Kitabı oku: «Fringilla», sayfa 3

PART II

 
     The tears were still in woman's eyes,
     When morn awoke on Paradise;
     And still her sense of shame forbade
     To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
     Nor knew she which was dearer cost,
     To seek him, or to shun him most
     Then Adam, willing to believe
       A heart by casual fancy moved
       Would soon come back, at voice she loved,
     Addressed his song to Eve.
 

I

 
     "Come fairest, while the morn is fair,
       And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
     Calm down this tide of troubled hair,
       Forget with me all other sighs
         Than summer air.
 
 
     "Like me, the woodland shadows roam
       At light (their fairer comrade's) side;
     And peace and joy salute our home;
       And lo, the sun in all his pride—
         My sunshine, come!
 
 
       "The fawns and birds, that know our call,
         Are waiting for our presence—see,
         They wait my presence, love; and thee,
       The most desired of all.
 

II

 
     "The trees, which thought it grievous thing
       To weep their own sweet leaves away,
     Untaught as yet how soon the Spring
       Upon their nestled heads should lay
         Her callow wing—
 
 
     "The trees, whereat we smiled again,
       To see them, in their growing wonder,
     Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
       Until the gay winds rustled under
         Their feathered train,
 
 
       "Lo, now they stand in braver mien,
         And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
         Make prisoner of the intrusive light,
       And strew the winds with green.
 

III

 
     "Of all the flowers that bow the head,
       Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
     Not one there is, declines to sned,
       Or standeth up, to qualify
         His incense-meed:
 
 
     "Of all that blossom one by one,
       Or join their lips in loving cluster,
     Not one hath now resolved alone,
       Or taken counsel, that his lustre
         Shall be unshown.
 
 
       "So let thy soul a blossom be,
         To breathe the fragrance of its praise,
         And lift itself, in early days,
       To Him who fosters thee.
 

IV

 
     "Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
       Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees,
     Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
       It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
         And jewelled flight:
 
 
     "Of all that hush among the moss,
       Or babble to the lily-vases,
     Not one there is but purls across
       A gush of the delight, that causes
         It's limpid gloss.
 
 
       "So let thy heart a fountain be,
         To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
         In dimpled melody—and all
       For love of home, and me."
 

V

 
     The only fount her heart became
       Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
     While pink upon her white cheek came,
       (Like apple-blossom among pear's)
         The tinge of shame.
 
 
     Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
       Bent nigh to ask of her distresses,
     Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
       Unwinding by discreet caresses,
         The thread of harm.
 
 
       Then she, with sobs of slow relief
         (For silence is the jail of care)
         Confessed, for him to heal or share,
       The first of human grief.
 

VI

 
     "I cannot look on thee, and think
       That thou has ceased to hold me dear;
     I cannot break the loosened link:
       When thou, my only one, art near,
         How can I shrink?
 
 
     "So it were better, love—I mean,
       My lord, it is more wise and right—
     That I, as one whose day hath been,
       Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight,
         And dwell unseen.
 
 
       "And—though it break my heart to say—
         However sad my loneliness,
         I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this—
       To have me far away.
 

VII

 
     "I know not how it is with man,
       Perhaps his nature is to change,
     On finding consort fairer than—
       But oh, I cannot so arrange
         My nature's plan!
 
 
     "And haply thou hast never thought
       To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
     But, since to thee the thing was nought,
       Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
         As lightly brought.
 
 
       "Yet, is it strange that I repine,
         And feel abased in lonely woe,
         To lose thy love—or e'en to know
       That half of it is mine?
 

VIII

 
     "For whom have I on earth but thee,
       What heart to love, or home to bless?
     Albeit I was wrong, I see,
       To think my husband took no less
         Delight in me.
 
 
     "But even now, if thou wilt stay,
       Or try at least no more to wander,
     And let me love thee, day by day,
       Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
       (If so it may)—
 
 
       "Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
         In homely wise, on serving thee,
         Than any stranger e'er can be;
       And Eve shall seem content."
 

