Kitabı oku: «The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2», sayfa 3

THE LOST SOUL

 
  Look! look there!
Send your eyes across the gray
By my finger-point away
Through the vaporous, fumy air.
Beyond the air, you see the dark?
Beyond the dark, the dawning day?
On its horizon, pray you, mark
Something like a ruined heap
Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back:
Down all the grades through which they rose
Up to harmonious life and law's repose,
Back, slow, to the awful deep
Of nothingness, mere being's lack:
On its surface, lone and bare,
Shapeless as a dumb despair,
Formless, nameless, something lies:
Can the vision in your eyes
Its idea recognize?
 
 
  'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!—
Half he lived some ages back;
But, with hardly opened eyes,
Thinking him already wise,
Down he sat and wrote a book;
Drew his life into a nook;
Out of it would not arise
To peruse the letters dim,
Graven dark on his own walls;
Those, he judged, were chance-led scrawls,
Or at best no use to him.
A lamp was there for reading these;
This he trimmed, sitting at ease,
For its aid to write his book,
Never at his walls to look—
Trimmed and trimmed to one faint spark
Which went out, and left him dark.—
I will try if he can hear
Spirit words with spirit ear!
 
 
  Motionless thing! who once,
Like him who cries to thee,
Hadst thy place with thy shining peers,
Thy changeful place in the changeless dance
Issuing ever in radiance
From the doors of the far eternity,
With feet that glitter and glide and glance
To the music-law that binds the free,
And sets the captive at liberty—
To the clang of the crystal spheres!
O heart for love! O thirst to drink
From the wells that feed the sea!
O hands of truth, a human link
'Twixt mine and the Father's knee!
O eyes to see! O soul to think!
O life, the brother of me!
Has Infinitude sucked back all
The individual life it gave?
Boots it nothing to cry and call?
Is thy form an empty grave?
 
 
  It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing!
Sounds no sense to its ear will bring!
Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry;
Love no light to its heart will carry!
Sting it with words, it will never shrink;
It will not repent, it cannot think!
Hath God forgotten it, alas!
Lost in eternity's lumber-room?
Will the wind of his breathing never pass
Over it through the insensate gloom?
Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled,
Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world,
Sightless and deaf, with never a cry,
In the hell of its own vacuity!
 
 
  See, see yon angel crossing our flight
Where the thunder vapours loom,
From his upcast pinions flashing the light
Of some outbreaking doom!
Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh!
Smite we the wing up a steeper sky!
What matters the hail or the clashing winds,
The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds!
We know by the tempest we do not lie
Dead in the pits of eternity!
 

THE THREE HORSES

 
What shall I be?—I will be a knight
  Walled up in armour black,
With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might.
  And a spear that will not crack—
So black, so blank, no glimmer of light
  Will betray my darkling track.
 
 
Saddle my coal-black steed, my men,
  Fittest for sunless work;
Old Night is steaming from her den,
  And her children gather and lurk;
Bad things are creeping from the fen,
  And sliding down the murk.
 
 
Let him go!—let him go! Let him plunge!—Keep away!
  He's a foal of the third seal's brood!
Gaunt with armour, in grim array
  Of poitrel and frontlet-hood,
Let him go, a living castle, away—
  Right for the evil wood.
 
 
I and Ravenwing on the course,
  Heavy in fighting gear—
Woe to the thing that checks our force,
  That meets us in career!
Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse—
  What cares the couched spear!
 
 
Slow through the trees zigzag I ride.
  See! the goblins!—to and fro!
From the skull of the dark, on either side,
  See the eyes of a dragon glow!
From the thickets the silent serpents glide—
  I pass them, I let them go;
 
 
For somewhere in the evil night
  A little one cries alone;
An aged knight, outnumbered in fight,
  But for me will be stricken prone;
A lady with terror is staring white,
  For her champion is overthrown.
 
 
The child in my arms, to my hauberk prest,
  Like a trembling bird will cling;
I will cover him over, in iron nest,
  With my shield, my one steel wing,
And bear him home to his mother's breast,
  A radiant, rescued thing.
 
 
Spur in flank, and lance in rest,
  On the old knight's foes I flash;
The caitiffs I scatter to east and west
  With clang and hurtle and crash;
Leave them the law, as knaves learn it best,
  In bruise, and breach, and gash.
 
 
The lady I lift on my panting steed;
  On the pommel she holds my mace;
Hand on bridle I gently lead
  The horse at a gentle pace;
The thickets with martel-axe I heed,
  For the wood is an evil place.
 
