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diff --git a/old/10578-8.txt b/old/10578-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ee23e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10578-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10592 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Hidden Life and Other Poems, by George MacDonald + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Hidden Life and Other Poems + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: January 2, 2004 [EBook #10578] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HIDDEN LIFE AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Tim Rowe, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +A HIDDEN LIFE + +And Other Poems + +GEORGE MAC DONALD + + +Author of + +"Within and Without, a Dramatic Poem;" "David Elginbrod;" +"Phantasies;" etc. + + + + +Ma poi ch' i' fui appič d' un colle giunto, + Lā ove terminava quella valle, +Che m' avea di paura il cuor compunto; + Guarda' in alto, e vidi le sue spalle +Vestite giā de' raggi del pianeta, + Che mena dritto altrui per ogni calle. + + DELL' INFERNO, Cant. I. + + + + +1864. + +To My Father. + + +I. + +Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care, + Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude + Late waked for early gifts ill understood; +Claiming in all my harvests rightful share, +Whether with song that mounts the joyful air + I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood, + Sit dumb because I know a speechless good, +Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer. + Thou hast been faithful to my highest need; +And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore, +Shall never feel the grateful burden sore. + Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed, + But for the sense thy living self did breed +That fatherhood is at the great world's core. + + +II. + +All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined, + As for some being of another race; + Ah! not with it departing--grown apace +As years have brought me manhood's loftier mind +Able to see thy human life behind-- + The same hid heart, the same revealing face-- + My own dim contest settling into grace +Of sorrow, strife, and victory combined. + So I beheld my God, in childhood's morn, +A mist, a darkness, great, and far apart, +Moveless and dim--I scarce could say _Thou art_: + My manhood came, of joy and sadness born-- + Full soon the misty dark, asunder torn, +Revealed man's glory, God's great human heart. + +G.M.D. Jr. + +Algiers, April, 1857. + + + +CONTENTS. + + +A HIDDEN LIFE +THE HOMELESS GHOST +ABU MIDJAN +AN OLD STORY +A BOOK OP DREAMS +TO AURELIO SAFFI +SONNET +A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA +A GIFT +THE MAN OF SONGS +BETTER THINGS +THE JOURNEY +PRAYER +REST +TO A.J. SCOTT +LIGHT +TO A.J. SCOTT +WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER +IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN +BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH +THE HILLS +I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS +I WOULD I WERE A CHILD +THE LOST SOUL +A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM +AFTER AN OLD LEGEND +THE TREE'S PRAYER +A STORY OF THE SEA SHORE +MY HEART +O DO NOT LEAVE ME +THE HOLY SNOWDROPS +TO MY SISTER +O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH +LONGING +A BOY'S GRIEF +THE CHILD-MOTHER +LOVE'S ORDEAL +A PRAYER FOR THE PAST +FAR AND NEAR +MY ROOM +SYMPATHY +LITTLE ELFIE +THE THANK OFFERING +THE BURNT OFFERING +FOUR SONNETS +SONNET +EIGHTEEN SONNETS +DEATH AND BIRTH + + +EARLY POEMS. + +LONGING +MY EYES MAKE PICTURES +DEATH +LESSONS FOR A CHILD +HOPE DEFERRED +THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR +A SONG IN A DREAM +A THANKSGIVING + + +THE GOSPEL WOMEN. + +THE MOTHER MARY +THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD +THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN +THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN +THE WIDOW OF NAIN +THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND +THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD +THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES +THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM +PILATE'S WIFE +THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA +MART MAGDALENE +THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE +MARTHA +MARY +THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER + + + +POEMS. + + +A HIDDEN LIFE. + + +Proudly the youth, by manhood sudden crowned, +Went walking by his horses to the plough, +For the first time that morn. No soldier gay +Feels at his side the throb of the gold hilt +(Knowing the blue blade hides within its sheath, +As lightning in the cloud) with more delight, +When first he belts it on, than he that day +Heard still the clank of the plough-chains against +The horses' harnessed sides, as to the field +They went to make it fruitful. O'er the hill +The sun looked down, baptizing him for toil. + +A farmer's son he was, and grandson too; +Yea, his great-grandsire had possessed these fields. +Tradition said they had been tilled by men +Who bore the name long centuries ago, +And married wives, and reared a stalwart race, +And died, and went where all had followed them, +Save one old man, his daughter, and the youth +Who ploughs in pride, nor ever doubts his toil; +And death is far from him this sunny morn. +Why should we think of death when life is high? +The earth laughs all the day, and sleeps all night. +Earth, give us food, and, after that, a grave; +For both are good, each better in its time. + +The youth knew little; but he read old tales +Of Scotland's warriors, till his blood ran swift +As charging knights upon their death career. +And then he chanted old tunes, till the blood +Was charmed back into its fountain-well, +And tears arose instead. And Robert's songs, +Which ever flow in noises like his name, +Rose from him in the fields beside the kine, +And met the sky-lark's rain from out the clouds. +As yet he sang only as sing the birds, +From gladness simply, or, he knew not why. +The earth was fair--he knew not it was fair; +And he so glad--he knew not he was glad: +He walked as in a twilight of the sense, +Which this one day shall turn to tender light. + +For, ere the sun had cleared the feathery tops +Of the fir-thicket on the eastward hill, +His horses leaned and laboured. His great hands +Held both the reins and plough-stilts: he was proud; +Proud with a ploughman's pride; nobler, may be, +Than statesman's, ay, or poet's pride sometimes, +For little praise would come that he ploughed well, +And yet he did it well; proud of his work, +And not of what would follow. With sure eye, +He saw the horses keep the arrow-track; +He saw the swift share cut the measured sod; +He saw the furrow folding to the right, +Ready with nimble foot to aid at need. +And there the slain sod lay, patient for grain, +Turning its secrets upward to the sun, +And hiding in a grave green sun-born grass, +And daisies clipped in carmine: all must die, +That others live, and they arise again. + +Then when the sun had clomb to his decline, +And seemed to rest, before his slow descent, +Upon the keystone of his airy bridge, +They rested likewise, half-tired man and horse, +And homeward went for food and courage new; +Whereby refreshed, they turned again to toil, +And lived in labour all the afternoon. +Till, in the gloaming, once again the plough +Lay like a stranded bark upon the lea; +And home with hanging neck the horses went, +Walking beside their master, force by will. +Then through the deepening shades a vision came. + +It was a lady mounted on a horse, +A slender girl upon a mighty steed, +That bore her with the pride horses must feel +When they submit to women. Home she went, +Alone, or else the groom lagged far behind. +But, as she passed, some faithless belt gave way; +The saddle slipped, the horse stopped, and the girl +Stood on her feet, still holding fast the reins. + +Three paces bore him bounding to her side; +Her radiant beauty almost fixed him there; +But with main force, as one that gripes with fear, +He threw the fascination off, and saw +The work before him. Soon his hand and knife +Replaced the saddle firmer than before +Upon the gentle horse; and then he turned +To mount the maiden. But bewilderment +A moment lasted; for he knew not how, +With stirrup-hand and steady arm, to throne, +Elastic, on her steed, the ascending maid: +A moment only; for while yet she thanked, +Nor yet had time to teach her further will, +Around her waist he put his brawny hands, +That almost zoned her round; and like a child +Lifting her high, he set her on the horse; +Whence like a risen moon she smiled on him, +Nor turned away, although a radiant blush +Shone in her cheek, and shadowed in her eyes. +But he was never sure if from her heart +Or from the rosy sunset came the flush. +Again she thanked him, while again he stood +Bewildered in her beauty. Not a word +Answered her words that flowed, folded in tones +Round which dissolving lambent music played, +Like dropping water in a silver cup; +Till, round the shoulder of the neighbouring hill, +Sudden she disappeared. And he awoke, +And called himself hard names, and turned and went +After his horses, bending too his head. + +Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door, +Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare. +Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house. +Why seems it always that it should be ours? +A secret lies behind which Thou dost know, +And I can partly guess. + + But think not then, +The holder of the plough had many sighs +Upon his bed that night; or other dreams +Than pleasant rose upon his view in sleep, +Within the magic crystal of the soul; +Nor that the airy castles of his brain +Had less foundation than the air admits. +But read my simple tale, scarce worth the name; +And answer, if he gained not from the fair +Beauty's best gift; and proved her not, in sooth, +An angel vision from a higher world. + +Not much of her I tell. Her changeful life +Where part the waters on the mountain ridge, +Flowed down the other side apart from his. +Her tale hath wiled deep sighs on summer eves, +Where in the ancient mysteries of woods +Walketh a man who worships womanhood. +Soon was she orphaned of such parent-haunts; +Surrounded with dead glitter, not the shine +Of leaves in wind and sunlight; while the youth +Breathed on, as if a constant breaking dawn +Sent forth the new-born wind upon his brow; +And knew the morning light was climbing up +The further hill-side--morning light, which most, +They say, reveals the inner hues of earth. +Now she was such as God had made her, ere +The world had tried to spoil her; tried, I say, +And half-succeeded, failing utterly. +Fair was she, frank, and innocent as a child +That stares you in the eyes; fearless of ill, +Because she knew it not; and brave withal, +Because she drank the draught that maketh strong, +The charmed country air. Her father's house-- +A Scottish laird was he, of ancient name-- +Stood only two miles off amid the hills; +But though she often passed alone as now, +The youth had never seen her face before, +And might not twice. Yet was not once enough? +It left him not. She, as the harvest moon +That goeth on her way, and knoweth not +The fields of grain whose ripening ears she fills +With wealth of life and human joyfulness, +Went on, and knew not of the influence +She left behind; yea, never thought of him; +Save at those times when, all at once, old scenes +Return uncalled, with wonder that they come, +Amidst far other thoughts and other cares; +Sinking again into their ancient graves, +Till some far-whispered necromantic spell +Loose them once more to wander for a space. + +Again I say, no fond romance of love, +No argument of possibilities, +If he were some one, and she claimed his aid, +Turned his clear brain into a nest of dreams. +As soon he had sat down and twisted cords +To snare, and carry home for daylight use, +Some woman-angel, wandering half-seen +On moonlight wings, o'er withered autumn fields. +But when he rose next morn, and went abroad, +(The exultation of his new-found rank +Already settling into dignity,) +He found the earth was beautiful. The sky, +Which shone with expectation of the sun, +Somehow, he knew not how, was like her face. +He grieved almost to plough the daisies down; +Something they shared in common with that smile +Wherewith she crowned his manhood; and they fell +Bent in the furrow, sometimes, with their heads +Just out imploringly. A hedgehog ran +With tangled mesh of bristling spikes, and face +Helplessly innocent, across the field: +He let it run, and blessed it as it ran. +At noon returning, something drew his feet +Into the barn. Entering, he gazed and stood. +Through the rent roof alighting, one sunbeam, +Blazing upon the straw one golden spot, +Dulled all the yellow heap, and sank far down, +Like flame inverted, through the loose-piled mound, +Crossing the splendour with the shadow-straws, +In lines innumerable. 'Twas so bright, +The eye was cheated with a spectral smoke +That rose as from a fire. He never knew, +Before, how beautiful the sunlight was; +Though he had seen it in the grassy fields, +And on the river, and the ripening corn, +A thousand times. He threw him on the heap, +And gazing down into the glory-gulf, +Dreamed as a boy half-sleeping by the fire; +And dreaming rose, and got his horses out. + +God, and not woman, is the heart of all. +But she, as priestess of the visible earth, +Holding the key, herself most beautiful, +Had come to him, and flung the portals wide. +He entered in: each beauty was a glass +That gleamed the woman back upon his view. + +Already in these hours his growing soul +Put forth the white tip of a floral bud, +Ere long to be a crown-like, shadowy flower. +For, by his songs, and joy in ancient tales, +He showed the seed lay hidden in his heart, +A safe sure treasure, hidden even from him, +And notwithstanding mellowing all his spring; +Until, like sunshine with its genial power, +Came the fair maiden's face: the seed awoke. +I need not follow him through many days; +Nor tell the joys that rose around his path, +Ministering pleasure for his labour's meed; +Nor how each morning was a boon to him; +Nor how the wind, with nature's kisses fraught, +Flowed inward to his soul; nor how the flowers +Asserted each an individual life, +A separate being, for and in his thought; +Nor how the stormy days that intervened +Called forth his strength, and songs that quelled their force; +Nor how in winter-time, when thick the snow +Armed the sad fields from gnawing of the frost, +And the low sun but skirted his far realms, +And sank in early night, he took his place +Beside the fire; and by the feeble lamp +Head book on book; and lived in other lives, +And other needs, and other climes than his; +And added other beings thus to his. +But I must tell that love of knowledge grew +Within him to a passion and a power; +Till, through the night (all dark, except the moon +Shone frosty o'er the lea, or the white snow +Gave back all motes of light that else had sunk +Into the thirsty earth) he bent his way +Over the moors to where the little town +Lay gathered in the hollow. There the man +Who taught the children all the shortened day, +Taught other scholars in the long fore-night; +And youths who in the shop, or in the barn, +Or at the loom, had done their needful work, +Came to his schoolroom in the murky night, +And found the fire aglow, the candles lit, +And the good master waiting for his men. +Here mathematics wiled him to their heights; +And strange consent of lines to form and law +Made Euclid like a great romance of truth. +The master saw with wonder how the youth +All eagerly devoured the offered food, +And straightway longed to lead him; with that hope +Of sympathy which urges him that knows +To multiply great knowledge by its gift; +That so two souls ere long may see one truth, +And, turning, see each others' faces shine. +So he proposed the classics; and the youth +Caught at the offer; and for many a night, +When others lay and lost themselves in sleep, +He groped his way with lexicon and rule, +Through ancient deeds embalmed in Latin old, +Or poet-woods alive with gracious forms; +Wherein his knowledge of the English tongue +(Through reading many books) much aided him-- +For the soul's language is the same in all. +At length his progress, through the master's word, +Proud of his pupil, reached the father's ears. +Great joy arose within him, and he vowed, +If caring, sparing would accomplish it, +He should to college, and should have his fill +Of that same learning. + + So to school he went, +Instead of to the plough; and ere a year, +He wore the scarlet gown with the close sleeves. + +Awkward at first, but with a dignity +That soon found fit embodiment in speech +And gesture and address, he made his way, +Not seeking it, to the respect of youths, +In whom respect is of the rarer gifts. +Likewise by the consent of accidents, +More than his worth, society, so called, +In that great northern city, to its rooms +Invited him. He entered. Dazzled first, +Not only by the brilliance of the show, +In lights and mirrors, gems, and crowded eyes; +But by the surface lights of many minds +Cut like rose-diamonds into many planes, +Which, catching up the wandering rays of fact, +Reflected, coloured, tossed them here and there, +In varied brilliance, as if quite new-born +From out the centre, not from off the face-- +Dazzled at first, I say, he soon began +To see how little thought could sparkle well, +And turn him, even in the midst of talk, +Back to the silence of his homely toils. +Around him still and ever hung an air +Born of the fields, and plough, and cart, and scythe; +A kind of clumsy grace, in which gay girls +Saw but the clumsiness; while those with light, +Instead of glitter, in their quiet eyes, +Saw the grace too; yea, sometimes, when he talked, +Saw the grace only; and began at last, +As he sought none, to seek him in the crowd +(After a maiden fashion), that they might +Hear him dress thoughts, not pay poor compliments. +Yet seldom thus was he seduced from toil; +Or if one eve his windows showed no light, +The next, they faintly gleamed in candle-shine, +Till far into the morning. And he won +Honours among the first, each session's close. + +And if increased familiarity +With open forms of ill, not to be shunned +Where youths of all kinds meet, endangered there +A mind more willing to be pure than most-- +Oft when the broad rich humour of a jest, +Did, with its breezy force, make radiant way +For pestilential vapours following-- +Arose within his sudden silent mind, +The maiden face that smiled and blushed on him; +That lady face, insphered beyond his earth, +Yet visible to him as any star +That shines unwavering. I cannot tell +In words the tenderness that glowed across +His bosom--burned it clean in will and thought; +"Shall that sweet face be blown by laughter rude +Out of the soul where it has deigned to come, +But will not stay what maidens may not hear?" +He almost wept for shame, that those two thoughts +Should ever look each other in the face, +Meeting in _his_ house. Thus he made to her, +For love, an offering of purity. + +And if the homage that he sometimes found, +New to the country lad, conveyed in smiles, +Assents, and silent listenings when he spoke, +Threatened yet more his life's simplicity; +An antidote of nature ever came, +Even nature's self. For, in the summer months, +His former haunts and boyhood's circumstance +Received him back within old influences. +And he, too noble to despise the past, +Too proud to be ashamed of manhood's toil, +Too wise to fancy that a gulf lay wide +Betwixt the labouring hand and thinking brain, +Or that a workman was no gentleman, +Because a workman, clothed himself again +In his old garments, took the hoe or spade, +Or sowing sheet, or covered in the grain, +Smoothing with harrows what the plough had ridged. +With ever fresher joy he hailed the fields, +Returning still with larger powers of sight: +Each time he knew them better than before, +And yet their sweetest aspect was the old. +His labour kept him true to life and fact, +Casting out worldly judgments, false desires, +And vain distinctions. Ever, at his toil, +New thoughts arose; which, when still night awoke, +He ever sought, like stars, with instruments; +By science, or by wise philosophy, +Bridging the gulf between them and the known; +And thus preparing for the coming months, +When in the time of snow, old Scotland's sons +Reap wisdom in the silence of the year. + +His sire was proud of him; and, most of all, +Because his learning did not make him proud. +A wise man builds not much upon his lore. +The neighbours asked what he would make his son. +"I'll make a man of him," the old man said; +"And for the rest, just what he likes himself. +But as he is my only son, I think +He'll keep the old farm joined to the old name; +And I shall go to the churchyard content, +Leaving my name amongst my fellow men, +As safe, thank God, as if I bore it still." +But sons are older than their sires full oft +In the new world that cometh after this. + +So four years long his life went to and fro +Betwixt the scarlet gown and rough blue coat; +The garret study and the wide-floored barn; +The wintry city, and the sunny fields. +In each his quiet mind was well content, +Because he was himself, where'er he was. + +Not in one channel flowed his seeking thoughts; +To no profession did he ardent turn: +He knew his father's wish--it was his own. +"Why should a man," he said, "when knowledge grows, +Leave therefore the old patriarchal life, +And seek distinction in the noise of men?" +And yet he turned his face on every side; +Went with the doctors to the lecture-room, +And saw the inner form of man laid bare; +Went with the chymists, where the skilful hand, +Revering laws higher than Nature's self, +Makes Nature do again, before our eyes, +And in a moment, what, in many years, +And in the veil of vastness and lone deeps, +She laboureth at alway, then best content +When man inquires into her secret ways; +Yea, turned his asking eye on every source +Whence knowledge floweth for the hearts of men, +Kneeling at some, and drinking freely there. +And at the end, when he had gained the right +To sit with covered head before the rank +Of black-gowned senators; and all these men +Were ready at a word to speed him on, +Proud of their pupil, towards any goal +Where he might fix his eye; he took his books, +What little of his gown and cap remained, +And, leaving with a sigh the ancient walls, +With the old stony crown, unchanging, grey, +Amidst the blandishments of airy Spring, +He sought for life the lone ancestral farm. + +With simple gladness met him on the road +His grey-haired father, elder brother now. +Few words were spoken, little welcome said, +But much was understood on either side. +If with a less delight he brought him home +Than he that met the prodigal returned, +Yet with more confidence, more certain joy; +And with the leaning pride that old men feel +In young strong arms that draw their might from them, +He led him to the house. His sister there, +Whose kisses were not many, but whose eyes +Were full of watchfulness and hovering love, +Set him beside the fire in the old place, +And heaped the table with best country fare. +And when the night grew deep, the father rose, +And led his son (who wondered why they went, +And in the darkness made a tortuous path +Through the corn-ricks) to an old loft, above +The stable where his horses rested still. +Entering, he saw some plan-pursuing hand +Had been at work. The father, leading on +Across the floor, heaped up with waiting grain, +Opened a door. An unexpected light +Flashed on them from a cheerful lamp and fire, +That burned alone, as in a fairy tale. +And lo! a little room, white-curtained bed, +An old arm-chair, bookshelves, and writing desk, +And some old prints of deep Virgilian woods, +And one a country churchyard, on the walls. +The young man stood and spoke not. The old love +Seeking and finding incarnation new, +Drew from his heart, as from the earth the sun, +Warm tears. The good, the fatherly old man, +Honouring in his son the simple needs +Which his own bounty had begot in him, +Thus gave him loneliness for silent thought, +A simple refuge he could call his own. +He grasped his hand and shook it; said good night, +And left him glad with love. Faintly beneath, +The horses stamped and drew the lengthening chain. + +Three sliding years, with gently blending change, +Went round 'mid work of hands, and brain, and heart. +He laboured as before; though when he would, +With privilege, he took from hours of toil, +When nothing pressed; and read within his room, +Or wandered through the moorland to the hills; +There stood upon the apex of the world, +With a great altar-stone of rock beneath, +And looked into the wide abyss of blue +That roofed him round; and then, with steady foot, +Descended to the world, and worthy cares. + +And on the Sunday, father, daughter, son +Walked to the country church across the fields. +It was a little church, and plain, almost +To ugliness, yet lacking not a charm +To him who sat there when a little boy. +And the low mounds, with long grass waving on, +Were quite as solemn as great marble tombs. +And on the sunny afternoons, across +This well-sown field of death, when forth they came +With the last psalm still lingering in their hearts, +He looked, and wondered where the heap would rise +That rested on the arch of his dead breast. +But in the gloom and rain he turned aside, +And let the drops soak through the sinking clay-- +What mattered it to him? + + And as they walked +Together home, the father loved to hear +The new streams pouring from his son's clear well. +The old man clung not only to the old; +Nor bowed the young man only to the new; +Yet as they walked, full often he would say, +He liked not much what he had heard that morn. +He said, these men believed the past alone; +Honoured those Jewish times as they were Jews; +And had no ears for this poor needy hour, +That up and down the centuries doth go, +Like beggar boy that wanders through the streets, +With hand held out to any passer by; +And yet God made it, and its many cries. + +He used to say: "I take the work that comes +All ready to my hand. The lever set, +I grasp and heave withal. Or rather, I +Love where I live, and yield me to the will +That made the needs about me. It may be +I find them nearer to my need of work +Than any other choice. I would not choose +To lack a relish for the thing that God +Thinks worth. Among my own I will be good; +A helper to all those that look to me. +This farm is God's, as much as yonder town; +These men and maidens, kine and horses, his; +And need his laws of truth made rules of fact; +Or else the earth is not redeemed from ill." +He spoke not often; but he ruled and did. +No ill was suffered there by man or beast +That he could help; no creature fled from him; +And when he slew, 'twas with a sudden death, +Like God's benignant lightning. For he knew +That God doth make the beasts, and loves them well, +And they are sacred. Sprung from God as we, +They are our brethren in a lower kind; +And in their face he saw the human look. +They said: "Men look like different animals;" +But he: "The animals are like to men, +Some one, and some another." Cruelty, +He said, would need no other fiery hell, +Than that the ghosts of the sad beasts should come, +And crowding, silent, all their heads one way, +Stare the ill man to madness. + + By degrees, +They knew not how, men trusted in him. When +He spoke, his word had all the force of deeds +That lay unsaid within him. To be good +Is more than holy words or definite acts; +Embodying itself unconsciously +In simple forms of human helpfulness, +And understanding of the need that prays. +And when he read the weary tales of crime, +And wretchedness, and white-faced children, sad +With hunger, and neglect, and cruel words, +He would walk sadly for an afternoon, +With head down-bent, and pondering footstep slow; +And to himself conclude: "The best I can +For the great world, is, just the best I can +For this my world. The influence will go +In widening circles to the darksome lanes +In London's self." When a philanthropist +Said pompously: "With your great gifts you ought +To work for the great world, not spend yourself +On common labours like a common man;" +He answered him: "The world is in God's hands. +This part he gives to me; for which my past, +Built up on loves inherited, hath made +Me fittest. Neither will He let me think +Primeval, godlike work too low to need, +For its perfection, manhood's noblest powers +And deepest knowledge, far beyond my gifts. +And for the crowds of men, in whom a soul +Cries through the windows of their hollow eyes +For bare humanity, and leave to grow,-- +Would I could help them! But all crowds are made +Of individuals; and their grief, and pain, +And thirst, and hunger, all are of the one, +Not of the many. And the power that helps +Enters the individual, and extends +Thence in a thousand gentle influences +To other hearts. It is not made one's own +By laying hold of an allotted share +Of general good divided faithfully. +Now here I labour whole upon the place +Where they have known me from my childhood up. +I know the individual man; and he +Knows me. If there is power in me to help, +It goeth forth beyond the present will, +Clothing itself in very common deeds +Of any humble day's necessity: +--I would not always consciously do good; +Not always feel a helper of the men, +Who make me full return for my poor deeds +(Which I _must_ do for my own highest sake, +If I forgot my brethren for themselves) +By human trust, and confidence of eyes +That look me in the face, and hands that do +My work at will--'tis more than I deserve. +But in the city, with a few lame words, +And a few scanty handfuls of weak coin, +Misunderstood, or, at the best, unknown, +I should toil on, and seldom reach the mail. +And if I leave the thing that lieth next, +To go and do the thing that is afar, +I take the very strength out of my deed, +Seeking the needy not for pure need's sake." +Thus he. The world-wise schemer for the good +Held his poor peace, and left him to his way. + +What of the vision now? the vision fair +Sent forth to meet him, when at eve he went +Home from his first day's ploughing? Oft she passed +Slowly on horseback, in all kinds of dreams; +For much he dreamed, and loved his dreaming well. +Nor woke he from such dreams with vain regret; +But, saying, "I have seen that face once more," +He smiled with his eyes, and rose to work. +Nor did he turn aside from other maids, +But loved the woman-faces and dear eyes; +And sometimes thought, "One day I wed a maid, +And make her mine;" but never came the maid, +Or never came the hour, that he might say, +"I wed this maid." And ever when he read +A tale of lofty aim, or when the page +Of history spoke of woman very fair, +Or wondrous good, her face arose, and stayed, +The face for ever of that storied page. + +Meantime how fared the lady? She had wed +One of those common men, who serve as ore +For the gold grains to lie in. Virgin gold +Lay hidden there--no richer was the dross. +She went to gay assemblies, not content; +For she had found no hearts, that, struck with hers, +Sounded one chord. She went, and danced, or sat +And listlessly conversed; or, if at home, +Read the new novel, wishing all the time +For something better; though she knew not what, +Or how to search for it. + + What had she felt, +If, through the rhythmic motion of light forms, +A vision, had arisen; as when, of old, +The minstrel's art laid bare the seer's eye, +And showed him plenteous waters in the waste? +If she had seen her ploughman-lover go +With his great stride across some lonely field, +Beneath the dark blue vault, ablaze with stars, +And lift his full eyes to earth's radiant roof +In gladness that the roof was yet a floor +For other feet to tread, for his, one day? +Or the emerging vision might reveal +Him, in his room, with space-compelling mind, +Pursue, upon his slate, some planet's course; +Or read, and justify the poet's wrath, +Or wise man's slow conclusion; or, in dreams, +All gently bless her with a trembling voice +For that old smile, that withered nevermore, +That woke him, smiled him into what he is; +Or, kneeling, cry to God for better still. +Would those dark eyes have beamed with darker light? +Would that fair soul, all tired of emptiness, +Have risen from the couch of its unrest, +And looked to heaven again, again believed +In God's realities of life and fact? +Would not her soul have sung unto itself, +In secret joy too good for that vain throng: +"I have a friend, a ploughman, who is wise, +And knoweth God, and goodness, and fair faith; +Who needeth not the outward shows of things, +But worships the unconquerable truth: +And this man loveth me; I will be proud +And humble--would he love me if he knew?" + +In the third year, a heavy harvest fell, +Full filled, beneath the reaping-hook and scythe. +The men and maidens in the scorching heat +Held on their toil, lightened by song and jest; +Resting at mid-day, and from brimming bowl, +Drinking brown ale, and white abundant milk; +Until the last ear fell, and stubble stood +Where waved the forests of the murmuring corn; +And o'er the land rose piled the tent-like shocks, +As of an army resting in array +Of tent by tent, rank following on rank; +Waiting until the moon should have her will +Of ripening on the ears. + + And all went well. +The grain was fully ripe. The harvest carts +Went forth broad-platformed for the towering load, +With frequent passage 'twixt homeyard and field. +And half the oats already hid their tops, +Of countless spray-hung grains--their tops, by winds +Swayed oft, and ringing, rustling contact sweet; +Made heavy oft by slow-combining dews, +Or beaten earthward by the pelting rains; +Rising again in breezes to the sun, +And bearing all things till the perfect time-- +Had hid, I say, this growth of sun and air +Within the darkness of the towering stack; +When in the north low billowy clouds appeared, +Blue-based, white-topped, at close of afternoon; +And in the west, dark masses, plashed with blue, +With outline vague of misty steep and dell, +Clomb o'er the hill-tops; there was thunder there. +The air was sultry. But the upper sky +Was clear and radiant. + + Downward went the sun; +Down low, behind the low and sullen clouds +That walled the west; and down below the hills +That lay beneath them hid. Uprose the moon, +And looked for silence in her moony fields, +But there she found it not. The staggering cart, +Like an o'erladen beast, crawled homeward still, +Returning light and low. The laugh broke yet, +That lightning of the soul, from cloudless skies, +Though not so frequent, now that labour passed +Its natural hour. Yet on the labour went, +Straining to beat the welkin-climbing toil +Of the huge rain-clouds, heavy with their floods. +Sleep, like enchantress old, soon sided with +The crawling clouds, and flung benumbing spells +On man and horse. The youth that guided home +The ponderous load of sheaves, higher than wont, +Daring the slumberous lightning, with a start +Awoke, by falling full against the wheel, +That circled slow after the sleepy horse. +Yet none would yield to soft-suggesting sleep, +Or leave the last few shocks; for the wild rain +Would catch thereby the skirts of Harvest-home, +And hold her lingering half-way in the storm. + +The scholar laboured with his men all night. +Not that he favoured quite this headlong race +With Nature. He would rather say: "The night +Is sent for sleep, we ought to sleep in it, +And leave the clouds to God. Not every storm +That climbeth heavenward, overwhelms the earth. +And if God wills, 'tis better as he wills; +What he takes from us never can be lost." +But the old farmer ordered; and the son +Went manful to the work, and held his peace. + +The last cart homeward went, oppressed with sheaves, +Just as a moist dawn blotted pale the east, +And the first drops fell, overfed with mist, +O'ergrown and helpless. Darker grew the morn. +Upstraining racks of clouds, tumultuous borne +Upon the turmoil of opposing winds, +Met in the zenith. And the silence ceased: +The lightning brake, and flooded all the earth, +And its great roar of billows followed it. +The deeper darkness drank the light again, +And lay unslaked. But ere the darkness came, +In the full revelation of the flash, +He saw, along the road, borne on a horse +Powerful and gentle, the sweet lady go, +Whom years agone he saw for evermore. +"Ah me!" he said; "my dreams are come for me, +Now they shall have their time." And home he went, +And slept and moaned, and woke, and raved, and wept. +Through all the net-drawn labyrinth of his brain +The fever raged, like pent internal fire. +His father soon was by him; and the hand +Of his one sister soothed him. Days went by. +As in a summer evening, after rain, +He woke to sweet quiescent consciousness; +Enfeebled much, but with a new-born life. + +As slow the weeks passed, he recovered strength; +And ere the winter came, seemed strong once more. +But the brown hue of health had not returned +On his thin face; although a keener fire +Burned in his larger eyes; and in his cheek +The mounting blood glowed radiant (summoning force, +Sometimes, unbidden) with a sunset red. + +Before its time, a biting frost set in; +And gnawed with fangs of cold his shrinking life; +And the disease so common to the north +Was born of outer cold and inner heat. +One morn his sister, entering, saw he slept; +But in his hand he held a handkerchief +Spotted with crimson. White with terror, she +Stood motionless and staring. Startled next +By her own pallor, when she raised her eyes, +Seen in the glass, she moved at last. He woke; +And seeing her dismay, said with a smile, +"Blood-red was evermore my favourite hue, +And see, I have it in me; that is all." +She shuddered; and he tried to jest no more; +And from that hour looked Death full in the face. + +When first he saw the red blood outward leap, +As if it sought again the fountain heart, +Whence it had flowed to fill the golden bowl; +No terror, but a wild excitement seized +His spirit; now the pondered mystery +Of the unseen would fling its portals wide, +And he would enter, one of the awful dead; +Whom men conceive as ghosts that fleet and pine, +Bereft of weight, and half their valued lives;-- +But who, he knew, must live intenser life, +Having, through matter, all illumed with sense, +Flaming, like Horeb's bush, with present soul, +And by the contact with a thousand souls, +Each in the present glory of a shape, +Sucked so much honey from the flower o' the world, +And kept the gain, and cast the means aside; +And now all eye, all ear, all sense, perhaps; +Transformed, transfigured, yet the same life-power +That moulded first the visible to its use. +So, like a child he was, that waits the show, +While yet the panting lights restrained burn +At half height, and the theatre is full. + +But as the days went on, they brought sad hours, +When he would sit, his hands upon his knees, +Drooping, and longing for the wine of life. +Ah! now he learned what new necessities +Come when the outer sphere of life is riven, +And casts distorted shadows on the soul; +While the poor soul, not yet complete in God, +Cannot with inward light burn up the shades, +And laugh at seeming that is not the fact. +For God, who speaks to man on every side, +Sending his voices from the outer world, +Glorious in stars, and winds, and flowers, and waves, +And from the inner world of things unseen, +In hopes and thoughts and deep assurances, +Not seldom ceases outward speech awhile, +That the inner, isled in calm, may clearer sound; +Or, calling through dull storms, proclaim a rest, +One centre fixed amid conflicting spheres; +And thus the soul, calm in itself, become +Able to meet and cope with outward things, +Which else would overwhelm it utterly; +And that the soul, saying _I will the light_, +May, in its absence, yet grow light itself, +And man's will glow the present will of God, +Self-known, and yet divine. + + Ah, gracious God! +Do with us what thou wilt, thou glorious heart! +Thou art the God of them that grow, no less +Than them that are; and so we trust in thee +For what we shall be, and in what we are. + +Yet in the frequent pauses of the light, +When fell the drizzling thaw, or flaky snow; +Or when the heaped-up ocean of still foam +Reposed upon the tranced earth, breathing low; +His soul was like a frozen lake beneath +The clear blue heaven, reflecting it so dim +That he could scarce believe there was a heaven; +And feared that beauty might be but a toy +Invented by himself in happier moods. +"For," said he, "if my mind can dim the fair, +Why should it not enhance the fairness too?" +But then the poor mind lay itself all dim, +And ruffled with the outer restlessness +Of striving death and life. And a tired man +May drop his eyelids on the visible world, +To whom no dreams, when fancy flieth free, +Will bring the sunny excellence of day; +Nor will his utmost force increase his sight. +'Tis easy to destroy, not so to make. +No keen invention lays the strata deep +Of ancient histories; or sweeps the sea +With purple shadows and blue breezes' tracks, +Or rosy memories of the down-gone sun. +And if God means no beauty in these shows, +But drops them, helpless shadows, from his sun, +Ah me, my heart! thou needst another God. +Oh! lack and doubt and fear can only come +Because of plenty, confidence, and love: +Without the mountain there were no abyss. +Our spirits, inward cast upon themselves, +Because the delicate ether, which doth make +The mediator with the outer world, +Is troubled and confused with stormy pain; +Not glad, because confined to shuttered rooms, +Which let the sound of slanting rain be heard, +But show no sparkling sunlight on the drops, +Or ancient rainbow dawning in the west;-- +Cast on themselves, I say, nor finding there +The thing they need, because God has not come, +And, claiming all their Human his Divine, +Revealed himself in all their inward parts, +Go wandering up and down a dreary house. +Thus reasoned he. Yet up and down the house +He wandered moaning. Till his soul and frame, +In painful rest compelled, full oft lay still, +And suffered only. Then all suddenly +A light would break from forth an inward well-- +God shone within him, and the sun arose. +And to its windows went the soul and looked:-- +Lo! o'er the bosom of the outspread earth +Flowed the first waves of sunrise, rippling on. + +Much gathered he of patient faith from off +These gloomy heaths, this land of mountains dark, +By moonlight only, like the sorcerer's weeds; +As testify these written lines of his +Found on his table, when his empty chair +Stood by the wall, with yet a history +Clinging around it for the old man's eyes. + + I am weary, and something lonely; + And can only think, think. + If there were some water only, + That a spirit might drink, drink! + And rise + With light in the eyes, + And a crown of hope on the brow; + And walk in outgoing gladness,-- + Not sit in an inward sadness-- + As now! + + But, Lord, thy child will be sad, + As sad as it pleaseth thee; + Will sit, not needing to be glad, + Till thou bid sadness flee; + And drawing near + With a simple cheer, + Speak one true word to me. + +Another song in a low minor key +From awful holy calm, as this from grief, +I weave, a silken flower, into my web, +That goes straight on, with simply crossing lines, +Floating few colours upward to the sight. + + Ah, holy midnight of the soul, + When stars alone are high; + When winds are dead, or at their goal, + And sea-waves only sigh! + + Ambition faints from out the will; + Asleep sad longing lies; + All hope of good, all fear of ill, + All need of action dies; + + Because God is; and claims the life + He kindled in thy brain; + And thou in Him, rapt far from strife, + Diest and liv'st again. + +It was a changed and wintry time to him; +But visited by April airs and scents, +That came with sudden presence, unforetold; +As brushed from off the outer spheres of spring +In the new singing world, by winds of sighs, +That wandering swept across the glad _To be_. +Strange longings that he never knew till now, +A sense of want, yea of an infinite need, +Cried out within him--rather moaned than cried. +And he would sit a silent hour and gaze +Upon the distant hills with dazzling snow +Upon their peaks, and thence, adown their sides, +Streaked vaporous, or starred in solid blue. +And then a shadowy sense arose in him, +As if behind those world-inclosing hills, +There sat a mighty woman, with a face +As calm as life, when its intensity +Pushes it nigh to death, waiting for him, +To make him grand for ever with a kiss, +And send him silent through the toning worlds. + +The father saw him waning. The proud sire +Beheld his pride go drooping in the cold +Down, down to the warm earth; and gave God thanks +That he was old. But evermore the son +Looked up and smiled as he had heard strange news, +Across the waste, of primrose-buds and flowers. +Then again to his father he would come +Seeking for comfort, as a troubled child, +And with the same child's hope of comfort there. +Sure there is one great Father in the heavens, +Since every word of good from fathers' lips +Falleth with such authority, although +They are but men as we: God speaks in them. +So this poor son who neared the unknown death, +Took comfort in his father's tenderness, +And made him strong to die. One day he came, +And said: "What think you, father, is it hard, +This dying?" "Well, my boy," he said, "We'll try +And make it easy with the present God. +But, as I judge, though more by hope than sight, +It seemeth harder to the lookers on, +Than him that dieth. It may be, each breath, +That they would call a gasp, seems unto him +A sigh of pleasure; or, at most, the sob +Wherewith the unclothed spirit, step by step, +Wades forth into the cool eternal sea. +I think, my boy, death has two sides to it, +One sunny, and one dark; as this round earth +Is every day half sunny and half dark. +We on the dark side call the mystery _death_; +They on the other, looking down in light, +Wait the glad birth, with other tears than ours." +"Be near me, father, when I die;" he said. +"I will, my boy, until a better sire +Takes your hand out of mine, and I shall say: +I give him back to thee; Oh! love him, God; +For he needs more than I can ever be. +And then, my son, mind and be near in turn, +When my time comes; you in the light beyond, +And knowing all about it; I all dark." + +And so the days went on, until the green +Shone through the snow in patches, very green: +For, though the snow was white, yet the green shone. +And hope of life awoke within his heart; +For the spring drew him, warm, soft, budding spring, +With promises. The father better knew. +God, give us heaven. Remember our poor hearts. +We never grasp the zenith of the time; +We find no spring, except in winter prayers. + +Now he, who strode a king across his fields, +Crept slowly through the breathings of the spring; +And sometimes wept in secret, that the earth, +Which dwelt so near his heart with all its suns, +And moons, and maidens, soon would lie afar +Across some unknown, sure-dividing waste. +Yet think not, though I fall upon the sad, +And lingering listen to the fainting tones, +Before I strike new chords that seize the old +And waft their essence up the music-stair-- +Think not that he was always sad, nor dared +To look the blank unknown full in the void: +For he had hope in God, the growth of years, +Ponderings, and aspirations from a child, +And prayers and readings and repentances. +Something within him ever sought to come +At peace with something deeper in him still. +Some sounds sighed ever for a harmony +With other deeper, fainter tones, that still +Drew nearer from the unknown depths, wherein +The Individual goeth out in God, +And smoothed the discord ever as they grew. +Now he went back the way the music came, +Hoping some nearer sign of God at hand; +And, most of all, to see the very face +That in Judea once, at supper time, +Arose a heaven of tenderness above +The face of John, who leaned upon the breast +Soon to lie down in its last weariness. + +And as the spring went on, his budding life +Swelled up and budded towards the invisible, +Bursting the earthy mould wherein it lay. +He never thought of churchyards, as before, +When he was strong; but ever looked above, +Away from the green earth to the blue sky, +And thanked God that he died not in the cold. +"For," said he, "I would rather go abroad +When the sun shines, and birds are happy here. +For, though it may be we shall know no place, +But only mighty realms of making thought, +(Not living in creation any more, +But evermore creating our own worlds) +Yet still it seems as if I had to go +Into the sea of air that floats and heaves, +And swings its massy waves around our earth, +And may feel wet to the unclothed soul; +And I would rather go when it is full +Of light and blueness, than when grey and fog +Thicken it with the steams of the old earth. +Now in the first of summer I shall die; +Lying, mayhap, at sunset, sinking asleep, +And going with the light, and from the dark; +And when the earth is dark, they'll say: 'He is dead;' +But I shall say: 'Ah God! I live and love; +The earth is fair, but this is fairer still; +My dear ones, they were very dear; but now +The past is past; for they are dearer still.' +So I shall go, in starlight, it may be, +Or lapt in moonlight ecstasies, to seek +The heart of all, the man of all, my friend; +Whom I shall know my own beyond all loves, +Because he makes all loving true and deep; +And I live on him, in him, he in me." + +The weary days and nights had taught him much; +Had sent him, as a sick child creeps along, +Until he hides him in his mother's breast, +Seeking for God. For all he knew before +Seemed as he knew it not. He needed now +To feel God's arms around him hold him close, +Close to his heart, ere he could rest an hour. +And God was very good to him, he said. + +Ah God! we need the winter as the spring; +And thy poor children, knowing thy great heart, +And that thou bearest thy large share of grief, +Because thou lovest goodness more than joy +In them thou lovest,--so dost let them grieve, +Will cease to vex thee with their peevish cries, +Will look and smile, though they be sorrowful; +And not the less pray for thy help, when pain +Is overstrong, coming to thee for rest. +One day we praise thee for, without, the pain. + +One night, as oft, he lay and could not sleep. +His soul was like an empty darkened room, +Through which strange pictures pass from the outer world; +While regnant will lay passive and looked on. +But the eye-tube through which the shadows came +Was turned towards the past. One after one +Arose old scenes, old sorrows, old delights. +Ah God! how sad are all things that grow old; +Even the rose-leaves have a mournful scent, +And old brown letters are more sad than graves; +Old kisses lie about the founts of tears, +Like autumn leaves around the winter wells; +And yet they cannot die. A smile once smiled +Is to eternity a smile--no less; +And that which smiles and kisses, liveth still; +And thou canst do great wonders, Wonderful! + +At length, as ever in such vision-hours, +Came the bright maiden, riding the great horse. +And then at once the will sprang up awake, +And, like a necromantic sage, forbade +What came unbidden to depart at will. +So on that form he rested his sad thoughts, +Till he began to wonder what her lot; +How she had fared in spinning history +Into a psyche-cradle, where to die; +And then emerge--what butterfly? pure white, +With silver dust of feathers on its wings? +Or that dull red, seared with its ebon spots? +And then he thought: "I know some women fail, +And cease to be so very beautiful. +And I have heard men rave of certain eyes, +In which I could not rest a moment's space." +Straightway the fount of possibilities +Began to gurgle, under, in his soul. +Anon the lava-stream burst forth amain, +And glowed, and scorched, and blasted as it flowed. +For purest souls sometimes have direst fears, +In ghost-hours when the shadow of the earth +Is cast on half her children, from the sun +Who is afar and busy with the rest. +"If my high lady be but only such +As some men say of women--very pure +When dressed in white, and shining in men's eyes, +And with the wavings of great unborn wings +Around them in the aether of the souls, +Felt at the root where senses meet in one +Like dim-remembered airs and rhymes and hues; +But when alone, at best a common thing, +With earthward thoughts, and feet that are of earth! +Ah no--it cannot be! She is of God. +But then, fair things may perish; higher life +Gives deeper death; fair gifts make fouler faults: +Women themselves--I dare not think the rest. +And then they say that in her London world, +They have other laws and judgments than in ours." +And so the thoughts walked up and down his soul, +And found at last a spot wherein to rest, +Building a resolution for the day. + +But next day, and the next, he was too worn +With the unrest of this chaotic night-- +As if a man had sprung to life before +The spirit of God moved on the waters' face, +And made his dwelling ready, who in pain, +Himself untuned, groaned for a harmony, +For order and for law around his life-- +Too tired he was to do as he had planned. +But on the next, a genial south-born wind +Waved the blue air beneath the golden sun, +Bringing glad news of summer from the south. +Into his little room the bright rays shone, +And, darting through the busy blazing fire, +Turning it ghostly pale, slew it almost; +As the great sunshine of the further life +Quenches the glow of this, and giveth death. +He had lain gazing at the wondrous strife +And strange commingling of the sun and fire, +Like spiritual and vital energies, +Whereof the one doth bear the other first, +And then destroys it for a better birth; +And now he rose to help the failing fire, +Because the sunshine came not near enough +To do for both. And then he clothed himself, +And sat him down betwixt the sun and fire, +And got him ink and paper, and began +And wrote with earnest dying heart as thus. +"Lady, I owe thee much. Nay, do not look +To find my name; for though I write it here, +I date as from the churchyard, where I lie +Whilst thou art reading; and thou know'st me not. +I dare to write, because I am crowned by death +Thy equal. If my boldness should offend, +I, pure in my intent, hide with the ghosts, +Where thou wilt never meet me, until thou +Knowest that death, like God, doth make of one. + +"But pardon, lady. Ere I had begun, +My thoughts moved towards thee with a gentle flow +That bore a depth of waters. When I took +My pen to write, they rushed into a gulf, +Precipitate and foamy. Can it be, +That death who humbles all hath made me proud? +Lady, thy loveliness hath walked my brain, +As if I were thy heritage in sooth, +Bequeathed from sires beyond all story's reach. +For I have loved thee from afar, and long; +Joyous in having seen what lifted me, +By very power to see, above myself. +Thy beauty hath made beautiful my life; +Thy virtue made mine strong to be itself. +Thy form hath put on every changing dress +Of name, and circumstance, and history, +That so the life, dumb in the wondrous page +Recording woman's glory, might come forth +And be the living fact to longing eyes-- +Thou, thou essential womanhood to me; +Afar as angels or the sainted dead, +Yet near as loveliness can haunt a man, +And taking any shape for every need. + +"Years, many years, have passed since the first time, +Which was the last, I saw thee. What have they +Made or unmade in thee? I ask myself. +O lovely in my memory! art thou +As lovely in thyself? Thy features then +Said what God made thee; art thou such indeed? +Forgive my boldness, lady; I am dead; +And dead men may cry loud, they make no noise. + +"I have a prayer to make thee--hear the dead. +Lady, for God's sake be as beautiful +As that white form that dwelleth in my heart; +Yea, better still, as that ideal Pure +That waketh in thee, when thou prayest God, +Or helpest thy poor neighbour. For myself +I pray. For if I die and find that she, +My woman-glory, lives in common air, +Is not so very radiant after all, +My sad face will afflict the calm-eyed ghosts, +Not used to see such rooted sadness there, +At least in fields where I may hope to walk +And find good company. Upon my knees +I could implore thee--justify my faith +In womanhood's white-handed nobleness, +And thee, its revelation unto me. + +"But I bethink me, lady. If thou turn +Thy thoughts upon thyself, for the great sake +Of purity and conscious whiteness' self, +Thou wilt but half succeed. The other half +Is to forget the first, and all thyself, +Quenching thy moonlight in the blaze of day; +Turning thy being full unto thy God; +Where shouldst thou quite forget the name of Truth, +Yet thou wouldst be a pure, twice holy child, +(Twice born of God, once of thy own pure will +Arising at the calling Father's voice,) +Doing the right with sweet unconsciousness; +Having God in thee, a completer soul, +Be sure, than thou alone; thou not the less +Complete in choice, and individual life, +Since that which sayeth _I_, doth call him _Sire._ + +"Lady, I die--the Father holds me up. +It is not much to thee that I should die; +(How should it be? for thou hast never looked +Deep in my eyes, as I once looked in thine) +But it is much that He doth hold me up. + +"I thank thee, lady, for a gentle look +Thou lettest fall upon me long ago. +The same sweet look be possible to thee +For evermore;--I bless thee with thine own, +And say farewell, and go into my grave-- +Nay, nay, into the blue heaven of my hopes." + +Then came his name in full, and then the name +Of the green churchyard where he hoped to lie. +And then he laid him back, weary, and said: +"O God! I am only an attempt at life. +Sleep falls again ere I am full awake. +Life goeth from me in the morning hour. +I have seen nothing clearly; felt no thrill +Of pure emotion, save in dreams, wild dreams; +And, sometimes, when I looked right up to thee. +I have been proud of knowledge, when the flame +Of Truth, high Truth, but flickered in my soul. +Only at times, in lonely midnight hours, +When in my soul the stars came forth, and brought +New heights of silence, quelling all my sea, +Have I beheld clear truth, apart from form, +And known myself a living lonely thought, +Isled in the hyaline of Truth alway. +I have not reaped earth's harvest, O my God; +Have gathered but a few poor wayside flowers, +Harebells, red poppies, closing pimpernels-- +All which thou hast invented, beautiful God, +To gather by the way, for comforting. +Have I aimed proudly, therefore aimed too low, +Striving for something visible in my thought, +And not the unseen thing hid far in thine? +Make me content to be a primrose-flower +Among thy nations; that the fair truth, hid +In the sweet primrose, enter into me, +And I rejoice, an individual soul, +Reflecting thee; as truly then divine, +As if I towered the angel of the sun. +All in the night, the glowing worm hath given +Me keener joy than a whole heaven of stars: +Thou camest in the worm more near me then. +Nor do I think, were I that green delight, +I'd change to be the shadowy evening star. +Ah, make me, Father, anything thou wilt, +So be thou will it; I am safe with thee. +I laugh exulting. Make me something, God; +Clear, sunny, veritable purity +Of high existence, in itself content, +And in the things that are besides itself, +And seeking for no measures. I have found +The good of earth, if I have found this death. +Now I am ready; take me when thou wilt." + +He laid the letter in his desk, with seal +And superscription. When his sister came, +He said, "You'll find a note there--afterwards--. +Take it yourself to the town, and let it go. +But do not see the name, my sister true-- +I'll tell you all about it, when you come." + +And as the eve, through paler, darker shades, +Insensibly declines, and is no more, +The lordly day once more a memory, +So died he. In the hush of noon he died. +Through the low valley-fog he brake and climbed. +The sun shone on--why should he not shine on? +The summer noises rose o'er all the land. +The love of God lay warm on hill and plain. +'Tis well to die in summer. + + When the breath, +After a long still pause, returned no more, +The old man sank upon his knees, and said: +"Father, I thank thee; it is over now; +And thou hast helped him well through this sore time. +So one by one we all come back to thee, +All sons and brothers, thanking thee who didst +Put of thy fatherhood in our poor hearts, +That, having children, we might guess thy love. +And at the last, find all loves one in thee." +And then he rose, and comforted the maid, +Who in her brother lost the pride of life, +Weeping as all her heaven were full of rain. + +When that which was so like him--so unlike-- +Lay in the churchyard, and the green turf soon +Would grow together, healing up the wounds +Of the old Earth who took her share again, +The sister went to do his last request. +Then found she, with his other papers, this,-- +A farewell song, in lowland Scottish tongue:-- + + Greetna, father, that I'm gaein'. + For fu' weel ye ken the gaet. + I' the winter, corn ye're sawin'-- + I' the hairst, again ye hae't. + + I'm gaein' hame to see my mither-- + She'll be weel acquant or this, + Sair we'll muse at ane anither, + 'Tween the auld word an' new kiss. + + Love, I'm doubtin', will be scanty + Roun' ye baith, when I'm awa'; + But the kirk has happin' plenty + Close aside me, for you twa. + + An' aboon, there's room for mony-- + 'Twas na made for ane or twa; + But it grew for a' an' ony + Countin' love the best ava'. + + Here, aneath, I ca' ye father: + Auld names we'll nor tyne nor spare; + A' my sonship I maun gather, + For the Son is King up there. + + Greetna, father, that I'm gaein'; + For ye ken fu' weel the gaet: + Here, in winter, cast yer sawin'-- + There, in hairst, again ye hae't. + +What of the lady? Little more I know. +Not even if, when she had read the lines, +She rose in haste, and to her chamber went, +And shut the door; nor if, when she came forth, +A dawn of holier purpose shone across +The sadness of her brow; unto herself +Convicted; though the great world, knowing all, +Might call her pure as day--yea, truth itself. +Of these things I know nothing--only know +That on a warm autumnal afternoon, +When half-length shadows fell from mossy stones, +Darkening the green upon the grassy graves, +While the still church, like a said prayer, arose +White in the sunshine, silent as the graves, +Empty of souls, as is the tomb itself; +A little boy, who watched a cow near by +Gather her milk from alms of clover fields, +Flung over earthen dykes, or straying out +Beneath the gates upon the paths, beheld +All suddenly--he knew not how she came-- +A lady, closely veiled, alone, and still, +Seated upon a grave. Long time she sat +And moved not, "greetin' sair," the boy did say; +"Just like my mither whan my father deed. +An' syne she rase, an' pu'd at something sma', +A glintin' gowan, or maybe a blade +O' the dead grass," and glided silent forth, +Over the low stone wall by two old steps, +And round the corner, and was seen no more. +The clang of hoofs and sound of carriage wheels +Arose and died upon the listener's ear. + + + + +THE HOMELESS GHOST. + + +Still flowed the music, flowed the wine. + The youth in silence went; +Through naked streets, in cold moonshine, + His homeward way he bent, +Where, on the city's seaward line, + His lattice seaward leant. + +He knew not why he left the throng, + But that he could not rest; +That something pained him in the song, + And mocked him in the jest; +And a cold moon-glitter lay along + One lovely lady's breast. + +He sat him down with solemn book + His sadness to beguile; +A skull from off its bracket-nook + Threw him a lipless smile; +But its awful, laughter-mocking look, + Was a passing moonbeam's wile. + +An hour he sat, and read in vain, + Nought but mirrors were his eyes; +For to and fro through his helpless brain, + Went the dance's mysteries; +Till a gust of wind against the pane, + Mixed with a sea-bird's cries, +And the sudden spatter of drifting rain + Bade him mark the altered skies. + +The moon was gone, intombed in cloud; + The wind began to rave; +The ocean heaved within its shroud, + For the dark had built its grave; +But like ghosts brake forth, and cried aloud, + The white crests of the wave. + +Big rain. The wind howled out, aware + Of the tread of the watery west; +The windows shivered, back waved his hair, + The fireside seemed the best; +But lo! a lady sat in his chair, + With the moonlight across her breast. + +The moonbeam passed. The lady sat on. + Her beauty was sad and white. +All but her hair with whiteness shone, + And her hair was black as night; +And her eyes, where darkness was never gone, + Although they were full of light. + +But her hair was wet, and wept like weeds + On her pearly shoulders bare; +And the clear pale drops ran down like beads, + Down her arms, to her fingers fair; +And her limbs shine through, like thin-filmed seeds, + Her dank white robe's despair. + +She moved not, but looked in his wondering face, + Till his blushes began to rise; +But she gazed, like one on the veiling lace, + To something within his eyes; +A gaze that had not to do with place, + But thought and spirit tries. + +Then the voice came forth, all sweet and clear, + Though jarred by inward pain; +She spoke like one that speaks in fear + Of the judgment she will gain, +When the soul is full as a mountain-mere, + And the speech, but a flowing vein. + +"Thine eyes are like mine, and thou art bold; + Nay, heap not the dying fire; +It warms not me, I am too cold, + Cold as the churchyard spire; +If thou cover me up with fold on fold, + Thou kill'st not the coldness dire." + +Her voice and her beauty, like molten gold, + Thrilled through him in burning rain. +He was on fire, and she was cold, + Cold as the waveless main; +But his heart-well filled with woe, till it rolled + A torrent that calmed him again. + +"Save me, Oh, save me!" she cried; and flung + Her splendour before his feet;-- +"I am weary of wandering storms among, + And I hate the mouldy sheet; +I can dare the dark, wind-vexed and wrung, + Not the dark where the dead things meet. + +"Ah! though a ghost, I'm a lady still--" + The youth recoiled aghast. +With a passion of sorrow her great eyes fill; + Not a word her white lips passed. +He caught her hand; 'twas a cold to kill, + But he held it warm and fast. + +"What can I do to save thee, dear?" + At the word she sprang upright. +To her ice-lips she drew his burning ear, + And whispered--he shivered--she whispered light. +She withdrew; she gazed with an asking fear; + He stood with a face ghost-white. + +"I wait--ah, would I might wait!" she said; + "But the moon sinks in the tide; +Thou seest it not; I see it fade, + Like one that may not bide. +Alas! I go out in the moonless shade; + Ah, kind! let me stay and hide." + +He shivered, he shook, he felt like clay; + And the fear went through his blood; +His face was an awful ashy grey, + And his veins were channels of mud. +The lady stood in a white dismay, + Like a half-blown frozen bud. + +"Ah, speak! am I so frightful then? + I live; though they call it death; +I am only cold--say _dear_ again"-- + But scarce could he heave a breath; +The air felt dank, like a frozen fen, + And he a half-conscious wraith. + +"Ah, save me!" once more, with a hopeless cry, + That entered his heart, and lay; +But sunshine and warmth and rosiness vie + With coldness and moonlight and grey. +He spoke not. She moved not; yet to his eye, + She stood three paces away. + +She spoke no more. Grief on her face + Beauty had almost slain. +With a feverous vision's unseen pace + She had flitted away again; +And stood, with a last dumb prayer for grace, + By the window that clanged with rain. + +He stood; he stared. She had vanished quite. + The loud wind sank to a sigh; +Grey faces without paled the face of night, + As they swept the window by; +And each, as it passed, pressed a cheek of fright + To the glass, with a staring eye. + +And over, afar from over the deep, + Came a long and cadenced wail; +It rose, and it sank, and it rose on the steep + Of the billows that build the gale. +It ceased; but on in his bosom creep + Low echoes that tell the tale. + +He opened his lattice, and saw afar, + Over the western sea, +Across the spears of a sparkling star, + A moony vapour flee; +And he thought, with a pang that he could not bar, + The lady it might be. + +He turned and looked into the room; + And lo! it was cheerless and bare; +Empty and drear as a hopeless tomb,-- + And the lady was not there; +Yet the fire and the lamp drove out the gloom, + As he had driven the fair. + +And up in the manhood of his breast, + Sprang a storm of passion and shame; +It tore the pride of his fancied best + In a thousand shreds of blame; +It threw to the ground his ancient crest, + And puffed at his ancient name. + +He had turned a lady, and lightly clad, + Out in the stormy cold. +Was she a ghost?--Divinely sad + Are the guests of Hades old. +A wandering ghost? Oh! terror bad, + That refused an earthly fold! + +And sorrow for her his shame's regret + Into humility wept; +He knelt and he kissed the footprints wet, + And the track by her thin robe swept; +He sat in her chair, all ice-cold yet, + And moaned until he slept. + +He woke at dawn. The flaming sun + Laughed at the bye-gone dark. +"I am glad," he said, "that the night is done, + And the dream slain by the lark." +And the eye was all, until the gun + That boomed at the sun-set--hark! + +And then, with a sudden invading blast, + He knew that it was no dream. +And all the night belief held fast, + Till thinned by the morning beam. +Thus radiant mornings and pale nights passed + On the backward-flowing stream. + +He loved a lady with heaving breath, + Red lips, and a smile alway; +And her sighs an odour inhabiteth, + All of the rose-hued may; +But the warm bright lady was false as death, + And the ghost is true as day. + +And the spirit-face, with its woe divine, + Came back in the hour of sighs; +As to men who have lost their aim, and pine, + Old faces of childhood rise: +He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine + Of her solitary eyes. + +And now he believed in the ghost all night, + And believed in the day as well; +And he vowed, with a sorrowing tearful might, + All she asked, whate'er befel, +If she came to his room, in her garment white, + Once more at the midnight knell. + +She came not. He sought her in churchyards old + That lay along the sea; +And in many a church, when the midnight tolled, + And the moon shone wondrously; +And down to the crypts he crept, grown bold; + But he waited in vain: ah me! + +And he pined and sighed for love so sore, + That he looked as he were lost; +And he prayed her pardon more and more, + As one who had sinned the most; +Till, fading at length, away he wore, + And he was himself a ghost. + +But if he found the lady then, + The lady sadly lost, +Or she had found 'mongst living men + A love that was a host, +I know not, till I drop my pen, + And am myself a ghost. + + + + +ABU MIDJAN. + + + "It is only just + To laud good wine: + If I sit in the dust, + So sits the vine." + +Abu Midjan sang, as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape was the juice of his veins. +The prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not"-- +Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; +Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, +And called it good names, a joy divine. +And Saad assailed him with words of blame, +And left him in irons, a fettered flame; +But he sang of the wine as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape ran fast in his veins. + + "I will not think + That the Prophet said, + _Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red_. + + "But some weakling head, + In its after pain, + Moaning said, + _Drink not again_. + + "But I will dare, + With a goodly drought, + To drink and not spare, + Till my thirst be out. + + "For as I quaff + The liquor cool, + I do not laugh, + Like a Christian fool; + + "But my bosom fills, + And my faith is high; + Through the emerald hills + Goes my lightning eye. + + "I see _them_ hearken, + I see them wait; + Their light eyes darken + The diamond gate. + + "I hear the float + Of their chant divine; + Each heavenly note + Mingles with mine. + + "Can an evil thing + Make beauty more? + Or a sinner bring + To the heavenly door? + + "'Tis the sun-rays fine + That sink in the earth, + And are drunk by the vine, + For its daughters' birth. + + "And the liquid light, + I drink again; + And it flows in might + Through the shining brain, + + "Making it know + The things that are + In the earth below, + Or the farthest star. + + "I will not think + That the Prophet said, + _Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing Red_. + + "For his promise, lo! + Shows more divine, + When the channels o'erflow + With the singing wine. + + "But if he did, 'tis a small annoy + To sit in chains for a heavenly joy." + +Away went the song on the light wind borne. +His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn, +At the irons that fettered his brown limbs' strength. +Waved on his lip the dark hair's length. +But sudden he lifted his head to the north-- +Like a mountain-beacon his eye blazed forth: +'Twas a cloud in the distance that caught his eye, +Whence a faint clang shot on the light breeze by; +A noise and a smoke on the plain afar-- +'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war. +And the light that flashed from his black eyes, lo! +Was a light that paled the red wine's glow; +And he shook his fetters in bootless ire, +And called on the Prophet, and named his sire. +But the lady of Saad heard the clang, +And she knew the far sabres his fetters rang. +Oh! she had the heart where a man might rest, +For she knew the tempest in his breast. +She rose. Ere she reached him, he called her name, +But he called not twice ere the lady came; +And he sprang to his feet, and the irons cursed, +And wild from his lips the Tecbir burst: +"Let me go," he said, "and, by Allah's fear, +At sundown I sit in my fetters here, +Or lie 'neath a heaven of starry eyes, +Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise." + +The lady unlocked his fetters stout, +Brought her husband's horse and his armour out, +Clothed the warrior, and bid him go +An angel of vengeance upon the foe; +Then turned her in, and from the roof, +Beheld the battle, far aloof. + +Straight as an arrow she saw him go, +Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe. +Like home-sped lightning he pierced the cloud, +And the thunder of battle burst more loud; +And like lightning along a thunderous steep, +She saw the sickle-shaped sabres sweep, +Keen as the sunlight they dashed away +When it broke against them in flashing spray; +Till the battle ebbed o'er the plain afar, +Borne on the flow of the holy war. +As sank from the edge the sun's last flame, +Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came. + +"O lady!" he said, "'tis a mighty horse; +The Prophet himself might have rode a worse. +I felt beneath me his muscles' play, +As he tore to the battle, like fiend, away. +I forgot him, and swept at the traitor weeds, +And they fell before me like broken reeds; +Dropt their heads, as a boy doth mow +The poppies' heads with his unstrung bow. +They fled. The faithful follow at will. +I turned. And lo! he was under me still. +Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; +Then come and help me to fetter my feet." + +He went to the terrace, she went to the stall, +And tended the horse like a guest in the hall; +Then to the singer in haste returned. +The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned; +But he said no more, as if in shame +Of the words that had burst from his lips in flame. +She left him there, as at first she found, +Seated in fetters upon the ground. + +But the sealed fountain, in pulses strong, +O'erflowed his silence, and burst in song. + + "Oh! the wine + Of the vine + Is a feeble thing; + In the rattle + Of battle + The true grapes spring. + + "When on force + Of the horse, + The arm flung abroad + Is sweeping, + And reaping + The harvest of God. + + "When the fear + Of the spear + Makes way for its blow; + And the faithless + Lie breathless + The horse-hoofs below. + + "The wave-crest, + Round the breast, + Tosses sabres all red; + But under, + Its thunder + Is dumb to the dead. + + "They drop + From the top + To the sear heap below; + And deeper, + Down steeper, + The infidels go. + + "But bright + Is the light + On the true-hearted breaking; + Rapturous faces, + Bent for embraces, + Wait on his waking. + + "And he hears + In his ears + The voice of the river, + Like a maiden, + Love-laden, + Go wandering ever. + + "Oh! the wine + Of the vine + May lead to the gates; + But the rattle + Of battle + Wakes the angel who waits. + + "To the lord + Of the sword + Open it must; + The drinker, + The thinker, + Sits in the dust. + + "He dreams + Of the gleams + Of their garments of white: + He misses + Their kisses, + The maidens of light. + + "They long + For the strong, + Who has burst through alarms, + Up, by the labour + Of stirrup and sabre, + Up to their arms. + +"Oh! the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost; +But the wine of the fight is the joy of a host." + +When Saad came home from the far pursuit, +He sat him down, and an hour was mute. +But at length he said: "Ah! wife, the fight +Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might +Sudden rose up on the crest of the war, +With its sabre that circled in rainbows afar, +Took up the battle, and drove it on-- +Enoch sure, or the good St. John. +Wherever he leaped, like a lion he, +The fight was thickest, or soon to be; +Wherever he sprang, with his lion cry, +The thick of the battle soon went by. +With a headlong fear, the sinners fled; +We followed--and passed them--for they were dead. +But him who had saved us, we saw no more; +He had gone, as he came, by a secret door; +And strange to tell, in his holy force, +He wore my armour, he rode my horse." + +The lady arose, with her noble pride, +And she walked with Saad, side by side; +As she led him, a moon that would not wane, +Where Midjan counted the links of his chain! + +"I gave him thy horse, and thy armour to wear; +If I did a wrong, I am here to bear." + +"Abu Midjan, the singer of love and of wine! +The arm of the battle--it also was thine? +Rise up, shake the fetters from off thy feet; +For the lord of the battle, are fetters meet? +Drink as thou wilt--till thou be hoar-- +Let Allah judge thee--I judge no more." + +Abu Midjan arose and flung aside +The clanging fetters, and thus he cried: +"If thou give me to God and his decrees, +Nor purge my sin by the shame of these; +I dare not do as I did before-- +In the name of Allah, I drink no more." + + + + +AN OLD STORY. + + +They were parted at last, although + Each was tenderly dear; +As asunder their eyes did go, + When first alone and near. + +'Tis an old story this-- + A trembling and a sigh, +A gaze in the eyes, a kiss-- + Why will it _not_ go by? + + + + +A BOOK OF DREAMS. + +PART I. + + +1. + +I lay and dreamed. The master came + In his old woven dress; +I stood in joy, and yet in shame, + Oppressed with earthliness. + +He stretched his arms, and gently sought + To clasp me to his soul; +I shrunk away, because I thought + He did not know the whole. + +I did not love him as I would, + Embraces were not meet; +I sank before him where he stood, + And held and kissed his feet. + +Ten years have passed away since then, + Oft hast thou come to me; +The question scarce will rise again, + Whether I care for thee. + +To every doubt, in thee my heart + An answer hopes to find; +In every gladness, Lord, thou art, + The deeper joy behind. + +And yet in other realms of life, + Unknown temptations rise, +Unknown perplexities and strife, + New questions and replies. + +And every lesson learnt, anew, + The vain assurance lends +That now I know, and now can do, + And now should see thy ends. + +So I forget I am a child, + And act as if a man; +Who through the dark and tempest wild + Will go, because he can. + +And so, O Lord, not yet I dare + To clasp thee to my breast; +Though well I know that only there + Is hid the secret rest. + +And yet I shrink not, as at first: + Be thou the judge of guilt; +Thou knowest all my best and worst, + Do with me as thou wilt. + +Spread thou once more thine arms abroad, + Lay bare thy bosom's beat; +Thou shalt embrace me, O my God, + And I will kiss thy feet. + + +2. + +I stood before my childhood's home, + Outside the belt of trees; +All round, my dreaming glances roam + On well-known hills and leas. + +When sudden, from the westward, rushed + A wide array of waves; +Over the subject fields they gushed + From far-off, unknown caves. + +And up the hill they clomb and came, + On flowing like a sea: +I saw, and watched them like a game; + No terror woke in me. + +For just the belting trees within, + I saw my father wait; +And should the waves the summit win, + I would go through the gate. + +For by his side all doubt was dumb, + And terror ceased to foam; +No great sea-billows dared to come, + And tread the holy home. + +Two days passed by. With restless toss, + The red flood brake its doors; +Prostrate I lay, and looked across + To the eternal shores. + +The world was fair, and hope was nigh, + Some men and women true; +And I was strong, and Death and I + Would have a hard ado. + +And so I shrank. But sweet and good + The dream came to my aid; +Within the trees my father stood, + I must not be dismayed. + +My grief was his, not mine alone; + The waves that burst in fears, +He heard not only with his own, + But heard them with my ears. + +My life and death belong to thee, + For I am thine, O God; +Thy hands have made and fashioned me, + 'Tis thine to bear the load. + +And thou shalt bear it. I will try + To be a peaceful child, +Whom in thy arms right tenderly + Thou carriest through the wild. + + +3. + +The rich man mourns his little loss, + And knits the brow of care; +The poor man tries to bear the cross, + And seeks relief in prayer. + +Some gold had vanished from my purse, + Which I had watched but ill; +I feared a lack, but feared yet worse + Regret returning still. + +And so I knelt and prayed my prayer + To Him who maketh strong, +That no returning thoughts of care + Should do my spirit wrong. + +I rose in peace, in comfort went, + And laid me down to rest; +But straight my soul grew confident + With gladness of the blest. + +For ere the sleep that care redeems, + My soul such visions had, +That never child in childhood's dreams + Was more exulting glad. + +No white-robed angels floated by + On slow, reposing wings; +I only saw, with inward eye, + Some very common things. + +First rose the scarlet pimpernel, + With burning purple heart; +I saw it, and I knew right well + The lesson of its art. + +Then came the primrose, childlike flower; + It looked me in the face; +It bore a message full of power, + And confidence, and grace. + +And winds arose on uplands wild, + And bathed me like a stream; +And sheep-bells babbled round the child + Who loved them in a dream. + +Henceforth my mind was never crossed + By thought of vanished gold, +But with it came the guardian host + Of flowers both meek and bold. + +The loss is riches while I live, + A joy I would not lose: +Choose ever, God, what Thou wilt give, + Not leaving me to choose. + +_"What said the flowers in whisper low, + To soothe me into rest?"