IX

 
     Not loud she wept—but hope could hear;
       Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
     Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
       That each alternate step should trace
         A smile and tear.
 
 
     But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
       Regarded her with troubled glances,
     Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
       Himself to be in strange romances,
       And dreamy haze:
 
 
       Then questioning in hurried voice,
         And scarcely waiting her replies,
         He spoke, and showed the true surprise
       That made her soul rejoice.
 

X

 
     She told him what the Tempter said,
       And what her frightened self had seen,
     (That form in loveliness arrayed,
       With modest face, and graceful mien)
         And how displayed.
 
 
     Then well-content to show his bride
       The worldly knowledge he possessed,
     (That world whereof was none beside)
       He laid his hand upon his breast,
         And thus replied:—
 
 
       "Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
         "A little way down yonder path,
         "And I will show the form which hath
       "Enchanted thee, and me."
 

XI

 
     Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
       Which hurries down the pebbled way,
     As one who hath small time to spare,
       So far to go, so much to say
     To summer air;
 
 
     Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
       O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
     And little circles dimple in,
       As if the waters quaffed themselves,
         The while they spin:
 
 
       Thence in a clear pool, overbent
         With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
         Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
       Kadisha sleeps content.
 

XII

 
     Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
       The first of men was smiling gay;
     Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
       The mystery of that passion-sway
         She could not quell.
 
 
     As they approached the silver strand,
       He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
     And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
       Therein he set the blossom featly,
         And took her hand:
 
 
       He led her past the maiden-hair,
         Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
         Until the margin held her feet,
       Like water-lilies fain
 

XIII

 
     "Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
       The only one with whom I stray,
     The only image still I have,
       Too often, even while I pray
         To Him who gave.
 
 
     The form she saw was long unknown,
       Except as that beheld yestreen;
     Till viewing, not that form alone,
       But his, with hands enclasped between,
         She guessed her own.
 
 
       And, Bending O'er in Sweet Surprise,
         Perused, With Simple Child's Delight,
         the Flowing Hair, and Forehead White,
       and Soft Inquiring Eyes.
 

XIV

 
     Then, blushing to a fairer tint
       Than waves might ever hope to catch,
     "I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
       But surely I can never match
         This lily glint!
 
 
     "So pure, so innocent, and bright,
       So charming free, without endeavour,
     So fancy-touched with pensive light I
       I think that I could gaze for ever,
         With new delight
 
 
       "And now that rose-bud in my hair,
         Perhaps it should be placed above—
         And yet, I will not change it, love,
       Since mou hast set it there.
 

XV

 
     "Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve?
       What matter Tor thy form or face?
     Thy beauty is, if love believe
       Thee worthy of that treasured place
         Thou ne'er shalt leave.
 
 
     "Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
       Take back my faith that dared to wander;
     Forgive my joy to have thee shown
       Not transient, as thine image yonder,
         But all my own.
 
 
       "And, love, if this be vain of me,
         This pleasure, and the pride I take;
         Tis only for thy dearer sake,
       To be so fair to thee."
 

XVI

 
     No more she said; but smiling fell,
       And lost her sorrow on his breast;
     Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell,
       Like troubled waters laid at rest
         In comfort's well:
 
 
     Tis nothing more, an' if she weep,
       Than joy she cannot else reveal;
     As onyx-gems of Pison keep
       A tear-vein, where the sun may steal
         Throughout their deep.
 
 
       May every Adam's fairer part
         Thus, only thus, a rival find—
         The image of herself, enshrined
       Within the faithful heart!
 

MOUNT ARAFA

IN TWO PARTS

"Mount Arafa, situated about a mile from Mecca, is held in great veneration by the Mussulmans, as a place very proper for penitence. Its fitness in this respect is accounted for by a tradition that Adam and Eve, on being banished out of Paradise, in order to do penance for their transgression were parted from each other, and after a separation of six score years, met again upon this mountain." Ockley's "History of the Saracens," p. 60

THE  PARTING

I

 
     Driven away from Eden's gate
       With   biasing   falchions fenced about,
     Into a desert desolate,
       A miserable pair came out,
         To meet their fate.
 