 
What treasure is there in manly might
  That hid in the bosom lies!
Who for the crying will not fight
  Had better be he that cries!
A man is a knight that loves the right
  And mounts for it till he dies.
 
 
Alas, 'tis a dream of ages hoar!
  In the fens no dragons won;
No giants from moated castles roar;
  Through the forest wide roadways run;
Of all the deeds they did of yore
  Not one is left to be done!
 
 
If I should saddle old Ravenwing
  And hie me out at night,
Scared little birds away would spring
  An ill-shot arrow's flight:
The idle fancy away I fling,
  Now I will dream aright!
 
 
Let a youth bridle Twilight, my dapple-gray,
  With broad rein and snaffle bit;
He must bring him round at break of day
  When the shadows begin to flit,
When the darkness begins to dream away,
  And the owls begin to sit.
 
 
Ungraithed in plate or mail I go,
  With only my sword—gray-blue
Like the scythe of the dawning come to mow
  The night-sprung shadows anew
From the gates of the east, that, fair and slow,
  Maid Morning may walk through.
 
 
I seek no forest with darkness grim,
  To the open land I ride;
Low light, from the broad horizon's brim,
  Lies wet on the flowing tide,
And mottles with shadows dun and dim
  The mountain's rugged side.
 
 
Steadily, hasteless, o'er valley and hill.
  O'er the moor, along the beach,
We ride, nor slacken our pace until
  Some city of men we reach;
There, in the market, my horse stands still,
  And I lift my voice and preach.
 
 
Wealth and poverty, age and youth
  Around me gather and throng;
I tell them of justice, of wisdom, of truth,
  Of mercy, and law, and wrong;
My words are moulded by right and ruth
  To a solemn-chanted song.
 
 
They bring me questions which would be scanned,
  That strife may be forgot;
Swerves my balance to neither hand,
  The poor I favour no jot;
If a man withstand, out sweeps my brand.
  I slay him upon the spot.
 
 
But what if my eye have in it a beam
  And therefore spy his mote?
Righteousness only, wisdom supreme
  Can tell the sheep from the goat!
Not thus I dream a wise man's dream,
  Not thus take Wrong by the throat!
 
 
Lead Twilight home. I dare not kill;
  The sword myself would scare.—
When the sun looks over the eastern hill,
  Bring out my snow-white mare:
One labour is left which no one will
  Deny me the right to share!
 
 
Take heed, my men, from crest to heel
  Snow-white have no speck;
No curb, no bit her mouth must feel,
  No tightening rein her neck;
No saddle-girth drawn with buckle of steel
  Shall her mighty breathing check!
 
 
Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen,
  Bring me a robe of white;
Wherever we go we must be seen
  By the shining of our light—
A glistening splendour in forest green,
  A star on the mountain-height.
 
 
With jar and shudder the gates unclose;
  Out in the sun she leaps!
A unit of light and power she goes
  Levelling vales and steeps:
The wind around her eddies and blows,
  Before and behind her sleeps.
 
 
Oh joy, oh joy to ride the world
  And glad, good tidings bear!
A flag of peace on the winds unfurled
  Is the mane of my shining mare:
To the sound of her hoofs, lo, the dead stars hurled
  Quivering adown the air!
 
 
Oh, the sun and the wind! Oh, the life and the love!
  Where the serpent swung all day
The loud dove coos to the silent dove;
  Where the web-winged dragon lay
In its hole beneath, on the rock above
  Merry-tongued children play.
 
 
With eyes of light the maidens look up
  As they sit in the summer heat
Twining green blade with golden cup—
  They see, and they rise to their feet;
I call aloud, for I must not stop,
  "Good tidings, my sisters sweet!"
 
 
For mine is a message of holy mirth
  To city and land of corn;
Of praise for heaviness, plenty for dearth,
  For darkness a shining morn:
Clap hands, ye billows; be glad, O earth,
  For a child, a child is born!
 
 
Lo, even the just shall live by faith!
  None argue of mine and thine!
Old Self shall die an ecstatic death
  And be born a thing divine,
For God's own being and God's own breath
  Shall be its bread and wine.
 
 
Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king,
  And Pride to his darkness hie;
Yea, for very love of a living thing
  A man would forget and die,
If very love were not the spring
  Whence life springs endlessly!
 
 
The myrtle shall grow where grew the thorn;
  Earth shall be young as heaven;
The heart with remorse or anger torn
  Shall weep like a summer even;
For to us a child, a child is born,
  Unto us a son is given!
 