_ +I scarce have words--they seemed to grow + Right out of God's own breast. + +They said, God meant the flowers He made, + As children see the same; +They said the words the lilies said + When Jesus looked at them. + +And if you want to hear the flowers + Speak ancient words, all new, +They may, if you, in darksome hours, + Ask God to comfort you. + + +4. + +Our souls, in daylight hours, awake, + With visions sometimes teem, +Which to the slumbering brain would take + The form of wondrous dream. + +Thus, once, I saw a level space, + With circling mountains nigh; +And round it grouped all forms of grace, + A goodly company. + +And at one end, with gentle rise, + Stood something like a throne; +And thither all the radiant eyes, + As to a centre, shone. + +And on the seat the noblest form + Of glory, dim-descried; +His glance would quell all passion-storm, + All doubt, and fear, and pride. + +But lo! his eyes far-fixed burn + Adown the widening vale; +The looks of all obedient turn, + And soon those looks are pale. + +For, through the shining multitude, + With feeble step and slow, +A weary man, in garments rude, + All falteringly did go. + +His face was white, and still-composed, + Like one that had been dead; +The eyes, from eyelids half unclosed, + A faint, wan splendour shed. + +And to his brow a strange wreath clung, + And drops of crimson hue; +And his rough hands, oh, sadly wrung! + Were pierced through and through. + +And not a look he turned aside; + His eyes were forward bent; +And slow the eyelids opened wide, + As towards the throne he went. + +At length he reached the mighty throne, + And sank upon his knees; +And clasped his hands with stifled groan, + And spake in words like these:-- + +"Father, I am come back--Thy will + Is sometimes hard to do." +From all the multitude so still, + A sound of weeping grew. + +And mournful-glad came down the One, + And kneeled, and clasped His child; +Sank on His breast the outworn man, + And wept until he smiled. + +And when their tears had stilled their sighs, + And joy their tears had dried, +The people saw, with lifted eyes, + Them seated side by side. + + +5. + +I lay and dreamed. Three crosses stood + Amid the gloomy air. +Two bore two men--one was the Good; + The third rose waiting, bare. + +A Roman soldier, coming by, + Mistook me for the third; +I lifted up my asking eye + For Jesus' sign or word. + +I thought He signed that I should yield, + And give the error way. +I held my peace; no word revealed, + No gesture uttered _nay._ + +Against the cross a scaffold stood, + Whence easy hands could nail +The doomed upon that altar-wood, + Whose fire burns slow and pale. + +Upon this ledge he lifted me. + I stood all thoughtful there, +Waiting until the deadly tree + My form for fruit should bear. + +Rose up the waves of fear and doubt, + Rose up from heart to brain; +They shut the world of vision out, + And thus they cried amain: + +"Ah me! my hands--the hammer's knock-- + The nails--the tearing strength!" +My soul replied: "'Tis but a shock, + That grows to pain at length." + +"Ah me! the awful fight with death; + The hours to hang and die; +The thirsting gasp for common breath, + That passes heedless by!" + +My soul replied: "A faintness soon + Will shroud thee in its fold; +The hours will go,--the fearful noon + Rise, pass--and thou art cold. + +"And for thy suffering, what to thee + Is that? or care of thine? +Thou living branch upon the tree + Whose root is the Divine! + +"'Tis His to care that thou endure; + That pain shall grow or fade; +With bleeding hands hang on thy cure, + He knows what He hath made." + +And still, for all the inward wail, + My foot was firmly pressed; +For still the fear lest I should fail + Was stronger than the rest. + +And thus I stood, until the strife + The bonds of slumber brake; +I felt as I had ruined life, + Had fled, and come awake. + +Yet I was glad, my heart confessed, + The trial went not on; +Glad likewise I had stood the test, + As far as it had gone. + +And yet I fear some recreant thought, + Which now I all forget, +That painful feeling in me wrought + Of failure, lingering yet. + +And if the dream had had its scope, + I might have fled the field; +But yet I thank Thee for the hope, + And think I dared not yield. + + +6. + +Methinks I hear, as I lie slowly dying, + Indulgent friends say, weeping, "_He was good._" +I fail to speak, a faint denial trying,-- + They answer, "_His humility withstood._" + +I, knowing better, part with love unspoken; + And find the unknown world not all unknown. +The bonds that held me from my centre broken, + I seek my home, the Saviour's homely throne. + +How He will greet me, I walk on and wonder; + And think I know what I will say to Him. +I fear no sapphire floor of cloudy thunder, + I fear no passing vision great and dim. + +But He knows all my unknown weary story: + How will He judge me, pure, and good, and fair? +I come to Him in all His conquered glory, + Won from such life as I went dreaming there! + +I come; I fall before Him, faintly saying: + "Ah, Lord, shall I thy loving favour win? +Earth's beauties tempted me; my walk was straying-- + I have no honour--but may I come in?" + +"I know thee well. Strong prayer did keep me stable; + To me the earth is very lovely too. +Thou shouldst have come to me to make thee able + To love it greatly--but thou hast got through." + + + +A BOOK OF DREAMS. + +PART II. + + +1. + +_Lord of the world's undying youth, + What joys are in thy might! +What beauties of the inner truth, + And of the outer sight! +And when the heart is dim and sad, + Too weak for wisdom's beam, +Thou sometimes makest it right glad + With but a childish dream_. + + * * * * * + +Lo! I will dream this windy day; + No sunny spot is bare; +Dull vapours, in uncomely play, + Are weltering through the air. +If I throw wide my windowed breast + To all the blasts that blow, +My soul will rival in unrest + Those tree-tops--how they go! + +But I will dream like any child; + For, lo! a mighty swan, +With radiant plumage undented, + And folded airy van, +With serpent neck all proudly bent, + And stroke of swarthy oar, +Dreams on to me, by sea-maids sent + Over the billows hoar. + +For in a wave-worn rock I lie; + Outside, the waters foam; +And echoes of old storms go by + Within my sea-built dome. +The waters, half the gloomy way, + Beneath its arches come; +Throbbing to unseen billows' play, + The green gulfs waver dumb. + +A dawning twilight through the cave + In moony gleams doth go, +Half from the swan above the wave, + Half from the swan below. +Close to my feet she gently drifts, + Among the glistening things; +She stoops her crowny head, and lifts + White shoulders of her wings. + +Oh! earth is rich with many a nest, + Deep, soft, and ever new, +Pure, delicate, and full of rest; + But dearest there are two. +I would not tell them but to minds + That are as white as they; +If others hear, of other kinds, + I wish them far away. + +Upon the neck, between the wings, + Of a white, sailing swan, +A flaky bed of shelterings-- + There you will find the one. +The other--well, it will not out, + Nor need I tell it you; +I've told you one, and need you doubt, + When there are only two? + +Fulfil old dreams, O splendid bird, + Me o'er the waters bear; +Sure never ocean's face was stirred + By any ship so fair! +Sure never whiteness found a dress, + Upon the earth to go, +So true, profound, and rich, unless + It was the falling snow. + +With quick short flutter of each wing + Half-spread, and stooping crown, +She calls me; and with one glad spring + I nestle in the down. +Plunges the bark, then bounds aloft, + With lessening dip and rise. +Round curves her neck with motion soft-- + Sure those are woman's eyes. + +One stroke unseen, with oary feet, + One stroke--away she sweeps; +Over the waters pale we fleet, + Suspended in the deeps. +And round the sheltering rock, and lo! + The tumbling, weltering sea! +On to the west, away we go, + Over the waters free! + +Her motions moulded to the wave, + Her billowy neck thrown back, +With slow strong pulse, stately and grave, + She cleaves a rippling track. +And up the mounting wave we glide, + With climbing sweeping blow; +And down the steep, far-sloping side, + To flowing vales below. + +I hear the murmur of the deep + In countless ripples pass, +Like talking children in their sleep, + Like winds in reedy grass. +And through some ruffled feathers, I + The glassy rolling mark, +With which the waves eternally + Roll on from dawn to dark. + +The night is blue, the stars aglow; + In solemn peace o'erhead +The archless depth of heaven; below, + The murmuring, heaving bed. +A thickened night, it heaveth on, + A fallen earthly sky; +The shadows of its stars alone + Are left to know it by. + +What faints across the lifted loop + Of cloud-veil upward cast? +With sea-veiled limbs, a sleeping group + Of Nereids dreaming past. +Swim on, my boat; who knows but I, + Ere night sinks to her grave, +May see in splendour pale float by + The Venus of the wave? + + +2. + +In the night, round a lady dreaming-- + A queen among the dreams-- +Came the silent sunset streaming, + Mixed with the voice of streams. +A silver fountain springing + Blossoms in molten gold; +And the airs of the birds float ringing + Through harmonies manifold. + +She lies in a watered valley; + Her garden melts away +Through foot-path and curving alley + Into the wild wood grey. +And the green of the vale goes creeping + To the feet of the rugged hills, +Where the moveless rocks are keeping + The homes of the wandering rills. + +And the hues of the flowers grow deeper, + Till they dye her very brain; +And their scents, like the soul of a sleeper, + Wander and waver and rain. +For dreams have a wealth of glory + That daylight cannot give: +Ah God! make the hope a story-- + Bid the dreams arise and live. + +She lay and gazed at the flowers, + Till her soul's own garden smiled +With blossom-o'ershaded bowers, + Great colours and splendours wild. +And her heart filled up with gladness, + Till it could only ache; +And it turned aside to sadness, + As if for pity's sake. + +And a fog came o'er the meadows, + And the rich hues fainting lay; +Came from the woods the shadows, + Came from the rocks the grey. +And the sunset thither had vanished, + Where the sunsets always go; +And the sounds of the stream were banished, + As if slain by frost and snow. + +And the flowers paled fast and faster, + And they crumbled fold on fold, +Till they looked like the stained plaster + Of a cornice in ruin old. +And they blackened and shrunk together, + As if scorched by the breath of flame, +With a sad perplexity whether + They were or were not the same. + +And she saw herself still lying, + And smiling on, the while; +And the smile, instead of dying, + Was fixed in an idiot smile. +And the lady arose in sorrow + Out of her sleep's dark stream; +But her dream made dark the morrow, + And she told me the haunting dream. + +Alas! dear lady, I know it, + The dream that all is a dream; +The joy with the doubt below it + That the bright things only seem. +One moment of sad commotion, + And one of doubt's withering rule-- +And the great wave-pulsing ocean + Is only a gathered pool. + +And the flowers are spots of painting, + Of lifeless staring hue; +Though your heart is sick to fainting, + They say not a word to you. +And the birds know nought of gladness, + They are only song-machines; +And a man is a skilful madness, + And the women pictured queens. + +And fiercely we dig the fountain, + To know the water true; +And we climb the crest of the mountain, + To part it from the blue. +But we look too far before us + For that which is more than nigh; +Though the sky is lofty o'er us, + We are always in the sky. + +And the fog, o'er the roses that creepeth, + Steams from the unknown sea, +In the dark of the soul that sleepeth, + And sigheth constantly, +Because o'er the face of its waters + The breathing hath not gone; +And instead of glad sons and daughters, + Wild things are moaning on. + +When the heart knows well the Father, + The eyes will be always day; +But now they grow dim the rather + That the light is more than they. +Believe, amidst thy sorrows, + That the blight that swathes the earth +Is only a shade that borrows + Life from thy spirit's dearth. + +God's heart is the fount of beauty; + Thy heart is its visible well; +If it vanish, do thou thy duty, + That necromantic spell; +And thy heart to the Father crying + Will fill with waters deep; +Thine eyes may say, _Beauty is dying;_ + But thy spirit, _She goes to sleep._ + +And I fear not, thy fair soul ever + Will smile as thy image smiled; +It had fled with a sudden shiver, + And thy body lay beguiled. +Let the flowers and thy beauty perish; + Let them go to the ancient dust. +But the hopes that the children cherish, + They are the Father's trust. + + +3. + +A great church in an empty square, + A place of echoing tones; +Feet pass not oft enough to wear + The grass between the stones. + +The jarring sounds that haunt its gates, + Like distant thunders boom; +The boding heart half-listening waits, + As for a coming doom. + +The door stands wide, the church is bare, + Oh, horror, ghastly, sore! +A gulf of death, with hideous stare, + Yawns in the earthen floor; + +As if the ground had sunk away + Into a void below: +Its shapeless sides of dark-hued clay + Hang ready aye to go. + +I am myself a horrid grave, + My very heart turns grey; +This charnel-hole,--will no one save + And force my feet away? + +The changing dead are there, I know, + In terror ever new; +Yet down the frightful slope I go, + That downward goeth too. + +Beneath the caverned floor I hie, + And seem, with anguish dull, +To enter by the empty eye + Into a monstrous skull. + +Stumbling on what I dare not guess, + And wading through the gloom, +Less deep the shades my eyes oppress, + I see the awful tomb. + +My steps have led me to a door, + With iron clenched and barred; +Grim Death hides there a ghastlier store, + Great spider in his ward. + +The portals shake, the bars are bowed, + As if an earthy wind +That never bore a leaf or cloud + Were pressing hard behind. + +They shake, they groan, they outward strain. + What sight, of dire dismay +Will freeze its form upon my brain, + And turn it into clay? + +They shake, they groan, they bend, they crack; + The bars, the doors divide: +A flood of glory at their back + Hath burst the portals wide. + +Flows in the light of vanished days, + The joy of long-set moons; +The flood of radiance billowy plays, + In sweet-conflicting tunes. + +The gulf is filled with flashing tides, + An awful gulf no more; +A maze of ferns clothes all its sides, + Of mosses all its floor. + +And, floating through the streams, appear + Such forms of beauty rare, +As every aim at beauty here + Had found its _would be_ there. + +I said: 'Tis well no hand came nigh, + To turn my steps astray; +'Tis good we cannot choose but die, + That life may have its way. + + +4. + +Before I sleep, some dreams draw nigh, + Which are not fancy mere; +For sudden lights an inward eye, + And wondrous things appear. + +Thus, unawares, with vision wide, + A steep hill once I saw, +In faint dream lights, which ever hide + Their fountain and their law. + +And up and down the hill reclined + A host of statues old; +Such wondrous forms as you might find + Deep under ancient mould. + +They lay, wild scattered, all along, + And maimed as if in fight; +But every one of all the throng + Was precious to the sight. + +Betwixt the night and hill they ranged, + In dead composure cast. +As suddenly the dream was changed, + And all the wonder past. + +The hill remained; but what it bore + Was broken reedy stalks, +Bent hither, thither, drooping o'er, + Like flowers o'er weedy walks. + +For each dim form of marble rare, + Bent a wind-broken reed; +So hangs on autumn-field, long-bare, + Some tall and straggling weed. + +The autumn night hung like a pall, + Hung mournfully and dead; +And if a wind had waked at all, + It had but moaned and fled. + + +5. + +I lay and dreamed. Of thought and sleep + Was born a heavenly joy: +I dreamed of two who always keep + Me happy as a boy. + +I was with them. My heart-bells rung + With joy my heart above; +Their present heaven my earth o'erhung, + And earth was glad with love. + +The dream grew troubled. Crowds went on, + And sought their varied ends; +Till stream on stream, the crowds had gone, + And swept away my friends. + +I was alone. A miry road + I followed, all in vain; +No well-known hill the landscape showed, + It was a wretched plain; + +Where mounds of rubbish, ugly pits, + And brick-fields scarred the globe; +Those wastes where desolation sits + Without her ancient robe. + +A drizzling rain proclaimed the skies + As wretched as the earth; +I wandered on, and weary sighs + Were all my lot was worth. + +When sudden, as I turned my way, + Burst in the ocean-waves: +And lo! a blue wild-dancing bay + Fantastic rocks and caves! + +I wept with joy. Ah! sometimes so, + In common daylight grief, +A beauty to the heart will go, + And bring the heart relief. + +And, wandering, reft of hope or friend, + If such a thing should be, +One day we take the downward bend, + And lo, Eternity! + +I wept with joy, delicious tears, + Which dreams alone bestow; +Until, mayhap, from out the years + We sleep, and further go. + + +6. + +Now I will mould a dream, awake, + Which I, asleep, would dream; +From all the forms of fancy take + One that shall also seem; +Seem in my verse (if not my brain), + Which sometimes may rejoice +In airy forms of Fancy's train, + Though nobler are my choice. + +Some truth o'er all the land may lie + In children's dreams at night; +_They_ do not build the charmed sky + That domes them with delight. +And o'er the years that follow soon, + So all unlike the dreams, +Wander their odours, gleams their moon, + And flow their winds and streams. + +Now I would dream that I awake + In scent of cool night air, +Above me star-clouds close and break; + Beneath--where am I, where? +A strange delight pervades my breast, + Of ancient pictures dim, +Where fair forms on the waters rest, + Or in the breezes swim. + +I rest on arms as soft as strong, + Great arms of woman-mould; +My head is pillowed whence a song, + In many a rippling fold, +O'erfloods me from its bubbling spring: + A Titan goddess bears +Me, floating on her unseen wing, + Through gracious midnight airs. + +And I am borne o'er sleeping seas, + O'er murmuring ears of corn, +Over the billowy tops of trees, + O'er roses pale till morn. +Over the lake--ah! nearer float, + Down on the water's breast; +Let me look deep, and gazing doat + On that white lily's nest. + +The harebell's bed, as o'er we pass, + Swings all its bells about; +From waving blades of polished grass, + Flash moony splendours out. +Old homes we brush in wooded glades; + No eyes at windows shine; +For all true men and noble maids + Are out in dreams like mine. + +And foam-bell-kisses drift and break + From wind-waves of the South +Against my brow and eyes awake, + And yet I see no mouth. +Light laughter ripples down the air, + Light sighs float up below; +And o'er me ever, radiant pair, + The Queen's great star-eyes go. + +And motion like a dreaming wave + Wafts me in gladness dim +Through air just cool enough to lave + With sense each conscious limb. +But ah! the dream eludes the rhyme, + As dreams break free from sleep; +The dream will keep its own free time, + In mazy float or sweep. + +And thought too keen for joy awakes, + As on the horizon far, +A dead pale light the circle breaks, + But not a dawning star. +No, there I cannot, dare not go; + Pale women wander there; +With cold fire murderous eyeballs glow; + And children see despair. + +The joy has lost its dreamy zest; + I feel a pang of loss; +My wandering hand o'er mounds of rest + Finds only mounds of moss. +Beneath the bare night-stars I lie; + Cold winds are moaning past: +Alas! the earth with grief will die, + The great earth is aghast. + +I look above--there dawns no face; + Around--no footsteps come; +No voice inhabits this great space; + God knows, but keepeth dumb. +I wake, and know that God is by, + And more than dreams will give; +And that the hearts that moan and die, + Shall yet awake and live. + + + + +TO AURELIO SAFFI. + + +_To God and man be simply true: +Do as thou hast been wont to do:_ +Or, _Of the old more in the new:_ +Mean all the same when said to you. + +I love thee. Thou art calm and strong; +Firm in the right, mild to the wrong; +Thy heart, in every raging throng, +A chamber shut for prayer and song. + +Defeat thou know'st not, canst not know; +Only thy aims so lofty go, +They need as long to root and grow +As any mountain swathed in snow. + +Go on and prosper, holy friend. +I, weak and ignorant, would lend +A voice, thee, strong and wise, to send +Prospering onward, without end. + + + + +SONNET. + +To A.M.D. + + +Methinks I see thee, lying calm and low, + Silent and dark within thy earthy bed; + Thy mighty hands, in which I trusted, dead, +Resting, with thy long arms, from work or blow; +And the night-robe, around thy tall form, flow + Down from the kingly face, and from the head, + Save by its thick dark curls, uncovered-- +My brother, dear from childhood, lying so! +Not often since thou went'st, I think of thee, + (With inward cares and questionings oppressed); + And yet, ere long, I seek thee in thy rest, +And bring thee home my heart, as full, as free, +As sure that thou wilt take me tenderly, + As then when youth and nature made us blest. + + + + +A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA. + + +I. + +Upon a rock, high on a mountain side, + Thousands of feet above the lake-sea's lip, + A rock in which old waters' rise and dip, +Plunge and recoil, and backward eddying tide +Had, age-long, worn, while races lived and died, + Involved channels, where the sea-weed's drip + Followed the ebb; and now earth-grasses sip +Fresh dews from heaven, whereby on earth they bide-- + I sat and gazed southwards. A dry flow +Of withering wind blew on my drooping strength +From o'er the awful desert's burning length. + Behind me piled, away and upward go +Great sweeps of savage mountains--up, away, +Where panthers roam, and snow gleams all the day. + + +II. + +Ah, God! the world needs many hours to make; + Nor hast thou ceased the making of it yet, + But wilt be working on when Death hath set +A new mound in some churchyard for my sake. +On flow the centuries without a break. + Uprise the mountains, ages without let. + The mosses suck the rock's breast, rarely wet. +Years more than past, the young earth yet will take. + But in the dumbness of the rolling time, +No veil of silence will encompass me-- +Thou wilt not once forget, and let me be: + I easier think that thou, as I my rhyme, +Wouldst rise, and with a tenderness sublime +Unfold a world, that I, thy child, might see. + + + + +A GIFT. + + +My gift would find thee fast asleep, + And arise a dream in thee; +A violet sky o'er the roll and sweep + Of a purple and pallid sea; +And a crescent moon from my sky should creep + In the golden dream to thee. + +Thou shouldst lay thee down, and sadly list + To the wail of our cold birth-time; +And build thee a temple, glory-kissed, + In the heart of the sunny clime; +Its columns should rise in a music-mist, + And its roofs in a spirit-rhyme. + +Its pillars the solemn hills should bind + 'Neath arches of starry deeps; +Its floor the earth all veined and lined; + Its organ the ocean-sweeps; +And, swung in the hands of the grey-robed wind, + Its censers the blossom-heaps. + +And 'tis almost done; for in this my rhyme, + Thanks to thy mirror-soul, +Thou wilt see the mountains, and hear the chime + Of the waters after the roll; +And the stars of my sky thy sky will climb, + And with heaven roof in the whole. + + + + +THE MAN OF SONGS. + + +"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, + O man of many songs; +To thee the actual only seems-- + No realm to thee belongs." + +"Seest thou those mountains in the east, + O man of ready aim?" +"'T is only vapours that thou seest, + In mountain form and name." + +"Nay, nay, I know them all too well, + Each ridge, and peak, and dome; +In that cloud-land, in one high dell, + Nesteth my little home." + + + + +BETTER THINGS. + + +Better to smell a violet, +Than sip the careless wine; +Better to list one music tone, +Than watch the jewels' shine. + +Better to have the love of one, +Than smiles like morning dew; +Better to have a living seed +Than flowers of every hue. + +Better to feel a love within, +Than be lovely to the sight; +Better a homely tenderness +Than beauty's wild delight. + +Better to love than be beloved. +Though lonely all the day; +Better the fountain in the heart, +Than the fountain by the way. + +Better a feeble love to God, +Than for woman's love to pine; +Better to have the making God +Than the woman made divine. + +Better be fed by mother's hand, +Than eat alone at will; +Better to trust in God, than say: +My goods my storehouse fill. + +Better to be a little wise +Than learned overmuch; +Better than high are lowly thoughts, +For truthful thoughts are such. + +Better than thrill a listening crowd, +Sit at a wise man's feet; +But better teach a child, than toil +To make thyself complete. + +Better to walk the realm unseen, +Than watch the hour's event; +Better the smile of God alway, +Than the voice of men's consent. + +Better to have a quiet grief +Than a tumultuous joy; +Better than manhood, age's face, +If the heart be of a boy. + +Better the thanks of one dear heart, +Than a nation's voice of praise; +Better the twilight ere the dawn, +Than yesterday's mid-blaze. + +Better a death when work is done, +Than earth's most favoured birth; +Better a child in God's great house +Than the king of all the earth. + + + + +THE JOURNEY. + + +Hark, the rain is on my roof! +Every sound drops through the dark +On my soul with dull reproof, +Like a half-extinguished spark. +I! alas, how am I here, +In the midnight and alone? +Caught within a net of fear! +All my dreams of beauty gone! + +I will rise: I must go forth. +Better face the hideous night, +Better dare the unseen north, +Than be still without the light! +Black wind rushing round my brow, +Sown with stinging points of rain! +Place or time I know not now-- +I am here, and so is pain! + +I will leave the sleeping street, +Hie me forth on darker roads. +Ah! I cannot stay my feet, +Onward, onward, something goads. +I will take the mountain path, +Beard the storm within its den, +Know the worst of this dim wrath, +Vexing thus the souls of men. + +Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock: +Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! +Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! +Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! +Ah, I faint, I fall, I die! +Sink to nothingness away!-- +Lo, a streak upon the sky! +Lo, the opening eye of day! + + +II. + +Mountain heights that lift their snows +O'er a valley green and low; +And a winding path, that goes +Guided by the river's flow; +And a music rising ever, +As of peace and low content, +From the pebble-paven river +As an odour upward sent. + +And a sighing of the storm +Far away amid the hills, +Like the humming of a swarm +That the summer forest fills; +And a frequent fall of rain +From a cloud with ragged weft; +And a burst of wind amain +From the mountain's sudden cleft. + +Then a night that hath a moon, +Staining all the cloudy white; +Sinking with a soundless tune +Deep into the spirit's night. +Then a morning clear and soft, +Amber on the purple hills; +Warm high day of summer, oft +Cooled by wandering windy rills. + +Joy to travel thus along, +With the universe around! +I the centre of the throng; +Every sight and every sound +Speeding with its burden laden, +Speeding homewards to my soul! +Mine the eye the stars are made in! +I the heart of all this whole! + + +III. + +Hills retreat on either hand, +Sinking down into the plain; +Slowly through the level land +Glides the river to the main. +What is that before me, white, +Gleaming through the dusky air? +Dimmer in the gathering night; +Still beheld, I know not where? + +Is it but a chalky ridge, +Bared by many a trodden mark? +Or a river-spanning bridge, +Miles away into the dark? +Or the foremost leaping waves +Of the everlasting sea, +Where the Undivided laves +Time with its eternity? + +No, tis but an eye-made sight, +In my brain a fancied gleam; +Or a thousand things as white, +Set in darkness, well might seem. +There it wavers, shines, is gone; +What it is I cannot tell; +When the morning star hath shone, +I shall see and know it well. + +Onward, onward through the night! +Matters it I cannot see? +I am moving in a might, +Dwelling in the dark and me. +Up or down, or here or there, +I can never be alone; +My own being tells me where +God is as the Father known. + + +IV. + +Joy! O joy! the Eastern sea +Answers to the Eastern sky; +Wide and featured gloriously +With swift billows bursting high. +Nearer, nearer, oh! the sheen +On a thousand waves at once! +Oh! the changing crowding green! +Oh my beating heart's response! + +Down rejoicing to the strand, +Where the sea-waves shore-ward lean, +Curve their graceful heads, and stand +Gleaming with ethereal green, +Then in foam fall heavily-- +This is what I saw at night! +Lo, a boat! I'll forth on thee, +Dancing-floor for my delight. + +From the bay, wind-winged, we glance; +Sea-winds seize me by the hair! +What a terrible expanse! +How the ocean tumbles there! +I am helpless here afloat, +For the wild waves know not me; +Gladly would I change my boat +For the snow wings of the sea! + +Look below. Each watery whirl +Cast in beauty's living mould! +Look above! Each feathery curl +Faintly tinged with morning gold!-- +Oh, I tremble with the gush +Of an everlasting youth! +Love and fear together rush: +I am free in God, the Truth! + + + + +PRAYER. + + +We doubt the word that tells us: Ask, + And ye shall have your prayer; +We turn our thoughts as to a task, + With will constrained and rare. + +And yet we have; these scanty prayers + Yield gold without alloy: +O God! but he that trusts and dares + Must have a boundless joy. + + + + +REST. + + +When round the earth the Father's hands + Have gently drawn the dark; +Sent off the sun to fresher lands, + And curtained in the lark; +'Tis sweet, all tired with glowing day, + To fade with faded light; +To lie once more, the old weary way, + Upfolded in the night. + +A mother o'er the couch may bend, + And rose-leaf kisses heap: +In soothing dreams with sleep they blend, + Till even in dreams we sleep. +And, if we wake while night is dumb, + 'Tis sweet to turn and say, +It is an hour ere dawning come, + And I will sleep till day. + + +II. + +There is a dearer, warmer bed, + Where one all day may lie, +Earth's bosom pillowing the head, + And let the world go by. +Instead of mother's love-lit eyes, + The church's storied pane, +All blank beneath cold starry skies, + Or sounding in the rain. + +The great world, shouting, forward fares: + This chamber, hid from none, +Hides safe from all, for no one cares + For those whose work is done. +Cheer thee, my heart, though tired and slow + An unknown grassy place +Somewhere on earth is waiting now + To rest thee from thy race. + + +III. + +There is a calmer than all calms, + A quiet more deep than death: +A folding in the Father's palms, + A breathing in his breath; +A rest made deeper by alarms + And stormy sounds combined: +The child within its mother's arms + Sleeps sounder for the wind. + +There needs no curtained bed to hide + The world with all its wars, +Nor grassy cover to divide + From sun and moon and stars +A window open to the skies, + A sense of changeless life, +With oft returning still surprise + Repels the sounds of strife. + + +IV. + +As one bestrides a wild scared horse + Beneath a stormy moon, +And still his heart, with quiet force, + Beats on its own calm tune; +So if my heart with trouble now + Be throbbing in my breast, +Thou art my deeper heart, and Thou, + O God, dost ever rest. + +When mighty sea-winds madly blow, + And tear the scattered waves; +As still as summer woods, below + Lie darkling ocean caves: +The wind of words may toss my heart, + But what is that to me! +'Tis but a surface storm--Thou art + My deep, still, resting sea. + + + + +TO A.J. SCOTT. + +WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM. + + +I walked all night: the darkness did not yield. +Around me fell a mist, a weary rain, +Enduring long; till a faint dawn revealed + +A temple's front, cloud-curtained on the plain. +Closed were the lofty doors that led within; +But by a wicket one might entrance gain. + +O light, and awe, and silence! Entering in, +The blackness and chaotic rain were lost +In hopeful spaces. Then I heard a thin + +Sweet sound of voices low, together tossed, +As if they sought a harmony to find +Which they knew once; but none of all that host + +Could call the far-fled music back to mind. +Loud voices, distance-low, wandered along +The pillared paths, and up the arches twined + +With sister-arches, rising, throng on throng, +Up to the roof's dim distance. If sometimes +Self-gathered voices made a burst of song, + +Straightway I heard again but as the chimes +Of many bells through Sabbath morning sent, +Each its own tale to tell of heavenly climes. + +Yet such the hope, one might be well content +Here to be low, and lowly keep a door; +For like Truth's herald, solemnly that went, + +I heard thy voice, and humbly loved it more, +Walking the word-sea to this ear of mine, +Than any voice of power I heard before. + +Yet as the harp may, tremulous, combine +Low ghostlike sounds with organ's loudest tone, +Let not my music fear to come to thine: + +Thy heart, with organ-tempests of its own, +Will hear Aeolian sighs from thin chords blown. + + + + +LIGHT. + + +First-born of the creating Voice! +Minister of God's spirit, who wast sent +To wait upon Him first, what time He went +Moving about 'mid the tumultuous noise +Of each unpiloted element +Upon the face of the void formless deep! +Thou who didst come unbodied and alone, +Ere yet the sun was set his rule to keep, +Or ever the moon shone, +Or e'er the wandering star-flocks forth were driven! +Thou garment of the Invisible, whose skirt +Falleth on all things from the lofty heaven! +Thou Comforter, be with me as thou wert +When first I longed for words, to be +A radiant garment for my thought, like thee. + +We lay us down in sorrow, +Wrapt in the old mantle of our mother Night; +In vexing dreams we 'strive until the morrow; +Grief lifts our eyelids up--and lo, the light! +The sunlight on the wall! And visions rise +Of shining leaves that make sweet melodies; +Of wind-borne waves with thee upon their crests; +Of rippled sands on which thou rainest down; +Of quiet lakes that smooth for thee their breasts; +Of clouds that show thy glory as their own. +O joy! O joy! the visions are gone by, +Light, gladness, motion, are Reality! + +Thou art the god of earth. The skylark springs +Far up to catch thy glory on his wings; +And thou dost bless him first that highest soars. +The bee comes forth to see thee; and the flowers +Worship thee all day long, and through the skies +Follow thy journey with their earnest eyes. +River of life, thou pourest on the woods; +And on thy waves float forth the wakening buds; +The trees lean towards thee, and, in loving pain, +Keep turning still to see thee yet again. +And nothing in thine eyes is mean or low: +Where'er thou art, on every side, +All things are glorified; +And where thou canst not come, there thou dost throw +Beautiful shadows, made out of the Dark, +That else were shapeless. Loving thou dost mark +The sadness on men's faces, and dost seek +To make all things around of hope and gladness speak. + +And men have worshipped thee. +The Persian, on his mountain-top, +Kneeling doth wait until thy sun go up, +God-like in his serenity. +All-giving, and none-gifted, he draws near; +And the wide earth waits till his face appear-- +Longs patient. And the herald glory leaps +Along the ridges of the outlying clouds, +Climbing the heights of all their towering steeps; +And a quiet multitudinous laughter crowds +The universal face, as, silently, +Up cometh he, the never-closing eye. +Symbol of Deity! men could not be +Farthest from truth when they were kneeling unto thee. + +Thou plaything of the child, +When from the water's surface thou dost fall +In mazy dance, ethereal motion wild, +Like his own thoughts, upon the chamber wall; +Or through the dust darting in long thin streams! +How I have played with thee, and longed to climb +On sloping ladders of thy moted beams! +And how I loved thee falling from the moon! +And most about the mellow harvest-time, +When night had softly settled down, +And thou from her didst flow, a sea of love. +And then the stars, ah me! that flashed above +And the ghost-stars that shimmered in the tide! +While here and there mysterious earthly shining +Came forth of windows from the hill and glen; +Each ray of thine so wondrously entwining +With household love and rest of weary men. +And still I am a child, thank God! To see +Thee streaming from a bit of broken glass, +That else on the brown earth lay undescried, +Is a high joy, a glorious thing to me, +A spark that lights the light of joy within, +A thought of Hope to Prophecy akin, +That from my spirit fruitless will not pass. + +Thou art the joy of Age: +The sun is dear even when long shadows fall. +Forth to the sunlight the old man doth crawl, +Enlivened like the bird in his poor cage. +Close by the door, no further, in his chair +The old man sits; and sitteth there +His soul within him, like a child that lies +Half dreaming, with his half-shut eyes, +At close of a long afternoon in summer; +High ruins round him, ancient ruins, where +The raven is almost the only comer; +And there he broods in wonderment +On the celestial glory sent +Through the rough loopholes, on the golden bloom +That waves above the cornice on the wall, +Where lately dwelt the echoes of the room; +And drinking in the yellow lights that lie +Upon the ivy tapestry. +So dreams the old man's soul, that is not old, +But sleepy 'mid the ruins that infold. + +What meanings various thou callest forth +Upon the face of the still passive earth! +Even like a lord of music bent +Over his instrument; +Whether, at hour of sovereign noon, +Infinite cataracts sheet silent down; +Or a strange yellow radiance slanting pass +Betwixt long shadows o'er the meadow grass, +When from the lower edge of a dark cloud +The sun at eve his blessing head hath bowed; +Whether the moon lift up her shining shield, +High on the peak of a cloud-hill revealed; +Or crescent, low, wandering sun-dazed away, +Unconscious of her own star-mingled ray, +Her still face seeming more to think than see, +She makes the pale world lie in dreams of thee. +Each hour of day, each hour of thoughtful night, +Hath a new poem in the changing light. + +Of highest unity the sole emblem! +In whom all colours that our eyes can see +In rainbow, moonbow, or in opal gem, +Unite in living oneness, purity, +And operative power! whose every part +Is beauty to the eyes, and truth unto the heart! +Outspread in yellow sands, blue sea and air, +Green growing corn, and scarlet poppies there;-- +Regent of colours, thou, the undefiled! +Whether in dark eyes of the laughing child, +Or in the vast white cloud that floats away, +Bearing upon its breast a brown moon-ray; +The universal painter, who dost fling +Thy overflowing skill on everything! +The thousand hues and shades upon the flowers, +Are all the pastime of thy leisure hours; +And all the gems and ores that hidden be, +Are dead till they are looked upon by thee. + +Everywhere, +Thou art shining through the air; +Every atom from another +Takes thee, gives thee to his brother; +Continually, +Thou art falling on the sea, +Bathing the deep woods down below, +Making the sea-flowers bud and blow; +Silently, +Thou art working ardently, +Bringing from the night of nought +Into being and to thought; +Influences +Every beam of thine dispenses, +Powerful, varied, reaching far, +Differing in every star. +Not an iron rod can lie +In circle of thy beamy eye, +But thy look doth change it so +That it cannot choose but show +Thou, the worker, hast been there; +Yea, sometimes, on substance rare, +Thou dost leave thy ghostly mark +In what men do call the dark. +Doer, shower, mighty teacher! +Truth-in-beauty's silent preacher! +Universal something sent +To shadow forth the Excellent! + +When the firstborn affections, +Those winged seekers of the world within, +That search about in all directions, +Some bright thing for themselves to win, +Through unmarked forest-paths, and gathering fogs, +And stony plains, and treacherous bogs, +Long, long, have followed faces fair, +Fair faces without souls, that vanished into air; +And darkness is around them and above, +Desolate, with nought to love; +And through the gloom on every side, +Strange dismal forms are dim descried; +And the air is as the breath +From the lips of void-eyed Death; +And the knees are bowed in prayer +To the Stronger than Despair; +Then the ever-lifted cry, +_Give us light, or we shall die,_ +Cometh to the Father's ears, +And He listens, and He hears: +And when men lift up their eyes, +Lo, Truth slow dawning in the skies! +'Tis as if the sun gleamed forth +Through the storm-clouds of the north. +And when men would name this Truth, +Giver of gladness and of youth, +They can call it nought but Light-- +'Tis the morning, 'twas the night. +Yea, every thought of hope outspread +On the mountain's misty head, +Is a fresh aurora, sent +Through the spirit's firmament, +Telling, through the vapours dun, +Of the coming, coming sun. + +All things most excellent +Are likened unto thee, excellent thing! +Yea, He who from the Father forth was sent, +Came the true Light, light to our hearts to bring; +The Word of God, the telling of His thought; +The Light of God, the making-visible; +The far-transcending glory brought +In human form with man to dwell; +The dazzling gone; the power not less +To show, irradiate, and bless; +The gathering of the primal rays divine, +Informing chaos, to a pure sunshine! + +Death, darkness, nothingness! +Life, light, and blessedness! + + * * * * * + +Dull horrid pools no motion making; +No bubble on the surface breaking; +Through the dead heavy air, no sound; +Asleep and moveless on the marshy ground. + + * * * * * + +Rushing winds and snow-like drift, +Forceful, formless, fierce, and swift; +Hair-like vapours madly riven; +Waters smitten into dust; +Lightning through the turmoil driven, +Aimless, useless, yet it must. + + * * * * * + +Gentle winds through forests calling; +Big waves on the sea-shore falling; +Bright birds through the thick leaves glancing; +Light boats on the big waves dancing; +Children in the clear pool laving; +Mountain streams glad music giving; +Yellow corn and green grass waving; +Long-haired, bright-eyed maidens living; +Light on all things, even as now-- +God, our Father, it is Thou! +Light, O Radiant! thou didst come abroad, +To mediate 'twixt our ignorance and God; +Forming ever without form; +Showing, but thyself unseen; +Pouring stillness on the storm; +Making life where death had been! +If thou, Light, didst cease to be, +Death and Chaos soon were out, +Weltering o'er the slimy sea, +Riding on the whirlwind's rout; +And if God did cease to be, +O Beloved! where were we? + +Father of Lights, pure and unspeakable, +On whom no changing shadow ever fell! +Thy light we know not, are content to see; +And shall we doubt because we know not Thee? +Or, when thy wisdom cannot be expressed, +Fear lest dark vapours dwell within thy breast? +Nay, nay, ye shadows on our souls descending! +Ye bear good witness to the light on high, +Sad shades of something 'twixt us and the sky! +And this word, known and unknown radiant blending, +Shall make us rest, like children in the night,-- +Word infinite in meaning: _God is Light._ +We walk in mystery all the shining day +Of light unfathomed that bestows our seeing, +Unknown its source, unknown its ebb and flow: +Thy living light's eternal fountain-play +In ceaseless rainbow pulse bestows our being-- +Its motions, whence or whither, who shall know? +O Light, if I had said all I could say +Of thy essential glory and thy might, +Something within my heart unsaid yet lay, +And there for lack of words unsaid must stay: +For _God is Light._ + + + + +TO A.J. SCOTT. + + +Thus, once, long since, the daring of my youth +Drew nigh thy greatness with a little thing; +And thou didst take me in: thy home of truth + +Has domed me since, a heaven of sheltering, +Uplighted by the tenderness and grace +Which round thy absolute friendship ever fling + +A radiant atmosphere. Turn not thy face +From that small part of earnest thanks, I pray, +Which, spoken, leaves much more in speechless case. + +I saw thee as a strong man on his way! +Up the great peaks: I know thee stronger still; +Thy intellect unrivalled in its sway, + +Upheld and ordered by a regnant will; +While Wisdom, seer and priest of holy Fate, +Searches all truths, its prophecy to fill: + +Yet, O my friend, throned in thy heart so great, +High Love is queen, and hath no equal mate. + + May, 1857. + + + + +WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER. + + +Were I a skilful painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear; +And who should blame me then? +Fear of the tide-like darkness +That followeth close behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + +Were I a skilful painter, +What should my painting be? +A tiny spring-bud peeping forth +From a withered wintry tree. +The warm blue sky of summer +Above the mountain snow, +Whence water in an infant stream, +Is trying how to flow. + +The dim light of a beacon +Upon a stormy sea, +Where wild waves, ruled by wilder winds, +Yet call themselves the free. +One sunbeam faintly gleaming +Athwart a sullen cloud, +Like dawning peace upon a brow +In angry weeping bowed. + +Morn climbing o'er the mountain, +While the vale is full of night, +And a wanderer, looking for the east, +Rejoicing in the sight. +A taper burning dimly +Amid the dawning grey, +And a maiden lifting up her head, +And lo, the coming day! + +And thus, were I a painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear; +And who should blame me then? +Fear of the tide-like darkness +That followeth close behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + + + + +IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN. + + +If I were a monk, and thou wert a nun, + Pacing it wearily, wearily, +From chapel to cell till day were done, + Wearily, wearily, +Oh! how would it be with these hearts of ours, +That need the sunshine, and smiles, and flowers? + +To prayer, to prayer, at the matins' call, + Morning foul or fair; +Such prayer as from lifeless lips may fall-- + Words, but hardly prayer; +Vainly trying the thoughts to raise, +Which, in the sunshine, would burst in praise. + +Thou, in the glory of cloudless noon, + The God revealing, +Turning thy face from the boundless boon, + Painfully kneeling; +Or in thy chamber's still solitude, +Bending thy head o'er the legend rude. + +I, in a cool and lonely nook, + Gloomily, gloomily, +Poring over some musty book, + Thoughtfully, thoughtfully; +Or on the parchment margin unrolled, +Painting quaint pictures in purple and gold. + +Perchance in slow procession to meet, + Wearily, wearily, +In an antique, narrow, high-gabled street, + Wearily, wearily; +Thy dark eyes lifted to mine, and then +Heavily sinking to earth again. + +Sunshine and air! warmness and spring! + Merrily, merrily! +Back to its cell each weary thing, + Wearily, wearily! +And the heart so withered, and dry, and old, +Most at home in the cloister cold. + +Thou on thy knees at the vespers' call, + Wearily, wearily; +I looking up on the darkening wall, + Wearily, wearily; +The chime so sweet to the boat at sea, +Listless and dead to thee and me! + +Then to the lone couch at death of day, + Wearily, wearily; +Rising at midnight again to pray, + Wearily, wearily; +And if through the dark those eyes looked in, +Sending them far as a thought of sin. + +And then, when thy spirit was passing away, + Dreamily, dreamily; +The earth-born dwelling returning to clay, + Sleepily, sleepily; +Over thee held the crucified Best, +But no warm face to thy cold cheek pressed. + +And when my spirit was passing away, + Dreamily, dreamily; +The grey head lying 'mong ashes grey, + Sleepily, sleepily; +No hovering angel-woman above, +Waiting to clasp me in deathless love. + +But now, beloved, thy hand in mine, + Peacefully, peacefully; +My arm around thee, my lips on thine, + Lovingly, lovingly,-- +Oh! is not a better thing to us given +Than wearily going alone to heaven? + + + + +BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH. + + +A quiet heart, submissive, meek, + Father do thou bestow; +Which more than granted will not seek + To have, or give, or know. + +Each green hill then will hold its gift + Forth to my joying eyes; +The mountains blue will then uplift + My spirit to the skies. + +The falling water then will sound + As if for me alone; +Nay, will not blessing more abound + That many hear its tone? + +The trees their murmuring forth will send, + The birds send forth their song; +The waving grass its tribute lend, + Sweet music to prolong. + +The water-lily's shining cup, + The trumpet of the bee, +The thousand odours floating up, + The many-shaded sea; + +The rising sun's imprinted tread + Upon the eastward waves; +The gold and blue clouds over head; + The weed from far sea-caves; + +All lovely things from south to north, + All harmonies that be, +Each will its soul of joy send forth + To enter into me. + +And thus the wide earth I shall hold, + A perfect gift of thine; +Richer by these, a thousandfold, + Than if broad lands were mine. + + + + +THE HILLS. + + +Behind my father's house there lies + A little grassy brae, +Whose face my childhood's busy feet + Ran often up in play, +Whence on the chimneys I looked down + In wonderment alway. + +Around the house, where'er I turned, + Great hills closed up the view; +The town 'midst their converging roots + Was clasped by rivers two; +From one hill to another sprang + The sky's great arch of blue. + +Oh! how I loved to climb their sides, + And in the heather lie; +The bridle on my arm did hold + The pony feeding by; +Beneath, the silvery streams; above, + The white clouds in the sky. + +And now, in wandering about, + Whene'er I see a hill, +A childish feeling of delight + Springs in my bosom still; +And longings for the high unknown + Follow and flow and fill. + +For I am always climbing hills, + And ever passing on, +Hoping on some high mountain peak + To find my Father's throne; +For hitherto I've only found + His footsteps in the stone. + +And in my wanderings I have met + A spirit child like me, +Who laid a trusting hand in mine, + So fearlessly and free, +That so together we have gone, + Climbing continually. + +Upfolded in a spirit bud, + The child appeared in space, +Not born amid the silent hills, + But in a busy place; +And yet in every hill we see + A strange, familiar face. + +For they are near our common home; + And so in trust we go, +Climbing and climbing on and on, + Whither we do not know; +Not waiting for the mournful dark, + But for the dawning slow. + +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,-- + A long way we have come! +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,-- + For we have far to roam, +Climbing and climbing, till we reach + Our Heavenly Father's home. + + + + +I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS. + + +I know what beauty is, for Thou + Hast set the world within my heart; + Its glory from me will not part; +I never loved it more than now. + +I know the Sabbath afternoon: + The light lies sleeping on the graves; + Against the sky the poplar waves; +The river plays a Sabbath tune. + +Ah, know I not the spring's snow-bell? + The summer woods at close of even? + Autumn, when earth dies into heaven, +And winter's storms, I know them well. + +I know the rapture music brings, + The power that dwells in ordered tones, + A living voice that loves and moans, +And speaks unutterable things. + +Consenting beauties in a whole; + The living eye, the imperial head, + The gait of inward music bred, +The woman form, a radiant soul. + +And splendours all unspoken bide + Within the ken of spirit's eye; + And many a glory saileth by, +Borne on the Godhead's living tide. + +But I leave all, thou man of woe! + Put off my shoes, and come to Thee; + Thou art most beautiful to me; +More wonderful than all I know. + +As child forsakes his favourite toy, + His sisters' sport, his wild bird's nest; + And climbing to his mother's breast, +Enjoys yet more his former joy-- + +I lose to find. On forehead wide + The jewels tenfold light afford: + So, gathered round thy glory, Lord, +All beauty else is glorified. + + + + +I WOULD I WERE A CHILD. + + + I would I were a child, +That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father! +And follow Thee with running feet, or rather + Be led thus through the wild. + + How I would hold thy hand! +My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting, +Which casts all beauteous shadows, ever shifting, + Over this sea and land. + + If a dark thing came near, +I would but creep within thy mantle's folding, +Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding, + And so forget my fear. + + O soul, O soul, rejoice! +Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning; +A trembling child, yet his, and worth the winning + With gentle eyes and voice. + + The words like echoes flow. +They are too good; mine I can call them never; +Such water drinking once, I should feel ever + As I had drunk but now. + + And yet He said it so; +'Twas He who taught our child-lips to say, Father! +Like the poor youth He told of, that did gather + His goods to him, and go. + + Ah! Thou dost lead me, God; +But it is dark; no stars; the way is dreary; +Almost I sleep, I am so very weary + Upon this rough hill-road. + + _Almost_! Nay, I _do_ sleep. +There is no darkness save in this my dreaming; +Thy Fatherhood above, around, is beaming; + Thy hand my hand doth keep. + + This torpor one sun-gleam +Would break. My soul hath wandered into sleeping; +Dream-shades oppress; I call to Thee with weeping, + Wake me from this my dream. + + And as a man doth say, +Lo! I do dream, yet trembleth as he dreameth; +While dim and dream-like his true history seemeth, + Lost in the perished day; + + (For heavy, heavy night +Long hours denies the day) so this dull sorrow +Upon my heart, but half believes a morrow + Will ever bring thy light. + + God, art Thou in the room? +Come near my bed; oh! draw aside the curtain; +A child's heart would say _Father_, were it certain + That it did not presume. + + But if this dreary bond +I may not break, help Thou thy helpless sleeper; +Resting in Thee, my sleep will sink the deeper, + All evil dreams beyond. + + _Father!_ I dare at length. +My childhood, thy gift, all my claim in speaking; +Sinful, yet hoping, I to Thee come, seeking + Thy tenderness, my strength. + + + + +THE LOST SOUL. + + +Brothers, look there! + +What! see ye nothing yet? +Knit your eyebrows close, and stare; +Send your souls forth in the gaze, +As my finger-point is set, +Through the thick of the foggy air. +Beyond the air, you see the dark; +(For the darkness hedges still our ways;) +And beyond the dark, oh, lives away! +Dim and far down, surely you mark +A huge world-heap of withered years +Dropt from the boughs of eternity? +See ye not something lying there, +Shapeless as a dumb despair, +Yet a something that spirits can recognise +With the vision dwelling in their eyes? +It hath the form of a man! +As a huge moss-rock in a valley green, +When the light to freeze began, +Thickening with crystals of dark between, +Might look like a sleeping man. +What think ye it, brothers? I know it well. +I know by your eyes ye see it--tell. + +'Tis a poor lost soul, alack! +It was alive some ages back; +One that had wings and might have had eyes +I think I have heard that he wrote a book; +But he gathered his life up into a nook, +And perished amid his own mysteries, +Which choked him, because he had not faith, +But was proud in the midst of sayings dark +Which God had charactered on his walls; +And the light which burned up at intervals, +To be spent in reading what God saith, +He lazily trimmed it to a spark, +And then it went out, and his soul was dark. + + Is there aught between thee and me, + Soul, that art lying there? + Is any life yet left in thee, + So that thou couldst but spare + A word to reveal the mystery + Of the banished from light and air? + + Alas, O soul! thou wert once + As the soul that cries to thee! + Thou hadst thy place in the mystic dance + From the doors of the far eternity, + Issuing still with feet that glance + To the music of the free! + + Alas! O soul, to think + That thou wert made like me! + With a heart for love, and a thirst to drink + From the wells that feed the sea! + And with hands of truth to have been a link + 'Twixt mine and the parent knee; + And with eyes to pierce to the further brink + Of things I cannot see! + + Alas, alas, my brother! + To thee my heart is drawn: + My soul had been such another, + In the dark amidst the dawn! + As a child in the eyes of its mother + Dead on the flowery lawn! + + I mourn for thee, poor friend! + A spring from a cliff did drop: + To drink by the wayside God would bend, + And He found thee a broken cup! + He threw thee aside, His way to wend + Further and higher up. + + Alack! sad soul, alack! + As if I lay in thy grave, + I feel the Infinite sucking back + The individual life it gave. + Thy spring died to a pool, deep, black, + Which the sun from its pit did lave. + + Thou might'st have been one of us, + Cleaving the storm and fire; + Aspiring through faith to the glorious, + Higher and ever higher; + Till the world of storms look tremulous, + Far down, like a smitten lyre! + + A hundred years! he might + Have darted through the gloom, + Like that swift angel that crossed our flight + Where the thunder-cloud did loom, + From his upcast pinions flashing the light + Of some inward word or doom. + +It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! +Sounds no sense to its ear will bring. +Hath God forgotten it, alas! +Lost in eternity's lumber room? +Will the wave of his Spirit never pass +Over it through the insensate gloom? +It lies alone in its lifeless world, +As a frozen bud on the earth lies curled; +Sightless and soundless, without a cry, +On the flat of its own vacuity. + +Up, brothers, up! for a storm is nigh; +We will smite the wing up the steepest sky; +Through the rushing air +We will climb the stair +That to heaven from the vaults doth leap; +We will measure its height +By the strokes of our flight, +Its span by the tempest's sweep. +What matter the hail or the clashing winds! +We know by the tempest we do not lie +Dead in the pits of eternity. +Brothers, let us be strong in our minds, +Lest the storm should beat us back, +Or the treacherous calm sink from beneath our wings, +And lower us gently from our track +To the depths of forgotten things. +Up, brothers, up! 'tis the storm or we! +'Tis the storm or God for the victory! + + + + +A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. + + +THE OUTER DREAM. + +Young, as the day's first-born Titanic brood, +Lifting their foreheads jubilant to heaven, +Rose the great mountains on my opening dream. +And yet the aged peace of countless years +Reposed on every crag and precipice +Outfacing ruggedly the storms that swept +Far overhead the sheltered furrow-vales; +Which smiled abroad in green as the clouds broke +Drifting adown the tide of the wind-waves, +Till shattered on the mountain rocks. Oh! still, +And cold and hard to look upon, like men +Who do stern deeds in times of turbulence, +Quell the hail-rattle with their granite brows, +And let the thunder burst and pass away-- +They too did gather round sky-dwelling peaks +The trailing garments of the travelling sun, +Which he had lifted from his ocean-bed, +And swept along his road. They rent them down +In scattering showers upon the trees and grass, +In noontide rains with heavy ringing drops, +Or in still twilight moisture tenderly. +And from their sides were born the gladsome streams; +Some creeping gently out in tiny springs, +As they were just created, scarce a foot +From the hill's surface, in the matted roots +Of plants, whose green betrays the secret birth; +Some hurrying forth from caverns deep and dark, +Upfilling to the brim a basin huge, +Thick covered with soft moss, greening the wave, +As evermore it welled over the edge +Upon the rocks below in boiling heaps; +Fit basin for a demi-god at morn, +Waking amid the crags, to lave his limbs, +Then stride, Hyperion, o'er sun-paven peaks. +And down the hill-side sped the fresh-born wave, +Now hid from sight in arched caverns cold, +Now arrowing slantwise down the terraced steep, +Now springing like a child from step to step +Of the rough water-stair; until it found +A deep-hewn passage for its slower course, +Guiding it down to lowliness and rest, +Betwixt wet walls of darkness, darker yet +With pine trees lining all their sides like hair, +Or as their own straight needles clothe their boughs; +Until at length in broader light it ran, +With more articulate sounds amid the stones, +In the slight shadow of the maiden birch, +And the stream-loving willow; and ere long +Great blossoming trees dropt flowers upon its breast; +Chiefly the crimson-spotted, cream-white flowers, +Heaped up in cones amid cone-drooping leaves; +Green hanging leaf-cones, towering white flower-cones +Upon the great cone-fashioned chestnut tree. +Each made a tiny ripple where it fell, +The trembling pleasure of the smiling wave, +Which bore it then, in slow funereal course, +Down to the outspread sunny sheen, where lies +The lake uplooking to the far-off snow, +Its mother still, though now so far away; +Feeding it still with long descending lines +Of shining, speeding streams, that gather peace +In journeying to the rest of that still lake +Now lying sleepy in the warm red sun, +Which says its dear goodnight, and goeth down. + +All pale, and withered, and disconsolate, +The moon is looking on impatiently; +For 'twixt the shining tent-roof of the day, +And the sun-deluged lake, for mirror-floor, +Her thin pale lamping is too sadly grey +To shoot, in silver-barbed, white-plumed arrows, +Cold maiden splendours on the flashing fish: +Wait for thy empire Night, day-weary moon! +And thou shalt lord it in one realm at least, +Where two souls walk a single Paradise. +Take to thee courage, for the sun is gone; +His praisers, the glad birds, have hid their heads; +Long, ghost-like forms of trees lie on the grass; +All things are clothed in an obscuring light, +Fusing their outline in a dreamy mass; +Some faint, dim shadows from thy beauty fall +On the clear lake which melts them half away-- +Shine faster, stronger, O reviving moon! +Burn up, O lamp of Earth, hung high in Heaven! + +And through a warm thin summer mist she shines, +A silver setting to the diamond stars; +And the dark boat cleaveth a glittering way, +Where the one steady beauty of the moon +Makes many changing beauties on the wave +Broken by jewel-dropping oars, which drive +The boat, as human impulses the soul; +While, like the sovereign will, the helm's firm law +Directs the whither of the onward force. +At length midway he leaves the swaying oars +Half floating in the blue gulf underneath, +And on a load of gathered flowers reclines, +Leaving the boat to any air that blows, +His soul to any pulse from the unseen heart. +Straight from the helm a white hand gleaming flits, +And settles on his face, and nestles there, +Pale, night-belated butterfly, to sleep. +For on her knees his head lies satisfied; +And upward, downward, dark eyes look and rest, +Finding their home in likeness. Lifting then +Her hair upon her white arm heavily, +The overflowing of her beauteousness, +Her hand that cannot trespass, singles out +Some of the curls that stray across her lap; +And mingling dark locks in the pallid light, +She asks him which is darker of the twain, +Which his, which hers, and laugheth like a lute. +But now her hair, an unvexed cataract, +Falls dark and heavy round his upturned face, +And with a heaven shuts out the shallow sky, +A heaven profound, the home of two black stars; +Till, tired with gazing, face to face they lie, +Suspended, with closed eyelids, in the night; +Their bodies bathed in conscious sleepiness, +While o'er their souls creeps every rippling breath +Of the night-gambols of the moth-winged wind, +Flitting a handbreadth, folding up its wings, +Its dreamy wings, then spreading them anew, +And with an unfelt gliding, like the years, +Wafting them to a water-lily bed, +Whose shield-like leaves and chalice-bearing arms +Hold back the boat from the slow-sloping shore, +Far as a child might shoot with his toy-bow. +There the long drooping grass drooped to the wave; +And, ever as the moth-wind lit thereon, +A small-leafed tree, whose roots were always cool, +Dipped one low bow, with many sister-leaves, +Upon the water's face with a low plash, +Lifting and dipping yet and yet again; +And aye the water-drops rained from the leaves, +With music-laughter as they found their home. +And from the woods came blossom-fragrance, faint, +Or full, like rising, falling harmonies; +Luxuriance of life, which overflows +In scents ethereal on the ocean air; +Each breathing on the rest the blessedness +Of its peculiar being, filled with good +Till its cup runneth over with delight: +They drank the mingled odours as they lay, +The air in which the sensuous being breathes, +Till summer-sleep fell on their hearts and eyes. + +The night was mild and innocent of ill; +'Twas but a sleeping day that breathed low, +And babbled in its sleep. The moon at length +Grew sleepy too. Her level glances crept +Through sleeping branches to their curtained eyes, +As down the steep bank of the west she slid, +Slowly and slowly + + But alas! alas! +The awful time 'twixt moondown and sunrise! +It is a ghostly time. A low thick fog +Steamed up and swathed the trees, and overwhelmed +The floating couch with pall on pall of grey. +The sky was desolate, dull, and meaningless. +The blazing hues of the last sunset eve, +And the pale magic moonshine that had made +The common, strange,--all were swept clean away; +The earth around, the great sky over, were +Like a deserted theatre, tomb-dumb; +The lights long dead; the first sick grey of morn +Oozing through rents in the slow-mouldering curtain; +The sweet sounds fled away for evermore; +Nought left, except a creeping chill, a sense +As if dead deeds were strown upon the stage, +As if dead bodies simulated life, +And spoke dead words without informing thought. +A horror, as of power without a soul, +Dark, undefined, and mighty unto ill, +Jarred through the earth and through the vault-like air. + +And on the sleepers fell a wondrous dream, +That dured till sunrise, filling all the cells +Remotest of the throbbing heart and brain. +And as I watched them, ever and anon +The quivering limb and half-unclosčd eye +Witnessed of torture scarce endured, and yet +Endured; for still the dream had mastery, +And held them in a helplessness supine; +Till, by degrees, the labouring breath grew calm, +Save frequent murmured sighs; and o'er each face +Stole radiant sadness, and a hopeful grief; +And the convulsive motion passed away. + +Upon their faces, reading them, I gazed,-- +Reading them earnestly, like wondrous book,-- +When suddenly the vapours of the dream +Rose and enveloped me, and through my soul +Passed with possession; will fell fast asleep. +And through the portals of the spirit-land, +Upon whose frontiers time and space grow dumb, +Quenched like a cloud that all the roaring wind +Drives not beyond the mountain top, I went, +And entering, beheld them in their dream. +Their world inwrapt me for the time as mine, +And what befel them there, I saw, and tell. + + +THE INNER DREAM. + +It was a drizzly morning where I stood. +The cloud had sunk, and filled with fold on fold +The chimneyed city; so the smoke rose not, +But spread diluted in the cloud, and fell +A black precipitate on miry streets, +Where dim grey faces vision-like went by, +But half-awake, half satisfied with sleep. + +Slave engines had begun their ceaseless growl +Of labour. Iron bands and huge stone blocks +That held them to their task, strained, shook, until +The city trembled. Those pale-visaged forms +Were hastening on to feed their groaning strength +With labour to the full. + + Look! there they come, +Poor amid poverty; she with her gown +Drawn over her meek head; he trying much, +But fruitless half, to shield her from the rain. +They enter the wide gates, amid the jar, +And clash, and shudder of the awful force +That, conquering force, still vibrates on, as if +With an excess of power, hungry for work. +With differing strength to different tasks they part, +To be the soul of knowledge unto strength; +For man has eked his body out with wheels, +And cranks, and belts, and levers, pinions, screws-- +One body all, pervaded still with life +From man the maker's will. 'Mid keen-eyed men, +Thin featured and exact, his part is found; +Hers where the dusk air shines with lustrous eyes. + +And there they laboured through the murky day, +Whose air was livid mist, their only breath; +Foul floating dust of swift revolving wheels +And feathery spoil of fast contorted threads +Making a sultry chaos in the sun. +Until at length slow swelled the welcome dark, +A dull Lethean heaving tide of death, +Up from the caves of Night to make an end; +And filling every corner of the place, +Choked in its waves the clanking of the looms. +And Earth put on her sleeping dress, and took +Her children home into its bosom-folds, +And nursed them as a mother-ghost might sit +With her neglected darlings in the dark. +So with dim satisfaction in their hearts, +Though with tired feet and aching head, they went, +Parting the clinging fog to find their home. +It was a dreary place. Unfinished walls, +Far drearier than ruins overspread +With long-worn sweet forgetfulness, amidst +Earth-heaps and bricks, rain-pools and ugliness, +Rose up around, banishing further yet +The Earth, with its spring-time, young-mother smile, +From children's eyes that had forgot to play. +But though the house was dull and wrapt in fog, +It yet awoke to life, yea, cheerfulness, +When darkness oped a fire-eye in the grate, +And the dim candle's smoky flame revealed +A room which could not be all desolate, +Being a temple, proven by the signs +Seen in the ancient place. For here was light; +And blazing fire with darkness on its skirts; +Bread; and pure water, ready to make clean, +Beside a chest of holiday attire; +And in the twilight edges of the light, +A book scarce seen; and for the wondrous veil, +Those human forms, behind which lay concealed +The Holy of Holies, God's own secret place, +The lowly human heart wherein He dwells. +And by the table-altar they sat down +To eat their Eucharist, God feeding them: +Their food was Love, made visible in Form-- +Incarnate Love in food. For he to whom +A common meal can be no Eucharist, +Who thanks for food and strength, not for the love +That made cold water for its blessedness, +And wine for gladness' sake, has yet to learn +The heart-delight of inmost thankfulness +For innermost reception. + + Then they sat +Resting with silence, the soul's inward sleep, +Which feedeth it with strength; till gradually +They grew aware of light, that overcame +The light within, and through the dingy blind, +Cast from the window-frame, two shadow-glooms +That made a cross of darkness on the white, +Dark messenger of light itself unseen. +The woman rose, and half she put aside +The veil that hid the whole of glorious night; +And lo! a wind had mowed the earth-sprung fog; +And lo! on high the white exultant moon +From clear blue window curtained all with white, +Greeted them, at their shadowy window low, +With quiet smile; for two things made her glad: +One that she saw the glory of the sun; +For while the earth lay all athirst for light, +She drank the fountain-waves. The other joy; +Sprung from herself: she fought the darkness well, +Thinning the great cone-shadow of the earth, +Paling its ebon hue with radiant showers +Upon its sloping side. The woman said, +With hopeful look: "To-morrow will be bright +With sunshine for our holiday--to-morrow-- +Think! we shall see the green fields in the sun." +So with hearts hoping for a simple joy, +Yet high withal, being no less than the sun, +They laid them down in nightly death that waits +Patiently for the day. + + That sun was high +When they awoke at length. The moon, low down, +Had almost vanished, clothed upon with light; +And night was swallowed up of day. In haste, +Chiding their weariness that leagued with sleep, +They, having clothed themselves in clean attire, +By the low door, stooping with priestly hearts, +Entered God's vision-room, his wonder-world. + +One side the street, the windows all were moons +To light the other that in shadow lay. +The path was almost dry; the wind asleep. +And down the sunny side a woman came +In a red cloak that made the whole street glad-- +Fit clothing, though she was so feeble and old; +For when they stopped and asked her how she fared, +She said with cheerful words, and smile that owed +None of its sweetness to an ivory lining: +"I'm always better in the open air." +"Dear heart!" said they, "how freely she will breathe +In the open air of heaven!" She stood in the morn +Like a belated autumn-flower in spring, +Dazed by the rushing of the new-born life +Up the earth's winding cavern-stairs to see +Through window-buds the calling, waking sun. +Or as in dreams we meet the ghost of one +Beloved in youth, who walketh with few words, +And they are of the past. Yet, joy to her! +She too from earthy grave was climbing up +Unto the spirit-windows high and far, +She the new life for a celestial spring, +Answering the light that shineth evermore. + +With hopeful sadness thus they passed along +Dissolving streets towards the smiles of spring, +Of which green visions gleamed and glided by, +Across far-narrowing avenues of brick: +The ripples only of her laughter float +Through the low winding caverns of the town; +Yet not a stone upon the paven street, +But shareth in the impulse of her joy, +Heaven's life that thrills anew through the outworn earth; +Descending like the angel that did stir +Bethesda's pool, and made the sleepy wave +Pulse with quick healing through the withered limb, +In joyous pangs. By an unfinished street, +Forth came they on a wide and level space; +Green fields lay side by side, and hedgerow trees +Stood here and there as waiting for some good. +But no calm river meditated through +The weary flat to the less level sea; +No forest trees on pillared stems and boughs +Bent in great Gothic arches, bore aloft +A cloudy temple-roof of tremulous leaves; +No clear line where the kissing lips of sky +And earth meet undulating, but a haze +That hides--oh, if it hid wild waves! alas! +It hides but fields, it hides but fields and trees! +Save eastward, where a few hills, far away, +Came forth in the sun, or drew back when the clouds +Went over them, dissolving them in shade. +But the life-robe of earth was beautiful, +As all most common things are loveliest; +A forest of green waving fairy trees, +That carpeted the earth for lowly feet, +Bending unto their tread, lowliest of all +Earth's lowly children born for ministering +Unto the heavenly stranger, stately man; +That he, by subtle service from all kinds, +From every breeze and every bounding wave, +From night-sky cavernous with heaps of storm, +And from the hill rejoicing in the sun, +Might grow a humble, lowly child of God; +Lowly, as knowing his high parentage; +Humble, because all beauties wait on him, +Like lady-servants ministering for love. +And he that hath not rock, and hill, and stream, +Must learn to look for other beauty near; +To know the face of ocean solitudes, +The darkness dashed with glory, and the shades +Wind-fretted, and the mingled tints upthrown +From shallow bed, or raining from the sky. +And he that hath not ocean, and dwells low, +Not hill-befriended, if his eyes have ceased +To drink enjoyment from the billowy grass, +And from the road-side flower (like one who dwells +With homely features round him every day, +And so takes refuge in the loving eyes +Which are their heaven, the dwelling-place of light), +Must straightway lift his eyes unto the heavens, +Like God's great palette, where His artist hand +Never can strike the brush, but beauty wakes; +Vast sweepy comet-curves, that net the soul +In pleasure; endless sky-stairs; patient clouds, +White till they blush at the sun's goodnight kiss; +And filmy pallours, and great mountain crags. +But beyond all, absorbing all the rest, +Lies the great heaven, the expression of deep space, +Foreshortened to a vaulted dome of blue; +The Infinite, crowded in a single glance, +Where yet the eye descends depth within depth; +Like mystery of Truth, clothed in high form, +Evasive, spiritual, no limiting, +But something that denies an end, and yet +Can be beheld by wondering human eyes. +There looking up, one well may feel how vain +To search for God in this vast wilderness! +For over him would arch void depth for ever; +Nor ever would he find a God or Heaven, +Though lifting wings were his to soar abroad +Through boundless heights of space; or eyes to dive +To microscopic depths: he would come back, +And say, _There is no God;_ and sit and weep; +Till in his heart a child's voice woke and cried, +_Father! my Father!