 
     To wander in a world of woe,
       To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
     With every living thing their foe—
       The fire of God above, the river
         Of death below.
 
 
       Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
         It is the destiny of man
         To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
       And hide from his own theft!
 

II

 
     The father of a world unborn—
       Who hath begotten death, ere life—
     In sullen silence plods forlorn;
       His love and pride in his fair wife
         Are rage and scorn.
 
 
     Instead of Angel ministers,
       What hath he now but fiends devouring;
     Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
       In lieu of manna, crab and souring—
         By whose fault?   Hers!
 
 
       Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
         New penance waits thee; since—when thus
         Thou shouldst have wept for all of us—
       Thou mournest thine own ease I
 

III

 
     The mother of all loving wives
       (Condemned unborn to many a tear)
     Is fain to take his hand, and strives
       In sorrow to be doubly dear—
         But shame deprives.
 
 
                 The Shame, The Woe, The Black Surprise,
       That Love's First Dream Should Have Such Ending,
     to Weep, and Wipe Neglected Eyes I
       Oh Loss of True Love, Far Transcending
         Lost Paradise!
 
 
       For is it faith, that cannot live
         One gloomy hour, and soar above
         The clouds of fate?   And is it love,
       That will not e'en forgive?
 

IV

 
     The houseless monarch of the earth
       Hath quickly found what empire means;
     For while he scoffs with bitter mirth,
       And curses, after Eden's scenes,
         This dreary dearth.
 
 
     A snake, that twined in playful zeal,
       But yester morn, around his ankle,
     Now driven along the dust to steal,
       Steals up, and leaves its venom'd rankle
         Deep in his heel.
 
 
       He groans awhile.    He seeks anon
         For comfort to this first of pain,
         Where all his sons to-day are fain;
       He seeks—but Eve is gone!
 

PART I—ADAM

 
     O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
     A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
     Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
     He pours the sorrow no one hears;
     Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
     Some ease of heart in toil of mind.
 

I

 
     "YE mountains, that forbid the day,
       Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
     How long amid you must I stray,
       Deserted, banished from God's sight,
         And castaway?
 
 
     "Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
       Ye beasts, to my good-will committed—
     Although your trust hath been betrayed—
       Not long ago ye would have pitied
         Your old comrade.
 
 
       "Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
         Albeit I love your outward part;
         The nature that enthrals my heart
       Must be more like my own.
 

II

 
     "The Maker once appointed me—
       I know not, and I care not why—
     The lord of everything I see,
       Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
         Whate'er they be.
 
 
     "And all the earth whereon they dwell,
       And all the heavens they are inhaling,
     And powers, whereof I cannot tell—
       Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
         Until I fell.
 
 
       "Twas good and glorious to believe;
         But now mv majesty is o'er;
         And I would give it all, and more,
       For one sweet glimpse of Eve.
 

III

 
     "For what is glory, what is power?
       And what the pride of standing first?
     A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
       A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
         A sun-scorched flower.
 
 
     "God grant the men who spring from me,
       As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
     To find a loftier pedigree
       Than any by the Lord intended—
         Frog, slug, or tree!
 
 
       "So shall they live, without the grief
         Of having womankind to love,
         Find nought below, and less above,
       And be their own belief.
 

IV

 
     "So weak was I, so poorly taught,
       By any but my Maker's voice,
     Too happy to indulge in thought,
       Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
         And ends in nought.
 
 
     "But now and then, my path grows clear,
       My mind casts off its grim confusion,
     When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
       Then happiness seems no delusion,
         Even down here.
 
 
       "With love and faith, to bless the curse,
         To heal the mind by touch of heart,
         To make me feel my better part,
       And fight against the worse.
 

