POEMS AND NOVELS BY ROBERT BUCHANAN
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LADY KILPATRICK.
THE MARTYRDOM OF MADELINE.
LOVE ME FOR EVER.
ANNAN WATER.
THE NEW ABELARD.
FOXGLOVE MANOR.
RACHEL DENE.
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THE MASTER OF THE MINE.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
WOMAN AND THE MAN.
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THE
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
OF
ROBERT BUCHANAN
VOL. II.
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARK
LONDON
Photo. Barraud, London
THE
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
OF
ROBERT BUCHANAN
IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II.
WITH A PORTRAIT
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1901
100
88H244
Contents.
THE EARTHQUAKE.
(1885.)
PAGE
DEDICATION : AD MATREM . . . i
PRELUDE : THE EXODUS OF LADY BARBARA 2
THE FIRST DAY : 9
JULIA CYTHEREA : A LEGEND OF THE
RENAISSANCE 10
PAN AT HAMPTON COURT ... 19
' RIZPAH-MADONNA' . . . . 24
THE SECOND DAY : 25
SERAPION
RAMON MONAT ....
IN A FASHIONABLE CHURCH .
'STORM IN THE NIGHT'
THE THIRD DAY : .
THE VOYAGE OF MAGELLAN
SOLILOQUY OF THE GRAND ETRE
' O MARINERS' ....
INTERLUDE : To H .
THE CITY OF DREAM.
(1888.)
DEDICATION
ARGUMENT
I. SETTING FORTH
II. STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS .
III. EGLANTINE .
IV. WITHIN CHRISTOPOLIS
V. WITHIN THE GATE . . ,
VI. THE CALVARIES .
VII. THE WAYSIDE INN .
VIII. THE OUTCAST, ESAU .
IX. THE GROVES OF FAUN .
X. THE AMPHITHEATRE .
XI. THE VALLEY OF DEAD GODS
XII. THE INCONCEIVABLE .
XIII. THE OPEN WAY .
XIV. THE CITY WITHOUT GOD .
XV. THE CELESTIAL OCEAN .
L'ENVOI
52
53
53
61
68
73
79
84
89
95
105
114
119
INDEX TO THE SONGS.
Jesus of Nazareth 66
Mary Magdalen . . . .67
' O child, where wilt thou rest ? ' . . 71
' Come again, come back to me ' . So
' I have sought Thee, and not found
Thee' 93
PAGE
Proserpine 94
Song of Esau 98
Kiss, dream, and die ! ' . . . 106
Black is the night, but blacker my
despair' . . . . . 122
Dead man, clammy, cold, and white ' 123
Hark! I am call'd away ' . . . 127
Little herd-boy, sitting there ' . . 128
I am lifted on the wind ' . . . 133
The woof that I weave not ' . .133
Pleasant blows the growing grain ' . 135
Forget not me ' . . . .158
THE OUTCAST.
(1891.)
AD CARISSIMAM PUELLAM . ... 161
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE . . .162
MADONNA 171
THE FIRST HAVEN 177
INTERLUDE 201
FIDES AMANTIS 205
THE WANDERING JEW.
(1893.) . . . . 206
THE DEVILS CASE.
(1894.)
DEDICATION 243
THE DEVIL'S CASE 243
THE LITANY : DE PROFUNDIS . . . 276
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE
y MOTHER.
(1897.)
' SHEPHERDS, WAKE, 'TIS CHRISTMAS-TIDE' 278
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER . 279
AD MADONNAM ....
A CATECHISM
ANTIPHONES 305
L'ENVOI 308
THE NEW ROME.
(1900.
3^0
302
PROEM : To DAVID IN HEAVEN
THE NEW ROME : A DIALOGUE
309
3"
CONTENTS.
SONGS OF EMPIRE.
CARMEN DEIFIC PAGE
I. ' The Lord goes marching on ' . . 316
II. ' Where is the glory that once was
Rome?' 316
III. '"How long, my love?" she
whispered ' 31
IV. ' Stand up, Ephemeron '. . . 317
V. ' If I were a God like you ' . . 31.
VI. ' A voice was heard in the night ' . 318
THE IMAGE IN THE FORUM . . . . 318
THE AUGURS
THE JEW PASSES 319
A SONG OF JUBILEE 320
THE MERCENARIES
I. Tommie Atkins 3 21
II. Nelson's Day 3 21
SONG OF THE SLAIN 322
THE CHARTER'D COMPANIE . . .322
THE BALLAD OF KIPLINGSON . . . 324
To OLIVE SCHREINER 325
THE DREAMER OF DREAMS . . . . 325
BE PITIFUL 326
MAN OF THE RED RIGHT HAND .
SONG OF THE FU^R-SEAL
GOD EVOLVING |
'PATRIOTISM'
THE GRAND OLD MAN .
'THE UNION '
'PEACE, NOT A SWORD'
' HARK NOW, WHAT FRETFUL VOICES '
THE IRISHMAN TO CROMWELL
THE WEARING OF THE GREEN .
VICTORY
Vox POPULI
Vox DEI
OLD ROME
THE LAST BIVOUAC
326
327
328
329
33
333
333
334
335
336
337
337
338
THROUGH THE GREAT CITY.
THE FAIRY QUEEN ....
THE LORDS OF THE BREAD .
LAST NIGHT
THE SPHINX
' THESE VOICES '
THE CRY FOR LIFE ....
SISTERS OF MIDNIGHT
THE LOST WOMEN
A MORNING INVOCATION .
To JUVENAL
LYDIA AT THE SAVOY ....
LESBIA (TO CATULLUS) ....
BICYCLE SONG
THE SHOWER
SERAPHINA SNOWE ....
MAETERLINCK
THE LAST CHRISTIANS
I. Storm in the Night
II. ' Hallelujah Jane ' .
III. 'Annie ;' or, the Waifs Jubilee
THE TRUE SONG OF FAIRYLAND
339
339
340
340
343
343
347
348
348
348
349
349
350
350
35i
354
355
356
360
363
LATTER-DAY GOSPELS.
PAGE
JUSTINIAN ; OR, THE NEW CREED . . 366
THE NEW BUDDHA 374
NIETZSCHE 380
THE LAST FAITH 380
AD CARISSIMAM AMICAM . . . . 382
LAND AND SEA SONGS.
SPRING SONG AFTER SNOW . . . . 383
ON THE SHORE 384
THE MERMAID 384
THE TRAMP'S DITTY 385
THE CRY FROM THE MINE . . . . 386
THE LEAD-MELTING 386
IN THE LIBRARY.
To A POET OF THE EMPIRE . . . . 387
THE GNOME 388
THE WHITE ROBE 391
CARLYLE 393
' MARK NOW, HOW CLOSE THEY ARE AKIN ' 394
ATYS 394
DOCTOR B 394
SOCRATES IN-CAMDEN .... 395
WALT WHITMAN 398
THE STORMY ONES 398
THE DISMAL THRONG 399
THE GIFT OF BURNS 401
THE ROBIN REDBREAST 402
To GEORGE BERNARD SHAW . . .403
THE SAD SHEPHERD 403
L'ENVOI IN THE LIBRARY .... 403
CORUISKEN SONNETS (LOCH CORUISK,
ISLE OF SKYE) 403
THE DEVIL'S SABBATH 405
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Two SONS 414
PAT MULDOON; OR, JACK THE GIANT-
KILLER UP TO DATE .... 414
THE WIDOW : A WAR SONG . . . . 417
THE BURIAL OF PARNELL . . . .418
THE GOOD PROFESSOR'S CREED . . . 420
A DEDICATION 421
COLONEL SHARK 421
THE FISHER BOY 425
THE DUMB BAIRN 426
PROEM TO ' THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD ' 428
PROEM TO 'Goo AND THE MAN' . . 429
PROEM TO 'THE NEW ABELARD ' . . 430
PROEM TO 'THE MOMENT AFTER' . . 430
L'ENVOI : 'I END AS I BEGAN' . . .431
THE LAST CRY 432
The Earthquake.
(1885.)
DEDICATION: AD MATREM.
ONE deathless flame, one holy name,
One light that shines where'er I move,
Are thine, out of whose life I came,
Through whom I live and love.
Dearest, I knew thee ere I knew
Myself, and, stirring to thy breath,
From fountains of thy soul I drew
This soul discerning Death.
The light of sun and stars, the clear
Still air of yonder azure space,
The seas and sands of this green sphere,
That is my dwelling-place.
All form, all motion, all delight,
Fused in thy frame flash'd on to mine,
Grew quick, and woke to sense and sight,
And last, to Love divine !
A thousand gifts the green earth gives
Out of the fulness of her breast,
But she by whom one loves and lives
Is God's gift, and the best.
Fair type of tenderness and power,
Of Love whence all things sweetly flow,
Constant as God through every hour
Of happiness or woe,
My Mother, take the book I bring,
Sure of thy blessing on my brow !
This life of mine, these songs I sing,
Are thine, for they are thou !
Yea, they are thine, as they are his,
That other part of thee and me,
Who greeted with a father's kiss
The child upon thy knee.
He is not lost (or all were lost) ;
His voice ere long shall call us hence :
Unchanged he stands, though he has crost
The borderland of sense.
For God were as a drop of dew,
If individual love could fall
Back from the conscious type, whereto
It floweth, crowning all !
When yonder sun has ceased to shine
This earth subsist, those waters roll,
God shall preserve each breathing sign
Of Love's eternal soul ! . . . .
One deathless flame, one holy name,
One light that shines where'er I move,
Are thine, out of whose life I came,
Through whom I live and love !
ii.
Even as I utter'd in such wise
Thy praises, kneeling on my knee,
The Spirit with the pitiless eyes
Came up and gazed on thee !
He lingered long beside thy bed,
But hour by hour his face grew fair t
The greater Spirit overhead
Was list'ning to my prayer !
Ah yes ! He smiled on thee and me,
Our Father who is in the skies :
I felt His mercy I could see
His strange, still, tearless eyes !
I clasped thee to my aching heart,
I prayed till the dread Shape passed on
God heard my cry He did not part
The mother and the son !
THE EARTHQUAKE.
And all my pains and lonely fears
Trembled to rapturous hope, and lo !
In passionate prayer that broke to tears
I watch'd the Shadow go !
I asked for bread a stone was given ;
I asked for Fame men mock'd at me ;
I asked for Love my heart was riven
By man's worst cruelty.
I wander'd haunted and alone,
I sank in doubts from day to day ;
The snake Detraction crawl'd upon
The roof 'neath which I lay.
I rush'd into the world, and smote
The first proud foe that pass'd along ;
Then treachery fasten'd on my throat
And drained my soul of song.
Yet, dearest, thou wast one of three
Who watch'd beside me, white as snow :
More rich than any king could be
Was I, yet did not know !
Fool, to be clamouring for gold,
Wl^en I possess'd a wealth divine !
Fool, to ask praises from the cold
World, when the worlds were mine !
Fool, to go arm'd in hate and fear,
When Heaven itself broke blue above ;
Yea, thrice a fool, too deaf to hear
The still small voice of Love !
Three angels to my hearth were given
Margaret, Mary, Harriett
One watching waits in yonder heaven,
But two are with me yet.
Margaret with the mother's eyes,
The sad grey hair, the holy mien,
Walks by my side, while Mary lies
Under the kirkyard green.
[For darkness wrapt me like a cloud,
While the pale spirit men name Death
Came, with white lilies and a shroud,
And hush'd an angel's breath.]
And she, Love's youngest child divine,
Cloth'd on with radiance heavenly sweet,
Places her little hand in mine
And guides my faltering feet !
The earthly tumult fades away,
The waters sigh, the stars keep chime,
Rose-red the great celestial Day
Walks the waste waves of Time,
And so one thing at least is sure
Love, and the fountain whence it flows !
God keep me passionately pure
To drink its deep repose !
Bring me no laurel wreaths to deck
My brow, no gold in large increase ;
Twine loving arms around my neck,
And chain my soul to peace !
R. B,
Southend-on-Sea, Essex, May 1885.
PRELUDE.
That summer when the shocks of Earth-
quake came
Under the very streets of the Great City,
The Lady Barbara was the first to fly ;
Yet flew not far, but pausing with her train
At Ferndale Priory, on the banks of Tweed,
Sat in the sun and held her frighten' d court.
Now thus the thing befell. The first shock
came
At midnight, when the City partly slept,
But here and there, where lights of feast
were lit
And men and women circled in the dance,
A murmur like the very voice of God,
A rocking like the rocking of the Deep,
Came, and the revellers looked at one
another
In terror dumb as death ; a moment's space,
And all again was still, and haggard men
Question' d if it had only been a dream.
Next day the public journals blazed abroad
The nameless terror ; how at dead of night
A deep vibration like a thunder-crash,
Faint yet distinct, brief yet electrical,
Had run through London ; how some fiery
force,
Volcanic, geocentric, such as that
Which in the former time laid Lisbon low,
Had stirred the roots of that vast tree of
life,
The mighty City ; how the troubled Thames
Had risen like a serpent in the night,
And, shuddering, overflown its slimy
banks ;
How the dark streets were shaken, rocked,
and riven,
Above the sudden and mysterious swell
Of some dark subterranean sea of fire.
THE EXODUS OF LADY BARBARA.
With hand half- palsied from a nameless fear
The newsman nigh forgot his flowers of
speech,
Telling of columns tottering to the fall,
Of shattered dwellings and of broken panes,
Of sleepers wakening in the dead of night,
Their white beds surging like the waves o'
the sea !
At Limehouse, on the troubled river-side,
A factory had fallen ; farther east,
A narrow street had open'd to its sewers,
Just wide enough^ to show the seams of
stone,
While the black dwellings upon either side,
With fissured walls and crackling window-
panes,
Rock'd back from their foundations, but as
yet
Stood firm and fell not ; on the western
side
Of great St. Paul's, by folk descried at
dawn ,
A running crack like forked lightning ran
Strange as the fabled writing on the wall,
And, like that writing, ominous of doom.
Yet, for the rest, the City stood unscathed.
The Earthquake, like a monster lioness
Watching its victim, some poor helpless
lamb,
Having first stretched one cruel fatal claw
To strike it into terror, crouch'd unseen,
While through the affrighted victim's feeble
frame
Trembled mesmeric thrills of nameless fear
And dangerous expectation. All next day
The trouble and the hum of terror grew,
And when again the clouds of darkness fell,
Men feared to creep into their beds and
sleep,
Lest the dark Deep should open under them !
So many sat in vigil, listening
All through the solemn watches of the
night,
Which nevertheless passed by in starry
peace ;
And when the next night, and the next
again,
Went by in silence, London breath'd once
more,
The sounds of life once more grew jubilant,
And from their watch-towers and observa-
tories
The hierarchy of Science reassured
The trembling townsfolk, bade them cast
off fear,
Because the threat of doom had passed
away.
But on the fourth night, when the streets
were still,
Another throb from earth s fierce heart of
fire
Ran through the City with a thunder-
shock,
Though feebler than the first : once more
the Thames
Rose loudly sobbing and o'erswept its bed ;
Once more the streets and walls chattered
like teeth ;
Once more men wakened shuddering out
of sleep
With that dread sough of warning in their
ears !
Then preachers prophesied the end of all,
Doom, and the opening of the seventh
great seal ;
While in the lonely streets and crowded
lanes
The haggard folk clustered as thick as ants
Which feel the anthill crumbling underneath
Uprooted by the mole ; the palaces
Were empty of their regal butterflies ;
The parks and public squares were deso-
late,
The theatres abandoned to the dust,
And all glad sounds of merriment and
feast
Hushed in the princely dwellings of the
proud.
But in the city still, and in the marts
The lamps of commerce flickered timo-
rously ;
A few pale men still walked about on
'Change,
And in the darkened vaults of dusty banks
Gaunt slaves still guarded gold.
Then first of those
Who fled before the dark Cimmerian threat
Was that young wife whose delicate nether
limbs
Were brawly buskin'd with celestial blue
The Lady Barbara of Kensington.
Who doth not know our Barbara the
learned,
7HE EARTHQUAKE.
Flower of Midlothian and the agnostic
queen,
Who, full of culture to the finger tips,
A Scots earl's daughter, born 'neath
Arthur's Seat,
Young, bonnie, winsome, and a poetess,
Married the little Yankee millionaire,
And flitted from the North to Babylon ?
Her London mansion was the home of Art,
In style antique, with Argus on the walls
And "Salve" on the threshold of the
door ;
Her guests the very learned of the land
And every guest a lion great or small.
All through the season to her afternoons
The favourites of Fashion and the Muse,
The last great traveller in gorilla-land,
The newest painter or musician,
The poet latest found and most divine,
Flock'd, sure of worship and a cup of tea ;
But chiefly (for our Barbara, understand,
Was nothing if not philosophical !)
The modern savant and the scientist,
The students of the heavens and the earth,
Professors of all 'ologies and 'isms,
Found there a welcome ; there, in tongues
diverse
As those that puzzled Babel long ago,
They wrangled o'er the nebular theory,
The spectrum of the tail of the new comet
Just seen in Capricornus, Bastian's scheme
Of life's beginning. Nor the occult alone,
But every male or female wanderer
Out of the beaten highway of the creeds
Was gathered into Barbara's peaceful fold :
The castaway who had, in soul's despair,
His cassock lost, his prayer-book left i' the
hold,
Plunged overboard from that old ship the
Church, '
Now tossing water-logg'd amidst the storm ;
The Arian and the Unitarian,
The lady Medium, the Spiritualist,
The ^Esthetic, who, proclaiming Art for
Art,
Carving his God on his own handiwork,
Proves totem-worship not an empty dream.
But when the murmur of the Earthquake
came,
The teacup trembled in the scoffer's hand,
The wise looked foolish, and the lions ran
Lowing together like affrighted stirks
In that dread moment, he who faced the
Sphinx
And read annihilation in its eyes,
Who, from the cynosure of mastery,
Survey'd the conflict and the wreck of
worlds,
Saw suns grow dark like torches suddenly
Plunged hissing into water, and foretold,
With scientific equanimity,
The sure extinction of the human race,
Became as terror-stricken as a bairn
Who, waking suddenly at dead of night
To find the night-light out, begins to wail.
Then many named God's Judgment with a
sigh
Who thitherto had named it with a smile !
But ever fleet in feminine resolve,
And now made fleeter by a fluttering fear,
Our Barbara did not pause to think or pray,
But, followed by her folk and husband, fled
Back to her native Scotland, where she dwelt
In safety at the Priory, gathering
Faint rumours from the City far away.
Thence, when her fears had time for breath-
ing space,
And when no message of destruction came,
She issued to her chosen votaries
Sweet-scented missives in her own fair hand,
Bidding them, while the terror held the City,
To attend her Court of Learning, bright
and glad
As any mediaeval Court of Love,
In that fair dwelling on the banks of Tweed.
In flocks they came, the apostles of the
creeds,
Poets and painters and philosophers,
Teachers and preachers, lions, lionesses,
Long-haired aesthetes, long-winded scien-
tists ;
And since the Priory could not lodge them
all,
The inns and cottages around about
Were full of spectacled and bearded men,
Whose strange ways made the country
people gape
In wonder and in awe ; but every day
They gathered at the Priory, droning there
Like bees about their queen.
'Twas summer time.
The hills and vales had put their glory on,
And wandering' in Barbara's Paradise,
THE EXODUS OF LADY BARBARA.
-You would have thought the world as sweet
and safe
As on Creation's day. Fronting the south,
Upon the shoulder of a woody brae,
The broad and comely modern mansion
stood,
And pausing on its air-hung terraces
You saw beneath you on the river-side
The roofless ruin whence it took its name.
All round stretched park and pale, with
colonnades
Where the horse-chestnut spread its seven-
leafed fan
And broke to amber foam of waxen blooms
O'er deep green dells where dappled fallow
deer
Like restless shadows among shadows
moved ;
With ponds of silver, where with dripping
urn
The marble Naiad o'er her image hung,
Girt with the water-lily's oiled leaves ;
With sweeps of fronded fern and flowery
knolls
As full of twinkling ears and watchful
eyes
Coney and squirrel, doe and leveret
As any happy dell in Fairyland !
Beyond the woodland, sloping to the banks,
Were shaven lawns with flower-edged paths
between.
In midst of these, upon the river-side,
Clearly reflected in the running river,
The Priory ruins, roofless, windowless,
And thickly carpeted with emerald grass.
Here, where the uncut hair o' the grass
grows deep,
The summer light falls solemn and subdued,
While entering the mouldering roofless
walls,
Pencilled with golden moss and lichens grey
Where'er the night-black ivy doth not
crawl ,
You see the jackdaws in a cawing crowd,
Like spirits of the long-departed monks,
Rise from the topmost ruins clamorously
And flit against the azure patch of sky.
The world, the thought of man, dissolves
away,
And with a sea of stillness overhead
You walk in awe, even like a charmed man
Pacing the voiceless bottom of the Deep.
Crossing the ivy-hung refectory
You glide beneath a broad low porch of
stone,
And in a moment, ere you know it, pass
From shadow into sunlight, for you stand
Upon a terrace set with flowery urns
j Descending to the very water's brim.
i Upon that terrace, in the summer sheen,
I There stands the figure of a naked Faun,
' Goat-eared, goat-footed, playing on his
pipes
And smiling like the very Pan himself.
Straightway upon the ears (or so it seems)
i There comes the summer sound of singing
birds,
Of fountains falling, runlets murmuring,
Leaves rustling, wood and valley echoing
In joy primeval to that sylvan sound ;
And glancing back upon the Priory walls,
O'er which the jackdaws hover in a crowd,
You half expect to see the monks
appear,
Horned like satyrs, shouting, streaming
forth
To foot it to the merry pipes of Pan.
Upon this terrace sat, one summer day,
Our hostess, smiling 'neath her parasol
On troops of motley guests ; close to her
side
Three Graces, cousins, born in Annandale,
With country cheeks of strawberry and
cream ;
A little in the background, grimly pleased.
Cigar in mouth, straw hat upon his head,
Midas, her husband. Scattered here and
there,
Grouped on the flowery lawns and garden
seats,
In summer costumes brighter than the
flowers,
Or learned suits of philosophic black,
The fugitives from threaten'd Babylon ;
While in and out the Priory's ruin'd walls,
Like glad bees swarming in and out the
hive,
Throng'd others, garrulous as the busy
daws
Gossiping in the ivy overhead.
Some on the shining river rowed and sang,
Fluttering in shallops round the granite
stairs ;
Some promenaded, deep in learned talk ;
THE EARTHQUAKE.
While liveried lacqueys and trim serving
lasses
Moved here and there with baskets of ripe
fruit,
Clusters of grapes, and draughts of moun-
tain dew.
'Twas like a golden glimpse of Arcady
Painted by Watteau for a happy court,
With nymphs and satyrs neatly modern-
ised,
Shepherds and shepherdesses gaily dight
As shapes of Dresden china, bright and
clean.
The Priory in the background, dark and
grey
Against a sky of clear and burning gold,
And in the foreground such a sylvan view
Of winding water, fields of growing grain,
Clusters of woodland, knolls and bosky
bowers,
Melting away to dim blue heathery hills,
As made the place seem Arcady indeed !
Golden the prospect, earth and azure
heaven
Mingling their happy lights like Life and
Love,
And eyes that on the winding river gazed
Could scarce discern within those crystal
depths
Water from heaven, heaven from the
heavenly stream.
' What news from London ? ' Lady Barbara
cried
To one, a little dapper scientist,
Fresh from the train, who trotted to her seat
Shaking her small gloved hand ; and with
a smile
The new-comer replied, ' The City stands !
And though the streets and marts are
empty still
Of all save those who are over poor to fly,
Many believe the peril passed away.
This morning's journals say a shock was felt
On Thursday at Madrid ; if so, the fires
Whose fierce pulsations took us unaware,
Are running southward, back to warmer
zones,
Their tropic birthplace, near the heart of
Earth.'
1 Pray God it be so,' answer'd Barbara ;
Then turning 'neath her sunshade, she
resumed
Her converse with the group surrounding
her:
' Dear friends, you are right ! what scene,
howe'er so bonnie,
What country merriment, howe'er so merry,
Can compensate us children of the age
For London in the season ? I confess,
Though Scottish born and Edinboro' bred,
From boot to bonnet I'm a Londoner !
And even here with chosen friends around
I miss the mighty flow, the changeful
sound,
Of yon vast ocean of Humanity.
The canker-worm of Ennui gnaws the
heart
Of Pleasure's full-blown rose ! Come,
who'll devise
Some sport to fleet away the golden time?
Who'll lead our drowsy-headed idleness
In flowery fetters of some pleasant toil,
Until the Earthquake-Monster is appeased,
And gladly once again we enter in
Fashion's celestial gate ? '
Smiling she paused,
And for a space none answered ; but the air
Was filled with summer music, and we
heard,
Above the humming of the honey-bees
That flitted in and out the flowery knolls,
The black rooks sleepily cawing, and the
dove
Cooing clear answer from the Priory
woods ;
On a wild apple-tree that clung and
bloomed
High on the ruin'd walls, the blue-wing' d
jay
Flash' d screaming, and along the river-
side
The kingfisher, an azure ray, flew past.
Thus all things were alive with peaceful
joy:
The daedal Earth, bright faced and golden
hair'd,
With ample heaving bosom, sighed for
bliss,
Through half-closed eyelids blinking up at
heaven !
Then one said, 'As near Florence long
ago
Gallants and gentle dames that fled the
Plague
THE EXODUS OF LADY BARBARA.
Sat 'neath green boughs and passed the
golden time
In dainty tale-telling, that grew divine
On eloquent Boccaccio's honeyed tongue,
So let us here, to fleet the summer hours,
Tell tales of Mirth and Love and Love's
disdain !
Be thou our Queen of Love, let these thy
maids
Twine a green garland for the brows of
him
Whose tale beguiles the fever'd fancy
best ! '
' Alas ! ' said Barbara, sighing wearily,
1 The world is old and grey before its time ;
And that blind god, who used to run before
Its happy feet, and wave the golden torch,
Beckoning with smiles, now sits as Darwin's
ape
Upon its shoulder, whispering "Vanity ! '
Ours is no Court of Love for amorous
dames
And bonnie cavaliers ; hush d is Love's lyre,
Its poet dead, his cold hand on its strings ;
And all remaining now for man to seek
Is the great Problem neither bard nor seer
Has help'd as yet to solve ! '
Then with a smile
Cold as the scalpel, Douglas Sutherland,
Critic and comic vivisectionist,
Young cynic of the Cynical Review,
Scot from the mountains, but a renegade
Forswearing homely porridge and the trews,
Who, drifting round the compass of the
creeds,
Had found no foothold for his slippery
feet,
Cried, ' The great Problem ever sought by
fools,
Forgetting that whoever fronts the Sphinx,
And meets her stony glare, must rave till
doom ! '
Here the plump pantheist, Spinoza Smith,
With luminous eye and hanging uoderlip,
Loose gait, lax logic, interposed and said,
1 Better to rave like the old oracle
Than, quivering like a restless tadpole,
haunt
The muddy shallows of perpetual doubt ! '
Turning to Barbara, ' Since we moderns
seek
A. summer pastime like those Florentines,
Why not let that same Problem be our
theme,
And let each man and woman tell in turn
Some chronicle of those who, quick or
dead,
Have wander'd problem-haunted through
the world ? '
' Agreed ! ' cried Barbara ; then, brightly
turning
Her face upon the groups surrounding her,
' A golden thought, to employ our idleness
With tales of meaning and of mystery
Not old wives' rhymes to frighten foolish
bairns,
But stories wise that sad Philosophy,
The way-worn wandering Jew, still toiling
on
With staff and wallet, croaks at every
door !
How say you ? Shall our new Decameron
Take as its theme no little pasteboard god,
Pink Cupid or bright-eyed Saint Valentine,
But God Himself, the riddle of the worlds ? '
Smiling she paused. We looked at one
another,
And even then we seemed to hear afar
The murmur of that subterranean voice
Which thundered from the fiery heart of
Earth,
Threatening the mighty City in its pride.
' Agreed ! agreed ! ' we clamoured, echoing
her;
1 Begin the sport, and be yourself our
Queen ! '
'Then thus,' said Barbara, 'we form our
court :
Be you our maids of honour' here she
smiled
On the three cousins born in Annandale
' You gentlemen our faithful cavaliers
And braw-drest pages, headed if you please
By Verity as learned Chamberlain.
Be thou,' she added (turning next to me),
' Our poet lyrical and laureate,
Breaking our measured prose at intervals
To music ; and do thou, Sir Whimsical '
(Nodding her head at Douglas as she
spoke),
' Assume the hood and baldrick of the
Fool,
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Here at our elbow set, with privilege
To make a passing jest from time to time
Of better wiser folk ! '
Here Douglas seized
A stalk of foxglove drooping purple bells,
And shook it, zany-fashion, in the air,
Crying ' By Touchstone and by Rigoletto,
I accept the scoffer's office cheerfully,
And on my badge, expect much merriment
When wise men choose so lunatic a
theme ! '
' To-morrow,' laughing added Barbara,
' Our coronation revels shall begin ;
And after that, each summer afternoon,
We shall conjure you, on your fealty,
To gather here, and rax your wits to speed
The solemn pastime. Till yon smiling sun
Again is near his setting, we dismiss
Our court, and leave our leal and loving
friends
Free to devise what other sports they
please
To-morrow we shall mount our throne and
reign ! '
And with that tryst to meet upon the
morrow
We scattered, some to dream about the
park,
Some to explore the neighbouring rocks and
woods,
Some to the dusky Priory libraries,
To fleet the moments till the dinner-bell
Should bring the pasturing human flocks
together.
But I, who knew by heart the winding
Tweed,
Wander'd away along the river-side
Glad-hearted and alone, and drank for
hours
Full sweetness and full summer, pondering
The green world's problem with a poet's
heart.
'Twas the glad flower- time over orchard
walls,
Mossy and golden, softly blushed the pear,
Though apple-blooms were falling ; scented
May
Ran quick along the hedgerows, white and
red;
And lilac, scented like a maiden's breath,
Flower'd in sun-shaded gardens, maiden-
like;
And lush laburnum shook its locks of gold
O'er bonnie banks of green and golden
broom ;
The white pea lit its delicate lamps afield,
And in the lanes speedwell and campion
Cluster'd round snow-white stars of
Bethlehem.
The bee, with dusty gold upon his thigh,
Humm'd busily to himself; the butterfly,
A winged flower, blew lightly hither and
thither ;
The woods, the fields, the lanes, were all
alive
With quick-eyed sylvan creatures, numerous
As motes i' the sunshine. Cheerily sung
the lark,
Answer'd from hawthorn branches by the
merle,
Gold-bill 'd and silver-throated. By the river
The heron stood as motionless as stone
Over his dim blue double, then arose
With soft dark flap of wing, to light again
Among the speckled shallows lower down.
Lingering silent on the banks, I saw
The muddy cabin of the water-rat,
And in the calm beheld the brown rogue
swim,
Bearing a green leaf for his little house,
His whisker'd nose above the surface
peeping,
A long bright ripple sparkling in his track.
Musing I wandered, till, beyond the braes,
The sun sank crimson among purple isles
And reefs of black, and from the paling
west
The round thin filmy moon floated like silk,
Then 'gainst the green transparent top-
most leaves
O* the woodland flutter'd, brightening.
Then, the glades
Dark'ning, the dusky mavis and the merle
Pour'd their precipitate rapture 'mong the
boughs,
And nestling lovers listen'd as they sang :
Lover! lover!
Kiss sweet ! kiss sweet ! sweet!
Woo her now ! woo her now!
The glassy river sparkled smooth as jet,
Just touch' d with crystal beams.