_ Then the face of God +Breaks forth with eyes, everywhere, suddenly +And not a space of blue, nor floating cloud, +Nor grassy vale, nor distant purple height, +But, trembling with a presence all divine, +Says, _Here I am, my child._ + + Gazing awhile, +They let the lesson of the sky sink deep +Into their hearts; withdrawing then their eyes, +They knew the Earth again. And as they went, +Oft in the changing heavens, those distant hills +Shone clear upon the horizon. Then awoke +A strange and unknown longing in their souls, +As if for something loved in years gone by, +And vanished in its beauty and its love +So long, that it retained no name or form, +And lay on childhood's verge, all but forgot, +Wrapt in the enchanted rose-mists of that land: +As if amidst those hills were wooded dells, +Summer, and gentle winds, and odours free, +Deep sleeping waters, gorgeous flowers, and birds, +Pure winged throats. But here, all things around +Were in their spring. The very light that lay +Upon the grass seemed new-born like the grass, +Sprung with it from the earth. The very stones +Looked warm. The brown ploughed earth seemed swelling up, +Filled like a sponge with sunbeams, which lay still, +Nestling unseen, and broodingly, and warm, +In every little nest, corner, or crack, +Wherein might hide a blind and sleepy seed, +Waiting the touch of penetrative life +To wake, and grow, and beautify the earth. +The mossy stems and boughs, where yet no life +Exuberant overflowed in buds and leaves, +Were clothed in golden splendours, interwoven +With many shadows from the branches bare. +And through their tops the west wind rushing went, +Calling aloud the sleeping sap within: +The thrill passed downwards from the roots in air +To the roots tremulous in the embracing ground. +And though no buds with little dots of light +Sparkled the darkness of the hedgerow twigs; +Softening, expanding in the warm light-bath, +Seemed the dry smoky bark. + + Thus in the fields +They spent their holiday. And when the sun +Was near the going down, they turned them home +With strengthened hearts. For they were filled with light, +And with the spring; and, like the bees, went back +To their dark house, laden with blessed sights, +With gladsome sounds home to their treasure-cave; +Where henceforth sudden gleams of spring would pass +Thorough the four-walled darkness of the room; +And sounds of spring-time whisper trembling by, +Though stony streets with iron echoed round. +And as they crossed a field, they came by chance +Upon a place where once a home had been; +Fragments of ruined walls, half-overgrown +With moss, for even stones had their green robe. +It had been a small cottage, with a plot +Of garden-ground in front, mapped out with walks +Now scarce discernible, but that the grass +Was thinner, the ground harder to the foot: +The place was simply shadowed with an old +Almost erased human carefulness. +Close by the ruined wall, where once had been +The door dividing it from the great world, +Making it _home_, a single snowdrop grew. +'Twas the sole remnant of a family +Of flowers that in this garden once had dwelt, +Vanished with all their hues of glowing life, +Save one too white for death. + + And as its form +Arose within the brain, a feeling sprung +Up in their souls, new, white, and delicate; +A waiting, longing, patient hopefulness, +The snowdrop of the heart. The heavenly child, +Pale with the earthly cold, hung its meek head, +Enduring all, and so victorious; +The Summer's earnest in the waking Earth, +The spirit's in the heart. + + I love thee, flower, +With a love almost human, tenderly; +The Spring's first child, yea, thine, my hoping heart! +Upon thy inner leaves and in thy heart, +Enough of green to tell thou know'st the grass; +In thy white mind remembering lowly friends; +But most I love thee for that little stain +Of earth on thy transfigured radiancy, +Which thou hast lifted with thee from thy grave, +The soiling of thy garments on thy road, +Travelling forth into the light and air, +The heaven of thy pure rest. Some gentle rain +Will surely wash thee white, and send the earth +Back to the place of earth; but now it signs +Thee child of earth, of human birth as we. + +With careful hands uprooting it, they bore +The little plant a willing captive home; +Willing to enter dark abodes, secure +In its own tale of light. As once of old, +Bearing all heaven in words of promising, +The Angel of the Annunciation came, +It carried all the spring into that house; +A pot of mould its only tie to Earth, +Its heaven an ell of blue 'twixt chimney-tops, +Its world henceforth that little, low-ceiled room, +Symbol and child of spring, it took its place +'Midst all those types, to be a type with them, +Of what so many feel, not knowing it; +The hidden springtime that is drawing nigh. +And henceforth, when the shadow of the cross +Will enter, clothed in moonlight, still and dark, +The flower will nestle at its foot till day, +Pale, drooping, heart-content. + + To rest they went. +And all night long the snowdrop glimmered white +Amid the dark, unconscious and unseen. + +Before the sun had crowned his eastern hill +With its world-diadem, they woke. + + I looked +Out of the windows of the inner dream, +And saw the edge of the sun's glory rise +Eastward behind the hills, the lake-cup's rim. +And as it came, it sucked up in itself, +As deeds drink words, or daylight candle-flame, +That other sun rising to light the dream. +They lay awake and thoughtful, comforted +With yesterday which nested in their hearts, +Yet haunted with the sound of grinding wheels. + + +THE OUTER DREAM. + +And as they lay and looked into the room, +It wavered, changed, dissolved beneath the sun, +Which mingled both the mornings in their eyes, +Till the true conquered, and the unreal passed. +No walls, but woods bathed in a level sun; +No ceiling, but the vestal sky of morn; +No bed, but flowers floating 'mid floating leaves +On water which grew audible as they stirred +And lifted up their heads. And a low wind +That flowed from out the west, washed from their eye +The last films of the dream. And they sat up, +Silent for one long cool delicious breath, +Gazing upon each other lost and found, +With a dumb ecstasy, new, undefined. +Followed a long embrace, and then the oars +Broke up their prison-bands. + + And through the woods +They slowly went, beneath a firmament +Of boughs, and clouded leaves, filmy and pale +In the sunshine, but shadowy on the grass. +And roving odours met them on their way, +Sun-quickened odours, which the fog had slain. +And their green sky had many a blossom-moon, +And constellations thick with starry flowers. +And deep and still were all the woods, except +For the Memnonian, glory-stricken birds; +And golden beetles 'mid the shadowy roots, +Green goblins of the grass, and mining mice; +And on the leaves the fairy butterflies, +Or doubting in the air, scarlet and blue. +The divine depth of summer clasped the Earth. + +But 'twixt their hearts and summer's perfectness +Came a dividing thought that seemed to say: +"_Ye wear strange looks._" Did summer speak, or they? +They said within: "We know that ye are fair, +Bright flowers; but ye shine far away, as in +A land of other thoughts. Alas! alas! + +"Where shall we find the snowdrop-bell half-blown? +What shall we do? we feel the throbbing spring +Bursting in new and unexpressive thoughts; +Our hearts are swelling like a tied-up bud, +And summer crushes them with too much light. +Action is bubbling up within our souls; +The woods oppress us more than stony streets; +That was the life indeed; this is the dream; +Summer is too complete for growing hearts; +They need a broken season, and a land +With shadows pointing ever far away; +Where incompleteness rouses longing thoughts +With spires abrupt, and broken spheres, and circles +Cut that they may be widened evermore: +Through shattered cloudy roof, looks in the sky, +A discord from a loftier harmony; +And tempests waken peace within our thoughts, +Driving them inward to the inmost rest. +Come, my beloved, we will haste and go +To those pale faces of our fellow men; +Our loving hearts, burning with summer-fire, +Will cast a glow upon their pallidness; +Our hands will help them, far as servants may; +Hands are apostles still to saviour-hearts. +So we may share their blessedness with them; +So may the snowdrop time be likewise ours; +And Earth smile tearfully the spirit smile +Wherewith she smiled upon our holiday, +As a sweet child may laugh with weeping eyes. +If ever we return, these glorious flowers +May all be snowdrops of a higher spring." +Their eyes one moment met, and then they knew +That they did mean the same thing in their hearts. +So with no farther words they turned and went +Back to the boat, and so across the mere. + +I wake from out my dream, and know my room, +My darling books, the cherub forms above; +I know 'tis springtime in the world without; +I feel it springtime in my world within; +I know that bending o'er an early flower, +Crocus, or primrose, or anemone, +The heart that striveth for a higher life, +And hath not yet been conquered, findeth there +A beauty deep, unshared by any rose, +A human loveliness about the flower; +That a heath-bell upon a lonely waste +Hath more than scarlet splendour on thick leaves; +That a blue opening 'midst rain-bosomed clouds +Is more than Paphian sun-set harmonies; +That higher beauty dwells on earth, because +Man seeks a higher home than Paradise; +And, having lost, is roused thereby to fill +A deeper need than could be filled by all +The lost ten times restored; and so he loves +The snowdrop more than the magnolia; +Spring-hope is more to him than summer-joy; +Dark towns than Eden-groves with rivers four. + + + + +AFTER AN OLD LEGEND. + + +The monk was praying in his cell, + And he did pray full sore; +He had been praying on his knees + For two long hours and more. + +And in the midst, and suddenly, + He felt his eyes ope wide; +And he lifted not his head, but saw + A man's feet him beside. + +And almost to his feet there reached + A garment strangely knit; +Some woman's fingers, ages agone, + Had trembled, in making it. + +The monk's eyes went up the garment, + Until a hand they spied; +A cut from a chisel was on it, + And another scar beside. + +Then his eyes sprang to the face + With a single thirsty bound; +'Twas He, and he nigh had fainted; + His eyes had the Master found. + +On his ear fell the convent bell, + That told him the poor did wait +For his hand to divide the daily bread, + All at the convent-gate. + +And a storm of thoughts within him + Blew hither and thither long; +And the bell kept calling all the time + With its iron merciless tongue. + +He looked in the Master's eyes, + And he sprang to his feet in strength: +"Though I find him not when I come back, + I shall find him the more at length." + +He went, and he fed the poor, + All at the convent-gate; +And like one bereft, with heavy feet + Went back to be desolate. + +He stood by the door, unwilling + To see the cell so bare; +He opened the door, and lo! + The Master was standing there. + +"I have waited for thee, because + The poor had not to wait; +And I stood beside thee all the time, + In the crowd at the convent-gate." + + * * * * * + +But it seems to me, though the story + Sayeth no word of this, +If the monk had stayed, the Lord would have stayed, + Nor crushed that heart of his. + +For out of the far-off times + A word sounds tenderly: +"The poor ye have always with you, + And ye have not always me." + + + + +THE TREE'S PRAYER. + + +Alas! 'tis cold and dark; +The wind all night has sung a wintry tune; +Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon +Has beat against my bark. + +Oh! when will it be spring? +The sap moves not within my withered veins; +Through all my frozen roots creep numbing pains, +That they can hardly cling. + +The sun shone out last morn; +I felt the warmth through every fibre float; +I thought I heard a thrush's piping note, +Of hope and sadness born. + +Then came the sea-cloud driven; +The tempest hissed through all my outstretched boughs, +Hither and thither tossed me in its snows, +Beneath the joyless heaven. + +O for the sunny leaves! +Almost I have forgot the breath of June! +Forgot the feathery light-flakes from the moon! +The praying summer-eves! + +O for the joyous birds, +Which are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! +O for the billowy odours, and the bees +Abroad in scattered herds! + +The blessing of cool showers! +The gratefulness that thrills through every shoot! +The children playing round my deep-sunk root, +Shadowed in hot noon hours! + +Alas! the cold clear dawn +Through the bare lattice-work of twigs around! +Another weary day of moaning sound +On the thin-shadowed lawn! + +Yet winter's noon is past: +I'll stretch my arms all night into the wind, +Endure all day the chill air and unkind; +My leaves _will_ come at last. + + + + +A STORY OF THE SEA-SHORE. + + +INTRODUCTION. + +I sought the long clear twilights of the North, +When, from its nest of trees, my father's house +Sees the Aurora deepen into dawn +Far northward in the East, o'er the hill-top; +And fronts the splendours of the northern West, +Where sunset dies into that ghostly gleam +That round the horizon creepeth all the night +Back to the jubilance of gracious morn. +I found my home in homeliness unchanged; +For love that maketh home, unchangeable, +Received me to the rights of sonship still. +O vaulted summer-heaven, borne on the hills! +Once more thou didst embrace me, whom, a child, +Thy drooping fulness nourished into joy. +Once more the valley, pictured forth with sighs, +Rose on my present vision, and, behold! +In nothing had the dream bemocked the truth: +The waters ran as garrulous as before; +The wild flowers crowded round my welcome feet; +The hills arose and dwelt alone in heaven; +And all had learned new tales against I came. +Once more I trod the well-known fields with him +Whose fatherhood had made me search for God's; +And it was old and new like the wild flowers, +The waters, and the hills, but dearer far. + +Once on a day, my cousin Frank and I, +Drove on a seaward road the dear white mare +Which oft had borne me to the lonely hills. +Beside me sat a maiden, on whose face +I had not looked since we were boy and girl; +But the old friendship straightway bloomed anew. +The heavens were sunny, and the earth was green; +The harebells large, and oh! so plentiful; +While butterflies, as blue as they, danced on, +Borne purposeless on pulses of clear joy, +In sportive time to their Aeolian clang. +That day as we talked on without restraint, +Brought near by memories of days that were, +And therefore are for ever--by the joy +Of motion through a warm and shining air, +By the glad sense of freedom and like thoughts, +And by the bond of friendship with the dead, +She told the tale which I would mould anew +To a more lasting form of utterance. + +For I had wandered back to childish years; +And asked her if she knew a ruin old, +Whose masonry, descending to the waves, +Faced up the sea-cliff at whose rocky feet +The billows fell and died along the coast. +'Twas one of my child marvels. For, each year, +We turned our backs upon the ripening corn, +And sought the borders of the desert sea. +O joy of waters! mingled with the fear +Of a blind force that knew not what to do, +But spent its strength of waves in lashing aye +The rocks which laughed them into foam and flight. + +But oh, the varied riches of that port! +For almost to the beach, but that a wall +Inclosed them, reached the gardens of a lord, +His shady walks, his ancient trees of state; +His river, which, with course indefinite, +Wandered across the sands without the wall, +And lost itself in finding out the sea: +Within, it floated swans, white splendours; lay +Beneath the fairy leap of a wire bridge; +Vanished and reappeared amid the shades, +And led you where the peacock's plumy heaven +Bore azure suns with green and golden rays. +Ah! here the skies showed higher, and the clouds +More summer-gracious, filled with stranger shapes; +And when they rained, it was a golden rain +That sparkled as it fell, an odorous rain. + +But there was one dream-spot--my tale must wait +Until I tell the wonder of that spot. +It was a little room, built somehow--how +I do not know--against a steep hill-side, +Whose top was with a circular temple crowned, +Seen from far waves when winds were off the shore-- +So that, beclouded, ever in the night +Of a luxuriant ivy, its low door, +Half-filled with rainbow hues of deep-stained glass, +Appeared to open right into the hill. +Never to sesame of mine that door +Yielded that room; but through one undyed pane, +Gazing with reverent curiosity, +I saw a little chamber, round and high, +Which but to see, was to escape the heat, +And bathe in coolness of the eye and brain; +For it was dark and green. Upon one side +A window, unperceived from without, +Blocked up by ivy manifold, whose leaves, +Like crowded heads of gazers, row on row, +Climbed to the top; and all the light that came +Through the thick veil was green, oh, kindest hue! +But in the midst, the wonder of the place, +Against the back-ground of the ivy bossed, +On a low column stood, white, pure, and still, +A woman-form in marble, cold and clear. +I know not what it was; it may have been +A Silence, or an Echo fainter still; +But that form yet, if form it can be called, +So undefined and pale, gleams vision-like +In the lone treasure-chamber of my soul, +Surrounded with its mystic temple dark. + +Then came the thought, too joyous to keep joy, +Turning to very sadness for relief: +To sit and dream through long hot summer days, +Shrouded in coolness and sea-murmurings, +Forgot by all till twilight shades grew dark; +And read and read in the Arabian Nights, +Till all the beautiful grew possible; +And then when I had read them every one, +To find behind the door, against the wall, +Old volumes, full of tales, such as in dreams +One finds in bookshops strange, in tortuous streets; +Beside me, over me, soul of the place, +Filling the gloom with calm delirium, +That wondrous woman-statue evermore, +White, radiant; fading, as the darkness grew, +Into a ghostly pallour, that put on, +To staring eyes, a vague and shifting form. + +But the old castle on the shattered shore-- +Not the green refuge from the summer heat-- +Drew forth our talk that day. For, as I said, +I asked her if she knew it. She replied, +"I know it well;" and added instantly: +"A woman used to live, my mother tells, +In one of its low vaults, so near the sea, +That in high tides and northern winds it was +No more a castle-vault, but a sea-cave!" +"I found there," I replied, "a turret stair +Leading from level of the ground above +Down to a vault, whence, through an opening square, +Half window and half loophole, you look forth +Wide o'er the sea; but the dim-sounding waves +Are many feet beneath, and shrunk in size +To a great ripple. I could tell you now +A tale I made about a little girl, +Dark-eyed and pale, with long seaweed-like hair, +Who haunts that room, and, gazing o'er the deep, +Calls it her mother, with a childish glee, +Because she knew no other." "This," said she, +"Was not a child, but woman almost old, +Whose coal-black hair had partly turned to grey, +With sorrow and with madness; and she dwelt, +Not in that room high on the cliff, but down, +Low down within the margin of spring tides." +And then she told me all she knew of her, +As we drove onward through the sunny day. +It was a simple tale, with few, few facts; +A life that clomb one mountain and looked forth; +Then sudden sank to a low dreary plain, +And wandered ever in the sound of waves, +Till fear and fascination overcame, +And led her trembling into life and joy. +Alas! how many such are told by night, +In fisher-cottages along the shore! + +Farewell, old summer-day; I lay you by, +To tell my story, and the thoughts that rise +Within a heart that never dared believe +A life was at the mercy of a sea. + + +THE STORY. + +Aye as it listeth blows the listless wind, +Filling great sails, and bending lordly masts, +Or making billows in the green corn fields, +And hunting lazy clouds across the blue: +Now, like a vapour o'er the sunny sea, +It blows the vessel from the harbour's mouth, +Out 'mid the broken crests of seaward waves, +And hovering of long-pinioned ocean birds, +As if the white wave-spots had taken wing. +But though all space is full of spots of white, +The sailor sees the little handkerchief +That flutters still, though wet with heavy tears +Which draw it earthward from the sunny wind. +Blow, wind! draw out the cord that binds the twain, +And breaks not, though outlengthened till the maid +Can only say, _I know he is not here._ +Blow, wind! yet gently; gently blow, O wind! +And let love's vision slowly, gently die; +And the dim sails pass ghost-like o'er the deep, +Lingering a little o'er the vanished hull, +With a white farewell to the straining eyes. +For never more in morning's level beam, +Will the wide wings of her sea-shadowing sails +From the green-billowed east come dancing in; +Nor ever, gliding home beneath the stars, +With a faint darkness o'er the fainter sea, +Will she, the ocean-swimmer, send a cry +Of home-come sailors, that shall wake the streets +With sudden pantings of dream-scaring joy. +Blow gently, wind! blow slowly, gentle wind! + +Weep not, oh maiden! tis not time to weep; +Torment not thou thyself before thy time; +The hour will come when thou wilt need thy tears +To cool the burning of thy desert brain. +Go to thy work; break into song sometimes, +To die away forgotten in the lapse +Of dreamy thought, ere natural pause ensue; +Oft in the day thy time-outspeeding heart, +Sending thy ready eye to scout the east, +Like child that wearies of her mother's pace, +And runs before, and yet perforce must wait. + +The time drew nigh. Oft turning from her work, +With bare arms and uncovered head she clomb +The landward slope of the prophetic hill; +From whose green head, as on the verge of time, +Seer-like she gazed, shading her hope-rapt eyes +From the bewilderment of work-day light, +Far out on the eternity of waves; +If from the Hades of the nether world +Her prayers might draw the climbing skyey sails +Up o'er the threshold of the horizon line; +For when he came she was to be his wife, +And celebrate with rites of church and home +The apotheosis of maidenhood. + +Time passed. The shadow of a fear that hung +Far off upon the horizon of her soul, +Drew near with deepening gloom and clearing form, +Till it o'erspread and filled her atmosphere, +And lost all shape, because it filled all space, +Reaching beyond the bounds of consciousness; +But ever in swift incarnations darting +Forth from its infinite a stony stare, +A blank abyss, an awful emptiness. +Ah, God! why are our souls, lone helpless seas, +Tortured with such immitigable storm? +What is this love, that now on angel wing +Sweeps us amid the stars in passionate calm; +And now with demon arms fast cincturing, +Drops us, through all gyrations of keen pain, +Down the black vortex, till the giddy whirl +Gives fainting respite to the ghastly brain? +Not these the maiden's questions. Comes he yet? +Or am I widowed ere my wedding day? + +Ah! ranged along our shores, on peak or cliff, +Or stone-ribbed promontory, or pier head, +Maidens have aye been standing; the same pain +Deadening the heart-throb; the same gathering mist +Dimming the eye that would be keen as death; +The same fixed longing on the changeless face. +Over the edge he vanished--came no more: +There, as in childhood's dreams, upon that line, +Without a parapet to shield the sense, +Voidness went sheer down to oblivion: +Over that edge he vanished--came no more. + +O happy those for whom the Possible +Opens its gates of madness, and becomes +The Real around them! those to whom henceforth +There is but one to-morrow, the next morn, +Their wedding day, ever one step removed; +The husband's foot ever upon the verge +Of the day's threshold; whiteness aye, and flowers, +Ready to meet him, ever in a dream! +But faith and expectation conquer still; +And so her morrow comes at last, and leads +The death-pale maiden-ghost, dazzled, confused, +Into the land whose shadows fall on ours, +And are our dreams of too deep blessedness. +May not some madness be a kind of faith? +Shall not the Possible become the Real? +Lives not the God who hath created dreams? +So stand we questioning upon the shore, +And gazing hopeful towards the Unrevealed. + +Long looked the maiden, till the visible +Half vanished from her eyes; the earth had ceased +That lay behind her, and the sea was all; +Except the narrow shore, which yet gave room +For her sea-haunting feet; where solid land, +Where rocks and hills stopped, frighted, suddenly, +And earth flowed henceforth on in trembling waves, +A featureless, a half re-molten world, +Halfway to the Unseen; the Invisible +Half seen in the condensed and flowing sky +Which lay so grimly smooth before her eyes +And brain and shrinking soul; where power of man +Could never heap up moles or pyramids, +Or dig a valley in the unstable gulf +Fighting for aye to make invisible, +To swallow up, and keep her smooth blue smile +Unwrinkled and unspotted with the land; +Not all the changes on the restless wave, +Saving it from a still monotony, +Whose only utterance was a dreary song +Of stifled wailing on the shrinking shore. + +Such frenzy slow invaded the poor girl. +Not hers the hovering sense of marriage bells +Tuning the air with fragrance of sweet sound; +But the low dirge that ever rose and died, +Recurring without pause or any close, +Like one verse chaunted aye in sleepless brain. +Down to the shore it drew her from the heights, +Like witch's demon-spell, that fearful moan. +She knew that somewhere in the green abyss +His body swung in curves of watery force, +Now in a circle slow revolved, and now +Swaying like wind-swung bell, when surface waves +Sank their roots deep enough to reach the waif, +Hither and thither, idly to and fro, +Wandering unheeding through the heedless sea. +A kind of fascination seized her brain, +And drew her onward to the ridgy rocks +That ran a little way into the deep, +Like questions asked of Fate by longing hearts, +Bound which the eternal ocean breaks in sighs. +Along their flats, and furrows, and jagged backs, +Out to the lonely point where the green mass +Arose and sank, heaved slow and forceful, she +Went; and recoiled in terror; ever drawn, +Ever repelled, with inward shuddering +At the great, heartless, miserable depth. +She thought the ocean lay in wait for her, +Enticing her with horror's glittering eye, +And with the hope that in an hour sure fixed +In some far century, aeons remote, +She, conscious still of love, despite the sea, +Should, in the washing of perennial waves, +Sweep o'er some stray bone, or transformed dust +Of him who loved her on this happy earth, +Known by a dreamy thrill in thawing nerves. +For so the fragments of wild songs she sung +Betokened, as she sat and watched the tide, +Till, as it slowly grew, it touched her feet; +When terror overcame--she rose and fled +Towards the shore with fear-bewildered eye; +And, stumbling on the rocks with hasty steps, +Cried, "They are coming, coming at my heels." + +Perhaps like this the songs she used to wail +In the rough northern tongue of Aberdeen:-- + + Ye'll hae me yet, ye'll hae me yet, + Sae lang an' braid, an' never a hame! + Its nae the depth I fear a bit, + But oh, the wideness, aye the same! + + The jaws[1] come up, wi' eerie bark; + Cryin' I'm creepy, cauld, an' green; + Come doon, come doon, he's lyin' stark, + Come doon an' steek his glowerin' een. + + Syne wisht! they haud their weary roar, + An' slide awa', an' I grow sleepy: + Or lang, they're up aboot my door, + Yowlin', I'm cauld, an' weet, an' creepy! + + O dool, dool! ye are like the tide-- + Ye mak' a feint awa' to gang; + But lang awa' ye winna bide,-- + An' better greet than aye think lang. + +[Footnote 1: Jaws: _English_, breakers.] + +Where'er she fled, the same voice followed her; +Whisperings innumerable of water-drops +Growing together to a giant voice; +That sometimes in hoarse, rushing undertones, +Sometimes in thunderous peals of billowy shouts, +Called after her to come, and make no stay. +From the dim mists that brooded seaward far, +And from the lonely tossings of the waves, +Where rose and fell the raving wilderness, +Voices, pursuing arms, and beckoning hands, +Reached shorewards from the shuddering mystery. +Then sometimes uplift, on a rocky peak, +A lonely form betwixt the sea and sky, +Watchers on shore beheld her fling wild arms +High o'er her head in tossings like the waves; +Then fix them, with clasped hands of prayer intense, +Forward, appealing to the bitter sea. +Then sudden from her shoulders she would tear +Her garments, one by one, and cast them far +Into the roarings of the heedless surge, +A vain oblation to the hungry waves. +Such she did mean it; and her pitying friends +Clothed her in vain--their gifts did bribe the sea. +But such a fire was burning in her brain, +The cold wind lapped her, and the sleet-like spray +Flashed, all unheeded, on her tawny skin. +As oft she brought her food and flung it far, +Reserving scarce a morsel for her need-- +Flung it--with naked arms, and streaming hair +Floating like sea-weed on the tide of wind, +Coal-black and lustreless--to feed the sea. +But after each poor sacrifice, despair, +Like the returning wave that bore it far, +Rushed surging back upon her sickening heart; +While evermore she moaned, low-voiced, between-- +Half-muttered and half-moaned: "Ye'll hae me yet; +Ye'll ne'er be saired, till ye hae ta'en mysel'." + +And as the night grew thick upon the sea, +Quenching it all, except its voice of storm; +Blotting it from the region of the eye, +Though still it tossed within the haunted brain, +Entering by the portals of the ears,-- +She step by step withdrew; like dreaming man, +Who, power of motion all but paralysed, +With an eternity of slowness, drags +His earth-bound, lead-like, irresponsive feet +Back from a living corpse's staring eyes; +Till on the narrow beach she turned her round. +Then, clothed in all the might of the Unseen, +Terror grew ghostly; and she shrieked and fled +Up to the battered base of the old tower, +And round the rock, and through the arched gap, +Cleaving the blackness of the vault within; +Then sank upon the sand, and gasped, and raved. +This was her secret chamber, this her place +Of refuge from the outstretched demon-deep, +All eye and voice for her, Argus more dread +Than he with hundred lidless watching orbs. +There, cowering in a nook, she sat all night, +Her eyes fixed on the entrance of the cave, +Through which a pale light shimmered from the sea, +Until she slept, and saw the sea in dreams. +Except in stormy nights, when all was dark, +And the wild tempest swept with slanting wing +Against her refuge; and the heavy spray +Shot through the doorway serpentine cold arms +To seize the fore-doomed morsel of the sea: +Then she slept never; and she would have died, +But that she evermore was stung to life +By new sea-terrors. Sometimes the sea-gull +With clanging pinions darted through the arch, +And flapped them round her face; sometimes a wave, +If tides were high and winds from off the sea, +Rushed through the door, and in its watery mesh +Clasped her waist-high, then out again to sea! +Out to the devilish laughter and the fog! +While she clung screaming to the bare rock-wall; +Then sat unmoving, till the low grey dawn +Grew on the misty dance of spouting waves, +That mixed the grey with white; picture one-hued, +Seen in the framework of the arched door: +Then the old fascination drew her out, +Till, wrapt in misty spray, moveless she stood +Upon the border of the dawning sea. + +And yet she had a chamber in her soul, +The innermost of all, a quiet place; +But which she could not enter for the love +That kept her out for ever in the storm. +Could she have entered, all had been as still +As summer evening, or a mother's arms; +And she had found her lost love sleeping there. +Thou too hast such a chamber, quiet place, +Where God is waiting for thee. Is it gain, +Or the confused murmur of the sea +Of human voices on the rocks of fame, +That will not let thee enter? Is it care +For the provision of the unborn day, +As if thou wert a God that must foresee, +Lest his great sun should chance forget to rise? +Or pride that thou art some one in the world, +And men must bow before thee? Oh! go mad +For love of some one lost; for some old voice +Which first thou madest sing, and after sob; +Some heart thou foundest rich, and leftest bare, +Choking its well of faith with thy false deeds; +Not like thy God, who keeps the better wine +Until the last, and, if He giveth grief, +Giveth it first, and ends the tale with joy. +Madness is nearer God than thou: go mad, +And be ennobled far above thyself. +Her brain was ill, her heart was well: she loved. +It was the unbroken cord between the twain +That drew her ever to the ocean marge; +Though to her feverous phantasy, unfit, +'Mid the tumultuous brood of shapes distort, +To see one simple form, it was the fear +Of fixed destiny, unavoidable, +And not the longing for the well-known face, +That drew her, drew her to the urgent sea. +Better to die, better to rave for love, +Than to recover with sick sneering heart. + +Or, if that thou art noble, in some hour, +Maddened with thoughts of that which could not be, +Thou mightst have yielded to the burning wind, +That swept in tempest through thy scorching brain, +And rushed into the thick cold night of the earth, +And clamoured to the waves and beat the rocks; +And never found the way back to the seat +Of conscious rule, and power to bear thy pain; +But God had made thee stronger to endure +For other ends, beyond thy present choice: +Wilt thou not own her story a fit theme +For poet's tale? in her most frantic mood, +Not call the maniac _sister_, tenderly? +For she went mad for love and not for gold. +And in the faded form, whose eyes, like suns +Too fierce for freshness and for dewy bloom, +Have parched and paled the hues of tender spring, +Cannot thy love unmask a youthful shape +Deformed by tempests of the soul and sea, +Fit to remind thee of a story old +Which God has in his keeping--of thyself? + +But God forgets not men because they sleep. +The darkness lasts all night and clears the eyes; +Then comes the morning and the joy of light. +O surely madness hideth not from Him; +Nor doth a soul cease to be beautiful +In His sight, when its beauty is withdrawn, +And hid by pale eclipse from human eyes. +Surely as snow is friendly to the spring, +A madness may be friendly to the soul, +And shield it from a more enduring loss, +From the ice-spears of a heart-reaching frost. +So, after years, the winter of her life, +Came the sure spring to her men had forgot, +Closing the rent links of the social chain, +And leaving her outside their charmed ring. +Into the chill wind and the howling night, +God sent out for her, and she entered in +Where there was no more sea. What messengers +Ran from the door of love-contented heaven, +To lead her towards the real ideal home? +The sea, her terror, and the wintry wind. +For, on a morn of sunshine, while the wind +Yet blew, and heaved yet the billowy sea +With memories of the night of deep unrest, +They found her in a basin of the rocks, +Which, buried in a firmament of sea +When ocean winds heap up the tidal waves, +Yet, in the respiration of the surge, +Lifts clear its edge of rock, full to the brim +With deep, clear, resting water, plentiful. +There, in the blessedness of sleep, which God +Gives his beloved, she lay drowned and still. +O life of love, conquered at last by fate! +O life raised from the dead by Saviour Death! +O love unconquered and invincible! +The sea had cooled the burning of that brain; +Had laid to rest those limbs so fever-tense, +That scarce relaxed in sleep; and now she lies +Sleeping the sleep that follows after pain. +'Twas one night more of agony and fear, +Of shrinking from the onset of the sea; +One cry of desolation, when her fear +Became a fact, and then,--God knows the rest. +O cure of all our miseries--_God knows!_ + +O thou whose feet tread ever the wet sands +And howling rocks along the wearing shore, +Roaming the confines of the endless sea! +Strain not thine eyes across, bedimmed with tears; +No sail comes back across that tender line. +Turn thee unto thy work, let God alone; +He will do his part. Then across the waves +Will float faint whispers from the better land, +Veiled in the dust of waters we call storms, +To thine averted ears. Do thou thy work, +And thou shalt follow; follow, and find thine own. + +O thou who liv'st in fear of the _To come!_ +Around whose house the storm of terror breaks +All night; to whose love-sharpened ear, all day, +The Invisible is calling at thy door, +To render up that which thou can'st not keep, +Be it a life or love! Open thy door, +And carry forth thy dead unto the marge +Of the great sea; bear it into the flood, +Braving the cold that creepeth to thy heart, +And lay thy coffin as an ark of hope +Upon the billows of the infinite sea. +Give God thy dead to keep: so float it back, +With sighs and prayers to waft it through the dark, +Back to the spring of life. Say--"It is dead, +But thou, the life of life, art yet alive, +And thou can'st give the dead its dear old life, +With new abundance perfecting the old. +God, see my sadness; feel it in thyself." + +Ah God! the earth is full of cries and moans, +And dull despair, that neither moans nor cries; +Thousands of hearts are waiting the last day, +For what they know not, but with hope of change, +Of resurrection, or of dreamless death. +Raise thou the buried dead of springs gone by +In maidens' bosoms; raise the autumn fruits +Of old men feebly mournful o'er the life +Which scarce hath memory but the mournfulness. +There is no Past with thee: bring back once more +The summer eves of lovers, over which +The wintry wind that raveth through the world +Heaps wretched leaves, half tombed in ghastly snow; +Bring back the mother-heaven of orphans lone, +The brother's and the sister's faithfulness; +Bring forth the kingdom of the Son of Man. + +They troop around me, children wildly crying; +Women with faded eyes, all spent of tears; +Men who have lived for love, yet lived alone; +And worse than so, whose grief cannot be said. +O God, thou hast a work to do indeed +To save these hearts of thine with full content, +Except thou give them Lethe's stream to drink, +And that, my God, were all unworthy thee. + +Dome up, O Heaven! yet higher o'er my head; +Back, back, horizon! widen out my world; +Rush in, O infinite sea of the Unknown! +For, though he slay me, I will trust in God. + + + + +MY HEART. + + +I heard, in darkness, on my bed, + The beating of my heart +To servant feet and regnant head + A common life impart, +By the liquid cords, in every thread + Unbroken as they start. + +Night, with its power to silence day, + Filled up my lonely room; +All motion quenching, save what lay + Beyond its passing doom, +Where in his shed the workman gay + Went on despite the gloom. + +I listened, and I knew the sound, + And the trade that he was plying; +For backwards, forwards, bound and bound, + 'Twas a shuttle, flying, flying; +Weaving ever life's garment round, + Till the weft go out with sighing. + +I said, O mystic thing, thou goest + On working in the dark; +In space's shoreless sea thou rowest, + Concealed within thy bark; +All wondrous things thou, wonder, showest, + Yet dost not any mark. + +For all the world is woven by thee, + Besides this fleshly dress; +With earth and sky thou clothest me, + Form, distance, loftiness; +A globe of glory spouting free + Around the visionless. + +For when thy busy efforts fail, + And thy shuttle moveless lies, +They will fall from me, like a veil + From before a lady's eyes; +As a night-perused, just-finished tale + In the new daylight dies. + +But not alone dost thou unroll + The mountains, fields, and seas, +A mighty, wonder-painted scroll, + Like the Patmos mysteries; +Thou mediator 'twixt my soul + And higher things than these. + +In holy ephod clothing me + Thou makest me a seer; +In all the lovely things I see, + The inner truths appear; +And the deaf spirit without thee + No spirit-word could hear. + +Yet though so high thy mission is, + And thought to spirit brings, +Thy web is but the chrysalis, + Where lie the future wings, +Now growing into perfectness + By thy inwoven things. + +Then thou, God's pulse, wilt cease to beat; + But His heart will still beat on, +Weaving another garment meet, + If needful for his son; +And sights more glorious, to complete + The web thou hast begun. + + + + +O DO NOT LEAVE ME. + + +O do not leave me, mother, till I sleep; +Be near me until I forget; sit there. +And the child having prayed lest she should weep, +Sleeps in the strength of prayer. + +O do not leave me, lover, brother, friends, +Till I am dead, and resting in my place. +And the girl, having prayed, in silence bends +Down to the earth's embrace. + +Leave me not, God, until--nay, until when? +Not till I have with thee one heart, one mind; +Not till the Life is Light in me, and then +Leaving is left behind. + + + + +THE HOLY SNOWDROPS. + + +Of old, with goodwill from the skies, + The holy angels came; +They walked the earth with human eyes, + And passed away in flame. + +But now the angels are withdrawn, + Because the flowers can speak; +With Christ, we see the dayspring dawn + In every snowdrop meek. + +God sends them forth; to God they tend; + Not less with love they burn, +That to the earth they lowly bend, + And unto dust return. + +No miracle in them hath place, + For this world is their home; +An utterance of essential grace + The angel-snowdrops come. + + + + +TO MY SISTER. + + +O sister, God is very good-- + Thou art a woman now: +O sister, be thy womanhood + A baptism on thy brow! + +For what?--Do ancient stories lie + Of Titans long ago, +The children of the lofty sky + And mother earth below? + +Nay, walk not now upon the ground + Some sons of heavenly mould? +Some daughters of the Holy, found + In earthly garments' fold? + +He said, who did and spoke the truth: + "Gods are the sons of God." +And so the world's Titanic youth + Strives homeward by one road. + +Then live thou, sister, day and night, + An earth-child of the sky, +For ever climbing up the height + Of thy divinity. + +Still in thy mother's heart-embrace, + Waiting thy hour of birth, +Thou growest by the genial grace + Of the child-bearing earth. + +Through griefs and joys, each sad and sweet, + Thou shalt attain the end; +Till then a goddess incomplete-- + O evermore my friend! + +Nor is it pride that striveth so: + The height of the Divine +Is to be lowly 'mid the low; + No towering cloud--a mine; + +A mine of wealth and warmth and song, + An ever-open door; +For when divinely born ere long, + A woman thou the more. + +For at the heart of womanhood + The child's great heart doth lie; +At childhood's heart, the germ of good, + Lies God's simplicity. + +So, sister, be thy womanhood + A baptism on thy brow +For something dimly understood, + And which thou art not now; + +But which within thee, all the time, + Maketh thee what thou art; +Maketh thee long and strive and climb-- + The God-life at thy heart. + + + + +OH THOU OF LITTLE FAITH! + + +Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies + Under the cold, sad earth-clods and the snow; +But spring is floating up the southern skies, + And the pale snowdrop silent waits below. + +O loved if known! in dull December's day + One scarce believes there is a month of June; +But up the stairs of April and of May + The dear sun climbeth to the summer's noon. + +Dear mourner! I love God, and so I rest; + O better! God loves thee, and so rest thou: +He is our spring-time, our dim-visioned Best, + And He will help thee--do not fear the _How._ + + + + +LONGING. + + +My heart is full of inarticulate pain, + And beats laboriously. Ungenial looks +Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain, + Wise in success, well-read in feeble books, +Do not come near me now, your air is drear; +'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear. + +Beloved, who love beauty and love truth! + Come round me; for too near ye cannot come; +Make me an atmosphere with your sweet youth; + Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room; +Speak not a word, for see, my spirit lies +Helpless and dumb; shine on me with your eyes. + +O all wide places, far from feverous towns! + Great shining seas! pine forests! mountains wild! +Rock-bosomed shores! rough heaths! and sheep-cropt downs! + Vast pallid clouds! blue spaces undefiled! +Room! give me room! give loneliness and air! + Free things and plenteous in your regions fair. + +White dove of David, flying overhead, + Golden with sunlight on thy snowy wings, +Outspeeding thee my longing thoughts have fled + To find a home afar from men and things; +Where in his temple, earth o'erarched with sky, +God's heart to mine may speak, my heart reply. + +O God of mountains, stars, and boundless spaces! + O God of freedom and of joyous hearts! +When thy face looketh forth from all men's faces, + There will be room enough in crowded marts; +Brood thou around me, and the noise is o'er; +Thy universe my closet with shut door. + +Heart, heart, awake! the love that loveth all + Maketh a deeper calm than Horeb's cave. +God in thee, can his children's folly gall? + Love may be hurt, but shall not love be brave?-- +Thy holy silence sinks in dews of balm; +Thou art my solitude, my mountain-calm. + + + + +A BOY'S GRIEF. + + +Ah me! in ages far away, + The good, the heavenly land, +Though unbeheld, quite near them lay, + And men could understand. + +The dead yet find it, who, when here, + Did love it more than this; +They enter in, are filled with cheer, + And pain expires in bliss. + +Oh, fairly shines the blessed land! + Ah, God! I weep and pray-- +The heart thou holdest in thy hand + Loves more this sunny day. + +I see the hundred thousand wait + Around the radiant throne: +To me it is a dreary state, + A crowd of beings lone. + +I do not care for singing psalms; + I tire of good men's talk; +To me there is no joy in palms, + Or white-robed solemn walk. + +I love to hear the wild winds meet, + The wild old winds at night; +To watch the starlight throb and beat, + To wait the thunder-light. + +I love all tales of valiant men, + Of women good and fair; +If I were rich and strong, ah then, + I would do something rare. + +I see thy temple in the skies + On pillars strong and white; +I cannot love it, though I rise + And try with all my might. + +Sometimes a joy lays hold on me, + And I am speechless then; +Almost a martyr I could be, + And join the holy men. + +But soon my heart is like a clod, + My spirit wrapt in doubt-- +"_A pillar in the house of God, + And never more go out!_" + +No more the sunny, breezy morn; + No more the speechless moon; +No more the ancient hills, forlorn, + A vision, and a boon. + +Ah, God! my love will never burn, + Nor shall I taste thy joy; +And Jesus' face is calm and stern-- + I am a hapless boy. + + + + +THE CHILD-MOTHER. + + +Heavily lay the warm sunlight +Upon the green blades shining bright, + An outspread grassy sea: +She through the burnished yellow flowers +Went walking in the golden hours + That slept upon the lea. + +The bee went past her with a hum; +The merry gnats did go and come + In complicated dance; +Like a blue angel, to and fro, +The splendid dragon-fly did go, + Shot like a seeking glance. + +She never followed them, but still +Went forward with a quiet will, + That got, but did not miss; +With gentle step she passed along, +And once a low, half-murmured song + Uttered her share of bliss. + +It was a little maiden-child; +You see, not frolicsome and wild, + As such a child should be; +For though she was just nine, no more, +Another little child she bore, + Almost as big as she. + +With tender care of straining arms, +She kept it circled from all harms, + With face turned from the sun; +For in that perfect tiny heart, +The mother, sister, nurse, had part, + Her womanhood begun. + +At length they reach an ugly ditch, +The slippery sloping bank of which + Flowers and long grasses line; +Some ragged-robins baby spied, +And spread his little arms out wide, + As he had found a mine. + +What baby wants, that baby has: +A law unalterable as-- + The poor shall serve the rich; +She kneeleth down with eager eyes, +And, reaching far out for the prize, + Topples into the ditch. + +And slanting down the bank she rolled, +But in her little bosom's fold + She clasps the baby tight; +And in the ditch's muddy flow, +No safety sought by letting go, + At length she stands upright. + +Alas! her little feet are wet; +Her new shoes! how can she forget? + And yet she does not cry. +Her scanty frock of dingy blue, +Her petticoat wet through and through! + But baby is quite dry. + +And baby laughs, and baby crows; +And baby being right, she knows + That nothing can be wrong; +And so with troubled heart, yet stout, +She plans how ever to get out, + With meditations long. + +The bank is higher than her head, +And slippery too, as I have said; + And what to do with baby? +For even the monkey, when he goes, +Needs both his fingers and his toes.-- + She is perplexed as may be. + +But all her puzzling was no good, +Though staring up the bank she stood, + Which, as she sunk, grew higher; +Until, invaded with dismay, +Lest baby's patience should give way, + She frees her from the mire. + +And up and down the ditch, not glad, +But patient, she did promenade; + Splash! splash! went her poor feet. +And baby thought it rare good fun, +And did not want it to be done; + And the ditch flowers were sweet. + +But, oh! the world that she had left, +The meads from her so lately reft, + An infant Proserpine, +Lay like a fabled land above, +A paradise of sunny love, + In warmth and light divine. + +While, with the hot sun overhead, +She her low watery way did tread, + 'Mid slimy weeds and frogs; +While now and then from distant field +The sound of laughter faintly pealed, + Or bark of village dogs. + +And once the ground began to shake, +And her poor little heart to quake + For fear of added woes; +Till, looking up, at last, perforce, +She saw the head of a huge horse + Go past upon its nose. + +And with a sound of tearing grass, +And puffing breath that awful was, + And horns of frightful size, +A cow looked through the broken hedge, +And gazed down on her from the edge, + With great big Juno eyes. + +And so the sun went on and on, +And horse and cow and horns were gone, + And still no help came near; +Till at the last she heard the sound +Of human footsteps on the ground, + And then she cried: "_I_'m here!" + +It was a man, much to her joy, +Who looked amazed at girl and boy, + And reached his hand so strong. +"Give me the child," he said; but no, +She would not let the baby go, + She had endured too long. + +So, with a smile at her alarms, +He stretched down both his lusty arms, + And lifted them together; +And, having thanked her helper, she +Did hasten homeward painfully, + Wet in the sunny weather. + +At home at length, lo! scarce a speck +Was on the child from heel to neck, + Though she was sorely mired; +Nor gave she sign of grief's unrest, +Till, hid upon her mother's breast, + She wept till she was tired. + +And intermixed with sobbing wail, +She told her mother all the tale,-- + "But"--here her wet cheeks glow-- +"Mother, I did not, through it all, +I did not once let baby fall-- + I never let him go." + +Ah me! if on this star-world's face +We men and women had like grace + To bear and shield each other; +Our race would soon be young again, +Its heart as free of ache and pain + As that of this child-mother. + + + + +LOVE'S ORDEAL; + +A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment +read in childhood. + + +"Know'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" +Said the youth quietly, as outstretched he lay, +Where for an hour outstretched he had lain, +Pillowed upon her knees. To him did say +The thoughtful maiden: "It is but the rain +That hath been gathering in the West all day; +Be still, my dearest, let my eyes yet rest +Awhile upon thy face so calm and blest." + +"Know'st thou that sound, from silence slowly wrought?" +Said the youth, and his eyelids softly rose, +Revealing to her eyes the depths of thought +That lay beneath her in a still repose. +"I know it," said the maiden; "it is nought +But the loud wintry wind that ever blows, +Swinging the great arms of the dreary pines, +Which each with others in its pain entwines." + +"Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; +"Draw back the lattice-bar and let them in." +Through a cloud-rift the light fell noiselessly +Upon the cottage floor; and, gaunt and thin, +Leaped in the stag-hounds, bounding as in glee, +Shaking the rain-drops from their shaggy skin; +And as the maiden closed the spattered glass, +A shadow faint over the floor did pass. + +The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand; +And when again beside him sat the maid, +His eyes for a slow minute moving scanned +Her calm peace-lighted face; and then he said, +Monotonous, like solemn-read command: +"For love is of the earth, earthy, and laid +Down lifeless in its mother's womb at last." +The strange sound through the great pine-branches passed. + +Again a shadow as it were of glass, +Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, +Shapeless and dim, almost unseen, doth pass; +A mingled sound of rain-drops at the door, +But not a sound upon the window was. +A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; +And the two hounds half-rose, and gazed at him, +Eyeing his countenance by the taper dim. + +Now nothing of these things the maiden noted, +But turned her face with half-reproachful look, +As doubting whether he the words had quoted +Out of some evil, earth-begotten book; +Or upward from his spirit's depths had floated +Those words like bubbles in a low dead brook; +But his eyes seemed to question,--Yea or No; +And so the maiden answered: "'Tis not so; + +"Love is of heaven, and heavenly." A faint smile +Parted his lips, as a thought unexpressed +Were speaking in his heart; and for a while +He gently laid his head upon her breast; +His thought, a bark that by a sunny isle +At length hath found the haven of its rest, +Yet must not long remain, but forward go: +He lifted up his head, and answered: "No-- + +"Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale +Her red lips grew. "I loved them; yes, but they, +One after one, in trial's hour did fail; +For after sunset, clouds again are grey." +A sudden light flashed through the silken veil +That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay +A stillness on her face, waiting; and then +The little clock rung out the hour of ten. + +Moaning again the great pine-branches bow, +As if they tried in vain the wind to stem. +Still looking in her eyes, the youth said--"Thou +Art not more beautiful than some of them; +But more of earnestness is on thy brow; +Thine eyes are beaming like some dark-bright gem +That pours from hidden heart upon the night +The rays it gathered from the noon-day light. + +"Look on this hand, beloved; thou didst see +The horse that broke from many, it did hold: +Two hours shall pass away, and it will be +All withered up and dry, wrinkled and old, +Big-veined, and skinny to extremity." +Calmly upon him looked the maiden bold; +The stag-hounds rose, and gazed on him, and then, +With a low whine, laid themselves down again. + +A minute's silence, and the youth spake on: +"Dearest, I have a fearful thing to bear" +(A pain-cloud crossed his face, and then was gone) +"At midnight, when the moon sets; wilt thou dare +To go with me, or must I go alone +To meet an agony that will not spare?" +She spoke not, rose, and towards her mantle went; +His eyes did thank her--she was well content. + +"Not yet, not yet; it is not time; for see +The hands have far to travel to the hour; +Yet time is scarcely left for telling thee +The past and present, and the coming power +Of the great darkness that will fall on me: +Roses and jasmine twine the bridal bower-- +If ever bower and bridal joy be mine, +Horror and darkness must that bower entwine." + +Under his head the maiden put her arm, +And knelt beside, half leaning on his breast; +As, soul and body, she would shield all harm +From him whose love had made her being blest; +And well the healing of her eyes might charm +His doubting thoughts again to trusting rest. +He drew and hid her face his heart upon, +Then spoke with low voice sounding changeless on. + +Strange words they were, and fearful, that he spake; +The maiden moved not once, nor once replied; +And ever as he spoke, the wind did make +A feebler moan until away it died; +Then the rain ceased, and not a movement brake +The silence, save the clock that did divide +The hours into quick moments, sparks of time +Scorching the soul that watcheth for the chime. + +He spoke of sins that pride had caused in him; +Of sufferings merciful, and wanderings wild; +Of fainting noontides, and of oceans dim; +Of earthly beauty that had oft beguiled; +And then the sudden storm and contest grim; +From each emerging new-born, more a child; +Wandering again throughout the teaching earth, +No rest attaining, only a new birth. + +"But when I find a heart that's like to mine, +With love to live through the unloving hour, +Folded in faith, like violets that have lien +Folded in warm earth, till the sunny shower +Calleth them forth; thoughts with my thoughts to twine, +Weaving around us both a fragrant bower, +Where we within may sleep, together drawn, +Folded in love until the morning dawn; + +"Then shall I rest, my weary day's work o'er, +A deep sleep bathing, steeping all my soul, +Dissolving out the earth-stains evermore. +Thou too shalt sleep with me, and be made whole. +All, all time's billows over us shall pour, +Then ebb away, and far beneath us roll: +We shall behold them like a stormy lake, +'Neath the clear height of peace where we awake." + +Her face on his, her lips on his lips pressed, +Was the sole answer that the maiden made. +With both his arms he held her to his breast; +'Twas but a moment; yet, before he said +One other word, of power to strengthen, lest +She should give way amid the trial dread, +The clock gave out the warning to the hour, +And on the thatch fell sounds as of a shower. + +One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear +Fell like a shadow dim upon her heart, +A trembling as at something ghostly near; +But she was bold, for they were not to part. +Then the youth rose, his cheek pale, his eyes clear; +And helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart +Her haste to tie her gathered mantle's fold; +Then forth they went into the midnight cold. + +The moon was sunken low in the dim west, +Curled upwards on the steep horizon's brink, +A leaf of glory falling to its rest. +The maiden's hand, still trembling, scarce could link +Her to his side; but his arm round her waist +Stole gently; so she walked, and did not sink; +Her hand on his right side soon held him fast, +And so together wound, they onward passed. + +And, clinging to his side, she felt full well +The strong and measured beating of his heart; +But as the floating moon aye lower fell, +Slowly she felt its bounding force depart, +Till like a throbbing bird; nor can she tell +Whether it beats, at length; and with a start +She felt the arm relax around her flung, +And on her circling arm he leaned and hung. + +But as his steps more and more feeble grow, +She feels her strength and courage rise amain. +He lifted up his head; the moon was low, +Almost on the world's edge. A smile of pain +Was on his lips, as his large eyes turned slow +Seeking for hers; which, like a heavy rain, +Poured love on him in many a love-lit gleam. +So they walked like two souls, linked by one dream.[2] + + +[Footnote 2: + + In a lovely garden walking, + Two lovers went hand in hand; + Two wan, sick figures, talking, + They sat in the flowery land. + + On the cheek they kissed each other, + And they kissed upon the mouth; + Fast clasped they one another-- + And back came their health and youth. + + Two little bells rang shrilly, + And the dream went with the hour: + She lay in the cloister stilly, + He far in the dungeon-tower. + + _Translated from Uhland._] + +Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, +With slow and noiseless paws upon the road. +What is that shining on the weedy ground? +Nought but the bright eyes of the dingy toad. +The silent pines range every way around; +A deep stream on the left side hardly flowed. +Their path is towards the moon, dying alone-- +It touches the horizon, dips, is gone. + +Its last gleam fell upon dim glazed eyes; +An old man tottered feebly in her hold, +Stooping with bended knees that could not rise; +Nor longer could his arm her waist infold. +The maiden trembled; but through this disguise +Her love beheld what never could grow old; +And so the aged man, she, young and warm, +Clasped closer yet with her supporting arm. + +Till with short, dragging steps, he turned aside +Into a closer thicket of tall firs, +Whose bare, straight, slender stems behind them hide +A smooth grey rock. Not a pine-needle stirs +Till they go in. Then a low wind blows wide +O'er their cone-tops. It swells until it whirrs +Through the long stems, as if aeolian chords +For moulding mystic sounds in lack of words. + +But as they entered by a narrow cleft +Into the rock's heart, suddenly it ceased; +And the tall pines stood still as if bereft +Of a strong passion, or from pain released; +Once more they wove their strange, dark, moveless weft +O'er the dull midnight sky; and in the East +A mist arose and clomb the skyey stairs; +And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares. + +'Tis a dark chamber for the bridal night, +O poor, pale, saviour bride! A faint rush-lamp +He kindled with his shaking hands; its light +Painted a tiny halo on the damp +That filled the cavern to its unseen height, +Like a death-candle on the midnight swamp. +Within, each side the entrance, lies a hound, +With liquid light his green eyes gleaming round. + +A couch just raised above the rocky floor, +Of withered oak and beech-leaves, that the wind +Had tossed about till weary, covered o'er +With skins of bears which feathery mosses lined, +And last of lambs, with wool long, soft, and hoar, +Received the old man's bended limbs reclined. +Gently the maiden did herself unclothe, +And lay beside him, trusting, and not loath. + +Again the storm among the trees o'erhead; +The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire; +Seemed to the trembling maiden that a tread +Light, and yet clear, amid the wind's loud ire, +As dripping feet o'er smooth slabs hither sped, +Came often up, as with a fierce desire, +To enter, but as oft made quick retreat; +And looking forth the hounds stood on their feet. + +Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, +Feeble and hollow as from out a chest: +"Take my face on your bosom, I am cold." +Straightway she bared her bosom's white soft nest; +And then his head, her gentle hands, love-bold, +With its grey withered face against her pressed. +Ah, maiden! it was very old and chill, +But thy warm heart beneath it grew not still. + +Again the wind falls, and the rain-clouds pour, +Rushing to earth; and soon she heard the sound +Of a fierce torrent through the thick night roar; +The lamp went out as by the darkness drowned; +No more the morn will dawn, oh, never more! +Like centuries the feeble hours went round; +Dead night lay o'er her, clasping, as she lay, +Within her holy place, unburied clay. + +The hours stood still; her life sunk down so low, +That, but for wretchedness, no life she knew. +A charnel wind sung on a moaning--_No;_ +Earth's centre was the grave from which it blew; +Earth's loves and beauties all passed sighing slow, +Roses and lilies, children, friends, the few; +But so transparent blanched in every part, +She saw the pale worm lying in each heart. + +And worst of all, O death of gladsome life! +A voice within awoke and cried: In sooth, +There is no need of sorrow, care, and strife; +For all that women beauty call, and truth, +Is but a glow from hearts with fancy rife, +Passing away with slowly fading youth. +Gaze on them narrowly, they waver, blot; +Look at them fixedly, and they are not. + +And all the answer the poor child could make +Lay in the tightened grasp of her two hands; +She felt as if she lay mouldering awake +Within the sepulchre's fast stony bands, +And cared not though she died, but for his sake. +And the dark horror grew like drifting sands, +Till nought seemed beautiful, not God, nor light; +And yet she braved the false, denying night. + +But after hope was dead, a faint, light streak +Crept through a crevice in the rocky wall; +It fell upon her bosom and his cheek. +From God's own eye that light-glance seemed to fall. +Backward he drew his head, and did not speak, +But gazed with large deep eyes angelical +Upon her face. Old age had fled away-- +Youth everlasting in her bosom lay. + +With a low cry of joy closer she crept, +And on his bosom hid a face that glowed, +Seeking amends for terror while he slept. +She had been faithful: the beloved owed +Love, youth, and gladness unto her who wept +Gushingly on his heart. Her warm tears flowed +A baptism for the life that would not cease; +And when the sun arose, they slept in peace. + + + + +A PRAYER FOR THE PAST. + + + All sights and sounds of every year, +All groups and forms, each leaf and gem, +Are thine, O God, nor need I fear +To speak to Thee of them. + + Too great thy heart is to despise; +Thy day girds centuries about; +From things which we count small, thine eyes +See great things looking out. + + Therefore this prayerful song I sing +May come to Thee in ordered words; +Therefore its sweet sounds need not cling +In terror to their chords. + + * * * * * + + I know that nothing made is lost; +That not a moon hath ever shone, +That not a cloud my eyes hath crost, +But to my soul hath gone. + + That all the dead years garnered lie +In this gem-casket, my dim soul; +And that thy hand may, once, apply +The key that opes the whole. + + But what lies dead in me, yet lives +In Thee, whose Parable is--Time, +And Worlds, and Forms, and Sound that gives +Words and the music-chime. + + And after my next coming birth, +The new child's prayer will rise to Thee: +To hear again the sounds of Earth, +Its sights again to see. + + With child's glad eyes to see once more +The visioned glories of the gloom, +With climbing suns, and starry store, +Ceiling my little room. + + O call again the moons that glide +Behind old vapours sailing slow; +Lost sights of solemn skies that slide +O'er eyelids sunken low. + + Show me the tides of dawning swell, +And lift the world's dim eastern eye, +And the dark tears that all night fell +With radiance glorify. + + First I would see, oh, sore bereft! +My father's house, my childhood's home; +Where the wild snow-storms raved, and left +White mounds of frozen foam. + + Till, going out one dewy morn, +A man was turning up the mould; +And in our hearts the spring was born, +Crept hither through the cold. + + And with the glad year I would go, +The troops of daisies round my feet; +Flying the kite, or, in the glow +Of arching summer heat, + + Outstretched in fear upon the bank, +Lest gazing up on awful space, +I should fall down into the blank +From off the round world's face. + + And let my brothers be with me +To play our old games yet again; +And all should go as lovingly +As now that we are men. + + If over Earth the shade of Death +Passed like a cloud's wide noiseless wing, +We'd tell a secret, in low breath: +"Mind, 'tis a _dream_ of Spring. + + "And in this dream, our brother's gone +Upstairs; he heard our father call; +For one by one we go alone, +Till he has gathered all." + + Father, in joy our knees we bow; +This earth is not a place of tombs: +We are but in the nursery now; +They in the upper rooms. + + For are we not at home in Thee, +And all this world a visioned show; +That, knowing what _Abroad_ is, we +What _Home_ is, too, may know? + + And at thy feet I sit, O Lord, +As years ago, in moonlight pale, +I sat and heard my father's word +Reading a lofty tale. + + So in this vision I would go +Still onward through the gliding years, +Reaping great Noontide's joyous glow, +Still Eve's refreshing tears. + + One afternoon sit pondering +In that old chair, in that old room, +Where passing pigeon's sudden wing +Flashed lightning through the gloom. + + There, try once more with effort vain, +To mould in one perplexed things; +And find the solace yet again +Faith in the Father brings. + + Or on my horse go wandering round, +Mid desert moors and mountains high; +While storm-clouds, darkly brooding, found +In me another sky. + + For so thy Visible grew mine, +Though half its power I could not know; +And in me wrought a work divine, +Which Thou hadst ordered so; + + Filling my brain with form and word +From thy full utterance unto men; +Shapes that might ancient Truth afford, +And find it words again. + + Till Spring, in after years of youth, +Wove its dear form with every form; +Now a glad bursting into Truth, +Now a low sighing storm. + + But in this vision of the Past, +Spring-world to summer leading in, +Whose joys but not whose sorrows last, +I have left out the sin. + + I picture but development, +Green leaves unfolding to their fruits, +Expanding flowers, aspiring scent, +But not the writhing roots. + + Then follow English sunsets, o'er +A warm rich land outspread below; +A green sea from a level shore, +Bright boats that come and go. + + And one beside me in whose eyes +Old Nature found a welcome home, +A treasury of changeful skies +Beneath a changeless dome. + + But will it still be thus, O God? +And shall I always wish to see +And trace again the hilly road +By which I went to Thee? + + We bend above a joy new given, +That gives new feelings gladsome birth; +A living gift from one in heaven +To two upon the earth. + + Are no days creeping softly on +Which I should tremble to renew? +I thank thee, Lord, for what is gone-- +Thine is the future too. + + And are we not at home in Thee, +And all this world a visioned show; +That knowing what _Abroad_ is, we +What _Home_ is, too, may know? + + + + +FAR AND NEAR. + +[The fact to which the following verses refer, is related by +Dr. Edward Clarke in his Travels.] + + +Blue sunny skies above; below, + A blue and sunny sea; +A world of blue, wherein did blow + One soft wind steadily. + +In great and solemn heaves, the mass + Of pulsing ocean beat, +Unwrinkled as the sea of glass + Beneath the holy feet. + +With forward leaning of desire, + The ship sped calmly on, +A pilgrim strong that would not tire, + Nor hasten to be gone. + +The mouth of the mysterious Nile, + Full thirty leagues away, +Breathed in his ear old tales to wile + Old Ocean as he lay. + +Low on the surface of the sea + Faint sounds like whispers glide +Of lovers talking tremulously, + Close by the vessel's side. + +Or as within a sleeping wood + A windy sigh awoke, +And fluttering all the leafy brood, + The summer-silence broke. + +A wayward phantasy might say + That little ocean-maids +Were clapping little hands of play, + Deep down in ocean-glades. + +The traveller by land and flood, + The man of ready mind, +Much questioning the reason, stood-- + No answer could he find. + +That day, on Egypt's distant land, + And far from off the shore, +Two nations fought with armed hand, + With bellowing cannon's roar. + +That fluttering whisper, low and near, + Was the far battle-blare; +An airy rippling motion here, + The blasting thunder there. + +And so this aching in my breast, + Dim, faint, and undefined, +May be the sound of far unrest, + Borne on the spirit's wind; + +The uproar of the battle fought + Betwixt the bond and free; +The thundering roll in whispers brought + From Heaven's artillery. + + + + +MY ROOM. + +To G.E.M. + + +'Tis a little room, my friend; +A baby-walk from end to end; +All the things look sadly real, +This hot noontide's Unideal. +Seek not refuge at the casement, +There's no pasture for amazement +But a house most dim and rusty, +And a street most dry and dusty; +Seldom here more happy vision +Than water-cart's blest apparition, +We'll shut out the staring space, +Draw the curtains in its face. + +Close the eyelids of the room, +Fill it with a scarlet gloom: +Lo! the walls on every side +Are transformed and glorified; +Ceiled as with a rosy cloud +Furthest eastward of the crowd, +Blushing faintly at the bliss +Of the Titan's good-night kiss, +Which her westward sisters share,-- +Crimson they from breast to hair. +'Tis the faintest lends its dye +To my room--ah, not the sky! +Worthy though to be a room +Underneath the wonder-dome: +Look around on either hand, +Are we not in fairy-land? +In the ruddy atmosphere +All familiar things appear +Glowing with a mystery +In the red light shadowy; +Lasting bliss to you and me, +Colour only though it be. + +Now on the couch, inwrapt in mist +Of vapourized amethyst, +Lie, as in a rose's heart; +Secret things I will impart; +Any time you would receive them; +Easier though you will believe them +In dissolving dreamy red, +Self-same radiance that is shed +From the summer-heart of Poet, +Flushing those that never know it. +Tell me not the light thou viewest +Is a false one; 'tis the truest; +'Tis the light revealing wonder, +Filling all above and under; +If in light you make a schism, +'Tis the deepest in the prism. + +The room looks common; but the fact is +'Tis a cell of magic practice, +So disguised by common daylight, +By its disenchanting grey light, +Only spirit-eyes, mesmeric, +See its glories esoteric. +There, that case against the wall, +Glowingly purpureal! +A piano to the prosy-- +Not to us in twilight rosy: +'Tis a cave where Nereids lie. +Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, +Dreaming of the time when they +Danced in forest and in bay. +In that chest before your eyes, +Nature's self enchanted lies; +Awful hills and midnight woods; +Sunny rains in solitudes; +Deserts of unbounded longing; +Blessed visions, gladness thronging; + +All this globe of life unfoldeth +In phantom forms that coffer holdeth. +True, unseen; for 'tis enchanted-- +What is that but kept till wanted? +Do you hear that voice of singing? +'Tis the enchantress that is flinging +Spells around her baby's riot, +Music's oil the waves to quiet: +She at once can disenchant them, +To a lover's wish to grant them; +She can make the treasure casket +Yield its riches, as that basket +Yielded up the gathered flowers; +Yet its mines, and fields, and bowers, +Full remain, as mother Earth +Never tired of giving birth. + +Do you doubt me? Wait till night +Brings black hours and white delight; +Then, as now, your limbs outstretching, +Yield yourself to her bewitching. +She will bring a book of spells +Writ like crabbed oracles; +Wherewith necromantic fingers +Raise the ghosts of parted singers: +Straight your senses will be bound +In a net of torrent sound. +For it is a silent fountain, +Fed by springs from unseen mountain. + +Till with gestures cabalistic, +Crossing, lining figures mystic, +(Diagram most mathematic, +Simple to these signs erratic,) +O'er the seals her quick hands going +Loose the rills and set them flowing: +Pent up music rushing out +Bathes thy spirit all about; +Spell-bound nature, freed again, +Joyous revels in thy brain. + +On a mountain-top you stand, +Looking o'er a sunny land; +Giant forces marching slow, +Rank on rank, the great hills go, +On and on without a stay, +Melting in the blue away. +Wondrous light, more wondrous shading; +High relief in faintness fading; +Branching streams, like silver veins, +Meet and part in dells and plains. +There a woody hollow lies, +Dumb with love, and bright with eyes; +Moorland tracks of broken ground +Rising o'er, it all around: +Traveller climbing from the grove +Needs the tender heavens above. +"Ah, my pictured life," you cry, +"Fading into sea and sky!" + +Lost in thought that gently grieves you, +All the fairy landscape leaves you; +Sinks the sadness into rest, +Ripple-like on water's breast; +Mother's bosom rests the daughter,-- +Grief the ripple, Love the water. +All the past is strangely blended +In a mist of colours splendid, +But chaotic as to form, +An unfeatured beauty-storm. + +Wakes within, the ancient mind +For a gloriousness defined: +As she sought and knew your pleasure,-- +Wiling with a dancing measure, +Underneath your closed eyes +She calls the shapes of clouded skies; +White forms flushing hyacinthine +Twine in curvings labyrinthine; +Seem with godlike graceful feet, +For such mazy motion meet, +To press from air each lambent note, +On whose throbbing fire they float; +With an airy wishful gait +On each others' motion wait; +Naked arms and vesture free +Fill up the dance of harmony. + +Gone the measure polyhedral! +Springs aloft a high cathedral; +Every arch, like praying arms +Upward flung in love's alarms, +Knit by clasped hands o'erhead, +Heaves to heaven the weight of dread. +Underneath thee, like a cloud, +Gathers music, dim not loud, +Swells thy bosom with devotion, +Floats thee like a wave of ocean; +Vanishes the pile away,-- +In heaven thou kneelest down to pray. + +Let the sounds but reach thy heart, +Straight thyself magician art; +Walkest open-eyed through earth; +Seest wonders in their birth, +Whence they come and whither go; +Thou thyself exalted so, +Nature's consciousness, whereby +On herself she turns her eye. +Only heed thou worship God; +Else thou stalkest on thy sod, +Puppet-god of picture-world, +For thy foolish gaze unfurled; +Mirror-thing of things below thee. +Thy own self can never know thee; +Not a high and holy actor; +A reflector, and refractor; +Helpless in thy gift of light, +Self-consuming into night. + +Lasting yet the roseate glory! +I must hasten with my story +Of the little room's true features, +Seldom seen by mortal creatures; +Lest my prophet-vision fading +Leave me in the darkness wading. +What are those upon the wall, +Ranged in rows symmetrical? +They are books, an owl would say; +But the owl's night is the day: +Of these too, if you have patience, +I can give you revelations: +Through the walls of Time and Sight, +Doors they are to the Infinite; +Through the limits that embrace us, +Openings to the eternal spaces, +Round us all the noisy day, +Full of silences alway; +Round us all the darksome night, +Ever full of awful light: +And, though closed, may still remind us +There is mystery behind us. + +That, my friend? Now, it is curious, +You should hit upon the spurious! +'Tis a blind, a painted door: +Knock at it for evermore, +Never vision it affords +But its panelled gilded boards; +Behind it lieth nought at all, +But the limy, webby wall. +Oh no, not a painted block-- +Not the less a printed mock; +A book, 'tis true; no whit the more +A revealing out-going door. +There are two or three such books +For a while in others' nooks; +Where they should no longer be, +But for reasons known to me. + +Do not open that one though. +It is real; but if you go +Careless to it, as to dance, +You'll see nothing for your glance; +Blankness, deafness, blindness, dumbness, +Soon will stare you to a numbness. +No, my friend; it is not wise +To open doors into the skies, +As into a little study, +Where a feeble brain grows muddy. +Wait till night, and you shall be +Left alone with mystery; +Light this lamp's white softened ray, +(Another wonder by the way,) +Then with humble faith and prayer, +Ope the door with patient care: +Yours be calmness then, and strength +For the sight you see at length. + +Sometimes, after trying vainly, +With much effort, forced, ungainly, +To entice the rugged door +To yield up its wondrous lore, +With a sudden burst of thunder +All its frame is dashed asunder; +The gulfy silence, lightning-fleet, +Shooteth hellward at thy feet. +Take thou heed lest evil terror +Snare thee in a downward error, +Drag thee through the narrow gate, +Give thee up to windy fate, +To be blown for evermore +Up and down without a shore; +For to shun the good as ill +Makes the evil bolder still. +But oftener far the portal opes +With the sound of coming hopes; +On the joy-astonished eyes +Awful heights of glory rise; +Mountains, stars, and dreadful space, +The Eternal's azure face. +In storms of silence self is drowned, +Leaves the soul a gulf profound, +Where new heavens and earth arise, +Rolling seas and arching skies. + +Gathers slow a vapour o'er thee +From the ocean-depths before thee: +Lo! the vision all hath vanished, +Thou art left alone and banished; +Shut the door, thou findest, groping, +Without chance of further oping. +Thou must wait until thy soul +Rises nearer to its goal; +Till more childhood strength has given-- +Then approach this gate of Heaven: +It will open as before, +Yielding wonders, yet in store +For thee, if thou wilt turn to good +Things already understood. + +Why I let such useless lumber +Useful bookshelves so encumber? +I will tell thee; for thy question +Of wonders brings me to the best one. +There's a future wonder, may be-- +Sure a present magic baby; +(Patience, friend, I know your looks-- +What has that to do with books?) +With her sounds of molten speech +Quick a parent's heart to reach, +Though uncoined to words sedate, +Or even to sounds articulate; +Yet sweeter than the music's flowing, +Which doth set her music going. +Now our highest wonder-duty +Is with this same wonder-beauty; +How, with culture high and steady, +To unfold a magic-lady; +How to keep her full of wonder +At all things above and under; +Her from childhood never part, +Change the brain, but keep the heart. +She is God's child all the time; +On all the hours the child must climb, +As on steps of shining stairs +Leading up the path of prayers. +So one lesson from our looks, +Must be this: to honour books, +As a strange and mystic band +Which she cannot understand; +Scarce to touch them without fear, +Never, but when I am near, +As a priest, to temple-rite +Leading in the acolyte. +But when she has older grown, +And can see a difference shown, + +She must learn, 'tis not _appearing_ +Makes a book fit for revering; +To distinguish and divide +'Twixt the form and soul inside; +That a book is more than boards, +Leaves and words in gathered hordes, +Which no greater good can do man +Than the goblin hollow woman, +Or a pump without a well, +Or priest without an oracle. +Form is worthless, save it be +Type of an infinity; +Sign of something present, true, +Though unopened to the view, +Heady in its bosom holding +What it will be aye unfolding, +Never uttering but in part, +From an unexhausted heart. +Sight convincing to her mind, +I will separate kind from kind, +Take those books, though honoured by her +Lay them on the study fire, +For their form's sake somewhat tender, +Yet consume them to a cinder; +Years of reverence shall not save them +From the greedy flames that crave them. +You shall see this slight Immortal, +Half-way yet within life's portal; +Gathering gladness, she looks back, +Streams it forward on her track; +Wanders ever in the dance +Of her own sweet radiance. +Though the glory cease to burn, +Inward only it will turn; +Make her hidden being bright, +Make herself a lamp of light; +And a second gate of birth +Will take her to another earth. + +But, my friend, I've rattled plenty +To suffice for mornings twenty; +And I must not toss you longer +On this torrent waxing stronger. +Other things, past contradiction, +Here would prove I spoke no fiction, +Did I lead them up, choragic, +To reveal their nature magic. +There is that machine, glass-masked, +With continual questions tasked, +Ticking with untiring rock: +It is called an eight-day clock. +But to me the thing appears +Made for winding up the years, +Drawing on, fast as it can, +The day when comes the Son of Man. + +On the sea the sunshine broods, +And the shining tops of woods; +We will leave these oracles, +Finding others 'mid the hills. + + + + +SYMPATHY. + + +Grief held me silent in my seat, + I neither moved nor smiled: +Joy held her silent at my feet, + My little lily-child. + +She raised her face; she seemed to feel + That she was left outside; +She said one word with childish zeal + That would not be denied. + +Twice more my name, with infant grace; + Sole word her lips could mould! +Her face was pulling at my face-- + She was but ten months old. + +I know not what were my replies-- + I thought: dost Thou, O God, +Need ever thy poor children's eyes, + To ease thee of thy load? + +They find not Thee in evil case, + But, raised in sorrow wild, +Bring down from visiting thy face + The calmness of a child. + +Thou art the depth of Heaven above-- + The springing well in her; +Not Father only in thy love, + But daily minister. + +And this is how the comfort slid + From her to me the while,-- +It was thy present face that did + Smile on me from her smile. + + + + +LITTLE ELFIE. + + +I have an elfish maiden child; + She is not two years old; +Through windy locks her eyes gleam wild, + With glances shy and bold. + +Like little imps, her tiny hands + Dart out and push and take; +Chide her--a trembling thing she stands, + And like two leaves they shake. + +But to her mind a minute gone + Is like a year ago; +So when you lift your eyes anon, + They're at it, to and fro. + +Sometimes, though not oppressed with thought, + She has her sleepless fits; +Then to my room in blanket brought, + In round-backed chair she sits; + +Where, if by chance in graver mood, + A hermit she appears, +Seated in cave of ancient wood, + Grown very still with years. + +Then suddenly the pope she is, + A playful one, I know; +For up and down, now that, now this, + Her feet like plash-mill go. + +Why like the pope? She's at it yet, + Her knee-joints flail-like go: +Unthinking man! it is to let + Her mother kiss each toe. + +But if I turn away and write, + Then sudden look around, +I almost tremble; tall and white + She stands upon the ground. + +In long night-gown, a tiny ghost, + She stands unmoving there; +Or if she moves, my wits were lost + To meet her on the stair! + +O Elfie, make no haste to lose + Thy lack of conscious sense; +Thou hast the best gift I could choose, + A God-like confidence. + + + + +THE THANK OFFERING. + + +My little child receives my gift, + A simple piece of bread; +But to her mouth she doth not lift + The love in bread conveyed, +Till on my lips, unerring, swift, + The morsel first is laid. + +This is her grace before her food, + This her libation poured; +Uplift, like offering Aaron good + Heaved up unto the Lord; +More riches in the thanks than could + A thousand gifts afford! + +My Father, every gift of thine, + Teach me to lift to Thee; +Not else know I the love divine, + With which it comes to me; +Not else the tenfold gift is mine + Of taking thankfully. + +Yea, all my being I would lift, + An offering of me; +Then only truly mine the gift, + When so received by Thee; +Then shall I go, rejoicing, swift, + Through thine Eternity. + + + + +THE BURNT OFFERING. + + +Is there a man on earth, who, every night, +When the day hath exhausted each strong limb, +Lays him upon his bed in chamber dim, +And his heart straightway trembling with delight, +Begins to burn up towards the vaulted height +Of the great peace that overshadows him? +Like flakes of fire his thoughts within him swim, +Till all his soul is radiant, blazing bright. +The great earth under him an altar is, +Upon whose top a sacrifice he lies, +Burning to God up through the nightly skies, +Whose love, warm-brooding o'er him, kindled his; +Until his flaming thoughts, consumed, expire, +Sleep's ashes covering the yet glowing fire. + + + + +FOUR SONNETS + +Inscribed to S.F.S., because the second is about her father. + + +I. + +They say that lonely sorrows do not chance. +I think it true, and that the cause I know: +A sorrow glideth in a funeral show +Easier than if it broke into a dance. +But I think too, that joy doth joy enhance +As often as an added grief brings low; +And if keen-eyed to see the flowers that grow, +As keen of nerve to feel the thorns that lance +The foot that must walk naked in one way-- +Blest by the lily, white from toils and fears, +Oftener than wounded by the thistle-spears, +We should walk upright, bold, and earnest-gay. +I'll tell you how it fared with me one day +After noon in a world, so-called, of tears. + + +II. + +I went to listen to my teacher friend. +O Friend above, thanks for the friend below! +Who having been made wise, deep things to know, +With brooding spirit over them doth bend, +Until they waken words, as wings, to send +Their seeds far forth, seeking a place to grow. +The lesson past, with quiet foot I go, +And towards his silent room, expectant wend, +Seeking a blessing, even leave to dwell +For some eternal minutes in his eyes. +And he smiled on me in his loving wise; +His hand spoke friendship, satisfied me well; +My presence was some pleasure, I could tell. +Then forth we went beneath the smoky skies. + + +III. + +I, strengthened, left him. Next in a close place, +Mid houses crowded, dingy, barred, and high, +Where men live not except to sell and buy, +To me, leaving a doorway, came a grace. +(Surely from heaven she came, though all that race +Walketh on human feet beneath the sky.) +I, going on, beheld not who was nigh, +When a sweet girl looked up into my face +With earnest eyes, most maidenly sedate-- +Looked up to me, as I to him did look: +'Twas much to me whom sometimes men mistook. +She asked me where we dwelt, that she might wait +Upon us there. I told her, and elate, +Went on my way to seek another nook. + + +IV. + +And there I found him whom I went to find, +A man of noble make and head uplift, +Of equal carriage, Nature's bounteous gift; +For in no shelter had his generous mind +Grown flowers that need the winds, rough not unkind. +The joiner's bench taught him, with judgment swift, +Seen things to fashion, unseen things to sift; +From all his face a living soul outshined, +Telling of strength and inward quietude; +His great hand shook mine greatly, and his eyes +Looked straight in mine with spiritual replies: +I left him, rich with overflowing good. +Such joys within two hours of happy mood, +Met me beneath the everlasting skies. + + + + +SONNET. + +(Exodus xxxiii. 