V

 
     "It may be that I did o'erprize,
       Above the Giver, that rare gift,
     Ungird my will for softer ties,
       And hold my manhood little thrift
         To woman's eyes.
 
 
     "So far she was, so full of grace,
       So innocent with coy caresses,
     So proud to step at my own pace,
       So rosy through her golden tresses;
         And such a face!
 
 
       "Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
         A thought against my faithful Eve;
         Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
       That it was one, to love.
 

VI

 
     "Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
       Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
     Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
       Or better made by Him, who made
         That pair in vain.
 
 
     "Shall any know, as we have known,
       Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
     Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
       Crowning of reason, and upsetting
         Of reason's throne?
 
 
       "Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
         Or crimson sting from creamy rose—
         Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
       Thy venom from our fall."
 
 
     Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
     Had made a drought of vocal flow;
     When hungry, weary, desolate,
     A fox crept home to his defis gate.
     The sight brought Adam's memory back,
     And touched him with a keener lack.
 

VII

 
     "Home! Where is home? Of old I thought
       (Or felt in mystery of bliss)
     That so divinely was I wrought
       As not to care for that or this,
         And value nought;
 
 
     "But sit or saunter, rest or roam,
       Regarding all things most sublimely,
     As if enthroned on heaven's dome;
       Away with paltry and untimely
         Hankerings for Home!
       "But now the weary heart is fain
         For shelter in some lowly nest—
         To sink upon a softer breast,
       And smile away its pain,
 

VIII

 
     "For me, what home, what hope is left?
       What difference of good or ill?
     Of all I ever loved bereft,
       Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,
         For one small theft!
 
 
     "I sicken of my skill and pride;
       I work, without a bit of caring.
     The world is waste, the world is wide;
       Why make good things, with no one sharing
         Them at my side?
 
 
       "What matters how I dwell, or die?
         Away with such a niggard life!
         The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;
       And life is only I.
 

IX

 
     "God, who hast said it is not good
       For man, thy son, to live alone;
     Is everlasting solitude,
       When once united bliss was known,
         A livelier food?
 
 
     "Can'st thou suppose it right or just,
       When thine own creature so misled us,
     In virtue of our simple trust,
       To torture us like this, and tread us
         Back into dust?
 
 
       "Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!
         If, when immortal, I was slain,
         For daring to impugn his reign,
       How shall I, thus infirm?
 

X

 
     "Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,
       For all the penance on me laid!
     Forgive me, Lord, if I forget
       That I am but what Thou hast made,
         My soul Thy debt!
 
 
     "Inspire me to survey the skies,
       And tremble at their golden wonder;
     To learn the space that I comprise,
       At once to marvel, and to ponder,
     And drop mine eyes.
 
 
       "And grant me?—for I do but find,
         In seeking more than God hath shown,
         I scorn His power and lose my own—
       Grant me a lowly mind.
 

XI

 
     "A lowly mind!  Thou wondrous sprite,
       Whose frolics make their master weep;
     Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,
       Anon, too impotent to creep,
         Or blink aright;—
 
 
     "Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play
       Among the miracles above thee,
     Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,
       To labour, so that He shall love thee,
         And guide thy way.
 
 
       "Be led, from out the cloudy dreams
         Of thy too visionary part,
         To listen to the whispering heart,
       And curb thine own extremes.
 

XII

 
     "Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give
       To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,
     And flowers of grace and love revive,
       And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,
         And corn snail thrive.
 
 
     "Beholding gladness, Eve and I,
       Enfolding it also in each other,
     May talk of heaven without a sigh;
       Because our heaven in one another
         Love shall supply.
 
 
       "For courage, faith, and bended knees,
         By stress of patience, cure distress,
       And turn wild Love-in-idleness       Into the true Heartsease."
 
 
     The Lord breathed on the first of men,
     And strung his limbs to strength again;
     He scorned a century of ill,
     And girt his loins to climb the parting hill.