Soft as a leat
The gloaming fell, and flutter'd like a veil
Over the half-closed eyelids of the world.
THE FIRST
Stars glimmer'd faintly, opening one by one
And blossoming above me, while I stole
Through warmly scented shadows till I
gained
Dark fern-clad slopes that ran to hills of
heather,
And looking heavenward saw a painter's
vision.
There like a naked maiden stood the Moon,
Wading in saffron shallows of the west :
Timidly, with a tender backward glance,
She reach'd a faltering foot to feel the way,
Then, brightly smiling, as the lucent waves
Wash'd, tipt with splendour, round her
swan-white throat,
Bent forward, cleft the dusk with ivory
hands,
And swam in splendour thro" the seas of
night.
THE FIRST DAY.
(RENAISSANCE.)
THE morrow came ; and, when the sun
was high,
Beneath a silken awning rosy-hued
Sat Barbara, smiling on her happy court ;
The Graces near her, Midas at her side,
And all the Sciences and all the Arts,
In decent black or motley summer suits,
Gathered around her ; modern Muses too,
From Sappho Syntax in her spectacles
To Jennie Homespun, Clapham's idyllist,
Called ' Wordsworth's daughter ' by the
small reviews.
Nor lacked we grace of stately company
From lands beyond the thunders of the
Chimes
Which turn the small beer of the Senate
sour :
Dan Paumanok, the Yankee pantheist,
Hot gospeller of Nature and the flesh,
Who, holding soul but body purified,
Vaunted the perfect body fifty years,
Then sank beneath a sunstroke paralyzed,
A wreck in all save that serener soul
Outlooking from his grave and patient eyes.
There sat he, in his chair, a craggy form,
Snow-bearded, patriarchal, wearing well
His crown of kindly sorrow. Close to him,
Miranda Jones, the lyric poetess,
Lean and aesthetic to the finger-tips,
touched like a pythoness with lissome
limbs,
Pale eyes that swam with sybilline desire,
And vagrant locks of amber.
To this last
Queen Barbara turn'd, and smiling royally
cried :
Barbara to Miranda ! Take the harp,
And sound the prelude that befits our
theme.'
Whereon the other, starting from a trance,
Answered, ' You spoke ? My soul was far
away !
And watching that old Faun whose stony
eyes
Have seen a hundred summers come and go,
Methought he changed, and on his naked
back
Had drawn a cassock, on his head a cowl,
And so, transformed into a very monk,
Moaned answer to his comrades, turn'd to
daws
There in the Priory, cawing high in the air
Their pax vobiscum /'
With a laugh then cried
Douglas the scoffer, puffing his cigar
' The dream was apt, Miranda ! Strip the
monk
In new tunes as in old, you find beneath
The satyr's skin ; beneath the black rogue's
cowl,
The satyr's swinish leer.' But scornfully
Tossing her python ringlets, she replied
' The monks were men, and in their holy
hearts,
And in their weary eyes, though filled with
dust,
The elemental pagan lingered still.
I read a tale once in a dusty book
Bought at a bookstall in a dusty street
At Florence how, long centuries ago,
When all the world was gray because of
Christ,
A sudden glory of the buried world
Flashed from the tomb, as Cytherea rose
From darkness of the weary and rainy sea ;
And how a monk (no satyr, but a soul
Pure as this sapphire on my finger, sir !),
Having with eyes of wonder seen the sight,
Died of its rapture. Have yoii heard the tale ?
I put it into rhymes which Sweetsong
praised
One week I was his guest at Sunbury. '
10
THE EARTHQUAKE.
' Give us the tale ! ' we cried, and at a nod
From Barbara, our queen and arbitress,
Miranda shook her locks and thus began :
JULIA CV THE RE A :
A LEGEND OF THE RENAISSANCE.
WITH shadow black upon the convent
wall
In fierce white light the musing Monk doth
crawl ;
He sees the lizards pass
Beneath him on the grass ;
Silent as they, he stirs, and that is all.
With blood that slippeth slow as hour-
glass sand,
He weeds the garden with his lean long
hand,
The sun beats down on him,
But, sunless and most dim,
His sad eyes downward look upon the land.
Yet once or twice he riseth up his height,
Gaunt as a tree he loometh in the light,
And gazeth far away
Where, through the trembling day,
Rome sits and gleams, insufferably bright.
His hand he presses on his breast and
sighs,
Towers, churches, temples, wearily he
spies ;
His black eyes blink i' the ray,
His bloodless cheek keeps gray ;
He stoops again, and weeds, with weary
eyes.
To him there leapeth one with eager
bound,
Crying, ' Ho, Marcus, leave thy garden
ground
Gird up thy loins and come
Down to the streets of Rome
Behold the miracle which men have
found !
' 'Tis Venus' self, with lips still poppy-
red,
Light on her cheeks, bright gold upon her
head,
Divine, yet cold in death,
Still living without breath,
As white and chill as is her marble bed ;
1 By some dark chemic trick of fingers
old
Embalm'd within that ivory coffin cold,
A thousand years i' the tomb
Her cheek hath kept its bloom,
Her eyes their glory, and her hair its gold.
1 Come down and look upon her in her
rest,
Her white hands crost upon her whiter
breast ;
One fold of fleecy dress
Covers her nakedness ;
Her face doth smile, as though her dreams
are blest. '
The pale monk Marcus scarcely heeds or
hears
He stands and through the sunlight sadly
peers
' Thou ravest, get thee gone ! '
He murmureth anon
Thin sounds his voice, yea, faint as falling
tears.
That other crieth, ' Doubt me not, but
go !
Venus awakes ; Rome's buried blossoms
blow ;
Not Christ in His winding-sheet
Was half so pure and sweet
Run to the Capitol, and thou shall
know ! '
He cries, and soon around him others
come,
All panting, pointing to the far-off dome,
Till, drawn from his cold height
To look upon the sight,
The pale monk Marcus creepeth down to
Rome.
II.
Now mark what old traditions tell
Of how this miracle befell. . . .
Nigh fifteen centuries had shed
Their snows upon the sad Earth's head
Since on the heights of perfect peace
Where banqueted the gods of Greece,
JULIA CYTHEREA.
ii
One starry midnight there did rise
That pallid Shape with human eyes,
Who, clad in grave-clothes and thorn-
crown' d,
Stood silently and gazed around
From face to face, and as on each
He looked in sorrow with no speech,
Each face grew wan and chill as clay,
And faded wearily away !
Ay, one by one those forms had fled,
Till all the heavenly host were dead,
Cast down and conquer'd, overthrown
Like broken shapes of marble stone.
Pallas, with pansies in her hair,
Like to a statue wondrous fair
Stricken and fall'n ; Selene white,
Cold, sleeping in the starry light ;
Great Zeus, Apollo, and sad Pan,
With all his flocks Arcadian,
Strewn down like dead leaves on the tomb
Of Him who slew them in their bloom.
All dead ! the brightest and the best !
And Cytherea with the rest !
And now He too, who cast in thrall
All shapes within that banquet-hall,
Who came to slay and overcome
The shining gods of Greece and Rome,
Had crept again to find repose
In the dark grave from which He rose ;
And there for fifteen centuries
Had lain unseen with closed eyes,
Had slept, and had not stirr'd a limb,
Though men grew mad for lack of Him.
1 Awake, O Christ ! ' they cried in pain,
' For lo ! no other gods remain ;
And Thou hast promised to return
With robes that flame and eyes that burn,
'Midst thunder-flash and trumpet-peal,
Legions of angels at Thy heel,
To take Thy throne, and overwhelm
Thine enemies, and rule Thy realm ! '
In vain ! Within His clay-cold prison
Silent He slept, and had not risen
Though all the other gods were fled,
Though no god ruled the quick or dead,
Though all the eyes of Earth were wet,
He slept, and had not risen yet.
Meantime, to keep his name in Rome,
The Eighth Pope Innocent had come
Instead of Christ, and from Christ's seat
Thrown down his bastards to the street
So wither'd up with sin and death,
The dark world drew laborious breath
Beneath his footstool ; and no fair
Dead god would waken to its prayer !
It happen'd at this very time,
When in the sinful Church's slime
Grew monsters of malignant birth,
To eat man's substance on the earth,
And sit, where gods had sat, in Rome
(Where Christ would sit if He should
come),
In this dark moment of eclipse,
When prayer was silent on the lips
And faith was dead within the thought,
The mystic miracle was wrought.
For Lombard workmen, on a day,
Digging beneath the Appian way,
Sifting the ruins of Rome dead,
Untomb'd, in wonder and in dread,
A marble coffin strangely scroll'd,
Enwrought with ivory and with gold.
Stain'd was it with great earthen stains,
Worn with the washing of the rains,
And splash'd with blots of blood-red clay,
But sealed as a shrine it lay ;
And when they raised it to the light,
After a thousand years of night,
Their eyes read its inscription thus :
' Julia, the child of Claudius!'
The Church authorities were brought
Great cardinals in raiment wrought
With gold and red, and trains resplendent
Of mighty priests and monks attendant ;
And while these cross themselves and strew
The coffin cold with holy dew,
They force the lid, and lo ! they find
Not dust to scatter on the wind,
Not bleaching bones, not blacken'd clay
Horrible in the light of day,
Nought o'er whose sweetness Death hath
power,
Not dark corruption, but a Flower !
Flower of the flesh, as soft and new
As when she drank the sun and dew,
Golden her hair with light from heaven,
As if she slept but yester-even ;
Her lips, that softly lay apart,
Still red as any beating heart ;
Her form, still fairy-like and bright,
Though marble-cold and lily-white,
12
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Her hands, unwither'd, softly prest
Upon her still unstained breast,
A Maiden Flower she slumber'd there,
After a thousand years still fair,
Within her white sarcophagus.
' Julia, the child of Claudius ! '
Out of the coffin cold as ice
Rich fumes of cinnabar and spice
Still floated ; as she lay within
Flower-sweet she scented, and her skin
Shone as anointed. One soft fold
Of precious woof around her roll'd
Half veil'd, with its transparent dress,
Her lithe and luminous loveliness ;
Upon her wrists bracelets of gold
Were fastened ; on one finger cold
Glimmer'd an onyx ring. So sweet,
She lay, embalm'd from head to feet,
Kept (by some secret long forgot)
Without a stain, without a spot,
As when, a thousand years before,
In days of god and emperor,
She closed her eyes and slumber'd thus.
1 Julia, the child of Claudius ! '
When thus she turn'd with soft last
breath
Into the chilly arms of Death,
She might have seen the happy light
Some sixteen years, but form so bright
Ne'er trembled between childish glee
And tremulous virginity.
Only a child ; yet far too fair
For any child of mortal air,
Since Passion's fiery flame, it seem'd,
Still play'd about her locks, and stream'd
From 'neath her eyelids ; and her limbs
Were amber with such light as swims
Round Love's own altar ; and her lips,
Untouch'd by darkness or eclipse,
Were wonderful and poppy-red
With kisses of a time long dead,
When Love indeed in naked guise
Still walk'd the world with awful eyes
And flaming hair. So fair she lay,
Burning like amber in the ray,
As burns a lamp with sweet oils fed
Within some shrine no foot may tread,
No hand of any mortal mar ;
And as men gaze on some new star,
Men marvell'd while they gazed on her.
Soundly she slept, and did not stir :
And far away beyond the sea
The white Christ slept as sound as she !
ill.
They bore her to the Capitol,
And left her lying, where the whole
Of Rome might look upon her face.
And lo ! her beauty fill'd the place
Like very sunlight, and her lips
Seem'd redder, and her finger-tips
Pink-tinted, and the scent that came
Out of her mouth seem'd fraught with
flame
Of a live burning heart ; and lo !
Her gold-hair caught a deeper glow,
Making an aureole of light
Around her forehead waxen white ;
And those who gazed upon her thus,
Within her white sarcophagus,
Were awed, and felt their hearts grow faint
Like folk that look on some dead saint.
' No saint is she,' the pale priests said,
1 But of an evil beauty dead
The ghost accurst. Behold again
The pagan world that Christ hath slain,
Kept by the charm of God, to show
The fate of fairest flesh below ! '
And as they murmur' d thus anew
They sprinkled her with holy dew,
And while they sprinkled her some
thought
The sleeper smiled !
And thus through Rome,
And o'er the land, and past the foam,
The rumour of her glory flies ;
Arid flocking underneath the skies
From dawn to sunset, great crowds press
To look upon her loveliness.
Prelates and kings and courtiers throng
With priests and nobles ; old and young ;
Matron and maid and girl o' the street,
And wicked women scented sweet ;
Soldier and beggar, monk and clown ;
Nuns from the cloisters, peasants brown
From the far hills
Last, to the place
There cometh, deathly pale of face,
His heart scarce fluttering in his breast,
The tall monk Marcus with the rest.
JULIA CYTHEREA.
IV.
He came, he gazed upon her there,
Her closed eyes, her clinging hair,
Her marble cheek just flush'd with red ;
And first he shrank away in dread
Like one who fears to break with sound
The charm which wraps some sleeper
round ;
Then, in the fumes of spice and myrrh
That floated round and over her,
Kindling a sense that sweeten'd Death,
He seem'd to drink her very breath,
And creeping closer like a snake
That croucheth low in a green brake,
Watching a lambkin starry white
Which lieth still and slumbereth light
He watch'd in fascination deep
The crystal mirror of her sleep ;
And though they thrust him oft aside,
Crept back to mark her, vacant-eyed
Like one that dreams.
Wolf-like and gaunt,
Full of some secret woe and want
Only that loveliness could still,
Lost to all other wish and will,
He paused, while others went and came ;
And when his comrades named his name
He only turn'd a silent face
Upon them for a moment's space,
And smiled, then dumbly gazed once more.
Ever across the marble floor,
With murmurs deep and whispers low,
The wondering folk did come and go
But never voice or footfall loud,
Nor all the trouble of the crowd,
Awoke that sleeper from her rest ;
And when upon her marble breast
And o'er her brow and on her lips
The sunlight's trembling finger-tips
Were laid blood-red, she slumber'd on !
And when the wondering crowds were
gone,
AnJ silent night fell down on Rome,
And 'neath the Capitolian dome
The shadows blacken'd, still she lay
Beauteous as she had been by day ;
For round her limbs and o'er her hair
Trembled a light serenely fair,
And all the darkness of the place
Felt the soft starlight of her face ;
Upon her, from the dome o'erhead,
Great shadowy shapes of spirits dread
Gazed darkly down, and all around
The shadows brooded with no sound ;
Without, beyond the doorway, fell
The arm'd heel of the sentinel,
Who paced in vigil to and fro
Under the mighty portico.
Then, when the Capitol was dark,
And not a living eye might mark,
When the great City slumber'd deep
Wrapt in its azure robe of sleep,
Out of some shadowy hiding-spot,
Wherein, unseen, suspected not,
He had linger'd darkly on till then,
Crept, like a wild beast from its den,
Marcus the Monk ! Silent, alone,
With naked feet on the cold stone,
He rose and feebly felt his way
To the cold coffin where she lay ;
And looking down as in a dream
He caught the dim and doubtful gleam
Of the cold face he could not see.
Then kneeling low on bended knee
He clutch' d with fingers clammy cold
The coffin wrought about with gold,
And drank with lips as cold as ice
The scents of cinnabar and spice
That hover'd o'er the form divine
Sleeping therein as in a shrine.
Then, lo ! beyond the painted pane,
The Moon rose, wan and on the wane,
And gentle amber light was shed
Upon the live form and the dead ;
And Marcus rose his height and stood,
While from his head the monkish hood
Fell darkly back, and on his brow
Starlight like hoar-frost trembled now,
And in his eyes there gleam'd again
Hope like despair, rapture like pain.
Thus, with his thin hand on his heart,
His sad lips softly held apart,
He gazed in fascination deep
Upon that passion-flower of Sleep !
More beautiful, more strangely sweet,
Than in the daylight's golden heat,
More softly still, more dimly bright,
Clothed in the mysteiy of the night,
With small hands folded on her breast,
She slumbers on in balmy rest.
And now the yellow moonlight lies
Upon her lips and closed eyes,
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Gleams on her hair of braided gold,
Fades on her forehead marble-cold,
And o'er her as she lies in death
Trembles and broods like frozen breath !
Still mystical and strange to sight,
Though marble-cold and lily-white,
A maiden-flower she slumbers there,
After a thousand years still fair,
Within her white sarcophagus !
Then, haggard, wild-eyed, tremulous,
Clasping her coffin gold-enwrought,
Marcus the Monk gazed down and caught
From the still splendour of her look
Strange madness, and his sick soul shook
With dark despairs. Then made he moan :
' Flower fair as thou no man hath known
Since Christ came down but in thy stead,
And in the place of sweet gods dead,
The harlot and the concubine
Sit haggard, sharing bread and wine
At Christ's own board, and mocking man
Within the very Vatican !
And Christ is dead and will not rise,
Though, spat on by the cruel skies,
A thousand mortals spirit-sore
Creep to His dark tomb and implore ;
Yea, the stark Skeleton therein,
With shrouded limbs and bandaged chin,
Lies still and hears not, crumbling down
Beside its crimson thorny crown.
Decay is there, and deep decay
Within a million tombs of clay,
And dark decay of craft and creed
Within a million hearts that bleed ;
Yet here, though all fair things have
died,
Serene and fair thou dost abide,
Preserved to show to our dim sight
What shapes of wonder and of light
The gods our God has stricken low
Fashioned a thousand years ago.
O fair white lily, softly pearl'd
With dim dews of a happy world
Long lost, long miss'd awake, awake !
And save the world for Beauty's sake
Instead of Christ's ! ' . . .
God, is he dreaming?
Is this thing sooth, or only seeming?
Why doth he tremble to his knees
In awe of some new sight he sees ? .
The moon-rays turn to shapes of gold
Clinging around that coffin cold,
The stars of night look in, and shine
With rapture tremulous and divine,
The figures on the dome above
Glimmer, look down, and seem to move,
And lo ! the Sleeper's shining hair
Grows yet more luminously fair,
And light like life's pulsation swims
Faint blood-red through her lissome limbs.
Behold ! she reddens like a rose,
Her bosom heaves, her eyes unclose,
And (as a maiden from her sleep
Stirs with a sigh serene and deep,
Half conscious of some broken dream,
Half dazzled by the morning beam)
She draws one long and balmy breath,
And turns upon her bed of death !
v.
Her bed of death ? She is not dead !
Her breath is warm, her lips are red,
Her hands are fluttering, softly prest
Against the warmth of her bright breast ;
One knee is raised, and from its white
The fleecy lawn falls soft and light ;
And, turning her bright head, she sees
The pale Monk moaning on his knees !
Then, as a little maid may see,
When awakening very peacefully,
Some one she loveth waiting near,
And gaze upon him with no fear,
She looks upon his wondering face,
Smiles gently for a moment's space,
Then reaches out her hand !
1 Christ God !
Master and Maker, 'neath whose rod
This man hath bent so many years,
In famine, fever, torture, tears,
Thou God by whom the gods of old
Are smitten low and coffin'd cold
Strengthen Thy slave, if such he be,
Lest this thing slay him utterly ! '
He takes her hand, he clasps it to him,
Rapture, like life-blood, kindles through
him !
He kisseth it, he feels it warm,
He strains it to his famish'd form,
And crieth on 'Awake ! arise !
Love on thy lips, light in thine eyes
Arise ! the wide world waits to be
Thy servant and to worship thee !
Awake ! and let the gods that were,
Who shaped thee thus divinely fair,
JULIA CYTHEREA.
And kept thee by some chemic charm
Imperishably bright and warm,
Awaken too, and take the crown
Of Him whose red Cross struck thee down.
He died, and will not wake, but thou
Didst only rest and sleep till now !
And they who framed thee thus divine,
And seal'd thee in thy solemn shrine,
Perchance are only slumbering too ! '
She stirs, with brightening eyes of blue
She rises from her pillow cold,
And rippleth down her locks of gold ;
She shakes away the shroud of lawn
Around her soft sides lightly drawn ;
She stretches out her arms snow-white,
She riseth up in the dim light,
She stands erect and smiling sweet,
With glistening limbs and rosy feet,
Upon the marble floor that gleams
Like water in the trembling beams !
Hast thou beheld in some green path
A nymph of stone, fresh from the bath,
One snowy foot within a pool
That spreads beneath her rippling cool,
The other softly raised, the while
She draweth on with sleepy smile
Her garment, and in act to dress
Frozen to everlastingness,
Full of some maiden thought doth look
In silent vision on the brook,
While her dark shadow under her
Stirs softly, though she doth not stir ?
Even so that sleeper, when she rose
From that divinely deep repose,
Paused wondering at herself, and felt
The light flow round her limbs, and melt
On the white moonlit floor whereon
She stood erect, as still as stone.
Then unto Marcus it did seem
That all things trembled into dream !
Clinging around that maiden frame
The moonlight kindled into flame,
And all the place grew burning gold
With beams more bright a thousandfold
Than beams of day ; the coffin bright
Was heap'd with roses red and white,
And all the floor seem'd blossom-strewn
Crimson and white beneath the moon !
With heaving breasts and soft footfall,
Amid that glory mystical,
The Maiden moved, her eyes of fire
Answering his look of dumb desire,
Then lo ! the very Capitol
Grew shrunken like a burning scroll,
And vanish'd : the great City fled ;
The glory deepen' d overhead ;
Instead of stone beneath their feet
Were grass and blossoms scented sweet,
A blue sea wrinkling far away
Crept foam-fringed round a purple bay,
And through a green and flowery land,
Under the cloudless sapphire skies,
Those twain were walking hand in hand,
Looking into each other's eyes !
VI.
In that green land of light and love
It seem'd enough to live and move
To wander hand in hand and see
The dewy light on flower and tree,
The sparkling of the brooks and streams,
The hills asleep in sunny beams ;
And then to glide on unafraid
Through warm deep groves of summer
shade,
Where the hot sunlight's golden blaze
Fell tangled into emerald rays. . . .
O hark ! 'mid dingles green and deep
The dove's cry, like a sound in sleep,
At intervals is faintly heard !
On her thin eggs the mother-bird
Sits brooding, while her mate is seen
Flitting across the tree-tops green !
What shout is that, what sylvan cry ?
What shapes are those that flash and fly ?
Wood-nymphs and satyrs whirling round,
Naked and merry, and vine-crown'd ;
Then with deep laugh and faint halloo
Far down the glade they fade from
view. . . .
What faces bright are those that gaze
Out yonder from the leafy haze,
And smile, and vanish into air?
Silent she stands, supremely fair,
Whiter than ivory, on a lawn
Flower-strewn and bright and deep-with-
drawn
In the green bosom of the woods ;
And while from the green solitudes
Come drowsy murmurs, sylvan cries,
He gazes gently in her eyes,
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Beneath their feet a fountain's pool
Spreads o'er the grass and ripples cool,
And from the diamond depths below
A Naiad's face as white as snow
Looks up, 'neath glimmering hands that
braid
Her dripping locks in the green shade.
And now again the prospects gleam
Into the glory of a dream ;
And lo ! they stand 'mid sand and shells,
And watch the waves with sleepy swells
Rising and breaking drowsily
I n a blue crescent of the sea.
Beyond them pastoral hills are seen
Mist-capt, but roped in purple sheen ;
And 'midst the clouds above them pass,
As in some old magician's glass,
Shapes of Immortals that pursue
Their path across the dreamful blue.
On the white sands they sit and rest,
His head is pillow'd on her breast ;
He feels her heart's warm go-and-come,
He sees the blue sea fringed with foam ;
He marks the white clouds sailing slowly
Across the heavens serene and holy ;
Then closes eyes thrusts one warm
hand
For coolness deep in the soft sand
And with the other holdeth hers.
So still he sits and never stirs,
But feels his life and being blent
With all he loves, and is content.
Is it still dream ? for now they pass
Along a pathway of deep grass,
And find where Venus sets her shrine
Amidst a flowery wood of pine :
And side by side they enter there,
And kneel with folded hands at prayer
A little space and when 'tis done
Glide forth again into the sun.
VII.
What form is this in white arrayed
Far down the woodland colonnade,
Approaching slow with a black wand
Cross-shapen in her lily hand ?
Is't Cytherea? is it she
Who rules the green earth and the sea,
Who moves abroad with fearless tread
Her hand upon a lion's head,
Wherever men or beasts are wild,
And tames their hearts and makes them
mild?
Slowly she comes, a shape of grace,
Leading a lion, and her face
Is white and cold and thin as death ;
And as she cometh near her breath
Is very faint and feebly drawn,
And heavy on the shaven lawn
Her footstep falls, and in her eyes
Dwell deathly pain and sad surmise.
Why seem all things so sudden chill ?
Why grows the light on wood and hill
Frosty and faint ? Why shrinks the sun
So coldly as she cometh on ?
' Marcus ! ' she cries, and lo ! he
stands,
With pallid face and outstretch'd hands,
Gazing in awe and from his lips
One wondering word in answer slips
' Madonna ! '
Yea, in sooth 'tis she,
Mother of Him who died on Tree,
The Virgin from whose milky breast
He drank who set the world at rest !
Ah me ! how pallid and how thin,
With clammy grave-cloth 'neath her chin,
And dust upon her golden hair,
She stands and looks upon him there !
Shuddering he moans, with low bent brow,
' Mother of God, what seekest thou? '
'What dost thou here? 1 the faint voice
cries,
While underneath the darkening skies
All groweth dim. ' Frail-hearted one,
Why hast thou ceased to serve my Son ?
And who is this who now doth stand
Naked beside thee, with her hand
Thrust into thine, and hangs the head,
But shows her hot neck blushing red ?
Let go her hand whoe'er she be
And, for thy soul's sake, follow me ! ' }
But Marcus cried, ' My Master lies,
Silent, with dust upon His eyes
He sleeps and He will ne'er awake.
But lo ! from cloud, from brook, from
brake,
THE FIRST DAY.
From every nook of earth and main,
The old gods gather once again.
Go back into thy grave once more
Sleep with thy Son, thy reign is o'er
Leave the green world to her and me,
Nor mar our loves' eternity ! '
Paler the weary Mother grew,
And with her sunken eyes of blue
Gazed piteously a little space
Into his passion-fever 'd face
Then pointing with thin hand, she cried
To that fair semblance at his side
' Follow me, thou ! my grave is deep
j There by my pillow thou shalt sleep ;
There shall we wait with darken'd eyes
In peace, until my Son shall rise ! '
But Marcus clutch' d her with a cry,
And all things darken'd 'neath the sky,
And tall and terrible and white
The Virgin loom'd before his sight,
And with a finger cold as ice
Touch' d on the shining forehead thrice
That gentle vision ; and behold !
She shiver'd as with deathly cold,
And lay a corpse of marble, prest
In madness to his burning breast.
Then Marcus wail'd, ' Lost ! lost ! ' and
lo!
The cruel heavens began to snow,
And all was dark, and a shrill gale
Of wintry wind began to wail ;
But clasping her with piteous cries,
He kiss'd her on the mouth and eyes,
I And kissing cried, ' Awake ! awake ! '
Till his heart broke for sorrow's sake ;
And heavy as a stone he fell.
VIII.
At dawn (as old traditions tell),
When the pale priests and soldiers came
To see once more that shining frame
Within her marble tomb, behold !
Still beautiful, with locks of gold,
Unfaded to the finger-tips,
With faint pink cheeks and rose-red lips,
Her they found softly sleeping on ;
And by her, turn'd to senseless stone,
Watching her face with eyes of lead,
Knelt the monk Marcus, cold and dead.
He ceased, to a chorus from the Priory
walls
Of daws thick-throated. Straightway
Douglas cried,
' It is the caws, my soul, it is the caws !
Hark how the dusky rascals echo her !
They vaunt the merriment of cakes and ale,
And other succulent sweets they loved when
monks,
Above all kneeling and praying in the dark
That make the stony heart and horny
knee ! '
But no one laughed, for on our souls the
tale
Fell with a touch of sweet solemnity ;
And we were silent, till a quiet voice,
Low like a woman's, murmured :
1 Oftentimes
I have dreamed a dream like that (if dream
it were),
And seen, instead of Cytherea's eyes,
The orbs of Dian, passionately pure,
Witching the world to worship ! '
He who spoke
A man with heavily hanging under lip,
Man's brow above a maiden's moist blue
eyes
Was Verity, the gentle priest of Art,
A vestal spirit, not too masculine
To avoid those seizures epileptiform
Which virgins have when yielding oracles.
He, by the affinity of sex which draws
The ivy to the oak-tree, long had loved
Not wisely but too well, though reverently,
The Scottish prophet, Thomas Ercildoune,
Who, thundering for the nations seventy
years,
Found in the end that he had merely soured
The small beer and the milk of his own
dwelling.
He, Verity, though all his soul was love,
Had from his master learned the scolding
trick,
And so was somewhat shrewish out o' doors.
Inside the temple where he ministered
His soul was solemnised to perfect speech,
And many a storm-toss'd wanderer, listen-
ing to him,
Had worship! and been saved.
' How sweet it were,'
He added, ' in this godless age of Fact,
When hideous monsters of machinery
C
:8
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Are fashioned unto largess-giving gods,
To uprear on some green mountain-side a
shrine
To Artemis, the goddess of the pure !
For if, as Heine held, the gentler gods
Whom Christ drave forth from heaven with
whip of cords
Survive, but banish'd into lonely lands
Do gloomy task work for their bitter bread,
Somewhere on this sad earth the heaven-
eyed Maid
Wears homespun, turns the wheel, and is a
slave.
Upbuild her temple, make it beautiful
With shapes of marble wonderfully
wrought,
Strew it with flowers of antique witchery,
And on the altar let the lunar beam
Sleep like the white and sacrificial Lamb ;
And thither on some peaceful summer night
Perchance the weary one will come, and
shed
Peace on the eyelids of her worshippers ! '
We listen' d wondering, some with pitying
smiles,
And others credulous of the fantasy.
I answered, 'Who shall find her? We,
who dwell
In cities vast and foul as Babylon,
Have seen, or seemed to see, the baser gods,
Her sisters and her brethren, busy yet
As spirits of the orgy and the dance.
Smooth Hermes, full of craft as when he
filch'd
Apollo's horses, wears a modern coat,
And helps the citizen to cheat on 'Change ;
And Jupiter, though feeble and rheumatic,
Leading his moulting eagle on the chain,
Still creeps about the distant villages
And prompts the silly preacher as he
throws
His Calvinistic lightnings at the boors ;
And who that ever walk'd down Regent
Street
At midnight, or some garish summer day
At Paris saw the Grand Prix lost and won,
Has failed to note the pink divinity,
In rags or silk and sealskin, still the same
As when she tript Adonis long ago !
But for the other, Dian, Artemis,
Athenian or Ephesian, who shall say
The pure thing lives, where nought that
lives is pure ?
The sunshine knows her not, and the sweet
moon,
Which used to shine upon her ivory limbs
Bright and pellucid in her dusky bath,
Now lights the pale street-walker at her
trade,
And there's an end. '
Buller from Brazenose,
Another priest of Art, who holds that Art
Is lost if clothed or draped, and in whose
eyes
The very fig-leaf is a priest's device
To mar the fair and archetypal Eve,
Broke in with mincing speech and courteous
sneer
'I have heard that when that good man
George the Third
Reign'd o'er his farm, this England,
Artemis
Was noticed raining happy influences
Over the national pig-sty ! Later still,
Arm'd with the British matron's household
broom,
She drove our Byron out and bang'd the
door.
Since then, thank God ! or say, since
Wordsworth died
[Poor man, he came to physic a sick world
That wanted wine, and gave it curds and
whey !]
Your goddess has been seldom heard or seen.