 
Lord, with thy message I dare not ride!
  I am a fool, a beast!
The little ones only from thy side
  Go forth to publish thy feast!
And I, where but sons and daughters abide,
  Would have walked about, a priest!
 
 
Take Snow-white back to her glimmering stall;
  There let her stand and feed!—
I am overweening, ambitious, small,
  A creature of pride and greed!
Let me wash the hoofs, let me be the thrall,
  Jesus, of thy white steed!
 

THE GOLDEN KEY

 
From off the earth the vapours curled,
  Went up to meet their joy;
The boy awoke, and all the world
  Was waiting for the boy!
 
 
The sky, the water, the wide earth
  Was full of windy play—
Shining and fair, alive with mirth,
  All for his holiday!
 
 
The hill said "Climb me;" and the wood
  "Come to my bosom, child;
Mine is a merry gamboling brood,
  Come, and with them go wild."
 
 
The shadows with the sunlight played,
  The birds were singing loud;
The hill stood up with pines arrayed—
  He ran to join the crowd.
 
 
But long ere noon, dark grew the skies,
  Pale grew the shrinking sun:
"How soon," he said, "for clouds to rise
  When day was but begun!"
 
 
The wind grew rough; a wilful power
  It swept o'er tree and town;
The boy exulted for an hour,
  Then weary sat him down.
 
 
And as he sat the rain began,
  And rained till all was still:
He looked, and saw a rainbow span
  The vale from hill to hill.
 
 
He dried his tears. "Ah, now," he said,
  "The storm was good, I see!
Yon pine-dressed hill, upon its head
  I'll find the golden key!"
 
 
He thrid the copse, he climbed the fence,
  At last the top did scale;
But, lo, the rainbow, vanished thence,
  Was shining in the vale!
 
 
"Still, here it stood! yes, here," he said,
  "Its very foot was set!
I saw this fir-tree through the red,
  This through the violet!"
 
 
He searched and searched, while down the skies
  Went slow the slanting sun.
At length he lifted hopeless eyes,
  And day was nearly done!
 
 
Beyond the vale, above the heath,
  High flamed the crimson west;
His mother's cottage lay beneath
  The sky-bird's rosy breast.
 
 
"Oh, joy," he cried, "not all the way
  Farther from home we go!
The rain will come another day
  And bring another bow!"
 
 
Long ere he reached his mother's cot,
  Still tiring more and more,
The red was all one cold gray blot,
  And night lay round the door.
 
 
But when his mother stroked his head
  The night was grim in vain;
And when she kissed him in his bed
  The rainbow rose again.
 
 
Soon, things that are and things that seem
  Did mingle merrily;
He dreamed, nor was it all a dream,
  His mother had the key.
 

SOMNIUM MYSTICI

A Microcosm In Terza Rima

I

 
Quiet I lay at last, and knew no more
  Whether I breathed or not, so worn I lay
  With the death-struggle. What was yet before
Neither I met, nor turned from it away;
  My only conscious being was the rest
  Of pain gone dead—dead with the bygone day,
And long I could have lingered all but blest
  In that half-slumber. But there came a sound
  As of a door that opened—in the west
Somewhere I thought it. As the hare the hound,
  The noise did start my eyelids and they rose.
  I turned my eyes and looked. Then straight I found
It was my chamber-door that did unclose,
  For a tall form up to my bedside drew.
  Grand was it, silent, its very walk repose;
And when I saw the countenance, I knew
  That I was lying in my chamber dead;
  For this my brother—brothers such are few—
That now to greet me bowed his kingly head,
  Had, many years agone, like holy dove
  Returning, from his friends and kindred sped,
And, leaving memories of mournful love,
  Passed vanishing behind the unseen veil;
  And though I loved him, all high words above.
Not for his loss then did I weep or wail,
  Knowing that here we live but in a tent,
  And, seeking home, shall find it without fail.
Feeble but eager, toward him my hands went—
  I too was dead, so might the dead embrace!
  Taking me by the shoulders down he bent,
And lifted me. I was in sickly case,
  But, growing stronger, stood up on the floor,
  There turned, and once regarded my dead face
With curious eyes: its brow contentment wore,
  But I had done with it, and turned away.
  I saw my brother by the open door,
And followed him out into the night blue-gray.
  The houses stood up hard in limpid air,
  The moon hung in the heavens in half decay,
And all the world to my bare feet lay bare.
 