18-23.) + + +"I do beseech Thee, God, show me thy face." +"Come up to me in Sinai on the morn: +Thou shalt behold as much as may be borne." +And Moses on a rock stood lone in space. +From Sinai's top, the vaporous, thunderous place, +God passed in clouds, an earthly garment worn +To hide, and thus reveal. In love, not scorn, +He put him in a cleft in the rock's base, +Covered him with his hand, his eyes to screen, +Then passed, and showed his back through mists of years. +Ah, Moses! had He turned, and hadst thou seen +The pale face crowned with thorns, baptized with tears, +The eyes of the true man, by men belied, +Thou hadst beheld God's face, and straightway died. + + + + +EIGHTEEN SONNETS, + +About Jesus. + + +I. + +If Thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race +Of forms divine had ever preached to men! +Lo, I behold thy brow, all glorious then, +(Its reflex dawning on the statue's face) +Bringing its Thought to birth in human grace, +The soul of the grand form, upstarting, when +Thou openest thus thy mysteries to our ken, +Striking a marble window through blind space. +But God, who mouldeth in life-plastic clay, +Flashing his thoughts from men with living eyes, +Not from still marble forms, changeless alway, +Breathed forth his human self in human guise: +Thou didst appear, walking unknown abroad, +The son of man, the human, subject God. + + +II. + +"There, Buonarotti, stands thy statue. Take +Possession of the form; inherit it; +Go forth upon the earth in likeness fit; +As with a trumpet-cry at morning, wake +The sleeping nations; with light's terror, shake +The slumber from their hearts; and, where they sit, +Let them leap up aghast, as at a pit +Agape beneath." I hear him answer make: +"Alas! I dare not; I could not inform +That image; I revered as I did trace; +I will not dim the glory of its grace, +Nor with a feeble spirit mock the enorm +Strength on its brow." Thou cam'st, God's thought thy form, +Living the large significance of thy face. + + +III. + +Some men I have beheld with wonderment, +Noble in form and feature, God's design, +In whom the thought must search, as in a mine, +For that live soul of theirs, by which they went +Thus walking on the earth. And I have bent +Frequent regard on women, who gave sign +That God willed Beauty, when He drew the line +That shaped each float and fold of Beauty's tent; +But the soul, drawing up in little space, +Thus left the form all staring, self-dismayed, +A vacant sign of what might be the grace +If mind swelled up, and filled the plan displayed: +Each curve and shade of thy pure form were Thine, +Thy very hair replete with the divine. + + +IV. + +If Thou hadst been a painter, what fresh looks, +What shining of pent glories, what new grace +Had burst upon us from the great Earth's face! +How had we read, as in new-languaged books, +Clear love of God in lone retreating nooks! +A lily, as thy hand its form would trace, +Were plainly seen God's child, of lower race; +And, O my heart, blue hills! and grassy brooks! +Thy soul lay to all undulations bare, +Answering in waves. Each morn the sun did rise, +And God's world woke beneath life-giving skies, +Thou sawest clear thy Father's meanings there; +'Mid Earth's Ideal, and expressions rare, +The ideal Man, with the eternal eyes. + + +V. + +But I have looked on pictures made by man, +Wherein, at first, appeared but chaos wild; +So high the art transcended, it beguiled +The eye as formless, and without a plan; +Until the spirit, brooding o'er, began +To see a purpose rise, like mountains piled, +When God said: Let the dry earth, undefiled, +Rise from the waves: it rose in twilight wan. +And so I fear thy pictures were too strange +For us to pierce beyond their outmost look; +A vapour and a darkness; a sealed book; +An atmosphere too high for wings to range: +At God's designs our spirits pale and change, +Trembling as at a void, thought cannot brook. + + +VI. + +And is not Earth thy living picture, where +Thou utterest beauty, simple and profound, +In the same form by wondrous union bound; +Where one may see the first step of the stair, +And not the next, for brooding vapours there? +And God is well content the starry round +Should wake the infant's inarticulate sound, +Or lofty song from bursting heart of prayer. +And so all men of low or lofty mind, +Who in their hearts hear thy unspoken word, +Have lessons low or lofty, to their kind, +In these thy living shows of beauty, Lord; +While the child's heart that simply childlike is, +Knows that the Father's face looks full in his. + + +VII. + +If Thou hadst been a Poet! On my heart +The thought dashed. It recoiled, as, with the gift, +Light-blinded, and joy-saddened, so bereft. +And the hot fountain-tears, with sudden start, +Thronged to mine eyes, as if with that same smart +The husk of vision had in twain been cleft, +Its hidden soul in naked beauty left, +And we beheld thee, Nature, as thou art. +O Poet, Poet, Poet! at thy feet +I should have lien, sainted with listening; +My pulses answering aye, in rhythmic beat, +Each parting word that with melodious wing +Moved on, creating still my being sweet; +My soul thy harp, thy word the quivering string. + + +VIII. + +Thou wouldst have led us through the twilight land +Where spirit shows by form, form is refined +Away to spirit by transfiguring mind, +Till they are one, and in the morn we stand; +Treading thy footsteps, children, hand in hand, +With sense divinely growing, till, combined, +We heard the music of the planets wind +In harmony with billows on the strand; +Till, one with Earth and all God's utterance, +We hardly knew whether the sun outspake, +Or a glad sunshine from our spirits brake; +Whether we think, or windy leaflets dance: +Alas, O Poet Leader! for this good, +Thou wert God's tragedy, writ in tears and blood. + + +IX. + +So if Thou hadst been scorned in human eyes, +Too bright and near to be a glory then; +If as Truth's artist, Thou hadst been to men +A setter forth of strange divinities; +To after times, Thou, born in midday skies, +A sun, high up, out-blazing sudden, when +Its light had had its centuries eight and ten +To travel through the wretched void that lies +'Twixt souls and truth, hadst been a Love and Fear, +Worshipped on high from Magian's mountain-crest, +And all night long symbol'd by lamp-flames clear; +Thy sign, a star upon thy people's breast, +Where now a strange mysterious shape doth lie, +That once barred out the sun in noontide sky. + + +X. + +But as Thou earnest forth to bring the Poor, +Whose hearts were nearer faith and verity, +Spiritual childhood, thy philosophy,-- +So taught'st the A, B, C of heavenly lore; +Because Thou sat'st not, lonely evermore, +With mighty thoughts informing language high; +But, walking in thy poem continually, +Didst utter acts, of all true forms the core; +Instead of parchment, writing on the soul +High thoughts and aspirations, being so +Thine own ideal; Poet and Poem, lo! +One indivisible; Thou didst reach thy goal +Triumphant, but with little of acclaim, +Even from thine own, escaping not their blame. + + +XI. + +The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear +Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things +Had credence; and no highest art that flings +A spirit radiance from it, like the spear +Of the ice-pointed mountain, lifted clear +In the nigh sunrise, had made skyey springs +Of light in the clouds of dull imaginings: +Vain were the painter or the sculptor here. +Give man the listening heart, the seeing eye; +Give life; let sea-derived fountain well, +Within his spirit, infant waves, to tell +Of the far ocean-mysteries that lie +Silent upon the horizon,--evermore +Falling in voices on the human shore. + + +XII. + +So highest poets, painters, owe to Thee +Their being and disciples; none were there, +Hadst Thou not been; Thou art the centre where +The Truth did find an infinite form; and she +Left not the earth again, but made it be +One of her robing rooms, where she doth wear +All forms of revelation. Artists bear +Tapers in acolyte humility. +O Poet! Painter! soul of all! thy art +Went forth in making artists. Pictures? No; +But painters, who in love should ever show +To earnest men glad secrets from God's heart. +So, in the desert, grass and wild flowers start, +When through the sand the living waters go. + + +XIII. + +So, as Thou wert the seed and not the flower, +Having no form or comeliness, in chief +Sharing thy thoughts with thine acquaintance Grief; +Thou wert despised, rejected in thine hour +Of loneliness and God-triumphant power. +Oh, not three days alone, glad slumber brief, +That from thy travail brought Thee sweet relief, +Lay'st Thou, outworn, beneath thy stony bower; +But three and thirty years, a living seed, +Thy body lay as in a grave indeed; +A heavenly germ dropt in a desert wide; +Buried in fallow soil of grief and need; +'Mid earthquake-storms of fiercest hate and pride, +By woman's tears bedewed and glorified. + + +XIV. + +All divine artists, humble, filial, +Turn therefore unto Thee, the poet's sun; +First-born of God's creation, only done +When from Thee, centre-form, the veil did fall, +And Thou, symbol of all, heart, coronal, +The highest Life with noblest Form made one, +To do thy Father's bidding hadst begun; +The living germ in this strange planet-ball, +Even as thy form in mind of striving saint. +So, as the one Ideal, beyond taint, +Thy radiance unto all some shade doth yield, +In every splendour shadowy revealed: +But when, by word or hand, Thee one would paint, +Power falls down straightway, speechless, dim-eyed, faint. + + +XV. + +Men may pursue the Beautiful, while they +Love not the Good, the life of all the Fair; +Keen-eyed for beauty, they will find it where +The darkness of their eyes hath power to slay +The vision of the good in beauty's ray, +Though fruits the same life-giving branches bear. +So in a statue they will see the rare +Beauty of thought moulded of dull crude clay, +While loving joys nor prayer their souls expand. +So Thou didst mould thy thoughts in Life not Art; +Teaching with human voice, and eye, and hand, +That none the beauty from the truth might part: +Their oneness in thy flesh we joyous hail-- +The Holy of Holies' cloud-illumined veil! + + +XVI. + +And yet I fear lest men who read these lines, +Should judge of them as if they wholly spake +The love I bear Thee and thy holy sake; +Saying: "He doth the high name wrong who twines +Earth's highest aim with Him, and thus combines +Jesus and Art." But I my refuge make +In what the Word said: "Man his life shall take +From every word:" in Art God first designs,-- +He spoke the word. And let me humbly speak +My faith, that Art is nothing to the act, +Lowliest, that to the Truth bears witness meek, +Renownless, even unknown, but yet a fact: +The glory of thy childhood and thy youth, +Was not that Thou didst show, but didst the Truth. + + +XVII + +The highest marble Sorrow vanishes +Before a weeping child.[2] The one doth seem, +The other is. And wherefore do we dream, +But that we live? So I rejoice in this, +That Thou didst cast Thyself, in all the bliss +Of conscious strength, into Life's torrent stream, +(Thy deeds fresh life-springs that with blessings teem) +Acting, not painting rainbows o'er its hiss. +Forgive me, Lord, if in these verses lie +Mean thoughts, and stains of my infirmity; +Full well I know that if they were as high +In holy song as prophet's ecstasy, +'Tis more to Thee than this, if I, ah me! +Speak gently to a child for love of Thee. + +[Footnote 2: John Sterling.] + + +XVIII. + +Thou art before me, and I see no more +Pilate or soldiers, but the purple flung +Around the naked form the scourge had wrung, +To naked Truth thus witnessing, before +The False and trembling True. As on the shore +Of infinite Love and Truth, I kneel among +Thy footprints on that pavement; and my tongue +Would, but for reverence, cry: "If Thou set'st store +By feeble homage, Witness to the Truth, +Thou art the King, crowned by thy witnessing!" +I die in soul, and fall down worshipping. +Art glories vanish, vapours of the morn. +Never but Thee was there a man in sooth, +Never a true crown but thy crown of thorn. + + + + +DEATH AND BIRTH. + +A Symbol. + +[Sidenote: _He looks from his window on the midnight town._] + +'Tis the midnight hour; I heard +The city clocks give out the word. +Seldom are the lamp-rays shed +On the quick foot-farer's head, +As I sit at my window old, +Looking out into the cold, +Down along the narrowing street +Stretching out below my feet, +From base of this primeval block, +My old home's foundation rock. + +[Sidenote: _He renounces Beauty the body for Truth the soul_.] + +How her windows are uplighted! +God in heaven! for this I slighted, +Star-profound immensity +Brooding ever in the sky! +What an earthly constellation +Fills those chambers with vibration! +Fleeting, gliding, weaving, parting; +Light of jewels! flash of eyes! +Meeting, changing, wreathing, darting, +In a cloud of rainbow-dyes. +Soul of light, her eyes are floating +Hither, thither, through the cloud, +Wandering planets, seeking, noting +Chosen stars amid the crowd. +Who, as centre-source of motion +Draws those dark orbs' spirit-ocean? +All the orbs on which they turn +Sudden with shooting radiance burn; +Mine I felt grow dim with sheen, +Sending tribute to their queen: +Queen of all the slaves of show-- +Queen of Truth's free nobles--no. +She my wandering eyes might chain, +Fill my throbbing burning brain: +Beauty lacking Truth within +Spirit-homage cannot win. +Will is strong, though feeling waver +Like the sea to its enslaver-- +Strong as hills that bar the sea +With the word of the decree. + +[Sidenote: _The Resentment of Genius at the thumbscrews of worldly +talent._] + +That passing shadow in the street! +Well I know it, as is meet! +Did he not, before her face, +Seek to brand me with disgrace? +From the chiselled lips of wit +Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, +Scorching as the snow that fell +On the damned in Dante's hell? +With keen-worded opposition, +playful, merciless precision, +Mocking the romance of Youth, +Standing on the sphere of Truth, +He on worldly wisdom's plane +Rolled it to and fro amain.-- +Doubtless there it could not lie, +Or walk an orbit but the sky.-- +I, who glowed in every limb, +Knowing, could not answer him; +But I longed yet more to be +What I saw he could not see. +So I thank him, for he taught +What his wisdom never sought. +It were sweet to make him burn +With his poverty in turn, +Shaming him in those bright eyes, +Which to him are more than skies! +Whither? whither? Heart, thou knowest +Side by side with him thou goest, +If thou lend thyself to aught +But forgiving, saving thought. + +[Sidenote: _Repentance._] + +[Sidenote: _The recess of the window a niche, wherein he beholds +all the world of his former walk as the picture of a vain slave._] + +Ah! come in; I need your aid. +Bring-your tools, as then I said.-- +There, my friend, build up that niche. +"Pardon me, my lord, but which?" +That, in which I stood this minute; +That one with the picture in it.-- +"The window, do you mean, my lord? +Such, few mansions can afford! +Picture is it? 'Tis a show +Picture seldom can bestow! +City palaces and towers, +Forest depths of floating pines, +Sloping gardens, shadowed bowers; +Use with beauty here combines." +True, my friend, seen with your eyes: +But in mine 'tis other quite: +In that niche the dead world lies, +Shadowed over with the night. +In that tomb I'll wall it out; +Where, with silence all about, +Startled only by decay +As the ancient bonds give way, +Sepulchred in all its charms, +Circled in Death's nursing arms, +Mouldering without a cross, +It may feed itself on loss. + +[Sidenote: _The Devil Contempt whistling through the mouth of the +Saint Renunciation._] + +Now go on, lay stone on stone, +I will neither sigh nor moan.-- +Whither, whither, Heart of good? + +[Sidenote: _Repentance._] + +Art thou not, in this thy mood, +One of evil, priestly band, +With dark robes and lifted hand, +Square-faced, stony-visaged men, +In a narrow vaulted den, +Watching, by the cresset dun, +A wild-eyed, pale-faced, staring nun, +Who beholds, as, row by row, +Grows her niche's choking wall, +The blood-red tide of hell below +Surge in billowy rise and fall? + +[Sidenote: Dying unto sin] + +Yet build on; for it is I +To the world would gladly die; +To the hopes and fears it gave me, +To the love that would enslave me, +To the voice of blame it raises, +To the music of its praises, +To its judgments and its favours, +To its cares and its endeavours, +To the traitor-self that opes +Secret gates to cunning hopes;-- +Dying unto all this need, +I shall live a life indeed; +Dying unto thee, O Death, +Is to live by God's own breath. +Therefore thus I close my eyes, +Thus I die unto the world; +Thus to me the same world dies, +Laid aside, a map upfurled. +Keep me, God, from poor disdain: +When to light I rise again, +With a new exultant life +Born in sorrow and in strife, +Born of Truth and words divine, +I will see thee yet again, +Dwell in thee, old world of mine, +Aid the life within thy men, +Helping them to die to thee, +And walk with white feet, radiant, free; +Live in thee, not on thy love, +Breathing air from heaven above. + +[Sidenote: _Regret at the memory of Beauty, and Appreciation, and Praise_.] + +Lo! the death-wall grows amain; +And in me triumphant pain +To and fro and outward goes +As I feel my coffin close.-- +Ah, alas, some beauties vanish! +Ah, alas, some strength I banish! +Maidens listening with a smile +In confiding eyes, the while +Truths they loved so well to hear +Left my lips. Lo, they draw near! +Lo! I see my forehead crowned +With a coronal of faces, +Where the gleam of living graces +Each to other keeps them bound; +Leaning forward in a throng, +I the centre of their eyes, +Voices mute, that erst in song +Stilled the heart from all but sighs-- +Now in thirsty draughts they take +At open eyes and ears, the Truth +Spoken for their love and youth-- +Hot, alas! for bare Truth's sake! +There were youths that held by me, +Youths with slightly furrowed brows, +Bent for thought like bended bows; +Youths with souls of high degree +Said that I alone could teach them, +I, one of themselves, could reach them; +I alone had insight nurst, +Cared for Truth and not for Form, +Would not call a man a worm, +Saw God's image in the worst. +And they said my words were strong, +Made their inward longings rise; +Even, of mine, a little song, +Lark-like, rose into the skies. +Here, alas! the self-same folly; +'Twas not for the Truth's sake wholly, +Not for sight of the thing seen, +But for Insight's sake I ween. +Now I die unto all this; +Kiss me, God, with thy cold kiss. + +[Sidenote: _"I dreamed that Allah kissed me, and his kiss was cold."_] + +All self-seeking I forsake; +In my soul a silence make. +There was joy to feel I _could_, +That I had some power of good, +That I was not vainly tost: +Now I'm empty, empty quite; +Fill me, God, or I am lost; +In my spirit shines no light; +All the outer world's wild press +Crushes in my emptiness. +Am I giving all away? +Will the sky be always grey? +Never more this heart of mine +Beat like heart refreshed with wine? +I shall die of misery, +If Thou, God, come not to me. + +[Sidenote: _Dead indeed unto Sin_.] + +Now 'tis finished. So depart +All untruth from out my heart; +All false ways of speaking, thinking; +All false ways of looking, linking; +All that is not true and real, +Tending not to God's Ideal: +Help me--how shall human breath +Word _Thy_ meaning in this death! + +[Sidenote: _How is no matter, so that he wake to Life and Sight._] + +Now come hither. Bring that tool. +Its name I know not; but its use +Written on its shape in full +Tells me it is no abuse +If I strike a hole withal +Through this thick opposed wall. +The rainbow-pavement! Never heed it-- +What is that, where light is needed? +Where? I care not; quickest best. +What kind of window would I choose? +Foolish man, what sort of hues +Would you have to paint the East, +When each hill and valley lies +Hungering for the sun to rise? +'Tis an opening that I want; +Let the light in, that is all; +Needful knowledge it will grant. +How to frame the window tall. +Who at morning ever lies +Thinking how to ope his eyes? +This room's eyelids I will ope, +Make a morning as I may; +'Tis the time for work and hope; +Night is waning near the day. + +I bethink me, workman priest; +It were best to pierce the wall +Where the thickness is the least-- +Nearer there the light-beams fall, +Sooner with our dark to mix-- +That niche where stands the Crucifix. +"The Crucifix! what! impious task! +Wilt thou break into its shrine? +Taint with human the Divine?" +Friend, did Godhead wear a mask +Of the human? or did it +Choose a form for Godhead fit? + +[Sidenote: _The form must yield to the Truth._] + +Brother with the rugged crown +Won by being all divine, +This my form may come to Thine: +Gently thus I lift Thee down; +Lovingly, O marble cold, +Thee with human hands I fold, +And I set Thee thus aside, +Human rightly deified! +God, by manhood glorified! + +[Sidenote: _Nothing less than the Cross would satisfy the Godhead +for its own assertion and vindication._] + +Thinkest thou that Christ did stand +Shutting God from out the land? +Hiding from His children's eyes +Dayspring in the holy skies? +Stood He not with loving eye +On one side, to bring us nigh? +"Doth this form offend you still? +God is greater than you see; +If you seek to do His will, +He will lead you unto me." +Then the tender Brother's grace +Leads us to the Father's face. +As His parting form withdrew, +Burst His Spirit on the view. +Form completest, radiant white, +Sometimes must give way for light, +When the eye, itself obscure, +Stead of form is needing cure: +Washed at morning's sunny brim +From the mists that make it dim, +Set thou up the form again, +And its light will reach the brain. +For the Truth is Form allowed, +For the glory is the cloud; +But the single eye alone +Sees with light that is its own, +From primeval fountain-head +Flowing ere the sun was made; +Such alone can be regaled +With the Truth by form unveiled; +To such an eye his form will be +Gushing orb of glory free. + +[Sidenote: _Striving_.] + +Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster +Clashes downward, fast and faster. +Now the first stone disengages; +Now a second that for ages +Bested there as in a rock +Yields to the repeated shock. +Hark! I heard an outside stone +Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! + +[Sidenote: _Longing_.] + +Haste thee, haste! I am athirst +To behold young Morning, nurst +In the lap of ancient Night, +Growing visibly to light. +There! thank God! a faint light-beam! +There! God bless that little stream +Of cool morning air that made +A rippling on my burning head! + +[Sidenote: _Alive unto God._] + +Now! the stone is outward flung, +And the Universe hath sprung +Inward on my soul and brain! + +[Sidenote: _A New Life_.] + +I am living once again! +Out of sorrow, out of strife, +Spring aloft to higher life; +Parted by no awful cleft +From the life that I have left; +Only I myself grown purer +See its good so much the surer, +See its ill with hopeful eye, +Frown more seldom, oftener sigh. +Dying truly is no loss, +For to wings hath grown the cross. +Dear the pain of giving up, +If Christ enter in and sup. +Joy to empty all the heart, +That there may be room for Him! +Faintness cometh, soon to part, +For He fills me to the brim. +I have all things now and more; +All that I possessed before; +In a calmer holier sense, +Free from vanity's pretence; +And a consciousness of bliss, +Wholly mine, by being His. +I am nearer to the end +Whither all my longings tend. +His love in all the bliss I had, +Unknown, was that which made me glad; +And will shine with glory more, +In the forms it took before. + +[Sidenote: _Beauty returned with Truth._] + +Lo! the eastern vapours crack +With the sunshine at their back! +Lo! the eastern glaciers shine +In the dazzling light divine! +Lo! the far-off mountains lifting +Snow-capt summits in the sky! +Where all night the storm was drifting, +Whiteness resteth silently! +Glorious mountains! God's own places! +Surely man upon their faces +Climbeth upward nearer Thee +Dwelling in Light's Obscurity! +Mystic wonders! hope and fear +Move together at your sight. + +[Sidenote: _Silence and Thought._] + +That one precipice, whose height +I can mete by inches here, +Is a thousand fathoms quite. +I must journey to your foot, +Grow on you as on my root; +Feed upon your silent speech, +Awful air, and wind, and thunder, +Shades, and solitudes, and wonder; + +[Sidenote: _The Realities of existence must seize on his soul_.] + +Distances that lengthening roll +Onward, on, beyond Thought's reach, +Widening, widening on the view; +Till the silence touch my soul, +Growing calm and vast like you. +I will meet Christ on the mountains; +Dwell there with my God and Truth; + +[Sidenote: _Baptism_.] + +Drink cold water from their fountains, +Baptism of an inward youth. +Then return when years are by, +To teach a great humility; + +[Sidenote: _Future mission_.] + +To aspiring youth to show +What a hope to them is given: +Heaven and Earth at one to know; +On the Earth to live in Heaven; +Winning thus the hearts of Earth +To die into the Heavenly Birth. + + + + +EARLY POEMS. + + + +LONGING. + + +Away from the city's herds! + Away from the noisy street! +Away from the storm of words, + Where hateful and hating meet! + +Away from the vapour grey, + That like a boding of ill +Is blotting the morning gay, + And gathers and darkens still! + +Away from the stupid book! + For, like the fog's weary rest, +With anger dull it fills each nook + Of my aching and misty breast. + +Over some shining shore, + There hangeth a space of blue; +A parting 'mid thin clouds hoar + Where the sunlight is falling through. + +The glad waves are kissing the shore + Rejoice, and tell it for ever; +The boat glides on, while its oar + Is flashing out of the river. + +Oh to be there with thee! + Thou and I only, my love! +The sparkling, sands and the sea! + And the sunshine of God above! + + + + +MY EYES MAKE PICTURES. + +"My eyes make pictures, when they are shut." + COLERIDGE. + + +Fair morn, I bring my greeting + To lofty skies, and pale, +Save where cloud-shreds are fleeting + Before the driving gale, +The weary branches tossing, + Careless of autumn's grief, +Shadow and sunlight crossing + On each earth-spotted leaf. + +I will escape their grieving; + And so I close my eyes, +And see the light boat heaving + Where the billows fall and rise; +I see the sunlight glancing + Upon its silvery sail, +Where a youth's wild heart is dancing, + And a maiden growing pale. + +And I am quietly pacing + The smooth stones o'er and o'er, +Where the merry waves are chasing + Each other to the shore. +Words come to me while listening + Where the rocks and waters meet, +And the little shells are glistening + In sand-pools at my feet. + +Away! the white sail gleaming! + Again I close my eyes, +And the autumn light is streaming + From pale blue cloudless skies; +Upon the lone hill falling + 'Mid the sound of heather-bells, +Where the running stream is calling + Unto the silent wells. + +Along the pathway lonely, + My horse and I move slow; +No living thing, save only + The home-returning crow. +And the moon, so large, is peering + Up through the white cloud foam; +And I am gladly nearing + My father's house, my home. + +As I were gently dreaming + The solemn trees look out; +The hills, the waters seeming + In still sleep round about; +And in my soul are ringing + Tones of a spirit-lyre, +As my beloved were singing + Amid a sister-choir. + +If peace were in my spirit, + How oft I'd close my eyes, +And all the earth inherit, + And all the changeful skies! +Thus leave the sermon dreary, + Thus leave the lonely hearth; +No more a spirit weary-- + A free one of the earth! + + + + +DEATH. + + +When, like a garment flung aside at night, +This body lies, or sculpture of cold rest; +When through its shaded windows comes no light, +And the white hands are folded on its breast; + +How will it be with Me, its tenant now? +How shall I feel when first I wander out? +How look on tears from loved eyes falling? How +Look forth upon dim mysteries round about? + +Shall I go forth, slow-floating like a mist, +Over the city with its crowded walls? +Over the trees and meadows where I list? +Over the mountains and their ceaseless falls? + +Over the red cliffs and fantastic rocks; +Over the sea, far-down, fleeting away; +White sea-birds shining, and the billowy shocks +Heaving unheard their shore-besieging spray? + +Or will a veil, o'er all material things +Slow-falling; hide them from the spirit's sight; +Even as the veil which the sun's radiance flings +O'er stars that had been shining all the night? + +And will the spirit be entranced, alone, +Like one in an exalted opium-dream-- +Time space, and all their varied dwellers gone; +And sunlight vanished, and all things that seem; + +Thought only waking; thought that doth not own +The lapse of ages, or the change of place; +Thought, in which only that which _is_, is known; +The substance here, the form confined to space? + +Or as a child that sobs itself to sleep, +Wearied with labour which the grown call play, +Waking in smiles as soon as morn doth peep, +Springs up to labour all the joyous day, + +Shall we lie down, weary; and sleep, until +Our souls be cleansed by long and dreamless rest; +Till of repose we drink our thirsting fill, +And wake all peaceful, smiling, pure, and blest? + +I know not--only know one needful thing: +God is; I shall be ever in His view; +I only need strength for the travailing, +Will for the work Thou givest me to do. + + + + +LESSONS FOR A CHILD. + + +I. + +There breathes not a breath of the morning air, +But the spirit of Love is moving there; +Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree +Mingles with thousands in harmony; +But the Spirit of God doth make the sound, +And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around. +And the sunshiny butterflies come and go, +Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro; +And not a wave of their busy wings +Is unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things. +And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon, +And dance in the light of the mystic moon-- +All have one being that loves them all; +Not a fly in the spider's web can fall, +But He cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; +And He cares for each little child's smile or sigh. +How it can be, I cannot know; +He is wiser than I; and it must be so. + + +II. + +The tree-roots met in the spongy ground, + Looking where water lay; +Because they met, they twined around, + Embraced, and went their way. + +Drop dashed on drop, as the rain-shower fell, + Yet they strove not, but joined together; +And they rose from the earth a bright clear well, + Singing in sunny weather. + +Sound met sound in the wavy air; + They kissed as sisters true; +Yet, jostling not on their journey fair, + Each on its own path flew. + +Wind met wind in a garden green; + Each for its own way pled; +And a trampling whirlwind danced between, + Till the flower of Love lay dead. + + +III. + +To C.C.P. + +The bird on the leafy tree, +The bird in the cloudy sky, +The fish in the wavy sea, +The stag on the mountain high, +The albatross asleep +On the waves of the rocking deep, +The bee on its light wing, borne +Over the bending corn,-- +What is the thought in the breast +Of the little bird at rest? +What is the thought in the songs +Which the lark in the sky prolongs? +What mean the dolphin's rays, +Winding his watery ways? +What is the thought of the stag, +Stately on yonder crag? +What doth the albatross think, +Dreaming upon the brink +Of the mountain billow, and then +Dreaming down in its glen? +What is the thought of the bee +Fleeting so silently, +Flitting from part to part, +Speedily, gently roving, +Like the love of a thoughtful heart, +Ever at rest, and moving? +What is the life of their thought? +Doth praise their souls employ? +I think it can be nought +But the trembling movement to and fro +Of a bright, life-giving joy. +And the God of cloudless days, +Who souls and hearts doth know, +Taketh their joy for praise, +And biddeth its fountains flow. + +And if, in thy life on earth, +In the chamber, or by the hearth, +Mid the crowded city's tide, +Or high on the lone hill-side, +Thou canst cause a thought of peace, +Or an aching thought to cease, +Or a gleam of joy to burst +On a soul in gladness nurst; +Spare not thy hand, my child; +Though the gladdened should never know +The well-spring amid the wild +Whence the waters of blessing flow. +Find thy reward in the thing +Which thou hast been blest to do; +Let the joy of others cause joy to spring +Up in thy bosom too. +And if the love of a grateful heart +As a rich reward be given, +Lift thou the love of a grateful heart +To the God of Love in Heaven. + + + + +HOPE DEFERRED. + + +Summer is come again. The sun is bright, +And the soft wind is breathing. We will joy; +And seeing in each other's eyes the light +Of the same joy, smile hopeful. Our employ +Shall, like the birds', be airy castles, things +Built by gay hopes, and fond imaginings, +Peopling the land within us. We will tell +Of the green hills, and of the silent sea, +And of all summer things that calmly dwell, +A waiting Paradise for you and me. +And if our thoughts should wander upon sorrow, +Yet hope will wait upon the far-off morrow. + +Look on those leaves. It was not Summer's mouth +That breathed that hue upon them. And look there-- +On that thin tree. See, through its branches bare, +How low the sun is in the mid-day South! +This day is but a gleam of gladness, flown +Back from the past to tell us what is gone. +For the dead leaves are falling; and our heart, +Which, with the world, is ever changing so, +Gives back, in echoes sad and low, +The rustling sigh wherewith dead leaves depart: +A sound, not murmuring, but faint and wild; +A sorrow for the Past that hath no child,-- +No sweet-voiced child with the bright name of Hope. + +We are like you, poor leaves! but have more scope +For sorrow; for our summers pass away +With a slow, year-long, overshadowing decay. +Yea, Spring's first blossom disappears, +Slain by the shadow of the coming years. + +Come round me, my beloved. We will hold +All of us compassed thus: a winter day +Is drawing nigh us. We are growing old; +And, if we be not as a ring enchanted, +About each other's heart, to keep us gay, +The young, who claim that joy which haunted +Our visions once, will push us far away +Into the desolate regions, dim and grey, +Where the sea hath no moaning, and the cloud +No rain of tears, but apathy doth shroud +All being and all time. But, if we keep +Together thus, the tide of youth will sweep +Round us with thousand joyous waves, +As round some palmy island of the deep; +And our youth hover round us like the breath +Of one that sleeps, and sleepeth not to death. + +Thus onward, hand in hand, to parted graves, +The sundered doors into one palace home, +Through age's thickets, faltering, we will go, +If He who leads us, wills it so, +Believing in our youth, and in the Past; +Within us, tending to the last +Love's radiant lamp, which burns in cave or dome; +And, like the lamps that ages long have glowed +In blessed graves, when once the weary load +Of tomb-built years is heaved up and cast, +For youth and immortality, away, +Will flash abroad in open day, +Clear as a star in heaven's blue-vaulted night; +Shining, till then, through every wrinkled fold, +With the Transfiguration's conquering might; +That Youth our faces wondering shall behold, +And shall be glad, not fearing to be old. + + + + +THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. + + +The weary Old Year is dead at last; +His corpse 'mid the ruins of Time is cast, +Where the mouldering wrecks of lost Thought lie, +And the rich-hued blossoms of Passion die +To a withering grass that droops o'er his grave, +The shadowy Titan's refuge cave. +Strange lights from pale moony Memory lie +On the weedy columns beneath its eye; +And strange is the sound of the ghostlike breeze, +In the lingering leaves on the skeleton trees; +And strange is the sound of the falling shower, +When the clouds of dead pain o'er the spirit lower; +Unheard in the home he inhabiteth, +The land where all lost things are gathered by Death. + +Alone I reclined in the closing year; +Voice, nor breathing, nor step was near; +And I said in the weariness of my breast: +Weary Old Year, thou art going to rest; +O weary Old Year, I would I might be +One hour alone in thy dying with thee! +Would thou wert a spirit, whose low lament +Might mix with the sighs from my spirit sent; +For I am weary of man and life; +Weary of restless unchanging strife; +Weary of change that is ever changing; +Weary of thought that is ever ranging, +Ever falling in efforts vain, +Fluttering, upspringing from earth again, +Struggling once more through the darkness to wing +That hangs o'er the birthplace of everything, +And choked yet again in the vapour's breast, +Sinking once more to a helpless rest. +I am weary of tears that scarce are dry, +Ere their founts are filled as the cloud goes by; +Weary of feelings where each in the throng +Mocks at the rest as they crowd along; +Where Pride over all, like a god on high, +Sits enshrined in his self-complacency; +Where Selfishness crawls, the snake-demon of ill, +The least suspected where busiest still; +Where all things evil and painful entwine, +And all in their hate and their sorrow are mine: +O weary Old Year, I would I might be +One hour by thy dying, to weep with thee! + +Peace, the soul's slumber, was round me shed; +The sleep where thought lives, but its pain is dead; +And my musings led me, a spirit-band, +Through the wide realms of their native land; +Till I stood by the couch of the mighty dying, +A lonely shore in the midnight lying. +He lay as if he had laid him to sleep, +And the stars above him their watch did keep; +And the mournful wind with the dreamy sigh, +The homeless wanderer of the sky, +Was the only attendant whose gentle breath +Soothed him yet on the couch of death; +And the dying waves of the heedless sea +Fell at his feet most listlessly. + +But he lay in peace, with his solemn eye +Looking far through the mists of futurity. +A smile gleamed over the death-dew that lay +On his withered cheek as life ebbed away. +A darkness lay on his forehead vast; +But the light of expectancy o'er it was cast,-- +A light that shone from the coming day, +Travelling unseen to the East away. +In his cloudy robes that lay shadowing wide, +I stretched myself motionless by his side; +And his eyes with their calm, unimpassioned power, +Soothing my heart like an evening shower, +Led in a spectral, far-billowing train, +The hours of the Past through my spirit again. + +There were fears of evil whose stony eyes +Froze joy in its gushing melodies. +Some floated afar on thy tranquil wave, +And the heart looked up from its search for a grave; +While others as guests to the bosom came, +And left its wild children more sorrow, less shame; +For the death-look parts from their chilling brow, +And they bless the heads that before them bow; +And floating away in the far-off gloom. +Thankfulness follows them to their tomb. +There were Hopes that found not a place to rest +Their foot 'mid the rush of all-ocean's breast; +And home to the sickening heart flew back, +But changed into sorrows upon their track; +And through the moan of the darkening sea +Bearing no leaf from the olive-tree. +There were joys that looked forth with their maiden eyes, +And smiled, and were gone, with a sad surprise; +And the Love of the Earthly, whose beauteous form +Beckoned me on through sunshine and storm; +But when the bounding heart sprang high, +Meeting her smile with a speechless sigh, +The arms sunk home with a painful start, +Clasping a vacancy to the heart. + +And the voice of the dying I seem to hear +But whether his breathing is in mine ear, +Or the sounds of the breaking billows roll +The lingering accents upon my soul, +I know not; but thus they seem to bear +Reproof to my soul for its faint despair:-- +Blame not life, it is scarce begun; +Blame not mankind, thyself art one. +And change is holy, oh! blame it never; +Thy soul shall live by its changing ever; +Not the bubbling change of a stagnant pool, +But the change of a river, flowing and full; +Where all that is noble and good will grow +Mightier still as the full tides flow; +Till it joins the hidden, the boundless sea, +Rolling through depths of Eternity. +Blame not thy thought that it cannot reach +That which the Infinite must teach; +Bless thy God that the Word came nigh +To guide thee home to thy native sky, +Where all things are homely and glorious too, +And the children are wondering, and glad, and true. + +And he pointed away to an Eastern star, +That gleamed through his robes o'er the ocean afar; +And I knew that a star had looked o'er the rim +Of my world that lay all dreary and dim; +And was slowly dissolving the darkness deep +Which, like evil nurse, had soothed me to sleep; +And rising higher, and shining clearer, +Would draw the day-spring ever nearer, +Till the sunshine of God burst full on the morn, +And every hill and valley would start +With the joy of light and new gratitude born +To Him who had led me home to His heart; +And all things that lived in my world within +With the gladness of tears to His feet come in; +And the false Self be banished with fiends to dwell +In the gloomiest haunts of his native hell; +And Pride, that ruled like a god above, +Be trod 'neath the feet of triumphant Love. + +And again he pointed across the sea, +And another vision arose in me: +And I knew I walked an ocean of fear, +Yet of safety too, for the Master was near; +And every wave of sorrow or dread, +O'er which strong faith should upraise my head, +Would show from the height of its troubled crest +Still nearer and nearer the Land of Rest. +And when the storm-spray on the wind should arise, +And with tears unbidden should blind mine eyes, +And hide from my vision the Home of Love, +I knew I must look to the star above, +And the mists of Passion would quickly flee, +And the storm would faint to serenity. + +And again it seemed as if words found scope, +The sorrowing words of a farewell Hope: +"I will meet thee again in that deathless land, +Whenever thy foot shall imprint the strand; +And the loveliest things that have here been mine, +Shall there in eternal beauty shine; +For there I shall live and never die, +Part of a glorious Eternity; +For the death of Time is _To be forgot,_ +And I go where oblivion entereth not." + +He was dead. He had gone to the rest of his race, +With a sad smile frozen upon his face. +Deadness clouded his eyes. And his death-bell rung, +And my sorrowing thoughts his low requiem sung; +And with trembling steps his worn body cast +In the wide charnel-house of the dreary Past. +Thus met the noble Old Year his end: +Rest him in peace, for he was my friend. + +As my thoughts returned from their wandering, +A voice in my spirit was lingering; +And its sounds were like Spring's first breeze's hum, +When the oak-leaves fall, and the young leaves come: + +Time dieth ever, is ever born: +On the footsteps of night so treadeth the morn; +Shadow and brightness, death and birth, +Chasing each other o'er the round earth. +But the spirit of Time from his tomb is springing, +The dust of decay from his pinions flinging; +Ever renewing his glorious youth, +Scattering around him the dew of Truth. +Oh, let it raise in the desert heart +Fountains and flowers that shall never depart! +This spirit will fill us with thought sublime; +For the _End of God_ is the spirit of Time. + + + + +A SONG IN A DREAM. + + +I dreamed of a song, I heard it sung; +In the ear that sleeps not its music rung. +And the tones were upheld by harmonies deep, +Where the spirit floated; yea, soared, on their sweep +With each wild unearthly word and tone, +Upward, it knew not whither bound, +In a calm delirium of mystic sound-- +Up, where the Genius of Thought alone +Loveth in silence to drink his fill +Of dews that from unknown clouds distil. +A woman's voice the deep echoes awoke, +In the caverns and solitudes of my soul; +But such a voice had never broke +Through the sea of sounds that about us roll, +Choking the ear in the daylight strife. +There was sorrow and triumph, and death and life +In each chord-note of that prophet-song, +Blended in one harmonious throng: +Such a chant, ere my voice has fled from death, +Be it mine to mould of the parting breath. + + + + +A THANKSGIVING. + + +I Thank Thee, boundless Giver, + That the thoughts Thou givest flow +In sounds that like a river + All through the darkness go. +And though few should swell the pleasure, + By sharing this my wine, +My heart will clasp its treasure, + This secret gift of Thine. + +My heart the joy inherits, + And will oft be sung to rest; +And some wandering hoping spirits + May listen and be blest. +For the sound may break the hours + In a dark and gloomy mood, +As the wind breaks up the bowers + Of the brooding sunless wood. + +For every sound of gladness + Is a prophet-wind that tells +Of a summer without sadness, + And a love without farewells; +And a heart that hath no ailing, + And an eye that is not dim, +And a faith that without failing + Shall be complete in Him. + +And when my heart is mourning, + The songs it lately gave, +Back to their fount returning, + Make sweet the bitter wave; +And forth a new stream floweth, + In sunshine winding fair; +And through the dark wood goeth + Glad laughter on the air. + +For the heart of man that waketh, + Yet hath not ceased to dream, +Is the only fount that maketh + The sweet and bitter stream. +But the sweet will still be flowing + When the bitter stream is dry, +And glad music only going + On the breezes of the sky. + +I thank Thee, boundless Giver, + That the thoughts Thou givest flow +In sounds that like a river + All through the darkness go. +And though few should swell the pleasure + By sharing this my wine, +My heart will clasp its treasure, + This secret gift of Thine. + + + + +THE GOSPEL WOMEN. + + + +I. + +THE MOTHER MARY. + + +1. + +Mary, to thee the heart was given + For infant hand to hold, +Thus clasping, an eternal heaven, + The great earth in its fold. + +He seized the world with tender might, + By making thee his own; +Thee, lowly queen, whose heavenly height + Was to thyself unknown. + +He came, all helpless, to thy power, + For warmth, and love, and birth; +In thy embraces, every hour, + He grew into the earth. + +And thine the grief, O mother high, + Which all thy sisters share, +Who keep the gate betwixt the sky + And this our lower air; + +And unshared sorrows, gathering slow; + New thoughts within thy heart, +Which through thee like a sword will go, + And make thee mourn apart. + +For, if a woman bore a son + That was of angel brood, +Who lifted wings ere day was done, + And soared from where he stood; + +Strange grief would fill each mother-moan, + Wild longing, dim, and sore: +"My child! my child! he is my own, + And yet is mine no more!" + +And thou, O Mary, years on years, + From child-birth to the cross, +Wast filled with yearnings, filled with fears, + Keen sense of love and loss. + +His childish thoughts outsoared thy reach; + His childish tenderness +Had deeper springs than act or speech + To eye or ear express. + +Strange pangs await thee, mother mild! + A sorer travail-pain, +Before the spirit of thy child + Is born in thee again. + +And thou wilt still forbode and dread, + And loss be still thy fear, +Till form be gone, and, in its stead, + The very self appear. + +For, when thy Son hath reached his goal, + His own obedient choice, +Him thou wilt know within thy soul, + And in his joy rejoice. + + +2. + +Ah, there He stands! With wondering face + Old men surround the boy; +The solemn looks, the awful place, + Restrain the mother's joy. + +In sweet reproach her joy is hid; + Her trembling voice is low, +Less like the chiding than the chid: + "How couldst Thou leave us so?" + +Ah, mother! will thy heart mistake, + Depressed by rising fear, +The answering words that gently break + The silence of thine ear? + +"Why sought ye me? Did ye not know + My father's work I do?" +Mother, if He that work forego, + Not long He cares for you. + +"Why sought ye me?" Ah, mother dear! + The gulf already opes, +That soon will keep thee to thy fear, + And part thee from thy hopes. + +A greater work He hath to do, + Than they can understand; +And therefore mourn the loving few, + With tears throughout the land. + + +3. + +The Lord of life beside them rests; + They quaff the merry wine; +They do not know, those wedding guests, + The present power divine. + +Believe, on such a group He smiled, + Though He might sigh the while; +Believe not, sweet-souled Mary's child + Was born without a smile. + +He saw the pitchers high upturned, + The last red drops to pour; +His mother's cheek with triumph burned, + And expectation wore. + +He knew the prayer her bosom housed, + He read it in her eyes. +Her hopes in Him sad thoughts have roused, + Before her words arise. + +"They have no wine," the mother said, + And ceased while scarce begun; +Her eyes went on, "Lift up thy head, + Show what Thou art, my Son!" + +A vision rose before his eyes, + The cross, the early tomb, +The people's rage, the darkened skies, + His unavoided doom. + +"Ah, woman-heart! what end is set + Common to thee and me? +My hour of honour is not yet,-- + 'Twill come too soon for thee." + +And yet his eyes so sweetly shined, + His voice so gentle grew, +The mother knew the answer kind-- + "Whate'er He sayeth, do." + +The little feast more joyous grew, + Fast flowed the grapes divine; +Though then, as now, not many knew + Who made the water wine. + + +4. + +"He is beside himself," they said; + His days, so lonely spent, +Him from the well-known path have led + In which our fathers went." + +"Thy mother seeks thee." Cried aloud, + The message finds its way; +He stands within, amidst a crowd, + She in the open day. + +A flush of light o'erspreads his face, + And pours from forth his eyes; +He lifts that head, the home of grace, + Looks round Him, and replies. + +"My mother? brothers? who are they?" + Hearest thou, Mary mild? +This is a sword that well may slay-- + Disowned by thy child! + +Not so. But, brothers, sisters, hear! + What says our human Lord? +O mother, did it wound thy ear? + We thank Him for the word. + +"Who are my friends?" Oh! hear Him say, + And spread it far and broad. +"My mother, sisters, brothers, they + Who keep the word of God." + +_My brother!_ Lord of life and me, + I am inspired with this! +Ah! brother, sister, this must be + Enough for all amiss. + +Yet think not, mother, He denies, + Or would thy claim destroy; +But glad love lifts more loving eyes + To Him who made the joy. + +Oh! nearer Him is nearer thee: + With his obedience bow, +And thou wilt rise with heart set free, + Yea, twice his mother now. + + +5. + +The best of life crowds round its close, + To light it from the door; +When woman's art no further goes, + She weeps, and loves the more. + +Howe'er she doubted, in his life, + And feared his mission's loss, +The mother shares the awful strife, + And stands beside the cross. + +Mother, the hour of tears is past; + The sword hath reached thy soul; +No veil of swoon is round thee cast, + No darkness hides the whole. + +Those are the limbs which thou didst bear; + Thy arms, they were his rest; +And now those limbs the irons tear, + And hold Him from thy breast. + +He speaks. With torturing joy the sounds + Drop burning on thine ear; +The mother-heart, though bleeding, bounds + Her dying Son to hear. + +Ah! well He knew that not alone + The cross of pain could tell; +That griefs as bitter as his own + Around it heave and swell. + +And well He knew what best repose + Would bring a true relief: +He gave, each to the other, those + Who shared a common grief. + +"Mother, behold thy son. O friend, + My mother take for thine." +"Ah, son, he loved thee to the end." + "Mother, what honour mine!" + +Another son instead, He gave, + Her crying heart to still. +For him, He went down to the grave, + Doing his Father's will. + + + + +II. + +THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD. + + +She says within: "It is a man, + A man of mother born; +She is a woman--I am one, + Alive this holy morn." + +Filled with his words that flow in light, + Her heart will break or cry: +A woman's cry bursts forth in might + Of loving agony. + +"Blessed the womb, Thee, Lord, that bore! + The breast where Thou hast fed!" +Storm-like those words the silence tore, + Though words the silence bred. + +He ceases, listens to the cry, + And knows from whence it springs; +A woman's heart that glad would die + For this her best of things. + +Yet there is better than the birth + Of such a mighty son; +Better than know, of all the earth + Thyself the chosen one. + +"Yea, rather, blessed they that hear, + And keep the word of God." +The voice was gentle, not severe: + No answer came abroad. + + + + +III. + +THE MOTHER OP ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN. + + +Ah mother! for thy children bold, + But doubtful of thy quest, +Thou begg'st a boon ere it be told, + Avoiding wisdom's test. + +Though love is strong to bring thee nigh, + Ambition makes thee doubt; +Ambition dulls the prophet-eye; + It casts the unseen out. + +Not that in thousands he be one, + Uplift in lonely state-- +Seek great things, mother, for thy son, + Because the things are great. + +For ill to thee thy prayers avail, + If granted to thy will; +Ill which thy ignorance would hail, + Or good thou countedst ill. + +Them thou wouldst see in purple pride, + Worshipped on every hand; +Their honours mighty but to hide + The evil of the land. + +Or wouldst thou thank for granted quest, + Counting thy prayer well heard, +If of the three on Calvary's crest + They shared the first and third? + +Let them, O mother, safety win; + They are not safe with thee; +Thy love would shut their glory in; + His love would set it free. + +God keeps his thrones for men of strength, + Men that are fit to rule; +Who, in obedience ripe at length, + Have passed through all his school. + +Yet higher than thy love can dare, + His love thy sons would set: +They who his cup and baptism share + May share his kingdom yet. + + + + +IV. + +THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN. + + +"Bestow her prayer, and let her go; + She crieth after us." +Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; + Help not a woman thus. + +Their pride, by condescension fed, + He speaks with truer tongue: +"It is not meet the children's bread + Should to the dogs be flung." + +She, too, shall share the hurt of good, + Her spirit, too, be rent, +That these proud men their evil mood + May see, and so repent. + +And that the hidden faith in her + May burst in soaring flame, +From childhood truer, holier, + If birthright not the same. + +If for herself had been her prayer, + She might have turned away; +But oh! the woman-child she bare + Was now the demon's prey. + +She crieth still; gainsays no words + Contempt can hurt withal; +The daughter's woe her strength affords, + And woe nor strength is small. + +Ill names, of proud religion born, + She'll wear the worst that comes; +Will clothe her, patient, in their scorn, + To share the healing crumbs. + +And yet the tone of words so sore + The words themselves did rue; +His face a gentle sadness wore, + As if He suffered too. + +Mother, thy agony of care + He justifies from ill; +Thou wilt not yield?--He grants the prayer + In fullness of _thy_ will. + +Ah Lord! if I my hope of weal + Upon thy goodness built, +Thy will perchance my will would seal, + And say: _Be it as thou wilt._ + + + + +V. + +THE WIDOW OF NAIN. + + +Away from living man's abode + The tides of sorrow sweep, +Bearing a dead man on the road + To where the weary sleep. + +And down the hill, in sunny state, + Glad footsteps troop along; +A noble figure walks sedate, + The centre of the throng. + +The streams flow onward, onward flow, + Touch, waver, and are still; +And through the parted crowds doth go, + Before the prayer, the will. + +"Weep not, O mother! Young man, rise!" + The bearers hear and stay; +Up starts the form; wide flash the eyes; + With gladness blends dismay. + +The lips would speak, as if they caught + Some converse sudden broke, +When echoing words the dead man sought, + And Hades' silence woke. + +The lips would speak. The eyes' wild stare + Gives place to ordered sight; +The low words die upon the air-- + The soul is dumb with light. + +He brings no news; he has forgot; + Or saw with vision weak: +Thou seest all our unseen lot, + And yet thou dost not speak. + +It may be as a mother keeps + A secret gift in store; +Which if he knew, the child that sleeps, + That night would sleep no more. + +Oh, thine are all the hills of gold! + Yet gold Thou gavest none; +Such gifts would leave thy love untold-- + The widow clasps her son. + +No word of hers hath left a trace + Of uttered joy or grief; +Her tears alone have found a place + Upon the holy leaf. + +Oh, speechless sure the widow's pain, + To lose her only boy! +Speechless the flowing tides again + Of new-made mother's joy! + +Life is triumphant. Joined in one + The streams flow to the gate; +Death is turned backward to the sun, + And Life is hailed our Fate. + + + + +VI. + +THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND. + + +For eighteen years, O patient soul, + Thine eyes have sought thy grave; +Thou seest not thy other goal, + Nor who is nigh to save. + +Thou nearest gentle words that wake + Thy long-forgotten strength; +Thou feelest tender hands that break + The iron bonds at length. + +Thou knowest life rush swift along + Thy form bent sadly low; +And up, amidst the wondering throng + Thou risest firm and slow, + +And seëst him. Erect once more + In human right divine, +Joyous thou bendest yet before + The form that lifted thine. + +O Saviour, Thou, long ages gone, + Didst lift her joyous head: +Now, many hearts are moaning on, + And bending towards the dead. + +They see not, know not Thou art nigh: + One day thy word will come; +Will lift the forward-beaming eye, + And strike the sorrow dumb. + +Thy hand wipes off the stains of time + Upon the withered face; +Thy old men rise in manhood's prime + Of dignity and grace. + +Thy women dawn like summer days + Old winters from among; +Their eyes are filled with youthful rays, + The voice revives in song. + +All ills of life will melt away + Like cureless dreams of woe, +When with the dawning of the day + Themselves the sad dreams go. + +O Lord, Thou art my saviour too: + I know not what my cure; +But all my best, Thou, Lord, wilt do; + And hoping I endure. + + + + +VII. + +THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD. + + +Near him she stole, rank after rank; + She feared approach too loud; +She touched his garment's hem, and shrank + Back in the sheltering crowd. + +A trembling joy goes through her frame: + Her twelve years' fainting prayer +Is heard at last; she is the same + As other women there. + +She hears his voice; He looks about. + Ah! is it kind or good +To bring her secret sorrow out + Before that multitude? + +With open love, not secret cure, + The Lord of hearts would bless; +With age-long gladness, deep and sure, + With wealth of tenderness. + +Her shame can find no shelter meet; + Their eyes her soul appal: +Forward she sped, and at his feet + Fell down, and told Him all. + +His presence made a holy place; + No alien eyes were there; +Her shamed-faced grief found godlike grace; + More sorrow, tenderer care. + +"Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; + Go, and be well, and glad." +Ah, Lord! if we had faith, our soul + Not often would be sad. + +Thou knowest all our hidden grief + Which none but Thee can know; +Thy knowledge, Lord, is our relief; + Thy love destroys our woe. + + + + +VIII. + +THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES. + + +Here _much_ and _little_ change their name + With changing need and time; +But _more_ and _less_ new judgments claim, + Where all things are sublime. + +Sickness may be more hale than health, + And service kingdom high; +Yea, poverty be bounty's wealth, + To give like God thereby. + +Bring forth your riches,--let them go, + Nor mourn the lost control; +For if ye hoard them, surely so + Their rust will reach your soul. + +Cast in your coins; for God delights + When from wide hands they fall; +But here is one who brings two mites, + "And yet gives more than all." + +She heard not, she, the mighty praise; + Went home to care and need: +Perchance the knowledge still delays, + And yet she has the meed. + + + + +IX. + +THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM. + + +They give Him freely all they can, + They give Him clothes and food; +In this rejoicing, that the Man + Is not ashamed they should. + +Enough He labours for his hire; + Yea, nought can pay his pain; +The sole return He doth require + Is strength to toil again. + +And this, embalmed in truth, they bring, + By love received as such; +Their little, by his welcoming, + Transformed into much. + + + + +X. + +PILATE'S WIFE. + + +Strangely thy whispered message ran, + Almost in form behest! +Why came in dreams the low-born man + To part thee from thy rest? + +It may be that some spirit fair, + Who knew not what must be, +Fled in the anguish of his care + For help for him to thee. + +But rather would I think thee great; + That rumours upward went, +And pierced the palisades of state + In which thy rank was pent; + +And that a Roman matron thou, + Too noble for thy spouse, +The far-heard grandeur must allow, + And sit with pondering brows. + +And so thy maidens' gathered tale + For thee with wonder teems; +Thou sleepest, and the prisoner pale + Returneth in thy dreams. + +And thou hast suffered for his sake + Sad visions all the night: +One day thou wilt, then first awake, + Rejoice in his dear light. + + + + +XI. + +THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA. + + +The empty pitcher to the pool + She bore in listless mood: +In haste she turned; the pitcher full + Beside the water stood. + +To her was heard the age's prayer: + He sat upon the brink; +Weary beside the waters fair, + And yet He could not drink. + +He begged her help. The woman's hand + Was ready to reply; +From out the old well of the land + She drew Him plenteously. + +He spake as never man before; + She stands with open ears; +He spoke of holy days in store, + Laid bare the vanished years. + +She cannot grapple with her heart, + Till, in the city's bound, +She cries, to ease the joy-born smart, + "I have the Master found." + +Her life before was strange and sad; + Its tale a dreary sound: +Ah! let it go--or good or bad, + She has the Master found. + + + + +XII. + +MARY MAGDALENE. + + +With eyes aglow, and aimless zeal, + Throughout the land she goes; +Her tones, her motions, all reveal + A mind without repose. + +She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea, + By madness tortured, driven; +One hour's forgetfulness would be + A gift from very heaven. + +The night brings sleep, the sleep distress; + The torture of the day +Returns as free, in darker dress, + In more secure dismay. + +No soft-caressing, soothing palm + Her confidence can raise; +No eye hath loving force to calm + And draw her answering gaze. + +He comes. He speaks. A light divine + Dawns gracious in thy soul; +Thou seest love and order shine,-- + His health will make thee whole. + +One wrench of pain, one pang of death, + And in a faint delight, +Thou liest, waiting for new breath, + For morning out of night. + +Thou risest up: the earth is fair, + The wind is cool and free; +As when a dream of mad despair + Dissolves in ecstasy. + +And, pledge of life and future high, + Thou seest the Master stand; +The life of love is in his eye, + Its power is in his hand. + +What matter that the coming time + Will stain thy virgin name; +Attribute thy distress to crime + The worst for woman-fame; + +Yea, call that woman Magdalen, + Whom slow-reviving grace +Turneth at last from evil men + To seek the Father's face. + +What matters it? The night is gone; + Right joyous shines the sun; +The same clear sun that always shone + Ere sorrow had begun. + +Oh! any name may come and bide, + If he be well content +To see not seldom by his side + Thy head serenely bent. + +Thou, sharing in the awful doom, + Wilt help thy Lord to die; +And, mourning o'er his empty tomb, + First share his victory. + + + + +XIII. + +THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE. + + +A still dark joy. A sudden face, + Cold daylight, footsteps, cries; +The temple's naked, shining space, + Aglare with judging eyes. + +With all thy wild abandoned hair, + And terror-pallid lips, +Thy blame unclouded to the air, + Thy honour in eclipse; + +Thy head, thine eyes droop to the ground, + Thy shrinking soul to hide; +Lest, at its naked windows found, + Its shame be all descried. + +Another shuts the world apart, + Low bending to the ground; +And in the silence of his heart, + Her Father's voice will sound. + +He stoops, He writes upon the ground, + From all those eyes withdrawn; +The awful silence spreads around + In that averted dawn. + +With guilty eyes bent downward still, + With guilty, listless hands, +All idle to the hopeless will, + She, scorn-bewildered, stands. + +Slow rising to his manly height, + Fronting the eager eyes, +The righteous Judge lifts up his might, + The solemn voice replies: + +(What, woman! does He speak for thee? + For thee the silence stir?) +"Let him who from this sin is free, + Cast the first stone at her!" + +Upon the death-stained, ashy face, + The kindling blushes glow: +No greater wonder sure had place + When Lazarus forth did go! + +Astonished, hopeful, growing sad, + The wide-fixed eyes arose; +She saw the one true friend she had, + Who loves her though He knows. + +Sick womanhood awakes and cries, + With voiceless wail replete. +She looks no more; her softening eyes + Drop big drops at her feet. + +He stoops. In every charnel breast + Dead conscience rises slow. +They, dumb before the awful guest, + Turn one by one, and go. + +They are alone. The silence dread + Closes and deepens round. +Her heart is full, her pride is dead; + No place for fear is found. + +Hath He not spoken on her side? + Those cruel men withstood? +Even her shame she would not hide-- + Ah! now she _will_ be good. + +He rises. They are gone. But, lo! + She standeth as before. +"Neither do I condemn thee; go, + And sin not any more." + +She turned and went. The veil of tears + Fell over what had been; +Her childhood's dawning heaven appears, + And kindness makes her clean. + +And all the way, the veil of tears + Flows from each drooping lid; +No face she sees, no voice she hears, + Till in her chamber hid. + +And then returns one voice, one face, + A presence henceforth sure; +The living glory of the place, + To keep that chamber pure. + +Ah, Lord! with all our faults we come,-- + With love that fails to ill; +With Thee are our accusers dumb, + With Thee our passions still. + +Ah! more than father's holy grace + Thy lips and brow afford; +For more than mother's tender face + We come to Thee, O Lord! + + + + +XIV. + +MARTHA. + + +With joyful pride her heart is great: + Her house, in all the land, +Holds Him who conies, foretold by fate, + With prophet-voice and hand. + +True, he is poor and lowly born: + Her woman-soul is proud +To know and hail the coming morn + Before the eyeless crowd. + +At her poor table will He eat? + He shall be served there +With honour and devotion meet + For any king that were. + +'T is all she can; she does not fail; + Her holy place is his: +The place within the purple veil + In the great temple is. + +But many crosses she must bear, + Straight plans are sideways bent; +Do all she can, things will not wear + The form of her intent. + +With idle hands, by Him unsought, + Her sister sits at rest; +'Twere better sure she rose, and wrought + Some service for their guest. + +She feels a wrong. The feeling grows, + As other cares invade: +Strong in her right, at last she goes + To claim her sister's aid. + +Ah, Martha! one day thou like her, + Or here, or far beyond, +Will sit as still, lest, but to stir, + Should break the charmed bond. + + + + +XV. + +MARY. + + +1. + +She sitteth at the Master's feet + In motionless employ; +Her ears, her heart, her soul complete + Drinks in the tide of joy. + +She is the Earth, and He the Sun; + He shineth forth her leaves; +She, in new life from darkness won, + Gives back what she receives. + +Ah! who but she the glory knows + Of life, pure, high, intense; +Whose holy calm breeds awful shows, + Transfiguring the sense! + +The life in voice she drinks like wine; + The Word an echo found; +Her ear the world, where Thought divine + Incarnate was in sound. + +Her holy eyes, brimful of light, + Shine all unseen and low; +As if the radiant words all night + Forth at those orbs would go. + +The opening door reveals a face + Of anxious household state: +"Car'st thou not, Master, for my case, + That I alone should wait?" + +Heavy with light, she lifts those eyes + To Him who calmly heard; +Ready that moment to arise, + And go, before the word. + +Her fear is banished by his voice, + Her fluttering hope set free: +"The needful thing is Mary's choice, + She shall remain with me." + +Oh, joy to every doubting heart, + Doing the thing it would, +If He, the Holy, take its part, + And call its choice the good! + + +2. + +Not now as then his words are poured + Into her lonely ears; +But many guests are at the board, + And many tongues she hears. + +With sacred foot she cometh slow, + With daring, trembling tread; +With shadowing worship bendeth low + Above the godlike head. + +The sacred chrism in snowy stone + A gracious odour sends. +Her little hoard, so slowly grown, + In one full act she spends. + +She breaks the box, the honoured thing! + The ointment pours amain; +Her priestly hands anoint her King, + And He shall live and reign. + +They called it waste. Ah, easy well! + Their love they could endure; +For her, her heart did ache and swell, + That she forgot the poor. + +She meant it for the coming crown; + He took it for the doom; +And his obedience laid Him down, + Crowned in the quiet tomb. + + + + +XVI. + +THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER + + +She washes them with sorrow sweet, + She wipes them with her hair; +Her kisses soothe the weary feet, + To all her kisses bare. + +The best of woman, beauty's crown, + She spends upon his feet; +Her eyes, her lips, her hair, flung down, + In one devotion meet. + +His face, his words, her heart had woke. + She judged Him well, in sooth: +Believing Him, her bonds she broke, + And fled to Him for truth. + +His holy manhood's perfect worth + Redeems the woman's ill: +Her thanks intense to Him burn forth, + Who owns her woman still. + +And so, in kisses, ointment, tears, + And outspread lavish hair, +An earnest of the coming years, + Ascends her thankful prayer. + +If Mary too her hair did wind + The holy feet around; +Such tears no virgin eyes could find, + As this sad woman found. + +And if indeed his wayworn feet + With love she healed from pain; +This woman found the homage meet, + And taught it her again. + +The first in grief, ah I let her be, + And love that springs from woe; +Woe soothed by Him more tenderly + That sin doth make it flow. + +Simon, such kisses will not soil; + Her tears are pure as rain; +Her hair--'tis Love unwinds the coil, + Love and her sister Pain. + +If He be kind, for life she cares; + A light lights up the day; +She to herself a value bears, + Not yet a castaway. + +And evermore her heart arose, + And ever sank away; +For something crowned Him o'er her woes, + More than her best could say. + +Rejoice, sweet sisters, holy, pure, + Who hardly know her case: +There is no sin but has its cure, + But finds its answering grace. + +Her heart, although it sinned and sank, + Rose other hearts above: +Bless her, dear sisters, bless and thank, + For teaching how to love. + +He from his own had welcome sad-- + "Away with him," said they; +Yet never lord or poet had + Such homage in his day. + +Ah Lord! in whose forgiveness sweet, + Our life becomes intense! +We, brothers, sisters, crowd thy feet-- + Ah! make no difference. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Hidden Life and Other Poems, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HIDDEN LIFE AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 10578-8.txt or 10578-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/7/10578/ + +Produced by Tim Rowe, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10578-8.zip b/old/10578-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5921fef --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10578-8.zip diff --git a/old/10578.txt b/old/10578.