Doubtless she drudges in some parson's
house
As far as Lapland, where the temperature
Is like her bosom, virginal and cold.
We want her not in England ! Heaven
forbid !
We need the sun of love to warm our blood,
Apollo's blaze and Cytherea's breath
To thaw our lives and prove us men in-
deed ! '
While thus he spake, I noticed in our midst
A pale young man who had come into the
world
W T hite-hair'd, and so looked old before his
time ;
His eye was burning, and his delicate hand
Was thrust into his bosom, touching there
Some secret treasure. Listening he stood,
Eager to speak, yet dumb through diffi-
dence.
To him the pythoness Miranda Jones
PAN AT HAMPTON COURT.
Exclaimed, 'What secret are you hiding
there,
Close to your heart, or shirt-front, Cousin
Fred?
I'll swear a poem ! ' Turning with a
laugh
To Barbara, she added, ' Speak to him !
My cousin Frederick is a poet too,
And fain I know would win a poet's praise
From this fair company and you, its
Queen. '
Then blushing like a girl, and glancing up
To encounter Barbara's smile of kind com-
mand,
The young man answered, ' Nay, indeed
'tis naught
The merest trifle not a tale at all ;
Yet strangely enough, it touches rhyme by
rhyme
Upon the very quest of which they speak ;
I too,' he added, blushing still more deep,
1 Have chased that same Diana, in a
song ! '
'Then prithee read it,' cried Queen
Barbara,
And other voices clamour'd echoing her ;
And drawing a paper from his breast, the
youth
Glanced timidly around the company,
And then with eye that kindled like a coal
Blown with the breath, he eagerly began.
PAN AT HAMPTON COURT.
' O who will worship the great god Pan
Out in the woods with me,
Now the chestnut spreadeth its seven-
leaved fan
Over the hive of the bee ?
Now the cushat cries, and the fallow
deer
Creep on the woodland way,
O who will hearken, and try to hear
The voice of the god to-day ?'
('in- May morning as I woke
Thus the sweet Muse smiling spoke,
Resting pure and radiant-eyed
On the pillow at my side,
Sweetest Muse that ever drew
Light from sunlight, earth, and dew
Sweeter Muse and more divine
Than the faded spinsters Nine !
Up I sprang and cried aloud,
' May-day morn, and not a cloud !
Out beyond the City dark
Spring awakes in Bushey Park ;
There the royal chestnuts break
Into golden foam and make
Waxlike flowers like honeycomb,
Whither humming wild bees roam ;
While upon the lakes, whereon
Tritons blow through trumps of stone,
The great water-lily weaves
Milk-white cups and oiled leaves.
Phillis dear, at last 'tis May !
Take my hand and come away ! '
Out of town by train we went,
Poor but merrily content,
Phillis in her new spring dress,
Dainty bonnet lily-white,
Warm with youth and loveliness,
Full of love and love's delight ;
I. the lonely outcast man,
Happy and Bohemian,
Loving all and hating none
Of my brethren 'neath the sun.
Soon, a dozen miles away,
From the train we lightly leapt,
Saw the gardens glancing gay
Where the royal fountains leapt,
Heard the muffled voices cry
In the deep green Maze hard by,
Heard the happy fiddler's din
From the gardens of the inn ;
Saw the "prentice lads and lasses,
Pale with dreary days of town,
Shuffling feet and jingling glasses ;
While, like flies around molasses,
Gipsies gathered dusky brown 1
O the merry, merry May !
the happy golden day !
Pan was there, and Faunus too,
All the romping sylvan crew,
Nature's Maenads flocking mad
From the City dark and sad,
Finding once again the free
Sunshine and its jollity !
Phillis smiled and leapt for joy,
1 was gamesome as a boy ;
Gaily twang'd the fiddle-string,
Men and maids played kiss-in-ring,
ca
20
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Fountains leapt against the sun,
Roses bloom'd and children played,
All the world was full of fun,
Lovers cuddled in the shade !
What though God was proved to be
Paradox and fantasy ?
What though Christ had ceased to stir
From his lonely selpulchre ?
' If the Trinity be dead,
Pagan gods are still alive !
Fast they come to-day,' I said,
' Thick as bees from out a hive !
Pan is here, with all his train
Flocking out of street and lane ;
Flora in a cotton gown
Ties her garter stooping down ;
Town-bred Sylvan plump and fat
Weareth lilac in his hat ;
Faun and satyr laughing pass,
Hither and thither Venus roams,
Gay Bacchantes on the grass
Laughingly adjust their combs !
Phillis, all the world is gay
In the merry, merry May ! '
' O who will worship the great god Pan
At Hampton Court with me ?'
She cried, and unto the Maze we ran
Laughing so merrily.
' The sun is bright, and the music plays,
And all is May,' sang she :
And I caught my love in the heart of the
Maze
With kisses three times three.
Down the chestnut colonnades
Full of freckled light and shades,
Soon we saw the dappled deer,
Pricking hairy tail and ear,
Stand like Fauns with still brown eyes
Looking on us as we came.
Faint behind us grew the cries,
Merry music and acclaim,
Till we found beneath a tree
All the peace of Arcady.
Lying there, where green boughs spread
Curtains soft against the sky,
While the stock-dove far o'erhead
Pass'd with solitary cry,
Now and then we look'd around
Listening, till distinct and clear
Came the cuckoo's call profound
From some happy Dreamland near !
Happy as a heart of gold
Shook the sunshine everywhere,
Throbbing pulses manifold
Through the warmly panting air ;
On the leaves and o'er the grass
Living things were thronging bright,
'Neath a sky as clear as glass
Flashing rays of life and light.
All things gladden'd 'neath the blue,
While we kiss'd and gladden'd too.
' Praised be golden Pan,' I said,
' All the duller gods are dead ;
But the wood-god wakes to-day
In the merry, merry May ! '
' O who will worship the great god Pan ?'
I cried as I clasped you, dear ;
' Form of a faun and soul of a man,
He plays for the world to hear ;
Sweetly he pipeth beneath the skies,
For a brave old god is he / '
I kissed my love on the lips and eyes I
And O my love kissed me !
Slowly, softly, westward flew
Day on wings of gold and blue ;
As she faded out of sight
Dark and balmy fell the night.
Silent 'neath the azure cope,
Earth, a naked Ethiope,
Reach'd black arms up through the air,
Dragging down the branches bright
Of the flowering heavens, where
Starry fruitage glimmer'd white !
As he drew them gently near,
Dewdrops dim and crystal clear
Rain'd upon his face and eyes !
Listening, watching, we could hear
His deep breathing 'neath the skies ;
Suddenly, far down the glade,
Startled from some place of shade,
Like an antelope the dim
Moon upsprang, and looked at him !
Panting, trembling, in the dark,
Paused to listen and to mark,
Then with shimmer dimly fair
On from shade to shade did spring,
Gain'd the fields of heaven, and there
Wander'd, calmly pasturing !
1 O who will worship the great god Pan
Out in the woods with me ?
Maker and lover of woman and matt,
Under the stars sings he ;
PAN AT HAMPTON COURT.
21
And Dian the huntress with all her train
Awakes to the wood-notes wild /'
O I kissed my love on the lips again,
And Dian looked down and smiled.
Hand in hand without a care
Following the Huntress fair,
Wheresoe'er we went we found
Silver footprints on the ground :
Grass and flowers kept the shine
Of the naked feet divine.
Now and then our eyes could see,
As we softly crept along
Through the dusky greenery,
Glimmers of the vestal throng
Locks of gold and limbs of snow
Fading on as we came near,
Faint soft cries and laughter low
Ceasing as we paused to hear !
O the night more sweet than day !
O the merry, merry May !
O the rapture dark and deep
Of the woodlands hush'd to sleep !
the old sweet human tune
Pan is piping to the moon !
1 Though the systems wax and wane,
Thou and I,' he sings, ' remain
Both by night and one by day
Witch a world the old warm way !
Foot it, foot it ! Where you tread
Woods are greenly carpeted.
Foot it round me as I sing
Nymphs and satyrs in a ring !
' Gnarled and old sits the great god
Pan
{Peep through the boughs, and see /)
He plays on his pipes A rcadian
Under the dark oak-tree.
But the boughs are dark round his sight-
less eyes
And Dian, where is she f
O follow, follow, and where she flies
Follow her flight with me/'
Slowly, dreamily, we crept
From the silent sleeping park,
Join'd the merry throng that swept
Townward through the summer dark.
Shining round our path again,
Dian flash' d before the train,
In upon our comrades shone,
Smiled and beckon'd, bounding on !
Satyrs brown in corduroys
Smoked their pipes and join'd in song ;
Gamesome girls and merry boys
Fondled as we swept along ;
Here a flush 1 d Bacchante prest
Heavy head and crumpled bonnet
On her drowsy lover's breast,
Sprawling drowsily upon it ;
Flush'd from dancing sports of Pan
Sat the little artizan,
With his wife and children three,
And the baby on his knee ;
Here a little milliner,
Smart in silk and shape-improver,
All the happy Spring astir
In her veins, sat by her lover ;
Mounted somewhere on the train,
Pan on the accordion played !
Rough feet shuffled to the strain,
Happy hearts the spell obeyed ;
While fair Dian, looking in,
Saw the throng and heard the din,
Touch'd the young heads and the grey
With the magic of the May !
' who will worship the great god Pan,
Where life runs wild and free ?
Form of a faun and soul of a man,
Heplayeth eternallie.
And Dian is out on the azure waste
As bright as bright can be T
O my arm embraced my love's small waist,
A nd my love crept close to me !
When we reached the streets of stone
Dian there was bright before us,
Wading naked and alone
In the pools of heaven o'er us !
Fainter came the wood-god's sound
As we crossed the Bridge, and there
Saw the City splendour-crown'd
Sleeping dark in silver air ;
Saw the river dark beneath
Rippling dim to Dian's breath.
Phillis nestling to my side
Watch' d the sad street- walker pass,
Hollow-voiced and weary-eyed,
Painted underneath the gas.
Paler, sadder, looked the moon,
Sadder grew the old sweet tune ;
Shapes of sorrow and despair
Flitted ghostwise in the air,
22
THE EARTHQUAKE.
And among them, wan and slow,
Stalked the spectral Shape of Woe
Pierced hands and pierced feet
Passing on from street to street ;
Silently behind Him crept
Pallid Magdalens who wept !
All the world at His footfall
Darken'd, and the music ceased
Dark and sacrificial
Loom'd the altars of the priest,
All the magic died away
And the music of the May.
' O -who will worship the great god Pan
Here in the streets with me ?
Sad and tearful and weary and wan
Is the god who died on the Tree ;
But Pan is under and Dian above,
Though the dead god cannot see,
And the merry music of youth and love
Returns eternallie / '
Homeward went my love and I
To our lodging near the sky ;
There beside the snow-white bed
Dian stood with radiant eyes !
Smiled a moment ere she fled
Then, with halo round her head,
Hung above us in the skies !
By the casement open wide
Long we watch'd her side by side ;
While from the dark streets around
Came again the sylvan sound
Pan was softly piping there
As he pipes in field and grove,
Conquering sorrow and despair
With the strains of life and love !
Phillis in her bedgown white
Kissed me, standing in the moon ;
Louder, sweeter, through the night
Rang the olden antique tune ;
Gently on my knee I drew her
Smiling as I heard her say,
All her warm life kindling through her,
' Dearest, what a happy day ! '
' 'Tis a happy world,' I said ;
' Pan still pipes, though Christ is dead ! '
BLUSHING he ceased, and folded up the
scroll,
While Sappho Syntax through her spec-
tacles
Looked grave as Pallas, and the Graces
hung
Their pink-white cheeks and titter'd
among their curls.
Dan Paumanok the Yankee pantheist
Was first to speak ; quoth he, ' I like that
song !
It suits me, it tastes pleasant in the
mouth ;
But Christ is just as much alive as Pan,
Not less or more ; and for the Magdalen,
I guess she suits me too. I beckon her
To an appointment, and she smiling
comes :
The paint upon her lips is just as good
As roses, and her loose wild dress surpasses
The lily's raiment '
He was talking on,
When Douglas interposed' May I suggest
The moral of the ditty ? It is here :
The joys of costermongers and their
wenches,
Of poets and their sweethearts, vindicate
Nature's loose morals and the primal Fall.
Eat, drink, be merry carpe diem since
Man is a Satyr ; half a beast at best,
When wholly so, most happy ! Am I right,
Madonna ? ' This to Lady Barbara,
Who sat with pensive cheek upon her hand,
Her bright eyes tender with some summer
dream.
' Nay, Fool ! ' she sighed ; and ' Nay,' cried
Verity,
With delicate nostril breathing vestal fire,
' The passionate eternal purity,
Bright Artemis, who walks the fields of night
And trims with lustrous hands the lamps of
heaven,
Rebukes the eternal riot of the sense !
Woe to the land wherein the Satyr reigns,
And Pan usurps Apollo's ivory throne !
Thank God we Englishmen at last have
heard,
Amidst the pagan orgy and the shame
Of yonder City, Nature's warning voice
Of Earthquake, with the wine-cup raised
to drink,
Have read the handwriting on the riven
wall
In characters of His eternal fire ! '
' Superfluous was the warning,' interposed
Wormwood, the pessimist philosopher ;
THE FIRS7 DAY.
' Man needs no miracle to attest the law
Which made him and preserves him
miserable !
Like fabled Tantalus in the poet's song,
In aquis qucerit aquas, and pursues
The ever-flying apple. Let him gladden
A little in the sunshine if he can
To-morrow he must die ! '
' Man cannot die ! '
Shrill'd the sleek pantheist, Spinoza Smith ;
' For though the individual perishes,
The sum Divine, cipher of which Man is,
Abides imperishable. Thought alone
Is God, and is the only Absolute ;
And Thought remains though men and
systems fade.
The music lasts, the instrument is changed :
Thought was, is, and shall be ; Thought
has at last
Become material in Humanity.
The consciousness of the Eternal flames
Upon the mirror of thy consciousness,
And for a moment while the splendour lasts
Thou knowest and perceivest. Die, and
lo!
The light that was and is thy consciousness
Abides divine and indestructible,
Invisible, with power to re-emerge
In forms material, other instruments,
In forms and hues which figure Thought
divine ;
Yea, even letters, which like hieroglyphs
Preserve the eternal attributes of Soul.
Thus man is God, and therefore cannot die.'
Quoth Paumanok dryly, ' What you say is
true,
But with interpretations ! Man emerges
From the Divine Idea, to gain, not lose,
Identity, and once identified
I guess he cannot once again retire
Impersonal ; having become as God
By knowing and perceiving, he remains
Godlike, immortal, and has vanquish'd
Death ! '
' We wander,' said Queen Barbara with a
smile,
1 Far from our starting-place. Great Rome
still stands
Upon the solid ground, the mighty rock ;
Philosophy with heavy and weary wing
Still seeks to rise, but flaps along the ground;
And poets' dreams of fairyland and gods
Are fantasies too faint for flesh and blood. '
Then Cuthbert spoke, our Modern Abe-
lard
The Church's outcast, foe of all the creeds,
But most at war with his own unbelief,
A priest at heart, yet scorning every form
Of priesthood, dim-eyed through excess of
light,
Believing nought, believing everything,
And groping through his doubts he knew
not whither.
' Rome conquer'd where she crown'd the
hopes of man
With a celestial promise, but she failed
Where the old pagan triumphed in a joy
Material, archetypal, quick not dead,
That met the happy needs of human life.
We are mortal and immortal ; mortal first,
Women and men, although eternal souls ;
And warring with the laws of life and love,
Rejecting flesh which symbolises God,
Blind to the law of Nature, seeing not
Thought and material are but woof and
web,
Scorning the animal instinct and its pleas
For sunshine and free light, free exercise
Of life and breath, Rome turned the world
she ruled
Into a lazar-den and sepulchre.
She proved Man cannot die. but failed to
prove
That Man is fit to live ; she comforted
The grief of Man, but caused the tears she
dried ;
She slew the idolatries of heathendom,
But made an image of the living God,
And lapsed, as all idolaters must lapse,
To darkness and despair. Yet she en-
dures,
The blind old Mother, grovelling on the
ground
In purple sad as sackcloth, and the world
Still sees the sceptre that is but a reed
Shake in her palsied hand. Too weary and
old
To learn the lesson that the infant Man
Is prattling at her knee, she lieth prone,
And measures her own grave ! '
So saying, he turned
To one who stood and listened at his side
Sparkle, Professor of the Institute,
THE EARTHQUAKE,
A tall lithe man, brown as a mountaineer,
Who through a glittering eyeglass, the
bright pane
Fix'd in his intellectual dwelling-house,
Half study, half observatory, gazed
Serenely on the follies of the world.
' Right, right, dear Cuthbert,' answering
his look,
Sparkle replied: 'and yet, and yet who
knows ?
I have often thought with Comte that fallen
Rome
Might yet arise, if she would cast aside
Her supernatural fancies and baptize
Us wandering priests of Science, fashioning
A truly nobler order of the Wise
To rule the world and spread the solemn
creed
Of Nature and the Law. She wastes her life
Mourning her Eldest Born, that beauteous
soul
Who ere He perish'd, centuries ago,
Promised so wonderfully that the world
Is haunted by His memory even now !
Well, that is o'er, the golden bowl is broken,
The fair head still, within its Eastern grave ;
But we who have come upon a stormier
time,
The apostles of a sterner, saner creed,
Would gladly wake the Mother from her
dream
And seat her on the throne of human
thought.
Man craves a creed we bring it ; seeks a
rule
Imperial, she might wield it as of old ;
Demands a priesthood, we who follow
Truth,
Far as the limits of the Knowable,
Would form that priesthood, ay, and
cheerfully
Elect our Pope and give him ample power,
Scarce stopping at infallibility !
'Tis sad so perfect a machinery
Should rust away dishonoured and disused
For lack of all it needs a Hierarchy
Which might restore it for the use of men ! '
Two priests of Rome, outcast, yet still of
Rome
(Since he who once hath ta'en the priestly
garb
Is ever a priest), were in that company :
Both smiled, but neither answer'd ; silent
men,
With eyes that seem'd to suffer from the
light
They shed on others, even there, amid
That throng of shallow or rebellious souls,
They both were busy sowing subtle seeds
That sprout by midnight. Well they knew,
in sooth,
How oft the pathos of a creed forlorn
Acts magnet-like on sympathetic clay
Sighing without a foothold. What had
grown
In pain and persecution still (they prayed),
After long centuries of pomp and pride
Might, under persecution, rise again.
Their patient faces touch'd a piteous chord
Within me : and as wistfully they watched
The sunset fading like a blackening brand,
Both speechless, faintly flush'd with that
sad light,
While Lady Barbara stirred upon her seat,
Signing dismissal to her wearied court
Whose yawns proclaim'd the dinner-hour
at hand,
I craved again the singer's privilege
And sang of Roman Rizpah's last despair :
O Rizpah, Mother of Nations, the days of whose
glory are done,
Moaning alone in the darkness, thou countest
the bones of thy Son !
The Cross is vacant above thee, and He is no
longer thereon
A wind came out of the night, and He fell like a
leaf, and was gone.
But wearily through the ages, searching the
sands of the years,
Thou didst gather His bones together, and wash
them, Madonna, with tears.
They have taken thy crown, O Rizpah, and
driven thee forth with the swine,
But the bones of thy Son they have left thee ;
yea, kiss them and clasp they are thine !
Thou canst not piece them together, or hang
them up yonder afresh,
The skull hath no eye within it, the feet and the
hands are not flesh.
Thou meanest an old incantation, thou troublest
the world with thy cries
Ah God, if the bones should hear thee, and join
once again, and arise !
THE SECOND DAY.
[n the night of the seven-hill'd City, discrown'd
and disrobed and undone,
Thou waitest a sign, O Madonna, and countest
the bones of thy Son !
THE SECOND DAY.
(ANTHROPOMORPHISM. )
Two miles of field and wood as flies the
crow,
But thrice two miles of azure curves and
bends
As winds the peaceful river, turning oft
With lingering feet as turns and turns again
On her own footprints some sweet dreaming
maid
Who gathers ferns and flowers with listless
hand,
Lay like a jewel a green promontory
Sparkling bright emerald on the breast of
Tweed.
Thither next day our happy company
In barges, boats, and shallops idly rowed,
A bright flotilla, all the rainbow's hues
Fluttering in sunshine and in azure depths
Brokenly mirror' d ; Satyrs, Nymphs, and
Fauns,
The Graces under pink silk parasols,
The Muses under Gainsborough hats of
straw,
Venus, white-vestured and without her
doves,
Chattering to Vulcan in blue spectacles,
The modern Syrens, singing as they dipt
White hands in crystal o'er the shallop's
side,
Followed each other merrily as we went.
And here the willow trailed her yellow locks
In golden shallows whence the kiiigfisher
Flashed like a living topaz and was gone ;
And here the clustering water-lilies spread
Their oiled leaves and alabaster cups,
Tangled amid the river's sedgy hair ;
And there from shadowy oaks that fringed
the stream
The squirrel stood upright and lookt at us
With beaded eyes ; and all the flowery banks
Were loud with hum of bees and song of
birds ;
And often on the smooth and silent pools,
Brimful of golden warmth and heavenly
light,
The salmon sprang a foot into the sun,
Sparkled in panoply of silver mail,
And sank in the circle of his own bright
leap!
For on the promontory which we sought
A Hermit in the olden time had dwelt,
White-hair'd, white-bearded, cress and
pulse his food,
The crystal stream his drink ; and still the
rock
Preserved the outline of his mossy cell ;
And where his naked foot had press' d the
grass
Under the shadowy boughs of oak and
beech,
The blue of heaven had fallen and blossom'd
up
In azure harebells multitudinous,
For ever misted with their own soft breath
Of sunless summer dew.
Gaily we sailed,
And after many windings serpentine
We reached the place. Against the grassy
banks
Our boats discharged their many-coloured
freight,
Till all the flowery slopes and dusky glades
Were busy and bright with smiling human
shapes ;
And through the warm and honeysuckled
ways,
Tangled with bramble, ferns, and foxglove
bells,
We pushed our path until we found indeed
The mossy cell, with overhanging eaves
Encalendured with lichens like the Cross,
And down below the dewy grass, knee-deep,
And countless hyacinths with their waxen
stems
And fairy bells of thin transparent blue.
Most cool and still, embower'd on every side,
With just a peep of azure overhead,
Was that sweet sanctuary, hush'd as a nest
Deserted, with no stir of summer sound ;
And down the mossy rock a crystal dew
Stole coldly, while one sparkling minute drop
Fell like quicksilver on a flowering fern,
Gleam'd, and rolled luminous to the chill
green ground.
Hard by the cell we found an open lawn
Sprinkled with fronds of fern and azure
flowers,
26
THE EARTHQUAKE.
And here full soon we spread our snowy
cloths
And picnick'd in the sunlight. From the
boughs
The gold-bill' d blackbird and the blue-
wing'd jay
Gazed down on such a scene as birds beheld
When Oberon's enchanted cavaliers
Stole forth to banquet underneath the
moon ;
And they whose scientific bolts and brooms
Had driven the fairies forth from field and
farm,
So that the shepherdess and dairymaid
No longer fear the roguish pixy's thumb
Punishing idleness, were merriest there,
And laughed as loud as if the work-a-day
world
Were sweetly haunted yet ! In lily hands
The light glass tinkled, while the beaded
wine
Cream'd and ran o'er, and every learned lap
Was like a Dryad's, full of ripen'd fruit ;
And presently for sport our Satyrs plucked
Flowers of the wood, and pelted merrily
Some saucy-eyed Bacchantes, whoupsprang
White-bosom 'd, dimple - breasted, and
escaped
Hotly pursued into the flowery glades
Whence silvery peals of laughter, stifled
cries,
Were wafted to us on the summer air.
Then to her throne, a high and mossy bank
Emblazon'dwith the crowsfoot's dusky gold,
Our Barbara moved, with royally lifted
hand
Enjoining silence ; happily her court
Clustered about her, as she smiled and
cried
' Surround me and attend, all ye whose
souls,
Though glad with summer light and warm
with milk
Of Venus (which we moderns call cham-
pagne !)
Remember that Great Problem, and our
oath
Each day to take it as a summer theme.
Here on this very spot, in yonder cell,
The holy Hermit dwelt and ponder'd it
Alone, so many a hundred years ago.
Alas ! how few in this our feverish age
Dare play the hermit now ! Our anchorites
Are noisy men, who tell their beads for
show,
And print their prosings in the magazines
Beside the gigman's diatribes at " God,"
Spelt with a little " g " ! '
A quiet voice,
That of a bright-eyed preacher from the
north
(Our Norman, ripe and mellow as Friar
Tuck,
Yet tender-soul'd as sweet Maid Marian !)
Made echo : ' Wisely spoken ! Here and
there
A few sad thinkers crawl on hands and
knees
Into the temples of the solitude ;
But these, being reverent, are awed and
dumb,
Unlike the jaunty, dapper, newly breech'd
Child of the age, who, strutting in the sun j
Selling his birthright for a penman's praise, '
Denies his Heavenly Father ! '
'Pardon me,'
Broke in the scoffer, Douglas Sutherland,
' The age we live in has its vanities
I grant you, but it stands supreme in this,
The use of soap and water, the crusade
Still needful against other-worldliness.
If holiness be gauged by length of nail,
Heart's purity by epidermic crust,
I grant your anchorites were blessed men ;
If not, quite otherwise ; and for the rest,
The Heavenly Father they perceived and
praised,
Their magnified non-natural Heavenly
Father,
Was, like themselves, a dull old Anchorite,
Unclean and useless, brooding in a den
With Fever for his servant, Pestilence
To scatter forth his breathings. Nowadays
We prize a cleanlier Godhead, scorning
dreams
Which at the best are childish, in a word,
Anthropomorphic ! '
Then that other's face,
A little angry, for a burning soul
With faith at white heat cannot jest with fire,
Flash'd scornfully and almost pityingly
' The babe must have his rattle, and the
child
His catchword ! Verily, Science is at best
A foolish Virgin, thinking to destroy
THE SECOND DAY.
27
The Eternal Verity with a cumbrous phrase !
Anthropomorphic, say you, is the dream,
A man's, an infant's, vision of himself
Flashed upon mental darkness ? Be it so.
Then as a child that in the cradle lies
And feels the darkness stir, and seems to
feel
The brightness of a face he cannot see,
I, who am old, accept the happy dream,
And, since you will it so, the phrase as
well.
Go, range the empty heaven of fantasy
Upon Spinoza's winged horse of brass
(Which, coming down to earth with thunder-
shock,
Stuns him that rides and robs him of an
eye),
Or lose your wits in Hegel's cloud of words,
Or prone on hands and knees ' inspect the
worms
With Darwin, or with Spencer blankly
stare
At vacuum and the Inconceivable ;
But what if, like those leaders, lonely men,
You find yourselves at last without a Friend?
Meantime I stretch a hand out in the dark-
ness
And touch my Father's ; nay, I wake and
gaze,
And lo ! I see the very Face and Form
I have dream'd of ; and, a child once more,
I say
" Our Father," and I know my prayer is
heard !
God help me if my God be not indeed
The Father of my simple childish faith ! '
Then Douglas shrugged his shoulders,
scorning speech
With one in Superstition's swaddling
clothes ;
But something in the brave benignant face,
Bright-eyed and lofty-brow'd, and in the
voice
So tender with its soft deep Highland burr,
Subdued us, and we listened reverently
Ev'n where we doubted most ; and when
he ceased
A certain timid echo in our hearts
Murmur'd approval. Thereupon our Queen
Besought him, having faith so absolute,
To carry our fitful torch of tale-telling
A Uttle space that day, then hand it on
To the next, and next. He shook his head
and smiled,
Then answer'd, being urged ' To me at
least
Your Problem is no Problem after all
I solved it at my Heavenly Father's knee,
Spelling His Name out of the Book Divine,
And looking up into those loving eyes
With which He shines upon the worst and
best;
But since you wish it, I will tell a tale
Of that same heavenly Presence how it
came
To one who was in heart a little child,
But who, being lesson'd by the over-wise,
Beheld the gentle dream dissolve away.'
Then, without further prelude, he began
This story of the monk Serapion,
Who in the evening of his days embraced
The sweet anthropomorphic heresy.
SERAPION.
ON the mountain heights, in a cell of stone,
Dwelt Serapion ;
There, winter and summer, he linger'd
alone.
Most drear was the mountain and dismal
the cell ;
Yet he loved them well
Contented and glad in their silence to dwell.
And ever his face wore an innocent ray,
And his spirit was gay,
And he sang, like the angels who sing far
away !
The goatherd, who gathered his flocks ere
the night,
In the red sunset light,
Heard the voice ring above him, from
height on to height.
Ofttimes, from his cell on the cold moun-
tain's crown,
He came merrily down,
And stood, with a 1 smile, 'mid the folk in
the town.
28
THE EARTHQUAKE.
With raiment all ragged, worn shoon on
his feet,
He walk'd in the street,
Yet his eyes were so happy, his voice was
so sweet !
And ever his face wore the grace and the
gleam
Of a beautiful dream,
Like the light of the sun shed asleep on a
stream !
And the folk cried aloud, as they gathered
to see :
' Of all men that be,
The brightest and happiest surely is he ! '
And they question'd : ' O ! why is thy face
ever bright,
And thy spirit so light,
Down here in the valley, up there on the
height?'
He answer'd : ' What makes me so happy
and gay
Wheresoever I stray?
The Lord I behold all the night, all the
day!
1 He walks like a Shepherd in raiment of
gold
On the mountain-tops cold ;
He comes to my cell ; on my knees I be-
hold.
1 He smiles like my father who died long
ago;
His eyes sweetly glow
Those eyes are as sapphires ; His beard is
as snow !
' Yea, night-time and day-time he comes to
my call,
The dear Father of all,
With a face ever fair, with a solemn foot-
fall ! '
Then the folk cried again : ' Of all mortals
that be,
Surely gladdest is he ! ' ....
Wise monks from afar came to hear and
to see.
As they climb'd through the snows to his
cell, they could hear
His voice ringing clear,
In a hymn to the Lord who for ever seem'd
near.
They enter'd and saw him. He sat like a
wight
Who beholds some strange sight
Face fix'd, his eyes shining, most peaceful
and bright !
' O brother ! what makes thee so happy?'
they cried.
With a smile he replied :
' The Lord who so loves me, my Guardian
and Guide !
' He comes in the night and He comes in
the day
From his Heaven far away ;
I feel His soft touch on my hair, as I
pray.
' He smiles with grave eyes like my father
long dead,
His hand bows my head,
From the breath of His nostrils a blessing
is shed ! '
Through their ranks as they listened a cold
shudder ran,
And the murmur began :
' Can God have the touch and the breath
of a man ?
' No soul can conceive Him, no sight may
descry
The Most Strange, the Most High,
Not the quick when they live, not the holy
who die."
But Serapion answer'd : ' I hear and I
see;
He comes hourly to me ;
He speaks in mine ear, as I pray on my
knee ! '
They murmur'd : ' Blaspheme not ! He
dwells far away ;
None fathom Him may ;
For He is not as man, nor is fashion'd of
clay.
SERAPION.
29
1 Can the God we conceive not have ears
and have eyes ?
Who sayeth so, lies !
Cast thy heresy off, hear our words, and be
wise !
1 For God is not flesh, as His worshippers
be
Nay, a Spirit is He,
Not shapen for mortals to hear or to see.
1 Inconceivable, Holy, Divine evermore,
All His works ruling o'er ;
Yet by these we conceive Him, and darkly
adore. '
Then Serapion answer'd : ' How strange !