II

 
Now I had suffered in my life, as they
  Must suffer, and by slow years younger grow,
  From whom the false fool-self must drop away,
Compact of greed and fear, which, gathered slow,
  Darkens the angel-self that, evermore,
  Where no vain phantom in or out shall go,
Moveless beholds the Father—stands before
  The throne of revelation, waiting there,
  With wings low-drooping on the sapphire-floor,
Until it find the Father's ideal fair,
  And be itself at last: not one small thorn
  Shall needless any pilgrim's garments tear;
And but to say I had suffered I would scorn
  Save for the marvellous thing that next befell:
  Sudden I grew aware I was new-born;
All pain had vanished in the absorbent swell
  Of some exalting peace that was my own;
  As the moon dwelt in heaven did calmness dwell
At home in me, essential. The earth's moan
  Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part
  In human griefs, dear part with them that groan?
"'Tis weariness!" I said; but with a start
  That set it trembling and yet brake it not,
  I found the peace was love. Oh, my rich heart!
For, every time I spied a glimmering spot
  Of window pane, "There, in that silent room,"
  Thought I, "mayhap sleeps human heart whose lot
Is therefore dear to mine!" I cared for whom
  I saw not, had not seen, and might not see!
  After the love crept prone its shadow-gloom,
But instant a mightier love arose in me,
  As in an ocean a single wave will swell,
  And heaved the shadow to the centre: we
Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell.
  It sank, and left my sea in holy calm:
  I gave each man to God, and all was well.
And in my heart stirred soft a sleeping psalm.
 

III

 
No gentlest murmur through the city crept;
  Not one lone word my brother to me had spoken;
  But when beyond the city-gate we stept
I knew the hovering silence would be broken.
  A low night wind came whispering: through and through
  It did baptize me with the pledge and token
Of that soft spirit-wind which blows and blew
  And fans the human world since evermore.
  The very grass, cool to my feet, I knew
To be love also, and with the love I bore
  To hold far sympathy, silent and sweet,
  As having known the secret from of yore
In the eternal heart where all things meet,
  Feelings and thinkings, and where still they are bred.
  Sudden he stood, and with arrested feet
I also. Like a half-sunned orb, his head
  Slow turned the bright side: lo, the brother-smile
  That ancient human glory on me shed
Clothéd in which Jesus came forth to wile
  Unto his bosom every labouring soul,
  And all dividing passions to beguile
To winsome death, and then on them to roll
  The blessed stone of the holy sepulchre!
  "Thank God," he said, "thou also now art whole
And sound and well! For the keen pain, and stir
  Uneasy, and sore grief that came to us all,
  In that we knew not how the wine and myrrh
Could ever from the vinegar and gall
  Be parted, are deep sunk, yea drowned in God;
  And yet the past not folded in a pall,
But breathed upon, like Aaron's withered rod,
  By a sweet light that brings the blossoms through,
  Showing in dreariest paths that men have trod
Another's foot-prints, spotted of crimson hue,
  Still on before wherever theirs did wend;
  Yea, through the desert leading, of thyme and rue,
The desert souls in which young lions rend
  And roar—the passionate who, to be blest,
  Ravin as bears, and do not gain their end,
Because that, save in God, there is no rest."
 

IV

 
Something my brother said to me like this,
  But how unlike it also, think, I pray:
  His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss;
Himself the word, his speech was but a ray
  In the clear nimbus that with verity
  Of absolute utterance made a home-born day
Of truth about him, lamping solemnly;
  And when he paused, there came a swift repose,
  Too high, too still to be called ecstasy—
A purple silence, lanced through in the close
  By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling,
  It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose.
He was a glory full of reconciling,
  Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain,
  Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling
Back to the bosom of a speechless gain.
 

V

 
I cannot tell how long we joyous talked,
  For from my sense old time had vanished quite,
  Space dim-remaining—for onward still we walked.
No sun arose to blot the pale, still night—
  Still as the night of some great spongy stone
  That turns but once an age betwixt the light
And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown,
  And long as that to me before whose face
  Visions so many slid, and veils were blown
Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace.
  Innumerous thoughts yet throng that infinite hour,
  And hopes which greater hopes unceasing chase,
For I was all responsive to his power.
  I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep;
  I saw the growth of each grief-nurtured flower;
I saw the gardener watching—in their sleep
  Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid
  Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep;
What wonder then I saw nor was dismayed!
  I saw the dull, degraded monsters nursed
  In money-marshes, greedy men that preyed
Upon the helpless, ground the feeblest worst;
  Yea all the human chaos, wild and waste,
  Where he who will not leave what God hath cursed
Now fruitless wallows, now is stung and chased
  By visions lovely and by longings dire.
  "But who believeth, he shall not make haste,
Even passing through the water and the fire,
  Or sad with memories of a better lot!
  He, saved by hope, for all men will desire,
Knowing that God into a mustard-jot
  May shut an aeon; give a world that lay
  Wombed in its sun, a molten unorbed clot,
One moment from the red rim to spin away
  Librating—ages to roll on weary wheel
  Ere it turn homeward, almost spent its day!
Who knows love all, time nothing, he shall feel
  No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand;
  Tender as air, but clothed in triple steel,
He for his kind, in every age and land,
  Hoping will live; and, to his labour bent,
  The Father's will shall, doing, understand."
So spake my brother as we onward went:
  His words my heart received, as corn the lea,
  And answered with a harvest of content.
We came at last upon a lonesome sea.
 