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e46c362 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10578.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10592 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Hidden Life and Other Poems, by George MacDonald + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Hidden Life and Other Poems + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: January 2, 2004 [EBook #10578] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HIDDEN LIFE AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Tim Rowe, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +A HIDDEN LIFE + +And Other Poems + +GEORGE MAC DONALD + + +Author of + +"Within and Without, a Dramatic Poem;" "David Elginbrod;" +"Phantasies;" etc. + + + + +Ma poi ch' i' fui appie d' un colle giunto, + La ove terminava quella valle, +Che m' avea di paura il cuor compunto; + Guarda' in alto, e vidi le sue spalle +Vestite gia de' raggi del pianeta, + Che mena dritto altrui per ogni calle. + + DELL' INFERNO, Cant. I. + + + + +1864. + +To My Father. + + +I. + +Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care, + Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude + Late waked for early gifts ill understood; +Claiming in all my harvests rightful share, +Whether with song that mounts the joyful air + I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood, + Sit dumb because I know a speechless good, +Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer. + Thou hast been faithful to my highest need; +And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore, +Shall never feel the grateful burden sore. + Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed, + But for the sense thy living self did breed +That fatherhood is at the great world's core. + + +II. + +All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined, + As for some being of another race; + Ah! not with it departing--grown apace +As years have brought me manhood's loftier mind +Able to see thy human life behind-- + The same hid heart, the same revealing face-- + My own dim contest settling into grace +Of sorrow, strife, and victory combined. + So I beheld my God, in childhood's morn, +A mist, a darkness, great, and far apart, +Moveless and dim--I scarce could say _Thou art_: + My manhood came, of joy and sadness born-- + Full soon the misty dark, asunder torn, +Revealed man's glory, God's great human heart. + +G.M.D. Jr. + +Algiers, April, 1857. + + + +CONTENTS. + + +A HIDDEN LIFE +THE HOMELESS GHOST +ABU MIDJAN +AN OLD STORY +A BOOK OP DREAMS +TO AURELIO SAFFI +SONNET +A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA +A GIFT +THE MAN OF SONGS +BETTER THINGS +THE JOURNEY +PRAYER +REST +TO A.J. SCOTT +LIGHT +TO A.J. SCOTT +WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER +IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN +BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH +THE HILLS +I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS +I WOULD I WERE A CHILD +THE LOST SOUL +A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM +AFTER AN OLD LEGEND +THE TREE'S PRAYER +A STORY OF THE SEA SHORE +MY HEART +O DO NOT LEAVE ME +THE HOLY SNOWDROPS +TO MY SISTER +O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH +LONGING +A BOY'S GRIEF +THE CHILD-MOTHER +LOVE'S ORDEAL +A PRAYER FOR THE PAST +FAR AND NEAR +MY ROOM +SYMPATHY +LITTLE ELFIE +THE THANK OFFERING +THE BURNT OFFERING +FOUR SONNETS +SONNET +EIGHTEEN SONNETS +DEATH AND BIRTH + + +EARLY POEMS. + +LONGING +MY EYES MAKE PICTURES +DEATH +LESSONS FOR A CHILD +HOPE DEFERRED +THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR +A SONG IN A DREAM +A THANKSGIVING + + +THE GOSPEL WOMEN. + +THE MOTHER MARY +THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD +THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN +THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN +THE WIDOW OF NAIN +THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND +THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD +THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES +THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM +PILATE'S WIFE +THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA +MART MAGDALENE +THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE +MARTHA +MARY +THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER + + + +POEMS. + + +A HIDDEN LIFE. + + +Proudly the youth, by manhood sudden crowned, +Went walking by his horses to the plough, +For the first time that morn. No soldier gay +Feels at his side the throb of the gold hilt +(Knowing the blue blade hides within its sheath, +As lightning in the cloud) with more delight, +When first he belts it on, than he that day +Heard still the clank of the plough-chains against +The horses' harnessed sides, as to the field +They went to make it fruitful. O'er the hill +The sun looked down, baptizing him for toil. + +A farmer's son he was, and grandson too; +Yea, his great-grandsire had possessed these fields. +Tradition said they had been tilled by men +Who bore the name long centuries ago, +And married wives, and reared a stalwart race, +And died, and went where all had followed them, +Save one old man, his daughter, and the youth +Who ploughs in pride, nor ever doubts his toil; +And death is far from him this sunny morn. +Why should we think of death when life is high? +The earth laughs all the day, and sleeps all night. +Earth, give us food, and, after that, a grave; +For both are good, each better in its time. + +The youth knew little; but he read old tales +Of Scotland's warriors, till his blood ran swift +As charging knights upon their death career. +And then he chanted old tunes, till the blood +Was charmed back into its fountain-well, +And tears arose instead. And Robert's songs, +Which ever flow in noises like his name, +Rose from him in the fields beside the kine, +And met the sky-lark's rain from out the clouds. +As yet he sang only as sing the birds, +From gladness simply, or, he knew not why. +The earth was fair--he knew not it was fair; +And he so glad--he knew not he was glad: +He walked as in a twilight of the sense, +Which this one day shall turn to tender light. + +For, ere the sun had cleared the feathery tops +Of the fir-thicket on the eastward hill, +His horses leaned and laboured. His great hands +Held both the reins and plough-stilts: he was proud; +Proud with a ploughman's pride; nobler, may be, +Than statesman's, ay, or poet's pride sometimes, +For little praise would come that he ploughed well, +And yet he did it well; proud of his work, +And not of what would follow. With sure eye, +He saw the horses keep the arrow-track; +He saw the swift share cut the measured sod; +He saw the furrow folding to the right, +Ready with nimble foot to aid at need. +And there the slain sod lay, patient for grain, +Turning its secrets upward to the sun, +And hiding in a grave green sun-born grass, +And daisies clipped in carmine: all must die, +That others live, and they arise again. + +Then when the sun had clomb to his decline, +And seemed to rest, before his slow descent, +Upon the keystone of his airy bridge, +They rested likewise, half-tired man and horse, +And homeward went for food and courage new; +Whereby refreshed, they turned again to toil, +And lived in labour all the afternoon. +Till, in the gloaming, once again the plough +Lay like a stranded bark upon the lea; +And home with hanging neck the horses went, +Walking beside their master, force by will. +Then through the deepening shades a vision came. + +It was a lady mounted on a horse, +A slender girl upon a mighty steed, +That bore her with the pride horses must feel +When they submit to women. Home she went, +Alone, or else the groom lagged far behind. +But, as she passed, some faithless belt gave way; +The saddle slipped, the horse stopped, and the girl +Stood on her feet, still holding fast the reins. + +Three paces bore him bounding to her side; +Her radiant beauty almost fixed him there; +But with main force, as one that gripes with fear, +He threw the fascination off, and saw +The work before him. Soon his hand and knife +Replaced the saddle firmer than before +Upon the gentle horse; and then he turned +To mount the maiden. But bewilderment +A moment lasted; for he knew not how, +With stirrup-hand and steady arm, to throne, +Elastic, on her steed, the ascending maid: +A moment only; for while yet she thanked, +Nor yet had time to teach her further will, +Around her waist he put his brawny hands, +That almost zoned her round; and like a child +Lifting her high, he set her on the horse; +Whence like a risen moon she smiled on him, +Nor turned away, although a radiant blush +Shone in her cheek, and shadowed in her eyes. +But he was never sure if from her heart +Or from the rosy sunset came the flush. +Again she thanked him, while again he stood +Bewildered in her beauty. Not a word +Answered her words that flowed, folded in tones +Round which dissolving lambent music played, +Like dropping water in a silver cup; +Till, round the shoulder of the neighbouring hill, +Sudden she disappeared. And he awoke, +And called himself hard names, and turned and went +After his horses, bending too his head. + +Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door, +Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare. +Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house. +Why seems it always that it should be ours? +A secret lies behind which Thou dost know, +And I can partly guess. + + But think not then, +The holder of the plough had many sighs +Upon his bed that night; or other dreams +Than pleasant rose upon his view in sleep, +Within the magic crystal of the soul; +Nor that the airy castles of his brain +Had less foundation than the air admits. +But read my simple tale, scarce worth the name; +And answer, if he gained not from the fair +Beauty's best gift; and proved her not, in sooth, +An angel vision from a higher world. + +Not much of her I tell. Her changeful life +Where part the waters on the mountain ridge, +Flowed down the other side apart from his. +Her tale hath wiled deep sighs on summer eves, +Where in the ancient mysteries of woods +Walketh a man who worships womanhood. +Soon was she orphaned of such parent-haunts; +Surrounded with dead glitter, not the shine +Of leaves in wind and sunlight; while the youth +Breathed on, as if a constant breaking dawn +Sent forth the new-born wind upon his brow; +And knew the morning light was climbing up +The further hill-side--morning light, which most, +They say, reveals the inner hues of earth. +Now she was such as God had made her, ere +The world had tried to spoil her; tried, I say, +And half-succeeded, failing utterly. +Fair was she, frank, and innocent as a child +That stares you in the eyes; fearless of ill, +Because she knew it not; and brave withal, +Because she drank the draught that maketh strong, +The charmed country air. Her father's house-- +A Scottish laird was he, of ancient name-- +Stood only two miles off amid the hills; +But though she often passed alone as now, +The youth had never seen her face before, +And might not twice. Yet was not once enough? +It left him not. She, as the harvest moon +That goeth on her way, and knoweth not +The fields of grain whose ripening ears she fills +With wealth of life and human joyfulness, +Went on, and knew not of the influence +She left behind; yea, never thought of him; +Save at those times when, all at once, old scenes +Return uncalled, with wonder that they come, +Amidst far other thoughts and other cares; +Sinking again into their ancient graves, +Till some far-whispered necromantic spell +Loose them once more to wander for a space. + +Again I say, no fond romance of love, +No argument of possibilities, +If he were some one, and she claimed his aid, +Turned his clear brain into a nest of dreams. +As soon he had sat down and twisted cords +To snare, and carry home for daylight use, +Some woman-angel, wandering half-seen +On moonlight wings, o'er withered autumn fields. +But when he rose next morn, and went abroad, +(The exultation of his new-found rank +Already settling into dignity,) +He found the earth was beautiful. The sky, +Which shone with expectation of the sun, +Somehow, he knew not how, was like her face. +He grieved almost to plough the daisies down; +Something they shared in common with that smile +Wherewith she crowned his manhood; and they fell +Bent in the furrow, sometimes, with their heads +Just out imploringly. A hedgehog ran +With tangled mesh of bristling spikes, and face +Helplessly innocent, across the field: +He let it run, and blessed it as it ran. +At noon returning, something drew his feet +Into the barn. Entering, he gazed and stood. +Through the rent roof alighting, one sunbeam, +Blazing upon the straw one golden spot, +Dulled all the yellow heap, and sank far down, +Like flame inverted, through the loose-piled mound, +Crossing the splendour with the shadow-straws, +In lines innumerable. 'Twas so bright, +The eye was cheated with a spectral smoke +That rose as from a fire. He never knew, +Before, how beautiful the sunlight was; +Though he had seen it in the grassy fields, +And on the river, and the ripening corn, +A thousand times. He threw him on the heap, +And gazing down into the glory-gulf, +Dreamed as a boy half-sleeping by the fire; +And dreaming rose, and got his horses out. + +God, and not woman, is the heart of all. +But she, as priestess of the visible earth, +Holding the key, herself most beautiful, +Had come to him, and flung the portals wide. +He entered in: each beauty was a glass +That gleamed the woman back upon his view. + +Already in these hours his growing soul +Put forth the white tip of a floral bud, +Ere long to be a crown-like, shadowy flower. +For, by his songs, and joy in ancient tales, +He showed the seed lay hidden in his heart, +A safe sure treasure, hidden even from him, +And notwithstanding mellowing all his spring; +Until, like sunshine with its genial power, +Came the fair maiden's face: the seed awoke. +I need not follow him through many days; +Nor tell the joys that rose around his path, +Ministering pleasure for his labour's meed; +Nor how each morning was a boon to him; +Nor how the wind, with nature's kisses fraught, +Flowed inward to his soul; nor how the flowers +Asserted each an individual life, +A separate being, for and in his thought; +Nor how the stormy days that intervened +Called forth his strength, and songs that quelled their force; +Nor how in winter-time, when thick the snow +Armed the sad fields from gnawing of the frost, +And the low sun but skirted his far realms, +And sank in early night, he took his place +Beside the fire; and by the feeble lamp +Head book on book; and lived in other lives, +And other needs, and other climes than his; +And added other beings thus to his. +But I must tell that love of knowledge grew +Within him to a passion and a power; +Till, through the night (all dark, except the moon +Shone frosty o'er the lea, or the white snow +Gave back all motes of light that else had sunk +Into the thirsty earth) he bent his way +Over the moors to where the little town +Lay gathered in the hollow. There the man +Who taught the children all the shortened day, +Taught other scholars in the long fore-night; +And youths who in the shop, or in the barn, +Or at the loom, had done their needful work, +Came to his schoolroom in the murky night, +And found the fire aglow, the candles lit, +And the good master waiting for his men. +Here mathematics wiled him to their heights; +And strange consent of lines to form and law +Made Euclid like a great romance of truth. +The master saw with wonder how the youth +All eagerly devoured the offered food, +And straightway longed to lead him; with that hope +Of sympathy which urges him that knows +To multiply great knowledge by its gift; +That so two souls ere long may see one truth, +And, turning, see each others' faces shine. +So he proposed the classics; and the youth +Caught at the offer; and for many a night, +When others lay and lost themselves in sleep, +He groped his way with lexicon and rule, +Through ancient deeds embalmed in Latin old, +Or poet-woods alive with gracious forms; +Wherein his knowledge of the English tongue +(Through reading many books) much aided him-- +For the soul's language is the same in all. +At length his progress, through the master's word, +Proud of his pupil, reached the father's ears. +Great joy arose within him, and he vowed, +If caring, sparing would accomplish it, +He should to college, and should have his fill +Of that same learning. + + So to school he went, +Instead of to the plough; and ere a year, +He wore the scarlet gown with the close sleeves. + +Awkward at first, but with a dignity +That soon found fit embodiment in speech +And gesture and address, he made his way, +Not seeking it, to the respect of youths, +In whom respect is of the rarer gifts. +Likewise by the consent of accidents, +More than his worth, society, so called, +In that great northern city, to its rooms +Invited him. He entered. Dazzled first, +Not only by the brilliance of the show, +In lights and mirrors, gems, and crowded eyes; +But by the surface lights of many minds +Cut like rose-diamonds into many planes, +Which, catching up the wandering rays of fact, +Reflected, coloured, tossed them here and there, +In varied brilliance, as if quite new-born +From out the centre, not from off the face-- +Dazzled at first, I say, he soon began +To see how little thought could sparkle well, +And turn him, even in the midst of talk, +Back to the silence of his homely toils. +Around him still and ever hung an air +Born of the fields, and plough, and cart, and scythe; +A kind of clumsy grace, in which gay girls +Saw but the clumsiness; while those with light, +Instead of glitter, in their quiet eyes, +Saw the grace too; yea, sometimes, when he talked, +Saw the grace only; and began at last, +As he sought none, to seek him in the crowd +(After a maiden fashion), that they might +Hear him dress thoughts, not pay poor compliments. +Yet seldom thus was he seduced from toil; +Or if one eve his windows showed no light, +The next, they faintly gleamed in candle-shine, +Till far into the morning. And he won +Honours among the first, each session's close. + +And if increased familiarity +With open forms of ill, not to be shunned +Where youths of all kinds meet, endangered there +A mind more willing to be pure than most-- +Oft when the broad rich humour of a jest, +Did, with its breezy force, make radiant way +For pestilential vapours following-- +Arose within his sudden silent mind, +The maiden face that smiled and blushed on him; +That lady face, insphered beyond his earth, +Yet visible to him as any star +That shines unwavering. I cannot tell +In words the tenderness that glowed across +His bosom--burned it clean in will and thought; +"Shall that sweet face be blown by laughter rude +Out of the soul where it has deigned to come, +But will not stay what maidens may not hear?" +He almost wept for shame, that those two thoughts +Should ever look each other in the face, +Meeting in _his_ house. Thus he made to her, +For love, an offering of purity. + +And if the homage that he sometimes found, +New to the country lad, conveyed in smiles, +Assents, and silent listenings when he spoke, +Threatened yet more his life's simplicity; +An antidote of nature ever came, +Even nature's self. For, in the summer months, +His former haunts and boyhood's circumstance +Received him back within old influences. +And he, too noble to despise the past, +Too proud to be ashamed of manhood's toil, +Too wise to fancy that a gulf lay wide +Betwixt the labouring hand and thinking brain, +Or that a workman was no gentleman, +Because a workman, clothed himself again +In his old garments, took the hoe or spade, +Or sowing sheet, or covered in the grain, +Smoothing with harrows what the plough had ridged. +With ever fresher joy he hailed the fields, +Returning still with larger powers of sight: +Each time he knew them better than before, +And yet their sweetest aspect was the old. +His labour kept him true to life and fact, +Casting out worldly judgments, false desires, +And vain distinctions. Ever, at his toil, +New thoughts arose; which, when still night awoke, +He ever sought, like stars, with instruments; +By science, or by wise philosophy, +Bridging the gulf between them and the known; +And thus preparing for the coming months, +When in the time of snow, old Scotland's sons +Reap wisdom in the silence of the year. + +His sire was proud of him; and, most of all, +Because his learning did not make him proud. +A wise man builds not much upon his lore. +The neighbours asked what he would make his son. +"I'll make a man of him," the old man said; +"And for the rest, just what he likes himself. +But as he is my only son, I think +He'll keep the old farm joined to the old name; +And I shall go to the churchyard content, +Leaving my name amongst my fellow men, +As safe, thank God, as if I bore it still." +But sons are older than their sires full oft +In the new world that cometh after this. + +So four years long his life went to and fro +Betwixt the scarlet gown and rough blue coat; +The garret study and the wide-floored barn; +The wintry city, and the sunny fields. +In each his quiet mind was well content, +Because he was himself, where'er he was. + +Not in one channel flowed his seeking thoughts; +To no profession did he ardent turn: +He knew his father's wish--it was his own. +"Why should a man," he said, "when knowledge grows, +Leave therefore the old patriarchal life, +And seek distinction in the noise of men?" +And yet he turned his face on every side; +Went with the doctors to the lecture-room, +And saw the inner form of man laid bare; +Went with the chymists, where the skilful hand, +Revering laws higher than Nature's self, +Makes Nature do again, before our eyes, +And in a moment, what, in many years, +And in the veil of vastness and lone deeps, +She laboureth at alway, then best content +When man inquires into her secret ways; +Yea, turned his asking eye on every source +Whence knowledge floweth for the hearts of men, +Kneeling at some, and drinking freely there. +And at the end, when he had gained the right +To sit with covered head before the rank +Of black-gowned senators; and all these men +Were ready at a word to speed him on, +Proud of their pupil, towards any goal +Where he might fix his eye; he took his books, +What little of his gown and cap remained, +And, leaving with a sigh the ancient walls, +With the old stony crown, unchanging, grey, +Amidst the blandishments of airy Spring, +He sought for life the lone ancestral farm. + +With simple gladness met him on the road +His grey-haired father, elder brother now. +Few words were spoken, little welcome said, +But much was understood on either side. +If with a less delight he brought him home +Than he that met the prodigal returned, +Yet with more confidence, more certain joy; +And with the leaning pride that old men feel +In young strong arms that draw their might from them, +He led him to the house. His sister there, +Whose kisses were not many, but whose eyes +Were full of watchfulness and hovering love, +Set him beside the fire in the old place, +And heaped the table with best country fare. +And when the night grew deep, the father rose, +And led his son (who wondered why they went, +And in the darkness made a tortuous path +Through the corn-ricks) to an old loft, above +The stable where his horses rested still. +Entering, he saw some plan-pursuing hand +Had been at work. The father, leading on +Across the floor, heaped up with waiting grain, +Opened a door. An unexpected light +Flashed on them from a cheerful lamp and fire, +That burned alone, as in a fairy tale. +And lo! a little room, white-curtained bed, +An old arm-chair, bookshelves, and writing desk, +And some old prints of deep Virgilian woods, +And one a country churchyard, on the walls. +The young man stood and spoke not. The old love +Seeking and finding incarnation new, +Drew from his heart, as from the earth the sun, +Warm tears. The good, the fatherly old man, +Honouring in his son the simple needs +Which his own bounty had begot in him, +Thus gave him loneliness for silent thought, +A simple refuge he could call his own. +He grasped his hand and shook it; said good night, +And left him glad with love. Faintly beneath, +The horses stamped and drew the lengthening chain. + +Three sliding years, with gently blending change, +Went round 'mid work of hands, and brain, and heart. +He laboured as before; though when he would, +With privilege, he took from hours of toil, +When nothing pressed; and read within his room, +Or wandered through the moorland to the hills; +There stood upon the apex of the world, +With a great altar-stone of rock beneath, +And looked into the wide abyss of blue +That roofed him round; and then, with steady foot, +Descended to the world, and worthy cares. + +And on the Sunday, father, daughter, son +Walked to the country church across the fields. +It was a little church, and plain, almost +To ugliness, yet lacking not a charm +To him who sat there when a little boy. +And the low mounds, with long grass waving on, +Were quite as solemn as great marble tombs. +And on the sunny afternoons, across +This well-sown field of death, when forth they came +With the last psalm still lingering in their hearts, +He looked, and wondered where the heap would rise +That rested on the arch of his dead breast. +But in the gloom and rain he turned aside, +And let the drops soak through the sinking clay-- +What mattered it to him? + + And as they walked +Together home, the father loved to hear +The new streams pouring from his son's clear well. +The old man clung not only to the old; +Nor bowed the young man only to the new; +Yet as they walked, full often he would say, +He liked not much what he had heard that morn. +He said, these men believed the past alone; +Honoured those Jewish times as they were Jews; +And had no ears for this poor needy hour, +That up and down the centuries doth go, +Like beggar boy that wanders through the streets, +With hand held out to any passer by; +And yet God made it, and its many cries. + +He used to say: "I take the work that comes +All ready to my hand. The lever set, +I grasp and heave withal. Or rather, I +Love where I live, and yield me to the will +That made the needs about me. It may be +I find them nearer to my need of work +Than any other choice. I would not choose +To lack a relish for the thing that God +Thinks worth. Among my own I will be good; +A helper to all those that look to me. +This farm is God's, as much as yonder town; +These men and maidens, kine and horses, his; +And need his laws of truth made rules of fact; +Or else the earth is not redeemed from ill." +He spoke not often; but he ruled and did. +No ill was suffered there by man or beast +That he could help; no creature fled from him; +And when he slew, 'twas with a sudden death, +Like God's benignant lightning. For he knew +That God doth make the beasts, and loves them well, +And they are sacred. Sprung from God as we, +They are our brethren in a lower kind; +And in their face he saw the human look. +They said: "Men look like different animals;" +But he: "The animals are like to men, +Some one, and some another." Cruelty, +He said, would need no other fiery hell, +Than that the ghosts of the sad beasts should come, +And crowding, silent, all their heads one way, +Stare the ill man to madness. + + By degrees, +They knew not how, men trusted in him. When +He spoke, his word had all the force of deeds +That lay unsaid within him. To be good +Is more than holy words or definite acts; +Embodying itself unconsciously +In simple forms of human helpfulness, +And understanding of the need that prays. +And when he read the weary tales of crime, +And wretchedness, and white-faced children, sad +With hunger, and neglect, and cruel words, +He would walk sadly for an afternoon, +With head down-bent, and pondering footstep slow; +And to himself conclude: "The best I can +For the great world, is, just the best I can +For this my world. The influence will go +In widening circles to the darksome lanes +In London's self." When a philanthropist +Said pompously: "With your great gifts you ought +To work for the great world, not spend yourself +On common labours like a common man;" +He answered him: "The world is in God's hands. +This part he gives to me; for which my past, +Built up on loves inherited, hath made +Me fittest. Neither will He let me think +Primeval, godlike work too low to need, +For its perfection, manhood's noblest powers +And deepest knowledge, far beyond my gifts. +And for the crowds of men, in whom a soul +Cries through the windows of their hollow eyes +For bare humanity, and leave to grow,-- +Would I could help them! But all crowds are made +Of individuals; and their grief, and pain, +And thirst, and hunger, all are of the one, +Not of the many. And the power that helps +Enters the individual, and extends +Thence in a thousand gentle influences +To other hearts. It is not made one's own +By laying hold of an allotted share +Of general good divided faithfully. +Now here I labour whole upon the place +Where they have known me from my childhood up. +I know the individual man; and he +Knows me. If there is power in me to help, +It goeth forth beyond the present will, +Clothing itself in very common deeds +Of any humble day's necessity: +--I would not always consciously do good; +Not always feel a helper of the men, +Who make me full return for my poor deeds +(Which I _must_ do for my own highest sake, +If I forgot my brethren for themselves) +By human trust, and confidence of eyes +That look me in the face, and hands that do +My work at will--'tis more than I deserve. +But in the city, with a few lame words, +And a few scanty handfuls of weak coin, +Misunderstood, or, at the best, unknown, +I should toil on, and seldom reach the mail. +And if I leave the thing that lieth next, +To go and do the thing that is afar, +I take the very strength out of my deed, +Seeking the needy not for pure need's sake." +Thus he. The world-wise schemer for the good +Held his poor peace, and left him to his way. + +What of the vision now? the vision fair +Sent forth to meet him, when at eve he went +Home from his first day's ploughing? Oft she passed +Slowly on horseback, in all kinds of dreams; +For much he dreamed, and loved his dreaming well. +Nor woke he from such dreams with vain regret; +But, saying, "I have seen that face once more," +He smiled with his eyes, and rose to work. +Nor did he turn aside from other maids, +But loved the woman-faces and dear eyes; +And sometimes thought, "One day I wed a maid, +And make her mine;" but never came the maid, +Or never came the hour, that he might say, +"I wed this maid." And ever when he read +A tale of lofty aim, or when the page +Of history spoke of woman very fair, +Or wondrous good, her face arose, and stayed, +The face for ever of that storied page. + +Meantime how fared the lady? She had wed +One of those common men, who serve as ore +For the gold grains to lie in. Virgin gold +Lay hidden there--no richer was the dross. +She went to gay assemblies, not content; +For she had found no hearts, that, struck with hers, +Sounded one chord. She went, and danced, or sat +And listlessly conversed; or, if at home, +Read the new novel, wishing all the time +For something better; though she knew not what, +Or how to search for it. + + What had she felt, +If, through the rhythmic motion of light forms, +A vision, had arisen; as when, of old, +The minstrel's art laid bare the seer's eye, +And showed him plenteous waters in the waste? +If she had seen her ploughman-lover go +With his great stride across some lonely field, +Beneath the dark blue vault, ablaze with stars, +And lift his full eyes to earth's radiant roof +In gladness that the roof was yet a floor +For other feet to tread, for his, one day? +Or the emerging vision might reveal +Him, in his room, with space-compelling mind, +Pursue, upon his slate, some planet's course; +Or read, and justify the poet's wrath, +Or wise man's slow conclusion; or, in dreams, +All gently bless her with a trembling voice +For that old smile, that withered nevermore, +That woke him, smiled him into what he is; +Or, kneeling, cry to God for better still. +Would those dark eyes have beamed with darker light? +Would that fair soul, all tired of emptiness, +Have risen from the couch of its unrest, +And looked to heaven again, again believed +In God's realities of life and fact? +Would not her soul have sung unto itself, +In secret joy too good for that vain throng: +"I have a friend, a ploughman, who is wise, +And knoweth God, and goodness, and fair faith; +Who needeth not the outward shows of things, +But worships the unconquerable truth: +And this man loveth me; I will be proud +And humble--would he love me if he knew?" + +In the third year, a heavy harvest fell, +Full filled, beneath the reaping-hook and scythe. +The men and maidens in the scorching heat +Held on their toil, lightened by song and jest; +Resting at mid-day, and from brimming bowl, +Drinking brown ale, and white abundant milk; +Until the last ear fell, and stubble stood +Where waved the forests of the murmuring corn; +And o'er the land rose piled the tent-like shocks, +As of an army resting in array +Of tent by tent, rank following on rank; +Waiting until the moon should have her will +Of ripening on the ears. + + And all went well. +The grain was fully ripe. The harvest carts +Went forth broad-platformed for the towering load, +With frequent passage 'twixt homeyard and field. +And half the oats already hid their tops, +Of countless spray-hung grains--their tops, by winds +Swayed oft, and ringing, rustling contact sweet; +Made heavy oft by slow-combining dews, +Or beaten earthward by the pelting rains; +Rising again in breezes to the sun, +And bearing all things till the perfect time-- +Had hid, I say, this growth of sun and air +Within the darkness of the towering stack; +When in the north low billowy clouds appeared, +Blue-based, white-topped, at close of afternoon; +And in the west, dark masses, plashed with blue, +With outline vague of misty steep and dell, +Clomb o'er the hill-tops; there was thunder there. +The air was sultry. But the upper sky +Was clear and radiant. + + Downward went the sun; +Down low, behind the low and sullen clouds +That walled the west; and down below the hills +That lay beneath them hid. Uprose the moon, +And looked for silence in her moony fields, +But there she found it not. The staggering cart, +Like an o'erladen beast, crawled homeward still, +Returning light and low. The laugh broke yet, +That lightning of the soul, from cloudless skies, +Though not so frequent, now that labour passed +Its natural hour. Yet on the labour went, +Straining to beat the welkin-climbing toil +Of the huge rain-clouds, heavy with their floods. +Sleep, like enchantress old, soon sided with +The crawling clouds, and flung benumbing spells +On man and horse. The youth that guided home +The ponderous load of sheaves, higher than wont, +Daring the slumberous lightning, with a start +Awoke, by falling full against the wheel, +That circled slow after the sleepy horse. +Yet none would yield to soft-suggesting sleep, +Or leave the last few shocks; for the wild rain +Would catch thereby the skirts of Harvest-home, +And hold her lingering half-way in the storm. + +The scholar laboured with his men all night. +Not that he favoured quite this headlong race +With Nature. He would rather say: "The night +Is sent for sleep, we ought to sleep in it, +And leave the clouds to God. Not every storm +That climbeth heavenward, overwhelms the earth. +And if God wills, 'tis better as he wills; +What he takes from us never can be lost." +But the old farmer ordered; and the son +Went manful to the work, and held his peace. + +The last cart homeward went, oppressed with sheaves, +Just as a moist dawn blotted pale the east, +And the first drops fell, overfed with mist, +O'ergrown and helpless. Darker grew the morn. +Upstraining racks of clouds, tumultuous borne +Upon the turmoil of opposing winds, +Met in the zenith. And the silence ceased: +The lightning brake, and flooded all the earth, +And its great roar of billows followed it. +The deeper darkness drank the light again, +And lay unslaked. But ere the darkness came, +In the full revelation of the flash, +He saw, along the road, borne on a horse +Powerful and gentle, the sweet lady go, +Whom years agone he saw for evermore. +"Ah me!" he said; "my dreams are come for me, +Now they shall have their time." And home he went, +And slept and moaned, and woke, and raved, and wept. +Through all the net-drawn labyrinth of his brain +The fever raged, like pent internal fire. +His father soon was by him; and the hand +Of his one sister soothed him. Days went by. +As in a summer evening, after rain, +He woke to sweet quiescent consciousness; +Enfeebled much, but with a new-born life. + +As slow the weeks passed, he recovered strength; +And ere the winter came, seemed strong once more. +But the brown hue of health had not returned +On his thin face; although a keener fire +Burned in his larger eyes; and in his cheek +The mounting blood glowed radiant (summoning force, +Sometimes, unbidden) with a sunset red. + +Before its time, a biting frost set in; +And gnawed with fangs of cold his shrinking life; +And the disease so common to the north +Was born of outer cold and inner heat. +One morn his sister, entering, saw he slept; +But in his hand he held a handkerchief +Spotted with crimson. White with terror, she +Stood motionless and staring. Startled next +By her own pallor, when she raised her eyes, +Seen in the glass, she moved at last. He woke; +And seeing her dismay, said with a smile, +"Blood-red was evermore my favourite hue, +And see, I have it in me; that is all." +She shuddered; and he tried to jest no more; +And from that hour looked Death full in the face. + +When first he saw the red blood outward leap, +As if it sought again the fountain heart, +Whence it had flowed to fill the golden bowl; +No terror, but a wild excitement seized +His spirit; now the pondered mystery +Of the unseen would fling its portals wide, +And he would enter, one of the awful dead; +Whom men conceive as ghosts that fleet and pine, +Bereft of weight, and half their valued lives;-- +But who, he knew, must live intenser life, +Having, through matter, all illumed with sense, +Flaming, like Horeb's bush, with present soul, +And by the contact with a thousand souls, +Each in the present glory of a shape, +Sucked so much honey from the flower o' the world, +And kept the gain, and cast the means aside; +And now all eye, all ear, all sense, perhaps; +Transformed, transfigured, yet the same life-power +That moulded first the visible to its use. +So, like a child he was, that waits the show, +While yet the panting lights restrained burn +At half height, and the theatre is full. + +But as the days went on, they brought sad hours, +When he would sit, his hands upon his knees, +Drooping, and longing for the wine of life. +Ah! now he learned what new necessities +Come when the outer sphere of life is riven, +And casts distorted shadows on the soul; +While the poor soul, not yet complete in God, +Cannot with inward light burn up the shades, +And laugh at seeming that is not the fact. +For God, who speaks to man on every side, +Sending his voices from the outer world, +Glorious in stars, and winds, and flowers, and waves, +And from the inner world of things unseen, +In hopes and thoughts and deep assurances, +Not seldom ceases outward speech awhile, +That the inner, isled in calm, may clearer sound; +Or, calling through dull storms, proclaim a rest, +One centre fixed amid conflicting spheres; +And thus the soul, calm in itself, become +Able to meet and cope with outward things, +Which else would overwhelm it utterly; +And that the soul, saying _I will the light_, +May, in its absence, yet grow light itself, +And man's will glow the present will of God, +Self-known, and yet divine. + + Ah, gracious God! +Do with us what thou wilt, thou glorious heart! +Thou art the God of them that grow, no less +Than them that are; and so we trust in thee +For what we shall be, and in what we are. + +Yet in the frequent pauses of the light, +When fell the drizzling thaw, or flaky snow; +Or when the heaped-up ocean of still foam +Reposed upon the tranced earth, breathing low; +His soul was like a frozen lake beneath +The clear blue heaven, reflecting it so dim +That he could scarce believe there was a heaven; +And feared that beauty might be but a toy +Invented by himself in happier moods. +"For," said he, "if my mind can dim the fair, +Why should it not enhance the fairness too?" +But then the poor mind lay itself all dim, +And ruffled with the outer restlessness +Of striving death and life. And a tired man +May drop his eyelids on the visible world, +To whom no dreams, when fancy flieth free, +Will bring the sunny excellence of day; +Nor will his utmost force increase his sight. +'Tis easy to destroy, not so to make. +No keen invention lays the strata deep +Of ancient histories; or sweeps the sea +With purple shadows and blue breezes' tracks, +Or rosy memories of the down-gone sun. +And if God means no beauty in these shows, +But drops them, helpless shadows, from his sun, +Ah me, my heart! thou needst another God. +Oh! lack and doubt and fear can only come +Because of plenty, confidence, and love: +Without the mountain there were no abyss. +Our spirits, inward cast upon themselves, +Because the delicate ether, which doth make +The mediator with the outer world, +Is troubled and confused with stormy pain; +Not glad, because confined to shuttered rooms, +Which let the sound of slanting rain be heard, +But show no sparkling sunlight on the drops, +Or ancient rainbow dawning in the west;-- +Cast on themselves, I say, nor finding there +The thing they need, because God has not come, +And, claiming all their Human his Divine, +Revealed himself in all their inward parts, +Go wandering up and down a dreary house. +Thus reasoned he. Yet up and down the house +He wandered moaning. Till his soul and frame, +In painful rest compelled, full oft lay still, +And suffered only. Then all suddenly +A light would break from forth an inward well-- +God shone within him, and the sun arose. +And to its windows went the soul and looked:-- +Lo! o'er the bosom of the outspread earth +Flowed the first waves of sunrise, rippling on. + +Much gathered he of patient faith from off +These gloomy heaths, this land of mountains dark, +By moonlight only, like the sorcerer's weeds; +As testify these written lines of his +Found on his table, when his empty chair +Stood by the wall, with yet a history +Clinging around it for the old man's eyes. + + I am weary, and something lonely; + And can only think, think. + If there were some water only, + That a spirit might drink, drink! + And rise + With light in the eyes, + And a crown of hope on the brow; + And walk in outgoing gladness,-- + Not sit in an inward sadness-- + As now! + + But, Lord, thy child will be sad, + As sad as it pleaseth thee; + Will sit, not needing to be glad, + Till thou bid sadness flee; + And drawing near + With a simple cheer, + Speak one true word to me. + +Another song in a low minor key +From awful holy calm, as this from grief, +I weave, a silken flower, into my web, +That goes straight on, with simply crossing lines, +Floating few colours upward to the sight. + + Ah, holy midnight of the soul, + When stars alone are high; + When winds are dead, or at their goal, + And sea-waves only sigh! + + Ambition faints from out the will; + Asleep sad longing lies; + All hope of good, all fear of ill, + All need of action dies; + + Because God is; and claims the life + He kindled in thy brain; + And thou in Him, rapt far from strife, + Diest and liv'st again. + +It was a changed and wintry time to him; +But visited by April airs and scents, +That came with sudden presence, unforetold; +As brushed from off the outer spheres of spring +In the new singing world, by winds of sighs, +That wandering swept across the glad _To be_. +Strange longings that he never knew till now, +A sense of want, yea of an infinite need, +Cried out within him--rather moaned than cried. +And he would sit a silent hour and gaze +Upon the distant hills with dazzling snow +Upon their peaks, and thence, adown their sides, +Streaked vaporous, or starred in solid blue. +And then a shadowy sense arose in him, +As if behind those world-inclosing hills, +There sat a mighty woman, with a face +As calm as life, when its intensity +Pushes it nigh to death, waiting for him, +To make him grand for ever with a kiss, +And send him silent through the toning worlds. + +The father saw him waning. The proud sire +Beheld his pride go drooping in the cold +Down, down to the warm earth; and gave God thanks +That he was old. But evermore the son +Looked up and smiled as he had heard strange news, +Across the waste, of primrose-buds and flowers. +Then again to his father he would come +Seeking for comfort, as a troubled child, +And with the same child's hope of comfort there. +Sure there is one great Father in the heavens, +Since every word of good from fathers' lips +Falleth with such authority, although +They are but men as we: God speaks in them. +So this poor son who neared the unknown death, +Took comfort in his father's tenderness, +And made him strong to die. One day he came, +And said: "What think you, father, is it hard, +This dying?" "Well, my boy," he said, "We'll try +And make it easy with the present God. +But, as I judge, though more by hope than sight, +It seemeth harder to the lookers on, +Than him that dieth. It may be, each breath, +That they would call a gasp, seems unto him +A sigh of pleasure; or, at most, the sob +Wherewith the unclothed spirit, step by step, +Wades forth into the cool eternal sea. +I think, my boy, death has two sides to it, +One sunny, and one dark; as this round earth +Is every day half sunny and half dark. +We on the dark side call the mystery _death_; +They on the other, looking down in light, +Wait the glad birth, with other tears than ours." +"Be near me, father, when I die;" he said. +"I will, my boy, until a better sire +Takes your hand out of mine, and I shall say: +I give him back to thee; Oh! love him, God; +For he needs more than I can ever be. +And then, my son, mind and be near in turn, +When my time comes; you in the light beyond, +And knowing all about it; I all dark." + +And so the days went on, until the green +Shone through the snow in patches, very green: +For, though the snow was white, yet the green shone. +And hope of life awoke within his heart; +For the spring drew him, warm, soft, budding spring, +With promises. The father better knew. +God, give us heaven. Remember our poor hearts. +We never grasp the zenith of the time; +We find no spring, except in winter prayers. + +Now he, who strode a king across his fields, +Crept slowly through the breathings of the spring; +And sometimes wept in secret, that the earth, +Which dwelt so near his heart with all its suns, +And moons, and maidens, soon would lie afar +Across some unknown, sure-dividing waste. +Yet think not, though I fall upon the sad, +And lingering listen to the fainting tones, +Before I strike new chords that seize the old +And waft their essence up the music-stair-- +Think not that he was always sad, nor dared +To look the blank unknown full in the void: +For he had hope in God, the growth of years, +Ponderings, and aspirations from a child, +And prayers and readings and repentances. +Something within him ever sought to come +At peace with something deeper in him still. +Some sounds sighed ever for a harmony +With other deeper, fainter tones, that still +Drew nearer from the unknown depths, wherein +The Individual goeth out in God, +And smoothed the discord ever as they grew. +Now he went back the way the music came, +Hoping some nearer sign of God at hand; +And, most of all, to see the very face +That in Judea once, at supper time, +Arose a heaven of tenderness above +The face of John, who leaned upon the breast +Soon to lie down in its last weariness. + +And as the spring went on, his budding life +Swelled up and budded towards the invisible, +Bursting the earthy mould wherein it lay. +He never thought of churchyards, as before, +When he was strong; but ever looked above, +Away from the green earth to the blue sky, +And thanked God that he died not in the cold. +"For," said he, "I would rather go abroad +When the sun shines, and birds are happy here. +For, though it may be we shall know no place, +But only mighty realms of making thought, +(Not living in creation any more, +But evermore creating our own worlds) +Yet still it seems as if I had to go +Into the sea of air that floats and heaves, +And swings its massy waves around our earth, +And may feel wet to the unclothed soul; +And I would rather go when it is full +Of light and blueness, than when grey and fog +Thicken it with the steams of the old earth. +Now in the first of summer I shall die; +Lying, mayhap, at sunset, sinking asleep, +And going with the light, and from the dark; +And when the earth is dark, they'll say: 'He is dead;' +But I shall say: 'Ah God! I live and love; +The earth is fair, but this is fairer still; +My dear ones, they were very dear; but now +The past is past; for they are dearer still.' +So I shall go, in starlight, it may be, +Or lapt in moonlight ecstasies, to seek +The heart of all, the man of all, my friend; +Whom I shall know my own beyond all loves, +Because he makes all loving true and deep; +And I live on him, in him, he in me." + +The weary days and nights had taught him much; +Had sent him, as a sick child creeps along, +Until he hides him in his mother's breast, +Seeking for God. For all he knew before +Seemed as he knew it not. He needed now +To feel God's arms around him hold him close, +Close to his heart, ere he could rest an hour. +And God was very good to him, he said. + +Ah God! we need the winter as the spring; +And thy poor children, knowing thy great heart, +And that thou bearest thy large share of grief, +Because thou lovest goodness more than joy +In them thou lovest,--so dost let them grieve, +Will cease to vex thee with their peevish cries, +Will look and smile, though they be sorrowful; +And not the less pray for thy help, when pain +Is overstrong, coming to thee for rest. +One day we praise thee for, without, the pain. + +One night, as oft, he lay and could not sleep. +His soul was like an empty darkened room, +Through which strange pictures pass from the outer world; +While regnant will lay passive and looked on. +But the eye-tube through which the shadows came +Was turned towards the past. One after one +Arose old scenes, old sorrows, old delights. +Ah God! how sad are all things that grow old; +Even the rose-leaves have a mournful scent, +And old brown letters are more sad than graves; +Old kisses lie about the founts of tears, +Like autumn leaves around the winter wells; +And yet they cannot die. A smile once smiled +Is to eternity a smile--no less; +And that which smiles and kisses, liveth still; +And thou canst do great wonders, Wonderful! + +At length, as ever in such vision-hours, +Came the bright maiden, riding the great horse. +And then at once the will sprang up awake, +And, like a necromantic sage, forbade +What came unbidden to depart at will. +So on that form he rested his sad thoughts, +Till he began to wonder what her lot; +How she had fared in spinning history +Into a psyche-cradle, where to die; +And then emerge--what butterfly? pure white, +With silver dust of feathers on its wings? +Or that dull red, seared with its ebon spots? +And then he thought: "I know some women fail, +And cease to be so very beautiful. +And I have heard men rave of certain eyes, +In which I could not rest a moment's space." +Straightway the fount of possibilities +Began to gurgle, under, in his soul. +Anon the lava-stream burst forth amain, +And glowed, and scorched, and blasted as it flowed. +For purest souls sometimes have direst fears, +In ghost-hours when the shadow of the earth +Is cast on half her children, from the sun +Who is afar and busy with the rest. +"If my high lady be but only such +As some men say of women--very pure +When dressed in white, and shining in men's eyes, +And with the wavings of great unborn wings +Around them in the aether of the souls, +Felt at the root where senses meet in one +Like dim-remembered airs and rhymes and hues; +But when alone, at best a common thing, +With earthward thoughts, and feet that are of earth! +Ah no--it cannot be! She is of God. +But then, fair things may perish; higher life +Gives deeper death; fair gifts make fouler faults: +Women themselves--I dare not think the rest. +And then they say that in her London world, +They have other laws and judgments than in ours." +And so the thoughts walked up and down his soul, +And found at last a spot wherein to rest, +Building a resolution for the day. + +But next day, and the next, he was too worn +With the unrest of this chaotic night-- +As if a man had sprung to life before +The spirit of God moved on the waters' face, +And made his dwelling ready, who in pain, +Himself untuned, groaned for a harmony, +For order and for law around his life-- +Too tired he was to do as he had planned. +But on the next, a genial south-born wind +Waved the blue air beneath the golden sun, +Bringing glad news of summer from the south. +Into his little room the bright rays shone, +And, darting through the busy blazing fire, +Turning it ghostly pale, slew it almost; +As the great sunshine of the further life +Quenches the glow of this, and giveth death. +He had lain gazing at the wondrous strife +And strange commingling of the sun and fire, +Like spiritual and vital energies, +Whereof the one doth bear the other first, +And then destroys it for a better birth; +And now he rose to help the failing fire, +Because the sunshine came not near enough +To do for both. And then he clothed himself, +And sat him down betwixt the sun and fire, +And got him ink and paper, and began +And wrote with earnest dying heart as thus. +"Lady, I owe thee much. Nay, do not look +To find my name; for though I write it here, +I date as from the churchyard, where I lie +Whilst thou art reading; and thou know'st me not. +I dare to write, because I am crowned by death +Thy equal. If my boldness should offend, +I, pure in my intent, hide with the ghosts, +Where thou wilt never meet me, until thou +Knowest that death, like God, doth make of one. + +"But pardon, lady. Ere I had begun, +My thoughts moved towards thee with a gentle flow +That bore a depth of waters. When I took +My pen to write, they rushed into a gulf, +Precipitate and foamy. Can it be, +That death who humbles all hath made me proud? +Lady, thy loveliness hath walked my brain, +As if I were thy heritage in sooth, +Bequeathed from sires beyond all story's reach. +For I have loved thee from afar, and long; +Joyous in having seen what lifted me, +By very power to see, above myself. +Thy beauty hath made beautiful my life; +Thy virtue made mine strong to be itself. +Thy form hath put on every changing dress +Of name, and circumstance, and history, +That so the life, dumb in the wondrous page +Recording woman's glory, might come forth +And be the living fact to longing eyes-- +Thou, thou essential womanhood to me; +Afar as angels or the sainted dead, +Yet near as loveliness can haunt a man, +And taking any shape for every need. + +"Years, many years, have passed since the first time, +Which was the last, I saw thee. What have they +Made or unmade in thee? I ask myself. +O lovely in my memory! art thou +As lovely in thyself? Thy features then +Said what God made thee; art thou such indeed? +Forgive my boldness, lady; I am dead; +And dead men may cry loud, they make no noise. + +"I have a prayer to make thee--hear the dead. +Lady, for God's sake be as beautiful +As that white form that dwelleth in my heart; +Yea, better still, as that ideal Pure +That waketh in thee, when thou prayest God, +Or helpest thy poor neighbour. For myself +I pray. For if I die and find that she, +My woman-glory, lives in common air, +Is not so very radiant after all, +My sad face will afflict the calm-eyed ghosts, +Not used to see such rooted sadness there, +At least in fields where I may hope to walk +And find good company. Upon my knees +I could implore thee--justify my faith +In womanhood's white-handed nobleness, +And thee, its revelation unto me. + +"But I bethink me, lady. If thou turn +Thy thoughts upon thyself, for the great sake +Of purity and conscious whiteness' self, +Thou wilt but half succeed. The other half +Is to forget the first, and all thyself, +Quenching thy moonlight in the blaze of day; +Turning thy being full unto thy God; +Where shouldst thou quite forget the name of Truth, +Yet thou wouldst be a pure, twice holy child, +(Twice born of God, once of thy own pure will +Arising at the calling Father's voice,) +Doing the right with sweet unconsciousness; +Having God in thee, a completer soul, +Be sure, than thou alone; thou not the less +Complete in choice, and individual life, +Since that which sayeth _I_, doth call him _Sire._ + +"Lady, I die--the Father holds me up. +It is not much to thee that I should die; +(How should it be? for thou hast never looked +Deep in my eyes, as I once looked in thine) +But it is much that He doth hold me up. + +"I thank thee, lady, for a gentle look +Thou lettest fall upon me long ago. +The same sweet look be possible to thee +For evermore;--I bless thee with thine own, +And say farewell, and go into my grave-- +Nay, nay, into the blue heaven of my hopes." + +Then came his name in full, and then the name +Of the green churchyard where he hoped to lie. +And then he laid him back, weary, and said: +"O God! I am only an attempt at life. +Sleep falls again ere I am full awake. +Life goeth from me in the morning hour. +I have seen nothing clearly; felt no thrill +Of pure emotion, save in dreams, wild dreams; +And, sometimes, when I looked right up to thee. +I have been proud of knowledge, when the flame +Of Truth, high Truth, but flickered in my soul. +Only at times, in lonely midnight hours, +When in my soul the stars came forth, and brought +New heights of silence, quelling all my sea, +Have I beheld clear truth, apart from form, +And known myself a living lonely thought, +Isled in the hyaline of Truth alway. +I have not reaped earth's harvest, O my God; +Have gathered but a few poor wayside flowers, +Harebells, red poppies, closing pimpernels-- +All which thou hast invented, beautiful God, +To gather by the way, for comforting. +Have I aimed proudly, therefore aimed too low, +Striving for something visible in my thought, +And not the unseen thing hid far in thine? +Make me content to be a primrose-flower +Among thy nations; that the fair truth, hid +In the sweet primrose, enter into me, +And I rejoice, an individual soul, +Reflecting thee; as truly then divine, +As if I towered the angel of the sun. +All in the night, the glowing worm hath given +Me keener joy than a whole heaven of stars: +Thou camest in the worm more near me then. +Nor do I think, were I that green delight, +I'd change to be the shadowy evening star. +Ah, make me, Father, anything thou wilt, +So be thou will it; I am safe with thee. +I laugh exulting. Make me something, God; +Clear, sunny, veritable purity +Of high existence, in itself content, +And in the things that are besides itself, +And seeking for no measures. I have found +The good of earth, if I have found this death. +Now I am ready; take me when thou wilt." + +He laid the letter in his desk, with seal +And superscription. When his sister came, +He said, "You'll find a note there--afterwards--. +Take it yourself to the town, and let it go. +But do not see the name, my sister true-- +I'll tell you all about it, when you come." + +And as the eve, through paler, darker shades, +Insensibly declines, and is no more, +The lordly day once more a memory, +So died he. In the hush of noon he died. +Through the low valley-fog he brake and climbed. +The sun shone on--why should he not shine on? +The summer noises rose o'er all the land. +The love of God lay warm on hill and plain. +'Tis well to die in summer. + + When the breath, +After a long still pause, returned no more, +The old man sank upon his knees, and said: +"Father, I thank thee; it is over now; +And thou hast helped him well through this sore time. +So one by one we all come back to thee, +All sons and brothers, thanking thee who didst +Put of thy fatherhood in our poor hearts, +That, having children, we might guess thy love. +And at the last, find all loves one in thee." +And then he rose, and comforted the maid, +Who in her brother lost the pride of life, +Weeping as all her heaven were full of rain. + +When that which was so like him--so unlike-- +Lay in the churchyard, and the green turf soon +Would grow together, healing up the wounds +Of the old Earth who took her share again, +The sister went to do his last request. +Then found she, with his other papers, this,-- +A farewell song, in lowland Scottish tongue:-- + + Greetna, father, that I'm gaein'. + For fu' weel ye ken the gaet. + I' the winter, corn ye're sawin'-- + I' the hairst, again ye hae't. + + I'm gaein' hame to see my mither-- + She'll be weel acquant or this, + Sair we'll muse at ane anither, + 'Tween the auld word an' new kiss. + + Love, I'm doubtin', will be scanty + Roun' ye baith, when I'm awa'; + But the kirk has happin' plenty + Close aside me, for you twa. + + An' aboon, there's room for mony-- + 'Twas na made for ane or twa; + But it grew for a' an' ony + Countin' love the best ava'. + + Here, aneath, I ca' ye father: + Auld names we'll nor tyne nor spare; + A' my sonship I maun gather, + For the Son is King up there. + + Greetna, father, that I'm gaein'; + For ye ken fu' weel the gaet: + Here, in winter, cast yer sawin'-- + There, in hairst, again ye hae't. + +What of the lady? Little more I know. +Not even if, when she had read the lines, +She rose in haste, and to her chamber went, +And shut the door; nor if, when she came forth, +A dawn of holier purpose shone across +The sadness of her brow; unto herself +Convicted; though the great world, knowing all, +Might call her pure as day--yea, truth itself. +Of these things I know nothing--only know +That on a warm autumnal afternoon, +When half-length shadows fell from mossy stones, +Darkening the green upon the grassy graves, +While the still church, like a said prayer, arose +White in the sunshine, silent as the graves, +Empty of souls, as is the tomb itself; +A little boy, who watched a cow near by +Gather her milk from alms of clover fields, +Flung over earthen dykes, or straying out +Beneath the gates upon the paths, beheld +All suddenly--he knew not how she came-- +A lady, closely veiled, alone, and still, +Seated upon a grave. Long time she sat +And moved not, "greetin' sair," the boy did say; +"Just like my mither whan my father deed. +An' syne she rase, an' pu'd at something sma', +A glintin' gowan, or maybe a blade +O' the dead grass," and glided silent forth, +Over the low stone wall by two old steps, +And round the corner, and was seen no more. +The clang of hoofs and sound of carriage wheels +Arose and died upon the listener's ear. + + + + +THE HOMELESS GHOST. + + +Still flowed the music, flowed the wine. + The youth in silence went; +Through naked streets, in cold moonshine, + His homeward way he bent, +Where, on the city's seaward line, + His lattice seaward leant. + +He knew not why he left the throng, + But that he could not rest; +That something pained him in the song, + And mocked him in the jest; +And a cold moon-glitter lay along + One lovely lady's breast. + +He sat him down with solemn book + His sadness to beguile; +A skull from off its bracket-nook + Threw him a lipless smile; +But its awful, laughter-mocking look, + Was a passing moonbeam's wile. + +An hour he sat, and read in vain, + Nought but mirrors were his eyes; +For to and fro through his helpless brain, + Went the dance's mysteries; +Till a gust of wind against the pane, + Mixed with a sea-bird's cries, +And the sudden spatter of drifting rain + Bade him mark the altered skies. + +The moon was gone, intombed in cloud; + The wind began to rave; +The ocean heaved within its shroud, + For the dark had built its grave; +But like ghosts brake forth, and cried aloud, + The white crests of the wave. + +Big rain. The wind howled out, aware + Of the tread of the watery west; +The windows shivered, back waved his hair, + The fireside seemed the best; +But lo! a lady sat in his chair, + With the moonlight across her breast. + +The moonbeam passed. The lady sat on. + Her beauty was sad and white. +All but her hair with whiteness shone, + And her hair was black as night; +And her eyes, where darkness was never gone, + Although they were full of light. + +But her hair was wet, and wept like weeds + On her pearly shoulders bare; +And the clear pale drops ran down like beads, + Down her arms, to her fingers fair; +And her limbs shine through, like thin-filmed seeds, + Her dank white robe's despair. + +She moved not, but looked in his wondering face, + Till his blushes began to rise; +But she gazed, like one on the veiling lace, + To something within his eyes; +A gaze that had not to do with place, + But thought and spirit tries. + +Then the voice came forth, all sweet and clear, + Though jarred by inward pain; +She spoke like one that speaks in fear + Of the judgment she will gain, +When the soul is full as a mountain-mere, + And the speech, but a flowing vein. + +"Thine eyes are like mine, and thou art bold; + Nay, heap not the dying fire; +It warms not me, I am too cold, + Cold as the churchyard spire; +If thou cover me up with fold on fold, + Thou kill'st not the coldness dire." + +Her voice and her beauty, like molten gold, + Thrilled through him in burning rain. +He was on fire, and she was cold, + Cold as the waveless main; +But his heart-well filled with woe, till it rolled + A torrent that calmed him again. + +"Save me, Oh, save me!" she cried; and flung + Her splendour before his feet;-- +"I am weary of wandering storms among, + And I hate the mouldy sheet; +I can dare the dark, wind-vexed and wrung, + Not the dark where the dead things meet. + +"Ah! though a ghost, I'm a lady still--" + The youth recoiled aghast. +With a passion of sorrow her great eyes fill; + Not a word her white lips passed. +He caught her hand; 'twas a cold to kill, + But he held it warm and fast. + +"What can I do to save thee, dear?" + At the word she sprang upright. +To her ice-lips she drew his burning ear, + And whispered--he shivered--she whispered light. +She withdrew; she gazed with an asking fear; + He stood with a face ghost-white. + +"I wait--ah, would I might wait!" she said; + "But the moon sinks in the tide; +Thou seest it not; I see it fade, + Like one that may not bide. +Alas! I go out in the moonless shade; + Ah, kind! let me stay and hide." + +He shivered, he shook, he felt like clay; + And the fear went through his blood; +His face was an awful ashy grey, + And his veins were channels of mud. +The lady stood in a white dismay, + Like a half-blown frozen bud. + +"Ah, speak! am I so frightful then? + I live; though they call it death; +I am only cold--say _dear_ again"-- + But scarce could he heave a breath; +The air felt dank, like a frozen fen, + And he a half-conscious wraith. + +"Ah, save me!" once more, with a hopeless cry, + That entered his heart, and lay; +But sunshine and warmth and rosiness vie + With coldness and moonlight and grey. +He spoke not. She moved not; yet to his eye, + She stood three paces away. + +She spoke no more. Grief on her face + Beauty had almost slain. +With a feverous vision's unseen pace + She had flitted away again; +And stood, with a last dumb prayer for grace, + By the window that clanged with rain. + +He stood; he stared. She had vanished quite. + The loud wind sank to a sigh; +Grey faces without paled the face of night, + As they swept the window by; +And each, as it passed, pressed a cheek of fright + To the glass, with a staring eye. + +And over, afar from over the deep, + Came a long and cadenced wail; +It rose, and it sank, and it rose on the steep + Of the billows that build the gale. +It ceased; but on in his bosom creep + Low echoes that tell the tale. + +He opened his lattice, and saw afar, + Over the western sea, +Across the spears of a sparkling star, + A moony vapour flee; +And he thought, with a pang that he could not bar, + The lady it might be. + +He turned and looked into the room; + And lo! it was cheerless and bare; +Empty and drear as a hopeless tomb,-- + And the lady was not there; +Yet the fire and the lamp drove out the gloom, + As he had driven the fair. + +And up in the manhood of his breast, + Sprang a storm of passion and shame; +It tore the pride of his fancied best + In a thousand shreds of blame; +It threw to the ground his ancient crest, + And puffed at his ancient name. + +He had turned a lady, and lightly clad, + Out in the stormy cold. +Was she a ghost?--Divinely sad + Are the guests of Hades old. +A wandering ghost? Oh! terror bad, + That refused an earthly fold! + +And sorrow for her his shame's regret + Into humility wept; +He knelt and he kissed the footprints wet, + And the track by her thin robe swept; +He sat in her chair, all ice-cold yet, + And moaned until he slept. + +He woke at dawn. The flaming sun + Laughed at the bye-gone dark. +"I am glad," he said, "that the night is done, + And the dream slain by the lark." +And the eye was all, until the gun + That boomed at the sun-set--hark! + +And then, with a sudden invading blast, + He knew that it was no dream. +And all the night belief held fast, + Till thinned by the morning beam. +Thus radiant mornings and pale nights passed + On the backward-flowing stream. + +He loved a lady with heaving breath, + Red lips, and a smile alway; +And her sighs an odour inhabiteth, + All of the rose-hued may; +But the warm bright lady was false as death, + And the ghost is true as day. + +And the spirit-face, with its woe divine, + Came back in the hour of sighs; +As to men who have lost their aim, and pine, + Old faces of childhood rise: +He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine + Of her solitary eyes. + +And now he believed in the ghost all night, + And believed in the day as well; +And he vowed, with a sorrowing tearful might, + All she asked, whate'er befel, +If she came to his room, in her garment white, + Once more at the midnight knell. + +She came not. He sought her in churchyards old + That lay along the sea; +And in many a church, when the midnight tolled, + And the moon shone wondrously; +And down to the crypts he crept, grown bold; + But he waited in vain: ah me! + +And he pined and sighed for love so sore, + That he looked as he were lost; +And he prayed her pardon more and more, + As one who had sinned the most; +Till, fading at length, away he wore, + And he was himself a ghost. + +But if he found the lady then, + The lady sadly lost, +Or she had found 'mongst living men + A love that was a host, +I know not, till I drop my pen, + And am myself a ghost. + + + + +ABU MIDJAN. + + + "It is only just + To laud good wine: + If I sit in the dust, + So sits the vine." + +Abu Midjan sang, as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape was the juice of his veins. +The prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not"-- +Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; +Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, +And called it good names, a joy divine. +And Saad assailed him with words of blame, +And left him in irons, a fettered flame; +But he sang of the wine as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape ran fast in his veins. + + "I will not think + That the Prophet said, + _Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red_. + + "But some weakling head, + In its after pain, + Moaning said, + _Drink not again_. + + "But I will dare, + With a goodly drought, + To drink and not spare, + Till my thirst be out. + + "For as I quaff + The liquor cool, + I do not laugh, + Like a Christian fool; + + "But my bosom fills, + And my faith is high; + Through the emerald hills + Goes my lightning eye. + + "I see _them_ hearken, + I see them wait; + Their light eyes darken + The diamond gate. + + "I hear the float + Of their chant divine; + Each heavenly note + Mingles with mine. + + "Can an evil thing + Make beauty more? + Or a sinner bring + To the heavenly door? + + "'Tis the sun-rays fine + That sink in the earth, + And are drunk by the vine, + For its daughters' birth. + + "And the liquid light, + I drink again; + And it flows in might + Through the shining brain, + + "Making it know + The things that are + In the earth below, + Or the farthest star. + + "I will not think + That the Prophet said, + _Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing Red_. + + "For his promise, lo! + Shows more divine, + When the channels o'erflow + With the singing wine. + + "But if he did, 'tis a small annoy + To sit in chains for a heavenly joy." + +Away went the song on the light wind borne. +His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn, +At the irons that fettered his brown limbs' strength. +Waved on his lip the dark hair's length. +But sudden he lifted his head to the north-- +Like a mountain-beacon his eye blazed forth: +'Twas a cloud in the distance that caught his eye, +Whence a faint clang shot on the light breeze by; +A noise and a smoke on the plain afar-- +'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war. +And the light that flashed from his black eyes, lo! +Was a light that paled the red wine's glow; +And he shook his fetters in bootless ire, +And called on the Prophet, and named his sire. +But the lady of Saad heard the clang, +And she knew the far sabres his fetters rang. +Oh! she had the heart where a man might rest, +For she knew the tempest in his breast. +She rose. Ere she reached him, he called her name, +But he called not twice ere the lady came; +And he sprang to his feet, and the irons cursed, +And wild from his lips the Tecbir burst: +"Let me go," he said, "and, by Allah's fear, +At sundown I sit in my fetters here, +Or lie 'neath a heaven of starry eyes, +Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise." + +The lady unlocked his fetters stout, +Brought her husband's horse and his armour out, +Clothed the warrior, and bid him go +An angel of vengeance upon the foe; +Then turned her in, and from the roof, +Beheld the battle, far aloof. + +Straight as an arrow she saw him go, +Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe. +Like home-sped lightning he pierced the cloud, +And the thunder of battle burst more loud; +And like lightning along a thunderous steep, +She saw the sickle-shaped sabres sweep, +Keen as the sunlight they dashed away +When it broke against them in flashing spray; +Till the battle ebbed o'er the plain afar, +Borne on the flow of the holy war. +As sank from the edge the sun's last flame, +Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came. + +"O lady!" he said, "'tis a mighty horse; +The Prophet himself might have rode a worse. +I felt beneath me his muscles' play, +As he tore to the battle, like fiend, away. +I forgot him, and swept at the traitor weeds, +And they fell before me like broken reeds; +Dropt their heads, as a boy doth mow +The poppies' heads with his unstrung bow. +They fled. The faithful follow at will. +I turned. And lo! he was under me still. +Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; +Then come and help me to fetter my feet." + +He went to the terrace, she went to the stall, +And tended the horse like a guest in the hall; +Then to the singer in haste returned. +The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned; +But he said no more, as if in shame +Of the words that had burst from his lips in flame. +She left him there, as at first she found, +Seated in fetters upon the ground. + +But the sealed fountain, in pulses strong, +O'erflowed his silence, and burst in song. + + "Oh! the wine + Of the vine + Is a feeble thing; + In the rattle + Of battle + The true grapes spring. + + "When on force + Of the horse, + The arm flung abroad + Is sweeping, + And reaping + The harvest of God. + + "When the fear + Of the spear + Makes way for its blow; + And the faithless + Lie breathless + The horse-hoofs below. + + "The wave-crest, + Round the breast, + Tosses sabres all red; + But under, + Its thunder + Is dumb to the dead. + + "They drop + From the top + To the sear heap below; + And deeper, + Down steeper, + The infidels go. + + "But bright + Is the light + On the true-hearted breaking; + Rapturous faces, + Bent for embraces, + Wait on his waking. + + "And he hears + In his ears + The voice of the river, + Like a maiden, + Love-laden, + Go wandering ever. + + "Oh! the wine + Of the vine + May lead to the gates; + But the rattle + Of battle + Wakes the angel who waits. + + "To the lord + Of the sword + Open it must; + The drinker, + The thinker, + Sits in the dust. + + "He dreams + Of the gleams + Of their garments of white: + He misses + Their kisses, + The maidens of light. + + "They long + For the strong, + Who has burst through alarms, + Up, by the labour + Of stirrup and sabre, + Up to their arms. + +"Oh! the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost; +But the wine of the fight is the joy of a host." + +When Saad came home from the far pursuit, +He sat him down, and an hour was mute. +But at length he said: "Ah! wife, the fight +Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might +Sudden rose up on the crest of the war, +With its sabre that circled in rainbows afar, +Took up the battle, and drove it on-- +Enoch sure, or the good St. John. +Wherever he leaped, like a lion he, +The fight was thickest, or soon to be; +Wherever he sprang, with his lion cry, +The thick of the battle soon went by. +With a headlong fear, the sinners fled; +We followed--and passed them--for they were dead. +But him who had saved us, we saw no more; +He had gone, as he came, by a secret door; +And strange to tell, in his holy force, +He wore my armour, he rode my horse." + +The lady arose, with her noble pride, +And she walked with Saad, side by side; +As she led him, a moon that would not wane, +Where Midjan counted the links of his chain! + +"I gave him thy horse, and thy armour to wear; +If I did a wrong, I am here to bear." + +"Abu Midjan, the singer of love and of wine! +The arm of the battle--it also was thine? +Rise up, shake the fetters from off thy feet; +For the lord of the battle, are fetters meet? +Drink as thou wilt--till thou be hoar-- +Let Allah judge thee--I judge no more." + +Abu Midjan arose and flung aside +The clanging fetters, and thus he cried: +"If thou give me to God and his decrees, +Nor purge my sin by the shame of these; +I dare not do as I did before-- +In the name of Allah, I drink no more." + + + + +AN OLD STORY. + + +They were parted at last, although + Each was tenderly dear; +As asunder their eyes did go, + When first alone and near. + +'Tis an old story this-- + A trembling and a sigh, +A gaze in the eyes, a kiss-- + Why will it _not_ go by? + + + + +A BOOK OF DREAMS. + +PART I. + + +1. + +I lay and dreamed. The master came + In his old woven dress; +I stood in joy, and yet in shame, + Oppressed with earthliness. + +He stretched his arms, and gently sought + To clasp me to his soul; +I shrunk away, because I thought + He did not know the whole. + +I did not love him as I would, + Embraces were not meet; +I sank before him where he stood, + And held and kissed his feet. + +Ten years have passed away since then, + Oft hast thou come to me; +The question scarce will rise again, + Whether I care for thee. + +To every doubt, in thee my heart + An answer hopes to find; +In every gladness, Lord, thou art, + The deeper joy behind. + +And yet in other realms of life, + Unknown temptations rise, +Unknown perplexities and strife, + New questions and replies. + +And every lesson learnt, anew, + The vain assurance lends +That now I know, and now can do, + And now should see thy ends. + +So I forget I am a child, + And act as if a man; +Who through the dark and tempest wild + Will go, because he can. + +And so, O Lord, not yet I dare + To clasp thee to my breast; +Though well I know that only there + Is hid the secret rest. + +And yet I shrink not, as at first: + Be thou the judge of guilt; +Thou knowest all my best and worst, + Do with me as thou wilt. + +Spread thou once more thine arms abroad, + Lay bare thy bosom's beat; +Thou shalt embrace me, O my God, + And I will kiss thy feet. + + +2. + +I stood before my childhood's home, + Outside the belt of trees; +All round, my dreaming glances roam + On well-known hills and leas. + +When sudden, from the westward, rushed + A wide array of waves; +Over the subject fields they gushed + From far-off, unknown caves. + +And up the hill they clomb and came, + On flowing like a sea: +I saw, and watched them like a game; + No terror woke in me. + +For just the belting trees within, + I saw my father wait; +And should the waves the summit win, + I would go through the gate. + +For by his side all doubt was dumb, + And terror ceased to foam; +No great sea-billows dared to come, + And tread the holy home. + +Two days passed by. With restless toss, + The red flood brake its doors; +Prostrate I lay, and looked across + To the eternal shores. + +The world was fair, and hope was nigh, + Some men and women true; +And I was strong, and Death and I + Would have a hard ado. + +And so I shrank. But sweet and good + The dream came to my aid; +Within the trees my father stood, + I must not be dismayed. + +My grief was his, not mine alone; + The waves that burst in fears, +He heard not only with his own, + But heard them with my ears. + +My life and death belong to thee, + For I am thine, O God; +Thy hands have made and fashioned me, + 'Tis thine to bear the load. + +And thou shalt bear it. I will try + To be a peaceful child, +Whom in thy arms right tenderly + Thou carriest through the wild. + + +3. + +The rich man mourns his little loss, + And knits the brow of care; +The poor man tries to bear the cross, + And seeks relief in prayer. + +Some gold had vanished from my purse, + Which I had watched but ill; +I feared a lack, but feared yet worse + Regret returning still. + +And so I knelt and prayed my prayer + To Him who maketh strong, +That no returning thoughts of care + Should do my spirit wrong. + +I rose in peace, in comfort went, + And laid me down to rest; +But straight my soul grew confident + With gladness of the blest. + +For ere the sleep that care redeems, + My soul such visions had, +That never child in childhood's dreams + Was more exulting glad. + +No white-robed angels floated by + On slow, reposing wings; +I only saw, with inward eye, + Some very common things. + +First rose the scarlet pimpernel, + With burning purple heart; +I saw it, and I knew right well + The lesson of its art. + +Then came the primrose, childlike flower; + It looked me in the face; +It bore a message full of power, + And confidence, and grace. + +And winds arose on uplands wild, + And bathed me like a stream; +And sheep-bells babbled round the child + Who loved them in a dream. + +Henceforth my mind was never crossed + By thought of vanished gold, +But with it came the guardian host + Of flowers both meek and bold. + +The loss is riches while I live, + A joy I would not lose: +Choose ever, God, what Thou wilt give, + Not leaving me to choose. + +_"What said the flowers in whisper low, + To soothe me into rest?"