight blue.
  A single groan, a jet of red,
  And, pierced and stricken through and through,
  Upon the ground the chief fell dead;
  But still with love no death could chase,
  His eyes sought out his master's face.
 
 
  Blent with Ma-anda's a wild cry
  Of many voices rose on high,
  A shriek of anguish and despair.
  Which shook and filled the startled air;
  And when the king, his wrath still hot,
  Turned him, the little grassy plain
  All lonely in the moonlight lay:
  The chiefs had vanished all away
  As melted into thin, blue wind;
  Gone was the old man. Stunned and blind,
  For a long moment stood the king;
  He tried to wake; he rubbed his eyes,
  As though some fearful dream to end.
  It was no dream, this fearful thing:
  There was the forest, there the skies,
  The shepherd—and his murdered friend.
  With feverish haste, bewildered, mazed,
  This way and that he vainly sped,
  Beating the air like one half crazed;
  With prayers and cries unnumbered,
  Searching, imploring,—vain, all vain.
  Only the echoing woods replied,
  With mocking booms their long aisles through,
  "Come back, Kintu, Kintu, Kintu!"
  And pitiless to all his pain
  The unanswering gods his suit denied.
  At last, as dawning slowly crept
  To day, the king sank down and wept
  A space; then, lifting as they could
  The lifeless burden, once a man,
  He and the shepherd-guide began
  Their grievous journey through the wood,
  The long and hard and dreary way,
  Trodden so lightly yesterday;
  And the third day, at evening's fall,
  Gained the leaf-hutted capital.
  There burial rites were duly paid:
 
 
  Like bridegroom decked for banqueting,
  The chief adorned his funeral-pyre;
  Rare gums and spices fed the fire,
  Perfumes and every precious thing;
  And songs were sung, and prayers were prayed,
  And priests danced jubilant all day.
  But prone the king Ma-anda lay,
  With ashes on his royal crest,
  And groaned, and beat upon his breast,
  And called on Kintu loud and wild:
  "Father, come back, forgive thy child!"
  Bitter the cry, but vain, all vain;
  The grieved god came not again.