VI

 
And onward still he went, I following
  Out on the water. But the water, lo,
  Like a thin sheet of glass, lay vanishing!
The starry host in glorious twofold show
  Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this,
  A quivering fear thorough my heart did go:
Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss,
  A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found
  Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss
Of the cool water lightly crisping round
  The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze
  My fallen eyelids. But again the sound
Of my guide's voice on the still air arose:
  "Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith?
  For keenest sight but multiplies the shows.
Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath;
  Terrified, dare the terror in God's name;
  Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death
Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?"
  I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes,
  And strode on the invisible sea. The same
High moment vanished all my cowardice,
  And God was with me. The well-pleased stars
  Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies,
The white aurora flashed great scimitars
  From north to zenith; and again my guide
  Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars
Latticed across a soul I there descried,
  No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long
  Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide;
Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong,
  Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand
  Close to me in the void as one in a throng,
Yet on the border of some nameless land
  He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery
  Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand
His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly,
  Searched in his countenance, as in a mine,
  For jewels of contentment, satisfy
My heart I could not. Seeming to divine
  My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed
  My forehead, and his arms did round me twine,
And held me to his bosom. Still I missed
  That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared
  One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist;
Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared
  Along the dusty highways of the old clime.
  Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared
My soul, stood reading there a little time,
  While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew
  That dims the grass at evening or at prime,
But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue:
  And on his lips a faint ethereal smile
  Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue
Trembling about a purple flower, the while
  Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried;
  But straight outbursting tears my words beguile,
And in my bosom all the utterance died.
 

VII

 
A moment more he stood, then softly sighed.
  "I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far
  Beyond my help," his voice at length replied
To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star
  Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze:
  Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar
The liquid glory that from its visage rays,
  Thou therefore knowest that same world on high,
  Its people and its orders and its ways?"
"What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that
  Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee!
  Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!"
"Not the less near that nearer I shall be.
  I have a world within thou dost not know—
  Would I could make thee know it! but all of me
Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so
  Into possession that betwixt us twain
  The frolic homeliness of love should flow
As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again:
  Away the deeper childhood first must wipe
  That clouded consciousness which was our pain.
When in thy breast the godlike hath grown ripe,
  And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more
  A child than when we played with drum and pipe
About our earthly father's happy door,
  Then—" He ceased not; his holy utterance still
  Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store
Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill,
  Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech.
  At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill—
With earthly words I heavenly things would reach—
  Where dwelleth now the man we used to call
  Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach
Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall
  Became a temple, holy grew the room,
  Prone on the ground before him I did fall,
So grand he towered above me like a doom;
  But now I look into the well-known face
  Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom
Of his eternal youthfulness and grace."
  "But something separates us," yet I cried;
  "Let light at least begin the dark to chase,
The dark begin to waver and divide,
  And clear the path of vision. In the old time,
  When clouds one heart did from the other hide,
A wind would blow between! If I would climb,
  This foot must rise ere that can go up higher:
  Some big A teach me of the eternal prime."
He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire
  Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can
  Give out one perfect note in its great quire;
And thereto am I sent—oh, sent of one
  Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing:
  He opens every door 'twixt man and man;
He to all inner chambers all will bring."
 

VIII

 
It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound,
  And Hope had ever been enough for me,
  To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound;
From chains of school and mode she set me free,
  And urged my life to living.—On we went
  Across the stars that underlay the sea,
And came to a blown shore of sand and bent.
  Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed
  Silent—I, for I pondered what he meant,
And he, that sacred speech might not be lost—
  And came at length upon an evil place:
  Trees lay about like a half-buried host,
Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race
  Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries
  And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace
Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies
  Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground
  Slow from the waste began a gentle rise;
And tender grass in patches, then all round,
  Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge
  Of softest green cold-flushing every mound;
At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe;
  And last, a gloomy forest, almost blind,
  For on its roof no sun-ray did impinge,
So that its very leaves did share the mind
  Of a brown shadowless day. Not, all the year,
  Once part its branches to let through a wind,
But all day long the unmoving trees appear
  To ponder on the past, as men may do
  That for the future wait without a fear,
And in the past the coming present view.
 