_ +I scarce have words--they seemed to grow + Right out of God's own breast. + +They said, God meant the flowers He made, + As children see the same; +They said the words the lilies said + When Jesus looked at them. + +And if you want to hear the flowers + Speak ancient words, all new, +They may, if you, in darksome hours, + Ask God to comfort you. + + +4. + +Our souls, in daylight hours, awake, + With visions sometimes teem, +Which to the slumbering brain would take + The form of wondrous dream. + +Thus, once, I saw a level space, + With circling mountains nigh; +And round it grouped all forms of grace, + A goodly company. + +And at one end, with gentle rise, + Stood something like a throne; +And thither all the radiant eyes, + As to a centre, shone. + +And on the seat the noblest form + Of glory, dim-descried; +His glance would quell all passion-storm, + All doubt, and fear, and pride. + +But lo! his eyes far-fixed burn + Adown the widening vale; +The looks of all obedient turn, + And soon those looks are pale. + +For, through the shining multitude, + With feeble step and slow, +A weary man, in garments rude, + All falteringly did go. + +His face was white, and still-composed, + Like one that had been dead; +The eyes, from eyelids half unclosed, + A faint, wan splendour shed. + +And to his brow a strange wreath clung, + And drops of crimson hue; +And his rough hands, oh, sadly wrung! + Were pierced through and through. + +And not a look he turned aside; + His eyes were forward bent; +And slow the eyelids opened wide, + As towards the throne he went. + +At length he reached the mighty throne, + And sank upon his knees; +And clasped his hands with stifled groan, + And spake in words like these:-- + +"Father, I am come back--Thy will + Is sometimes hard to do." +From all the multitude so still, + A sound of weeping grew. + +And mournful-glad came down the One, + And kneeled, and clasped His child; +Sank on His breast the outworn man, + And wept until he smiled. + +And when their tears had stilled their sighs, + And joy their tears had dried, +The people saw, with lifted eyes, + Them seated side by side. + + +5. + +I lay and dreamed. Three crosses stood + Amid the gloomy air. +Two bore two men--one was the Good; + The third rose waiting, bare. + +A Roman soldier, coming by, + Mistook me for the third; +I lifted up my asking eye + For Jesus' sign or word. + +I thought He signed that I should yield, + And give the error way. +I held my peace; no word revealed, + No gesture uttered _nay._ + +Against the cross a scaffold stood, + Whence easy hands could nail +The doomed upon that altar-wood, + Whose fire burns slow and pale. + +Upon this ledge he lifted me. + I stood all thoughtful there, +Waiting until the deadly tree + My form for fruit should bear. + +Rose up the waves of fear and doubt, + Rose up from heart to brain; +They shut the world of vision out, + And thus they cried amain: + +"Ah me! my hands--the hammer's knock-- + The nails--the tearing strength!" +My soul replied: "'Tis but a shock, + That grows to pain at length." + +"Ah me! the awful fight with death; + The hours to hang and die; +The thirsting gasp for common breath, + That passes heedless by!" + +My soul replied: "A faintness soon + Will shroud thee in its fold; +The hours will go,--the fearful noon + Rise, pass--and thou art cold. + +"And for thy suffering, what to thee + Is that? or care of thine? +Thou living branch upon the tree + Whose root is the Divine! + +"'Tis His to care that thou endure; + That pain shall grow or fade; +With bleeding hands hang on thy cure, + He knows what He hath made." + +And still, for all the inward wail, + My foot was firmly pressed; +For still the fear lest I should fail + Was stronger than the rest. + +And thus I stood, until the strife + The bonds of slumber brake; +I felt as I had ruined life, + Had fled, and come awake. + +Yet I was glad, my heart confessed, + The trial went not on; +Glad likewise I had stood the test, + As far as it had gone. + +And yet I fear some recreant thought, + Which now I all forget, +That painful feeling in me wrought + Of failure, lingering yet. + +And if the dream had had its scope, + I might have fled the field; +But yet I thank Thee for the hope, + And think I dared not yield. + + +6. + +Methinks I hear, as I lie slowly dying, + Indulgent friends say, weeping, "_He was good._" +I fail to speak, a faint denial trying,-- + They answer, "_His humility withstood._" + +I, knowing better, part with love unspoken; + And find the unknown world not all unknown. +The bonds that held me from my centre broken, + I seek my home, the Saviour's homely throne. + +How He will greet me, I walk on and wonder; + And think I know what I will say to Him. +I fear no sapphire floor of cloudy thunder, + I fear no passing vision great and dim. + +But He knows all my unknown weary story: + How will He judge me, pure, and good, and fair? +I come to Him in all His conquered glory, + Won from such life as I went dreaming there! + +I come; I fall before Him, faintly saying: + "Ah, Lord, shall I thy loving favour win? +Earth's beauties tempted me; my walk was straying-- + I have no honour--but may I come in?" + +"I know thee well. Strong prayer did keep me stable; + To me the earth is very lovely too. +Thou shouldst have come to me to make thee able + To love it greatly--but thou hast got through." + + + +A BOOK OF DREAMS. + +PART II. + + +1. + +_Lord of the world's undying youth, + What joys are in thy might! +What beauties of the inner truth, + And of the outer sight! +And when the heart is dim and sad, + Too weak for wisdom's beam, +Thou sometimes makest it right glad + With but a childish dream_. + + * * * * * + +Lo! I will dream this windy day; + No sunny spot is bare; +Dull vapours, in uncomely play, + Are weltering through the air. +If I throw wide my windowed breast + To all the blasts that blow, +My soul will rival in unrest + Those tree-tops--how they go! + +But I will dream like any child; + For, lo! a mighty swan, +With radiant plumage undented, + And folded airy van, +With serpent neck all proudly bent, + And stroke of swarthy oar, +Dreams on to me, by sea-maids sent + Over the billows hoar. + +For in a wave-worn rock I lie; + Outside, the waters foam; +And echoes of old storms go by + Within my sea-built dome. +The waters, half the gloomy way, + Beneath its arches come; +Throbbing to unseen billows' play, + The green gulfs waver dumb. + +A dawning twilight through the cave + In moony gleams doth go, +Half from the swan above the wave, + Half from the swan below. +Close to my feet she gently drifts, + Among the glistening things; +She stoops her crowny head, and lifts + White shoulders of her wings. + +Oh! earth is rich with many a nest, + Deep, soft, and ever new, +Pure, delicate, and full of rest; + But dearest there are two. +I would not tell them but to minds + That are as white as they; +If others hear, of other kinds, + I wish them far away. + +Upon the neck, between the wings, + Of a white, sailing swan, +A flaky bed of shelterings-- + There you will find the one. +The other--well, it will not out, + Nor need I tell it you; +I've told you one, and need you doubt, + When there are only two? + +Fulfil old dreams, O splendid bird, + Me o'er the waters bear; +Sure never ocean's face was stirred + By any ship so fair! +Sure never whiteness found a dress, + Upon the earth to go, +So true, profound, and rich, unless + It was the falling snow. + +With quick short flutter of each wing + Half-spread, and stooping crown, +She calls me; and with one glad spring + I nestle in the down. +Plunges the bark, then bounds aloft, + With lessening dip and rise. +Round curves her neck with motion soft-- + Sure those are woman's eyes. + +One stroke unseen, with oary feet, + One stroke--away she sweeps; +Over the waters pale we fleet, + Suspended in the deeps. +And round the sheltering rock, and lo! + The tumbling, weltering sea! +On to the west, away we go, + Over the waters free! + +Her motions moulded to the wave, + Her billowy neck thrown back, +With slow strong pulse, stately and grave, + She cleaves a rippling track. +And up the mounting wave we glide, + With climbing sweeping blow; +And down the steep, far-sloping side, + To flowing vales below. + +I hear the murmur of the deep + In countless ripples pass, +Like talking children in their sleep, + Like winds in reedy grass. +And through some ruffled feathers, I + The glassy rolling mark, +With which the waves eternally + Roll on from dawn to dark. + +The night is blue, the stars aglow; + In solemn peace o'erhead +The archless depth of heaven; below, + The murmuring, heaving bed. +A thickened night, it heaveth on, + A fallen earthly sky; +The shadows of its stars alone + Are left to know it by. + +What faints across the lifted loop + Of cloud-veil upward cast? +With sea-veiled limbs, a sleeping group + Of Nereids dreaming past. +Swim on, my boat; who knows but I, + Ere night sinks to her grave, +May see in splendour pale float by + The Venus of the wave? + + +2. + +In the night, round a lady dreaming-- + A queen among the dreams-- +Came the silent sunset streaming, + Mixed with the voice of streams. +A silver fountain springing + Blossoms in molten gold; +And the airs of the birds float ringing + Through harmonies manifold. + +She lies in a watered valley; + Her garden melts away +Through foot-path and curving alley + Into the wild wood grey. +And the green of the vale goes creeping + To the feet of the rugged hills, +Where the moveless rocks are keeping + The homes of the wandering rills. + +And the hues of the flowers grow deeper, + Till they dye her very brain; +And their scents, like the soul of a sleeper, + Wander and waver and rain. +For dreams have a wealth of glory + That daylight cannot give: +Ah God! make the hope a story-- + Bid the dreams arise and live. + +She lay and gazed at the flowers, + Till her soul's own garden smiled +With blossom-o'ershaded bowers, + Great colours and splendours wild. +And her heart filled up with gladness, + Till it could only ache; +And it turned aside to sadness, + As if for pity's sake. + +And a fog came o'er the meadows, + And the rich hues fainting lay; +Came from the woods the shadows, + Came from the rocks the grey. +And the sunset thither had vanished, + Where the sunsets always go; +And the sounds of the stream were banished, + As if slain by frost and snow. + +And the flowers paled fast and faster, + And they crumbled fold on fold, +Till they looked like the stained plaster + Of a cornice in ruin old. +And they blackened and shrunk together, + As if scorched by the breath of flame, +With a sad perplexity whether + They were or were not the same. + +And she saw herself still lying, + And smiling on, the while; +And the smile, instead of dying, + Was fixed in an idiot smile. +And the lady arose in sorrow + Out of her sleep's dark stream; +But her dream made dark the morrow, + And she told me the haunting dream. + +Alas! dear lady, I know it, + The dream that all is a dream; +The joy with the doubt below it + That the bright things only seem. +One moment of sad commotion, + And one of doubt's withering rule-- +And the great wave-pulsing ocean + Is only a gathered pool. + +And the flowers are spots of painting, + Of lifeless staring hue; +Though your heart is sick to fainting, + They say not a word to you. +And the birds know nought of gladness, + They are only song-machines; +And a man is a skilful madness, + And the women pictured queens. + +And fiercely we dig the fountain, + To know the water true; +And we climb the crest of the mountain, + To part it from the blue. +But we look too far before us + For that which is more than nigh; +Though the sky is lofty o'er us, + We are always in the sky. + +And the fog, o'er the roses that creepeth, + Steams from the unknown sea, +In the dark of the soul that sleepeth, + And sigheth constantly, +Because o'er the face of its waters + The breathing hath not gone; +And instead of glad sons and daughters, + Wild things are moaning on. + +When the heart knows well the Father, + The eyes will be always day; +But now they grow dim the rather + That the light is more than they. +Believe, amidst thy sorrows, + That the blight that swathes the earth +Is only a shade that borrows + Life from thy spirit's dearth. + +God's heart is the fount of beauty; + Thy heart is its visible well; +If it vanish, do thou thy duty, + That necromantic spell; +And thy heart to the Father crying + Will fill with waters deep; +Thine eyes may say, _Beauty is dying;_ + But thy spirit, _She goes to sleep._ + +And I fear not, thy fair soul ever + Will smile as thy image smiled; +It had fled with a sudden shiver, + And thy body lay beguiled. +Let the flowers and thy beauty perish; + Let them go to the ancient dust. +But the hopes that the children cherish, + They are the Father's trust. + + +3. + +A great church in an empty square, + A place of echoing tones; +Feet pass not oft enough to wear + The grass between the stones. + +The jarring sounds that haunt its gates, + Like distant thunders boom; +The boding heart half-listening waits, + As for a coming doom. + +The door stands wide, the church is bare, + Oh, horror, ghastly, sore! +A gulf of death, with hideous stare, + Yawns in the earthen floor; + +As if the ground had sunk away + Into a void below: +Its shapeless sides of dark-hued clay + Hang ready aye to go. + +I am myself a horrid grave, + My very heart turns grey; +This charnel-hole,--will no one save + And force my feet away? + +The changing dead are there, I know, + In terror ever new; +Yet down the frightful slope I go, + That downward goeth too. + +Beneath the caverned floor I hie, + And seem, with anguish dull, +To enter by the empty eye + Into a monstrous skull. + +Stumbling on what I dare not guess, + And wading through the gloom, +Less deep the shades my eyes oppress, + I see the awful tomb. + +My steps have led me to a door, + With iron clenched and barred; +Grim Death hides there a ghastlier store, + Great spider in his ward. + +The portals shake, the bars are bowed, + As if an earthy wind +That never bore a leaf or cloud + Were pressing hard behind. + +They shake, they groan, they outward strain. + What sight, of dire dismay +Will freeze its form upon my brain, + And turn it into clay? + +They shake, they groan, they bend, they crack; + The bars, the doors divide: +A flood of glory at their back + Hath burst the portals wide. + +Flows in the light of vanished days, + The joy of long-set moons; +The flood of radiance billowy plays, + In sweet-conflicting tunes. + +The gulf is filled with flashing tides, + An awful gulf no more; +A maze of ferns clothes all its sides, + Of mosses all its floor. + +And, floating through the streams, appear + Such forms of beauty rare, +As every aim at beauty here + Had found its _would be_ there. + +I said: 'Tis well no hand came nigh, + To turn my steps astray; +'Tis good we cannot choose but die, + That life may have its way. + + +4. + +Before I sleep, some dreams draw nigh, + Which are not fancy mere; +For sudden lights an inward eye, + And wondrous things appear. + +Thus, unawares, with vision wide, + A steep hill once I saw, +In faint dream lights, which ever hide + Their fountain and their law. + +And up and down the hill reclined + A host of statues old; +Such wondrous forms as you might find + Deep under ancient mould. + +They lay, wild scattered, all along, + And maimed as if in fight; +But every one of all the throng + Was precious to the sight. + +Betwixt the night and hill they ranged, + In dead composure cast. +As suddenly the dream was changed, + And all the wonder past. + +The hill remained; but what it bore + Was broken reedy stalks, +Bent hither, thither, drooping o'er, + Like flowers o'er weedy walks. + +For each dim form of marble rare, + Bent a wind-broken reed; +So hangs on autumn-field, long-bare, + Some tall and straggling weed. + +The autumn night hung like a pall, + Hung mournfully and dead; +And if a wind had waked at all, + It had but moaned and fled. + + +5. + +I lay and dreamed. Of thought and sleep + Was born a heavenly joy: +I dreamed of two who always keep + Me happy as a boy. + +I was with them. My heart-bells rung + With joy my heart above; +Their present heaven my earth o'erhung, + And earth was glad with love. + +The dream grew troubled. Crowds went on, + And sought their varied ends; +Till stream on stream, the crowds had gone, + And swept away my friends. + +I was alone. A miry road + I followed, all in vain; +No well-known hill the landscape showed, + It was a wretched plain; + +Where mounds of rubbish, ugly pits, + And brick-fields scarred the globe; +Those wastes where desolation sits + Without her ancient robe. + +A drizzling rain proclaimed the skies + As wretched as the earth; +I wandered on, and weary sighs + Were all my lot was worth. + +When sudden, as I turned my way, + Burst in the ocean-waves: +And lo! a blue wild-dancing bay + Fantastic rocks and caves! + +I wept with joy. Ah! sometimes so, + In common daylight grief, +A beauty to the heart will go, + And bring the heart relief. + +And, wandering, reft of hope or friend, + If such a thing should be, +One day we take the downward bend, + And lo, Eternity! + +I wept with joy, delicious tears, + Which dreams alone bestow; +Until, mayhap, from out the years + We sleep, and further go. + + +6. + +Now I will mould a dream, awake, + Which I, asleep, would dream; +From all the forms of fancy take + One that shall also seem; +Seem in my verse (if not my brain), + Which sometimes may rejoice +In airy forms of Fancy's train, + Though nobler are my choice. + +Some truth o'er all the land may lie + In children's dreams at night; +_They_ do not build the charmed sky + That domes them with delight. +And o'er the years that follow soon, + So all unlike the dreams, +Wander their odours, gleams their moon, + And flow their winds and streams. + +Now I would dream that I awake + In scent of cool night air, +Above me star-clouds close and break; + Beneath--where am I, where? +A strange delight pervades my breast, + Of ancient pictures dim, +Where fair forms on the waters rest, + Or in the breezes swim. + +I rest on arms as soft as strong, + Great arms of woman-mould; +My head is pillowed whence a song, + In many a rippling fold, +O'erfloods me from its bubbling spring: + A Titan goddess bears +Me, floating on her unseen wing, + Through gracious midnight airs. + +And I am borne o'er sleeping seas, + O'er murmuring ears of corn, +Over the billowy tops of trees, + O'er roses pale till morn. +Over the lake--ah! nearer float, + Down on the water's breast; +Let me look deep, and gazing doat + On that white lily's nest. + +The harebell's bed, as o'er we pass, + Swings all its bells about; +From waving blades of polished grass, + Flash moony splendours out. +Old homes we brush in wooded glades; + No eyes at windows shine; +For all true men and noble maids + Are out in dreams like mine. + +And foam-bell-kisses drift and break + From wind-waves of the South +Against my brow and eyes awake, + And yet I see no mouth. +Light laughter ripples down the air, + Light sighs float up below; +And o'er me ever, radiant pair, + The Queen's great star-eyes go. + +And motion like a dreaming wave + Wafts me in gladness dim +Through air just cool enough to lave + With sense each conscious limb. +But ah! the dream eludes the rhyme, + As dreams break free from sleep; +The dream will keep its own free time, + In mazy float or sweep. + +And thought too keen for joy awakes, + As on the horizon far, +A dead pale light the circle breaks, + But not a dawning star. +No, there I cannot, dare not go; + Pale women wander there; +With cold fire murderous eyeballs glow; + And children see despair. + +The joy has lost its dreamy zest; + I feel a pang of loss; +My wandering hand o'er mounds of rest + Finds only mounds of moss. +Beneath the bare night-stars I lie; + Cold winds are moaning past: +Alas! the earth with grief will die, + The great earth is aghast. + +I look above--there dawns no face; + Around--no footsteps come; +No voice inhabits this great space; + God knows, but keepeth dumb. +I wake, and know that God is by, + And more than dreams will give; +And that the hearts that moan and die, + Shall yet awake and live. + + + + +TO AURELIO SAFFI. + + +_To God and man be simply true: +Do as thou hast been wont to do:_ +Or, _Of the old more in the new:_ +Mean all the same when said to you. + +I love thee. Thou art calm and strong; +Firm in the right, mild to the wrong; +Thy heart, in every raging throng, +A chamber shut for prayer and song. + +Defeat thou know'st not, canst not know; +Only thy aims so lofty go, +They need as long to root and grow +As any mountain swathed in snow. + +Go on and prosper, holy friend. +I, weak and ignorant, would lend +A voice, thee, strong and wise, to send +Prospering onward, without end. + + + + +SONNET. + +To A.M.D. + + +Methinks I see thee, lying calm and low, + Silent and dark within thy earthy bed; + Thy mighty hands, in which I trusted, dead, +Resting, with thy long arms, from work or blow; +And the night-robe, around thy tall form, flow + Down from the kingly face, and from the head, + Save by its thick dark curls, uncovered-- +My brother, dear from childhood, lying so! +Not often since thou went'st, I think of thee, + (With inward cares and questionings oppressed); + And yet, ere long, I seek thee in thy rest, +And bring thee home my heart, as full, as free, +As sure that thou wilt take me tenderly, + As then when youth and nature made us blest. + + + + +A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA. + + +I. + +Upon a rock, high on a mountain side, + Thousands of feet above the lake-sea's lip, + A rock in which old waters' rise and dip, +Plunge and recoil, and backward eddying tide +Had, age-long, worn, while races lived and died, + Involved channels, where the sea-weed's drip + Followed the ebb; and now earth-grasses sip +Fresh dews from heaven, whereby on earth they bide-- + I sat and gazed southwards. A dry flow +Of withering wind blew on my drooping strength +From o'er the awful desert's burning length. + Behind me piled, away and upward go +Great sweeps of savage mountains--up, away, +Where panthers roam, and snow gleams all the day. + + +II. + +Ah, God! the world needs many hours to make; + Nor hast thou ceased the making of it yet, + But wilt be working on when Death hath set +A new mound in some churchyard for my sake. +On flow the centuries without a break. + Uprise the mountains, ages without let. + The mosses suck the rock's breast, rarely wet. +Years more than past, the young earth yet will take. + But in the dumbness of the rolling time, +No veil of silence will encompass me-- +Thou wilt not once forget, and let me be: + I easier think that thou, as I my rhyme, +Wouldst rise, and with a tenderness sublime +Unfold a world, that I, thy child, might see. + + + + +A GIFT. + + +My gift would find thee fast asleep, + And arise a dream in thee; +A violet sky o'er the roll and sweep + Of a purple and pallid sea; +And a crescent moon from my sky should creep + In the golden dream to thee. + +Thou shouldst lay thee down, and sadly list + To the wail of our cold birth-time; +And build thee a temple, glory-kissed, + In the heart of the sunny clime; +Its columns should rise in a music-mist, + And its roofs in a spirit-rhyme. + +Its pillars the solemn hills should bind + 'Neath arches of starry deeps; +Its floor the earth all veined and lined; + Its organ the ocean-sweeps; +And, swung in the hands of the grey-robed wind, + Its censers the blossom-heaps. + +And 'tis almost done; for in this my rhyme, + Thanks to thy mirror-soul, +Thou wilt see the mountains, and hear the chime + Of the waters after the roll; +And the stars of my sky thy sky will climb, + And with heaven roof in the whole. + + + + +THE MAN OF SONGS. + + +"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, + O man of many songs; +To thee the actual only seems-- + No realm to thee belongs." + +"Seest thou those mountains in the east, + O man of ready aim?" +"'T is only vapours that thou seest, + In mountain form and name." + +"Nay, nay, I know them all too well, + Each ridge, and peak, and dome; +In that cloud-land, in one high dell, + Nesteth my little home." + + + + +BETTER THINGS. + + +Better to smell a violet, +Than sip the careless wine; +Better to list one music tone, +Than watch the jewels' shine. + +Better to have the love of one, +Than smiles like morning dew; +Better to have a living seed +Than flowers of every hue. + +Better to feel a love within, +Than be lovely to the sight; +Better a homely tenderness +Than beauty's wild delight. + +Better to love than be beloved. +Though lonely all the day; +Better the fountain in the heart, +Than the fountain by the way. + +Better a feeble love to God, +Than for woman's love to pine; +Better to have the making God +Than the woman made divine. + +Better be fed by mother's hand, +Than eat alone at will; +Better to trust in God, than say: +My goods my storehouse fill. + +Better to be a little wise +Than learned overmuch; +Better than high are lowly thoughts, +For truthful thoughts are such. + +Better than thrill a listening crowd, +Sit at a wise man's feet; +But better teach a child, than toil +To make thyself complete. + +Better to walk the realm unseen, +Than watch the hour's event; +Better the smile of God alway, +Than the voice of men's consent. + +Better to have a quiet grief +Than a tumultuous joy; +Better than manhood, age's face, +If the heart be of a boy. + +Better the thanks of one dear heart, +Than a nation's voice of praise; +Better the twilight ere the dawn, +Than yesterday's mid-blaze. + +Better a death when work is done, +Than earth's most favoured birth; +Better a child in God's great house +Than the king of all the earth. + + + + +THE JOURNEY. + + +Hark, the rain is on my roof! +Every sound drops through the dark +On my soul with dull reproof, +Like a half-extinguished spark. +I! alas, how am I here, +In the midnight and alone? +Caught within a net of fear! +All my dreams of beauty gone! + +I will rise: I must go forth. +Better face the hideous night, +Better dare the unseen north, +Than be still without the light! +Black wind rushing round my brow, +Sown with stinging points of rain! +Place or time I know not now-- +I am here, and so is pain! + +I will leave the sleeping street, +Hie me forth on darker roads. +Ah! I cannot stay my feet, +Onward, onward, something goads. +I will take the mountain path, +Beard the storm within its den, +Know the worst of this dim wrath, +Vexing thus the souls of men. + +Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock: +Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! +Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! +Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! +Ah, I faint, I fall, I die! +Sink to nothingness away!-- +Lo, a streak upon the sky! +Lo, the opening eye of day! + + +II. + +Mountain heights that lift their snows +O'er a valley green and low; +And a winding path, that goes +Guided by the river's flow; +And a music rising ever, +As of peace and low content, +From the pebble-paven river +As an odour upward sent. + +And a sighing of the storm +Far away amid the hills, +Like the humming of a swarm +That the summer forest fills; +And a frequent fall of rain +From a cloud with ragged weft; +And a burst of wind amain +From the mountain's sudden cleft. + +Then a night that hath a moon, +Staining all the cloudy white; +Sinking with a soundless tune +Deep into the spirit's night. +Then a morning clear and soft, +Amber on the purple hills; +Warm high day of summer, oft +Cooled by wandering windy rills. + +Joy to travel thus along, +With the universe around! +I the centre of the throng; +Every sight and every sound +Speeding with its burden laden, +Speeding homewards to my soul! +Mine the eye the stars are made in! +I the heart of all this whole! + + +III. + +Hills retreat on either hand, +Sinking down into the plain; +Slowly through the level land +Glides the river to the main. +What is that before me, white, +Gleaming through the dusky air? +Dimmer in the gathering night; +Still beheld, I know not where? + +Is it but a chalky ridge, +Bared by many a trodden mark? +Or a river-spanning bridge, +Miles away into the dark? +Or the foremost leaping waves +Of the everlasting sea, +Where the Undivided laves +Time with its eternity? + +No, tis but an eye-made sight, +In my brain a fancied gleam; +Or a thousand things as white, +Set in darkness, well might seem. +There it wavers, shines, is gone; +What it is I cannot tell; +When the morning star hath shone, +I shall see and know it well. + +Onward, onward through the night! +Matters it I cannot see? +I am moving in a might, +Dwelling in the dark and me. +Up or down, or here or there, +I can never be alone; +My own being tells me where +God is as the Father known. + + +IV. + +Joy! O joy! the Eastern sea +Answers to the Eastern sky; +Wide and featured gloriously +With swift billows bursting high. +Nearer, nearer, oh! the sheen +On a thousand waves at once! +Oh! the changing crowding green! +Oh my beating heart's response! + +Down rejoicing to the strand, +Where the sea-waves shore-ward lean, +Curve their graceful heads, and stand +Gleaming with ethereal green, +Then in foam fall heavily-- +This is what I saw at night! +Lo, a boat! I'll forth on thee, +Dancing-floor for my delight. + +From the bay, wind-winged, we glance; +Sea-winds seize me by the hair! +What a terrible expanse! +How the ocean tumbles there! +I am helpless here afloat, +For the wild waves know not me; +Gladly would I change my boat +For the snow wings of the sea! + +Look below. Each watery whirl +Cast in beauty's living mould! +Look above! Each feathery curl +Faintly tinged with morning gold!-- +Oh, I tremble with the gush +Of an everlasting youth! +Love and fear together rush: +I am free in God, the Truth! + + + + +PRAYER. + + +We doubt the word that tells us: Ask, + And ye shall have your prayer; +We turn our thoughts as to a task, + With will constrained and rare. + +And yet we have; these scanty prayers + Yield gold without alloy: +O God! but he that trusts and dares + Must have a boundless joy. + + + + +REST. + + +When round the earth the Father's hands + Have gently drawn the dark; +Sent off the sun to fresher lands, + And curtained in the lark; +'Tis sweet, all tired with glowing day, + To fade with faded light; +To lie once more, the old weary way, + Upfolded in the night. + +A mother o'er the couch may bend, + And rose-leaf kisses heap: +In soothing dreams with sleep they blend, + Till even in dreams we sleep. +And, if we wake while night is dumb, + 'Tis sweet to turn and say, +It is an hour ere dawning come, + And I will sleep till day. + + +II. + +There is a dearer, warmer bed, + Where one all day may lie, +Earth's bosom pillowing the head, + And let the world go by. +Instead of mother's love-lit eyes, + The church's storied pane, +All blank beneath cold starry skies, + Or sounding in the rain. + +The great world, shouting, forward fares: + This chamber, hid from none, +Hides safe from all, for no one cares + For those whose work is done. +Cheer thee, my heart, though tired and slow + An unknown grassy place +Somewhere on earth is waiting now + To rest thee from thy race. + + +III. + +There is a calmer than all calms, + A quiet more deep than death: +A folding in the Father's palms, + A breathing in his breath; +A rest made deeper by alarms + And stormy sounds combined: +The child within its mother's arms + Sleeps sounder for the wind. + +There needs no curtained bed to hide + The world with all its wars, +Nor grassy cover to divide + From sun and moon and stars +A window open to the skies, + A sense of changeless life, +With oft returning still surprise + Repels the sounds of strife. + + +IV. + +As one bestrides a wild scared horse + Beneath a stormy moon, +And still his heart, with quiet force, + Beats on its own calm tune; +So if my heart with trouble now + Be throbbing in my breast, +Thou art my deeper heart, and Thou, + O God, dost ever rest. + +When mighty sea-winds madly blow, + And tear the scattered waves; +As still as summer woods, below + Lie darkling ocean caves: +The wind of words may toss my heart, + But what is that to me! +'Tis but a surface storm--Thou art + My deep, still, resting sea. + + + + +TO A.J. SCOTT. + +WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM. + + +I walked all night: the darkness did not yield. +Around me fell a mist, a weary rain, +Enduring long; till a faint dawn revealed + +A temple's front, cloud-curtained on the plain. +Closed were the lofty doors that led within; +But by a wicket one might entrance gain. + +O light, and awe, and silence! Entering in, +The blackness and chaotic rain were lost +In hopeful spaces. Then I heard a thin + +Sweet sound of voices low, together tossed, +As if they sought a harmony to find +Which they knew once; but none of all that host + +Could call the far-fled music back to mind. +Loud voices, distance-low, wandered along +The pillared paths, and up the arches twined + +With sister-arches, rising, throng on throng, +Up to the roof's dim distance. If sometimes +Self-gathered voices made a burst of song, + +Straightway I heard again but as the chimes +Of many bells through Sabbath morning sent, +Each its own tale to tell of heavenly climes. + +Yet such the hope, one might be well content +Here to be low, and lowly keep a door; +For like Truth's herald, solemnly that went, + +I heard thy voice, and humbly loved it more, +Walking the word-sea to this ear of mine, +Than any voice of power I heard before. + +Yet as the harp may, tremulous, combine +Low ghostlike sounds with organ's loudest tone, +Let not my music fear to come to thine: + +Thy heart, with organ-tempests of its own, +Will hear Aeolian sighs from thin chords blown. + + + + +LIGHT. + + +First-born of the creating Voice! +Minister of God's spirit, who wast sent +To wait upon Him first, what time He went +Moving about 'mid the tumultuous noise +Of each unpiloted element +Upon the face of the void formless deep! +Thou who didst come unbodied and alone, +Ere yet the sun was set his rule to keep, +Or ever the moon shone, +Or e'er the wandering star-flocks forth were driven! +Thou garment of the Invisible, whose skirt +Falleth on all things from the lofty heaven! +Thou Comforter, be with me as thou wert +When first I longed for words, to be +A radiant garment for my thought, like thee. + +We lay us down in sorrow, +Wrapt in the old mantle of our mother Night; +In vexing dreams we 'strive until the morrow; +Grief lifts our eyelids up--and lo, the light! +The sunlight on the wall! And visions rise +Of shining leaves that make sweet melodies; +Of wind-borne waves with thee upon their crests; +Of rippled sands on which thou rainest down; +Of quiet lakes that smooth for thee their breasts; +Of clouds that show thy glory as their own. +O joy! O joy! the visions are gone by, +Light, gladness, motion, are Reality! + +Thou art the god of earth. The skylark springs +Far up to catch thy glory on his wings; +And thou dost bless him first that highest soars. +The bee comes forth to see thee; and the flowers +Worship thee all day long, and through the skies +Follow thy journey with their earnest eyes. +River of life, thou pourest on the woods; +And on thy waves float forth the wakening buds; +The trees lean towards thee, and, in loving pain, +Keep turning still to see thee yet again. +And nothing in thine eyes is mean or low: +Where'er thou art, on every side, +All things are glorified; +And where thou canst not come, there thou dost throw +Beautiful shadows, made out of the Dark, +That else were shapeless. Loving thou dost mark +The sadness on men's faces, and dost seek +To make all things around of hope and gladness speak. + +And men have worshipped thee. +The Persian, on his mountain-top, +Kneeling doth wait until thy sun go up, +God-like in his serenity. +All-giving, and none-gifted, he draws near; +And the wide earth waits till his face appear-- +Longs patient. And the herald glory leaps +Along the ridges of the outlying clouds, +Climbing the heights of all their towering steeps; +And a quiet multitudinous laughter crowds +The universal face, as, silently, +Up cometh he, the never-closing eye. +Symbol of Deity! men could not be +Farthest from truth when they were kneeling unto thee. + +Thou plaything of the child, +When from the water's surface thou dost fall +In mazy dance, ethereal motion wild, +Like his own thoughts, upon the chamber wall; +Or through the dust darting in long thin streams! +How I have played with thee, and longed to climb +On sloping ladders of thy moted beams! +And how I loved thee falling from the moon! +And most about the mellow harvest-time, +When night had softly settled down, +And thou from her didst flow, a sea of love. +And then the stars, ah me! that flashed above +And the ghost-stars that shimmered in the tide! +While here and there mysterious earthly shining +Came forth of windows from the hill and glen; +Each ray of thine so wondrously entwining +With household love and rest of weary men. +And still I am a child, thank God! To see +Thee streaming from a bit of broken glass, +That else on the brown earth lay undescried, +Is a high joy, a glorious thing to me, +A spark that lights the light of joy within, +A thought of Hope to Prophecy akin, +That from my spirit fruitless will not pass. + +Thou art the joy of Age: +The sun is dear even when long shadows fall. +Forth to the sunlight the old man doth crawl, +Enlivened like the bird in his poor cage. +Close by the door, no further, in his chair +The old man sits; and sitteth there +His soul within him, like a child that lies +Half dreaming, with his half-shut eyes, +At close of a long afternoon in summer; +High ruins round him, ancient ruins, where +The raven is almost the only comer; +And there he broods in wonderment +On the celestial glory sent +Through the rough loopholes, on the golden bloom +That waves above the cornice on the wall, +Where lately dwelt the echoes of the room; +And drinking in the yellow lights that lie +Upon the ivy tapestry. +So dreams the old man's soul, that is not old, +But sleepy 'mid the ruins that infold. + +What meanings various thou callest forth +Upon the face of the still passive earth! +Even like a lord of music bent +Over his instrument; +Whether, at hour of sovereign noon, +Infinite cataracts sheet silent down; +Or a strange yellow radiance slanting pass +Betwixt long shadows o'er the meadow grass, +When from the lower edge of a dark cloud +The sun at eve his blessing head hath bowed; +Whether the moon lift up her shining shield, +High on the peak of a cloud-hill revealed; +Or crescent, low, wandering sun-dazed away, +Unconscious of her own star-mingled ray, +Her still face seeming more to think than see, +She makes the pale world lie in dreams of thee. +Each hour of day, each hour of thoughtful night, +Hath a new poem in the changing light. + +Of highest unity the sole emblem! +In whom all colours that our eyes can see +In rainbow, moonbow, or in opal gem, +Unite in living oneness, purity, +And operative power! whose every part +Is beauty to the eyes, and truth unto the heart! +Outspread in yellow sands, blue sea and air, +Green growing corn, and scarlet poppies there;-- +Regent of colours, thou, the undefiled! +Whether in dark eyes of the laughing child, +Or in the vast white cloud that floats away, +Bearing upon its breast a brown moon-ray; +The universal painter, who dost fling +Thy overflowing skill on everything! +The thousand hues and shades upon the flowers, +Are all the pastime of thy leisure hours; +And all the gems and ores that hidden be, +Are dead till they are looked upon by thee. + +Everywhere, +Thou art shining through the air; +Every atom from another +Takes thee, gives thee to his brother; +Continually, +Thou art falling on the sea, +Bathing the deep woods down below, +Making the sea-flowers bud and blow; +Silently, +Thou art working ardently, +Bringing from the night of nought +Into being and to thought; +Influences +Every beam of thine dispenses, +Powerful, varied, reaching far, +Differing in every star. +Not an iron rod can lie +In circle of thy beamy eye, +But thy look doth change it so +That it cannot choose but show +Thou, the worker, hast been there; +Yea, sometimes, on substance rare, +Thou dost leave thy ghostly mark +In what men do call the dark. +Doer, shower, mighty teacher! +Truth-in-beauty's silent preacher! +Universal something sent +To shadow forth the Excellent! + +When the firstborn affections, +Those winged seekers of the world within, +That search about in all directions, +Some bright thing for themselves to win, +Through unmarked forest-paths, and gathering fogs, +And stony plains, and treacherous bogs, +Long, long, have followed faces fair, +Fair faces without souls, that vanished into air; +And darkness is around them and above, +Desolate, with nought to love; +And through the gloom on every side, +Strange dismal forms are dim descried; +And the air is as the breath +From the lips of void-eyed Death; +And the knees are bowed in prayer +To the Stronger than Despair; +Then the ever-lifted cry, +_Give us light, or we shall die,_ +Cometh to the Father's ears, +And He listens, and He hears: +And when men lift up their eyes, +Lo, Truth slow dawning in the skies! +'Tis as if the sun gleamed forth +Through the storm-clouds of the north. +And when men would name this Truth, +Giver of gladness and of youth, +They can call it nought but Light-- +'Tis the morning, 'twas the night. +Yea, every thought of hope outspread +On the mountain's misty head, +Is a fresh aurora, sent +Through the spirit's firmament, +Telling, through the vapours dun, +Of the coming, coming sun. + +All things most excellent +Are likened unto thee, excellent thing! +Yea, He who from the Father forth was sent, +Came the true Light, light to our hearts to bring; +The Word of God, the telling of His thought; +The Light of God, the making-visible; +The far-transcending glory brought +In human form with man to dwell; +The dazzling gone; the power not less +To show, irradiate, and bless; +The gathering of the primal rays divine, +Informing chaos, to a pure sunshine! + +Death, darkness, nothingness! +Life, light, and blessedness! + + * * * * * + +Dull horrid pools no motion making; +No bubble on the surface breaking; +Through the dead heavy air, no sound; +Asleep and moveless on the marshy ground. + + * * * * * + +Rushing winds and snow-like drift, +Forceful, formless, fierce, and swift; +Hair-like vapours madly riven; +Waters smitten into dust; +Lightning through the turmoil driven, +Aimless, useless, yet it must. + + * * * * * + +Gentle winds through forests calling; +Big waves on the sea-shore falling; +Bright birds through the thick leaves glancing; +Light boats on the big waves dancing; +Children in the clear pool laving; +Mountain streams glad music giving; +Yellow corn and green grass waving; +Long-haired, bright-eyed maidens living; +Light on all things, even as now-- +God, our Father, it is Thou! +Light, O Radiant! thou didst come abroad, +To mediate 'twixt our ignorance and God; +Forming ever without form; +Showing, but thyself unseen; +Pouring stillness on the storm; +Making life where death had been! +If thou, Light, didst cease to be, +Death and Chaos soon were out, +Weltering o'er the slimy sea, +Riding on the whirlwind's rout; +And if God did cease to be, +O Beloved! where were we? + +Father of Lights, pure and unspeakable, +On whom no changing shadow ever fell! +Thy light we know not, are content to see; +And shall we doubt because we know not Thee? +Or, when thy wisdom cannot be expressed, +Fear lest dark vapours dwell within thy breast? +Nay, nay, ye shadows on our souls descending! +Ye bear good witness to the light on high, +Sad shades of something 'twixt us and the sky! +And this word, known and unknown radiant blending, +Shall make us rest, like children in the night,-- +Word infinite in meaning: _God is Light._ +We walk in mystery all the shining day +Of light unfathomed that bestows our seeing, +Unknown its source, unknown its ebb and flow: +Thy living light's eternal fountain-play +In ceaseless rainbow pulse bestows our being-- +Its motions, whence or whither, who shall know? +O Light, if I had said all I could say +Of thy essential glory and thy might, +Something within my heart unsaid yet lay, +And there for lack of words unsaid must stay: +For _God is Light._ + + + + +TO A.J. SCOTT. + + +Thus, once, long since, the daring of my youth +Drew nigh thy greatness with a little thing; +And thou didst take me in: thy home of truth + +Has domed me since, a heaven of sheltering, +Uplighted by the tenderness and grace +Which round thy absolute friendship ever fling + +A radiant atmosphere. Turn not thy face +From that small part of earnest thanks, I pray, +Which, spoken, leaves much more in speechless case. + +I saw thee as a strong man on his way! +Up the great peaks: I know thee stronger still; +Thy intellect unrivalled in its sway, + +Upheld and ordered by a regnant will; +While Wisdom, seer and priest of holy Fate, +Searches all truths, its prophecy to fill: + +Yet, O my friend, throned in thy heart so great, +High Love is queen, and hath no equal mate. + + May, 1857. + + + + +WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER. + + +Were I a skilful painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear; +And who should blame me then? +Fear of the tide-like darkness +That followeth close behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + +Were I a skilful painter, +What should my painting be? +A tiny spring-bud peeping forth +From a withered wintry tree. +The warm blue sky of summer +Above the mountain snow, +Whence water in an infant stream, +Is trying how to flow. + +The dim light of a beacon +Upon a stormy sea, +Where wild waves, ruled by wilder winds, +Yet call themselves the free. +One sunbeam faintly gleaming +Athwart a sullen cloud, +Like dawning peace upon a brow +In angry weeping bowed. + +Morn climbing o'er the mountain, +While the vale is full of night, +And a wanderer, looking for the east, +Rejoicing in the sight. +A taper burning dimly +Amid the dawning grey, +And a maiden lifting up her head, +And lo, the coming day! + +And thus, were I a painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear; +And who should blame me then? +Fear of the tide-like darkness +That followeth close behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + + + + +IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN. + + +If I were a monk, and thou wert a nun, + Pacing it wearily, wearily, +From chapel to cell till day were done, + Wearily, wearily, +Oh! how would it be with these hearts of ours, +That need the sunshine, and smiles, and flowers? + +To prayer, to prayer, at the matins' call, + Morning foul or fair; +Such prayer as from lifeless lips may fall-- + Words, but hardly prayer; +Vainly trying the thoughts to raise, +Which, in the sunshine, would burst in praise. + +Thou, in the glory of cloudless noon, + The God revealing, +Turning thy face from the boundless boon, + Painfully kneeling; +Or in thy chamber's still solitude, +Bending thy head o'er the legend rude. + +I, in a cool and lonely nook, + Gloomily, gloomily, +Poring over some musty book, + Thoughtfully, thoughtfully; +Or on the parchment margin unrolled, +Painting quaint pictures in purple and gold. + +Perchance in slow procession to meet, + Wearily, wearily, +In an antique, narrow, high-gabled street, + Wearily, wearily; +Thy dark eyes lifted to mine, and then +Heavily sinking to earth again. + +Sunshine and air! warmness and spring! + Merrily, merrily! +Back to its cell each weary thing, + Wearily, wearily! +And the heart so withered, and dry, and old, +Most at home in the cloister cold. + +Thou on thy knees at the vespers' call, + Wearily, wearily; +I looking up on the darkening wall, + Wearily, wearily; +The chime so sweet to the boat at sea, +Listless and dead to thee and me! + +Then to the lone couch at death of day, + Wearily, wearily; +Rising at midnight again to pray, + Wearily, wearily; +And if through the dark those eyes looked in, +Sending them far as a thought of sin. + +And then, when thy spirit was passing away, + Dreamily, dreamily; +The earth-born dwelling returning to clay, + Sleepily, sleepily; +Over thee held the crucified Best, +But no warm face to thy cold cheek pressed. + +And when my spirit was passing away, + Dreamily, dreamily; +The grey head lying 'mong ashes grey, + Sleepily, sleepily; +No hovering angel-woman above, +Waiting to clasp me in deathless love. + +But now, beloved, thy hand in mine, + Peacefully, peacefully; +My arm around thee, my lips on thine, + Lovingly, lovingly,-- +Oh! is not a better thing to us given +Than wearily going alone to heaven? + + + + +BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH. + + +A quiet heart, submissive, meek, + Father do thou bestow; +Which more than granted will not seek + To have, or give, or know. + +Each green hill then will hold its gift + Forth to my joying eyes; +The mountains blue will then uplift + My spirit to the skies. + +The falling water then will sound + As if for me alone; +Nay, will not blessing more abound + That many hear its tone? + +The trees their murmuring forth will send, + The birds send forth their song; +The waving grass its tribute lend, + Sweet music to prolong. + +The water-lily's shining cup, + The trumpet of the bee, +The thousand odours floating up, + The many-shaded sea; + +The rising sun's imprinted tread + Upon the eastward waves; +The gold and blue clouds over head; + The weed from far sea-caves; + +All lovely things from south to north, + All harmonies that be, +Each will its soul of joy send forth + To enter into me. + +And thus the wide earth I shall hold, + A perfect gift of thine; +Richer by these, a thousandfold, + Than if broad lands were mine. + + + + +THE HILLS. + + +Behind my father's house there lies + A little grassy brae, +Whose face my childhood's busy feet + Ran often up in play, +Whence on the chimneys I looked down + In wonderment alway. + +Around the house, where'er I turned, + Great hills closed up the view; +The town 'midst their converging roots + Was clasped by rivers two; +From one hill to another sprang + The sky's great arch of blue. + +Oh! how I loved to climb their sides, + And in the heather lie; +The bridle on my arm did hold + The pony feeding by; +Beneath, the silvery streams; above, + The white clouds in the sky. + +And now, in wandering about, + Whene'er I see a hill, +A childish feeling of delight + Springs in my bosom still; +And longings for the high unknown + Follow and flow and fill. + +For I am always climbing hills, + And ever passing on, +Hoping on some high mountain peak + To find my Father's throne; +For hitherto I've only found + His footsteps in the stone. + +And in my wanderings I have met + A spirit child like me, +Who laid a trusting hand in mine, + So fearlessly and free, +That so together we have gone, + Climbing continually. + +Upfolded in a spirit bud, + The child appeared in space, +Not born amid the silent hills, + But in a busy place; +And yet in every hill we see + A strange, familiar face. + +For they are near our common home; + And so in trust we go, +Climbing and climbing on and on, + Whither we do not know; +Not waiting for the mournful dark, + But for the dawning slow. + +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,-- + A long way we have come! +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,-- + For we have far to roam, +Climbing and climbing, till we reach + Our Heavenly Father's home. + + + + +I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS. + + +I know what beauty is, for Thou + Hast set the world within my heart; + Its glory from me will not part; +I never loved it more than now. + +I know the Sabbath afternoon: + The light lies sleeping on the graves; + Against the sky the poplar waves; +The river plays a Sabbath tune. + +Ah, know I not the spring's snow-bell? + The summer woods at close of even? + Autumn, when earth dies into heaven, +And winter's storms, I know them well. + +I know the rapture music brings, + The power that dwells in ordered tones, + A living voice that loves and moans, +And speaks unutterable things. + +Consenting beauties in a whole; + The living eye, the imperial head, + The gait of inward music bred, +The woman form, a radiant soul. + +And splendours all unspoken bide + Within the ken of spirit's eye; + And many a glory saileth by, +Borne on the Godhead's living tide. + +But I leave all, thou man of woe! + Put off my shoes, and come to Thee; + Thou art most beautiful to me; +More wonderful than all I know. + +As child forsakes his favourite toy, + His sisters' sport, his wild bird's nest; + And climbing to his mother's breast, +Enjoys yet more his former joy-- + +I lose to find. On forehead wide + The jewels tenfold light afford: + So, gathered round thy glory, Lord, +All beauty else is glorified. + + + + +I WOULD I WERE A CHILD. + + + I would I were a child, +That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father! +And follow Thee with running feet, or rather + Be led thus through the wild. + + How I would hold thy hand! +My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting, +Which casts all beauteous shadows, ever shifting, + Over this sea and land. + + If a dark thing came near, +I would but creep within thy mantle's folding, +Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding, + And so forget my fear. + + O soul, O soul, rejoice! +Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning; +A trembling child, yet his, and worth the winning + With gentle eyes and voice. + + The words like echoes flow. +They are too good; mine I can call them never; +Such water drinking once, I should feel ever + As I had drunk but now. + + And yet He said it so; +'Twas He who taught our child-lips to say, Father! +Like the poor youth He told of, that did gather + His goods to him, and go. + + Ah! Thou dost lead me, God; +But it is dark; no stars; the way is dreary; +Almost I sleep, I am so very weary + Upon this rough hill-road. + + _Almost_! Nay, I _do_ sleep. +There is no darkness save in this my dreaming; +Thy Fatherhood above, around, is beaming; + Thy hand my hand doth keep. + + This torpor one sun-gleam +Would break. My soul hath wandered into sleeping; +Dream-shades oppress; I call to Thee with weeping, + Wake me from this my dream. + + And as a man doth say, +Lo! I do dream, yet trembleth as he dreameth; +While dim and dream-like his true history seemeth, + Lost in the perished day; + + (For heavy, heavy night +Long hours denies the day) so this dull sorrow +Upon my heart, but half believes a morrow + Will ever bring thy light. + + God, art Thou in the room? +Come near my bed; oh! draw aside the curtain; +A child's heart would say _Father_, were it certain + That it did not presume. + + But if this dreary bond +I may not break, help Thou thy helpless sleeper; +Resting in Thee, my sleep will sink the deeper, + All evil dreams beyond. + + _Father!_ I dare at length. +My childhood, thy gift, all my claim in speaking; +Sinful, yet hoping, I to Thee come, seeking + Thy tenderness, my strength. + + + + +THE LOST SOUL. + + +Brothers, look there! + +What! see ye nothing yet? +Knit your eyebrows close, and stare; +Send your souls forth in the gaze, +As my finger-point is set, +Through the thick of the foggy air. +Beyond the air, you see the dark; +(For the darkness hedges still our ways;) +And beyond the dark, oh, lives away! +Dim and far down, surely you mark +A huge world-heap of withered years +Dropt from the boughs of eternity? +See ye not something lying there, +Shapeless as a dumb despair, +Yet a something that spirits can recognise +With the vision dwelling in their eyes? +It hath the form of a man! +As a huge moss-rock in a valley green, +When the light to freeze began, +Thickening with crystals of dark between, +Might look like a sleeping man. +What think ye it, brothers? I know it well. +I know by your eyes ye see it--tell. + +'Tis a poor lost soul, alack! +It was alive some ages back; +One that had wings and might have had eyes +I think I have heard that he wrote a book; +But he gathered his life up into a nook, +And perished amid his own mysteries, +Which choked him, because he had not faith, +But was proud in the midst of sayings dark +Which God had charactered on his walls; +And the light which burned up at intervals, +To be spent in reading what God saith, +He lazily trimmed it to a spark, +And then it went out, and his soul was dark. + + Is there aught between thee and me, + Soul, that art lying there? + Is any life yet left in thee, + So that thou couldst but spare + A word to reveal the mystery + Of the banished from light and air? + + Alas, O soul! thou wert once + As the soul that cries to thee! + Thou hadst thy place in the mystic dance + From the doors of the far eternity, + Issuing still with feet that glance + To the music of the free! + + Alas! O soul, to think + That thou wert made like me! + With a heart for love, and a thirst to drink + From the wells that feed the sea! + And with hands of truth to have been a link + 'Twixt mine and the parent knee; + And with eyes to pierce to the further brink + Of things I cannot see! + + Alas, alas, my brother! + To thee my heart is drawn: + My soul had been such another, + In the dark amidst the dawn! + As a child in the eyes of its mother + Dead on the flowery lawn! + + I mourn for thee, poor friend! + A spring from a cliff did drop: + To drink by the wayside God would bend, + And He found thee a broken cup! + He threw thee aside, His way to wend + Further and higher up. + + Alack! sad soul, alack! + As if I lay in thy grave, + I feel the Infinite sucking back + The individual life it gave. + Thy spring died to a pool, deep, black, + Which the sun from its pit did lave. + + Thou might'st have been one of us, + Cleaving the storm and fire; + Aspiring through faith to the glorious, + Higher and ever higher; + Till the world of storms look tremulous, + Far down, like a smitten lyre! + + A hundred years! he might + Have darted through the gloom, + Like that swift angel that crossed our flight + Where the thunder-cloud did loom, + From his upcast pinions flashing the light + Of some inward word or doom. + +It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! +Sounds no sense to its ear will bring. +Hath God forgotten it, alas! +Lost in eternity's lumber room? +Will the wave of his Spirit never pass +Over it through the insensate gloom? +It lies alone in its lifeless world, +As a frozen bud on the earth lies curled; +Sightless and soundless, without a cry, +On the flat of its own vacuity. + +Up, brothers, up! for a storm is nigh; +We will smite the wing up the steepest sky; +Through the rushing air +We will climb the stair +That to heaven from the vaults doth leap; +We will measure its height +By the strokes of our flight, +Its span by the tempest's sweep. +What matter the hail or the clashing winds! +We know by the tempest we do not lie +Dead in the pits of eternity. +Brothers, let us be strong in our minds, +Lest the storm should beat us back, +Or the treacherous calm sink from beneath our wings, +And lower us gently from our track +To the depths of forgotten things. +Up, brothers, up! 'tis the storm or we! +'Tis the storm or God for the victory! + + + + +A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. + + +THE OUTER DREAM. + +Young, as the day's first-born Titanic brood, +Lifting their foreheads jubilant to heaven, +Rose the great mountains on my opening dream. +And yet the aged peace of countless years +Reposed on every crag and precipice +Outfacing ruggedly the storms that swept +Far overhead the sheltered furrow-vales; +Which smiled abroad in green as the clouds broke +Drifting adown the tide of the wind-waves, +Till shattered on the mountain rocks. Oh! still, +And cold and hard to look upon, like men +Who do stern deeds in times of turbulence, +Quell the hail-rattle with their granite brows, +And let the thunder burst and pass away-- +They too did gather round sky-dwelling peaks +The trailing garments of the travelling sun, +Which he had lifted from his ocean-bed, +And swept along his road. They rent them down +In scattering showers upon the trees and grass, +In noontide rains with heavy ringing drops, +Or in still twilight moisture tenderly. +And from their sides were born the gladsome streams; +Some creeping gently out in tiny springs, +As they were just created, scarce a foot +From the hill's surface, in the matted roots +Of plants, whose green betrays the secret birth; +Some hurrying forth from caverns deep and dark, +Upfilling to the brim a basin huge, +Thick covered with soft moss, greening the wave, +As evermore it welled over the edge +Upon the rocks below in boiling heaps; +Fit basin for a demi-god at morn, +Waking amid the crags, to lave his limbs, +Then stride, Hyperion, o'er sun-paven peaks. +And down the hill-side sped the fresh-born wave, +Now hid from sight in arched caverns cold, +Now arrowing slantwise down the terraced steep, +Now springing like a child from step to step +Of the rough water-stair; until it found +A deep-hewn passage for its slower course, +Guiding it down to lowliness and rest, +Betwixt wet walls of darkness, darker yet +With pine trees lining all their sides like hair, +Or as their own straight needles clothe their boughs; +Until at length in broader light it ran, +With more articulate sounds amid the stones, +In the slight shadow of the maiden birch, +And the stream-loving willow; and ere long +Great blossoming trees dropt flowers upon its breast; +Chiefly the crimson-spotted, cream-white flowers, +Heaped up in cones amid cone-drooping leaves; +Green hanging leaf-cones, towering white flower-cones +Upon the great cone-fashioned chestnut tree. +Each made a tiny ripple where it fell, +The trembling pleasure of the smiling wave, +Which bore it then, in slow funereal course, +Down to the outspread sunny sheen, where lies +The lake uplooking to the far-off snow, +Its mother still, though now so far away; +Feeding it still with long descending lines +Of shining, speeding streams, that gather peace +In journeying to the rest of that still lake +Now lying sleepy in the warm red sun, +Which says its dear goodnight, and goeth down. + +All pale, and withered, and disconsolate, +The moon is looking on impatiently; +For 'twixt the shining tent-roof of the day, +And the sun-deluged lake, for mirror-floor, +Her thin pale lamping is too sadly grey +To shoot, in silver-barbed, white-plumed arrows, +Cold maiden splendours on the flashing fish: +Wait for thy empire Night, day-weary moon! +And thou shalt lord it in one realm at least, +Where two souls walk a single Paradise. +Take to thee courage, for the sun is gone; +His praisers, the glad birds, have hid their heads; +Long, ghost-like forms of trees lie on the grass; +All things are clothed in an obscuring light, +Fusing their outline in a dreamy mass; +Some faint, dim shadows from thy beauty fall +On the clear lake which melts them half away-- +Shine faster, stronger, O reviving moon! +Burn up, O lamp of Earth, hung high in Heaven! + +And through a warm thin summer mist she shines, +A silver setting to the diamond stars; +And the dark boat cleaveth a glittering way, +Where the one steady beauty of the moon +Makes many changing beauties on the wave +Broken by jewel-dropping oars, which drive +The boat, as human impulses the soul; +While, like the sovereign will, the helm's firm law +Directs the whither of the onward force. +At length midway he leaves the swaying oars +Half floating in the blue gulf underneath, +And on a load of gathered flowers reclines, +Leaving the boat to any air that blows, +His soul to any pulse from the unseen heart. +Straight from the helm a white hand gleaming flits, +And settles on his face, and nestles there, +Pale, night-belated butterfly, to sleep. +For on her knees his head lies satisfied; +And upward, downward, dark eyes look and rest, +Finding their home in likeness. Lifting then +Her hair upon her white arm heavily, +The overflowing of her beauteousness, +Her hand that cannot trespass, singles out +Some of the curls that stray across her lap; +And mingling dark locks in the pallid light, +She asks him which is darker of the twain, +Which his, which hers, and laugheth like a lute. +But now her hair, an unvexed cataract, +Falls dark and heavy round his upturned face, +And with a heaven shuts out the shallow sky, +A heaven profound, the home of two black stars; +Till, tired with gazing, face to face they lie, +Suspended, with closed eyelids, in the night; +Their bodies bathed in conscious sleepiness, +While o'er their souls creeps every rippling breath +Of the night-gambols of the moth-winged wind, +Flitting a handbreadth, folding up its wings, +Its dreamy wings, then spreading them anew, +And with an unfelt gliding, like the years, +Wafting them to a water-lily bed, +Whose shield-like leaves and chalice-bearing arms +Hold back the boat from the slow-sloping shore, +Far as a child might shoot with his toy-bow. +There the long drooping grass drooped to the wave; +And, ever as the moth-wind lit thereon, +A small-leafed tree, whose roots were always cool, +Dipped one low bow, with many sister-leaves, +Upon the water's face with a low plash, +Lifting and dipping yet and yet again; +And aye the water-drops rained from the leaves, +With music-laughter as they found their home. +And from the woods came blossom-fragrance, faint, +Or full, like rising, falling harmonies; +Luxuriance of life, which overflows +In scents ethereal on the ocean air; +Each breathing on the rest the blessedness +Of its peculiar being, filled with good +Till its cup runneth over with delight: +They drank the mingled odours as they lay, +The air in which the sensuous being breathes, +Till summer-sleep fell on their hearts and eyes. + +The night was mild and innocent of ill; +'Twas but a sleeping day that breathed low, +And babbled in its sleep. The moon at length +Grew sleepy too. Her level glances crept +Through sleeping branches to their curtained eyes, +As down the steep bank of the west she slid, +Slowly and slowly + + But alas! alas! +The awful time 'twixt moondown and sunrise! +It is a ghostly time. A low thick fog +Steamed up and swathed the trees, and overwhelmed +The floating couch with pall on pall of grey. +The sky was desolate, dull, and meaningless. +The blazing hues of the last sunset eve, +And the pale magic moonshine that had made +The common, strange,--all were swept clean away; +The earth around, the great sky over, were +Like a deserted theatre, tomb-dumb; +The lights long dead; the first sick grey of morn +Oozing through rents in the slow-mouldering curtain; +The sweet sounds fled away for evermore; +Nought left, except a creeping chill, a sense +As if dead deeds were strown upon the stage, +As if dead bodies simulated life, +And spoke dead words without informing thought. +A horror, as of power without a soul, +Dark, undefined, and mighty unto ill, +Jarred through the earth and through the vault-like air. + +And on the sleepers fell a wondrous dream, +That dured till sunrise, filling all the cells +Remotest of the throbbing heart and brain. +And as I watched them, ever and anon +The quivering limb and half-unclosed eye +Witnessed of torture scarce endured, and yet +Endured; for still the dream had mastery, +And held them in a helplessness supine; +Till, by degrees, the labouring breath grew calm, +Save frequent murmured sighs; and o'er each face +Stole radiant sadness, and a hopeful grief; +And the convulsive motion passed away. + +Upon their faces, reading them, I gazed,-- +Reading them earnestly, like wondrous book,-- +When suddenly the vapours of the dream +Rose and enveloped me, and through my soul +Passed with possession; will fell fast asleep. +And through the portals of the spirit-land, +Upon whose frontiers time and space grow dumb, +Quenched like a cloud that all the roaring wind +Drives not beyond the mountain top, I went, +And entering, beheld them in their dream. +Their world inwrapt me for the time as mine, +And what befel them there, I saw, and tell. + + +THE INNER DREAM. + +It was a drizzly morning where I stood. +The cloud had sunk, and filled with fold on fold +The chimneyed city; so the smoke rose not, +But spread diluted in the cloud, and fell +A black precipitate on miry streets, +Where dim grey faces vision-like went by, +But half-awake, half satisfied with sleep. + +Slave engines had begun their ceaseless growl +Of labour. Iron bands and huge stone blocks +That held them to their task, strained, shook, until +The city trembled. Those pale-visaged forms +Were hastening on to feed their groaning strength +With labour to the full. + + Look! there they come, +Poor amid poverty; she with her gown +Drawn over her meek head; he trying much, +But fruitless half, to shield her from the rain. +They enter the wide gates, amid the jar, +And clash, and shudder of the awful force +That, conquering force, still vibrates on, as if +With an excess of power, hungry for work. +With differing strength to different tasks they part, +To be the soul of knowledge unto strength; +For man has eked his body out with wheels, +And cranks, and belts, and levers, pinions, screws-- +One body all, pervaded still with life +From man the maker's will. 'Mid keen-eyed men, +Thin featured and exact, his part is found; +Hers where the dusk air shines with lustrous eyes. + +And there they laboured through the murky day, +Whose air was livid mist, their only breath; +Foul floating dust of swift revolving wheels +And feathery spoil of fast contorted threads +Making a sultry chaos in the sun. +Until at length slow swelled the welcome dark, +A dull Lethean heaving tide of death, +Up from the caves of Night to make an end; +And filling every corner of the place, +Choked in its waves the clanking of the looms. +And Earth put on her sleeping dress, and took +Her children home into its bosom-folds, +And nursed them as a mother-ghost might sit +With her neglected darlings in the dark. +So with dim satisfaction in their hearts, +Though with tired feet and aching head, they went, +Parting the clinging fog to find their home. +It was a dreary place. Unfinished walls, +Far drearier than ruins overspread +With long-worn sweet forgetfulness, amidst +Earth-heaps and bricks, rain-pools and ugliness, +Rose up around, banishing further yet +The Earth, with its spring-time, young-mother smile, +From children's eyes that had forgot to play. +But though the house was dull and wrapt in fog, +It yet awoke to life, yea, cheerfulness, +When darkness oped a fire-eye in the grate, +And the dim candle's smoky flame revealed +A room which could not be all desolate, +Being a temple, proven by the signs +Seen in the ancient place. For here was light; +And blazing fire with darkness on its skirts; +Bread; and pure water, ready to make clean, +Beside a chest of holiday attire; +And in the twilight edges of the light, +A book scarce seen; and for the wondrous veil, +Those human forms, behind which lay concealed +The Holy of Holies, God's own secret place, +The lowly human heart wherein He dwells. +And by the table-altar they sat down +To eat their Eucharist, God feeding them: +Their food was Love, made visible in Form-- +Incarnate Love in food. For he to whom +A common meal can be no Eucharist, +Who thanks for food and strength, not for the love +That made cold water for its blessedness, +And wine for gladness' sake, has yet to learn +The heart-delight of inmost thankfulness +For innermost reception. + + Then they sat +Resting with silence, the soul's inward sleep, +Which feedeth it with strength; till gradually +They grew aware of light, that overcame +The light within, and through the dingy blind, +Cast from the window-frame, two shadow-glooms +That made a cross of darkness on the white, +Dark messenger of light itself unseen. +The woman rose, and half she put aside +The veil that hid the whole of glorious night; +And lo! a wind had mowed the earth-sprung fog; +And lo! on high the white exultant moon +From clear blue window curtained all with white, +Greeted them, at their shadowy window low, +With quiet smile; for two things made her glad: +One that she saw the glory of the sun; +For while the earth lay all athirst for light, +She drank the fountain-waves. The other joy; +Sprung from herself: she fought the darkness well, +Thinning the great cone-shadow of the earth, +Paling its ebon hue with radiant showers +Upon its sloping side. The woman said, +With hopeful look: "To-morrow will be bright +With sunshine for our holiday--to-morrow-- +Think! we shall see the green fields in the sun." +So with hearts hoping for a simple joy, +Yet high withal, being no less than the sun, +They laid them down in nightly death that waits +Patiently for the day. + + That sun was high +When they awoke at length. The moon, low down, +Had almost vanished, clothed upon with light; +And night was swallowed up of day. In haste, +Chiding their weariness that leagued with sleep, +They, having clothed themselves in clean attire, +By the low door, stooping with priestly hearts, +Entered God's vision-room, his wonder-world. + +One side the street, the windows all were moons +To light the other that in shadow lay. +The path was almost dry; the wind asleep. +And down the sunny side a woman came +In a red cloak that made the whole street glad-- +Fit clothing, though she was so feeble and old; +For when they stopped and asked her how she fared, +She said with cheerful words, and smile that owed +None of its sweetness to an ivory lining: +"I'm always better in the open air." +"Dear heart!" said they, "how freely she will breathe +In the open air of heaven!" She stood in the morn +Like a belated autumn-flower in spring, +Dazed by the rushing of the new-born life +Up the earth's winding cavern-stairs to see +Through window-buds the calling, waking sun. +Or as in dreams we meet the ghost of one +Beloved in youth, who walketh with few words, +And they are of the past. Yet, joy to her! +She too from earthy grave was climbing up +Unto the spirit-windows high and far, +She the new life for a celestial spring, +Answering the light that shineth evermore. + +With hopeful sadness thus they passed along +Dissolving streets towards the smiles of spring, +Of which green visions gleamed and glided by, +Across far-narrowing avenues of brick: +The ripples only of her laughter float +Through the low winding caverns of the town; +Yet not a stone upon the paven street, +But shareth in the impulse of her joy, +Heaven's life that thrills anew through the outworn earth; +Descending like the angel that did stir +Bethesda's pool, and made the sleepy wave +Pulse with quick healing through the withered limb, +In joyous pangs. By an unfinished street, +Forth came they on a wide and level space; +Green fields lay side by side, and hedgerow trees +Stood here and there as waiting for some good. +But no calm river meditated through +The weary flat to the less level sea; +No forest trees on pillared stems and boughs +Bent in great Gothic arches, bore aloft +A cloudy temple-roof of tremulous leaves; +No clear line where the kissing lips of sky +And earth meet undulating, but a haze +That hides--oh, if it hid wild waves! alas! +It hides but fields, it hides but fields and trees! +Save eastward, where a few hills, far away, +Came forth in the sun, or drew back when the clouds +Went over them, dissolving them in shade. +But the life-robe of earth was beautiful, +As all most common things are loveliest; +A forest of green waving fairy trees, +That carpeted the earth for lowly feet, +Bending unto their tread, lowliest of all +Earth's lowly children born for ministering +Unto the heavenly stranger, stately man; +That he, by subtle service from all kinds, +From every breeze and every bounding wave, +From night-sky cavernous with heaps of storm, +And from the hill rejoicing in the sun, +Might grow a humble, lowly child of God; +Lowly, as knowing his high parentage; +Humble, because all beauties wait on him, +Like lady-servants ministering for love. +And he that hath not rock, and hill, and stream, +Must learn to look for other beauty near; +To know the face of ocean solitudes, +The darkness dashed with glory, and the shades +Wind-fretted, and the mingled tints upthrown +From shallow bed, or raining from the sky. +And he that hath not ocean, and dwells low, +Not hill-befriended, if his eyes have ceased +To drink enjoyment from the billowy grass, +And from the road-side flower (like one who dwells +With homely features round him every day, +And so takes refuge in the loving eyes +Which are their heaven, the dwelling-place of light), +Must straightway lift his eyes unto the heavens, +Like God's great palette, where His artist hand +Never can strike the brush, but beauty wakes; +Vast sweepy comet-curves, that net the soul +In pleasure; endless sky-stairs; patient clouds, +White till they blush at the sun's goodnight kiss; +And filmy pallours, and great mountain crags. +But beyond all, absorbing all the rest, +Lies the great heaven, the expression of deep space, +Foreshortened to a vaulted dome of blue; +The Infinite, crowded in a single glance, +Where yet the eye descends depth within depth; +Like mystery of Truth, clothed in high form, +Evasive, spiritual, no limiting, +But something that denies an end, and yet +Can be beheld by wondering human eyes. +There looking up, one well may feel how vain +To search for God in this vast wilderness! +For over him would arch void depth for ever; +Nor ever would he find a God or Heaven, +Though lifting wings were his to soar abroad +Through boundless heights of space; or eyes to dive +To microscopic depths: he would come back, +And say, _There is no God;_ and sit and weep; +Till in his heart a child's voice woke and cried, +_Father! my Father!