For He seems,
In my beautiful dreams,
To be near, with a kind face that brightens
and beams ! '
They murmur'd : ' These fancies are false
and abhorred ;
Since the God who is Lord
Neither face hath nor form, though His
wrath is a sword !
1 Put the vision behind thee ! Be sure no
man's eye
Can conceive or descry
What is hidden from angels of God in the
sky!'
But Serapion answer'd : ' He comes to my
prayer :
He is kind, He is fair ;
His smile is as sunlight, that sleeps on the
' Not as men, but more splendid and
stately and tall
Is the Father of all.
He walks on the snows with a solemn foot-
fall ! '
But they cried : ' By some fiend is thy
solitude stirred !
Shall the Light and the Word,
The Spirit Almighty, be seen and be heard ?
1 Put the vision aside ; like a dream let it flit,
And the shadow of it ;
Lest the heresy drive thee, accurst, to the
Pit.'
They spake and he listened. For nights
and for days
He hark'd in amaze,
While they proved that a Phanjom had
gladden'd his gaze.
At last all was clear, and his forehead was
bent
In submissive assent.
They confess'd him and bless'd him, and
joyfully went.
There he sat, still as stone, sadly thinking
it o'er,
At his desolate door.
Then, alone in his cell, tried to pray, as
before.
He reached out his arms to the cold, empty
air,
Kneeling woefully there ;
He prayed unto God ; but none came to
his prayer.
He walked from his cell on the cold
mountain's crown,
Wending silently down,
Till he stood as before, 'mid the folk in
the town.
With raiment all ragged, worn shoon on
his feet,
He stood in the street ;
And his eyes were not happy, his voice was
not sweet !
The gladness was gone that made golden
his face ;
Yea, there linger'd no trace
Of the smile and the sunshine, the peace
and the grace.
And the folk whisper'd low, as they gathered
to see
' Of all men that be,
The saddest and weariest surely is he ! '
He climb'd up the mountain, and sat there
alone ;
And his spirit made moan
'My God, they have slain Thee! My
God, Thou art gone I
THE EARTHQUAKE.
' The.r breath hath destroy 'd Thee, my
Father ! ' he said
' Thou art lost ! Thou art fled ! '
And the sense of his doom was as dust on
his head.
IV.
The goatherd still gather 'd his flocks ere the
night,
In the red sunset-light ;
But heard no voice singing, afar on the
height !
Silent we cluster'd when the tale was done,
Till Verity exclaimed : ' As that lone monk
Who suffered pedants to destroy his God,
So is our England now ! For many years
She dwelt apart and ponder'd that pure
thought
Which turned to heavenly song in Milton's
mouth,
And never questioning taught her wisest
sons
To bow their heads beneath the Father's
hand;
Then in an evil hour her ear was turn'd
To specious pleadings which profaned the
faith
And quickened unbelieving ; from that hour
Faith faded, the heroic stature sank
Cubit by cubit, and her heroes changed
To problem-haunted pigmies, clustering
mites
On the green cheese of Science. Faugh,
how rank
The stale thing smells, to nostrils which
have drunk
The pure air sweeten'd by the mountain
snows
Where men even yet may find the living
God!'
Cried Sparkle quickly, ' I will grant you,
Faith
Was marvellous, when Faith was possible !
But which is best for outcast Nature's Son,
Fatherless, illegitimately born,
And at the best remitted to the care
Of an abandon'd mother which is best,
To play the farce of filial faith to One
Who utterly declines to show His face,
Nay, who, if He exists, denies Himself,
And leaves His offspring unprovided for,
Or boldly, calmly, facing all events,
To say, " In all the world where'er I search
I find no trace of Fatherhood at all,
No token of His kindness or His care,
Only inexorable Law pursuing
Me and my brethren, and that greater one,
Nature, our mother. Blessings upon her,
Upon her poor blind eyes and beauteous face
Still sunny with insufferable love !
Blessings upon her, and sweet reverence,
Who loveth us, her children ! On her breast
We wakened, ever in her circling arms
We found kind shelter ; when our hearts
are sore,
Our spirits weary, she can comfort us
With countless ministrations, woven smiles
Of light and flowers and sunshine ; when at
last
We are wearied out with our brief day of
life,
She hath a bed of quiet ready, strewn
With grass and scented shadow. Bid me
kneel
To her who never fail'd in acts of love,
And lo ! how eagerly, how reverently,
I haste to bend the knee ; but bid me kneel
To Him I know not, who since life began
Hath never stood acknowledged or revealed,
And lo ! I rise erect with folded arms
In the full pride and privilege of Man,
Rejecting, scorning, or denying Him !
How hath He helped me? When my
finger ached
Or my soul sicken'd of some dark disease,
Where was my Father where was He for
whom
I shriek'd through all the watches of the
night
In pain and protestation? Did He come
To comfort and sustain me? When I
shrank
Affrighted from the clammy hands of
Death,
When in mine arms the maiden of my love
Lay dead and cold, slain by her own first
kiss,
Where was the Father that ye vaunt so
much?
I owe Him life? Perchance. Love too?
Ah me,
A little love to mock a little life
THE SECOND DAY.
Forlorn, and swiftly flying! He hath
chosen,
To leave me in the wilderness of thought
Abandon'd and rejected ; I in turn,
Finding He fails me in my hour of need,
Finding He cannot save me from the fangs
Of His own bloodhounds, Death and Force
and Law,
Reject Him, and abandon that old dream
Of ever looking on a Father's face ! " '
More would his lips have utter'd in a strain
By some deemed blasphemous, but angry
cries
Broke in upon the current of his speech ;
And many there, remembering the fear
Which drove them thither from the City's
streets,
Drew timorously together, as if fearing
The Earthquake's jaws might open under
them.
' Enough ! ' cried Barbara' you touch
the harp
Of feeling with too strenuous a touch,
And jar the delicate chords too cruelly !
For me, I mourn the faith which long ago'
Led men into the desert sands to pray,
And tomb'd the hermit in his narrow cell ;
Then love was pain, and pain was privilege,
And he who sought the Father was content
To find Him bleeding on the wayside Cross,
Or looking sadly from the Sepulchre.
Now who will justify the holiness
Of self-renouncement, shaming with some
tale,
Quaint as a missal love-illumined,
Our peevish problem-haunted modernness ?
Come, Bishop, for you have not spoken yet,
Though clad in wisdom and in purity
As whitely as your ancestors, the monks. '
Close to her side stood Bishop Eglantine,
The gentle priest who dwells an anchorite
Amid the busiest throngs of living men
A man who, sitting at the laden board
Of Knowledge, looking with a longing eye
On the rare dainties that he must not touch,
Grows gaunt and lean with intellectual
fasts ;
So spare, the soul seems shining through
his flesh
Like light through alabaster. Tall he
stood,
Upgazing through the thin transparent roof
Of leaves upon some peaceful sight in
heaven,
And when he smiled in answer to her words
His smile was spectre-like and virginal,
Too faint for flesh and blood. Not far
away
The plumper Bishop Primrose laughing sat,
Broad as his Church and sunnier than his
creed,
And held a bright-eyed child between his
knees.
A Roman lily and an English rose
Were these two prelates ; one proclaiming
Christ
Ghostly and sad and sacrificial,
The other, Christ the brown young Shep-
herd, clad
With strength as with a garment, bending
down
To lift a lambkin struggling among thorns,
And bear it on his back across the hills
Into the Master's fold.
Quoth Eglantine,
With courteous bow to all the circle round,
' Ev'n as you spoke my thoughts were far
away
With one who tenderly renounced the flesh
And found in pain sweet comfort long ago.
Here is the tale scarcely indeed a tale
'Tis given in a monkish chronicle,
And is so brief, that he who runs may hear. '
RAMON MO NAT.
HIDDEN from the light of day,
All his care to plead and pray,
In his cell sat Ramon Monat,
Gaunt and grey.
Suddenly before his sight
Stood the Virgin robed in white,
In her arms fresh-gather 'd roses
Red and bright.
' Ramon, Ramon, ' murmur'd she,
1 See the gifts I bring to thee,
Roses, red celestial roses,
Pluck'd by me !
THE EARTHQUAKE.
' Walking in His gardens fair,
'Midst the golden glory there,
My sweet Son, the Lord Christ Jesus,
Hears thy prayer !
' Lo, He sendeth thee to-day
These blest flowers from far away !
Wildly sobbing, Ramon Monat
Answer 'd ' Nay !
6.
; Holy Mother, on thy breast
Let the flowers of rapture rest,
Not for me I am not worthy
Gifts so blest !
' Ah, but if my brows might gain
(Hear me, though the prayer is vain),
For a moment's space, my Master's
Crown of pain ! '
8.
From his sight the Virgin fair
Vanish'd, as he sank in prayer ;
Presently, again he saw her,
Standing there !
Weeping bitterly she said,
' See, the gift I bring instead
Lo, the cruel crown of sorrow,
Bloody-red ! '
When the Virgin Mother mild,
Weeping like a little child,
Set the thorns on Ramon's forehead,
Ramon smiled !
Lonely there for many a day,
Rack'd with anguish, gaunt and grey,
Happy with that crown of sorrow,
Ramon lay.
Then, when 'twas his Master's will,
There they found him dead and chill,
Sweetly, in his crown of sorrow,
Smiling still !
' The lunatic, the anchorite, and the poet
Are of rank superstition all compact,"
Cried Douglas, lifting high his cap and
bells ;
' Your Ramon Monat wore his crown of
thorns
Upon his pallid brow as jauntily
As Caesar throws the purple round his limbs.
Such creatures on the body of Mother
Church
Crawl'd thickly, till good Doctor Rational,
Call'd when the lady's state was perilous,
Said, "Wash thyself be clean, take exer-
cise ! "
And so the vermin died. He serves God
best
Who loves his kind, and teaches them to
rinse
Both soul and body, until both appear
As clean as a sheep's heart ! '
A speech so bold
Jarr'd with the gentle temper of the hour,
The peaceful woods, the summer afternoon,
The dreamy spirit of that sylvan scene.
' Peace, knave ! ' cried Barbara mock-
seriously,
' Moments there are when even cap and bells
Must lose their privilege, and fools be dumb
For fear of stripes ! ' and to him on the
grass
She tossed a bunch of grapes, which Douglas
caught
And munch'd in silence, lying on his back.
Then came a pause, so deep that we could
hear
The breathing of the silence, the soft stir
Of birds among the boughs, the waterfall
Crooning itself to sleep within the woods.
Quoth Bishop Primrose : ' Your ascetics
shrank
Sense after sense, until their very souls
Became as mere Narcissi, pondering
Their own reflections, figuring in their pride
A moral catalepsy, death not life.
He serves God best who launches fearlessly
Out on the living waters, and proclaiming
The great celestial haven, leads the way
With all sails set, that the poor storm-toss'd
fleet
Of Humankind may follow fearlessly !
Ev'n so the preachers of our Church have
done,
THE SECOND DAY.
33
Spreading glad tidings up and down the
world,
And working out salvation for themselves
Through the redemption of the human
race ! '
' Alas ! ' another speaker interposed,
' The Storm is loud for ever on the seas,
And while the proud strong Churches of the
creeds
Sail to and fro with golden argosies,
Each night a fleet of fishing-boats goes down
And no man heeds ! Science is tenderer ;
She puts a beacon on each rocky cape,
And sounds the shallows, that poor mariners
May know the seas their ships must navigate.
Meantime the tumult of Euroclydon
Roars on the Deep ; and mark ! the tempest
blows
Not to but from the far-off Heavenly Land,
Beating the vessels back on dusky shores
To shipwreck close at home. I'd rather
trust
The roughest pilot born upon the coast,
: Familiar with the dangers round about,
'Than any of your Priests who shut their eyes
And wring their hands and pray ! This
world of ours
Is at the mercy of the elements ;
Who tries to weigh them ? Science does
her best,
While poor Religion quakes, and conjures
up
More spectres than the storm itself can
breed. '
He added : ' Just the other day in church,
Drifted there Heaven knows how and
Heaven knows why,
I heard the preacher preach, and dreamed
a dream ;
If you will have it, here it is in verse,
Rude as the maker, rugged as the theme,'
And no one interposing, he began.
IN A FASHIONABLE CHURCH.
i.
WHAT Shape is this with hands outreaching,
Walking the waters of Hell, and preaching ?
The waves are rolling beneath and glisten-
ing,
Each breaking wave is a white face, listen-
ing !
II.
The rift is roaring, the rain is moaning
His "robe streams back as He stands inton-
ing;
With jet-black troughs the mad seas break
at Him,
And the lightning springs, like a hissing
snake, at Him !
God, doth He guess any soul can hear
Him,
With the wind so wailing, the storm so near
Him?
Yet now and then sounds His voice of
wonder there,
Like the plash of a shower in the pause of
thunder, there.
The Devil sits by those waters evil,
Pensive, as is the wont of the Devil,
So bored and blast his expression is
None would guess what his true profes-
The waters and he are tired together
Of such eternally stormy weather ;
Always that wind is roaring busily,
Till the heart feels faint and the head rocks
dizzily.
Always gusty both night and morrow !
No wonder the Devil is full of sorrow,
No wonder he sneers at the Figure preach
ing there
With bright eyes burning and hands out-
reaching there.
The Devil thinks, ' What use of trying
To preach a sermon 'midst such a crying ?
If He bade the Almighty close His batteries,
The damn'd beneath Him might guess what
the matter is ! '
And lo ! the Figure with white robe stream-
ing
Raises His hand while the winds are scream-
ing
As He stood on the earth when the
Pharisees found Him,
He stands, and the same Storm beats around
Him.
As long ago 'neath the empyrean
He walked on the waters Galilean,
34
THE EARTHQUAKE.
With only the poor damn'd souls to discern
it, He
Walks, and has walked through a long
eternity !
God with the still small voice's calling !
Soft as rain on the grass 'tis falling,
Yet little blame to the souls who are near
toil
If they break and groan and give no ear to
it!
Something it is for the damn'd below Him
To see the patient Figure and know
Him! ....
What a wind ! what a raining and roaring
now !
Lightning, thunder, and black rain pouring
now I
Up with a start I waken groaning,
And hear sweet Honeydew's voice intoning.
Only a dream ! and in church I am again,
Half asleep, in the midst of the sham again !
Hark ! how the soft-eyed, soft- voiced crea-
ture
Preaches, with sweetness in every feature !
The ladies listen, the maids sit dutiful,
The spinsters quiver, and murmur, ' Beau-
tiful ! '
Surely as every Sunday passes
The scented silken superior classes
Flutter flounces and flash like sunny dew
Around the Reverend Mr. Honeydew.
Cambric handkerchiefs scatter scent about,
Pomaded heads are devoutly bent about,
Silks are rustling, lips are muttering,
To the dear man's emotional pausing and
fluttering.
The actor with his shaven cheek here
Studies his art and learns to speak here ;
Every period properly weighted is,
With gentle matter the sermon freighted is.
Sir Midas, portly and resplendent,
With the little Midases attendant,
And Lady Midas, all eyes upon her here,
Sit and smile in the pew of honour here.
Even the agnostic and revolter
Gather before this Chapel's altar,
For none of the bigot's mad insanity
Deforms dear Honeydew's Christianity.
In such an excellent pastor's leading,
So full -of brightness and dainty breeding,
Even the faith ecclesiastical
Seems entertaining and less fantastical !
The preacher is an excellent fellow !
His matter and manner are ever mellow. . . .
But afar the tempest of Hell is thundering,
The Figure preaching, the Devil wondering !
STRANGE as some low and far-off thunder-
peal
Heard in the still heat of a summer day,
While shepherds looking upward in the sun
See purple banks of cloud that ominously
Roll in the distance, came the speaker's
words ;
And as they ended we beheld indeed
Hell, or Creation adumbrating Hell,
Breathing with ululations of despair.
Hearing the wails of sin, the moans of men,
The hopeless, ceaseless wash of weary lives
Which sigh for sunlight or some shore of
peace,
We pitied that supreme despairing Shape
Who treads the waves of woe with luminous
feet,
And since He cannot still them, grows as sad
As the wild waters He is walking on.
And all were silent until Barbara rose
And sigh'd : ' The sun is sinking in the west ;
Our happy day Is ended let us go ! '
And murmuring like bees around the queen
We wandered slowly to the river-side.
Now like a gentle herdsman stood the sun
Pausing upon the brae-tops while he drove
His fleecy flocks of clou'l into their fold
Beneath the faintly glimmering evening
star ;
And coming from the shadow of the woods,
Hushing our cries, we saw the gloaming
grow,
The trees behind us black, the prospects
dim,
| But all things looming large in lustrous air,
THE SECOND DAY.
35
The river-pools as full of deep strange light
As the still sky. The air, too, seem'd alive
With ominous sound akin to that strange
light :
The bull-frogs croaking from the river
shallows,
The cat-owl calling from the distant glade,
The murmuring waterfall now faintly heard
Drowsy and half asleep. Then from the
woods
Rang sudden laughter, sharp and silvery
clear,
Of merry maidens, and the music seem'd
As hollow as a bell, and when we spoke
Our voices had an eerie and empty sound
As if through vast and echoing corridors
We walked in awe.
But soon upon the stream
Our bright flotilla homeward sailed again,
And ere we reached the silent Priory woods
The azure gates of darkness, swinging wide,
Revealed the lucent starry-paven floors,
And all the lamps of heaven ranged in rows
Each in its order round the Altar-steps,
From which a pale and silver- vestured Moon
Pour'd bright ablution and upraised the
Host.
Then, as the glory wrapt us round and
round,
And the dark river, sparkling to our oars,
Flash'd back the dewy splendour, soft and
low
Some voices joined in song ; and thus they
sang: .
\
Storm in the night ! and a voice in the Storm is
crying :
'They have taken my Lord, and I know not
where He is lying ! '
1 1 sat in the Tomb by His side, with a .oul un-
shaken,
I chafed His clay-cold hands, for I knew He
must waken.
'Before He closed His eyes, He said to the
weeping
"Tis but a little while -I shall wake from
sleeping ! "
Cold and stiff He lay, not seeing or hearing ;
The Tomb was sealed with a rock, but I sat
unfearing.
' For a light lay on His eyes, and His face was
gleaming ;
I heard Him sigh in His sleep, and thought " He
is dreaming ! "
I And then, with a thunder-peal, the rock was
riven ;
Bright, in the mouth of the Tomb, stood Angels
of Heaven !
' He did not stir, though I whispered, " Master,
awaken ! " . .
Then brightness blinded my eyes, and lo, He
was taken !
I 1 woke in the Tomb alone, and the wind chill 'd
through me :
" O Master," I moan'd, " remember Thy promise
to me ! "
' I crept through the night and sought Him. . . .
Hither and thither
The swift Moon walk'd, and the white-tooth 'd
Sea ran with her.
1 1 stole from palace to palace, from prison to
prison,
I found no trace of my Lord, though they said
"He hath risen ! "
I 1 heard the Nations weeping I questioned the
Nations :
One said, " He is dead !" another, " He lives-
have patience ! "
1 Twice on the desert sands, in the City Holy,
I have found two pierced footprints, vanishing
slowly !
' Wearily still I wander and still pursue Him
He promised and I await Him, wailing unto
Him!
'And now they say, "He is dead hath the
world forsaken."
Ah no, He hath promised ! hath waken'd, or
will awaken ! '
Storm in the night ! and a voice in the Storm still
crying :
' They have taken my Lord, and I know not
where He is lying ! '
THE THIRD DAY.
(THIS WORLD.)
NEXT day it storm'd. Awakening I gazed
forth,
And saw a slanting wall of liquid gray
Shutting out park and pale, while overhead
D2
THE EARTHQUAKE.
The black clouds droop'd their banners
drifting east ;
Then gazing southward, through the mists
I saw
The ghostly glimmer of the distant Ocean !
Desolate as a soul that leaps from heaven,
The wild rain flung itself into the sea,
And sobbing, choked and drown'd !
The day drew on.
Slowly at intervals, with dismal yawns,
The guests descended to the breakfast-
rooms,
And afterwards they scatter'd hither and
thither :
Some to the drawing-room to lounge and
flirt,
Some to the billiard-room, whence soon
there came
The light sharp rattle of the ivory ball ;
Some to the library, others to the porch,
To lounge there, pipe in mouth, and watch
the weather.
A few, with Sappho Syntax at their head,
Donned their goloshes and their water-
proofs,
And faced the Storm ; but many kept apart
Until the lunch-bell rang ; then, luncheon
o'er,
More straggling up and down from room
to room,
Till, as the hum spreads through a throng
of bees
That the queen bee is near, and straightway
all
Throng to the honey'd centre of the hive,
The murmur spread that Barbara held her
court
In the great drawing-room ; whither hasten-
ing,
We found her, throned upon an ottoman,
Sparkle, high priest of Science, at her
side,
And murmuring silken periods in her ear.
' Dreary indeed, flat, dreary and confined,
As this our Priory on a day of rain,
With walls of liquid black on every side,
Must the sad Earth have seemed ere Science
rose
To tear the veil from Nature's face, and
show
The wonders of the illimitable Void.
A thousand years after the birth of Christ,
Religion, like the Spirit of the Storm,
Obscured the open heaven, veiled land and
tide,
And made Creation dark ; and no man knew
The clime wherein he dwelt, or dared
explore
His earthly habitation ; but the tide
Of Superstition, like another Flood,
Submerged the landmarks, hid the conti-
nents,
And mingled black with the unpastured
Sea.
Then, like a cumbrous Ark, the Church
survived,
And resting on the Ararat of Rome,
Rock'd to the wash of waters those within,
Arrayed in priestly raiment, crying aloud,
" Woe ! woe to man ! the Day of Doom is
near ! "
Honour to those who in that awful hour
Flew forth upon the waves like fearless
doves,
And though the craven priests cried out
" Beware ! "
Faced the wild darkness and the winds of
heaven,
Seeking for glimpses of the solid land !
Then some came circling back with wearied
wings,
And many vanished never to return ;
A few, the fleetest and most strong of flight,
Returning after many wanderings,
Brought with them, as the dove its olive
branch,
Tidings of gladness and a sunlit world ! '
Then murmured Leslie Lambe with kindling
cheeks,
' Doves, say you ? Doves ? I' faith, it
needed then
The eagle's pinion and the eagle's eye
To penetrate that melancholy waste.
Think of Magellan ! what an eagle, he !
The man of marble who in Hell's despite
Unto his lonely purpose held unmoved,
And sailing with unconquerable wing
Across that blackness, came at last in sight
Of a new Heaven sown with unknown stars,
And underneath, a new and wondrous
World.
Stranger the problem he, the undaunted,
solved
Than all your problems of a world to come.
THE VOYAGE OF MAGELLAN.
37
Fie on your poets, fools of fantasy,
That never one hath sung that hero's
praise ! '
Then I remember'd an old Song o' the Sea
Put in the mouth of one who sailed the main
With that stern captain, and within his arms
Held him when, slain by poisonous darts,
he died ;
The words, the rhyme, kept time within my
brain
Like wild sea-surges as the other spake ;
And when, with eager glance around, he
ceased,
I craved permission of our smiling Queen,
And having quickly gained it, thus began :
THE VOYAGE OF MAGELLAN.
(SPOKEN IN THE PERSON OF ONE OF HIS
LIEUTENANTS, DYING AT HOME,
YEARS AFTER THE WONDERFUL
VOYAGE WAS OVER.)
SEND no shaven monks to shrive me, close
the doors against their cries ;
Liars all ! ay, rogues and liars, like the
Father of all lies ;
Nay, but open wide the casement, once
more let me feast my gaze
On the glittering signs of Heaven, on the
mighty Ocean-ways !
Who's that knocking? FraRamiro? Left
his wine-cup and arm-chair,
Come again with book and ointment, to
anoint me and prepare?
Sacramento ! send him packing, with his
comrades shaven-crown'd :
Liars all ! and prince of liars is their Pope !
The world is round !
See, the Ocean ! like quicksilver, throbbing
in the starry light !
See the stars and constellations, strangely,
mystically bright !
Ah, but there, beyond our vision, other
stars look brightly down,
Other stars, and high among them, great
Magellan's starry crown !
O Magellan ! lord and master ! mighty
soul no Pope could tame !
On the seas and on the heavens you have
left your radiant name ;
Brightly shall it burn for ever, o'er the
waters without bound,
Proving Pope and Priests still liars, while
the sun-kist world is round.
Let the cowls at Salamanca cluster thick as
rook and daw !
Let the Pope, with right hand palsied,
clutch his thunderbolts of straw !
Heaven and Ocean, here and yonder, put
their feeble dreams to shame ;
Earth is round, and high above it shines
Magellan's starry name !
Have you vam'sh'd, O my Master? O my
Captain, King of men,
Shall I never more behold you standing
at the mast again,
Eagle-eyed, and stern and silent, never
sleeping or at rest,
Pallid as a man of marble, ever looking to
the west ?
As I lie and watch the heavens, once again
I seem to be
Out upon the waste of waters, sailing on
from sea to sea. . . .
Hark ! what's that ? the monks intoning
in the chapel close at hand ?
Nay, I hear but sea-birds screaming, round
dark capes of lonely land.
Out upon the still equator, on a sea with-
out a breath,
Burning, blistering in the sunlight, we are
tossing sick to death ;
Every night the sun sinks crimson on the
water's endless swell,
Every dawn he rises golden, fiery as the
flames of Hell.
Seventy days our five brave vessels welter
in the watery glare,
O'er the bulwarks hang the seamen pant-
ing open-mouth'd for air ;
On the 'Trinitie 1 Magellan watches in a
fierce unrest,
Never doubting or despairing, ever looking
to the west.
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Then at last with fire and thunder open
cracks the sultry sky,
While the surging seas roll under, swift
before the blast we fly,
Westward, ever westward, plunging, while
the waters wash and wail ;
Nights and days drift past in darkness
while we sail, and sail, and sail.
Then the Tempest, like an eagle by a
thunderbolt struck dead,
With one last wild flap of pinions, droppeth
spent and bloody-red,
Purpling Heaven and Ocean lieth on the
dark horizon's brink,
While upon the decks we gather silently,
and watch him sink.
Troublously the Ocean labours in a last
surcease of pain,
While a soft breath blowing westward
wafts us softly on the main,
Nearer to the edge of darkness where the
flat earth ends, men swear,
Where the dark abysses open, gulf on gulf
of empty air !
Creeping silently our vessels enter wastes
of wondrous weed,
Slimy growth that clings around them,
tangle growing purple seed,
Staining all the waste of waters, making
isles of floating black,
While the seamen, pointing fingers, shrink
in dread, and cry, ' Turn back ! '
On the 'Trinitie' Magellan stands and
looks with fearless eyes
1 Fools, the world is round ! ' he answers,
' onward still our pathway lies ;
Though the gulfs of Hell yawn'd yonder,
though the Earth were ended there,
I would venture boldly forward, facing
Death and Death's despair.'
On their knees they kneel unto him, cross
themselves and shriek afraid,
Pallid as a man of marble stands the
Captain undismayed,
Claps on sail and leads us onward, while
the ships crawl in his track,
Slowly, scarcely moving, trailing monstrous
weeds that hold them back.
On each vessel's prow a seaman stands and
casts the sounding-lead,
In the cage high up the foremast gather
watchers sick with dread.
Calmly on the poop Magellan marks the
Heavens and marks the Sea,
Darkness round and darkness o'er him,
closing round the ' Trinitie.'
Days and nights of deeper darkness follow
then there comes the cry,
' He is mad Death waits before us turn
the ships and let us fly ! '
Storm of mutinous anger gathers round
the Captain stern and true,
Near the foremast, fiercely glaring, flash
the faces of the crew.
One there is, a savage seaman, gnashing
teeth and waving hands,
Strides with curses to the Captain where
with folded arms he stands,
' Turn, thou madman, turn ! ' he shrieketh
scarcely hath he spoke the word,
Ere a bleeding log he falleth, slaughter'd
by the Leader's sword !
' Fools and cowards ! ' cries Magellan,
spurning him with armed heel,
1 If another dreams of flying, let him speak
and taste my steel ! '
Like caged tigers when the Tamer enters
calmly, shrink the band,
While the Master strides among them,
cloth'd in mail and sword in hand.
O Magellan ! lord and leader ! only He
whose fingers frame
Twisted thews of pard or panther, knot
them round their hearts of flame,
Light the emeralds burning brightly in their
eyeballs as they roll,
Could have made that mightier marvel,
thine inexorable soul !
Onward, ever on, we falter till there
comes a dawn of Day
Creeping ghostly up behind us, mirror'd
faintly far away,
While across the seas to starboard loometh
strangely land or cloud
' Land to starboard ! ' cries Magellan
' Land ! ' the seamen call aloud.
THE VOYAGE OF MAGELLAN.
39
Southward steering creep the vessels, while
the lights of morning grow ;
Fades the land, while in our faces chilly fog
and vapour blow ;
Colder grows the air, and clinging round
the masts and stiffening sails
Freezes into crystal dewdrops, into hanging
icicles !
Suddenly arise before us, phantom-wise, as
in eclipse,
Icebergs drifting on the Ocean like in-
numerable ships
In the light they flash prismatic as among
their throng we creep,
Crashing down to overwhelm us, thundering
to the thund'rous Deep !
Towering ghostly and gigantic, 'midst the
steam of their own breath,
Moving northward in procession in their
snowy shrouds of Death,
Rise the bergs, now overtoppling like great
fountains in the air,
While along their crumbling edges slips the
seal and steals the bear.
With the frost upon his armour, like a
skeleton of steel,
Stands the Master, waiting, watching, clad
in cold from head to heel ;
Loud his voice rings through the vapours,
ordering all and leading on,
Till the bergs, before his finger, fall back
ghostlike, and are gone !
Once again before our vision sparkles
Ocean wide and free,
( With the sun's red ball of crimson resting
on the rim of sea ;
' Lo, the sun ! ' he laughs exulting ' still he
beckons far away
Earth is round, and on its circle evermore
we chase the Day ! '
As he speaks the sunset blackens. Twilight
trembles through the skies
For a moment- then the heavens open all
their starry eyes !
Suddenly strange Constellations flash from
out the fields of blue-
Not a star that we remember, not a splen-
dour priestcraft knew !
Sinking on his knee, Magellan prays :
' Now glory be to God !
To the Christ who led us forward on His
wondrous watery road !
See, the heavens give attestation that our
search shall yet be crowned,
Proving Pope and Priests still liars, and the
sun-kist world is round ! '
Sparkling ruby-ray'd and golden round the
dusky neck of Night
Hangs the jewel'd Constellation, strangely,
mystically bright
Pointing at it cries the Master, ' By the God
we all adore,
It shall bear my name, MAGELLAN ! ' and
it bears it, evermore.
Storms arising sweep us onward, but each
night our courage grows,
Newer portals of the Heavens seem to
open and enclose,
Showing in the blue abysm vistas lumin-
ously strange,
Sphere on sphere, and far beyond them
fainter lights that sparkle and change !
Presently once more we falter among pools
of drifting scum,
Weed and tangle o'er the blackness
curious sea-birds go and come
While to southward looms a darkness, as
of land or gathering cloud,
Northward too, another darkness, and a
sound of breakers loud.
Once again they call in terror, 'Turn
again, for Death is near !
Once again he quells their tumult, smiting
till they crouch in fear.
On the darkness closing round them, land
or cloud, our fleet is led,
Fighting tides that sweep them backward,
flowing from some gulf of dread.
Next, the Vision ! next the Morning, after
rayless nights and days,
Twinkling on a great calm Ocean stretching
far as eye can gaze,
Newer heavens and newer waters, solitary
and profound,
Rise before us, while behind us Day arises
crimson-crown'd !