IX

 
I know not if for days many or few
  Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun,
  Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through,
Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun,
  Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade.
  No life was there—not even a spider spun.
At length we came into a sky-roofed glade,
  An open level, in a circle shut
  By solemn trees that stood aside and made
Large room and lonely for a little hut
  By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood.
  'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut
When those great trees no larger by them stood;
  Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown
  Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude,
Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-prone.
  To its low door my brother led me. "There
  Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown
Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer,
  And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come,
  Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where
Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb,
  And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?"
  With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some
Conflicting motions of his kingly head,
  He pointed to the open-standing door.
  I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led!
I turned: his countenance shone like lightning hoar!
  Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow,
  Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more;
With voice nor hand said, Farewell, I must go!
  But drew the clinging door hard to the post.
  No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no
Footfalls came back from the departing ghost.
  He was no more. I laid me down and wept;
  I dared not follow him, restrained the most
By fear I should not see him if I leapt
  Out after him with cries of pleading love.
  Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept;
There cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above.
 

X

 
I woke, with calmness cleansed and sanctified—
  The peace that filled my heart of old, when I
  Woke in my mother's lap; for since I died
The past lay bare, even to the dreaming shy
  That shadowed my yet gathering unborn brain.
  And, marvelling, on the floor I saw, close by
My elbow-pillowed head, as if it had lain
  Beside me all the time I dreamless lay,
  A little pool of sunlight, which did stain
The earthen brown with gold; marvelling, I say,
  Because, across the sea and through the wood,
  No sun had shone upon me all the way.
I rose, and through a chink the glade I viewed,
  But all was dull as it had always been,
  And sunless every tree-top round it stood,
With hardly light enough to show it green;
  Yet through the broken roof, serenely glad,
  By a rough hole entered that heavenly sheen.
Then I remembered in old years I had
  Seen such a light—where, with dropt eyelids gloomed,
  Sitting on such a floor, dark women sad
In a low barn-like house where lay entombed
  Their sires and children; only there the door
  Was open to the sun, which entering plumed
With shadowy palms the stones that on the floor
  Stood up like lidless chests—again to find
  That the soul needs no brain, but keeps her store
In hidden chambers of the eternal mind.
  Thence backward ran my roused Memory
  Down the ever-opening vista—back to blind
Anticipations while my soul did lie
  Closed in my mother's; forward thence through bright
  Spring morns of childhood, gay with hopes that fly
Bird-like across their doming blue and white,
 To passionate summer noons, to saddened eves
  Of autumn rain, so on to wintred night;
Thence up once more to the dewy dawn that weaves
  Saffron and gold—weaves hope with still content,
  And wakes the worship that even wrong bereaves
Of half its pain. And round her as she went
  Hovered a sense as of an odour dear
  Whose flower was far—as of a letter sent
Not yet arrived—a footstep coming near,
  But, oh, how long delayed the lifting latch!—
  As of a waiting sun, ready to peer
Yet peering not—as of a breathless watch
  Over a sleeping beauty—babbling rime
  About her lips, but no winged word to catch!
And here I lay, the child of changeful Time
  Shut in the weary, changeless Evermore,
  A dull, eternal, fadeless, fruitless clime!
Was this the dungeon of my sinning sore—
  A gentle hell of loneliness, foredoomed
  For such as I, whose love was yet the core
Of all my being? The brown shadow gloomed
  Persistent, faded, warm. No ripple ran
  Across the air, no roaming insect boomed.
"Alas," I cried, "I am no living man!
  Better were darkness and the leave to grope
  Than light that builds its own drear prison! Can
This be the folding of the wings of Hope?"
 