_ Then the face of God +Breaks forth with eyes, everywhere, suddenly +And not a space of blue, nor floating cloud, +Nor grassy vale, nor distant purple height, +But, trembling with a presence all divine, +Says, _Here I am, my child._ + + Gazing awhile, +They let the lesson of the sky sink deep +Into their hearts; withdrawing then their eyes, +They knew the Earth again. And as they went, +Oft in the changing heavens, those distant hills +Shone clear upon the horizon. Then awoke +A strange and unknown longing in their souls, +As if for something loved in years gone by, +And vanished in its beauty and its love +So long, that it retained no name or form, +And lay on childhood's verge, all but forgot, +Wrapt in the enchanted rose-mists of that land: +As if amidst those hills were wooded dells, +Summer, and gentle winds, and odours free, +Deep sleeping waters, gorgeous flowers, and birds, +Pure winged throats. But here, all things around +Were in their spring. The very light that lay +Upon the grass seemed new-born like the grass, +Sprung with it from the earth. The very stones +Looked warm. The brown ploughed earth seemed swelling up, +Filled like a sponge with sunbeams, which lay still, +Nestling unseen, and broodingly, and warm, +In every little nest, corner, or crack, +Wherein might hide a blind and sleepy seed, +Waiting the touch of penetrative life +To wake, and grow, and beautify the earth. +The mossy stems and boughs, where yet no life +Exuberant overflowed in buds and leaves, +Were clothed in golden splendours, interwoven +With many shadows from the branches bare. +And through their tops the west wind rushing went, +Calling aloud the sleeping sap within: +The thrill passed downwards from the roots in air +To the roots tremulous in the embracing ground. +And though no buds with little dots of light +Sparkled the darkness of the hedgerow twigs; +Softening, expanding in the warm light-bath, +Seemed the dry smoky bark. + + Thus in the fields +They spent their holiday. And when the sun +Was near the going down, they turned them home +With strengthened hearts. For they were filled with light, +And with the spring; and, like the bees, went back +To their dark house, laden with blessed sights, +With gladsome sounds home to their treasure-cave; +Where henceforth sudden gleams of spring would pass +Thorough the four-walled darkness of the room; +And sounds of spring-time whisper trembling by, +Though stony streets with iron echoed round. +And as they crossed a field, they came by chance +Upon a place where once a home had been; +Fragments of ruined walls, half-overgrown +With moss, for even stones had their green robe. +It had been a small cottage, with a plot +Of garden-ground in front, mapped out with walks +Now scarce discernible, but that the grass +Was thinner, the ground harder to the foot: +The place was simply shadowed with an old +Almost erased human carefulness. +Close by the ruined wall, where once had been +The door dividing it from the great world, +Making it _home_, a single snowdrop grew. +'Twas the sole remnant of a family +Of flowers that in this garden once had dwelt, +Vanished with all their hues of glowing life, +Save one too white for death. + + And as its form +Arose within the brain, a feeling sprung +Up in their souls, new, white, and delicate; +A waiting, longing, patient hopefulness, +The snowdrop of the heart. The heavenly child, +Pale with the earthly cold, hung its meek head, +Enduring all, and so victorious; +The Summer's earnest in the waking Earth, +The spirit's in the heart. + + I love thee, flower, +With a love almost human, tenderly; +The Spring's first child, yea, thine, my hoping heart! +Upon thy inner leaves and in thy heart, +Enough of green to tell thou know'st the grass; +In thy white mind remembering lowly friends; +But most I love thee for that little stain +Of earth on thy transfigured radiancy, +Which thou hast lifted with thee from thy grave, +The soiling of thy garments on thy road, +Travelling forth into the light and air, +The heaven of thy pure rest. Some gentle rain +Will surely wash thee white, and send the earth +Back to the place of earth; but now it signs +Thee child of earth, of human birth as we. + +With careful hands uprooting it, they bore +The little plant a willing captive home; +Willing to enter dark abodes, secure +In its own tale of light. As once of old, +Bearing all heaven in words of promising, +The Angel of the Annunciation came, +It carried all the spring into that house; +A pot of mould its only tie to Earth, +Its heaven an ell of blue 'twixt chimney-tops, +Its world henceforth that little, low-ceiled room, +Symbol and child of spring, it took its place +'Midst all those types, to be a type with them, +Of what so many feel, not knowing it; +The hidden springtime that is drawing nigh. +And henceforth, when the shadow of the cross +Will enter, clothed in moonlight, still and dark, +The flower will nestle at its foot till day, +Pale, drooping, heart-content. + + To rest they went. +And all night long the snowdrop glimmered white +Amid the dark, unconscious and unseen. + +Before the sun had crowned his eastern hill +With its world-diadem, they woke. + + I looked +Out of the windows of the inner dream, +And saw the edge of the sun's glory rise +Eastward behind the hills, the lake-cup's rim. +And as it came, it sucked up in itself, +As deeds drink words, or daylight candle-flame, +That other sun rising to light the dream. +They lay awake and thoughtful, comforted +With yesterday which nested in their hearts, +Yet haunted with the sound of grinding wheels. + + +THE OUTER DREAM. + +And as they lay and looked into the room, +It wavered, changed, dissolved beneath the sun, +Which mingled both the mornings in their eyes, +Till the true conquered, and the unreal passed. +No walls, but woods bathed in a level sun; +No ceiling, but the vestal sky of morn; +No bed, but flowers floating 'mid floating leaves +On water which grew audible as they stirred +And lifted up their heads. And a low wind +That flowed from out the west, washed from their eye +The last films of the dream. And they sat up, +Silent for one long cool delicious breath, +Gazing upon each other lost and found, +With a dumb ecstasy, new, undefined. +Followed a long embrace, and then the oars +Broke up their prison-bands. + + And through the woods +They slowly went, beneath a firmament +Of boughs, and clouded leaves, filmy and pale +In the sunshine, but shadowy on the grass. +And roving odours met them on their way, +Sun-quickened odours, which the fog had slain. +And their green sky had many a blossom-moon, +And constellations thick with starry flowers. +And deep and still were all the woods, except +For the Memnonian, glory-stricken birds; +And golden beetles 'mid the shadowy roots, +Green goblins of the grass, and mining mice; +And on the leaves the fairy butterflies, +Or doubting in the air, scarlet and blue. +The divine depth of summer clasped the Earth. + +But 'twixt their hearts and summer's perfectness +Came a dividing thought that seemed to say: +"_Ye wear strange looks._" Did summer speak, or they? +They said within: "We know that ye are fair, +Bright flowers; but ye shine far away, as in +A land of other thoughts. Alas! alas! + +"Where shall we find the snowdrop-bell half-blown? +What shall we do? we feel the throbbing spring +Bursting in new and unexpressive thoughts; +Our hearts are swelling like a tied-up bud, +And summer crushes them with too much light. +Action is bubbling up within our souls; +The woods oppress us more than stony streets; +That was the life indeed; this is the dream; +Summer is too complete for growing hearts; +They need a broken season, and a land +With shadows pointing ever far away; +Where incompleteness rouses longing thoughts +With spires abrupt, and broken spheres, and circles +Cut that they may be widened evermore: +Through shattered cloudy roof, looks in the sky, +A discord from a loftier harmony; +And tempests waken peace within our thoughts, +Driving them inward to the inmost rest. +Come, my beloved, we will haste and go +To those pale faces of our fellow men; +Our loving hearts, burning with summer-fire, +Will cast a glow upon their pallidness; +Our hands will help them, far as servants may; +Hands are apostles still to saviour-hearts. +So we may share their blessedness with them; +So may the snowdrop time be likewise ours; +And Earth smile tearfully the spirit smile +Wherewith she smiled upon our holiday, +As a sweet child may laugh with weeping eyes. +If ever we return, these glorious flowers +May all be snowdrops of a higher spring." +Their eyes one moment met, and then they knew +That they did mean the same thing in their hearts. +So with no farther words they turned and went +Back to the boat, and so across the mere. + +I wake from out my dream, and know my room, +My darling books, the cherub forms above; +I know 'tis springtime in the world without; +I feel it springtime in my world within; +I know that bending o'er an early flower, +Crocus, or primrose, or anemone, +The heart that striveth for a higher life, +And hath not yet been conquered, findeth there +A beauty deep, unshared by any rose, +A human loveliness about the flower; +That a heath-bell upon a lonely waste +Hath more than scarlet splendour on thick leaves; +That a blue opening 'midst rain-bosomed clouds +Is more than Paphian sun-set harmonies; +That higher beauty dwells on earth, because +Man seeks a higher home than Paradise; +And, having lost, is roused thereby to fill +A deeper need than could be filled by all +The lost ten times restored; and so he loves +The snowdrop more than the magnolia; +Spring-hope is more to him than summer-joy; +Dark towns than Eden-groves with rivers four. + + + + +AFTER AN OLD LEGEND. + + +The monk was praying in his cell, + And he did pray full sore; +He had been praying on his knees + For two long hours and more. + +And in the midst, and suddenly, + He felt his eyes ope wide; +And he lifted not his head, but saw + A man's feet him beside. + +And almost to his feet there reached + A garment strangely knit; +Some woman's fingers, ages agone, + Had trembled, in making it. + +The monk's eyes went up the garment, + Until a hand they spied; +A cut from a chisel was on it, + And another scar beside. + +Then his eyes sprang to the face + With a single thirsty bound; +'Twas He, and he nigh had fainted; + His eyes had the Master found. + +On his ear fell the convent bell, + That told him the poor did wait +For his hand to divide the daily bread, + All at the convent-gate. + +And a storm of thoughts within him + Blew hither and thither long; +And the bell kept calling all the time + With its iron merciless tongue. + +He looked in the Master's eyes, + And he sprang to his feet in strength: +"Though I find him not when I come back, + I shall find him the more at length." + +He went, and he fed the poor, + All at the convent-gate; +And like one bereft, with heavy feet + Went back to be desolate. + +He stood by the door, unwilling + To see the cell so bare; +He opened the door, and lo! + The Master was standing there. + +"I have waited for thee, because + The poor had not to wait; +And I stood beside thee all the time, + In the crowd at the convent-gate." + + * * * * * + +But it seems to me, though the story + Sayeth no word of this, +If the monk had stayed, the Lord would have stayed, + Nor crushed that heart of his. + +For out of the far-off times + A word sounds tenderly: +"The poor ye have always with you, + And ye have not always me." + + + + +THE TREE'S PRAYER. + + +Alas! 'tis cold and dark; +The wind all night has sung a wintry tune; +Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon +Has beat against my bark. + +Oh! when will it be spring? +The sap moves not within my withered veins; +Through all my frozen roots creep numbing pains, +That they can hardly cling. + +The sun shone out last morn; +I felt the warmth through every fibre float; +I thought I heard a thrush's piping note, +Of hope and sadness born. + +Then came the sea-cloud driven; +The tempest hissed through all my outstretched boughs, +Hither and thither tossed me in its snows, +Beneath the joyless heaven. + +O for the sunny leaves! +Almost I have forgot the breath of June! +Forgot the feathery light-flakes from the moon! +The praying summer-eves! + +O for the joyous birds, +Which are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! +O for the billowy odours, and the bees +Abroad in scattered herds! + +The blessing of cool showers! +The gratefulness that thrills through every shoot! +The children playing round my deep-sunk root, +Shadowed in hot noon hours! + +Alas! the cold clear dawn +Through the bare lattice-work of twigs around! +Another weary day of moaning sound +On the thin-shadowed lawn! + +Yet winter's noon is past: +I'll stretch my arms all night into the wind, +Endure all day the chill air and unkind; +My leaves _will_ come at last. + + + + +A STORY OF THE SEA-SHORE. + + +INTRODUCTION. + +I sought the long clear twilights of the North, +When, from its nest of trees, my father's house +Sees the Aurora deepen into dawn +Far northward in the East, o'er the hill-top; +And fronts the splendours of the northern West, +Where sunset dies into that ghostly gleam +That round the horizon creepeth all the night +Back to the jubilance of gracious morn. +I found my home in homeliness unchanged; +For love that maketh home, unchangeable, +Received me to the rights of sonship still. +O vaulted summer-heaven, borne on the hills! +Once more thou didst embrace me, whom, a child, +Thy drooping fulness nourished into joy. +Once more the valley, pictured forth with sighs, +Rose on my present vision, and, behold! +In nothing had the dream bemocked the truth: +The waters ran as garrulous as before; +The wild flowers crowded round my welcome feet; +The hills arose and dwelt alone in heaven; +And all had learned new tales against I came. +Once more I trod the well-known fields with him +Whose fatherhood had made me search for God's; +And it was old and new like the wild flowers, +The waters, and the hills, but dearer far. + +Once on a day, my cousin Frank and I, +Drove on a seaward road the dear white mare +Which oft had borne me to the lonely hills. +Beside me sat a maiden, on whose face +I had not looked since we were boy and girl; +But the old friendship straightway bloomed anew. +The heavens were sunny, and the earth was green; +The harebells large, and oh! so plentiful; +While butterflies, as blue as they, danced on, +Borne purposeless on pulses of clear joy, +In sportive time to their Aeolian clang. +That day as we talked on without restraint, +Brought near by memories of days that were, +And therefore are for ever--by the joy +Of motion through a warm and shining air, +By the glad sense of freedom and like thoughts, +And by the bond of friendship with the dead, +She told the tale which I would mould anew +To a more lasting form of utterance. + +For I had wandered back to childish years; +And asked her if she knew a ruin old, +Whose masonry, descending to the waves, +Faced up the sea-cliff at whose rocky feet +The billows fell and died along the coast. +'Twas one of my child marvels. For, each year, +We turned our backs upon the ripening corn, +And sought the borders of the desert sea. +O joy of waters! mingled with the fear +Of a blind force that knew not what to do, +But spent its strength of waves in lashing aye +The rocks which laughed them into foam and flight. + +But oh, the varied riches of that port! +For almost to the beach, but that a wall +Inclosed them, reached the gardens of a lord, +His shady walks, his ancient trees of state; +His river, which, with course indefinite, +Wandered across the sands without the wall, +And lost itself in finding out the sea: +Within, it floated swans, white splendours; lay +Beneath the fairy leap of a wire bridge; +Vanished and reappeared amid the shades, +And led you where the peacock's plumy heaven +Bore azure suns with green and golden rays. +Ah! here the skies showed higher, and the clouds +More summer-gracious, filled with stranger shapes; +And when they rained, it was a golden rain +That sparkled as it fell, an odorous rain. + +But there was one dream-spot--my tale must wait +Until I tell the wonder of that spot. +It was a little room, built somehow--how +I do not know--against a steep hill-side, +Whose top was with a circular temple crowned, +Seen from far waves when winds were off the shore-- +So that, beclouded, ever in the night +Of a luxuriant ivy, its low door, +Half-filled with rainbow hues of deep-stained glass, +Appeared to open right into the hill. +Never to sesame of mine that door +Yielded that room; but through one undyed pane, +Gazing with reverent curiosity, +I saw a little chamber, round and high, +Which but to see, was to escape the heat, +And bathe in coolness of the eye and brain; +For it was dark and green. Upon one side +A window, unperceived from without, +Blocked up by ivy manifold, whose leaves, +Like crowded heads of gazers, row on row, +Climbed to the top; and all the light that came +Through the thick veil was green, oh, kindest hue! +But in the midst, the wonder of the place, +Against the back-ground of the ivy bossed, +On a low column stood, white, pure, and still, +A woman-form in marble, cold and clear. +I know not what it was; it may have been +A Silence, or an Echo fainter still; +But that form yet, if form it can be called, +So undefined and pale, gleams vision-like +In the lone treasure-chamber of my soul, +Surrounded with its mystic temple dark. + +Then came the thought, too joyous to keep joy, +Turning to very sadness for relief: +To sit and dream through long hot summer days, +Shrouded in coolness and sea-murmurings, +Forgot by all till twilight shades grew dark; +And read and read in the Arabian Nights, +Till all the beautiful grew possible; +And then when I had read them every one, +To find behind the door, against the wall, +Old volumes, full of tales, such as in dreams +One finds in bookshops strange, in tortuous streets; +Beside me, over me, soul of the place, +Filling the gloom with calm delirium, +That wondrous woman-statue evermore, +White, radiant; fading, as the darkness grew, +Into a ghostly pallour, that put on, +To staring eyes, a vague and shifting form. + +But the old castle on the shattered shore-- +Not the green refuge from the summer heat-- +Drew forth our talk that day. For, as I said, +I asked her if she knew it. She replied, +"I know it well;" and added instantly: +"A woman used to live, my mother tells, +In one of its low vaults, so near the sea, +That in high tides and northern winds it was +No more a castle-vault, but a sea-cave!" +"I found there," I replied, "a turret stair +Leading from level of the ground above +Down to a vault, whence, through an opening square, +Half window and half loophole, you look forth +Wide o'er the sea; but the dim-sounding waves +Are many feet beneath, and shrunk in size +To a great ripple. I could tell you now +A tale I made about a little girl, +Dark-eyed and pale, with long seaweed-like hair, +Who haunts that room, and, gazing o'er the deep, +Calls it her mother, with a childish glee, +Because she knew no other." "This," said she, +"Was not a child, but woman almost old, +Whose coal-black hair had partly turned to grey, +With sorrow and with madness; and she dwelt, +Not in that room high on the cliff, but down, +Low down within the margin of spring tides." +And then she told me all she knew of her, +As we drove onward through the sunny day. +It was a simple tale, with few, few facts; +A life that clomb one mountain and looked forth; +Then sudden sank to a low dreary plain, +And wandered ever in the sound of waves, +Till fear and fascination overcame, +And led her trembling into life and joy. +Alas! how many such are told by night, +In fisher-cottages along the shore! + +Farewell, old summer-day; I lay you by, +To tell my story, and the thoughts that rise +Within a heart that never dared believe +A life was at the mercy of a sea. + + +THE STORY. + +Aye as it listeth blows the listless wind, +Filling great sails, and bending lordly masts, +Or making billows in the green corn fields, +And hunting lazy clouds across the blue: +Now, like a vapour o'er the sunny sea, +It blows the vessel from the harbour's mouth, +Out 'mid the broken crests of seaward waves, +And hovering of long-pinioned ocean birds, +As if the white wave-spots had taken wing. +But though all space is full of spots of white, +The sailor sees the little handkerchief +That flutters still, though wet with heavy tears +Which draw it earthward from the sunny wind. +Blow, wind! draw out the cord that binds the twain, +And breaks not, though outlengthened till the maid +Can only say, _I know he is not here._ +Blow, wind! yet gently; gently blow, O wind! +And let love's vision slowly, gently die; +And the dim sails pass ghost-like o'er the deep, +Lingering a little o'er the vanished hull, +With a white farewell to the straining eyes. +For never more in morning's level beam, +Will the wide wings of her sea-shadowing sails +From the green-billowed east come dancing in; +Nor ever, gliding home beneath the stars, +With a faint darkness o'er the fainter sea, +Will she, the ocean-swimmer, send a cry +Of home-come sailors, that shall wake the streets +With sudden pantings of dream-scaring joy. +Blow gently, wind! blow slowly, gentle wind! + +Weep not, oh maiden! tis not time to weep; +Torment not thou thyself before thy time; +The hour will come when thou wilt need thy tears +To cool the burning of thy desert brain. +Go to thy work; break into song sometimes, +To die away forgotten in the lapse +Of dreamy thought, ere natural pause ensue; +Oft in the day thy time-outspeeding heart, +Sending thy ready eye to scout the east, +Like child that wearies of her mother's pace, +And runs before, and yet perforce must wait. + +The time drew nigh. Oft turning from her work, +With bare arms and uncovered head she clomb +The landward slope of the prophetic hill; +From whose green head, as on the verge of time, +Seer-like she gazed, shading her hope-rapt eyes +From the bewilderment of work-day light, +Far out on the eternity of waves; +If from the Hades of the nether world +Her prayers might draw the climbing skyey sails +Up o'er the threshold of the horizon line; +For when he came she was to be his wife, +And celebrate with rites of church and home +The apotheosis of maidenhood. + +Time passed. The shadow of a fear that hung +Far off upon the horizon of her soul, +Drew near with deepening gloom and clearing form, +Till it o'erspread and filled her atmosphere, +And lost all shape, because it filled all space, +Reaching beyond the bounds of consciousness; +But ever in swift incarnations darting +Forth from its infinite a stony stare, +A blank abyss, an awful emptiness. +Ah, God! why are our souls, lone helpless seas, +Tortured with such immitigable storm? +What is this love, that now on angel wing +Sweeps us amid the stars in passionate calm; +And now with demon arms fast cincturing, +Drops us, through all gyrations of keen pain, +Down the black vortex, till the giddy whirl +Gives fainting respite to the ghastly brain? +Not these the maiden's questions. Comes he yet? +Or am I widowed ere my wedding day? + +Ah! ranged along our shores, on peak or cliff, +Or stone-ribbed promontory, or pier head, +Maidens have aye been standing; the same pain +Deadening the heart-throb; the same gathering mist +Dimming the eye that would be keen as death; +The same fixed longing on the changeless face. +Over the edge he vanished--came no more: +There, as in childhood's dreams, upon that line, +Without a parapet to shield the sense, +Voidness went sheer down to oblivion: +Over that edge he vanished--came no more. + +O happy those for whom the Possible +Opens its gates of madness, and becomes +The Real around them! those to whom henceforth +There is but one to-morrow, the next morn, +Their wedding day, ever one step removed; +The husband's foot ever upon the verge +Of the day's threshold; whiteness aye, and flowers, +Ready to meet him, ever in a dream! +But faith and expectation conquer still; +And so her morrow comes at last, and leads +The death-pale maiden-ghost, dazzled, confused, +Into the land whose shadows fall on ours, +And are our dreams of too deep blessedness. +May not some madness be a kind of faith? +Shall not the Possible become the Real? +Lives not the God who hath created dreams? +So stand we questioning upon the shore, +And gazing hopeful towards the Unrevealed. + +Long looked the maiden, till the visible +Half vanished from her eyes; the earth had ceased +That lay behind her, and the sea was all; +Except the narrow shore, which yet gave room +For her sea-haunting feet; where solid land, +Where rocks and hills stopped, frighted, suddenly, +And earth flowed henceforth on in trembling waves, +A featureless, a half re-molten world, +Halfway to the Unseen; the Invisible +Half seen in the condensed and flowing sky +Which lay so grimly smooth before her eyes +And brain and shrinking soul; where power of man +Could never heap up moles or pyramids, +Or dig a valley in the unstable gulf +Fighting for aye to make invisible, +To swallow up, and keep her smooth blue smile +Unwrinkled and unspotted with the land; +Not all the changes on the restless wave, +Saving it from a still monotony, +Whose only utterance was a dreary song +Of stifled wailing on the shrinking shore. + +Such frenzy slow invaded the poor girl. +Not hers the hovering sense of marriage bells +Tuning the air with fragrance of sweet sound; +But the low dirge that ever rose and died, +Recurring without pause or any close, +Like one verse chaunted aye in sleepless brain. +Down to the shore it drew her from the heights, +Like witch's demon-spell, that fearful moan. +She knew that somewhere in the green abyss +His body swung in curves of watery force, +Now in a circle slow revolved, and now +Swaying like wind-swung bell, when surface waves +Sank their roots deep enough to reach the waif, +Hither and thither, idly to and fro, +Wandering unheeding through the heedless sea. +A kind of fascination seized her brain, +And drew her onward to the ridgy rocks +That ran a little way into the deep, +Like questions asked of Fate by longing hearts, +Bound which the eternal ocean breaks in sighs. +Along their flats, and furrows, and jagged backs, +Out to the lonely point where the green mass +Arose and sank, heaved slow and forceful, she +Went; and recoiled in terror; ever drawn, +Ever repelled, with inward shuddering +At the great, heartless, miserable depth. +She thought the ocean lay in wait for her, +Enticing her with horror's glittering eye, +And with the hope that in an hour sure fixed +In some far century, aeons remote, +She, conscious still of love, despite the sea, +Should, in the washing of perennial waves, +Sweep o'er some stray bone, or transformed dust +Of him who loved her on this happy earth, +Known by a dreamy thrill in thawing nerves. +For so the fragments of wild songs she sung +Betokened, as she sat and watched the tide, +Till, as it slowly grew, it touched her feet; +When terror overcame--she rose and fled +Towards the shore with fear-bewildered eye; +And, stumbling on the rocks with hasty steps, +Cried, "They are coming, coming at my heels." + +Perhaps like this the songs she used to wail +In the rough northern tongue of Aberdeen:-- + + Ye'll hae me yet, ye'll hae me yet, + Sae lang an' braid, an' never a hame! + Its nae the depth I fear a bit, + But oh, the wideness, aye the same! + + The jaws[1] come up, wi' eerie bark; + Cryin' I'm creepy, cauld, an' green; + Come doon, come doon, he's lyin' stark, + Come doon an' steek his glowerin' een. + + Syne wisht! they haud their weary roar, + An' slide awa', an' I grow sleepy: + Or lang, they're up aboot my door, + Yowlin', I'm cauld, an' weet, an' creepy! + + O dool, dool! ye are like the tide-- + Ye mak' a feint awa' to gang; + But lang awa' ye winna bide,-- + An' better greet than aye think lang. + +[Footnote 1: Jaws: _English_, breakers.] + +Where'er she fled, the same voice followed her; +Whisperings innumerable of water-drops +Growing together to a giant voice; +That sometimes in hoarse, rushing undertones, +Sometimes in thunderous peals of billowy shouts, +Called after her to come, and make no stay. +From the dim mists that brooded seaward far, +And from the lonely tossings of the waves, +Where rose and fell the raving wilderness, +Voices, pursuing arms, and beckoning hands, +Reached shorewards from the shuddering mystery. +Then sometimes uplift, on a rocky peak, +A lonely form betwixt the sea and sky, +Watchers on shore beheld her fling wild arms +High o'er her head in tossings like the waves; +Then fix them, with clasped hands of prayer intense, +Forward, appealing to the bitter sea. +Then sudden from her shoulders she would tear +Her garments, one by one, and cast them far +Into the roarings of the heedless surge, +A vain oblation to the hungry waves. +Such she did mean it; and her pitying friends +Clothed her in vain--their gifts did bribe the sea. +But such a fire was burning in her brain, +The cold wind lapped her, and the sleet-like spray +Flashed, all unheeded, on her tawny skin. +As oft she brought her food and flung it far, +Reserving scarce a morsel for her need-- +Flung it--with naked arms, and streaming hair +Floating like sea-weed on the tide of wind, +Coal-black and lustreless--to feed the sea. +But after each poor sacrifice, despair, +Like the returning wave that bore it far, +Rushed surging back upon her sickening heart; +While evermore she moaned, low-voiced, between-- +Half-muttered and half-moaned: "Ye'll hae me yet; +Ye'll ne'er be saired, till ye hae ta'en mysel'." + +And as the night grew thick upon the sea, +Quenching it all, except its voice of storm; +Blotting it from the region of the eye, +Though still it tossed within the haunted brain, +Entering by the portals of the ears,-- +She step by step withdrew; like dreaming man, +Who, power of motion all but paralysed, +With an eternity of slowness, drags +His earth-bound, lead-like, irresponsive feet +Back from a living corpse's staring eyes; +Till on the narrow beach she turned her round. +Then, clothed in all the might of the Unseen, +Terror grew ghostly; and she shrieked and fled +Up to the battered base of the old tower, +And round the rock, and through the arched gap, +Cleaving the blackness of the vault within; +Then sank upon the sand, and gasped, and raved. +This was her secret chamber, this her place +Of refuge from the outstretched demon-deep, +All eye and voice for her, Argus more dread +Than he with hundred lidless watching orbs. +There, cowering in a nook, she sat all night, +Her eyes fixed on the entrance of the cave, +Through which a pale light shimmered from the sea, +Until she slept, and saw the sea in dreams. +Except in stormy nights, when all was dark, +And the wild tempest swept with slanting wing +Against her refuge; and the heavy spray +Shot through the doorway serpentine cold arms +To seize the fore-doomed morsel of the sea: +Then she slept never; and she would have died, +But that she evermore was stung to life +By new sea-terrors. Sometimes the sea-gull +With clanging pinions darted through the arch, +And flapped them round her face; sometimes a wave, +If tides were high and winds from off the sea, +Rushed through the door, and in its watery mesh +Clasped her waist-high, then out again to sea! +Out to the devilish laughter and the fog! +While she clung screaming to the bare rock-wall; +Then sat unmoving, till the low grey dawn +Grew on the misty dance of spouting waves, +That mixed the grey with white; picture one-hued, +Seen in the framework of the arched door: +Then the old fascination drew her out, +Till, wrapt in misty spray, moveless she stood +Upon the border of the dawning sea. + +And yet she had a chamber in her soul, +The innermost of all, a quiet place; +But which she could not enter for the love +That kept her out for ever in the storm. +Could she have entered, all had been as still +As summer evening, or a mother's arms; +And she had found her lost love sleeping there. +Thou too hast such a chamber, quiet place, +Where God is waiting for thee. Is it gain, +Or the confused murmur of the sea +Of human voices on the rocks of fame, +That will not let thee enter? Is it care +For the provision of the unborn day, +As if thou wert a God that must foresee, +Lest his great sun should chance forget to rise? +Or pride that thou art some one in the world, +And men must bow before thee? Oh! go mad +For love of some one lost; for some old voice +Which first thou madest sing, and after sob; +Some heart thou foundest rich, and leftest bare, +Choking its well of faith with thy false deeds; +Not like thy God, who keeps the better wine +Until the last, and, if He giveth grief, +Giveth it first, and ends the tale with joy. +Madness is nearer God than thou: go mad, +And be ennobled far above thyself. +Her brain was ill, her heart was well: she loved. +It was the unbroken cord between the twain +That drew her ever to the ocean marge; +Though to her feverous phantasy, unfit, +'Mid the tumultuous brood of shapes distort, +To see one simple form, it was the fear +Of fixed destiny, unavoidable, +And not the longing for the well-known face, +That drew her, drew her to the urgent sea. +Better to die, better to rave for love, +Than to recover with sick sneering heart. + +Or, if that thou art noble, in some hour, +Maddened with thoughts of that which could not be, +Thou mightst have yielded to the burning wind, +That swept in tempest through thy scorching brain, +And rushed into the thick cold night of the earth, +And clamoured to the waves and beat the rocks; +And never found the way back to the seat +Of conscious rule, and power to bear thy pain; +But God had made thee stronger to endure +For other ends, beyond thy present choice: +Wilt thou not own her story a fit theme +For poet's tale? in her most frantic mood, +Not call the maniac _sister_, tenderly? +For she went mad for love and not for gold. +And in the faded form, whose eyes, like suns +Too fierce for freshness and for dewy bloom, +Have parched and paled the hues of tender spring, +Cannot thy love unmask a youthful shape +Deformed by tempests of the soul and sea, +Fit to remind thee of a story old +Which God has in his keeping--of thyself? + +But God forgets not men because they sleep. +The darkness lasts all night and clears the eyes; +Then comes the morning and the joy of light. +O surely madness hideth not from Him; +Nor doth a soul cease to be beautiful +In His sight, when its beauty is withdrawn, +And hid by pale eclipse from human eyes. +Surely as snow is friendly to the spring, +A madness may be friendly to the soul, +And shield it from a more enduring loss, +From the ice-spears of a heart-reaching frost. +So, after years, the winter of her life, +Came the sure spring to her men had forgot, +Closing the rent links of the social chain, +And leaving her outside their charmed ring. +Into the chill wind and the howling night, +God sent out for her, and she entered in +Where there was no more sea. What messengers +Ran from the door of love-contented heaven, +To lead her towards the real ideal home? +The sea, her terror, and the wintry wind. +For, on a morn of sunshine, while the wind +Yet blew, and heaved yet the billowy sea +With memories of the night of deep unrest, +They found her in a basin of the rocks, +Which, buried in a firmament of sea +When ocean winds heap up the tidal waves, +Yet, in the respiration of the surge, +Lifts clear its edge of rock, full to the brim +With deep, clear, resting water, plentiful. +There, in the blessedness of sleep, which God +Gives his beloved, she lay drowned and still. +O life of love, conquered at last by fate! +O life raised from the dead by Saviour Death! +O love unconquered and invincible! +The sea had cooled the burning of that brain; +Had laid to rest those limbs so fever-tense, +That scarce relaxed in sleep; and now she lies +Sleeping the sleep that follows after pain. +'Twas one night more of agony and fear, +Of shrinking from the onset of the sea; +One cry of desolation, when her fear +Became a fact, and then,--God knows the rest. +O cure of all our miseries--_God knows!_ + +O thou whose feet tread ever the wet sands +And howling rocks along the wearing shore, +Roaming the confines of the endless sea! +Strain not thine eyes across, bedimmed with tears; +No sail comes back across that tender line. +Turn thee unto thy work, let God alone; +He will do his part. Then across the waves +Will float faint whispers from the better land, +Veiled in the dust of waters we call storms, +To thine averted ears. Do thou thy work, +And thou shalt follow; follow, and find thine own. + +O thou who liv'st in fear of the _To come!_ +Around whose house the storm of terror breaks +All night; to whose love-sharpened ear, all day, +The Invisible is calling at thy door, +To render up that which thou can'st not keep, +Be it a life or love! Open thy door, +And carry forth thy dead unto the marge +Of the great sea; bear it into the flood, +Braving the cold that creepeth to thy heart, +And lay thy coffin as an ark of hope +Upon the billows of the infinite sea. +Give God thy dead to keep: so float it back, +With sighs and prayers to waft it through the dark, +Back to the spring of life. Say--"It is dead, +But thou, the life of life, art yet alive, +And thou can'st give the dead its dear old life, +With new abundance perfecting the old. +God, see my sadness; feel it in thyself." + +Ah God! the earth is full of cries and moans, +And dull despair, that neither moans nor cries; +Thousands of hearts are waiting the last day, +For what they know not, but with hope of change, +Of resurrection, or of dreamless death. +Raise thou the buried dead of springs gone by +In maidens' bosoms; raise the autumn fruits +Of old men feebly mournful o'er the life +Which scarce hath memory but the mournfulness. +There is no Past with thee: bring back once more +The summer eves of lovers, over which +The wintry wind that raveth through the world +Heaps wretched leaves, half tombed in ghastly snow; +Bring back the mother-heaven of orphans lone, +The brother's and the sister's faithfulness; +Bring forth the kingdom of the Son of Man. + +They troop around me, children wildly crying; +Women with faded eyes, all spent of tears; +Men who have lived for love, yet lived alone; +And worse than so, whose grief cannot be said. +O God, thou hast a work to do indeed +To save these hearts of thine with full content, +Except thou give them Lethe's stream to drink, +And that, my God, were all unworthy thee. + +Dome up, O Heaven! yet higher o'er my head; +Back, back, horizon! widen out my world; +Rush in, O infinite sea of the Unknown! +For, though he slay me, I will trust in God. + + + + +MY HEART. + + +I heard, in darkness, on my bed, + The beating of my heart +To servant feet and regnant head + A common life impart, +By the liquid cords, in every thread + Unbroken as they start. + +Night, with its power to silence day, + Filled up my lonely room; +All motion quenching, save what lay + Beyond its passing doom, +Where in his shed the workman gay + Went on despite the gloom. + +I listened, and I knew the sound, + And the trade that he was plying; +For backwards, forwards, bound and bound, + 'Twas a shuttle, flying, flying; +Weaving ever life's garment round, + Till the weft go out with sighing. + +I said, O mystic thing, thou goest + On working in the dark; +In space's shoreless sea thou rowest, + Concealed within thy bark; +All wondrous things thou, wonder, showest, + Yet dost not any mark. + +For all the world is woven by thee, + Besides this fleshly dress; +With earth and sky thou clothest me, + Form, distance, loftiness; +A globe of glory spouting free + Around the visionless. + +For when thy busy efforts fail, + And thy shuttle moveless lies, +They will fall from me, like a veil + From before a lady's eyes; +As a night-perused, just-finished tale + In the new daylight dies. + +But not alone dost thou unroll + The mountains, fields, and seas, +A mighty, wonder-painted scroll, + Like the Patmos mysteries; +Thou mediator 'twixt my soul + And higher things than these. + +In holy ephod clothing me + Thou makest me a seer; +In all the lovely things I see, + The inner truths appear; +And the deaf spirit without thee + No spirit-word could hear. + +Yet though so high thy mission is, + And thought to spirit brings, +Thy web is but the chrysalis, + Where lie the future wings, +Now growing into perfectness + By thy inwoven things. + +Then thou, God's pulse, wilt cease to beat; + But His heart will still beat on, +Weaving another garment meet, + If needful for his son; +And sights more glorious, to complete + The web thou hast begun. + + + + +O DO NOT LEAVE ME. + + +O do not leave me, mother, till I sleep; +Be near me until I forget; sit there. +And the child having prayed lest she should weep, +Sleeps in the strength of prayer. + +O do not leave me, lover, brother, friends, +Till I am dead, and resting in my place. +And the girl, having prayed, in silence bends +Down to the earth's embrace. + +Leave me not, God, until--nay, until when? +Not till I have with thee one heart, one mind; +Not till the Life is Light in me, and then +Leaving is left behind. + + + + +THE HOLY SNOWDROPS. + + +Of old, with goodwill from the skies, + The holy angels came; +They walked the earth with human eyes, + And passed away in flame. + +But now the angels are withdrawn, + Because the flowers can speak; +With Christ, we see the dayspring dawn + In every snowdrop meek. + +God sends them forth; to God they tend; + Not less with love they burn, +That to the earth they lowly bend, + And unto dust return. + +No miracle in them hath place, + For this world is their home; +An utterance of essential grace + The angel-snowdrops come. + + + + +TO MY SISTER. + + +O sister, God is very good-- + Thou art a woman now: +O sister, be thy womanhood + A baptism on thy brow! + +For what?--Do ancient stories lie + Of Titans long ago, +The children of the lofty sky + And mother earth below? + +Nay, walk not now upon the ground + Some sons of heavenly mould? +Some daughters of the Holy, found + In earthly garments' fold? + +He said, who did and spoke the truth: + "Gods are the sons of God." +And so the world's Titanic youth + Strives homeward by one road. + +Then live thou, sister, day and night, + An earth-child of the sky, +For ever climbing up the height + Of thy divinity. + +Still in thy mother's heart-embrace, + Waiting thy hour of birth, +Thou growest by the genial grace + Of the child-bearing earth. + +Through griefs and joys, each sad and sweet, + Thou shalt attain the end; +Till then a goddess incomplete-- + O evermore my friend! + +Nor is it pride that striveth so: + The height of the Divine +Is to be lowly 'mid the low; + No towering cloud--a mine; + +A mine of wealth and warmth and song, + An ever-open door; +For when divinely born ere long, + A woman thou the more. + +For at the heart of womanhood + The child's great heart doth lie; +At childhood's heart, the germ of good, + Lies God's simplicity. + +So, sister, be thy womanhood + A baptism on thy brow +For something dimly understood, + And which thou art not now; + +But which within thee, all the time, + Maketh thee what thou art; +Maketh thee long and strive and climb-- + The God-life at thy heart. + + + + +OH THOU OF LITTLE FAITH! + + +Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies + Under the cold, sad earth-clods and the snow; +But spring is floating up the southern skies, + And the pale snowdrop silent waits below. + +O loved if known! in dull December's day + One scarce believes there is a month of June; +But up the stairs of April and of May + The dear sun climbeth to the summer's noon. + +Dear mourner! I love God, and so I rest; + O better! God loves thee, and so rest thou: +He is our spring-time, our dim-visioned Best, + And He will help thee--do not fear the _How._ + + + + +LONGING. + + +My heart is full of inarticulate pain, + And beats laboriously. Ungenial looks +Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain, + Wise in success, well-read in feeble books, +Do not come near me now, your air is drear; +'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear. + +Beloved, who love beauty and love truth! + Come round me; for too near ye cannot come; +Make me an atmosphere with your sweet youth; + Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room; +Speak not a word, for see, my spirit lies +Helpless and dumb; shine on me with your eyes. + +O all wide places, far from feverous towns! + Great shining seas! pine forests! mountains wild! +Rock-bosomed shores! rough heaths! and sheep-cropt downs! + Vast pallid clouds! blue spaces undefiled! +Room! give me room! give loneliness and air! + Free things and plenteous in your regions fair. + +White dove of David, flying overhead, + Golden with sunlight on thy snowy wings, +Outspeeding thee my longing thoughts have fled + To find a home afar from men and things; +Where in his temple, earth o'erarched with sky, +God's heart to mine may speak, my heart reply. + +O God of mountains, stars, and boundless spaces! + O God of freedom and of joyous hearts! +When thy face looketh forth from all men's faces, + There will be room enough in crowded marts; +Brood thou around me, and the noise is o'er; +Thy universe my closet with shut door. + +Heart, heart, awake! the love that loveth all + Maketh a deeper calm than Horeb's cave. +God in thee, can his children's folly gall? + Love may be hurt, but shall not love be brave?-- +Thy holy silence sinks in dews of balm; +Thou art my solitude, my mountain-calm. + + + + +A BOY'S GRIEF. + + +Ah me! in ages far away, + The good, the heavenly land, +Though unbeheld, quite near them lay, + And men could understand. + +The dead yet find it, who, when here, + Did love it more than this; +They enter in, are filled with cheer, + And pain expires in bliss. + +Oh, fairly shines the blessed land! + Ah, God! I weep and pray-- +The heart thou holdest in thy hand + Loves more this sunny day. + +I see the hundred thousand wait + Around the radiant throne: +To me it is a dreary state, + A crowd of beings lone. + +I do not care for singing psalms; + I tire of good men's talk; +To me there is no joy in palms, + Or white-robed solemn walk. + +I love to hear the wild winds meet, + The wild old winds at night; +To watch the starlight throb and beat, + To wait the thunder-light. + +I love all tales of valiant men, + Of women good and fair; +If I were rich and strong, ah then, + I would do something rare. + +I see thy temple in the skies + On pillars strong and white; +I cannot love it, though I rise + And try with all my might. + +Sometimes a joy lays hold on me, + And I am speechless then; +Almost a martyr I could be, + And join the holy men. + +But soon my heart is like a clod, + My spirit wrapt in doubt-- +"_A pillar in the house of God, + And never more go out!_" + +No more the sunny, breezy morn; + No more the speechless moon; +No more the ancient hills, forlorn, + A vision, and a boon. + +Ah, God! my love will never burn, + Nor shall I taste thy joy; +And Jesus' face is calm and stern-- + I am a hapless boy. + + + + +THE CHILD-MOTHER. + + +Heavily lay the warm sunlight +Upon the green blades shining bright, + An outspread grassy sea: +She through the burnished yellow flowers +Went walking in the golden hours + That slept upon the lea. + +The bee went past her with a hum; +The merry gnats did go and come + In complicated dance; +Like a blue angel, to and fro, +The splendid dragon-fly did go, + Shot like a seeking glance. + +She never followed them, but still +Went forward with a quiet will, + That got, but did not miss; +With gentle step she passed along, +And once a low, half-murmured song + Uttered her share of bliss. + +It was a little maiden-child; +You see, not frolicsome and wild, + As such a child should be; +For though she was just nine, no more, +Another little child she bore, + Almost as big as she. + +With tender care of straining arms, +She kept it circled from all harms, + With face turned from the sun; +For in that perfect tiny heart, +The mother, sister, nurse, had part, + Her womanhood begun. + +At length they reach an ugly ditch, +The slippery sloping bank of which + Flowers and long grasses line; +Some ragged-robins baby spied, +And spread his little arms out wide, + As he had found a mine. + +What baby wants, that baby has: +A law unalterable as-- + The poor shall serve the rich; +She kneeleth down with eager eyes, +And, reaching far out for the prize, + Topples into the ditch. + +And slanting down the bank she rolled, +But in her little bosom's fold + She clasps the baby tight; +And in the ditch's muddy flow, +No safety sought by letting go, + At length she stands upright. + +Alas! her little feet are wet; +Her new shoes! how can she forget? + And yet she does not cry. +Her scanty frock of dingy blue, +Her petticoat wet through and through! + But baby is quite dry. + +And baby laughs, and baby crows; +And baby being right, she knows + That nothing can be wrong; +And so with troubled heart, yet stout, +She plans how ever to get out, + With meditations long. + +The bank is higher than her head, +And slippery too, as I have said; + And what to do with baby? +For even the monkey, when he goes, +Needs both his fingers and his toes.-- + She is perplexed as may be. + +But all her puzzling was no good, +Though staring up the bank she stood, + Which, as she sunk, grew higher; +Until, invaded with dismay, +Lest baby's patience should give way, + She frees her from the mire. + +And up and down the ditch, not glad, +But patient, she did promenade; + Splash! splash! went her poor feet. +And baby thought it rare good fun, +And did not want it to be done; + And the ditch flowers were sweet. + +But, oh! the world that she had left, +The meads from her so lately reft, + An infant Proserpine, +Lay like a fabled land above, +A paradise of sunny love, + In warmth and light divine. + +While, with the hot sun overhead, +She her low watery way did tread, + 'Mid slimy weeds and frogs; +While now and then from distant field +The sound of laughter faintly pealed, + Or bark of village dogs. + +And once the ground began to shake, +And her poor little heart to quake + For fear of added woes; +Till, looking up, at last, perforce, +She saw the head of a huge horse + Go past upon its nose. + +And with a sound of tearing grass, +And puffing breath that awful was, + And horns of frightful size, +A cow looked through the broken hedge, +And gazed down on her from the edge, + With great big Juno eyes. + +And so the sun went on and on, +And horse and cow and horns were gone, + And still no help came near; +Till at the last she heard the sound +Of human footsteps on the ground, + And then she cried: "_I_'m here!" + +It was a man, much to her joy, +Who looked amazed at girl and boy, + And reached his hand so strong. +"Give me the child," he said; but no, +She would not let the baby go, + She had endured too long. + +So, with a smile at her alarms, +He stretched down both his lusty arms, + And lifted them together; +And, having thanked her helper, she +Did hasten homeward painfully, + Wet in the sunny weather. + +At home at length, lo! scarce a speck +Was on the child from heel to neck, + Though she was sorely mired; +Nor gave she sign of grief's unrest, +Till, hid upon her mother's breast, + She wept till she was tired. + +And intermixed with sobbing wail, +She told her mother all the tale,-- + "But"--here her wet cheeks glow-- +"Mother, I did not, through it all, +I did not once let baby fall-- + I never let him go." + +Ah me! if on this star-world's face +We men and women had like grace + To bear and shield each other; +Our race would soon be young again, +Its heart as free of ache and pain + As that of this child-mother. + + + + +LOVE'S ORDEAL; + +A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment +read in childhood. + + +"Know'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" +Said the youth quietly, as outstretched he lay, +Where for an hour outstretched he had lain, +Pillowed upon her knees. To him did say +The thoughtful maiden: "It is but the rain +That hath been gathering in the West all day; +Be still, my dearest, let my eyes yet rest +Awhile upon thy face so calm and blest." + +"Know'st thou that sound, from silence slowly wrought?" +Said the youth, and his eyelids softly rose, +Revealing to her eyes the depths of thought +That lay beneath her in a still repose. +"I know it," said the maiden; "it is nought +But the loud wintry wind that ever blows, +Swinging the great arms of the dreary pines, +Which each with others in its pain entwines." + +"Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; +"Draw back the lattice-bar and let them in." +Through a cloud-rift the light fell noiselessly +Upon the cottage floor; and, gaunt and thin, +Leaped in the stag-hounds, bounding as in glee, +Shaking the rain-drops from their shaggy skin; +And as the maiden closed the spattered glass, +A shadow faint over the floor did pass. + +The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand; +And when again beside him sat the maid, +His eyes for a slow minute moving scanned +Her calm peace-lighted face; and then he said, +Monotonous, like solemn-read command: +"For love is of the earth, earthy, and laid +Down lifeless in its mother's womb at last." +The strange sound through the great pine-branches passed. + +Again a shadow as it were of glass, +Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, +Shapeless and dim, almost unseen, doth pass; +A mingled sound of rain-drops at the door, +But not a sound upon the window was. +A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; +And the two hounds half-rose, and gazed at him, +Eyeing his countenance by the taper dim. + +Now nothing of these things the maiden noted, +But turned her face with half-reproachful look, +As doubting whether he the words had quoted +Out of some evil, earth-begotten book; +Or upward from his spirit's depths had floated +Those words like bubbles in a low dead brook; +But his eyes seemed to question,--Yea or No; +And so the maiden answered: "'Tis not so; + +"Love is of heaven, and heavenly." A faint smile +Parted his lips, as a thought unexpressed +Were speaking in his heart; and for a while +He gently laid his head upon her breast; +His thought, a bark that by a sunny isle +At length hath found the haven of its rest, +Yet must not long remain, but forward go: +He lifted up his head, and answered: "No-- + +"Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale +Her red lips grew. "I loved them; yes, but they, +One after one, in trial's hour did fail; +For after sunset, clouds again are grey." +A sudden light flashed through the silken veil +That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay +A stillness on her face, waiting; and then +The little clock rung out the hour of ten. + +Moaning again the great pine-branches bow, +As if they tried in vain the wind to stem. +Still looking in her eyes, the youth said--"Thou +Art not more beautiful than some of them; +But more of earnestness is on thy brow; +Thine eyes are beaming like some dark-bright gem +That pours from hidden heart upon the night +The rays it gathered from the noon-day light. + +"Look on this hand, beloved; thou didst see +The horse that broke from many, it did hold: +Two hours shall pass away, and it will be +All withered up and dry, wrinkled and old, +Big-veined, and skinny to extremity." +Calmly upon him looked the maiden bold; +The stag-hounds rose, and gazed on him, and then, +With a low whine, laid themselves down again. + +A minute's silence, and the youth spake on: +"Dearest, I have a fearful thing to bear" +(A pain-cloud crossed his face, and then was gone) +"At midnight, when the moon sets; wilt thou dare +To go with me, or must I go alone +To meet an agony that will not spare?" +She spoke not, rose, and towards her mantle went; +His eyes did thank her--she was well content. + +"Not yet, not yet; it is not time; for see +The hands have far to travel to the hour; +Yet time is scarcely left for telling thee +The past and present, and the coming power +Of the great darkness that will fall on me: +Roses and jasmine twine the bridal bower-- +If ever bower and bridal joy be mine, +Horror and darkness must that bower entwine." + +Under his head the maiden put her arm, +And knelt beside, half leaning on his breast; +As, soul and body, she would shield all harm +From him whose love had made her being blest; +And well the healing of her eyes might charm +His doubting thoughts again to trusting rest. +He drew and hid her face his heart upon, +Then spoke with low voice sounding changeless on. + +Strange words they were, and fearful, that he spake; +The maiden moved not once, nor once replied; +And ever as he spoke, the wind did make +A feebler moan until away it died; +Then the rain ceased, and not a movement brake +The silence, save the clock that did divide +The hours into quick moments, sparks of time +Scorching the soul that watcheth for the chime. + +He spoke of sins that pride had caused in him; +Of sufferings merciful, and wanderings wild; +Of fainting noontides, and of oceans dim; +Of earthly beauty that had oft beguiled; +And then the sudden storm and contest grim; +From each emerging new-born, more a child; +Wandering again throughout the teaching earth, +No rest attaining, only a new birth. + +"But when I find a heart that's like to mine, +With love to live through the unloving hour, +Folded in faith, like violets that have lien +Folded in warm earth, till the sunny shower +Calleth them forth; thoughts with my thoughts to twine, +Weaving around us both a fragrant bower, +Where we within may sleep, together drawn, +Folded in love until the morning dawn; + +"Then shall I rest, my weary day's work o'er, +A deep sleep bathing, steeping all my soul, +Dissolving out the earth-stains evermore. +Thou too shalt sleep with me, and be made whole. +All, all time's billows over us shall pour, +Then ebb away, and far beneath us roll: +We shall behold them like a stormy lake, +'Neath the clear height of peace where we awake." + +Her face on his, her lips on his lips pressed, +Was the sole answer that the maiden made. +With both his arms he held her to his breast; +'Twas but a moment; yet, before he said +One other word, of power to strengthen, lest +She should give way amid the trial dread, +The clock gave out the warning to the hour, +And on the thatch fell sounds as of a shower. + +One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear +Fell like a shadow dim upon her heart, +A trembling as at something ghostly near; +But she was bold, for they were not to part. +Then the youth rose, his cheek pale, his eyes clear; +And helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart +Her haste to tie her gathered mantle's fold; +Then forth they went into the midnight cold. + +The moon was sunken low in the dim west, +Curled upwards on the steep horizon's brink, +A leaf of glory falling to its rest. +The maiden's hand, still trembling, scarce could link +Her to his side; but his arm round her waist +Stole gently; so she walked, and did not sink; +Her hand on his right side soon held him fast, +And so together wound, they onward passed. + +And, clinging to his side, she felt full well +The strong and measured beating of his heart; +But as the floating moon aye lower fell, +Slowly she felt its bounding force depart, +Till like a throbbing bird; nor can she tell +Whether it beats, at length; and with a start +She felt the arm relax around her flung, +And on her circling arm he leaned and hung. + +But as his steps more and more feeble grow, +She feels her strength and courage rise amain. +He lifted up his head; the moon was low, +Almost on the world's edge. A smile of pain +Was on his lips, as his large eyes turned slow +Seeking for hers; which, like a heavy rain, +Poured love on him in many a love-lit gleam. +So they walked like two souls, linked by one dream.[2] + + +[Footnote 2: + + In a lovely garden walking, + Two lovers went hand in hand; + Two wan, sick figures, talking, + They sat in the flowery land. + + On the cheek they kissed each other, + And they kissed upon the mouth; + Fast clasped they one another-- + And back came their health and youth. + + Two little bells rang shrilly, + And the dream went with the hour: + She lay in the cloister stilly, + He far in the dungeon-tower. + + _Translated from Uhland._] + +Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, +With slow and noiseless paws upon the road. +What is that shining on the weedy ground? +Nought but the bright eyes of the dingy toad. +The silent pines range every way around; +A deep stream on the left side hardly flowed. +Their path is towards the moon, dying alone-- +It touches the horizon, dips, is gone. + +Its last gleam fell upon dim glazed eyes; +An old man tottered feebly in her hold, +Stooping with bended knees that could not rise; +Nor longer could his arm her waist infold. +The maiden trembled; but through this disguise +Her love beheld what never could grow old; +And so the aged man, she, young and warm, +Clasped closer yet with her supporting arm. + +Till with short, dragging steps, he turned aside +Into a closer thicket of tall firs, +Whose bare, straight, slender stems behind them hide +A smooth grey rock. Not a pine-needle stirs +Till they go in. Then a low wind blows wide +O'er their cone-tops. It swells until it whirrs +Through the long stems, as if aeolian chords +For moulding mystic sounds in lack of words. + +But as they entered by a narrow cleft +Into the rock's heart, suddenly it ceased; +And the tall pines stood still as if bereft +Of a strong passion, or from pain released; +Once more they wove their strange, dark, moveless weft +O'er the dull midnight sky; and in the East +A mist arose and clomb the skyey stairs; +And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares. + +'Tis a dark chamber for the bridal night, +O poor, pale, saviour bride! A faint rush-lamp +He kindled with his shaking hands; its light +Painted a tiny halo on the damp +That filled the cavern to its unseen height, +Like a death-candle on the midnight swamp. +Within, each side the entrance, lies a hound, +With liquid light his green eyes gleaming round. + +A couch just raised above the rocky floor, +Of withered oak and beech-leaves, that the wind +Had tossed about till weary, covered o'er +With skins of bears which feathery mosses lined, +And last of lambs, with wool long, soft, and hoar, +Received the old man's bended limbs reclined. +Gently the maiden did herself unclothe, +And lay beside him, trusting, and not loath. + +Again the storm among the trees o'erhead; +The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire; +Seemed to the trembling maiden that a tread +Light, and yet clear, amid the wind's loud ire, +As dripping feet o'er smooth slabs hither sped, +Came often up, as with a fierce desire, +To enter, but as oft made quick retreat; +And looking forth the hounds stood on their feet. + +Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, +Feeble and hollow as from out a chest: +"Take my face on your bosom, I am cold." +Straightway she bared her bosom's white soft nest; +And then his head, her gentle hands, love-bold, +With its grey withered face against her pressed. +Ah, maiden! it was very old and chill, +But thy warm heart beneath it grew not still. + +Again the wind falls, and the rain-clouds pour, +Rushing to earth; and soon she heard the sound +Of a fierce torrent through the thick night roar; +The lamp went out as by the darkness drowned; +No more the morn will dawn, oh, never more! +Like centuries the feeble hours went round; +Dead night lay o'er her, clasping, as she lay, +Within her holy place, unburied clay. + +The hours stood still; her life sunk down so low, +That, but for wretchedness, no life she knew. +A charnel wind sung on a moaning--_No;_ +Earth's centre was the grave from which it blew; +Earth's loves and beauties all passed sighing slow, +Roses and lilies, children, friends, the few; +But so transparent blanched in every part, +She saw the pale worm lying in each heart. + +And worst of all, O death of gladsome life! +A voice within awoke and cried: In sooth, +There is no need of sorrow, care, and strife; +For all that women beauty call, and truth, +Is but a glow from hearts with fancy rife, +Passing away with slowly fading youth. +Gaze on them narrowly, they waver, blot; +Look at them fixedly, and they are not. + +And all the answer the poor child could make +Lay in the tightened grasp of her two hands; +She felt as if she lay mouldering awake +Within the sepulchre's fast stony bands, +And cared not though she died, but for his sake. +And the dark horror grew like drifting sands, +Till nought seemed beautiful, not God, nor light; +And yet she braved the false, denying night. + +But after hope was dead, a faint, light streak +Crept through a crevice in the rocky wall; +It fell upon her bosom and his cheek. +From God's own eye that light-glance seemed to fall. +Backward he drew his head, and did not speak, +But gazed with large deep eyes angelical +Upon her face. Old age had fled away-- +Youth everlasting in her bosom lay. + +With a low cry of joy closer she crept, +And on his bosom hid a face that glowed, +Seeking amends for terror while he slept. +She had been faithful: the beloved owed +Love, youth, and gladness unto her who wept +Gushingly on his heart. Her warm tears flowed +A baptism for the life that would not cease; +And when the sun arose, they slept in peace. + + + + +A PRAYER FOR THE PAST. + + + All sights and sounds of every year, +All groups and forms, each leaf and gem, +Are thine, O God, nor need I fear +To speak to Thee of them. + + Too great thy heart is to despise; +Thy day girds centuries about; +From things which we count small, thine eyes +See great things looking out. + + Therefore this prayerful song I sing +May come to Thee in ordered words; +Therefore its sweet sounds need not cling +In terror to their chords. + + * * * * * + + I know that nothing made is lost; +That not a moon hath ever shone, +That not a cloud my eyes hath crost, +But to my soul hath gone. + + That all the dead years garnered lie +In this gem-casket, my dim soul; +And that thy hand may, once, apply +The key that opes the whole. + + But what lies dead in me, yet lives +In Thee, whose Parable is--Time, +And Worlds, and Forms, and Sound that gives +Words and the music-chime. + + And after my next coming birth, +The new child's prayer will rise to Thee: +To hear again the sounds of Earth, +Its sights again to see. + + With child's glad eyes to see once more +The visioned glories of the gloom, +With climbing suns, and starry store, +Ceiling my little room. + + O call again the moons that glide +Behind old vapours sailing slow; +Lost sights of solemn skies that slide +O'er eyelids sunken low. + + Show me the tides of dawning swell, +And lift the world's dim eastern eye, +And the dark tears that all night fell +With radiance glorify. + + First I would see, oh, sore bereft! +My father's house, my childhood's home; +Where the wild snow-storms raved, and left +White mounds of frozen foam. + + Till, going out one dewy morn, +A man was turning up the mould; +And in our hearts the spring was born, +Crept hither through the cold. + + And with the glad year I would go, +The troops of daisies round my feet; +Flying the kite, or, in the glow +Of arching summer heat, + + Outstretched in fear upon the bank, +Lest gazing up on awful space, +I should fall down into the blank +From off the round world's face. + + And let my brothers be with me +To play our old games yet again; +And all should go as lovingly +As now that we are men. + + If over Earth the shade of Death +Passed like a cloud's wide noiseless wing, +We'd tell a secret, in low breath: +"Mind, 'tis a _dream_ of Spring. + + "And in this dream, our brother's gone +Upstairs; he heard our father call; +For one by one we go alone, +Till he has gathered all." + + Father, in joy our knees we bow; +This earth is not a place of tombs: +We are but in the nursery now; +They in the upper rooms. + + For are we not at home in Thee, +And all this world a visioned show; +That, knowing what _Abroad_ is, we +What _Home_ is, too, may know? + + And at thy feet I sit, O Lord, +As years ago, in moonlight pale, +I sat and heard my father's word +Reading a lofty tale. + + So in this vision I would go +Still onward through the gliding years, +Reaping great Noontide's joyous glow, +Still Eve's refreshing tears. + + One afternoon sit pondering +In that old chair, in that old room, +Where passing pigeon's sudden wing +Flashed lightning through the gloom. + + There, try once more with effort vain, +To mould in one perplexed things; +And find the solace yet again +Faith in the Father brings. + + Or on my horse go wandering round, +Mid desert moors and mountains high; +While storm-clouds, darkly brooding, found +In me another sky. + + For so thy Visible grew mine, +Though half its power I could not know; +And in me wrought a work divine, +Which Thou hadst ordered so; + + Filling my brain with form and word +From thy full utterance unto men; +Shapes that might ancient Truth afford, +And find it words again. + + Till Spring, in after years of youth, +Wove its dear form with every form; +Now a glad bursting into Truth, +Now a low sighing storm. + + But in this vision of the Past, +Spring-world to summer leading in, +Whose joys but not whose sorrows last, +I have left out the sin. + + I picture but development, +Green leaves unfolding to their fruits, +Expanding flowers, aspiring scent, +But not the writhing roots. + + Then follow English sunsets, o'er +A warm rich land outspread below; +A green sea from a level shore, +Bright boats that come and go. + + And one beside me in whose eyes +Old Nature found a welcome home, +A treasury of changeful skies +Beneath a changeless dome. + + But will it still be thus, O God? +And shall I always wish to see +And trace again the hilly road +By which I went to Thee? + + We bend above a joy new given, +That gives new feelings gladsome birth; +A living gift from one in heaven +To two upon the earth. + + Are no days creeping softly on +Which I should tremble to renew? +I thank thee, Lord, for what is gone-- +Thine is the future too. + + And are we not at home in Thee, +And all this world a visioned show; +That knowing what _Abroad_ is, we +What _Home_ is, too, may know? + + + + +FAR AND NEAR. + +[The fact to which the following verses refer, is related by +Dr. Edward Clarke in his Travels.] + + +Blue sunny skies above; below, + A blue and sunny sea; +A world of blue, wherein did blow + One soft wind steadily. + +In great and solemn heaves, the mass + Of pulsing ocean beat, +Unwrinkled as the sea of glass + Beneath the holy feet. + +With forward leaning of desire, + The ship sped calmly on, +A pilgrim strong that would not tire, + Nor hasten to be gone. + +The mouth of the mysterious Nile, + Full thirty leagues away, +Breathed in his ear old tales to wile + Old Ocean as he lay. + +Low on the surface of the sea + Faint sounds like whispers glide +Of lovers talking tremulously, + Close by the vessel's side. + +Or as within a sleeping wood + A windy sigh awoke, +And fluttering all the leafy brood, + The summer-silence broke. + +A wayward phantasy might say + That little ocean-maids +Were clapping little hands of play, + Deep down in ocean-glades. + +The traveller by land and flood, + The man of ready mind, +Much questioning the reason, stood-- + No answer could he find. + +That day, on Egypt's distant land, + And far from off the shore, +Two nations fought with armed hand, + With bellowing cannon's roar. + +That fluttering whisper, low and near, + Was the far battle-blare; +An airy rippling motion here, + The blasting thunder there. + +And so this aching in my breast, + Dim, faint, and undefined, +May be the sound of far unrest, + Borne on the spirit's wind; + +The uproar of the battle fought + Betwixt the bond and free; +The thundering roll in whispers brought + From Heaven's artillery. + + + + +MY ROOM. + +To G.E.M. + + +'Tis a little room, my friend; +A baby-walk from end to end; +All the things look sadly real, +This hot noontide's Unideal. +Seek not refuge at the casement, +There's no pasture for amazement +But a house most dim and rusty, +And a street most dry and dusty; +Seldom here more happy vision +Than water-cart's blest apparition, +We'll shut out the staring space, +Draw the curtains in its face. + +Close the eyelids of the room, +Fill it with a scarlet gloom: +Lo! the walls on every side +Are transformed and glorified; +Ceiled as with a rosy cloud +Furthest eastward of the crowd, +Blushing faintly at the bliss +Of the Titan's good-night kiss, +Which her westward sisters share,-- +Crimson they from breast to hair. +'Tis the faintest lends its dye +To my room--ah, not the sky! +Worthy though to be a room +Underneath the wonder-dome: +Look around on either hand, +Are we not in fairy-land? +In the ruddy atmosphere +All familiar things appear +Glowing with a mystery +In the red light shadowy; +Lasting bliss to you and me, +Colour only though it be. + +Now on the couch, inwrapt in mist +Of vapourized amethyst, +Lie, as in a rose's heart; +Secret things I will impart; +Any time you would receive them; +Easier though you will believe them +In dissolving dreamy red, +Self-same radiance that is shed +From the summer-heart of Poet, +Flushing those that never know it. +Tell me not the light thou viewest +Is a false one; 'tis the truest; +'Tis the light revealing wonder, +Filling all above and under; +If in light you make a schism, +'Tis the deepest in the prism. + +The room looks common; but the fact is +'Tis a cell of magic practice, +So disguised by common daylight, +By its disenchanting grey light, +Only spirit-eyes, mesmeric, +See its glories esoteric. +There, that case against the wall, +Glowingly purpureal! +A piano to the prosy-- +Not to us in twilight rosy: +'Tis a cave where Nereids lie. +Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, +Dreaming of the time when they +Danced in forest and in bay. +In that chest before your eyes, +Nature's self enchanted lies; +Awful hills and midnight woods; +Sunny rains in solitudes; +Deserts of unbounded longing; +Blessed visions, gladness thronging; + +All this globe of life unfoldeth +In phantom forms that coffer holdeth. +True, unseen; for 'tis enchanted-- +What is that but kept till wanted? +Do you hear that voice of singing? +'Tis the enchantress that is flinging +Spells around her baby's riot, +Music's oil the waves to quiet: +She at once can disenchant them, +To a lover's wish to grant them; +She can make the treasure casket +Yield its riches, as that basket +Yielded up the gathered flowers; +Yet its mines, and fields, and bowers, +Full remain, as mother Earth +Never tired of giving birth. + +Do you doubt me? Wait till night +Brings black hours and white delight; +Then, as now, your limbs outstretching, +Yield yourself to her bewitching. +She will bring a book of spells +Writ like crabbed oracles; +Wherewith necromantic fingers +Raise the ghosts of parted singers: +Straight your senses will be bound +In a net of torrent sound. +For it is a silent fountain, +Fed by springs from unseen mountain. + +Till with gestures cabalistic, +Crossing, lining figures mystic, +(Diagram most mathematic, +Simple to these signs erratic,) +O'er the seals her quick hands going +Loose the rills and set them flowing: +Pent up music rushing out +Bathes thy spirit all about; +Spell-bound nature, freed again, +Joyous revels in thy brain. + +On a mountain-top you stand, +Looking o'er a sunny land; +Giant forces marching slow, +Rank on rank, the great hills go, +On and on without a stay, +Melting in the blue away. +Wondrous light, more wondrous shading; +High relief in faintness fading; +Branching streams, like silver veins, +Meet and part in dells and plains. +There a woody hollow lies, +Dumb with love, and bright with eyes; +Moorland tracks of broken ground +Rising o'er, it all around: +Traveller climbing from the grove +Needs the tender heavens above. +"Ah, my pictured life," you cry, +"Fading into sea and sky!" + +Lost in thought that gently grieves you, +All the fairy landscape leaves you; +Sinks the sadness into rest, +Ripple-like on water's breast; +Mother's bosom rests the daughter,-- +Grief the ripple, Love the water. +All the past is strangely blended +In a mist of colours splendid, +But chaotic as to form, +An unfeatured beauty-storm. + +Wakes within, the ancient mind +For a gloriousness defined: +As she sought and knew your pleasure,-- +Wiling with a dancing measure, +Underneath your closed eyes +She calls the shapes of clouded skies; +White forms flushing hyacinthine +Twine in curvings labyrinthine; +Seem with godlike graceful feet, +For such mazy motion meet, +To press from air each lambent note, +On whose throbbing fire they float; +With an airy wishful gait +On each others' motion wait; +Naked arms and vesture free +Fill up the dance of harmony. + +Gone the measure polyhedral! +Springs aloft a high cathedral; +Every arch, like praying arms +Upward flung in love's alarms, +Knit by clasped hands o'erhead, +Heaves to heaven the weight of dread. +Underneath thee, like a cloud, +Gathers music, dim not loud, +Swells thy bosom with devotion, +Floats thee like a wave of ocean; +Vanishes the pile away,-- +In heaven thou kneelest down to pray. + +Let the sounds but reach thy heart, +Straight thyself magician art; +Walkest open-eyed through earth; +Seest wonders in their birth, +Whence they come and whither go; +Thou thyself exalted so, +Nature's consciousness, whereby +On herself she turns her eye. +Only heed thou worship God; +Else thou stalkest on thy sod, +Puppet-god of picture-world, +For thy foolish gaze unfurled; +Mirror-thing of things below thee. +Thy own self can never know thee; +Not a high and holy actor; +A reflector, and refractor; +Helpless in thy gift of light, +Self-consuming into night. + +Lasting yet the roseate glory! +I must hasten with my story +Of the little room's true features, +Seldom seen by mortal creatures; +Lest my prophet-vision fading +Leave me in the darkness wading. +What are those upon the wall, +Ranged in rows symmetrical? +They are books, an owl would say; +But the owl's night is the day: +Of these too, if you have patience, +I can give you revelations: +Through the walls of Time and Sight, +Doors they are to the Infinite; +Through the limits that embrace us, +Openings to the eternal spaces, +Round us all the noisy day, +Full of silences alway; +Round us all the darksome night, +Ever full of awful light: +And, though closed, may still remind us +There is mystery behind us. + +That, my friend? Now, it is curious, +You should hit upon the spurious! +'Tis a blind, a painted door: +Knock at it for evermore, +Never vision it affords +But its panelled gilded boards; +Behind it lieth nought at all, +But the limy, webby wall. +Oh no, not a painted block-- +Not the less a printed mock; +A book, 'tis true; no whit the more +A revealing out-going door. +There are two or three such books +For a while in others' nooks; +Where they should no longer be, +But for reasons known to me. + +Do not open that one though. +It is real; but if you go +Careless to it, as to dance, +You'll see nothing for your glance; +Blankness, deafness, blindness, dumbness, +Soon will stare you to a numbness. +No, my friend; it is not wise +To open doors into the skies, +As into a little study, +Where a feeble brain grows muddy. +Wait till night, and you shall be +Left alone with mystery; +Light this lamp's white softened ray, +(Another wonder by the way,) +Then with humble faith and prayer, +Ope the door with patient care: +Yours be calmness then, and strength +For the sight you see at length. + +Sometimes, after trying vainly, +With much effort, forced, ungainly, +To entice the rugged door +To yield up its wondrous lore, +With a sudden burst of thunder +All its frame is dashed asunder; +The gulfy silence, lightning-fleet, +Shooteth hellward at thy feet. +Take thou heed lest evil terror +Snare thee in a downward error, +Drag thee through the narrow gate, +Give thee up to windy fate, +To be blown for evermore +Up and down without a shore; +For to shun the good as ill +Makes the evil bolder still. +But oftener far the portal opes +With the sound of coming hopes; +On the joy-astonished eyes +Awful heights of glory rise; +Mountains, stars, and dreadful space, +The Eternal's azure face. +In storms of silence self is drowned, +Leaves the soul a gulf profound, +Where new heavens and earth arise, +Rolling seas and arching skies. + +Gathers slow a vapour o'er thee +From the ocean-depths before thee: +Lo! the vision all hath vanished, +Thou art left alone and banished; +Shut the door, thou findest, groping, +Without chance of further oping. +Thou must wait until thy soul +Rises nearer to its goal; +Till more childhood strength has given-- +Then approach this gate of Heaven: +It will open as before, +Yielding wonders, yet in store +For thee, if thou wilt turn to good +Things already understood. + +Why I let such useless lumber +Useful bookshelves so encumber? +I will tell thee; for thy question +Of wonders brings me to the best one. +There's a future wonder, may be-- +Sure a present magic baby; +(Patience, friend, I know your looks-- +What has that to do with books?) +With her sounds of molten speech +Quick a parent's heart to reach, +Though uncoined to words sedate, +Or even to sounds articulate; +Yet sweeter than the music's flowing, +Which doth set her music going. +Now our highest wonder-duty +Is with this same wonder-beauty; +How, with culture high and steady, +To unfold a magic-lady; +How to keep her full of wonder +At all things above and under; +Her from childhood never part, +Change the brain, but keep the heart. +She is God's child all the time; +On all the hours the child must climb, +As on steps of shining stairs +Leading up the path of prayers. +So one lesson from our looks, +Must be this: to honour books, +As a strange and mystic band +Which she cannot understand; +Scarce to touch them without fear, +Never, but when I am near, +As a priest, to temple-rite +Leading in the acolyte. +But when she has older grown, +And can see a difference shown, + +She must learn, 'tis not _appearing_ +Makes a book fit for revering; +To distinguish and divide +'Twixt the form and soul inside; +That a book is more than boards, +Leaves and words in gathered hordes, +Which no greater good can do man +Than the goblin hollow woman, +Or a pump without a well, +Or priest without an oracle. +Form is worthless, save it be +Type of an infinity; +Sign of something present, true, +Though unopened to the view, +Heady in its bosom holding +What it will be aye unfolding, +Never uttering but in part, +From an unexhausted heart. +Sight convincing to her mind, +I will separate kind from kind, +Take those books, though honoured by her +Lay them on the study fire, +For their form's sake somewhat tender, +Yet consume them to a cinder; +Years of reverence shall not save them +From the greedy flames that crave them. +You shall see this slight Immortal, +Half-way yet within life's portal; +Gathering gladness, she looks back, +Streams it forward on her track; +Wanders ever in the dance +Of her own sweet radiance. +Though the glory cease to burn, +Inward only it will turn; +Make her hidden being bright, +Make herself a lamp of light; +And a second gate of birth +Will take her to another earth. + +But, my friend, I've rattled plenty +To suffice for mornings twenty; +And I must not toss you longer +On this torrent waxing stronger. +Other things, past contradiction, +Here would prove I spoke no fiction, +Did I lead them up, choragic, +To reveal their nature magic. +There is that machine, glass-masked, +With continual questions tasked, +Ticking with untiring rock: +It is called an eight-day clock. +But to me the thing appears +Made for winding up the years, +Drawing on, fast as it can, +The day when comes the Son of Man. + +On the sea the sunshine broods, +And the shining tops of woods; +We will leave these oracles, +Finding others 'mid the hills. + + + + +SYMPATHY. + + +Grief held me silent in my seat, + I neither moved nor smiled: +Joy held her silent at my feet, + My little lily-child. + +She raised her face; she seemed to feel + That she was left outside; +She said one word with childish zeal + That would not be denied. + +Twice more my name, with infant grace; + Sole word her lips could mould! +Her face was pulling at my face-- + She was but ten months old. + +I know not what were my replies-- + I thought: dost Thou, O God, +Need ever thy poor children's eyes, + To ease thee of thy load? + +They find not Thee in evil case, + But, raised in sorrow wild, +Bring down from visiting thy face + The calmness of a child. + +Thou art the depth of Heaven above-- + The springing well in her; +Not Father only in thy love, + But daily minister. + +And this is how the comfort slid + From her to me the while,-- +It was thy present face that did + Smile on me from her smile. + + + + +LITTLE ELFIE. + + +I have an elfish maiden child; + She is not two years old; +Through windy locks her eyes gleam wild, + With glances shy and bold. + +Like little imps, her tiny hands + Dart out and push and take; +Chide her--a trembling thing she stands, + And like two leaves they shake. + +But to her mind a minute gone + Is like a year ago; +So when you lift your eyes anon, + They're at it, to and fro. + +Sometimes, though not oppressed with thought, + She has her sleepless fits; +Then to my room in blanket brought, + In round-backed chair she sits; + +Where, if by chance in graver mood, + A hermit she appears, +Seated in cave of ancient wood, + Grown very still with years. + +Then suddenly the pope she is, + A playful one, I know; +For up and down, now that, now this, + Her feet like plash-mill go. + +Why like the pope? She's at it yet, + Her knee-joints flail-like go: +Unthinking man! it is to let + Her mother kiss each toe. + +But if I turn away and write, + Then sudden look around, +I almost tremble; tall and white + She stands upon the ground. + +In long night-gown, a tiny ghost, + She stands unmoving there; +Or if she moves, my wits were lost + To meet her on the stair! + +O Elfie, make no haste to lose + Thy lack of conscious sense; +Thou hast the best gift I could choose, + A God-like confidence. + + + + +THE THANK OFFERING. + + +My little child receives my gift, + A simple piece of bread; +But to her mouth she doth not lift + The love in bread conveyed, +Till on my lips, unerring, swift, + The morsel first is laid. + +This is her grace before her food, + This her libation poured; +Uplift, like offering Aaron good + Heaved up unto the Lord; +More riches in the thanks than could + A thousand gifts afford! + +My Father, every gift of thine, + Teach me to lift to Thee; +Not else know I the love divine, + With which it comes to me; +Not else the tenfold gift is mine + Of taking thankfully. + +Yea, all my being I would lift, + An offering of me; +Then only truly mine the gift, + When so received by Thee; +Then shall I go, rejoicing, swift, + Through thine Eternity. + + + + +THE BURNT OFFERING. + + +Is there a man on earth, who, every night, +When the day hath exhausted each strong limb, +Lays him upon his bed in chamber dim, +And his heart straightway trembling with delight, +Begins to burn up towards the vaulted height +Of the great peace that overshadows him? +Like flakes of fire his thoughts within him swim, +Till all his soul is radiant, blazing bright. +The great earth under him an altar is, +Upon whose top a sacrifice he lies, +Burning to God up through the nightly skies, +Whose love, warm-brooding o'er him, kindled his; +Until his flaming thoughts, consumed, expire, +Sleep's ashes covering the yet glowing fire. + + + + +FOUR SONNETS + +Inscribed to S.F.S., because the second is about her father. + + +I. + +They say that lonely sorrows do not chance. +I think it true, and that the cause I know: +A sorrow glideth in a funeral show +Easier than if it broke into a dance. +But I think too, that joy doth joy enhance +As often as an added grief brings low; +And if keen-eyed to see the flowers that grow, +As keen of nerve to feel the thorns that lance +The foot that must walk naked in one way-- +Blest by the lily, white from toils and fears, +Oftener than wounded by the thistle-spears, +We should walk upright, bold, and earnest-gay. +I'll tell you how it fared with me one day +After noon in a world, so-called, of tears. + + +II. + +I went to listen to my teacher friend. +O Friend above, thanks for the friend below! +Who having been made wise, deep things to know, +With brooding spirit over them doth bend, +Until they waken words, as wings, to send +Their seeds far forth, seeking a place to grow. +The lesson past, with quiet foot I go, +And towards his silent room, expectant wend, +Seeking a blessing, even leave to dwell +For some eternal minutes in his eyes. +And he smiled on me in his loving wise; +His hand spoke friendship, satisfied me well; +My presence was some pleasure, I could tell. +Then forth we went beneath the smoky skies. + + +III. + +I, strengthened, left him. Next in a close place, +Mid houses crowded, dingy, barred, and high, +Where men live not except to sell and buy, +To me, leaving a doorway, came a grace. +(Surely from heaven she came, though all that race +Walketh on human feet beneath the sky.) +I, going on, beheld not who was nigh, +When a sweet girl looked up into my face +With earnest eyes, most maidenly sedate-- +Looked up to me, as I to him did look: +'Twas much to me whom sometimes men mistook. +She asked me where we dwelt, that she might wait +Upon us there. I told her, and elate, +Went on my way to seek another nook. + + +IV. + +And there I found him whom I went to find, +A man of noble make and head uplift, +Of equal carriage, Nature's bounteous gift; +For in no shelter had his generous mind +Grown flowers that need the winds, rough not unkind. +The joiner's bench taught him, with judgment swift, +Seen things to fashion, unseen things to sift; +From all his face a living soul outshined, +Telling of strength and inward quietude; +His great hand shook mine greatly, and his eyes +Looked straight in mine with spiritual replies: +I left him, rich with overflowing good. +Such joys within two hours of happy mood, +Met me beneath the everlasting skies. + + + + +SONNET. + +(Exodus xxxiii. 