40
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Turning we behold the shadows of the
straits through which we sped,
Then again our eyes look forward where
the windless waters spread ;
Overhead the sun rolls golden, moving
westward through the blue,
Reddens down the far-off heavens, beckons
bright, and we pursue.
On that vast and tranquil Ocean, folding
wings the strong winds dwell,
Sleeping softly or just stirring to the water's
tranquil swell,
Peaceful as the fields of heaven where the
stars like bright flocks feed,
So that many dream they wander thro" the
azure Heaven indeed !
Then Magellan, from its scabbard drawing
forth his shining sword,
Grasps the blade, and downward bending
dips the bright hilt overboard
' By the holy Cross's likeness, mirror'd in
this hilt ! ' cries he,
' Be this Ocean called Pacific, since it sleeps
eternallie ! '
Pastured with a calm eternal, drawing down
the clouds in dew,
Sighing low with soft pulsations, darkly,
mystically blue,
Lies that long untrodden Ocean, while for
months we sail it o'er ;
Ever dawns the sun behind us, ever swiftly
sets before.
But like devils out of Tophet, as we sail
with God for Guide,
Rise the Spectres, Thirst and Hunger,
hollow-cheek'd and cruel-eyed ;
Fierce and famish'd creep the seamen,
while the tongues between their teeth
Loll like tongues of hounds for water, dry
as dust and black with death.
Many fall and die blaspheming, ' Give us
food ! ' the living call
Pallid as a man of marble stands the Master
gaunt and tall,
Hunger fierce within him also, and his
parch'd lips prest in pain,
But a mightier thirst and hunger burning in
his heart and brain !
Black decks blistering in the sunlight, sails
and cordage dry as clay,
Crawl the ships on those still waters night
by night and day by day ;
Then the rain comes, and we lap it as upon
the decks it flows
' Spread a sail ! ' calls out the Master, and
we catch it ere it goes.
Now and then a lonely sea-bird hovers far
away, and we
Crouch with hungry eyes and watch it
fluttering closer o'er the sea,
Curse it if it flies beyond us, shoot it if it
cometh nigh,
Share the flesh and blood among us, under-
neath the Captain's eye.
Sometimes famish'd unto madness, fierce as
wolves that shriek in strife,
One man springs upon another, stabs him
with the murderous knife ;
Then the Master, stalking forward where
the murderer shrinks in dread,
Bids him kneel, and as he kneeleth cleaves
him down, and leaves him dead.
O Magellan ! mighty Eagle, circling sun-
ward lost in light,
Wafting wings of power and striking meaner
things that cross thy flight,
God to such as thee gives never lambkin's
love or dove's desire
Nay, but eyes that scatter terror from a
ruthless heart of fire !
Give me wine. My pulses falter. . .
So ! . . . Confusion to the cowls !
They who hooted at my Eagle, eyes of bats
and heads of owls !
Throw the casement open wider ! There
is something yet to tell
How we came at last to waters where the
naked islesmen dwell.
Isles of wonder, fringed with coral, ring'd
with shallows turquoise-blue,
Where bright fish and crimson monsters
flash'd their jewel'd lights and flew,
Steeps of palm that rose to heaven out of
purple depths of sea,
While upon their sunlit summits stirr'd the
tufted cocoa- tree
THE VOYAGE OF MAGELLAN.
Isles of cinnabar and spices, where soft airs
for ever creep,
Scenting Ocean all around them with
strange odours soft as sleep
Isles about whose promontories danced the
black man's light canoe,
Isles where dark-eyed women beckon' d,
perfumed like the breath they drew.
Drunken with the sight we landed, rush'd
into the scented glades,
Treading down the scented branches, seized
the struggling savage maids.
Ah, the orgy ! Still it sickens! blood of
men bestrewed our path,
Till the islesmen rose against us, thick as
vultures shrieking wrath.
Then, the sequel ! Nay, I know not how
the damned deed could be
By some islesman's poisoned arrow or some
Spaniard's treacherie ;
But one evening, as we struggled fighting
to our boats on shore,
In the shallows fell the Captain, foully
slain, and rose no more !
O Magellan ! O my Master ! O my Captain,
King of men !
Was it fit thou so shouldst perish, though
thy work was over then,
Foully slain by foe or comrade, butcher 'd
like a common thing,
Thou whose eagle flight had circled Earth
upon undaunted wing !
Nay, but then my King had conquered !
Earth and Ocean to his sight
Open'd had their wondrous visions, shaming
centuries of night ;
Nay, but even the shining Heavens kept
the record of his fame
Earth was round, and high above it shone
Magellan's starry name.
How our wondrous voyage ended ? Nay,
I know not, all was done ;
Lying in rny ship I sickened, moaning,
hidden from the sun.
Yea ! the vessels drifted onward till hey I
came to isles of calm,
Where some savage monarch hail'd them,
standing underneath a palm.
How the wanderers took these islands tribu-
tary to our King,
Show'd the Cross, baptized the monarch,
homeward crept on weary wing ?
Pshaw, 'tis nothing ! All was over ! He
had staked his soul and gained,
They but reaped the Master's sowing, they
but crawl'd where he had reigned !
Hark ! what sound is that ? The chiming
of the dreary vesper bell ?
Nay, I hear but Ocean sighing, feel the
waters heave and swell.
Earth is round, but sailing sunward with
my Master still I fare
Other Heavens his ship is searching, and
I go to seek him there I
The wall of darkness round the rainy house
Broke as I ended, and a watery beam
Of sunshine struck the pane, and lingering
on it,
Became prismatic. Then with quiet smile
Professor Mors, the truculent Irishman,
Whose treatise on the origin of worlds
Fluttered the Churches for a season, said :
' Man conquers earth, and climbing yonder
Heaven
Pursues the baleful gods from throne to
throne !
Ah, but the strife was long, and even here
It hath not ended yet. Each Phantom laid,
Another rises, though on fearless wing
We creep from world to world. Evil abides,
And with her hideous mother, Ignorance,
Scatters pollution ! '
Calmly answered him
Dan Paumanok, the Yankee pantheist :
1 Friend, I have dwelt on earth as long as
you,
And found all evil here but forms of good ! '
Whereat some laughed, and cried, ' A
paradox ! '
But, gravely leaning back in his arm-chair,
The greybeard cried, ' Knowledge and
Ignorance,
I calculate, are sisters otherwise
Named Good and Evil. Hand in hand
they walk,
So like, that even those who know them best
Scarcely distinguish their identities !
Thro' the dark places of the troubled earth
4 2
THE EARTHQUAKE.
The first walks radiant and the last gropes
blind ;
But when they come upon the mountain-
tops,
In the night's stillness, underneath the stars,
The last it is that ofttimes leads the first
And points her upward to the heavenly
way ! '
* If this be so,' the grim Professor cried,
Shrugging his shoulders with impatient
sneer,
' Then wrong is every whit as good as right,
The Darkness is no better than the Light
It comprehends not!' 'Certainly,' ex-
claimed
The melancholy transcendentalist ;
' One is the tally of the other, friend ;
Nay more, they intermingle, and are one !
The morning dew, that scarcely bends the
flowers,
Exhaled to heaven becomes the thunderbolt
That strikes and slays at noon.'
But Mors replied
With cold superior smile : ' A cheerful
creed !
And comfortable, since, whate'er befalls,
No matter if the foemen sack the city,
No matter if the plague-cart comes and
goes,
No matter if the starving cry for bread,
The sleepy watchman calmly cries "All's
well ! "
For my poor part, as one whose youth was
spent,
Not in pursuit of vain delusive dreams,
But in the halls of Science, whom I serve,
I fail to find in Evil any form
My mistress would be brought to christen
good;
Nay, on my life,' he added, gathering zeal,
' Than such a pantheistic lotus-flower
I'd rather choose those husks and shells of
grace
John Calvin found when, prone on hands !
and knees,
He searched the garbage of Original Sin !
And rather than believe that Hell was
Heaven,
People my Hell once more with soot-black
fiends !
For Fever, Pestilence, and Ignorance
No angels are, fall'n from some high estate,
But devilish shapes indeed, beneath the
heel
Of Hermes, god of healing and of light,
Soon to be trampled down and vanquished.
And other hideous things that waste the
world,
War, Superstition, Anarchy, Disease,
Monsters that Man has fashion'd, like to that
Framed in the poet's tale by Frankenstein
These shall be slain by their creator's hand,
Their Master's, even Man's. Survey the
earth ;
And see the sunrise of our saner creed
Scattering the darkness and the poisonous
fumes
Which eighteen hundred weary years ago
Came from the sunless sepulchre of Christ.
Where Fever poisoned the pellucid wel
Thedrinking-fountain clear as crystal flows ;
Where the marsh thicken'd and miasma
spread,
Cities arise, with clean and shining streets
And sewers transmuting garbage into gold ;
Where the foul blood-stained Altar once
was set,
Stand the Museum and Laboratory ;
The Library, the Gymnasium, and the Bath
Replace the palace ; Manufactories,
Gathering together precious gifts for man,
Supplant the Monolith and Pyramid.
Thus everywhere the light of human love
Brightens a wondering convalescent world
Just rising from the spectre-haunted bed
Whereon it sickened of a long disease,
Attended by the false physician, Christ.'
He paused ; the fever of his eager words
Flash'd on from face to face until it reached
The face of Verity, the priest of Art ;
But there it faded, for with pallid frown
And lifted hands, the gentle prophet cried :
' Light ? Sunrise ? Sunlight ? I who speak
have eyes,
And yet I see but darkness visible i
Lost is the azure in whose virgin depths
The filmy cirrus turn'd to Shapes divine,
Goddess and god, soft- vestured, white as
wool !
Faded the sun, which, striking things of
stone,
Turn'd them to statues which like Memnon's
sang,
And palpitating over domes and walls,
THE THIRD DAY.
43
Cover'd them o'er with forms miraculous,
Prismatic, which the hand of genius touch'd
And fixed in colour ere the forms could fade !
The world, you say, is heal'd; to me, it
seems
Just smitten with the plague, and every-
where
The foul cloud gathers, shutting out the sun.
And that faint sound we deem the sweet
church chimes,
Is but the death-bell tinkling, while the cart
Comes forits load of dark disfigured dead.
Meantime, within the foul dissecting-room
The form of Man, which, ere our plague-
time came,
Was reverenced in shapes of loveliness,
Rosy in flesh, or snowy white in stone,
Lies desecrated, hideous, horrible,
Pois'ning the air and sickening the soul !
And on the slab, beneath the torturer's knife,
Man's gentle friend, the hound, shrieks
piteously,
Answer' d by all the bleeding flocks of Pan !
And everywhere the fume of Anarchy,
And hideous monsters of machinery
Toiling for ever in their own thick breath,
Blends with the plague-smoke, blotting out
the sun,
Whereby alone all shapes of beauty live ! '
' Nay, nay,' cried Barbara, ' though it rains
to-day
The lift will clear to-morrow. I believe
You all are partly right and partly wrong,
For surely many things in life that seem
Most evil are but blessings in disguise ?
And difficult 'tis, maybe, to discern
Where Knowledge ends and Ignorance
begins.
But then, again, what soul rejoices not
To see yon mailed Perseus, Science, stand
Bruising the loathsome hydra of Disease,
Ay, often slaying Sin and conquering
Death ?
And yet, again, the counter-plea is true,
That Science, though she heals the wounds
of life,
Whiles heals them cruelly and uncannily,
Just shuts the sufferer in a sunless room,
And changes the old merry tunes of time
To daft mechanic discord, such as that
Which issues from the throats of mine and
mill,
With sough of poisonous reek and flames
more sad
Than ever came from Tophet ! '
As she ceased,
Professor Mors, the pallid pessimist,
Outstretched his lean and skeletonian hand,
Pointing out sunward : ' See ! ' he cried,
' the God,
Last-born and first-born, Nature's micro-
cosm,
Who, sitting on his mighty throne of graves,
Murmurs the death-dirge of Humanity !
Had ye but ears, methinks that you might
catch
The burthen of his melancholy song,
As I myself have heard it oftentimes
When wandering weary underneath the
stars.
'Twas thus, methinks, it ran, or something
thus,
Full of a burthen strange and sad as ever
Was heard beside the wave-wash'd shores
of Time. '
SOLILOQUY OF THE GRAND
ETRE.
I A M God, who was Man. Lord of earth,
sea, and sky,
I endure while men die ;
The River of Life laps my feet, flowing by.
Out of darkness it came, into darkness it
goes,
From repose to repose,
And mirrors my face in its flood as it flows.
I am Man, who was men. I am flesh,
sense, and soul,
I was part who am Whole,
I am God, being Man, whom no god may
control.
Now, sitting alone on my throne, I survey
The dim Past far away,
Whence I came, on the borders of infinite
day.
All things and all forces combining have
brought
Me, their God, out of nought,
Through the night-time of sense to the
morning of thought.
44
THE EARTHQUAKE.
I think and I am. I look round me, and
lo!
I remember and know
Both whence I have issued and whither I go.
I stand on the heights of the earth, and
descry,
From sky on to sky,
The path through the ages that led me so
high.
From the deserts of space where my fire-
webs were spun,
Spreading thence one by one
Till they flash'd into flame and cohered to
a sun ;
From the great whirling sun whence, with
no eye to mark,
I shot like a spark,
Then spun fiery-wing'd, round and round,
through the dark.
There slowly, alone in the silence of space,
I moved in my place,
With the night at my back and the light on
my face.
First shapeless and formless, then spheric
and fair,
With no sense, with no care,
I cool'd my hot breast in dark fountains of
air.
And the mist of my breathing enwrapt me,
and grew
Like a cloud in the blue
Then flooded my frame with warm oceans
of dew.
In the waters I swam, while the sun, red as
blood,
Of the waves of that flood
Wove a green grassy sheen, for my raiment
and food.
At last, one bright morn, with no sense,
with no sight,
After aeons of night,
I lay like a bride new apparell'd and bright.
And embracing my Bridegroom, who bent
from the skies
With bright beautiful eyes,
Felt something within me grow quick, and
And straightway I too was the seed, and
behold !
Small and lustrous and cold,
I moved in the slime, taking shapes mani-
fold.
I was quick who was clay. I was living
and drew
Breath of darkness and dew ;
From form on to form groping blindly, I
grew.
Then form'd like a Monster with wings, I
upieapt
From the waters and swept
Through the mirk of their breath ; or lay
snakewise, and crept.
Change on change, till I wander'd on hands
and on feet
Where the cloud-waves retreat ;
And ever each age I grew fair and more
fleet.
The world that was I brighten'd round me,
and still,
Some strange task to fulfil,
I changed and I changed, with no wish,
with no will.
At last, after aeons of death and decay,
At the gateways of Day
I stood, looking up at the heavens far away !
The sea at my feet, and the stars o'er my
head,
Naked, dark, with proud tread
I walked on the heights, being quick, who
was dead.
I was Man, who was monster. I lived, and
I drew
Gentle breath from the blue,
Looked backward and forward, moved
blindly, but knew.
And I heark'd to the sounds of the earth,
to the herds
Of the beasts and the birds,
And I broke to wild babble of mystical
words.
I could speak, who was dumb ; I could
smile, who was stone ;
Of those others not one
Could speak or could smile. I was king-
like and lone.
SOLILOQUY OF THE GRAND ETRE.
45
I reign'd o'er the earth, and I slew for a feast And as wave follows wave, or as cloud
Both the bird and the beast ;
My seed, scatter'd eastward and westward,
increased.
But I feared what the bird and the beast
did not fear :
Shapes of dread creeping near
In the night-time, strange voices that cried
in mine ear.
And I saw what the bird and the beast
could not see
Shapes that thunder 'd at me
From the clouds overhead, till I prayed on
my knee.
And I named the dark gods that the beasts
could not name
And I crouch'd, fearing blame
At the voice of the waters, the thunder's
acclaim.
One god seemed the strangest and saddest
of all,
Who with silent footfall
Slew my seed in the night, smote the great
and the small.
Men were scattered like leaves I remained
being Ma.n ;
'Neath the blight and the ban,
Like a hound on the grave of its master I
ran
On the tombs of my race, crying loud in
despair
To the gods of the air,
\Vho changed as the clouds and were deaf
to my prayer.
Then I learned the one Name that the gods
overhead
Ever whisper 'd in dread,
And methought He was Lord of the quick
and the dead.
For I looked on the Book of the stars, and
could frame
The strange signs of the Name,
And yet when I called Him He heard not,
follows cloud,
Flash'd my kind in their crowd,
Then slept in their season, each man in his
shroud.
Men died, but I died not ; I lived and dis-
cerned,
With my face ever turned
To the skies, where the lights of my universe
burned.
Then I groped on the earth, and I searched
sea and land
For the signs of the Hand
Which shaped the cloud-limits, the stars,
and the sand.
And all that I found was the footprints of
clay
/ had left on my way
From the darkness of night to the borders
of day.
Then I search'd the great voids of the
heaven for a trace
Of a Form or a Face ;
I questioned the stars each was dumb in
its place.
So I cried ' Wheresoever I gaze, I descry,
On the earth, in the sky,
One thing that is deathless, the Life that
isl!'
And I cried, as I looked on the image I cast
On the limitless Vast,
' I was from the first, and I am till the last ! '
I am Lord of the world. I am God, being
Man.
In the night I began,
Then grew from a cell to a soul, without
plan.
As far as the limits of Time and of Space
I my footprints can trace
Wending onward and upward, from race
back to race.
I behold, who was blind. I was part, who
am Whole.
As the waters that roll
Are my seed who forsake and upbuild me,
their Soul.
4 6
THE EARTHQUAKE.
Do they weep? I am calm. Do they
doubt? I am sure.
Though they die, I endure,
As a fire that ascending grows stainless and
pure.
I discern all the Past, waves on waves that
have fled,
While I press with slow tread
To a goal I discern not, o'er snowdrifts of
dead.
I am Thought in the flesh, who was Sense
in the seed.
Silent, sanctified, freed,
I emerge, the full sign of the Dream and the
Deed.
I am God, being Man. In my glory I blend
Life and death without end.
If the Void hold my peer, let Him speak. I
attend.
' So speaks the last and mightiest of the
gods,
Our Master, Man immortal ! ' Sparkle
cried ;
1 His shadow fills the universe as far
As His own thought can wing ; His bright
eyes face
The sunlight with a blaze it cannot blind ;
And in the hollow of His hand He weighs
The stars that are His playthings. He has
slain
All other gods, the greatest and the least,
And now within the inmost heart of earth
He builds a Temple more miraculous
Than any little temple wrought in stone ! '
' Say rather, 1 answered Bishop Eglantine,
' He wearily prepares the funeral pyre
Whereon Himself, in the dim coming years,
Shall mount and royally burn, or (failing
fire)
Whereon outstretch'd He shall await the
end,
While quietly the skeleton hands of Frost
Weave Him a shroud, and Time doth snow
upon Him
Out of the heavens of eternal cold !
For is not one thing sure, that this round
world
Must perish in its season, or become
A habitation where no breathing thing
Can longer creep or crawl? Alas for Him,
Your poor Grand Etre, enrooted like a tree
In the still changing soil of human life,
When human life itself shall pass away
As breath upon a mirror, and Night resume
Her empire on the rayless universe.
Wiser, methinks, than your pale seer of
France,
Who fashion'd this same shadow of a god,
Is he who prophesies in soul's despair
The sure extinction of the conscious types.
Place for the pessimist ! in Hartmann
comes
A later Buddha, and a balefuller.
" Ere yet Man's Soul," he crieth, "merges
back
Into the nothingness from which it rose,
Three stages of illusion must be past :
The stage of a belief in happiness
In this hard world ; the stage of a belief '
In happiness in any world to come ;
And last, the stage of yet more foolish faith
In any happiness the race can gain
Beyond the life of individual man.
Your god, then, is foredoom'd to nothing-
ness,
Surely as Zeus or any of the slain
Already peopling chaos ! " '
' Yet he reigns ! '
Cried Sparkle, ' and we do him reverence !
Fairer than Balder, tenderer than Christ,
His brethren, mightier than Jove or Brahm,
He adumbrates the wisdom and the joy
Of Nature, and his large beneficence
Extends sweet aid to all created things.
All that he prophesies and promises
He realises and fulfils, unlike
The thunderer on Sinai, or the God
Who wore the crown of thorns ! '
' Alas, poor God ! '
Murmur'd that other. ' Fashion'd out of
pain,
Shapen in doubt, and clothen with despair,
How shall He, having re-created Earth
And brought the fabled Eden back again,
Shut out the memory of His own sad dead ?
For looking backward, He beholds the
world
Strewn with the graves of those who have
lived and loved,
And suffered, to complete His deity ;
THE THIRD DAY.
47
And looking sadly round Him, He beholds
Millions in act to suffer, hears the wail
That shall not cease for many an age to
come ;
And looking forward, He sees the cataclysm
Of Nature, and his own completed work
Abolish'd in the twinkling of a star !
O pale phantasmic mockery of a god !
O shadow fainter than all shadows cast
Since first the wild man fear'd the darkness,
shrieked
At his own shape projected on the cloud
A spectre of the Brocken, a forlorn
Image of primal ignorance and fear !
Shall we resign for such a dream as this
Our human birthright and our heavenly
hope ? '
' Nay,' interposed another Edward Clay,
Pupil of Verity and Ercildoune,
' The exodus from Paris following
The exodus from Houndsditch, what
remain
But human types of godhead, fit at least
For temporary worship ? I will travel
As far as Mecca on my hands and knees
To see a godlike man, in whom alone
We find the apex and the crown of things,
'The vindication of Humanity.
The individual gives the type divine,
The rest, the race, is nothing ! '
Thereupon
Outspoke Dan Paumanok, the pantheist :
' Friend, I have often known your godlike
men,
And loved them, not for that wherein they
missed,
But that wherein they shared, the common
strength
And weakness of the race. I love to look
On Goethe's feet of clay, to touch the dross
Mixed with the golden heart of Washington,
<To think that Socrates, who braved the
gods
And drank his hemlock cup so cheerfully,
Shrank from the chiding of a shrew at home.
Gods? Godlike men? I guess all men
possess,
By right of manhood, godlike qualities ;
But high as ever human type has reached,
The wave of masterful Humanity
Sweeps higher, striking yonder shore of
stars !
Worship no man at all, but every man,
Man typical, Man cosmic, multiform.
The flower and fruit of Being ; seize the
Thought
Effused from human forms as light is shed
Out of the motion of a living thing ;
Follow the sunward flight of our fair race,
Which breathes and suffers, multiplies and
dies,
And in a million forms of sense and soul
Sweeps into action and is justified !
The blacksmith at his anvil, the glad child
Gathering shells upon the ocean shore,
The scientist in his laboratory,
The prostitute that walks the moonlit
streets,
The sailor at the masthead, or the poet
Lying and dreaming in the summer wood
All these, and countless other forms divine,
Are evermore divine enough for me.
Fast through them flows the strange and
mystic Thought
We comprehend not being things that
die,
But which, if we but knew, is Life itself
Large Life and ample godhead. We are
forms
The god-force fashions, as it fashions suns
And clouds and waves and patient animals,
Dead things and living, quickening through
the stars
As through the kindling ovum in the
womb,
And every form of life, howe'er so faint,
Is corporate godhead ! '
' Ho ! a heretic ! '
Cried Douglas, laughing ; ' come, my
myrmidons,
Make ready there the faggots and the stake :
By Cock and by St. Peter, Dan must burn.
For less than this Giordano Bruno wore
The martyr's shirt of fire, for less than this
John Calvin tuck'd the bed of flaming coals
Around Servetus, chuckling to himself
" He called me names, improbus et blas-
phemus,
And routing me in argument, affirm'd
Stone bench and table, things inanimate,
To be celestial Substance, very God :
Wherefore I hand him to be burned alive
By such celestial Substance wood, coals,
fire
And to this God I leave him cheerfully ! "
THE EARTHQUAKE.
For John had humour, mark you, grim as
death
And blue as brimstone ; for the rest, he knew
The God of Judah kept His ancient tastes
And dearly loved a human sacrifice ! '
'Those days are done for ever,' Primrose
said,
' And he who slew Servetus in his wrath
Slew also priestcraft and the crimson Beast,
So that the lamb of gentleness might reign. '
' Indeed ! ' cried Sparkle with a smile and
sneer.
' One comfort is, grim John invented Hell,
Fit home for such a ravening wolf as he !
Why, yes, we grant you Hell, if you admit
Your Calvin's place there ! But I doubt
indeed
If you have yet abolished martyrdom.
I know full many Christians, worthy souls,
Who swear by book and preach to simple
men,
Who, did our gentler human laws permit,
Would strip our Cuthberts naked to the skin
And give them fire for raiment willingly !
Ay, and they do it, freely dealing out
Moral damnation and keen social flame,
So that no man alive, if he would keep
His worldly goods and social privileges,
Dare speak the thing he thinks, or openly
Affirm the heavens are empty, God de-
throned.
The thinker is an outcast as of old,
And scarcely dares to phrase his thought
aloud
Even on the pillow where he rests his head,
Lest his goodwife should hear the heresy,
And call the curate or the parish priest
To compass his conversion, or at least
Rescue the little ones from blight and bane. '
'Why not?' most sadly answer 'd Eglantine;
' Blame not the shepherd if he seeks to save
His lambkins from the touch of Antichrist.
Our gentle Inquisition, though it works
In cruelty no more, but all in love,
Is slack, too slack. The age is godless, sir.
Affrighted by the spectres all around,
Our priests lack zeal ! Meantime how busily
The self-approven priests of Science toil
The Devil still is busier gathering tares
Than angels who upbind the golden grain. '
Another voice broke in, a woman's voice,
Clear-toned and gentle round Miss Hazle-
mere's,
The grey-hair'd lassie with a matron's form
And mother's yearning in her virgin eyes :
Half doubter, half believer, she asserts
The privilege of woman's sex to solve
Problems to which the arid minds of men
Are too untender and rectangular,
Rebukes the Churches, rates the scientists,
And lights a lonely spiritual lamp
By stormy waters, on the rocks of Doubt.
'The truth's with Father Eglantine,' she
said ;
' A priestcraft is a priestcraft, though it
speaks
The first word of Religion or the last
Of Science. I would trust Geneva John
No more than Torquemada, and no less
Than Cuthbert or than Mors, if e'er the law
Arm'd them with amplitude of priestly
power.
Think you there is no Inquisition now ?
Alas ! I too know scores of simple souls
Who, having kept their foolish faith in
God,
Anthropomorphic, ancient, infantine,
Are, brought before the judges of the time,
Condemn'd as mad or hypocritical !
The old belief is so unfashionable
Among the very wise and over-wise,
That he who dares affirm it openly
Is deem'd unfit to govern his own wife
Or be the lord of his own nursery.
And presently, be sure, if this thing grows,
'Twill be as perilous to believe in God
As 'twas in darker ages to discuss
God's Substance, or attempt to separate
The Tria Juncta of the Trinity.
No priestcraft and no priest at all, say I,
But freedom and free thought, free scope,
free choice
To fashion any fetish that I please ! '
So speaking, she was conscious of two eyes,
Mouthful and eloquent, regarding her :
VIr. Marsh Mallow, bright and bold, but
growing
Like his own namesake in a watery place,
Caught up the ball she smiling threw his
way,
And cried : ' Truth still remains with
Eglantine !
THE THIRD DAY.
49
The Church which builds itself on Peter's
Rock,
And still doth keep the keys of Heaven
and Hell,
Lacks zeal to face those Spectres of the
mind
Which it might lay to sleep for evermore
With just one wave of the enchanter's wand.
Meantime they rush abroad like ravening
wolves,
Appalling Reason, making Love afraid,
Rending in twain the beauteous heaven-eyed
Lamb
Which men have christen'd Faith. But
patience yet ;
The priestcraft and the priest shall conquer
yet,
And men grow holy in their own despite ! '
Flush'd to the temples, Stephen Harkaway,
The dandy of revolt, a positivist,
And positive to the very finger-tips,
Made answer : ' Yet again the solemn truth
Remains with Eglantine ! The priest shall
reign,
And on the sands of time another Pope
Upbuild another and a fairer Rome.
There the apostles of the fair new creed,
Having abolished Christ and all the gods,
Destroyed the current poison of belief
In individual immortality,
Shall to the only god, Humanity,
Sing their hosannah ! Ay, and they shall
raise
Their Inquisition on the heart of man,
And unto Vice and Ignorance and Disease,
All things that mar their god's divinity,
Deal the peine forte et dure ! Prison and
fire
Shall fright the fortune-telling charlatans
Who creep with old wives' tales from house
to house !
Since Man without a creed is stark and
starved,
And only feeble souls desiderate
A creed without a priestcraft, ours shall be
Tyrannical, I trust, and, furthermore,
Kind to the very verge of cruelty !
No fetish, Madam, will be tolerated,
Nor any juggler's tricks to cheat the soul. '
1 1 thank you, sir,' Miss Hazlemere replied,
1 For throwing off the mask that we may see
H.
The features of your God. I ever thought
Your Comte a Jesuit in disguise ! But come,
Our Queen looks sadly on this war of words,
And longs to hush its Babel. Who will
touch
The midriff of the mystery with a song ?
For Music, of all angels walking earth,
Is fittest far to phrase the Thought divine
Which dies away in utterance on the lips
That only speak poor human nature's prose.
Sweet Music gropes her way and walketh
blind
Because she saw the Vision long ago
And closed her eyes in joy unutterable,
The light of which lies ever upon her face
Although she cannot see ! '
Then at a sign
From Lady Barbara, I, her poet, rose
And touch'd the instrument, with eager
hand
Sounded a prelude of precipitous notes,
Then broke to measured song ; and thus I
sang :
<
O MARINERS.
O Manners, out of the sunlight, and on through
the infinite Main,
We have sailed, departing at morning ; and now
it is morning again.
Dimly, darkly, and blindly, our life and our
journey begun,
Blind and deaf was our sense with the fiery sands
of the sun.
Then slowly, grown stronger and stronger, feeling
from zone on to zone,
We passed the islands of darkness, and reached
the sad Ocean, alone.
But now we pause for a moment, searching the
east and the west,
Above and beneath us the waters that mirror our
eyes in their breast !
Behind, the dawn and the darkness, new dawn
around and before,
Ah me, we are weary, and hunger to rest, and to
wonder no more.
Yet never, O Mariners, never were we so stately
and fair
The forms of the flood obey us, we are lords of
the birds of the air.
And yet as we sail we are weeping, and crying,
' Although we have ranged
So far over infinite waters, transformed out of
darkness and changed,
THE EARTHQUAKE.
We know that the Deep beneath us must drink
us and wash us away'
Nay, courage sail on for a season on, on to
the gateways of Day.
Our voyage is only beginning its dreariest
dangers are done,
We now have a compass to guide us, the Soul,
and it points to the Sun !
The stars in their places obey us, the winds are
as slaves to our sail
Be sure that we never had journey'd so far but
to perish and fail !
Out of the wonderful sunlight, and on through
the infinite Main,
We have sail'd, departing at morning and now
it is morning again !
INTERLUDE.
To H .
DEAREST, thou whose lightest breath
Sweetens Life and conquers Death,
Fair as pure, and purer far
Than the dreams of poets are,
Unto thee, and only thee,
I upon my bended knee
Give my birthright Poesy !
Ishmael of the singing race,
Born where sky and mountain meet,
Standing in a lonely place
With the world below my feet,
Wrapt about with mist and cloud,
Songs of joy I sang aloud !