XI

 
That instant—through the branches overhead
  No sound of going went—a shadow fell
  Isled in the unrippled pool of sunlight fed
From some far fountain hid in heavenly dell.
  I looked, and in the low roofs broken place
  A single snowdrop stood—a radiant bell
Of silvery shine, softly subdued by grace
  Of delicate green that made the white appear
  Yet whiter. Blind it bowed its head a space,
Half-timid—then, as in despite of fear,
  Unfolded its three rays. If it had swung
  Its pendent bell, and music golden clear—
Division just entrancing sounds among—
  Had flickered down as tender as flakes of snow,
  It had not shed more influence as it rung
Than from its look alone did rain and flow.
  I knew the flower; perceived its human ways;
  Dim saw the secret that had made it grow:
My heart supplied the music's golden phrase.
  Light from the dark and snowdrops from the earth,
  Life's resurrection out of gross decays,
The endless round of beauty's yearly birth,
  And nations' rise and fall—were in the flower,
  And read themselves in silence. Heavenly mirth
Awoke in my sad heart. For one whole hour
  I praised the God of snowdrops. But at height
  The bliss gave way. Next, faith began to cower;
And then the snowdrop vanished from my sight.
 

XII

 
Last, I began in unbelief to say:
  "No angel this! a snowdrop—nothing more!
  A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play
From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore,
  Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed!
  A wilful fancy would have gathered store
Of evanescence from the pretty weed,
  White, shapely—then divine! Conclusion lame
  O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed!
Not out of God, but nothingness it came:
  Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat,
  It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!"
When, see, another shadow at my feet!
  Hopeless I lifted now my weary head:
  Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?—
A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed
  Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn!
  A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said,
Half rising from the couch where it was born,
  And smiling to the world! I breathed again;
  Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn,
And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train.
 

XIII

 
I was a child once more, nor pondered life,
  Thought not of what or how much. All my soul
  With sudden births of lovely things grew rife.
In peeps a daisy: on the instant roll
  Rich lawny fields, with red tips crowding the green,
  Across the hollows, over ridge and knoll,
To where the rosy sun goes down serene.
  From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel:
  I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean;
Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell
  Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods;
  Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell;
Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes
  Blaze in the slanting sunshine all around;
  Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods—
Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground—
  The sacrifice bore through the veil of light,
  Odour and colour offering up in sound.—
Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might
  And shapeful silences of lovely lore,
  I sat a child, happy with only sight,
And for a time I needed nothing more.
 

XIV

 
Supine to the revelation I did lie,
  Passive as prophet to his dreaming deep,
  Or harp Aeolian to the breathing sky,
And blest as any child whom twilight sleep
  Holds half, and half lets go. But the new day
  Of higher need up-dawned with sudden leap:
"Ah, flowers," I said, "ye are divinely gay,
  But your fair music is too far and fine!
  Ye are full cups, yet reach not to allay
The drought of those for human love who pine
  As the hart for water-brooks!" At once a face
  Was looking in my face; its eyes through mine
Were feeding me with tenderness and grace,
  And by their love I knew my mother's eyes.
  Gazing in them, there grew in me apace
A longing grief, and love did swell and rise
  Till weeping I brake out and did bemoan
  My blameful share in bygone tears and cries:
"O mother, wilt thou plead for me?" I groan;
  "I say not, plead with Christ, but plead with those
  Who, gathered now in peace about his throne,
Were near me when my heart was full of throes,
  And longings vain alter a flying bliss,
  Which oft the fountain by the threshold froze:
They must forgive me, mother! Tell them this:
  No more shall swell the love-dividing sigh;
  Down at their feet I lay my selfishness."
The face grew passionate at this my cry;
  The gathering tears up to its eyebrims rose;
  It grew a trembling mist, that did not fly
But slow dissolved. I wept as one of those
  Who wake outside the garden of their dream,
  And, lo, the droop-winged hours laborious close
Its opal gates with stone and stake and beam.
 

XV

 
But glory went that glory more might come.
  Behold a countless multitude—no less!
  A host of faces, me besieging, dumb
In the lone castle of my mournfulness!
  Had then my mother given the word I sent,
  Gathering my dear ones from the shining press?
And had these others their love-aidance lent
  For full assurance of the pardon prayed?
  Would they concentre love, with sweet intent,
On my self-love, to blast the evil shade?
  Ah, perfect vision! pledge of endless hope!
  Oh army of the holy spirit, arrayed
In comfort's panoply! For words I grope—
  For clouds to catch your radiant dawn, my own,
  And tell your coming! From the highest cope
Of blue, down to my roof-breach came a cone
  Of faces and their eyes on love's will borne,
  Bright heads down-bending like the forward blown,
Heavy with ripeness, golden ears of corn,
  By gentle wind on crowded harvest-field,
  All gazing toward my prison-hut forlorn
As if with power of eyes they would have healed
  My troubled heart, making it like their own
  In which the bitter fountain had been sealed,
And the life-giving water flowed alone!
 