18-23.) + + +"I do beseech Thee, God, show me thy face." +"Come up to me in Sinai on the morn: +Thou shalt behold as much as may be borne." +And Moses on a rock stood lone in space. +From Sinai's top, the vaporous, thunderous place, +God passed in clouds, an earthly garment worn +To hide, and thus reveal. In love, not scorn, +He put him in a cleft in the rock's base, +Covered him with his hand, his eyes to screen, +Then passed, and showed his back through mists of years. +Ah, Moses! had He turned, and hadst thou seen +The pale face crowned with thorns, baptized with tears, +The eyes of the true man, by men belied, +Thou hadst beheld God's face, and straightway died. + + + + +EIGHTEEN SONNETS, + +About Jesus. + + +I. + +If Thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race +Of forms divine had ever preached to men! +Lo, I behold thy brow, all glorious then, +(Its reflex dawning on the statue's face) +Bringing its Thought to birth in human grace, +The soul of the grand form, upstarting, when +Thou openest thus thy mysteries to our ken, +Striking a marble window through blind space. +But God, who mouldeth in life-plastic clay, +Flashing his thoughts from men with living eyes, +Not from still marble forms, changeless alway, +Breathed forth his human self in human guise: +Thou didst appear, walking unknown abroad, +The son of man, the human, subject God. + + +II. + +"There, Buonarotti, stands thy statue. Take +Possession of the form; inherit it; +Go forth upon the earth in likeness fit; +As with a trumpet-cry at morning, wake +The sleeping nations; with light's terror, shake +The slumber from their hearts; and, where they sit, +Let them leap up aghast, as at a pit +Agape beneath." I hear him answer make: +"Alas! I dare not; I could not inform +That image; I revered as I did trace; +I will not dim the glory of its grace, +Nor with a feeble spirit mock the enorm +Strength on its brow." Thou cam'st, God's thought thy form, +Living the large significance of thy face. + + +III. + +Some men I have beheld with wonderment, +Noble in form and feature, God's design, +In whom the thought must search, as in a mine, +For that live soul of theirs, by which they went +Thus walking on the earth. And I have bent +Frequent regard on women, who gave sign +That God willed Beauty, when He drew the line +That shaped each float and fold of Beauty's tent; +But the soul, drawing up in little space, +Thus left the form all staring, self-dismayed, +A vacant sign of what might be the grace +If mind swelled up, and filled the plan displayed: +Each curve and shade of thy pure form were Thine, +Thy very hair replete with the divine. + + +IV. + +If Thou hadst been a painter, what fresh looks, +What shining of pent glories, what new grace +Had burst upon us from the great Earth's face! +How had we read, as in new-languaged books, +Clear love of God in lone retreating nooks! +A lily, as thy hand its form would trace, +Were plainly seen God's child, of lower race; +And, O my heart, blue hills! and grassy brooks! +Thy soul lay to all undulations bare, +Answering in waves. Each morn the sun did rise, +And God's world woke beneath life-giving skies, +Thou sawest clear thy Father's meanings there; +'Mid Earth's Ideal, and expressions rare, +The ideal Man, with the eternal eyes. + + +V. + +But I have looked on pictures made by man, +Wherein, at first, appeared but chaos wild; +So high the art transcended, it beguiled +The eye as formless, and without a plan; +Until the spirit, brooding o'er, began +To see a purpose rise, like mountains piled, +When God said: Let the dry earth, undefiled, +Rise from the waves: it rose in twilight wan. +And so I fear thy pictures were too strange +For us to pierce beyond their outmost look; +A vapour and a darkness; a sealed book; +An atmosphere too high for wings to range: +At God's designs our spirits pale and change, +Trembling as at a void, thought cannot brook. + + +VI. + +And is not Earth thy living picture, where +Thou utterest beauty, simple and profound, +In the same form by wondrous union bound; +Where one may see the first step of the stair, +And not the next, for brooding vapours there? +And God is well content the starry round +Should wake the infant's inarticulate sound, +Or lofty song from bursting heart of prayer. +And so all men of low or lofty mind, +Who in their hearts hear thy unspoken word, +Have lessons low or lofty, to their kind, +In these thy living shows of beauty, Lord; +While the child's heart that simply childlike is, +Knows that the Father's face looks full in his. + + +VII. + +If Thou hadst been a Poet! On my heart +The thought dashed. It recoiled, as, with the gift, +Light-blinded, and joy-saddened, so bereft. +And the hot fountain-tears, with sudden start, +Thronged to mine eyes, as if with that same smart +The husk of vision had in twain been cleft, +Its hidden soul in naked beauty left, +And we beheld thee, Nature, as thou art. +O Poet, Poet, Poet! at thy feet +I should have lien, sainted with listening; +My pulses answering aye, in rhythmic beat, +Each parting word that with melodious wing +Moved on, creating still my being sweet; +My soul thy harp, thy word the quivering string. + + +VIII. + +Thou wouldst have led us through the twilight land +Where spirit shows by form, form is refined +Away to spirit by transfiguring mind, +Till they are one, and in the morn we stand; +Treading thy footsteps, children, hand in hand, +With sense divinely growing, till, combined, +We heard the music of the planets wind +In harmony with billows on the strand; +Till, one with Earth and all God's utterance, +We hardly knew whether the sun outspake, +Or a glad sunshine from our spirits brake; +Whether we think, or windy leaflets dance: +Alas, O Poet Leader! for this good, +Thou wert God's tragedy, writ in tears and blood. + + +IX. + +So if Thou hadst been scorned in human eyes, +Too bright and near to be a glory then; +If as Truth's artist, Thou hadst been to men +A setter forth of strange divinities; +To after times, Thou, born in midday skies, +A sun, high up, out-blazing sudden, when +Its light had had its centuries eight and ten +To travel through the wretched void that lies +'Twixt souls and truth, hadst been a Love and Fear, +Worshipped on high from Magian's mountain-crest, +And all night long symbol'd by lamp-flames clear; +Thy sign, a star upon thy people's breast, +Where now a strange mysterious shape doth lie, +That once barred out the sun in noontide sky. + + +X. + +But as Thou earnest forth to bring the Poor, +Whose hearts were nearer faith and verity, +Spiritual childhood, thy philosophy,-- +So taught'st the A, B, C of heavenly lore; +Because Thou sat'st not, lonely evermore, +With mighty thoughts informing language high; +But, walking in thy poem continually, +Didst utter acts, of all true forms the core; +Instead of parchment, writing on the soul +High thoughts and aspirations, being so +Thine own ideal; Poet and Poem, lo! +One indivisible; Thou didst reach thy goal +Triumphant, but with little of acclaim, +Even from thine own, escaping not their blame. + + +XI. + +The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear +Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things +Had credence; and no highest art that flings +A spirit radiance from it, like the spear +Of the ice-pointed mountain, lifted clear +In the nigh sunrise, had made skyey springs +Of light in the clouds of dull imaginings: +Vain were the painter or the sculptor here. +Give man the listening heart, the seeing eye; +Give life; let sea-derived fountain well, +Within his spirit, infant waves, to tell +Of the far ocean-mysteries that lie +Silent upon the horizon,--evermore +Falling in voices on the human shore. + + +XII. + +So highest poets, painters, owe to Thee +Their being and disciples; none were there, +Hadst Thou not been; Thou art the centre where +The Truth did find an infinite form; and she +Left not the earth again, but made it be +One of her robing rooms, where she doth wear +All forms of revelation. Artists bear +Tapers in acolyte humility. +O Poet! Painter! soul of all! thy art +Went forth in making artists. Pictures? No; +But painters, who in love should ever show +To earnest men glad secrets from God's heart. +So, in the desert, grass and wild flowers start, +When through the sand the living waters go. + + +XIII. + +So, as Thou wert the seed and not the flower, +Having no form or comeliness, in chief +Sharing thy thoughts with thine acquaintance Grief; +Thou wert despised, rejected in thine hour +Of loneliness and God-triumphant power. +Oh, not three days alone, glad slumber brief, +That from thy travail brought Thee sweet relief, +Lay'st Thou, outworn, beneath thy stony bower; +But three and thirty years, a living seed, +Thy body lay as in a grave indeed; +A heavenly germ dropt in a desert wide; +Buried in fallow soil of grief and need; +'Mid earthquake-storms of fiercest hate and pride, +By woman's tears bedewed and glorified. + + +XIV. + +All divine artists, humble, filial, +Turn therefore unto Thee, the poet's sun; +First-born of God's creation, only done +When from Thee, centre-form, the veil did fall, +And Thou, symbol of all, heart, coronal, +The highest Life with noblest Form made one, +To do thy Father's bidding hadst begun; +The living germ in this strange planet-ball, +Even as thy form in mind of striving saint. +So, as the one Ideal, beyond taint, +Thy radiance unto all some shade doth yield, +In every splendour shadowy revealed: +But when, by word or hand, Thee one would paint, +Power falls down straightway, speechless, dim-eyed, faint. + + +XV. + +Men may pursue the Beautiful, while they +Love not the Good, the life of all the Fair; +Keen-eyed for beauty, they will find it where +The darkness of their eyes hath power to slay +The vision of the good in beauty's ray, +Though fruits the same life-giving branches bear. +So in a statue they will see the rare +Beauty of thought moulded of dull crude clay, +While loving joys nor prayer their souls expand. +So Thou didst mould thy thoughts in Life not Art; +Teaching with human voice, and eye, and hand, +That none the beauty from the truth might part: +Their oneness in thy flesh we joyous hail-- +The Holy of Holies' cloud-illumined veil! + + +XVI. + +And yet I fear lest men who read these lines, +Should judge of them as if they wholly spake +The love I bear Thee and thy holy sake; +Saying: "He doth the high name wrong who twines +Earth's highest aim with Him, and thus combines +Jesus and Art." But I my refuge make +In what the Word said: "Man his life shall take +From every word:" in Art God first designs,-- +He spoke the word. And let me humbly speak +My faith, that Art is nothing to the act, +Lowliest, that to the Truth bears witness meek, +Renownless, even unknown, but yet a fact: +The glory of thy childhood and thy youth, +Was not that Thou didst show, but didst the Truth. + + +XVII + +The highest marble Sorrow vanishes +Before a weeping child.[2] The one doth seem, +The other is. And wherefore do we dream, +But that we live? So I rejoice in this, +That Thou didst cast Thyself, in all the bliss +Of conscious strength, into Life's torrent stream, +(Thy deeds fresh life-springs that with blessings teem) +Acting, not painting rainbows o'er its hiss. +Forgive me, Lord, if in these verses lie +Mean thoughts, and stains of my infirmity; +Full well I know that if they were as high +In holy song as prophet's ecstasy, +'Tis more to Thee than this, if I, ah me! +Speak gently to a child for love of Thee. + +[Footnote 2: John Sterling.] + + +XVIII. + +Thou art before me, and I see no more +Pilate or soldiers, but the purple flung +Around the naked form the scourge had wrung, +To naked Truth thus witnessing, before +The False and trembling True. As on the shore +Of infinite Love and Truth, I kneel among +Thy footprints on that pavement; and my tongue +Would, but for reverence, cry: "If Thou set'st store +By feeble homage, Witness to the Truth, +Thou art the King, crowned by thy witnessing!" +I die in soul, and fall down worshipping. +Art glories vanish, vapours of the morn. +Never but Thee was there a man in sooth, +Never a true crown but thy crown of thorn. + + + + +DEATH AND BIRTH. + +A Symbol. + +[Sidenote: _He looks from his window on the midnight town._] + +'Tis the midnight hour; I heard +The city clocks give out the word. +Seldom are the lamp-rays shed +On the quick foot-farer's head, +As I sit at my window old, +Looking out into the cold, +Down along the narrowing street +Stretching out below my feet, +From base of this primeval block, +My old home's foundation rock. + +[Sidenote: _He renounces Beauty the body for Truth the soul_.] + +How her windows are uplighted! +God in heaven! for this I slighted, +Star-profound immensity +Brooding ever in the sky! +What an earthly constellation +Fills those chambers with vibration! +Fleeting, gliding, weaving, parting; +Light of jewels! flash of eyes! +Meeting, changing, wreathing, darting, +In a cloud of rainbow-dyes. +Soul of light, her eyes are floating +Hither, thither, through the cloud, +Wandering planets, seeking, noting +Chosen stars amid the crowd. +Who, as centre-source of motion +Draws those dark orbs' spirit-ocean? +All the orbs on which they turn +Sudden with shooting radiance burn; +Mine I felt grow dim with sheen, +Sending tribute to their queen: +Queen of all the slaves of show-- +Queen of Truth's free nobles--no. +She my wandering eyes might chain, +Fill my throbbing burning brain: +Beauty lacking Truth within +Spirit-homage cannot win. +Will is strong, though feeling waver +Like the sea to its enslaver-- +Strong as hills that bar the sea +With the word of the decree. + +[Sidenote: _The Resentment of Genius at the thumbscrews of worldly +talent._] + +That passing shadow in the street! +Well I know it, as is meet! +Did he not, before her face, +Seek to brand me with disgrace? +From the chiselled lips of wit +Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, +Scorching as the snow that fell +On the damned in Dante's hell? +With keen-worded opposition, +playful, merciless precision, +Mocking the romance of Youth, +Standing on the sphere of Truth, +He on worldly wisdom's plane +Rolled it to and fro amain.-- +Doubtless there it could not lie, +Or walk an orbit but the sky.-- +I, who glowed in every limb, +Knowing, could not answer him; +But I longed yet more to be +What I saw he could not see. +So I thank him, for he taught +What his wisdom never sought. +It were sweet to make him burn +With his poverty in turn, +Shaming him in those bright eyes, +Which to him are more than skies! +Whither? whither? Heart, thou knowest +Side by side with him thou goest, +If thou lend thyself to aught +But forgiving, saving thought. + +[Sidenote: _Repentance._] + +[Sidenote: _The recess of the window a niche, wherein he beholds +all the world of his former walk as the picture of a vain slave._] + +Ah! come in; I need your aid. +Bring-your tools, as then I said.-- +There, my friend, build up that niche. +"Pardon me, my lord, but which?" +That, in which I stood this minute; +That one with the picture in it.-- +"The window, do you mean, my lord? +Such, few mansions can afford! +Picture is it? 'Tis a show +Picture seldom can bestow! +City palaces and towers, +Forest depths of floating pines, +Sloping gardens, shadowed bowers; +Use with beauty here combines." +True, my friend, seen with your eyes: +But in mine 'tis other quite: +In that niche the dead world lies, +Shadowed over with the night. +In that tomb I'll wall it out; +Where, with silence all about, +Startled only by decay +As the ancient bonds give way, +Sepulchred in all its charms, +Circled in Death's nursing arms, +Mouldering without a cross, +It may feed itself on loss. + +[Sidenote: _The Devil Contempt whistling through the mouth of the +Saint Renunciation._] + +Now go on, lay stone on stone, +I will neither sigh nor moan.-- +Whither, whither, Heart of good? + +[Sidenote: _Repentance._] + +Art thou not, in this thy mood, +One of evil, priestly band, +With dark robes and lifted hand, +Square-faced, stony-visaged men, +In a narrow vaulted den, +Watching, by the cresset dun, +A wild-eyed, pale-faced, staring nun, +Who beholds, as, row by row, +Grows her niche's choking wall, +The blood-red tide of hell below +Surge in billowy rise and fall? + +[Sidenote: Dying unto sin] + +Yet build on; for it is I +To the world would gladly die; +To the hopes and fears it gave me, +To the love that would enslave me, +To the voice of blame it raises, +To the music of its praises, +To its judgments and its favours, +To its cares and its endeavours, +To the traitor-self that opes +Secret gates to cunning hopes;-- +Dying unto all this need, +I shall live a life indeed; +Dying unto thee, O Death, +Is to live by God's own breath. +Therefore thus I close my eyes, +Thus I die unto the world; +Thus to me the same world dies, +Laid aside, a map upfurled. +Keep me, God, from poor disdain: +When to light I rise again, +With a new exultant life +Born in sorrow and in strife, +Born of Truth and words divine, +I will see thee yet again, +Dwell in thee, old world of mine, +Aid the life within thy men, +Helping them to die to thee, +And walk with white feet, radiant, free; +Live in thee, not on thy love, +Breathing air from heaven above. + +[Sidenote: _Regret at the memory of Beauty, and Appreciation, and Praise_.] + +Lo! the death-wall grows amain; +And in me triumphant pain +To and fro and outward goes +As I feel my coffin close.-- +Ah, alas, some beauties vanish! +Ah, alas, some strength I banish! +Maidens listening with a smile +In confiding eyes, the while +Truths they loved so well to hear +Left my lips. Lo, they draw near! +Lo! I see my forehead crowned +With a coronal of faces, +Where the gleam of living graces +Each to other keeps them bound; +Leaning forward in a throng, +I the centre of their eyes, +Voices mute, that erst in song +Stilled the heart from all but sighs-- +Now in thirsty draughts they take +At open eyes and ears, the Truth +Spoken for their love and youth-- +Hot, alas! for bare Truth's sake! +There were youths that held by me, +Youths with slightly furrowed brows, +Bent for thought like bended bows; +Youths with souls of high degree +Said that I alone could teach them, +I, one of themselves, could reach them; +I alone had insight nurst, +Cared for Truth and not for Form, +Would not call a man a worm, +Saw God's image in the worst. +And they said my words were strong, +Made their inward longings rise; +Even, of mine, a little song, +Lark-like, rose into the skies. +Here, alas! the self-same folly; +'Twas not for the Truth's sake wholly, +Not for sight of the thing seen, +But for Insight's sake I ween. +Now I die unto all this; +Kiss me, God, with thy cold kiss. + +[Sidenote: _"I dreamed that Allah kissed me, and his kiss was cold."_] + +All self-seeking I forsake; +In my soul a silence make. +There was joy to feel I _could_, +That I had some power of good, +That I was not vainly tost: +Now I'm empty, empty quite; +Fill me, God, or I am lost; +In my spirit shines no light; +All the outer world's wild press +Crushes in my emptiness. +Am I giving all away? +Will the sky be always grey? +Never more this heart of mine +Beat like heart refreshed with wine? +I shall die of misery, +If Thou, God, come not to me. + +[Sidenote: _Dead indeed unto Sin_.] + +Now 'tis finished. So depart +All untruth from out my heart; +All false ways of speaking, thinking; +All false ways of looking, linking; +All that is not true and real, +Tending not to God's Ideal: +Help me--how shall human breath +Word _Thy_ meaning in this death! + +[Sidenote: _How is no matter, so that he wake to Life and Sight._] + +Now come hither. Bring that tool. +Its name I know not; but its use +Written on its shape in full +Tells me it is no abuse +If I strike a hole withal +Through this thick opposed wall. +The rainbow-pavement! Never heed it-- +What is that, where light is needed? +Where? I care not; quickest best. +What kind of window would I choose? +Foolish man, what sort of hues +Would you have to paint the East, +When each hill and valley lies +Hungering for the sun to rise? +'Tis an opening that I want; +Let the light in, that is all; +Needful knowledge it will grant. +How to frame the window tall. +Who at morning ever lies +Thinking how to ope his eyes? +This room's eyelids I will ope, +Make a morning as I may; +'Tis the time for work and hope; +Night is waning near the day. + +I bethink me, workman priest; +It were best to pierce the wall +Where the thickness is the least-- +Nearer there the light-beams fall, +Sooner with our dark to mix-- +That niche where stands the Crucifix. +"The Crucifix! what! impious task! +Wilt thou break into its shrine? +Taint with human the Divine?" +Friend, did Godhead wear a mask +Of the human? or did it +Choose a form for Godhead fit? + +[Sidenote: _The form must yield to the Truth._] + +Brother with the rugged crown +Won by being all divine, +This my form may come to Thine: +Gently thus I lift Thee down; +Lovingly, O marble cold, +Thee with human hands I fold, +And I set Thee thus aside, +Human rightly deified! +God, by manhood glorified! + +[Sidenote: _Nothing less than the Cross would satisfy the Godhead +for its own assertion and vindication._] + +Thinkest thou that Christ did stand +Shutting God from out the land? +Hiding from His children's eyes +Dayspring in the holy skies? +Stood He not with loving eye +On one side, to bring us nigh? +"Doth this form offend you still? +God is greater than you see; +If you seek to do His will, +He will lead you unto me." +Then the tender Brother's grace +Leads us to the Father's face. +As His parting form withdrew, +Burst His Spirit on the view. +Form completest, radiant white, +Sometimes must give way for light, +When the eye, itself obscure, +Stead of form is needing cure: +Washed at morning's sunny brim +From the mists that make it dim, +Set thou up the form again, +And its light will reach the brain. +For the Truth is Form allowed, +For the glory is the cloud; +But the single eye alone +Sees with light that is its own, +From primeval fountain-head +Flowing ere the sun was made; +Such alone can be regaled +With the Truth by form unveiled; +To such an eye his form will be +Gushing orb of glory free. + +[Sidenote: _Striving_.] + +Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster +Clashes downward, fast and faster. +Now the first stone disengages; +Now a second that for ages +Bested there as in a rock +Yields to the repeated shock. +Hark! I heard an outside stone +Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! + +[Sidenote: _Longing_.] + +Haste thee, haste! I am athirst +To behold young Morning, nurst +In the lap of ancient Night, +Growing visibly to light. +There! thank God! a faint light-beam! +There! God bless that little stream +Of cool morning air that made +A rippling on my burning head! + +[Sidenote: _Alive unto God._] + +Now! the stone is outward flung, +And the Universe hath sprung +Inward on my soul and brain! + +[Sidenote: _A New Life_.] + +I am living once again! +Out of sorrow, out of strife, +Spring aloft to higher life; +Parted by no awful cleft +From the life that I have left; +Only I myself grown purer +See its good so much the surer, +See its ill with hopeful eye, +Frown more seldom, oftener sigh. +Dying truly is no loss, +For to wings hath grown the cross. +Dear the pain of giving up, +If Christ enter in and sup. +Joy to empty all the heart, +That there may be room for Him! +Faintness cometh, soon to part, +For He fills me to the brim. +I have all things now and more; +All that I possessed before; +In a calmer holier sense, +Free from vanity's pretence; +And a consciousness of bliss, +Wholly mine, by being His. +I am nearer to the end +Whither all my longings tend. +His love in all the bliss I had, +Unknown, was that which made me glad; +And will shine with glory more, +In the forms it took before. + +[Sidenote: _Beauty returned with Truth._] + +Lo! the eastern vapours crack +With the sunshine at their back! +Lo! the eastern glaciers shine +In the dazzling light divine! +Lo! the far-off mountains lifting +Snow-capt summits in the sky! +Where all night the storm was drifting, +Whiteness resteth silently! +Glorious mountains! God's own places! +Surely man upon their faces +Climbeth upward nearer Thee +Dwelling in Light's Obscurity! +Mystic wonders! hope and fear +Move together at your sight. + +[Sidenote: _Silence and Thought._] + +That one precipice, whose height +I can mete by inches here, +Is a thousand fathoms quite. +I must journey to your foot, +Grow on you as on my root; +Feed upon your silent speech, +Awful air, and wind, and thunder, +Shades, and solitudes, and wonder; + +[Sidenote: _The Realities of existence must seize on his soul_.] + +Distances that lengthening roll +Onward, on, beyond Thought's reach, +Widening, widening on the view; +Till the silence touch my soul, +Growing calm and vast like you. +I will meet Christ on the mountains; +Dwell there with my God and Truth; + +[Sidenote: _Baptism_.] + +Drink cold water from their fountains, +Baptism of an inward youth. +Then return when years are by, +To teach a great humility; + +[Sidenote: _Future mission_.] + +To aspiring youth to show +What a hope to them is given: +Heaven and Earth at one to know; +On the Earth to live in Heaven; +Winning thus the hearts of Earth +To die into the Heavenly Birth. + + + + +EARLY POEMS. + + + +LONGING. + + +Away from the city's herds! + Away from the noisy street! +Away from the storm of words, + Where hateful and hating meet! + +Away from the vapour grey, + That like a boding of ill +Is blotting the morning gay, + And gathers and darkens still! + +Away from the stupid book! + For, like the fog's weary rest, +With anger dull it fills each nook + Of my aching and misty breast. + +Over some shining shore, + There hangeth a space of blue; +A parting 'mid thin clouds hoar + Where the sunlight is falling through. + +The glad waves are kissing the shore + Rejoice, and tell it for ever; +The boat glides on, while its oar + Is flashing out of the river. + +Oh to be there with thee! + Thou and I only, my love! +The sparkling, sands and the sea! + And the sunshine of God above! + + + + +MY EYES MAKE PICTURES. + +"My eyes make pictures, when they are shut." + COLERIDGE. + + +Fair morn, I bring my greeting + To lofty skies, and pale, +Save where cloud-shreds are fleeting + Before the driving gale, +The weary branches tossing, + Careless of autumn's grief, +Shadow and sunlight crossing + On each earth-spotted leaf. + +I will escape their grieving; + And so I close my eyes, +And see the light boat heaving + Where the billows fall and rise; +I see the sunlight glancing + Upon its silvery sail, +Where a youth's wild heart is dancing, + And a maiden growing pale. + +And I am quietly pacing + The smooth stones o'er and o'er, +Where the merry waves are chasing + Each other to the shore. +Words come to me while listening + Where the rocks and waters meet, +And the little shells are glistening + In sand-pools at my feet. + +Away! the white sail gleaming! + Again I close my eyes, +And the autumn light is streaming + From pale blue cloudless skies; +Upon the lone hill falling + 'Mid the sound of heather-bells, +Where the running stream is calling + Unto the silent wells. + +Along the pathway lonely, + My horse and I move slow; +No living thing, save only + The home-returning crow. +And the moon, so large, is peering + Up through the white cloud foam; +And I am gladly nearing + My father's house, my home. + +As I were gently dreaming + The solemn trees look out; +The hills, the waters seeming + In still sleep round about; +And in my soul are ringing + Tones of a spirit-lyre, +As my beloved were singing + Amid a sister-choir. + +If peace were in my spirit, + How oft I'd close my eyes, +And all the earth inherit, + And all the changeful skies! +Thus leave the sermon dreary, + Thus leave the lonely hearth; +No more a spirit weary-- + A free one of the earth! + + + + +DEATH. + + +When, like a garment flung aside at night, +This body lies, or sculpture of cold rest; +When through its shaded windows comes no light, +And the white hands are folded on its breast; + +How will it be with Me, its tenant now? +How shall I feel when first I wander out? +How look on tears from loved eyes falling? How +Look forth upon dim mysteries round about? + +Shall I go forth, slow-floating like a mist, +Over the city with its crowded walls? +Over the trees and meadows where I list? +Over the mountains and their ceaseless falls? + +Over the red cliffs and fantastic rocks; +Over the sea, far-down, fleeting away; +White sea-birds shining, and the billowy shocks +Heaving unheard their shore-besieging spray? + +Or will a veil, o'er all material things +Slow-falling; hide them from the spirit's sight; +Even as the veil which the sun's radiance flings +O'er stars that had been shining all the night? + +And will the spirit be entranced, alone, +Like one in an exalted opium-dream-- +Time space, and all their varied dwellers gone; +And sunlight vanished, and all things that seem; + +Thought only waking; thought that doth not own +The lapse of ages, or the change of place; +Thought, in which only that which _is_, is known; +The substance here, the form confined to space? + +Or as a child that sobs itself to sleep, +Wearied with labour which the grown call play, +Waking in smiles as soon as morn doth peep, +Springs up to labour all the joyous day, + +Shall we lie down, weary; and sleep, until +Our souls be cleansed by long and dreamless rest; +Till of repose we drink our thirsting fill, +And wake all peaceful, smiling, pure, and blest? + +I know not--only know one needful thing: +God is; I shall be ever in His view; +I only need strength for the travailing, +Will for the work Thou givest me to do. + + + + +LESSONS FOR A CHILD. + + +I. + +There breathes not a breath of the morning air, +But the spirit of Love is moving there; +Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree +Mingles with thousands in harmony; +But the Spirit of God doth make the sound, +And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around. +And the sunshiny butterflies come and go, +Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro; +And not a wave of their busy wings +Is unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things. +And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon, +And dance in the light of the mystic moon-- +All have one being that loves them all; +Not a fly in the spider's web can fall, +But He cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; +And He cares for each little child's smile or sigh. +How it can be, I cannot know; +He is wiser than I; and it must be so. + + +II. + +The tree-roots met in the spongy ground, + Looking where water lay; +Because they met, they twined around, + Embraced, and went their way. + +Drop dashed on drop, as the rain-shower fell, + Yet they strove not, but joined together; +And they rose from the earth a bright clear well, + Singing in sunny weather. + +Sound met sound in the wavy air; + They kissed as sisters true; +Yet, jostling not on their journey fair, + Each on its own path flew. + +Wind met wind in a garden green; + Each for its own way pled; +And a trampling whirlwind danced between, + Till the flower of Love lay dead. + + +III. + +To C.C.P. + +The bird on the leafy tree, +The bird in the cloudy sky, +The fish in the wavy sea, +The stag on the mountain high, +The albatross asleep +On the waves of the rocking deep, +The bee on its light wing, borne +Over the bending corn,-- +What is the thought in the breast +Of the little bird at rest? +What is the thought in the songs +Which the lark in the sky prolongs? +What mean the dolphin's rays, +Winding his watery ways? +What is the thought of the stag, +Stately on yonder crag? +What doth the albatross think, +Dreaming upon the brink +Of the mountain billow, and then +Dreaming down in its glen? +What is the thought of the bee +Fleeting so silently, +Flitting from part to part, +Speedily, gently roving, +Like the love of a thoughtful heart, +Ever at rest, and moving? +What is the life of their thought? +Doth praise their souls employ? +I think it can be nought +But the trembling movement to and fro +Of a bright, life-giving joy. +And the God of cloudless days, +Who souls and hearts doth know, +Taketh their joy for praise, +And biddeth its fountains flow. + +And if, in thy life on earth, +In the chamber, or by the hearth, +Mid the crowded city's tide, +Or high on the lone hill-side, +Thou canst cause a thought of peace, +Or an aching thought to cease, +Or a gleam of joy to burst +On a soul in gladness nurst; +Spare not thy hand, my child; +Though the gladdened should never know +The well-spring amid the wild +Whence the waters of blessing flow. +Find thy reward in the thing +Which thou hast been blest to do; +Let the joy of others cause joy to spring +Up in thy bosom too. +And if the love of a grateful heart +As a rich reward be given, +Lift thou the love of a grateful heart +To the God of Love in Heaven. + + + + +HOPE DEFERRED. + + +Summer is come again. The sun is bright, +And the soft wind is breathing. We will joy; +And seeing in each other's eyes the light +Of the same joy, smile hopeful. Our employ +Shall, like the birds', be airy castles, things +Built by gay hopes, and fond imaginings, +Peopling the land within us. We will tell +Of the green hills, and of the silent sea, +And of all summer things that calmly dwell, +A waiting Paradise for you and me. +And if our thoughts should wander upon sorrow, +Yet hope will wait upon the far-off morrow. + +Look on those leaves. It was not Summer's mouth +That breathed that hue upon them. And look there-- +On that thin tree. See, through its branches bare, +How low the sun is in the mid-day South! +This day is but a gleam of gladness, flown +Back from the past to tell us what is gone. +For the dead leaves are falling; and our heart, +Which, with the world, is ever changing so, +Gives back, in echoes sad and low, +The rustling sigh wherewith dead leaves depart: +A sound, not murmuring, but faint and wild; +A sorrow for the Past that hath no child,-- +No sweet-voiced child with the bright name of Hope. + +We are like you, poor leaves! but have more scope +For sorrow; for our summers pass away +With a slow, year-long, overshadowing decay. +Yea, Spring's first blossom disappears, +Slain by the shadow of the coming years. + +Come round me, my beloved. We will hold +All of us compassed thus: a winter day +Is drawing nigh us. We are growing old; +And, if we be not as a ring enchanted, +About each other's heart, to keep us gay, +The young, who claim that joy which haunted +Our visions once, will push us far away +Into the desolate regions, dim and grey, +Where the sea hath no moaning, and the cloud +No rain of tears, but apathy doth shroud +All being and all time. But, if we keep +Together thus, the tide of youth will sweep +Round us with thousand joyous waves, +As round some palmy island of the deep; +And our youth hover round us like the breath +Of one that sleeps, and sleepeth not to death. + +Thus onward, hand in hand, to parted graves, +The sundered doors into one palace home, +Through age's thickets, faltering, we will go, +If He who leads us, wills it so, +Believing in our youth, and in the Past; +Within us, tending to the last +Love's radiant lamp, which burns in cave or dome; +And, like the lamps that ages long have glowed +In blessed graves, when once the weary load +Of tomb-built years is heaved up and cast, +For youth and immortality, away, +Will flash abroad in open day, +Clear as a star in heaven's blue-vaulted night; +Shining, till then, through every wrinkled fold, +With the Transfiguration's conquering might; +That Youth our faces wondering shall behold, +And shall be glad, not fearing to be old. + + + + +THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. + + +The weary Old Year is dead at last; +His corpse 'mid the ruins of Time is cast, +Where the mouldering wrecks of lost Thought lie, +And the rich-hued blossoms of Passion die +To a withering grass that droops o'er his grave, +The shadowy Titan's refuge cave. +Strange lights from pale moony Memory lie +On the weedy columns beneath its eye; +And strange is the sound of the ghostlike breeze, +In the lingering leaves on the skeleton trees; +And strange is the sound of the falling shower, +When the clouds of dead pain o'er the spirit lower; +Unheard in the home he inhabiteth, +The land where all lost things are gathered by Death. + +Alone I reclined in the closing year; +Voice, nor breathing, nor step was near; +And I said in the weariness of my breast: +Weary Old Year, thou art going to rest; +O weary Old Year, I would I might be +One hour alone in thy dying with thee! +Would thou wert a spirit, whose low lament +Might mix with the sighs from my spirit sent; +For I am weary of man and life; +Weary of restless unchanging strife; +Weary of change that is ever changing; +Weary of thought that is ever ranging, +Ever falling in efforts vain, +Fluttering, upspringing from earth again, +Struggling once more through the darkness to wing +That hangs o'er the birthplace of everything, +And choked yet again in the vapour's breast, +Sinking once more to a helpless rest. +I am weary of tears that scarce are dry, +Ere their founts are filled as the cloud goes by; +Weary of feelings where each in the throng +Mocks at the rest as they crowd along; +Where Pride over all, like a god on high, +Sits enshrined in his self-complacency; +Where Selfishness crawls, the snake-demon of ill, +The least suspected where busiest still; +Where all things evil and painful entwine, +And all in their hate and their sorrow are mine: +O weary Old Year, I would I might be +One hour by thy dying, to weep with thee! + +Peace, the soul's slumber, was round me shed; +The sleep where thought lives, but its pain is dead; +And my musings led me, a spirit-band, +Through the wide realms of their native land; +Till I stood by the couch of the mighty dying, +A lonely shore in the midnight lying. +He lay as if he had laid him to sleep, +And the stars above him their watch did keep; +And the mournful wind with the dreamy sigh, +The homeless wanderer of the sky, +Was the only attendant whose gentle breath +Soothed him yet on the couch of death; +And the dying waves of the heedless sea +Fell at his feet most listlessly. + +But he lay in peace, with his solemn eye +Looking far through the mists of futurity. +A smile gleamed over the death-dew that lay +On his withered cheek as life ebbed away. +A darkness lay on his forehead vast; +But the light of expectancy o'er it was cast,-- +A light that shone from the coming day, +Travelling unseen to the East away. +In his cloudy robes that lay shadowing wide, +I stretched myself motionless by his side; +And his eyes with their calm, unimpassioned power, +Soothing my heart like an evening shower, +Led in a spectral, far-billowing train, +The hours of the Past through my spirit again. + +There were fears of evil whose stony eyes +Froze joy in its gushing melodies. +Some floated afar on thy tranquil wave, +And the heart looked up from its search for a grave; +While others as guests to the bosom came, +And left its wild children more sorrow, less shame; +For the death-look parts from their chilling brow, +And they bless the heads that before them bow; +And floating away in the far-off gloom. +Thankfulness follows them to their tomb. +There were Hopes that found not a place to rest +Their foot 'mid the rush of all-ocean's breast; +And home to the sickening heart flew back, +But changed into sorrows upon their track; +And through the moan of the darkening sea +Bearing no leaf from the olive-tree. +There were joys that looked forth with their maiden eyes, +And smiled, and were gone, with a sad surprise; +And the Love of the Earthly, whose beauteous form +Beckoned me on through sunshine and storm; +But when the bounding heart sprang high, +Meeting her smile with a speechless sigh, +The arms sunk home with a painful start, +Clasping a vacancy to the heart. + +And the voice of the dying I seem to hear +But whether his breathing is in mine ear, +Or the sounds of the breaking billows roll +The lingering accents upon my soul, +I know not; but thus they seem to bear +Reproof to my soul for its faint despair:-- +Blame not life, it is scarce begun; +Blame not mankind, thyself art one. +And change is holy, oh! blame it never; +Thy soul shall live by its changing ever; +Not the bubbling change of a stagnant pool, +But the change of a river, flowing and full; +Where all that is noble and good will grow +Mightier still as the full tides flow; +Till it joins the hidden, the boundless sea, +Rolling through depths of Eternity. +Blame not thy thought that it cannot reach +That which the Infinite must teach; +Bless thy God that the Word came nigh +To guide thee home to thy native sky, +Where all things are homely and glorious too, +And the children are wondering, and glad, and true. + +And he pointed away to an Eastern star, +That gleamed through his robes o'er the ocean afar; +And I knew that a star had looked o'er the rim +Of my world that lay all dreary and dim; +And was slowly dissolving the darkness deep +Which, like evil nurse, had soothed me to sleep; +And rising higher, and shining clearer, +Would draw the day-spring ever nearer, +Till the sunshine of God burst full on the morn, +And every hill and valley would start +With the joy of light and new gratitude born +To Him who had led me home to His heart; +And all things that lived in my world within +With the gladness of tears to His feet come in; +And the false Self be banished with fiends to dwell +In the gloomiest haunts of his native hell; +And Pride, that ruled like a god above, +Be trod 'neath the feet of triumphant Love. + +And again he pointed across the sea, +And another vision arose in me: +And I knew I walked an ocean of fear, +Yet of safety too, for the Master was near; +And every wave of sorrow or dread, +O'er which strong faith should upraise my head, +Would show from the height of its troubled crest +Still nearer and nearer the Land of Rest. +And when the storm-spray on the wind should arise, +And with tears unbidden should blind mine eyes, +And hide from my vision the Home of Love, +I knew I must look to the star above, +And the mists of Passion would quickly flee, +And the storm would faint to serenity. + +And again it seemed as if words found scope, +The sorrowing words of a farewell Hope: +"I will meet thee again in that deathless land, +Whenever thy foot shall imprint the strand; +And the loveliest things that have here been mine, +Shall there in eternal beauty shine; +For there I shall live and never die, +Part of a glorious Eternity; +For the death of Time is _To be forgot,_ +And I go where oblivion entereth not." + +He was dead. He had gone to the rest of his race, +With a sad smile frozen upon his face. +Deadness clouded his eyes. And his death-bell rung, +And my sorrowing thoughts his low requiem sung; +And with trembling steps his worn body cast +In the wide charnel-house of the dreary Past. +Thus met the noble Old Year his end: +Rest him in peace, for he was my friend. + +As my thoughts returned from their wandering, +A voice in my spirit was lingering; +And its sounds were like Spring's first breeze's hum, +When the oak-leaves fall, and the young leaves come: + +Time dieth ever, is ever born: +On the footsteps of night so treadeth the morn; +Shadow and brightness, death and birth, +Chasing each other o'er the round earth. +But the spirit of Time from his tomb is springing, +The dust of decay from his pinions flinging; +Ever renewing his glorious youth, +Scattering around him the dew of Truth. +Oh, let it raise in the desert heart +Fountains and flowers that shall never depart! +This spirit will fill us with thought sublime; +For the _End of God_ is the spirit of Time. + + + + +A SONG IN A DREAM. + + +I dreamed of a song, I heard it sung; +In the ear that sleeps not its music rung. +And the tones were upheld by harmonies deep, +Where the spirit floated; yea, soared, on their sweep +With each wild unearthly word and tone, +Upward, it knew not whither bound, +In a calm delirium of mystic sound-- +Up, where the Genius of Thought alone +Loveth in silence to drink his fill +Of dews that from unknown clouds distil. +A woman's voice the deep echoes awoke, +In the caverns and solitudes of my soul; +But such a voice had never broke +Through the sea of sounds that about us roll, +Choking the ear in the daylight strife. +There was sorrow and triumph, and death and life +In each chord-note of that prophet-song, +Blended in one harmonious throng: +Such a chant, ere my voice has fled from death, +Be it mine to mould of the parting breath. + + + + +A THANKSGIVING. + + +I Thank Thee, boundless Giver, + That the thoughts Thou givest flow +In sounds that like a river + All through the darkness go. +And though few should swell the pleasure, + By sharing this my wine, +My heart will clasp its treasure, + This secret gift of Thine. + +My heart the joy inherits, + And will oft be sung to rest; +And some wandering hoping spirits + May listen and be blest. +For the sound may break the hours + In a dark and gloomy mood, +As the wind breaks up the bowers + Of the brooding sunless wood. + +For every sound of gladness + Is a prophet-wind that tells +Of a summer without sadness, + And a love without farewells; +And a heart that hath no ailing, + And an eye that is not dim, +And a faith that without failing + Shall be complete in Him. + +And when my heart is mourning, + The songs it lately gave, +Back to their fount returning, + Make sweet the bitter wave; +And forth a new stream floweth, + In sunshine winding fair; +And through the dark wood goeth + Glad laughter on the air. + +For the heart of man that waketh, + Yet hath not ceased to dream, +Is the only fount that maketh + The sweet and bitter stream. +But the sweet will still be flowing + When the bitter stream is dry, +And glad music only going + On the breezes of the sky. + +I thank Thee, boundless Giver, + That the thoughts Thou givest flow +In sounds that like a river + All through the darkness go. +And though few should swell the pleasure + By sharing this my wine, +My heart will clasp its treasure, + This secret gift of Thine. + + + + +THE GOSPEL WOMEN. + + + +I. + +THE MOTHER MARY. + + +1. + +Mary, to thee the heart was given + For infant hand to hold, +Thus clasping, an eternal heaven, + The great earth in its fold. + +He seized the world with tender might, + By making thee his own; +Thee, lowly queen, whose heavenly height + Was to thyself unknown. + +He came, all helpless, to thy power, + For warmth, and love, and birth; +In thy embraces, every hour, + He grew into the earth. + +And thine the grief, O mother high, + Which all thy sisters share, +Who keep the gate betwixt the sky + And this our lower air; + +And unshared sorrows, gathering slow; + New thoughts within thy heart, +Which through thee like a sword will go, + And make thee mourn apart. + +For, if a woman bore a son + That was of angel brood, +Who lifted wings ere day was done, + And soared from where he stood; + +Strange grief would fill each mother-moan, + Wild longing, dim, and sore: +"My child! my child! he is my own, + And yet is mine no more!" + +And thou, O Mary, years on years, + From child-birth to the cross, +Wast filled with yearnings, filled with fears, + Keen sense of love and loss. + +His childish thoughts outsoared thy reach; + His childish tenderness +Had deeper springs than act or speech + To eye or ear express. + +Strange pangs await thee, mother mild! + A sorer travail-pain, +Before the spirit of thy child + Is born in thee again. + +And thou wilt still forbode and dread, + And loss be still thy fear, +Till form be gone, and, in its stead, + The very self appear. + +For, when thy Son hath reached his goal, + His own obedient choice, +Him thou wilt know within thy soul, + And in his joy rejoice. + + +2. + +Ah, there He stands! With wondering face + Old men surround the boy; +The solemn looks, the awful place, + Restrain the mother's joy. + +In sweet reproach her joy is hid; + Her trembling voice is low, +Less like the chiding than the chid: + "How couldst Thou leave us so?" + +Ah, mother! will thy heart mistake, + Depressed by rising fear, +The answering words that gently break + The silence of thine ear? + +"Why sought ye me? Did ye not know + My father's work I do?" +Mother, if He that work forego, + Not long He cares for you. + +"Why sought ye me?" Ah, mother dear! + The gulf already opes, +That soon will keep thee to thy fear, + And part thee from thy hopes. + +A greater work He hath to do, + Than they can understand; +And therefore mourn the loving few, + With tears throughout the land. + + +3. + +The Lord of life beside them rests; + They quaff the merry wine; +They do not know, those wedding guests, + The present power divine. + +Believe, on such a group He smiled, + Though He might sigh the while; +Believe not, sweet-souled Mary's child + Was born without a smile. + +He saw the pitchers high upturned, + The last red drops to pour; +His mother's cheek with triumph burned, + And expectation wore. + +He knew the prayer her bosom housed, + He read it in her eyes. +Her hopes in Him sad thoughts have roused, + Before her words arise. + +"They have no wine," the mother said, + And ceased while scarce begun; +Her eyes went on, "Lift up thy head, + Show what Thou art, my Son!" + +A vision rose before his eyes, + The cross, the early tomb, +The people's rage, the darkened skies, + His unavoided doom. + +"Ah, woman-heart! what end is set + Common to thee and me? +My hour of honour is not yet,-- + 'Twill come too soon for thee." + +And yet his eyes so sweetly shined, + His voice so gentle grew, +The mother knew the answer kind-- + "Whate'er He sayeth, do." + +The little feast more joyous grew, + Fast flowed the grapes divine; +Though then, as now, not many knew + Who made the water wine. + + +4. + +"He is beside himself," they said; + His days, so lonely spent, +Him from the well-known path have led + In which our fathers went." + +"Thy mother seeks thee." Cried aloud, + The message finds its way; +He stands within, amidst a crowd, + She in the open day. + +A flush of light o'erspreads his face, + And pours from forth his eyes; +He lifts that head, the home of grace, + Looks round Him, and replies. + +"My mother? brothers? who are they?" + Hearest thou, Mary mild? +This is a sword that well may slay-- + Disowned by thy child! + +Not so. But, brothers, sisters, hear! + What says our human Lord? +O mother, did it wound thy ear? + We thank Him for the word. + +"Who are my friends?" Oh! hear Him say, + And spread it far and broad. +"My mother, sisters, brothers, they + Who keep the word of God." + +_My brother!_ Lord of life and me, + I am inspired with this! +Ah! brother, sister, this must be + Enough for all amiss. + +Yet think not, mother, He denies, + Or would thy claim destroy; +But glad love lifts more loving eyes + To Him who made the joy. + +Oh! nearer Him is nearer thee: + With his obedience bow, +And thou wilt rise with heart set free, + Yea, twice his mother now. + + +5. + +The best of life crowds round its close, + To light it from the door; +When woman's art no further goes, + She weeps, and loves the more. + +Howe'er she doubted, in his life, + And feared his mission's loss, +The mother shares the awful strife, + And stands beside the cross. + +Mother, the hour of tears is past; + The sword hath reached thy soul; +No veil of swoon is round thee cast, + No darkness hides the whole. + +Those are the limbs which thou didst bear; + Thy arms, they were his rest; +And now those limbs the irons tear, + And hold Him from thy breast. + +He speaks. With torturing joy the sounds + Drop burning on thine ear; +The mother-heart, though bleeding, bounds + Her dying Son to hear. + +Ah! well He knew that not alone + The cross of pain could tell; +That griefs as bitter as his own + Around it heave and swell. + +And well He knew what best repose + Would bring a true relief: +He gave, each to the other, those + Who shared a common grief. + +"Mother, behold thy son. O friend, + My mother take for thine." +"Ah, son, he loved thee to the end." + "Mother, what honour mine!" + +Another son instead, He gave, + Her crying heart to still. +For him, He went down to the grave, + Doing his Father's will. + + + + +II. + +THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD. + + +She says within: "It is a man, + A man of mother born; +She is a woman--I am one, + Alive this holy morn." + +Filled with his words that flow in light, + Her heart will break or cry: +A woman's cry bursts forth in might + Of loving agony. + +"Blessed the womb, Thee, Lord, that bore! + The breast where Thou hast fed!" +Storm-like those words the silence tore, + Though words the silence bred. + +He ceases, listens to the cry, + And knows from whence it springs; +A woman's heart that glad would die + For this her best of things. + +Yet there is better than the birth + Of such a mighty son; +Better than know, of all the earth + Thyself the chosen one. + +"Yea, rather, blessed they that hear, + And keep the word of God." +The voice was gentle, not severe: + No answer came abroad. + + + + +III. + +THE MOTHER OP ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN. + + +Ah mother! for thy children bold, + But doubtful of thy quest, +Thou begg'st a boon ere it be told, + Avoiding wisdom's test. + +Though love is strong to bring thee nigh, + Ambition makes thee doubt; +Ambition dulls the prophet-eye; + It casts the unseen out. + +Not that in thousands he be one, + Uplift in lonely state-- +Seek great things, mother, for thy son, + Because the things are great. + +For ill to thee thy prayers avail, + If granted to thy will; +Ill which thy ignorance would hail, + Or good thou countedst ill. + +Them thou wouldst see in purple pride, + Worshipped on every hand; +Their honours mighty but to hide + The evil of the land. + +Or wouldst thou thank for granted quest, + Counting thy prayer well heard, +If of the three on Calvary's crest + They shared the first and third? + +Let them, O mother, safety win; + They are not safe with thee; +Thy love would shut their glory in; + His love would set it free. + +God keeps his thrones for men of strength, + Men that are fit to rule; +Who, in obedience ripe at length, + Have passed through all his school. + +Yet higher than thy love can dare, + His love thy sons would set: +They who his cup and baptism share + May share his kingdom yet. + + + + +IV. + +THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN. + + +"Bestow her prayer, and let her go; + She crieth after us." +Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; + Help not a woman thus. + +Their pride, by condescension fed, + He speaks with truer tongue: +"It is not meet the children's bread + Should to the dogs be flung." + +She, too, shall share the hurt of good, + Her spirit, too, be rent, +That these proud men their evil mood + May see, and so repent. + +And that the hidden faith in her + May burst in soaring flame, +From childhood truer, holier, + If birthright not the same. + +If for herself had been her prayer, + She might have turned away; +But oh! the woman-child she bare + Was now the demon's prey. + +She crieth still; gainsays no words + Contempt can hurt withal; +The daughter's woe her strength affords, + And woe nor strength is small. + +Ill names, of proud religion born, + She'll wear the worst that comes; +Will clothe her, patient, in their scorn, + To share the healing crumbs. + +And yet the tone of words so sore + The words themselves did rue; +His face a gentle sadness wore, + As if He suffered too. + +Mother, thy agony of care + He justifies from ill; +Thou wilt not yield?--He grants the prayer + In fullness of _thy_ will. + +Ah Lord! if I my hope of weal + Upon thy goodness built, +Thy will perchance my will would seal, + And say: _Be it as thou wilt._ + + + + +V. + +THE WIDOW OF NAIN. + + +Away from living man's abode + The tides of sorrow sweep, +Bearing a dead man on the road + To where the weary sleep. + +And down the hill, in sunny state, + Glad footsteps troop along; +A noble figure walks sedate, + The centre of the throng. + +The streams flow onward, onward flow, + Touch, waver, and are still; +And through the parted crowds doth go, + Before the prayer, the will. + +"Weep not, O mother! Young man, rise!" + The bearers hear and stay; +Up starts the form; wide flash the eyes; + With gladness blends dismay. + +The lips would speak, as if they caught + Some converse sudden broke, +When echoing words the dead man sought, + And Hades' silence woke. + +The lips would speak. The eyes' wild stare + Gives place to ordered sight; +The low words die upon the air-- + The soul is dumb with light. + +He brings no news; he has forgot; + Or saw with vision weak: +Thou seest all our unseen lot, + And yet thou dost not speak. + +It may be as a mother keeps + A secret gift in store; +Which if he knew, the child that sleeps, + That night would sleep no more. + +Oh, thine are all the hills of gold! + Yet gold Thou gavest none; +Such gifts would leave thy love untold-- + The widow clasps her son. + +No word of hers hath left a trace + Of uttered joy or grief; +Her tears alone have found a place + Upon the holy leaf. + +Oh, speechless sure the widow's pain, + To lose her only boy! +Speechless the flowing tides again + Of new-made mother's joy! + +Life is triumphant. Joined in one + The streams flow to the gate; +Death is turned backward to the sun, + And Life is hailed our Fate. + + + + +VI. + +THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND. + + +For eighteen years, O patient soul, + Thine eyes have sought thy grave; +Thou seest not thy other goal, + Nor who is nigh to save. + +Thou nearest gentle words that wake + Thy long-forgotten strength; +Thou feelest tender hands that break + The iron bonds at length. + +Thou knowest life rush swift along + Thy form bent sadly low; +And up, amidst the wondering throng + Thou risest firm and slow, + +And seest him. Erect once more + In human right divine, +Joyous thou bendest yet before + The form that lifted thine. + +O Saviour, Thou, long ages gone, + Didst lift her joyous head: +Now, many hearts are moaning on, + And bending towards the dead. + +They see not, know not Thou art nigh: + One day thy word will come; +Will lift the forward-beaming eye, + And strike the sorrow dumb. + +Thy hand wipes off the stains of time + Upon the withered face; +Thy old men rise in manhood's prime + Of dignity and grace. + +Thy women dawn like summer days + Old winters from among; +Their eyes are filled with youthful rays, + The voice revives in song. + +All ills of life will melt away + Like cureless dreams of woe, +When with the dawning of the day + Themselves the sad dreams go. + +O Lord, Thou art my saviour too: + I know not what my cure; +But all my best, Thou, Lord, wilt do; + And hoping I endure. + + + + +VII. + +THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD. + + +Near him she stole, rank after rank; + She feared approach too loud; +She touched his garment's hem, and shrank + Back in the sheltering crowd. + +A trembling joy goes through her frame: + Her twelve years' fainting prayer +Is heard at last; she is the same + As other women there. + +She hears his voice; He looks about. + Ah! is it kind or good +To bring her secret sorrow out + Before that multitude? + +With open love, not secret cure, + The Lord of hearts would bless; +With age-long gladness, deep and sure, + With wealth of tenderness. + +Her shame can find no shelter meet; + Their eyes her soul appal: +Forward she sped, and at his feet + Fell down, and told Him all. + +His presence made a holy place; + No alien eyes were there; +Her shamed-faced grief found godlike grace; + More sorrow, tenderer care. + +"Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; + Go, and be well, and glad." +Ah, Lord! if we had faith, our soul + Not often would be sad. + +Thou knowest all our hidden grief + Which none but Thee can know; +Thy knowledge, Lord, is our relief; + Thy love destroys our woe. + + + + +VIII. + +THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES. + + +Here _much_ and _little_ change their name + With changing need and time; +But _more_ and _less_ new judgments claim, + Where all things are sublime. + +Sickness may be more hale than health, + And service kingdom high; +Yea, poverty be bounty's wealth, + To give like God thereby. + +Bring forth your riches,--let them go, + Nor mourn the lost control; +For if ye hoard them, surely so + Their rust will reach your soul. + +Cast in your coins; for God delights + When from wide hands they fall; +But here is one who brings two mites, + "And yet gives more than all." + +She heard not, she, the mighty praise; + Went home to care and need: +Perchance the knowledge still delays, + And yet she has the meed. + + + + +IX. + +THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM. + + +They give Him freely all they can, + They give Him clothes and food; +In this rejoicing, that the Man + Is not ashamed they should. + +Enough He labours for his hire; + Yea, nought can pay his pain; +The sole return He doth require + Is strength to toil again. + +And this, embalmed in truth, they bring, + By love received as such; +Their little, by his welcoming, + Transformed into much. + + + + +X. + +PILATE'S WIFE. + + +Strangely thy whispered message ran, + Almost in form behest! +Why came in dreams the low-born man + To part thee from thy rest? + +It may be that some spirit fair, + Who knew not what must be, +Fled in the anguish of his care + For help for him to thee. + +But rather would I think thee great; + That rumours upward went, +And pierced the palisades of state + In which thy rank was pent; + +And that a Roman matron thou, + Too noble for thy spouse, +The far-heard grandeur must allow, + And sit with pondering brows. + +And so thy maidens' gathered tale + For thee with wonder teems; +Thou sleepest, and the prisoner pale + Returneth in thy dreams. + +And thou hast suffered for his sake + Sad visions all the night: +One day thou wilt, then first awake, + Rejoice in his dear light. + + + + +XI. + +THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA. + + +The empty pitcher to the pool + She bore in listless mood: +In haste she turned; the pitcher full + Beside the water stood. + +To her was heard the age's prayer: + He sat upon the brink; +Weary beside the waters fair, + And yet He could not drink. + +He begged her help. The woman's hand + Was ready to reply; +From out the old well of the land + She drew Him plenteously. + +He spake as never man before; + She stands with open ears; +He spoke of holy days in store, + Laid bare the vanished years. + +She cannot grapple with her heart, + Till, in the city's bound, +She cries, to ease the joy-born smart, + "I have the Master found." + +Her life before was strange and sad; + Its tale a dreary sound: +Ah! let it go--or good or bad, + She has the Master found. + + + + +XII. + +MARY MAGDALENE. + + +With eyes aglow, and aimless zeal, + Throughout the land she goes; +Her tones, her motions, all reveal + A mind without repose. + +She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea, + By madness tortured, driven; +One hour's forgetfulness would be + A gift from very heaven. + +The night brings sleep, the sleep distress; + The torture of the day +Returns as free, in darker dress, + In more secure dismay. + +No soft-caressing, soothing palm + Her confidence can raise; +No eye hath loving force to calm + And draw her answering gaze. + +He comes. He speaks. A light divine + Dawns gracious in thy soul; +Thou seest love and order shine,-- + His health will make thee whole. + +One wrench of pain, one pang of death, + And in a faint delight, +Thou liest, waiting for new breath, + For morning out of night. + +Thou risest up: the earth is fair, + The wind is cool and free; +As when a dream of mad despair + Dissolves in ecstasy. + +And, pledge of life and future high, + Thou seest the Master stand; +The life of love is in his eye, + Its power is in his hand. + +What matter that the coming time + Will stain thy virgin name; +Attribute thy distress to crime + The worst for woman-fame; + +Yea, call that woman Magdalen, + Whom slow-reviving grace +Turneth at last from evil men + To seek the Father's face. + +What matters it? The night is gone; + Right joyous shines the sun; +The same clear sun that always shone + Ere sorrow had begun. + +Oh! any name may come and bide, + If he be well content +To see not seldom by his side + Thy head serenely bent. + +Thou, sharing in the awful doom, + Wilt help thy Lord to die; +And, mourning o'er his empty tomb, + First share his victory. + + + + +XIII. + +THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE. + + +A still dark joy. A sudden face, + Cold daylight, footsteps, cries; +The temple's naked, shining space, + Aglare with judging eyes. + +With all thy wild abandoned hair, + And terror-pallid lips, +Thy blame unclouded to the air, + Thy honour in eclipse; + +Thy head, thine eyes droop to the ground, + Thy shrinking soul to hide; +Lest, at its naked windows found, + Its shame be all descried. + +Another shuts the world apart, + Low bending to the ground; +And in the silence of his heart, + Her Father's voice will sound. + +He stoops, He writes upon the ground, + From all those eyes withdrawn; +The awful silence spreads around + In that averted dawn. + +With guilty eyes bent downward still, + With guilty, listless hands, +All idle to the hopeless will, + She, scorn-bewildered, stands. + +Slow rising to his manly height, + Fronting the eager eyes, +The righteous Judge lifts up his might, + The solemn voice replies: + +(What, woman! does He speak for thee? + For thee the silence stir?) +"Let him who from this sin is free, + Cast the first stone at her!" + +Upon the death-stained, ashy face, + The kindling blushes glow: +No greater wonder sure had place + When Lazarus forth did go! + +Astonished, hopeful, growing sad, + The wide-fixed eyes arose; +She saw the one true friend she had, + Who loves her though He knows. + +Sick womanhood awakes and cries, + With voiceless wail replete. +She looks no more; her softening eyes + Drop big drops at her feet. + +He stoops. In every charnel breast + Dead conscience rises slow. +They, dumb before the awful guest, + Turn one by one, and go. + +They are alone. The silence dread + Closes and deepens round. +Her heart is full, her pride is dead; + No place for fear is found. + +Hath He not spoken on her side? + Those cruel men withstood? +Even her shame she would not hide-- + Ah! now she _will_ be good. + +He rises. They are gone. But, lo! + She standeth as before. +"Neither do I condemn thee; go, + And sin not any more." + +She turned and went. The veil of tears + Fell over what had been; +Her childhood's dawning heaven appears, + And kindness makes her clean. + +And all the way, the veil of tears + Flows from each drooping lid; +No face she sees, no voice she hears, + Till in her chamber hid. + +And then returns one voice, one face, + A presence henceforth sure; +The living glory of the place, + To keep that chamber pure. + +Ah, Lord! with all our faults we come,-- + With love that fails to ill; +With Thee are our accusers dumb, + With Thee our passions still. + +Ah! more than father's holy grace + Thy lips and brow afford; +For more than mother's tender face + We come to Thee, O Lord! + + + + +XIV. + +MARTHA. + + +With joyful pride her heart is great: + Her house, in all the land, +Holds Him who conies, foretold by fate, + With prophet-voice and hand. + +True, he is poor and lowly born: + Her woman-soul is proud +To know and hail the coming morn + Before the eyeless crowd. + +At her poor table will He eat? + He shall be served there +With honour and devotion meet + For any king that were. + +'T is all she can; she does not fail; + Her holy place is his: +The place within the purple veil + In the great temple is. + +But many crosses she must bear, + Straight plans are sideways bent; +Do all she can, things will not wear + The form of her intent. + +With idle hands, by Him unsought, + Her sister sits at rest; +'Twere better sure she rose, and wrought + Some service for their guest. + +She feels a wrong. The feeling grows, + As other cares invade: +Strong in her right, at last she goes + To claim her sister's aid. + +Ah, Martha! one day thou like her, + Or here, or far beyond, +Will sit as still, lest, but to stir, + Should break the charmed bond. + + + + +XV. + +MARY. + + +1. + +She sitteth at the Master's feet + In motionless employ; +Her ears, her heart, her soul complete + Drinks in the tide of joy. + +She is the Earth, and He the Sun; + He shineth forth her leaves; +She, in new life from darkness won, + Gives back what she receives. + +Ah! who but she the glory knows + Of life, pure, high, intense; +Whose holy calm breeds awful shows, + Transfiguring the sense! + +The life in voice she drinks like wine; + The Word an echo found; +Her ear the world, where Thought divine + Incarnate was in sound. + +Her holy eyes, brimful of light, + Shine all unseen and low; +As if the radiant words all night + Forth at those orbs would go. + +The opening door reveals a face + Of anxious household state: +"Car'st thou not, Master, for my case, + That I alone should wait?" + +Heavy with light, she lifts those eyes + To Him who calmly heard; +Ready that moment to arise, + And go, before the word. + +Her fear is banished by his voice, + Her fluttering hope set free: +"The needful thing is Mary's choice, + She shall remain with me." + +Oh, joy to every doubting heart, + Doing the thing it would, +If He, the Holy, take its part, + And call its choice the good! + + +2. + +Not now as then his words are poured + Into her lonely ears; +But many guests are at the board, + And many tongues she hears. + +With sacred foot she cometh slow, + With daring, trembling tread; +With shadowing worship bendeth low + Above the godlike head. + +The sacred chrism in snowy stone + A gracious odour sends. +Her little hoard, so slowly grown, + In one full act she spends. + +She breaks the box, the honoured thing! + The ointment pours amain; +Her priestly hands anoint her King, + And He shall live and reign. + +They called it waste. Ah, easy well! + Their love they could endure; +For her, her heart did ache and swell, + That she forgot the poor. + +She meant it for the coming crown; + He took it for the doom; +And his obedience laid Him down, + Crowned in the quiet tomb. + + + + +XVI. + +THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER + + +She washes them with sorrow sweet, + She wipes them with her hair; +Her kisses soothe the weary feet, + To all her kisses bare. + +The best of woman, beauty's crown, + She spends upon his feet; +Her eyes, her lips, her hair, flung down, + In one devotion meet. + +His face, his words, her heart had woke. + She judged Him well, in sooth: +Believing Him, her bonds she broke, + And fled to Him for truth. + +His holy manhood's perfect worth + Redeems the woman's ill: +Her thanks intense to Him burn forth, + Who owns her woman still. + +And so, in kisses, ointment, tears, + And outspread lavish hair, +An earnest of the coming years, + Ascends her thankful prayer. + +If Mary too her hair did wind + The holy feet around; +Such tears no virgin eyes could find, + As this sad woman found. + +And if indeed his wayworn feet + With love she healed from pain; +This woman found the homage meet, + And taught it her again. + +The first in grief, ah I let her be, + And love that springs from woe; +Woe soothed by Him more tenderly + That sin doth make it flow. + +Simon, such kisses will not soil; + Her tears are pure as rain; +Her hair--'tis Love unwinds the coil, + Love and her sister Pain. + +If He be kind, for life she cares; + A light lights up the day; +She to herself a value bears, + Not yet a castaway. + +And evermore her heart arose, + And ever sank away; +For something crowned Him o'er her woes, + More than her best could say. + +Rejoice, sweet sisters, holy, pure, + Who hardly know her case: +There is no sin but has its cure, + But finds its answering grace. + +Her heart, although it sinned and sank, + Rose other hearts above: +Bless her, dear sisters, bless and thank, + For teaching how to love. + +He from his own had welcome sad-- + "Away with him," said they; +Yet never lord or poet had + Such homage in his day. + +Ah Lord! in whose forgiveness sweet, + Our life becomes intense! +We, brothers, sisters, crowd thy feet-- + Ah! make no difference. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Hidden Life and Other Poems, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HIDDEN LIFE AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 10578.txt or 10578.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/7/10578/ + +Produced by Tim Rowe, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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