Then the Muses of the North,
Like Valkyries heavenly-eyed,
From the storm-cloud trooping forth,
Found me on the mountain-side,
Buckled on my mail of steel,
Arm'd me nobly head to heel,
Placed a sword within my hand,
Made me warrior of the Right,
Crying, ' Go and take thy stand
In the vanward of the fight !
Hasten forth, made strong and free,
Through thy birthright Poesy ! '
Then I gazed, and far below
Saw the fires of battle glow,
Saw the banners of the world
Kindle, to the winds unfurl'd,
Saw the pomp of priests and kings
Girt about by underlings,
Hunting down with sword and spear
Liberty, the fleet red-deer,
Saw the Cities vast and loud,
Foul as Sodom and as proud,
Each a Monster in its mire
Crouching low with eyes of fire ;
Heard the cruel trumpet's blare,
Mix'd with plagal-hymns of prayer,
Saw the world from sea to sea
Blind to Death and Deity !
Singing loud with savage joy
Down the glens I sprang, a boy-
Downward as the torrent swept,
On from rock to rock I leapt,
Reach'd the valleys where the fight
Flash'd in flame from morn to night,
Plunged into the thickest strife,
Scarcely knowing friend from foe,
Knew the bloody stress of life,
Till a sword-thrust laid me low.
Slowly on the moonlit plain,
Where the dead lay dark and dumb,
I, unclosing mine eyes again,
Saw my fair Valkyries come.
Bending over me they crooned
Loving runes and heal'd my wound,
Then they cried, ' Uprise once more,
Seek the City's inmost core,
Find the wretched and opprest,
Sing them mountain-songs of cheer ;
Help the basest, brand the best,
We shall watch and hover near
Face the King upon his throne,
Face the Priest within the shrine,
Fear no voice save God's alone
(Thou hast heard it oft intone
Through the cloud-wrapt woods of
pine)
Take thy place, but close to thee
Clasp thy birthright Poesy ! '
Through the City's gates I crept
Silent, while the watchmen slept
Pass'd from shade to shade wherein
Crowded monstrous shapes of sin,
Peer'd against the panes to see
Lamplit rooms of revelry,
Where the warrior's head did rest
On the harlot's wine-stain'd breast ;
Linger 'd on the bridges great,
Melancholy, desolate ;
Watch'd the river roll beneath,
Shimmering in the moonbeam's breath ;
Met the fluttering forms that pass
Painted underneath the gas,
Mark'd the murderer's fearful face
Looming in a lonely place,
Knew the things that wake, and those
Lost in rapture of repose ;
Saw the gradual Dawn flash red
On the housetops overhead,
Till the morning glory broke,
And the sleeping Monster woke J
INTERLUDE.
Singing loud in savage joy,
In the streets I stood, a boy !
Round me flocked the citizens,
Thronging from their homes and dens,
While I spake of signs and dreams
Learn'd among the hills and streams,
Of the God with veiled head
Passing by with thunder- tread
On the mountains red with morn
In whose bosom I was born.
In a tongue uncouth I sang,
While the air with laughter rang,
Loudest, merriest, when I told
Of strange visions in the night
God and angels manifold
Shining on the mountain-height ;
Then a voice cried, ' Come away,
He is mad, this mountaineer ! '
Lonely in the morning gray
Soon I sang, with none to hear,
Save a few sad outcast men,
And a weeping Magdalen.
Then with loud prophetic song
To the public marts I came,
Strode amidst the busy throng,
Curst the avarice and the shame,
Call'd the wrath of God upon
Caesar sitting on his throne,
By the lights of Heaven and Hell
Shamed the tinsel'd priests of Bel.
Then around me ere I knew
Clamour of the factions grew,
Thronging, shrieking, multiplying,
Came the legions of the lying,
Cast me down and stript me bare ;
Yet I struggled in despair,
Till a poison'd dagger's thrust
Laid me dying in the dust.
Then the night came, and the skies
With innumerable eyes
Saw me lying there alone,
Bleeding on the streets of stone ;
While my voice before I died
On my wild Valkyries cried.
Closing eyelids with a sigh,
Into night I seem'd to pass,
Seem'd to fade away and fly
As the breath upon a glass.
Presently I woke again,
Thinking ' All is o'er and done,
This is chilly Death's domain,
Far away from moon and sun ! '
Even then methought I heard
Something moving, breathing near ;
Struggling with the sense I stirred,
Open'd eyes in fluttering fear,
And before my dazzled sight
Shone a Vision heavenly bright !
Ah, the Vision ! ah, the blest
Rapture, smiling manifest !
O'er me bending stood and smiled
Love in likeness of a Child,
Holding in her gentle hand
Lilies of the Heavenly Land !
Azure eyes and golden hair,
Gazing on me unafraid,
Sweetly, marvellously fair,
Stood the little Angel-Maid !
Shall I tell how that same hour
Little hands my wound did dress,
How I woke to life and power
Through that Maiden's tenderness ?
Shall I tell (ah, wherefore tell
Unto her who knows so well ?)
Of the strength that came to me,
Not from my Valkyries wild,
Who in need abandon'd me,
But from that celestial Child ?
Though my sword was broken, though
Helm and mail were lying low,
Though my savage strength was shed,
I was quick who late was dead,
All my mountain blood again
Rush'd electric to my brain,
All grew fair where'er I trod
With that messenger of God.
Need I tell (ah, wherefore tell
Unto her who wrought the spell ?)
How I seem'd from that strange hour
Arm'd in nakedness of power ?
Yet the dagger's thrust again,
Poison'd, treacherous, as before,
Sought me out and would have slain,
While we passed from door to door,
Curst, rejected, and denied,
Ishmael, I, and thou, my Guide !
Child of Light, thy loving look
Brighten'd at each step we took,
Kindled into love more strong
At each cruel slight and wrong,
While thy presence heavenly bright
Grew from child's to woman's height,
And within thy pensive eyes
Rose the lore that makes us wise,
Woman's love, without whose gleam
Life is like a drunkard's dream !
Need I tell (ah, wherefore tell,
When thy soul remembers well ?)
How smooth Jacob and his race,
Hounding me from place to place,
Hating truth and cursing me,
Stole my birthright Poesy ?
How the sources of my song,
Darken'd o'er and frozen numb,
Cold and silent lay for long
Like a fountain seal'd and dumb,
E 2
INTERLUDE.
Till thy finger touch'd at last
Springs the world deem'd frozen fast ?
High in sunlight, sparkling o er,
Leaps my fount of song once more,
While thy blessing back to me
Brings my birthright Poesy !
Child of Light, whose softest breath
Sweetens Life and conquers Death,
Fair as pure, and purer far
Than the dreams of poets are,
Never tongue of man can tell
All thy gifts to Ishmael !
Side by side and hand in hand,
Facing yonder mountain-land
Whence I came and whereupon
God the Lord has set His throne,
Through the shadowy vales below
Climbing sunward, let us go.
If I sing, I sing through thee !
Wherefore, Sweet, still share with me
What I bring on bended knee
This my birthright, Poesy !
NEW YORK : Yuletide, 1884.
The City of Dream.
(1888.)
DEDICATION: TO THE SAINTED
SPIRIT OF JOHN BUNYAN.
O TELLER of the Fairy Tale Divine,
How bright a dream was thine,
Wherein God's City shining as a star
Gleam'd silently from far
O'er haunted wastes, where Pilgrims pale as
death
Toil'd slow, with bated breath !
Like children at thy knees we gather'd all,
Man, maiden, great and small ;
Tho' death was nigh and snow was on our hair,
Yet still we gather'd there,
Feeling upon our cheeks blow sweet and bland
A breath from Fairyland !
The sunless Book, held ever on thy knee,
Grew magical thro' thee ;
Touch'd by thy wand the fountain of our fear
Sprang bright and crystal clear ;
Thy right hand held a lily flower most fair,
And holly deck'd thy hair.
Of Giants and of Monsters thou didst tell,
Fiends, and the Pit of Hell ;
Of Angels that like swallows manifold
Fly round God's eaves of gold ;
Of God Himself, the Spirit those adore,
Throned in the City's core !
O fairy Tale Divine ! O gentle quest
Of Christian and the rest !
What wonder if we love it to the last,
Tho' childish faith be past,
What marvel if it changes not, but seems
The pleasantest of dreams ?
Far other paths we follow colder creeds
Answer our spirits' needs
The gentle dream is done; 'neath life's sad
shades,
The fabled City fades :
The God within it, shooting from his throne,
Falls, like a meteor stone !
So much is lost, yet still we mortals sad
Despair not or grow mad,
But still search on, in hope to find full blest
The City of our quest ;
New guides to lead ; below, new lights of love,
And grander Gods, above.
And while of this strange latter quest I sing,
First to thy skirts I cling
Like to a child, and in thy face I look
As in a gentle book,
And all thy happy lore and fancies wise
I gather from thine eyes.
Tho' that first faith in Fairyland hath fled,
Its glory is not dead ;
And tho' the lesser truth exists no more,
Yet in thy sweet Tale's core
The higher truth of poesy divine
For evermore shall shine.
There dwells within all creeds of mortal birth,
That die and fall to earth,
A higher element, a spark most bright
Of primal truth and light ;
No creed is wholly false, old creed or new,
Since none is wholly true.
Wherefore we Pilgrims bless thee as we go
With feeble feet and slow ;
Light of forgotten Fairyland still lies
Upon our cheeks and eyes ;
And somewhere in the starry waste doth gleam
The City of our Dream !
SETTING FORTH.
53
ARGUMENT.
One Ishmael, born in an earthly City beside
the sea, having heard strange tidings of a
Heavenly City, sets forth to seek the same ;
and as he fares forth he is blindfolded by
Evangelist, and given a Holy Book ; reading
which Book, he -wanders on terrified and
blindfold, until, coming by chance to the
house of one Iconoclast, he is relieved of the
bandage covering his eyes, and led to an
eminence, whence he beholds all the Pilgrims
of the World. Quittitig Evangelist, he
encounters Pitiful, and is directed towards
the City of Christopolis, but in the crowded
highway leading thitherward he meets
Eglantine, who warns him that Christopolis
is not the City of his quest. Yet neverthe-
less he proceeds thither in his new friends
company. He wanders through Christopolis
and sees strange sights therein ; but being \
denounced for unbelief and heresy, he takes
refuge beyond a great Gate dividing the City
into two parts. Wise men accost him and
warn him that peace and assurance are to
be found only in the Book given him by
Evangelist ; but this in his perversity he
denies, and casting away the Book is again
denounced as unbelieving, and driven out
of the City into the areary region beyond
it. His talk with one Merciful, who
beseeches him in vain to pause and pray.
Flying on he knows not whither, he
encounters rain and tempest, and takes
shelter in a woeful Wayside Inn, where
he meets the outcasts of all the creeds.
His journey thence through the night, and
his meeting with the wild horseman Esau,
who carries him to the Groves of Faun,
watched over by the shepherd Thyrsis and
his child, a maid of surpassing beauty.
Led by Thyrsis, he sees the Vales of Vain
Delight, and after drinking of the Waters
of Oblivion, beholds the living apparition of
the Greek god Eros. He sails with Eros
over strange waters, and comes betimes to an
Amphitheatre among mountains, where he
witnesses the sacrificial tragedy of Cheiron,
and the transubstantiation of Eros. He passes
through the Valley of Dead Gods, and finds
there his townsman Faith lying dead and
cold. Yet he dies not, but finds himself on a
wan wayside, close to a rain-worn Cross,
and holds speech with Sylvan, leaving whom
he climbs again upward among mountains
and shelters with the Hermit of the Mere.
Thereon one Nightshade leads him up the
highest peaks and shows him the Spectre of
the Inconceivable ; after which sight of
wonder he finds himself worn and old, but
emerges presently in full daylight on the
Open Way, whence, after parleying with
Lateral and with Microcos, he is guided by
a gentle stranger to the gates of the City
builded without God. His weary wander-
ings and experiences in that same City,
latest and fairest of any built by Man, till
the hour when, sickened and afraid, he for-
sakes it and fiies on into the region of
Monsters and strange births of Time. At
last, in the winter of his pilgrimage, he
beholds the old man Masterful, who becomes
his guide to the brink of the Celestial Ocean ;
and now, standing on those mysterious shores,
the highest peak of earth, he sees a Ship of
Souls ; but as it vanishes in the ccerulean
haze, he awakens, and knows that all he hath
seen yea, all his spirit's life-long quest-
hath been only a Dream withiti a Dream.
BOOK I.
SETTING FORTH.
IN the noontide of my days I had a dream,
And in my dream, which seem'd no dream
at all,
I saw these things which here are written
down.
And first methought, with terror on my
heart,
I fled, like many a pilgrim theretofore,
From a dark City built beside the sea,
Crying, ' I cannot any longer bear
The tumult and the terror and the tears,
The sadness, of the City where I dwell ;
Sad is the wailing of the waters, sad
The coming and the going of the sun,
And sad the homeless echoes of the streets,
Since I have heard that up among the hills
There stands the City christen'd Beautiful,
Green sited, golden, and with heaven above
it
Soft as the shining of an angel's hair ;
54
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And thither comes not rain, or wind, or
snow,
Nor the bleak blowing of Euroclydon,
Nor moans of many miserable men.'
Now in my dream meseem'd that I had
known
A melancholy neighbour, old and blind,
Named Faith, led by a beauteous snow-
white hound,
Named Peace ; and this same Faith, grown
worn and weak
With wandering up and down the weary
ways,
Had one day learn'd, high up among the
hills,
Strange tidings of the City Beautiful,
And heard in sooth a far-off melody
Of harps and lutes, blown from the heavenly
gate.
Now, when he spake of this, upon his face
There grew a gleam like moonlight upon
water,
Sweet with exceeding sadness ; and at last,
Though blind, he had left his lonely home
again,
And stolen across the valleys silently
At midnight ; and he had return' d no more.
Him, after many melancholy days,
And many wrestlings with a darkening
doubt,
I, Ishmael (lone descendant of a race
Who chased the mirage among desert
sands),
Follow' d in fear ; and lo ! I fled with speed
Like one who flees before some dreadful
beast ;
But just beyond our town I met with one
Clad in white robes and named Evangelist,
Who, at the threshold of his summer dwell-
ing,
Girt round by plenteous harvest, sat and
smiled ;
To whom I cried :
' O thou who sittest here
In thy fair garden girt by golden glebe,
Instruct me (for thy beard is white and wise)
Which is the pathway to the heavenly City
Call'd Beautiful, first of the Land of Light ? '
Then said Evangelist, with courteous smile :
O Pilgrim, close thine eyes, and wander on ;
One Faith precedes thee, blind, led by a
hound,
Else trusting God ; and when thou stumblest,
rise ;
And when thou comest among thorns and
flints,
Praise God and pray ; and when in some
deep slough
Thou flounderest, bless God and struggle
through.
But chief, be warn'd, to walk with close-shut
eyes
Is safest, seeing our twin eyes of flesh
Mislead us, and a thousand evil things
Are made for our temptation. Grant me
grace ;
And I will give thee this brave Book to read,
And for the further safety of thy soul
Will bind this blessed bandage o'er thine
eyes,
To keep thy sight from evil. Though thine
eyes
Be blind from seeing forward, ne'ertheless
Look down thou canst while wandering, and
glean
The wisdom of the Book.'
A space I paused,
Gazing into his coldly happy eyes,
Then cried : ' But thou fO master, answer
me !
Art thou content here in the dales to dwell
Nor climb thyself the heavenly heights
whereon
The wondrous City stands ? '
Then with a smile
As soft, as still, as is the snake of fire
Coil'd up and flickering on some happy
hearth,
Evangelist replied : ' My post is here,
Not on the mountains, nor a rocky place ;
He whom I serve hath given me this my task
To blindfold pilgrims and to point them on ;
This house is His, this porch with roses
hung,
These golden fields ; nor can I quit my post
Until He sends His own dark Angel down.
And on my head methought Evangelist
Placed his soft hands in blessing ; and my
soul,
With one long sigh, one glance at the blue
heaven,
Assented ; and methought Evangelist
SETTING FORTH.
55
Did blindfold me, and set me on my way,
And place the Book within my hands to
read,
Then softly singing in the summer sheen,
Cried, ' Courage ! ' as I wander'd from his
sight.
And as I wander'd on, not seeing whither,
Bat trusting in some heavenly hand to guide,
I, casting down my gaze upon the Book,
Read these things, and was little com-
forted:
In six days God the Lord made heaven and
earth,
And rested from His labours on the seventh ;
Dividing firmament from firmament,
Fishes He made, and flesh, and flying birds,
And, lastly, Man ; next, from a rib of Man,
Woman. These twain He in a garden set,
Naked, and glad, and innocent of heart ;
But in the centre of the garden placed
A Tree for their temptation. Thither came
The ancient snake upon his belly crawling,
And bade the woman pluck the fruit and eat.
And first the woman ate, and then the man,
And knew their nakedness, and were
ashamed ;
And furthermore an Angel with a sword
Drave them from Eden into the sunless
From these twain had the generations come,
The million generations of the earth,
Bearing the burthen of that primal sin ;
And whatsoever man is born on earth
Is born unto the issues of that sin,
Albeit each step he takes is predestined.
Further, I read the legend of the Flood,
Of Noah and of the building of an Ark,
And how the Maker (as a craftsman oft
Rejects a piece of labour ill begun)
Destroy'd His first work and began again
With sorrow and the symbol of the Dove.
Much, furthermore, I read of the first race
Of shepherds, Abraham's race and Jacob's
race;
And of the chosen people God deliver'd
Out of the land of bondage. Portents burnt,
Strange omens came, wild scenes and faces
flash'd
Before me, and I ever seem'd to hear
The rustle of the serpent ; till I heard
The voice of David cursing to his harp
His enemies, and smiting hip and thigh,
And holding up his blood-stain'd hands to
God.
And ever across my soul a vision flash'd
Of a most direful Form with robes of fire,
A footfall loud as many chariots,
A voice like thunder on a mountain-top,
And nostrils drinking up with joy divine
The crimson sacrifice of flesh and blood ;
And ever as I read I felt my soul
Shake with exceeding fear, and stumbled on
With fleeter footsteps ; and I fled for hours
Ere, with a fascination deep as death,
I cast my gaze upon the Book again.
And now I read of pale and wild-eyed kings,
Of sounding trumpets and of clarions,
The clash of hosts in carnage, and the shriek
Of haggard prophets standing on the
heights,
And urging on the host as men urge
hounds ;
As in a mirror, darkly, I beheld
The generations drift like vapour past,
Driven westward by a whirlwind, while on
high
The Breath Divine like fire came and went ;
And, suddenly, the storm-cloud of the
world
Uplifted, there was light stillness and
death ;
All nature lay as one vast battle-field,
And cities numberless lay desolate,
And crowns were strewn about and broken
swords,
And everywhere the vulture and the raven
Pick'd at the eyeballs of slain kings and
churls ;
And through the world a crimson river of
blood
Ran streaming, till it wash'd the feet of
God.
These things I gather'd, trembling like a
leaf,
And moaning, ' God of Thunder ! save my
soul!
Destroy me not, Destroyer ! Pity me,
O Pitiless, but let Thine anger pass ! '
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And now, methought that I had left my
home
Behind me, and was far beyond the town,
When, suddenly, I heard upon my path
A crowd of people hearkening to one
Who raised his voice aloud and prophesied.
' Who speaks? ' I ask'd ; and one, with low,
deep laugh,
Said, ' Only our old prophet, Hurricane :
He began early, and the people applauded ;
But now the matter hath outgrown his wits,
And newer lights are risen.' Whereon I
said :
' Methinks I know the man ; he hath a
house
Within a suburb of our town, and ever
He mocketh all his neighbours and the
poor,
And praises only God, and priests, and
kings.'
And in my dream I heard him, Hurricane,
Railing aloud to those who flock'd around :
1 Scum of the Maker's scorn, what seek ye
here?
Go, thou whose sin is black, and kiss the
lash;
Haste, thou whose skin is white, and strike
for kings.
O miserable generation, foam
That flashes from the Maker's chariot-
wheels,
What do you crave for, shrieking for a
sign?
See yonder o'er your heads the sun and
stars
Hang like bright apples on the Eternal
Tree,
And day comes, and the night is wonderful,
And aeon after aeon, 'spite your groans,
The eternal Order stands. What seek ye,
worms ?
To shake away the slime of that first curse,
Spoken when ye were fashion'd out of dust ?
It is the mission of the worm to crawl ;
No snake is he, and cannot even sting
The heel that bruises him. Crawl on for
ever ;
Obey your masters here and yonder in
heaven
Ye cannot slough your sin or quit your
curse.'
Then a voice deep and rough, as from the
throat
Of some strong wight, responded :
' Softly, master !
What profit comes of railing? We who
hear,
An we were worms indeed, might creep
and die ;
But being men, we deem thy counsel
blind,
And all thy words as impotent as sparks
Blown by the bellows from my smithy fire.
Nay, those thou bidst us honour are (I
swear
By Tubal Cain, the founder of my craft !)
The plagues of this green earth. I know
them well,
I rate them, I ! the monsters of this earth,
Blind priests and prophets blind, and
blindest kings,
And conquerors slaying in the name of
God. 1
Then Hurricane made answer, while a
groan
Went through the inmost ranks of those
who heard :
' I tell you, ye are dust of evil, things
For mighty powers to work with. God is
strength,
His blessing makes strong men, and they
are strong
Who blister you and bind you to your
doom,
Black slaves and white. Worms, do ye
rave of rights ?
I tell you, He who fashion'd you for pain,
And set you in a sad and sunless world,
Scatters your rights as the eternal sea
Loosens the fading foam-bells from its hair.
What man cried out, ' ' There is no God at
all " ?
I swear to you, by sun, and stars, and
moon,
By hunger, by starvation and disease,
By death, that there is God omnipotent,
Awful, a King, a strong God ! yea, indeed,
The Maker of the whirlwind and the worm,
The judgment waiting in the heavens o'er-
head,
The vengeance burning in the earth beneath,
The end of sin, the doom no man eludes,
Not even at the very gates of death 1 '
SETTING FORTH.
57
Now in my dream I shudder'd, for me-
thought
I heard the living echo of the Book ;
So, sick and sad at heart, I turn'd away,
And hasten'd, desolate, I knew not whither.
Methought I wander'd on and on, for long,
Shadow' d with sorrow, smitten through
with sin,
Not heeding whither, blindfold, caring not
If the next step of my sad pilgrimage
Should be into some nameless, open grave.
But as I crept across the darken'd earth,
O'er which the sad sky shed a sobbing rain,
One cried to me, ' Poor soul, take shelter
here!'
And following the summons of the voice
I felt the cold touch of an outstretch'd
hand,
Which led me darkly through an open
door,
Up steps of stone, into some unknown
dwelling.
Then said I, pale, blindfolded, Book in
hand :
1 Who spake ? whose hand was that which
led me hither ?
And what strange dwelling have I enter'd
in?'
And sharper, shriller than an eunuch's
voice
One answer'd, ' But for that same blinding
band
Across thine eyes thou for thyself couldst
see
Perchance, good man, my name is known
to thee,
Iconoclast, called sometimes " Gibe-at-
God,"
Whose name hath travell'd over the wide
earth.'
Then all my spirit darken'd for a moment,
For I had heard the name said under
breath
With Satan's and with Moloch's and with
Baal's,
And my young soul had loathed the man
who mock'd
All that the world deems holy. But as I
stood,
Troubled and timorous, he did laugh aloud,
Saying :
' My name hath reach'd thee, I perceive,
And, though thou deem'st it evil, I have
hope
To gain thy good opinion presently ....
Whence dost thou come ? and whither dost
thou go ? '
THE PILGRIM.
I come from yonder City beside the sea,
And seek the Beautiful City of the Lord.
ICONOCLAST.
And dost thou think to gain that City's
gate
(If such a city there be, which travellers
doubt)
Blindfolded, with that bandage on thine
eyes?
THE PILGRIM.
Yea, verily ; for a good man set it there,
Evangelist. But wherefore dost thou
laugh ?
ICONOCLAST.
foolish Pilgrim, wherefore did thy Lord,
Whoever made thee, or receives from thee
Credit for having made thee, give thee sight,
If thou consentest not to look, or see ?
THE PILGRIM.
1 know not. These are mysteries. Yet I
know,
Evangelist did bid me journey thus.
ICONOCLAST.
I know the fellow, a fat trencher slave,
He wears no bandage, he, nor goeth forth
On pilgrimage, but sitteth in the sun,
Right prosperous, and eyes his golden
glebe.
O fool, to be persuaded by this priest
Out of thy birthright ; to be blind and
dark;
The sun to see not, or the stars and moon,
Or any light that shines ; to turn thy face
Into the tomb of dead intelligence ;
To quit mortality and be a mole !
THE PILGRIM.
My townsman, Faith, precedes me : he is
blind,
And yet he journeys safely through the land.
THE CITY OF DREAM.
ICONOCLAST.
Leave faith to Faith; since the good,
simple soul
Is eyeless, let his other senses thrive !
But thou hast eyes, and eyes were given
thee
To see with ; that to doubt, were blas-
phemy !
THE PILGRIM.
Why should I see ? This Book held in my
hand
Assures me 'tis a miserable world,
Base, burthen'd, and most bleak to look
upon.
ICONOCLAST.
See for thyself ! Wherefore consult a Book
Upon a point of eyesight ? Look, and see !
THE PILGRIM.
I dare not. I am stricken dumb and sad,
After the testimony written here.
ICONOCLAST.
If there be misery in the ways thou treadest,
If this thine earth be wretched and unclean,
It is because so many walk in blindness,
And read the dreary gospel written there.
THE PILGRIM.
How may that be? God fashion'd all
things well ;
And only by man's sin did all grow sad.
ICONOCLAST.
Assuredly ; God fashion'd all things well.
THE PILGRIM.
And all had still been well had man not
eaten
The bitter Tree of Knowledge, and been
shamed.
ICONOCLAST.
Softly, good friend ; that is the one good
tree
Adam ne'er tasted, not to speak of Eve
Or any wiser woman. Cast that Book
Orer thy shoulder ! Leave the dreary
dream ;
Forswear the apple and the fig-leaf ; cease
To credit fables old of fire and flood ;
Quit gloomy visions and crude eastern
nights
Of legendary horror : in a word,
Cast off thy bandage and thine ignorance,
And look abroad upon thy destiny !
So saying, with one quick movement of his
hand,
Iconoclast did snatch from off my brows
The bandage placed there by Evangelist ;
And lo ! I scream'd, and with my trembling
fingers
Cover'd mine eyes, then, trembling like a
leaf,
Perused the stranger's face, and saw it full
Of many wrinkles, and a snake-like sneer
Playing about the edges of the lips.
And it was noon, noon of a cold grey day,
A silvern, melancholy light in heaven,
All calm, the prospects and the distances
Sharp and distinct to vision, but no sun.
' Where am I ? ' next I murmur'd ; and,
' Behold,'
Answer'd that other, ' on an eminence
Thou standest, named Mount Clear ; for
all the air
Is crystal pure, and hither rise no mists.
Follow me higher ; far above my dwelling
I have built a solitary garden-seat,
Commanding a great prospect o'er the
earth.'
Methought I follow'd, and we gain'd the
height,
And, full of wonder now, I look'd abroad.
I saw great valleys and green watery
wastes,
Deep-shelter'd woods and marshes full of
mist,
And rivers winding seaward ; then, mine
eyes
Following the winding rivers, I beheld,
Far away, silent, solemn, grey, and still,
The waters of the Ocean ; and thereon
Sat, like a sea-bird on the ribbed sand,
A City that I knew to be mine own ;
But following the windings of the coast
I beheld other Cities like mine own,
All hungrily set beside the wash of waves,
Looking expectant, seaward; and from each
Came solitary figures as of men,
Mere specks upon the highways and the
fields,
SETTING FORTH.
59
All toiling, as it seem'd, with constant feet
To those green slopes whereon I stood at
Then as I look'd, and wonder'd, in mine ear
The old man murmur'd : ' Lo, thou
lookest on
The Cities of the Nations of the Earth,
Each crouching by the sad shores of the
Sea
Infinite, dreadful, mighty, without bound ;
And in each City thou dost look upon
A different legend and a different God
Lengthen man's misery and make him
mad ;
Further, from City unto City have gone
Tidings of that same City Beautiful
Thou seekest ; at the gate of each there
sits
An arch-priest, like thine own Evangelist,
Blindfolding those who wearily set forth ;
And these, the Pilgrims thou beholdest now
As specks afar, go stumbling sadly on ;
And if they perish not upon the way,
As ninety-nine in every hundred perish,
Hither among the hills of ironstone
They, slowly ascending, by such hands as
mine
Are of their blinded ignorance relieved. '
Whereat I cried, in bitterness of heart :
1 1 see, but seeing comfort find I none,
But all thou showest me is sick and sad,
For lo ! the things I fled from, the sad
Earth,
The melancholy City, the grey Heaven,
And the vast silence of the unfathomed
Sea!'
And turning to Iconoclast, I cried :
' Thy words are shallow, and thy counsel
blind !
Lo ! thou hast snatch'd the bandage from
my eyes,
And I perceive the fables of the Book ;
What shall I do, and whither shall I go ? '
' Haste homeward ! ' smiling said Icono-
clast ;
' Back to thine earthly City, work thy work,
And dream of Cities in the clouds no more. '
But with a moan, uplifting hands, I cried :
Whither, oh whither ? To return is Death,
For mine own City is dreadful, and the Sea
Hath voices, and the homeless winds of
woe
Wander with white feet wearily on the
deep ;
And every slope beside the sea is green
With the dead generations ; and I seek
A City fairer and not perishable,
Peaceable and holy, in the Land of Light ! '
Then did Iconoclast, with bitter scorn,
Cry : ' 'Tis an infant moaning for the moon,
For the moon's phantom in the running
brook.
O fool ! there is no City Beautiful
Beyond these Cities of the Earth thou
seest ! '
But turning now my back upon the Sea,
And on my native City, I beheld
A mighty land of hills. There, far away,
Beyond the pastoral regions at my feet,
Beyond the quiet lanes and wayside wells,
Rose mountains, darken'd by deep woods
of pine,
With air-hung bridges spanning cataracts,
And rainbows o'er the waters hovering ;
Mists moved, celestial shadows came and
went,
While higher, dim against the blue, there
rose
Peaks soft as sleep, white with eternal
snow.
' What land is that ? ' I question'd ; and
the other
Answer'd : ' I know not ; nay, nor seek to
know ;
For those be perilous regions, with an air
Too thin for man to breathe ; yet many, I
wis,
Have travell'd thither (O the weary way !),
But never a one hath hither come again.
And how they fared I know not, yet I
dream
That never one doth reach those frigid
heights,
But on the crags and 'mid the pathless
woods
They perish, and the skeleton hands of
Frost
Cling to them, breaking up their bleaching
bones ! '
6o
THE CITY OF DREAM.
But now I cried : ' O fool that I have been
To talk with such a shallow soul so long !
A scoffing voice like to the mocking-bird's,
The dreary echo of a hollow sound
Bred in an empty heart. For, lo ! I see
The land afar, and, though the ways be
dire,
Thither I fare, since, far among the heights,
Beyond the scoffer's voice, beyond these
vales,
Beyond the weary wailings of the sea,
First in its place the Heavenly City stands ! '
So stood I trembling in the act to go,
When grey Iconoclast, with cynic sneer,
Not angry, cried : ' Stay yet ! I had
forgot !
Not far beyond these valleys lies indeed
A City wondrous smiling to the sight
Like that which thou art seeking. In its
streets
Full many a prosperous pilgrim findeth
peace. '
And, smiling bitterly, as if in scorn,
He added : ' O'er the mighty earth its fame
Hath travell'd on four winds ! Who hath
not heard
Of this same City of Christopolis ? '
Then I upleapt i' the air and waved my
hands.