XVI

 
With what I thus beheld, glorified then,
 "God, let me love my fill and pass!" I sighed,
  And dead, for love had almost died again.
"O fathers, brothers, I am yours!" I cried;
 "O mothers, sisters. I am nothing now
  Save as I am yours, and in you sanctified!
O men, O women, of the peaceful brow,
  And infinite abysses in the eyes
  Whence God's ineffable gazes on me, how
Care ye for me, impassioned and unwise?
  Oh ever draw my heart out after you!
  Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise
And I need nothing, not even for love will sue!
  I am no more, and love is all in all!
  Henceforth there is, there can be nothing new—
All things are always new!" Then, like the fall
  Of a steep avalanche, my joy fell steep:
  Up in my spirit rose as it were the call
Of an old sorrow from an ancient deep;
  For, with my eyes fixed on the eyes of him
  Whom I had loved before I learned to creep—
God's vicar in his twilight nursery dim
  To gather us to the higher father's knee—
  I saw a something fill their azure rim
That caught him worlds and years away from me;
  And like a javelin once more through me passed
  The pang that pierced me walking on the sea:
"O saints," I cried, "must loss be still the last?"
 

XVII

 
When I said this, the cloud of witnesses
  Turned their heads sideways, and the cloud grew dim
  I saw their faces half, but now their bliss
Gleamed low, like the old moon in the new moon's rim.
  Then as I gazed, a better kind of light
  On every outline 'gan to glimmer and swim,
Faint as the young moon threadlike on the night,
  Just born of sunbeams trembling on her edge:
  'Twas a great cluster of profiles in sharp white.
Had some far dawn begun to drive a wedge
  Into the night, and cleave the clinging dark?
  I saw no moon or star, token or pledge
Of light, save that manifold silvery mark,
  The shining title of each spirit-book.
  Whence came that light? Sudden, as if a spark
Of vital touch had found some hidden nook
  Where germs of potent harmonies lay prest,
  And their outbursting life old Aether shook,
Rose, as in prayer to lingering promised guest,
  From that great cone of faces such a song,
  Instinct with hope's harmonical unrest,
That with sore weeping, and the cry "How long?"
  I bore my part because I could not sing.
  And as they sang, the light more clear and strong
Bordered their faces, till the glory-sting
  I could almost no more encounter and bear;
  Light from their eyes, like water from a spring,
Flowed; on their foreheads reigned their flashing hair;
  I saw the light from eyes I could not see.
  "He comes! he comes!" they sang, "comes to our prayer!"
"Oh my poor heart, if only it were He!"
  I cried. Thereat the faces moved! those eyes
  Were turning on me! In rushed ecstasy,
And woke me to the light of lower skies.
 

XVIII

 
"What matter," said I, "whether clank of chain
  Or over-bliss wakes up to bitterness!"
  Stung with its loss, I called the vision vain.
Yet feeling life grown larger, suffering less,
  Sleep's ashes from my eyelids I did brush.
  The room was veiled, that morning should not press
Upon the slumber which had stayed the rush
  Of ebbing life; I looked into the gloom:
  Upon her brow the dawn's first grayest flush,
And on her cheek pale hope's reviving bloom,
  Sat, patient watcher, darkling and alone,
  She who had lifted me from many a tomb!
One then was left me of Love's radiant cone!
  Its light on her dear face, though faint and wan,
  Was shining yet—a dawn upon it thrown
From the far coming of the Son of Man!
 

XIX

 
In every forehead now I see a sky
  Catching the dawn; I hear the wintriest breeze
  About me blow the news the Lord is nigh.
Long is the night, dark are the polar seas,
  Yet slanting suns ascend the northern hill.
  Round Spring's own steps the oozy waters freeze
But hold them not. Dreamers are sleeping still,
  But labourers, light-stung, from their slumber start:
  Faith sees the ripening ears with harvest fill
When but green blades the clinging earth-clods part.
 

XX

 
Lord, I have spoken a poor parable,
  In which I would have said thy name alone
  Is the one secret lying in Truth's well,
Thy voice the hidden charm in every tone,
  Thy face the heart of every flower on earth,
  Its vision the one hope; for every moan
Thy love the cure! O sharer of the birth
  Of little children seated on thy knee!
  O human God! I laugh with sacred mirth
To think how all the laden shall go free;
  For, though the vision tarry, in healing ruth
  One morn the eyes that shone in Galilee
Will dawn upon them, full of grace and truth,
  And thy own love—the vivifying core
  Of every love in heart of age or youth,
Of every hope that sank 'neath burden sore!