' The name ! the name ! He built it with
His blood !
I charge thee on thy life, point out the
way ! '
' Thou canst not miss it,' said Iconoclast ;
' For if the milestone or the finger-post
Should fail thee, only seek the open road,
And there beshrew me if thou meetest
not
With many of its priestly citizens,
Who will direct thee onward willingly.
Still, if thou lovest wisdom, be advised
Turn back and hasten home. Christopolis,
Methinks, is not the City of thy quest. '
' How knowest thou that ? ' I cried, full
eagerly.
' Hast thou thyself fared thither ? '
' Verily,'
Answered the greybeard ; ' more, within its
streets
I first drew breath I '
THE PILGRIM.
I understand thee not.
Born there, and yet, alas ! thou sittest here t
ICONOCLAST.
I could not choose. She from whose womb
I came,
More mighty than my yet unwoven will,
Would have it so ! and thus on golden
streets
I ran, and under golden fanes I played,
And in the splendour of Christopolis
I fed and throve, till, weary of so much
light,
While yet a fleet-heel'd boy I fled away.
THE PILGRIM.
Fled? From thy birthplace? from thy
happiness ?
fool, to quit the paths and ways of peace !
ICONOCLAST.
1 was not peaceful in those peaceful ways,
I did not love my birthplace. So I fled.
THE PILGRIM.
Was it not fair ?
ICONOCLAST.
Most fair.
THE PILGRIM.
And holy ?
ICONOCLAST.
My nurses said so much.
In sooth,
THE PILGRIM.
Yet thou art here!
ICONOCLAST.
I loved my freedom better far than fanes :
Within those scented shrines I could not
breathe.
Besides, the people were idolaters,
Fools of the fig-leaf, blind inheritors
Of that sad symbol of a slaughter'd God.
I left them, and I came to warn the world
Against the follies I had left behind,
Or haply now and then with this weak arm
SETTING FORTH STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS.
61
To aid some miserable human thing
Their citizens have hunted even hither ! '
He added, with a strange and inward smile :
' Go thither, if thou wilt seek out its
gates-
Remember that I warn'd thee 'twas in vain.'
More might his lips have spoken garrul-
ously,
But swiftly down the silent heights I ran,
Thrusting the Book into my breast ; and
now
Methought my soul was wroth against the
man,
Iconoclast. Most fleet of foot I fled,
Until I reach'd the shadowy vale below,
Through whose green heart there wound a
dusty way
Where many men and women came and
went.
But as I leapt a brook to gain the road,
Suddenly on mine ears there swept a sound,
A tumult, then a tramp of horses' feet,
Sharp yelp of hounds, and all the cries o'
the chase.
Wondering I stood, and lo ! across the
meads,
There came a naked man who shriek'd for
dread,
Speeding as swift as any dappled deer ;
And close behind him silent blood-hounds
ran,
Swiftly, with crimson nostrils to the ground ;
And after these came a great company,
Priests in red robes, and hoary crowned
Kings,
And pallid Queens with grey and golden
hair,
With countless savage slaves that ran afoot,
And huntsmen, shrieking, ' In the name of
God!'
And much I fear'd the hounds behind the
man,
Lolling their crimson tongues to drink his
life;
And lo ! they would have caught and rent
the man,
But, suddenly, he sprang with one swift
bound
Over the threshold of a house of stone,
A lowly place white-visaged like a shrine,
That at the corner of a little wood
Stood with a spire that pointed up to
heaven.
Therein he leapt and vanish'd through a door
That stands for ever open ; and the train
Were following when there rose beneath
the porch
A figure like an angel with one hand
Outreaching ; and they dare not enter in,
But with a sullen roar, clashing like waves,
Broke at the threshold, foam'd, and were
repell'd.
Then, gazing past the Spirit, I beheld
A chancel and an altar, and the man,
With panting mouth and wild eyes back-
ward gazing,
Cast prone before the altar, faint with fear ;
And further, full of wonder, raising eyes,
I read these words written above the
porch
' Iconoclast hath built this church to God ! '
Then did I pray and weep, crying aloud :
' Lord, let me judge not, since Thou art my
Judge,
For I perceive an angel bright doth guard
The Temple of the Scoffer, and the same
May be Thy servant, though his place be
set
Outside Thy City, in a rocky place."
Then turning, I gazed upward, and behold !
On the cold eminence above my head,
I saw Iconoclast in milk-white robes
Walking with sunlight on his reverend hair ;
And as he walk'd upon the golden sward
He scatter'd seeds and call'd, and many
doves,
That rear'd their young beneath his lonely
eaves,
Came fluttering down in answer to his call,
Making a snow around him, and were fed.
BOOK II.
STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS.
AND now my path was on a public road,
And where I walk'd methought the weary
air
Was full of lamentations ; for the sick
Lay on the roadside basking in the sun,
The leper with his sores, the paralysed
62
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Moveless as stone, the halt and lame and
blind,
And many beggars pluck'd me by the sleeve,
And when I fled shriek'd curses after me ;
And my tears fell, and my knees knock'd
together,
And I fled faster, crying : ' That first curse
Still darkens all ! Oh, City Beautiful,
Where art thou ? for these ways are sad to
tread.'
Even as I spake I heard a gentle voice
Close by me saying, ' Good morrow, gentle
Sir;
Tis sweet and pleasant weather ; ' and I
cried,
Quickly, not looking in his face who spake :
1 1 am in haste, and cannot pause for
speech
Farewell ! ' but, lo, the other touch'd my
arm,
Saying : ' One word, I prithee, ere thou
fliest.
In yonder village, Poppythorpe by name
Pastor I dwell my name is Pitiful.
I know thine errand. Prithee, since 'tis late,
Accept the shelter of my roof this night.'
THE PILGRIM.
I cannot rest. A wind behind me blows,
And like a cloud I travel darkly on.
PITIFUL.
And whither away ? Stay, from thy way-
worn face
I guess ; thou goest to Christopolis ?
THE PILGRIM.
Again that name. Oh help me ! Guide me
thither.
PITIFUL.
Most gladly. But, if thou wilt trust in me,
Rest for to-night, to-morrow fare afresh ;
From hence the City is a weary way.
THE PILGRIM.
God help me ! I would fain not rest at all
Until the hunger of my heart is fed.
But tell me of those wretched on the road :
Whence have they come, and whither do
they go ?
PITIFUL.
Those wretched are but Pilgrims like thy-
self
They, too, are crawling to Christopolis.
Ah, look not on them, or thy heart may
fail
For few will ever gain the golden Gate.
Then all my force was broken, and I leant
Heavily on the arm of my sad guide,
A pale tall wight with soft eyes red from
tears,
And through a wicket gate across the fields
We pass'd, and came unto a lowly house,
A peaceful house beside a running rill ;
And Pitiful did bring me food and milk ;
And Sentiment and Sensibility,
His two grave daughters, made me up a
bed
Deep, soft, and drowsy ; that same night,
methought,
I slept therein ; upon the morrow morn
Rose languid, and went forth upon my way.
The road was busy still with eager folk,
Coming and going, but I saw them not,
For I bethought me of the blessed Book,
And drew it from my heart, and as I walk'd
I read its solemn pages once again.
And now I read a tale so sad and sweet,
That all the darker matter of the Book
Dissolved away like mists around a star.
And I forgot the thunders of the Word
Spoken in Sinai to the bloody tribe,
Seeing a white Shape rise with heavenly
eyes
By the still sleeping Lake of Galilee
And Him, that Shape, the sick, and halt,
and lame,
The miserable millions of the earth,
Follow'd in joy ; and by His side walk'd
women,
Tall and most fair, fair flowers that grew
'mong thorns
Like to the Huleh lily ; and the earth
Blossom'd beneath the kiss of His bright
feet.
But, suddenly, out of the gathering cloud
Above the footsteps of that Man Divine,
Jehovah's eyes, bloodthirsty, terrible,
Flash'd at the pallid, patient, upraised face ;
STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS.
And He, the Paraclete, the Son, the Lamb,
Trembled and held His hand upon His
heart,
Crying : ' O God, My God, if it may be,
Have mercy on Me, do not shed My blood ! '
Whereon, methought, before my sight there
swam
A vision of a night sown thick with stars
Like leopard spots , the deep dead dark below
The flashes of the torches round a town,
And the shrill sound of that last victim's
shriek
To an omnipotent and vengeful God.
Now as I read, methought I stopp'd mine
ears,
And fled in horror from the thoughts that
surged
Within mine own sad soul ; and all the earth
Seem'd hateful to me, yea, the scent of
flowers,
The savour of the new-mown hay, the
breath
Of browsing sheep and kine, all odour of
life,
Grew sick and sacrificial ; yea, mine eyes
Shed tears like blood ; and my soul sicken' d,
saying :
'How should this God have mercy upon
men,
Seeing He spared not His anointed Son ? '
Aloud I spake in agony of heart,
I And as I ceased there came unto my side
I One clad in crimson, bearing in his hand
A snow-white staff; and Time upon his
hair
i Had snow'd full long, but in his jet-black
eyes
There burn'd a bitter and a baleful light.
' Peace ! ' cried he, lifting up his wand on
high:
' Peace thou blasphemest ! '
Starting like a thief,
To have my thoughts so angrily surprised,
I gazed into the other's angry face
In question, but, ere yet my lips could
speak,
That other, sinking lower his shrill voice,
Proceeded :
1 What art thou, that thou shouldst judge
The cruelty or mercy of the Lord ?
A Pilgrim, by the hunger in thy face-
Perchance a Pilgrim to Christopolis ?
Nay, silence yet and pluck not at my robe
My guess was right, and to Christopolis
Indeed thoufarest ; thank the Lord thy God
They heard thee not who ope and shut the
Gate,
Else surely would they never let thee in.
For less than thou hast harbour'd in thy
heart
We hunted down a human wolf last night,
And would have slain him as a sacrifice,
But that an evil spirit interposed ! '
Then did I tremble, for in him who spake
I recognised one of that hunting train
Whom I beheld upon the level meads
That hour I parted from Iconoclast.
Wherefore my heart woke in me angrily,
And in a low and bitter voice I said,
I 1 saw that chase, and blest the holy form
Who from your cruelty deliver'd him."
White as sheet-lightning flash'd that other's
face,
And his voice trembled crying : ' Once again
Thou dost blaspheme ! He did deny God's
justice,
And God in justice gave him to our hands.'
1 Nay then,' I answered, ' God, for such a
deed,
Was much too pitiful.'
' Fool ! ' the other cried,
'Did yonder semblance cheat thee? Did
thine eyes
Fail to perceive that yonder seeming shrine,
Erected by accurst Iconoclast,
Was but the brilliant-colour'd mouth of
Hell?
And did Iconoclast (for I perceive
Thy lips have talk'd with that arch-enemy !)
So cheat thy vision that thou knew'st him not
For what he is, black Belial and a fiend ?
I tell thee, though his hair be white as snow,
His face most holy, sweet, and venerable,
He is the procurer of Satan's self ;
And those white doves thou saw'st around
his head
Devils attendant, taking from his hand
The crumbs of guile, the seed of blasphemy !
His spell is on thee yet his seal is there,
Over thine eyelids, down upon thy knees,
6 4
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Pray God to shrive thee from thy hateful
sin
Of that dark speech with the abominable,
And even yet thy sinful soul may see
The light and glory of Christopolis. '
Then spirit-shaken, broken, and appall'd,
Part by the horror in the stranger's eyes,
Part by the dim and darken'd memory
Of what my soul had read within the Book,
I cried aloud, and fell upon my knees,
And o'er my head the multitudinous clouds
Took dark and formless likenesses of One
Down-looking in His wrath ; and as I
pray'd,
I did remember how Iconoclast
Had blacken'd and reviled the Holy Book,
And wickedly blasphemed the very God.
Wherefore I moan'd : ' Forgive me, Holy
One !
By Thy Son's blood forgive me, for I knew
not
With what false tongue I spake.'
Then to my feet
Uprising, tottering as one drunk with wine,
I still beheld the stranger watching me
With cold, calm eyes. ' What man art
thou?' I cried,
1 How shall I know that thou too art not
false,
Some devil in disguise?'
Full scornfully
The other smiled. ' By this same garb I
wear,
And by this wand I wave within my hand,
Know then my priestly rank and privilege.
My name is Direful, and high-priest am I
Within the Holy City, where I preach
God's thunders and the lightnings of the
Cross.
And if thou askest humbly, with strong sense
Of thine own undeserving, I perchance
May help thee through the golden City's
Gates.'
'Thou!' cried I 'thou/' Then with a
sob I said,
Clutching the pallid priest's red raiment-
hem,
' Is it not written that those Gates stand
wide
To all whose souls are weary and would
rest?'
' To all whose souls are weary of their sin,'
The other said, ' and seek to glorify
His name who built the City with His
blood.'
THE PILGRIM.
O pole-star of our sleepless sea of pain
Still shines He there ?
DIREFUL.
Whom meanest thou ?
THE PILGRIM.
Christ the King !
DIREFUL.
He reigns for ever through His deputies,
Christ's Vicars, Servants, and anointed
Kings
These to His glory day and night upraise
Hosannahs, building with their blessed
hands
Temples, and fanes, and shrines of purest
gold.
There mayst thou, as a fringe upon the skirt
Of His bright glory, hang for evermore,
Swayed into rapture by each heavenly throb
Of that divine and ever-bleeding Heart,
Which even as a raiment weareth those
Who do partake its glory and believe.
THE PILGRIM.
Ah me ! if this be sooth, what shall I do
To win such rapture and deserve the same?
DIREFUL.
Deserve it thou canst never, but perchance,
Thine own iniquities remembering,
Thou yet mayst win it. First, mark well-
this gift
Comes from no merit and no power of
thine,
Who, if God used thee after thy deserts,
Would now be trembling in eternal flame,
Or 'neath His heel be crushed to nothing-
ness !
THE PILGRIM.
What have I done to merit such a doom ?
DIREFUL.
Done? sum it in two little words thou
art.
STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS.
THE PILGRIM.
If that be sin, God made me, and I am.
God, in His mercy, suffers thee to crawl,
As He doth suffer worms and creeping
things ;
God, in His justice, might obliterate
Thee and all creatures living from the earth.
THE PILGRIM.
Not so ; that duty the created owes
To the Creator, the Creator, too,
Owes the created. God hath given me life,
I thank my God if life a blessing is,
How may I bless Him if it proves a curse ?
DIREFUL.
Fool ! juggle not with words, lest the red
levin
Fall down and blast thee. Rather on thy
knees
Crave, as a boon, from the All-Terrible,
What thou mayst ne'er solicit as a right.
THE PILGRIM.
I pray ! I pray ! Father, Thou hear'st, I
pray!
Nay, have I not by gracious words and
deeds,
By holy living, love for all my kind,
Pray'd to and praised, loved goodness for
Thy sake?
DIREFUL.
Nay, neither words, nor deeds, nor love
avail
They are but other names for vanity
Only believe and thou mayst gain the Gate.
THE PILGRIM,
instruct me further. What must I believe ?
In God Triune, yet One in God the
Father,
In God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost
In God's eternal Book, and in His Church ;
In God's fair City, builded under Heaven,
And rear'd upon the hundred thrones of
Hell!
II.
THE PILGRIM.
Why not ? Belief is easy. Only show
The City and its Gateway, and I swear
No soul shall flout me for my lack of faith !
Yea, take me to divine Christopolis
Let me be sure that shining City is
Let me upon its fair perfections gaze
And I will own indeed so blest a place
Transcends my best deserving, and will
thank
That gracious God, who made me what I
am,
For giving me this precious gift of life !
Thus speaking we had wander'd slowly on
A little way upon the dusty road ;
But now behind us, riding hastily
There came that glorious hunting company
Which sought to slay the lonely hunted
man.
And unto him who spake with me there
strode
A slave, who held an empty-saddled steed
Bitted with gold and bright caparison'd ;
Him Direful beckon'd, then to me he
turn'd,
Crying, ' Fare forward ! there beyond the
hill
Lieth the shining City of thy quest."
So saying, lightly to his seat he sprang,
And in the track of that same hunting
throng
Prick'd on his eager steed.
Then, sighing deep,
I gazed around me, on the weary way
Strewn with the weary and the miserable,
And every face was lighted with the flame
Of famine ; yea, and all like bloodshot stars
Shone forward the one way ; but ah ! the
limbs
Were feeble, and the weary feet were sore,
And some upon the wayside fell and
moan'd,
And many lay as white and cold as stone
With thin hands cross'd in prayer upon
their rags.
Meantime there flash'd along on fiery
wheels
Full many a glorious company which bare
Aloft the crimson Cross, and mighty priests
Glode by on steeds bridled with glittering
gold,
F
66
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And delicate wantons on white palfreys
pass'd
With soft eyes downcast as they told their
beads,
And few of these on those who fell and
died
Look'd down, but seem'd with all their
spirits bent
To reach the golden Gate ere fall of night
Only the priests stoop'd sometimes o'er the
"dead,
And made the hurried sign o' the Cross,
and went.
Now as I gazed and sicken'd in despair,
Because my force within seem'd failing fast,
I met two glittering upturn 1 d eyes
That from the wayside grass regarded me ;
And lo ! I saw, upon two crutches leaning,
A cripple youth with gold hair like a maid's,
A pale face thin as is a skeleton's,
And thin soft hands, blue-vein'd and waxen
white ;
And pitiful and weak he would have seem'd
But for the light within his eyes, which
shone
Most starlike yet most baleful, fraught with
flame
That ne'er was kindled in a vestal shrine.
He meeting now my gaze of wonder,
smiled,
And such a smile wear wicked elfin things
That in the lustre of the moonlight live
And dance i' the starry dew. ' Well met,'
he cried,
In shrillest treble sharp as any bell,
' Well met, good Pilgrim ! Stand a space,
I pray,
Yea, stand, and buy a song.'
Then did I mark
He bare within his hand long printed strings
Of ballads, and, as ballad-singers use,
Stood with his arms outreaching and inton-
ing
Praise of his wares.
1 1 prithee, Pilgrim, buy !
Songs of all sorts I carry songs for maids,
For sucking souls, for folks on pilgrimage,
Songs of Satanas and of Christ the King
Come, buy, buy, buy ; for with the thrift o'
the sale
I hope betimes to buy myself an ass,
Mounted whereon, full gallop, I may gain
The golden Gates, nor rot upon the road
With those who fare a- foot. '
And, while his eyes
Gleam'd wickedly and merrily, he clear'd
His throat, and in an elfin voice he sang :
JESUS OF NAZARETH.
Tomb'd from the heavenly blue,
Who lies in dreamless death ?
The Jew,
Jesus of Nazareth !
Shrouded in black He lies,
He doth not stir a limb,
H is eyes
Closed up like pansies dim.
The old creeds and the new
He blest with his sweet breath,
This Jew,
Jesus of Nazareth !
His brows with thorns are bound,
His hands and feet are lead ;
All round
His tomb the sands stretch red.
Oh, hark ! who sobs, who sighs
Around His place of death
: Arise,
Jesus of Nazareth ! '
O'er head, like birds on wing,
Float shapes in white robes drest;
They sing,
But cannot break His rest.
They sing for Christ's dear sake ;
' The hour is here," each saith ;
' Awake,
Jesus of Nazareth ! '
Silent He sleeps, thorn-crown'd,
He doth not hear or stir,
No sound
Comes from His sepulchre.
' Awake ! ' those angels sing ;
' Arise, and vanquish Death,
OKing-!
Jesus of Nazareth ! '
Too late ! where no light creeps
Lies the pale vanquish 'd one
He sleeps
Sound, for His dream is done!
Tomb'd from the heavenly blue,
Sleeps, with no siir, no breath
The Jew,
Jesus of Nazareth !
STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS.
Some stood and listen'd, others cross'd
themselves
And hurried past, one shriek'd out, ' Anti-
christ ! '
And as he ceased a troop of hooded forms,
Women black-stoled, with crosses in their
hands,
Passed swiftly by, and some at him who
sang
Glanced sidelong, laughing with a sign
obscene ;
Answering that sign the cripple sang
again :
MARY MAGDALEN.
I saw in the Holy City, when all the people slept,
The shape of a woeful woman, who look'd at
heaven, and wept.
Loose o'er her naked shoulders trembled her
night-black hair ;
Her robe was ragged and rent, and her feet were
bleeding and bare.
And, lo ! in her hands she carried a vessel with
spices sweet,
And she cried, 'Where are Thou, Master? I
come to anoint Thy feet."
Then I touch'd her on the shoulder, ' What thing
are thou ? ' I said ;
And she stood and gazed upon me with eyes like
the eyes of the dead.
But I saw the painted colour flash on her cheeks
and lips,
While she stood and felt in the vessel with tre-
mulous finger-tips.
And she answer'd never a word, but stood in the
lonely light
With the evil of earth upon her, and the darkness
of death and night.
And I knew her then by her beauty, her sin and
the sign of her shame,
And touch'd her again more gently, and sadly
named her name.
She heard, and she did not answer ; but her tears
began to fall,
And again, ' Where art Thou, Master?' I heard
her thin voice call.
And she would have straightway left me, but I
held her fast, and said,
While the chill wind moan'd around us, and the
stars shone overhead,
1 O Mary, where is thy Master ? Where does He
hide His face?
The world awaits His coming, but knows not the
time or the place.
' O Mary, lead me to Him He loved thee deep
and true,
Since thou hast risen to find Him, He must be
risen too.'
Then the painted lips made answer, while the
dead eyes gazed on me,
' I have sought Him all through His City, and
yonder in Galilee.
' I have sought Him and not found Him, I have
search'd in every land,
Though the door of the tomb was open, and the
shroud lay shrunk in the sand.
' Long through the years I waited, there in the
shade of the tomb,
Then I rose and went to meet Him, out in the
world's great gloom.
' And I took pollution with me, wherever my
footsteps came,
Yea, I shook my sin on the cities, my sin and the
signs of my shame.
' Yet I knew if I could find Him, and kneel and
anoint His feet,
That His gentle hands would bless me, and our
eyes at last would meet,
' And my sin would fall and leave me, and peace
would fill my breast,
And there in the tomb He rose from, I could lie
me down and rest.'
Tall in the moonlit City, pale as some statue of
stone,
With the evil of earth upon her, she stood and
she made her moan.
And away on the lonely bridges, or on the brink
of the stream,
The pale street-walker heard her, a voice like a
voice in a dream.
For, lo ! in her hands she carried a vessel with
spices sweet,
And she cried, 'Where art Thou, Master? I
come to anoint Thy feet.'
Then my living force fell from me, and I stood
and watch'd her go
From shrine to shrine in the daylight, with feeble
feet and slow.
F 2
68
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And the stars look'd down in sorrow, and the
earth lay black beneath,
And the sleeping City was cover'd with shadows
of night and death,
While I heard the faint voice wailing afar in the
stony street,
' Where art Thou, Master, Master ? I come to
anoint Thy feet. 1
Then said I, creeping close to him who
sang,
' God help thy folly ! Surely thou dost
frame
Lays for mad moonlight things, not mortal
men
Who soberly on holy business fare,
Seeking the solemn City ' In my face
The cripple laugh'd, then with forefinger
lean
Outstretching, and his great eyes glittering,
He cried, 'Who prates of moonshine? He
who seeks
The moonshine City ? '
Then I turn'd away,
And with a darken'd face was passing on,
Much anger on my heart, when, suddenly
Sinking his voice, while his great eyes grew
fill'd
With tearful dew, the singer cried, ' Fare
on !
God help thee, brother God make sure for
thee
The City of thy dream ! '
My sad soul stirr'd
By that new tone of pity in the voice,
I paused again, and, on the crippled form
Glancing in wonder and in tenderness,
Said, ' I have strength, and I shall gain the
Gate!
But thou ?'
Again the cripple's lineaments
Changed into wickedness and mockery,
And loud he laugh'd, as shrill as elfins
laugh
Seated in fairy rings under the moon,
And elfin-like he seem'd from head to foot,
While on his cheek and in his lustrous eyes
The pallid moon-dew gleam'd. ' Hie on ! '
he cried ;
' Fly thou as fast as any roc, be sure
That I shall reach that ne'er-discover'd
bourne
As soon as thou 1 '
Thereon I turn'd my back
And set my face against the steepening
hill ;
And, as I climb'd among the climbing folk,
I heard the cripple's voice afar behind
Singing a weird and wondrous melody ;
And even when I heard the voice no more
The sound was ringing in my heart and
brain,
Like wicked music heard at dead of night
Within some fairy circle by the sea.
But still I fared with never-faltering feet,
Nor rested, till I gain'd the height and saw,
Far down below me, strangely glittering,
A valley like a cloud, and in its midst
A shining light that sparkled like a star.
BOOK III.
EGLANTINE.
Now, presently I saw the countless spires
Like fiery fingers pointing up to heaven,
And 'neath the spires were gleaming
cupolas,
Columns of marble under roofs of gold,
Netted together in the summer haze,
And lower yet, like golden rivers, ran
The streets and byways, winding serpentine.
Still was the heaven o'erhead, and sunset-
lit;
One white cloud, pausing like a canopy,
Enroof'd the wonder of a thousand domes.
And now the highway that my footsteps trod
Grew populous, and every face was set
Towards the hot sunshine of the shining
walls ;
And lo, methought, with joy, ' At last I see
The City of my dream ! '
Even as I spake,
The river of life upraised me, surging back
To let a glorious company sweep by,
And struggling in the stream I recognised
Another hunting throng like that which
sought
To feast its hounds upon the naked man :
Kings in their crowns, Queens in their
golden hair,
Priests in red garments, filleted with gold,
Huntsmen with hounds, and couriers
a-foot
EGLANTINE.
69
Ran crying, ' Way there ! in the name of
God!'
Beneath the fierce tramp of their horses
hoofs
Some fell, and groan'd ; they paused not,
but swept on ;
And after those were vanish' d with a blare
Of trumpets, into the far City's gate,
Came other trains as shining and as swift,
Until mine eyes were dazzled utterly.
Then, casting eyes on those surrounding me,
Many in rags I saw, who shriek 'd for alms,
And some that sturdily strode on with
wares,
Others that danced and sang, and others still
That dragg'd their feeblelimbs along in pain.
But here and there, with crosses sewn in silk
Upon their bosoms, walk'd mysterious men,
To whose long skirts the halt and maim'd
did cling,
Though still they heeded not, but in a trance
Walk'd on with eyes upon the far-off spires.
Then did I wonder, looking eagerly
For one of friendlier aspect than the rest
Whom I might question ; but each man I
mark'd
Seem'd struggling forward with no other
thought
Than how to gain the shining shelter first.
Swept onward swiftly in mine own despite,
As in a sultry sea I gasp'd for breath,
Until, the highway widening as it went,
I saw upon its side a grassy knoll,
Whereon, down-gazing at the passing folk,
Sat one most strangely dight in Eastern
wise,
With robe and caftan girdled round his
waist,
His feet bare, in his hand a leafy branch.
A wight he was of less than common height,
With world-worn face, and eyes suffused
with dew
Of easy tears, but when he spake his voice
Was like a fountain in a shady place.
Now, as he spake, some laugh'd, and
others cursed,
Shaking their clenched fists into his face ;
But most went by unheeding and unseeing.
But, as two ships made in the self-same land,
Although they meet amid a fleet of sail,
By some strange signal or mysterious sign
At once do know each other and exchange
Kind greetings in mid-ocean, so it chanced
That I and this same curious wayfarer
Finding our eyes meet suddenly together,
Smiled kindly on each other unaware ;
And though I ne'er had seen the face before,
Methought ' Thank God, at last I find a
friend '
So struggling from the throng, with elbow-
thrust,
Amid the cries and blows of those I push'd,
I fought my way unto the stranger's side.
Him did I greet, and instantly he smiled
A brother's answer, and ful soon we stood
In gracious converse, looking on the throng
That like a river roll'd beneath our feet,
And on the glistening celestial towers.
STRAN.GER.
A mighty company ! and each one there
Bearing his own dumb hunger in his heart.
God grant they find the loving cheer they
seek
In yonder City ; but, in sooth, I fear
It is too small to feed so many mouths.
THE PILGRIM.
O tell me for I hunger to know all
And thou of that same City art, methinks,
A happy and a blest inhabitant ;
See I God's City ? Name its name to me,
For I have dream'd it over many years.
STRANGER.
Thou seest the City of Christopolis.
THE PILGRIM.
Rejoice ! the sweet name echoes in my
heart!
t is indeed the City of my dream !
STRANGER.
Be not so sure. All those who journey
thither
Conceive the same until they enter in,
But, having enter'd, many exchange their
mirth
For lamentation, even as / have done.
THE PILGRIM.
Thou dwell' st there ? Thou dost know it?
'Tis thy home?
THE CITY OF DREAM.
STRANGER.
Home have I none even as the field-mouse
makes
Her brittle dwelling in the fallow-field,
Alone, unfriended, houseless I abide
There's not a door in yonder shining place
Would open to receive me ; not a space
In the necropolis that stands hard by
Wherein my weary bones might find a
grave.
I went there, and I sought a refuge, friend ;
The glimmer of the gold-heaps dazzled
me,
And I crept out upon the open earth.
THE PILGRIM.
What curse is on thee, then ? what blight
of sin ?
Thou art not tainted ? Even if thou art,
Repent, and be forgiven, and enter in.
The stranger smiled, and somewhat bitterly,
With petulant ring in his low voice,
replied :
' I have repented ; but 'tis not my sin
That makes me exile from Christopolis.
Long years ago, a melancholy Man,
Who went abroad and wrought in love for
men,
Was crucified upon the very spot
Where stands the midmost Church and
inmost shrine.
This place a desert was in those old days,
But of that martyr's seed hath sprung like
wheat
This golden harvest of a thousand spires ;
And by his name the City is called, and now
The hosts within it hail the martyr'd
"King,"
Yea, "King of Kings, Almighty, Very
God,"
And drag to death and direful punishment
All heretics who kneel not at his tomb.
Now mark me, though I love his memory,
Because of his abundant charities,
And still the more because they martyr'd
him,
I will not give to any man of earth
The worship I reserve for very God.'
Whereat I cried, ' Blaspheme not ! Thou
dost speak
Of Christ the King ! Wilt thou not worship
Him?
Oh, look on yonder glittering domes and
spires,
Those shining temples of a thousand shrines,
He built them all ! He made this blessed
home
For pilgrims, yea, He built it with His
blood !
Yet in thy folly thou denyest Him ! '
So saying, with mine ever-hungry eyes
Fix'd on the far-off flame, I hurried on,
Moving in haste along the quiet knolls.
The other follow'd, keeping pace with me.
And still the wonder of the City grew,
While all my soul in rapture drank it in,
Till pausing, dizzy with mine own delight,
Panting, with hand held hard upon my
heart,
I cried aloud,
' Oh, yea ! It is indeed
The City of my quest ! So great, so fair,
I pictured it, a miracle of light.
Dost thou not bless the hand that fashion'd
thus
A haven where all weary souls may rest ?
Aye, call Him God, or King, or what thou
wilt,
Dost thou not bless Him for this wondrous
work
Which in itself betokens Him divine ?'
I ceased ; but with a sudden wail of pain
The other threw his arms into the air,
Crying, ' Though golden in the light of day,
And all enwrought it be with earthly gems,
Thy sepulchre, O murdered Nazarene,
Is still thy sepulchre ! ' and, suddenly
Turning upon me with a fever 'd face,
He added, ' Even as wondrous faery gold,
Gather'd in secret by a maiden's hand,
Turneth to ashes and to wither'd leaves,
So shall that City soon become to thee.
Christ's City, sayest thou? Christ's?
Christopolis ?
If that be Christ's I call my curse on Christ
Who built it to profane humanity ! '
Then shrank I from his side, as one that
shrinks
From tongues of fire, and, horror in mine
eyes,
azcd at that other, greatly wondering ;
EGLANTINE.
And as I stood, a pilgrim hastening by
Cried out, ' Avoid that man ! It is a snake !
He speaks for thy perdition ! '
Suddenly
The stranger's face grew calm, the wind of
wrath
Pass'd from it, leaving it as sweet and
bright
As still seas after storm. Upon his heart
He press'd his hand, saying, ' Forgive me,
friend,
How should my curse avail ? ' and, lo ! I
thought,
' I will not leave him for a little yet
Perchance my faith (for, ah ! my faith is
great,
Beholding now the very City's walls)
May lead him from the dolour of his ways.'
And soon, methought, we twain together
moved
By secret paths across the open fields
To the fair City ; and the paths we took
Were almost solitary, for the throng
Of pilgrims kept the great and dusty road.
Green were the fields with grass, and sweet
with thyme,
And there were silver runlets everywhere
O'er which the willow hung her tassell'd
locks,
And song-birds sang, for it was summer
time,
And o'er the grass, in green and golden
mail,
The grasshoppers were leaping, and o'er head
A lark, pulsating in the warm still air,
Scatter'd sweet song like dewdrops from
her wings.
And now, albeit we had not turn'd a step,
But held our eyes still on the golden Gates,
The City seem'd more faint and far away,
Lost in the golden tremor of the heat.
For as we went, from flowery field to field,
I seem'd to hear the stranger's gentle voice
Singing unto me in no human tones
A sweet song that the soul alone might
hear:
O child, where wilt thou rest?
There on the mountain's breast,
Where, on a crag of stone
The eagle builds her nest ?
Or in this softer zone,
Where sweet, warm winds o* the west
Through flowery bowers are blown ?
O brightest soul and best,
Where wilt thou rest ?
Oh, why make longer flight,
Flying from morn till night ?
Oh, wherefore wander away,
When thou wilt find it best
To fold thy wings and stay ?
Child, in mine arms be prest,
Soul, do not longer stray ;
Here, on thy mother's breast,
Canst thou not rest ?
At last we rested under a green tree,
Close to the gentle bubbling of a brook
Wherein a lamb, with shadow in the pool
Wool- white and soft, was drinking quietly
And smiling down, I said, 'A heavenly
place !
The very air beyond Christopolis
Is sweeten'd with the holy City's breath.'
Then, turning to the stranger, I exclaim'd
' Unhappy one ! fain would I know thy
name,
Thy nurture, and thy history more at
length.
Tell me perchance I may persuade thee
then
To pass unto the blessed Gate with me,
And ask forgiveness of its Lord and King.
I ceased in wonder ; for the other lay
Smiling like one in a deep trance, his face
Looking to heaven through the tremulous
boughs,
His eyes grown soft with dew of deepest joy,
The light of Nature flowing on his frame
Bright and baptismal. ' Friend, ' the musical
voice
Answer'd, now thrilling like the skylark's
song,
' The law which made me and the law I
keep
Absolve me, and my sins are all forgiven.
I take them not to market in the town,
I put no price upon them, vaunt them not ;
I bring them hither, under a green tree,
And the sun drinks them, and my soul is
shriven.
Oh, blest were men if to the quiet heart
Of their great Mother they crept oftener :
Her arms are ever open, her great hope
72
THE CITY OF DREAM.
As inexhaustible as the sweet milk
With which she feeds innumerable young ;
And pillow'd here, upon her own bright
breast,
Safe through all issues I can pity those
Who waste their substance in Christopolis.'
Amazed I cried, ' If I conceive thee right,
Wiser is he who lieth in a dream,
Idly revolting, drowsy, indolent,
Than he who like his fellows fareth on ?
These fields are sweet 'tis bright and
golden weather
But when the cold rain cometh, and the
snow,
Where wilt thou house ? '
Smiling, he answer'd me :
1 Where do the raven and the wood-dove
house,
And all things through all seasons? He
who made
Will evermore preserve me. Knowest
thou
Whose feet trod o'er these fields to make
them fair,
Then Man was made a bright and naked
thing
That in the sunshine like an antelope
Leapt in the swiftness of his liberty ;
And as the small birds choose their mates,
he chose
A creature bright and naked like himself,
And in the greenwood boughs they made
their nest
And rear'd their callow young, singing for
joy.
This was man's golden age ; his race in-
creased,
Drank the free sunshine, hunger'd, and
were fed,
And knew not superstition or disease.
With the first building of a human house
Against the innocent air and the sweet rain,
The age of fire began, which hath indeed
Not yet fulfill'd its fierce and fatal course.
For on the hearth they kindled cruel flame,
And out of flame have sprung by slow
degrees,
Self-multiplying, self-engendering,
The fiery scorpions of unholy arts
Whose soft hand hung those boughs with j Innumerable that afflict mankind.
orient gold,
Whose finger mark'd the curves of yonder
brook,
Setting it loose and teaching it to flow
Like a thing living, singing on for ever ?
The King of Kings ! '
' Dost thou believe on Him ?
Come, then, where He awaits thee, in the
walls
His chosen have uprear'd.'
' I tell thee, friend,'
Answer'd the gentle dreamer darkening,
1 1 know that City to the topmost spire,
And though a thousand kings keep
wassail there
He dwelleth not among them. Men
uprear'd
That City, calling it Christopolis,
And marvellously it hath grown and
thriven.
But, long ere that or any City arose,
These and a million greener fields and
woods
Were fashion'd ; how, I know not, but
'twas done ;
And in the dead of night, miraculously,
Before man was, the golden wonder grew.
And priests at last arose, and out of fire
They fashion'd the Creator and Avenger
Who with a thousand names pollutes the
earth ;
Who built up yonder City ; who usurps
The name and privilege of deity ;
Who slew the Adam in humanity
And crucified the Christ : whose thousand
spires
I Shoot yonder up like forks of primal flame
i Staining the blue sky and the snow-white
cloud ;
' Who makes that evil which was fashion'd
good,
I And blurs the crystal of Eternity.'
j Then did I think, ' He raves ! ' but gently
said,
' These things thou say'st are hard to under-
stand.'
' Tread through the mazes of Christopolis,
And thou shalt understand them, marvelling
What brought thee hither on so fond a
quest ; '
And rising, with his eyes in anger fix'd
On the great dazzle of the far-off domes,
EGLANTINE.
73
Across the gentle fields he wander'd on.
But, following him, I whisper' d in his ear :
' Much hast thou told me, but thou hast not
told
That which I ask'd thy name and history ? '
' My name is Eglantine,' the man replied ;
He added, ' Brief is my soul's history :
A crying out for light that hath not shone,
A sowing of sweet seeds that will not spring,
A prayer, a tumult, and an ecstasy.
But come ! I see thy foolish soul is bent
Still to fare onward to Christopolis ?
Come, then, and see, as I have seen, the
Tomb
Paven with pain and crowned with a Cross.'
Through fields with orchids sprinkled,
under banks
Trellis' d with honeysuckle and sweet-briar,
By sweetly flowing runlets, now we pass'd,
And with mine eager eyes fix'd still like stars
Upon the far-off Gate, I noted not
That as we went the fields and the green
ways
Grew wanner and the waving grass less
green,
Until we came upon that open waste
Which lieth all around the mighty City,
And through the heart of which the highway
winds
Up to the western walls.
Upon a tract
Of lonely stone doth stand Christopolis,
And all around for leagues the rocks and
sands
Stretch bleak and bare ; and not a bird
thereon
Flieth, save kite and crow ; and here and
there,
At intervals, black Crosses point the path,
And whitely strewn at every Cross's feet
There bleach the bones of pilgrims who
have died.
But if the waste was bare around about
What did I heed, since now at every step
I saw the City growing fairer far ;
The spires and arches all innumerable
Flashing their flame at heaven ; a million
roofs
Of gold and silver mirroring the skies ;
Windows of pearl in sunlight glistening
Prismatic ; temples and cathedrals blent
I In one large lustre of delight and dream ;
And presently there came a solemn sound
Of many organs playing, of deep voices
Uplifted in a strange celestial hymn,
So that the City stirr'd like one great heart
In solemn throbs of happiness and praise.
BOOK IV.
WITHIN CIIRISTOPOLIS.
AGAIN we trod the highway, midst the
crowd,
Close to the western walls. At last we
stood
Close to the very Gate.
The Gate was broad
For those who rode a-horse or swiftly drave
Their golden chariots through, but narrow
indeed
The pathways were for those who fared
a-foot ;
And on the walls stood priests, from head
to heel
Enswath'd in scarlet and in gold, and
bearing
Crosses of silver in their outstretch'd hands ;
Who cried, ' Be welcome, ye who enter in ! '
But now I shrank afraid, for o'er the Gate
A naked Form with pierced hands and feet,
Carven colossal in red agate stone,
Hung awful, with a crown upon His head.
But soon the surge of strugglers sent us on
Along the narrow path and past the priests,
Who saw us not, for all their eyes were
fix'd
Upon a lion-headed Conqueror,
Who, with his moaning captives in his train
And bloody warriors round him, enter'din.
But as the stranger in his Eastern raiment
Was passing, one cried, ' Stay ! ' and
named his name :
Another, ' Scourge him back ! ' but
Eglantine
Sped on, and, running, joined me pre-
sently ;
While all the priests forgot him, welcoming
With smiles a lean and senile King who
came
Barefoot, in sackcloth, with a sickly smile
74
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Of false humility. Behind walk'd slaves,
Carrying his crown and sceptre.
Hast thou stood
Within some vast cathedral's organ-loft
While the great organ throbs, the -stone
walls stir,
The thunder of the deep ecstatic bass
Trembles like earthquake underfoot, the
flame
Of the bright silvern flutes shoots heaven-
ward,
And music like a darkness and a flame
Gathers and kindles, wrapping in its cloud
The great cathedral to its upmost spire ?
Ev'n so, but more immeasurably strange,
Throbb'd solemn music through Christo-
polis ;
And all my soul grew sick with rapturous
awe
As slowly to the sound I moved along,
Amid the shining temples, silver shrines,
Solemn cathedrals, shadowy cloister walls,
Under the golden roofs, beneath the spires
With fiery fingers pointing up at Heaven.
Far overhead, from glittering dome to
dome,
Flew doves, so high in air they seem'd as
small
As winged butterflies, and mid the courts
Paven with bright mosaic and with pearl,
Walk'd, wrapt in saintly robes of amethyst,
Processions of the holy, singing psalms,
While smoke of incense swung in censers
bright
Blew round them, rosy as a sunset cloud.
From a great temple's open door there
came
Wafts of rich perfume, and we enter'd in
To music of its own deep organ-heart ;
And all within was glorious, brightly hung
With pictures fairer than a poet's dream :
The King as infant in his golden hair,
Madonna mother smiling through her tears,
With forms and faces most ineffable
Of pale dead saints crowned with aureoles.
But as the ruby brightens to the core
The temple to its inmost kindled on,
And there, around a fiery flashing shrine,
Grave priests in white and crimson kindled
flame
And chaunted, moving slowly to and fro.
Over their heads a naked bleeding Christ,
Like that above the City's mighty Gate,
Hung painted with a wan and wistful smile.
From door to door we pass'd, from shrine
to shrine,
Dazzled with sight and sound ; my happy
eyes
So feeding on each wonder of the way
That they perceived not at each temple's
porch
Black heaps of crouching men and women,
clad
In rags, who clutch'd me as I enter'd in.
At last one held me by the robe, and cried
1 For Christ's sake, stay ! ' and turning, I
perceived
A piteous skeleton that lived and spake ;
Through his black sockets, like a lamp
within,
His soul burnt with a faint and feverish
fire.
' What thing art thou ? ' I cried.
And to my cry
No answer came but these despairing
words,
' Bread ! Give me bread ! '
When, like a house of cards,
The wretch sank down again amid his
rags,
Swooning.
Then I perceived that round about
Were scatter 'd many thousand such as he ;
Face downward, lying on the paven ways,
Crawling like things unclean.
Aghast I stood,
As if the fiery levin at my feet
Had fallen and flamed ; and pausing thus
I saw
Stealing before me to a choral strain
A choir of women pale in black array'd ;
And many look'd upon me vacantly
With rayless eyes whence the sweet light
had fled ;
But one white wanton tall and golden-
hair'd
Laugh'd low and laughing made a sign
obscene.
I started back as from a blow.
' Behold ! '
Low spake the gentle eremite my guide,
' Behold the City of Christopolis.
Over these streets when they were desert
sands
WITHIN CHRISTOPOLIS.
75
The gentle Founder of the City walk'd
Barefooted with a beggar's staff and scrip,
Saying, "Abandon pride and follow me ! "
I tell thee, friend, were that pale Para-
clete
To tread these shining streets this very
hour
He would not find a spot to rest His head !
Above His ashes they have built their
pride
Higher than Nineveh or Babylon ;
And mighty craftsmen from a hundred
lands
Have flock'd to raise these temples for His
tomb.
Behold it ! beautiful, yet still a tomb !
For Him, and for a million such as He !
Arise, ye dead ! '
He stood erect and cried,
Waving wild hands above him, and his cry
Seem'd answer'd. From the darken'd
temple-doors,
From secret byways and from sunless lanes,
As if uprising from the very earth,
Innumerable wretches wrapt in rags,
Famish'd for food, and crippled by disease,
Crawl' d out into the sun ! Like one that
sees
Legions of spectres round his midnight bed,
I stood, appall'd and pale; around my
path
They swarm'd like locusts : many knelt and
wail'd,
Crying for alms ; but others cross'd them-
selves,
Smiling ; and some, in ghastly merriment,
Hooted, and moan'd, or utter'd woeful
hymns.
' It is a festival,' said Eglantine,
'That brings these things unclean from
out their holes
A Hunt of Kings, with bloody Priests for
hounds.
Will chase a heretic across the town."
Even as he spake there gather 'd on my
sense
A sullen murmur as of mighty crowds ;
And soon, as riseth up the ocean-tide
Filling each creek and cavern with its
waves,
The streets, the open places, and the
squares,
Were throng'd with living souls. Around
my form
They wash'd like waters, ever lifting me,
Surging me hither and thither eagerly ;
And on the roofs, and on the belfry-towers,
And in the stained windows of the shrines,
They throng'd a foam of faces flashing
white
Above me, hungry for the coming show.
But Priests with scourges stood along the
road
Beating the people back; and Priests on
high
Rang bells, and sang; and Priests amid
the crowd
Mingled as thick as blood-red poppies
blowing
Amid the yellow grain in harvest fields.
At last a cry arose, ' They come ! They
come ! '
Now far away along the mighty street
The pageant came : first, fleeter than the
pard,
The hunted man, not naked like that other
Who found the temple of Iconoclast,
But like a priest in crimson raimented
And on his heaving breast a snow-white
Cross-
Tall was he, sinewy as a mountain deer,
And back behind him blew his reverend
hair,
And white his face was, set in agony,
With eyes that looked behind him fearfully.
Swift thro' the throng he pass'd, and all the
crowd
Shriek' d out in hate, even wretches in their
rags
Calling a curse upon him. Close behind
Lagg'd his pursuers : first, the panting
pack
With blood-shot eyes and teeth prepared
to tear,
So hideous in their lost humanity
They seern'd not mortal men but hounds
indeed ;
And after them, with gleaming swords and
spears,
Gallop'd on foaming steeds the eager
Kings,
Each King a hideous dwarf with robe and
crown,
7 6
THE CITY OF DREAM.
With Queens among them whose large
lustful eyes
Hunger' d for blood.
Then, as I stood and gazed,
I saw a thing so glorious that it seem'd
A wondrous rainbow fallen in the street ;
For in the centre of the company,
Upraised supreme beneath a panoply,
Sat one so old and dumb at first he seem'd
A heathen idol from the banks of Ind
White was his hair as snow, infirm hi.'
frame
Pillow' d upon a bed of purple dye,
And looking on him one might deem him
dead,
Save for the senile glimmer in the eyes
That ever look'd about them vacantly
Around him broke a blood-red surge of
Priests
Wildly uplifting and upbearing him,
And ever chaunting, as they led him on,
' O holy ! holy ! '
' Whose is yonder shape ? '
I questioned ; and the gentle voice spake
low:
' He hath a hundred names ; in ancient
times,
With mad idolatry, they called him Baal ;
Usurper and inheritor is he
Of him who built the City long ago. 1
Past swept the train, that Idol in its midst,
The vast crowd like a torrent following,
But suddenly the hunters paused, the tide
Of life wash'd back from some dark barrier,
And high on air there rose a bitter cry
That he they hunted had escaped their wrath
And taken refuge deep in sanctuary.
Then forward journeying by slow degrees,
We twain, I, Ishmael, and my gentle guide,
Came to a mighty square girt round about
With towers and temples multitudinous ;
And at the centre of the square there stood,
Close-shut, a brazen Gate encalender'd
With awful shapes and legends of the
Cross ;
And baffled at this Gate like angry waves,
The Kings, the Queens, and many thousand
Priests,
Stood clamouring in the sunlight, angrily.
' What meaneth this ? ' I whisper'd
' Whither now
Hath fled the man ? ' and Eglantine re-
plied,
' I did not tell thee what is simple sooth
This gracious City of Christopolis,
One as it seemeth, indivisible,
A corporal City shining in the sun,
Is twain in soul and substance, Cities twain
Divided by that brazen Gate thou seest :
And citizens who dwell beyond that gate
Approve not yonder Idol or his slaves,
Nor love so deep the pomp of masonry,
Old custom, or the habit of the Priest.
Nay, what is holy sooth beyond the gate
Within this square may be foul blasphemy !
He gain'd the Gate they open'd : pray
to God
That he may there find peace ! '
Loudly he spake,
In tones of one accustom'd to propound,
And many round him listen'd to his words,
Whispering among each other. As he
ceased
There came up panting one of those red
hounds
Fixing a fever'd eye upon his face,
And crying, ' Have I found thee lingering
here?
A snake ! A snake ! we thrust him forth
before,
But here he crawls again ! ' and suddenly
He thrust his hand out seizing Eglantine,
And beckon'd to his comrades clustering
round
Like hungry wolves that dog the wounded
deer.
' Back ! touch me not ! ' he cried, and
shook him off".
But round him nocking rude and ravenous
They cried: 'To judgment !' and before
he wist
They dragged him to that circle of pale
Kings
Baffled and clamorous for a victim, now
The hunted had escaped beyond the Gate ;
And in the midst sat wan and woe begone
That hoary human Idol on its throne,
Clad head to foot in crimson and in
gold,
Yet pitiful, with its poor witless eyes
And threads of hoary hair.
' A snake ! a snake ! '
All shrieked, upleaping and uplifting him.
But calmer, colder than the evening star
WITHIN CHRISTOPOLIS.
77
He shone amongst them, shaking them
away.
' Come to thy Judge ! ' they cried and with
a smile
He answer'd, ' Peace ! where is he ? I
will come
Before him willingly ! ' A hundred hands
Uppointing at the Idol, cried, ' Behold ! '
But folding his thin arms across his breast,
And fixing on the senile face a gaze
Of utter pity and more piteous scorn :
1 That ! God have mercy on the Judge and
judged
If that poor worm be mine ! '
' A heretic ! '
Clamoured a thousand throats ; those
hundred Kings
Prick'd up their ears and listen'd eagerly ;
The red hounds leapt and panted scenting
prey
The pale Queens smiled, prepared for cruel
sport
While that wan Idol, tottering as he stirr'd,
Roll'd hollow eyeballs at the empty air
And shook a sceptre in his palsied hands.
Then, stepping forward from the crimson
ranks,
While all the crowd was hush'd to hear him
speak,
Stood one as gaunt as any skeleton
Bearing a sable cross in his right hand ;
Who, fixing chilly eyes on Eglantine,
Thus question'd, ' Hear'st thou, man !
Dost thou deny
Our master's right to judge thee ? '
EGLANTINE.
deny
That Image, yet denying pity him
For his weak age and poor humanity.
INQUISITOR.
Dost thou deny the heir elect o' the King?
Now shall I catch thee tripping, for per-
chance
Thou dost deny the Lord our King Himself ?
EGLANTINE.
Instruct me further, for I know not yet,
Since Kings are many, of what King ye
speak ?
INQUISITOR.
Of Him who was from all Eternity,
Who clothed Himself in likeness of a man,
Who died, with His red blood upbuilt the
City
And sealed it with His name, Christopolis.
EGLANTINE.
I have not seen Him, and I know Him not ;
But if a god be judged like man by works,
And thy God fashion' d this Christopolis,
I do deny Him, and reject Him too,
As much as I reject that Spectre there.
Rose from the throats of all that multitude
A shriek of horror and of cruelty,
The red hounds wail'd, the Kings drew out
their swords,
While I did close mine eyes in agony
Fearing to see that gentle brother slain.
But still serene as any star his face
Smiled and made calm the tempest once
again,
While with uplifted hand and quivering lips,
Pallid with rage, the Inquisitor spake on.
INQUISITOR.
Now I perceive thee atheist as thou art
Dost thou believe in any King that is ?
EGLANTINE.
I know not. What is he thou callest King ?
INQUISITOR.
The Maker of the heavens and the earth,
Dumb monsters and the seeing soul of man :
The first strange Force, the first and last
Supreme,
Shaper of all things, and Artificer.
EGLANTINE.
Some things are evil if He fashion'd evil,
And leaves it evil, then I know Him not.
INQUISITOR.
If He made evil (and thou, too, art evil)
To be a testimony unto good,
Answer me straight dost thou believe on
Him ?
THE CITY OF DREAM.
EGLANTINE.
*
Nay, give me breath, and I will answer thee
According to the measure of my seeing.
Thou questionest if I believe i' the King ?
I do believe in Law and Light and Love,
If these be He, I do believe in Him ;
And in mine Elder Brother I believe
Because He suffer'd and His voice is sweet,
But though He was the fairest of us all,
A mortal like myself He lived and died ;
And when I wander out in yonder fields,
Under the opening arch of yonder heaven,
Beyond the fatal shadows of these Kings,
Beyond the City's dark idolatries,
A spirit uplifts my hair, anoints mine eyes,
Sweetens my sight, and, if this Spirit be He,
With all my heart I do believe in Him ;
And when in peace I close mine eyes and
watch
The calm reflection of all shining things
Mirror 'd within me as within a brook,
And feel the scatter'd images of life,
Like broken shadows in a pool, unite
To lineaments most mystic and divine,
I do believe, I verily believe,
For God is with me, and the face of God
Looks from the secret places of my soul.
Thus much I know, and knowing question
not ;
But more than this I cannot comprehend.
The Everlasting and Imperishable
Eludes me, as the sight of the sweet stars
That shine uncomprehended yet serene ;
For nightly, silently, their eyes unclose,
And whoso sees their light, and gazes on it
Till wonder turns to rapture, seemeth ever,
Like one that reads all secrets in Love's
eyes,
Swooning upon the verge of certainty
Another look, another flash, it seems
And all God's mystery will be reveal'd,
But very silently they close again,
Shutting their secret 'neath their silvern lids,
And looking inward with a million orbs
On the Unfathomable far within
Their spheres, as is the soul within the soul.
God is their secret ; but I turn to Earth,
My Mother, and in her dark fond face I
gaze,
Still questioning until at last I find
Her secret, and its sweetest name is Love :
And this one word she murmurs secretly
Into the ears of birds and beasts and men ;
And sometimes, listening to her, as she lies
Twining her lilies in her hair, and watching
Her blind eyes as they glimmer up to
heaven,
I dream this word she whispers to herself
Is yet another mystic name of God.
More would his lips have spoken, but the
shriek
Of ' Atheist ! Atheist ! ' drown'd his gentle
voice
And as around some gentle boat at sea
Riseth a sudden storm of sharp-tooth'd
waves,
So rose that company of Priests and Kings ;
And as a boat is wash'd and whirl'd and
driven
'Mid angry breakers, from beyond my
sight
The dreamer's fair frail form was borne
away,
Yet ever and anon I saw his face
Arise seraphic 'mid the blood-red sea,
Undaunted, undespairing, and as yet
Unharm'd ! The tumult rose. Kings,
Priests, and Slaves,
Were mix'd confusedly, as to and fro
The great crowd eddied ; and I sought in
vain
To reach the dreamer's side and speak with
him ;
But when I call'd his name despairingly,
A hundred hands were lifted on myself,
A hundred fingers trembled at my throat,
And voices shriek'd, ' Another death to
him ! '
Back was I fiercely driven, step by step,
And more than once I stagger 'd to my
knees,
My raiment rent, my body bruised and
beaten,
My spirit like a lamp swung in a storm
Blurr'd, darken'd, shedding only straggling
beams
Of feeble sense. 'Almighty King,' I
moan'd,
' Is this thy City ? '
As I spake the words
I stagger'd to that mighty brazen Gate,
And looking up I saw enwrought thereon
These words ' Knock here if thou wouldst
enter in."
WITHIN CHRISTOPOLIS.
79
I turn'd once more, and saw the people's
faces
Flashing in fury round me swords and
staves
Uplifted arms outstretching for my
throat :
Sick with that sight, I knock'd, and ere I
knew
The Gate swung open hands outreaching
grasp'd
My fainting form and dragg'd me swiftly
in ;
And as a bark out of an angry sea
Ploughs round a promontory into calm,
Then slips on silent where all winds are
dead
Into a quiet haven in the bay,
I found myself beyond the brazen Gate,
Panting, unharm'd, while from my awe-
struck ears,
Miraculously, instantaneously,
The murmur of that tumult died away.
BOOK V.
WITHIN THE GATE.
BREATHLESS, a space I paused, breathless
and blind,
Then slowly as a wight that wakes from
sleep
Gazed round me ; and behold I found my-
self
Within a great quadrangle dark and still,
Uplooking on the other side o' the Gate
Vhereon was written in a fiery scroll :
No path beware the many-headed
Beast ! '
ind gather'd round me as I shuddering
stood
saw a group of silent men in black,
ad-featured, holding each an open book.
Where am I now? ' I murmur'd vacantly,
ne of those strangers with a pensive
smile
Uiswer'd, ' In safety, friend ! within this
Gate
They cannot harm thee. Welcome, weary
one,
'o the blest shelter of Christopolis.'
Vhereat 1 cried : ' Accursed be the name,
Vivien lured me from blue heaven and the
sweet fields !
For he was wise who warn'd me ere I came,
And now I know the City as it is,
Not holy like the City of my dream,
But evil, cruel, dreary, and defiled.'
' Blaspheme not,' said that other ; 'yet in
sooth
We pardon thee thy rash and ribald speech,
For thou hast seen the City's evil side.
Beyond that Gate there reigneth Antichrist
In likeness of the foul and loathsome Beast,
But here, in verity, thy storm-toss'd heart
May rest in peace. '
And now, within my dream,
Methought I wander'd on with those grave
men,
And listen'd, hoping, yet in half despair,
To their soft speech. Less golden and
less bright
The City seem'd upon its hither side,
For everywhere upon the sunless streets
Dark temples and black-arch' d cathedrals
cast
A solemn shadow, and the light within
Was sadder-temper'd and more soul-sub-
duing,
And solemner the mighty music seem'd
That sigh'd through every crevice like a sea.
Yet overhead the same bright fingers shot
Their flames at heaven, and the white
doves flew,
And patient look'd the azure light of heaven
Fretted by domes and arches numberless
Yet brooding most serene.
But now my sou
Did scent for evil with a keener sense,
And that fair-seeming show of sight and
sound
O'ercame me not, but ever I look'd abroad
In sorrow and mistrust ; and soon indeed
My search was answer 'd ; for I saw again,
Low-lying near the black cathedral doors,
Forms of the wretched writhing in their
rags,
And peering in through the wide-open
doors
I saw the shapes of Kings bright-raimented
Who knelt at prayer. Then turning unto
those
Who led me, bitterly I smiled and said :
' Meseems ye have kept your carrion and
your Kings,
As they have yonder Plainly I perceive
That still I walk within Christopolis J '
8o
THE CITY OF DREAM.
One answer'd : ' God forbid that we shoul
miss
Their company who are divinely crown'd
And for the poor, hath not the King o
Kings
Enjoin'd upon His servants to have these
For ever with them ? '
' Tell me roundly then
What must he do who would within thi
Gate
Be deem'd a good and lawful citizen ?
Must he bow down to Idols such as those
They carry yonder? Must he quake a
Priests ?
And, if he must be judged, who judgeth
him?'
'Good man, thou knowest little of this place
If thou dost dream that we who dwell herein
Will kneel to any Idol or accept
The will of perishable Priests or Kings.
Upon that score we parted first with those
Our neighbours, choosing here to dwell
apart.
Be one of us, and surely thou shalt bow
Neither to Idol nor to mortal man,
Nor shalt thou quake at any mortal judge ;
Nay, shouldst thou need a judge that judge
shall be
Thine own good conscience and the City's
law.'
Then did I brighten, somewhat comforted,
Yet nothing now could waken in my soul
That old first faith wherewith I saw from
far
The flashing of the City's thousand spires
And to myself I said : ' A bootless dream,
A dreary City and a bootless dream,
Lf this be all ! ' So with a heavy heart
\ look'd upon the temples and the shrines,
And heard the solemn music welling forth,
And saw the quiet folk that came and went,
3ilent and quick, like bees that throng i' the
hive.
Now, as I wander'd musing, I beheld
One who sat singing at a temple door,
His face illumined, turning soft with tears
Upward and sunward ; and the song he
sang
Was low and hush'd as is the nightingale's
Just as the dusky curtain of a cloud
Is drawn across the bright brow of the
moon ;
And, lo ! I listen'd, for it seem'd the song
Came from the deep heart of mine own
despair,
And tears were in mine eyes before it ceased.
Come again, come back to me,
White-wing'd throng of childish Hours,
Lead me on from lea to lea,
Ankle-deep in meadow flowers ;
Set a lily in my hand,
Weave wild pansies in my hair,
Through a green and golden land
Lead me on with fancies fair.
White-wing'd Spirits, come again,
Heal my pain !
Through the shadows of the rain
Come again !
Come again, and by me sit
As you sat that summer day,
Seeing through the mists of heat
This great City far away.
Golden glow'd its magic fires
Far across the valleys green,
Heavenward flash'd its thousand spires,
Silent, trembling, faintly seen.
Show thy visions once again,
White-wing'd train !
With the dream I dream'd in vain,
Come again !
Come again, and lead me back
To the fields and meadows sweet,
Softly, by the self-same track
Follow'd by my coming feet ;
From the City's gates set free,
Backward to the gates of morn
Kvery backward step will be
Brighter, fairer, less forlorn.
Lead me ! let me reach again
Wood and lane
Lead me to your green domain
Once again.
Come again ! but, O sweet Hours !
If ye come not ere I die,
Find me dead, with bands of flowers
Lift me up from where I lie,
Take me to the woodland place
Where I linger'd long ago,
Set soft kisses on my face,
Singing, as ye lay me low
Let me slumber there again,
Far from pain
Waking up with weary brain,
Ne'er again !
WITHIN THE GATE.
81
Methought that as that song of sad despair
Rose like a murmuring fountain, all the
place
Darken'd as when the sun is lost in clouds ;
And from the temples, from the clustering
dwellings,
There rose in answer one great wail of pain,
Which breaking like a wave was spent in
tears ;
And, lo ! mine own tears fell, for I re-
member'd
The meadows where I wander'd when a
child,
The baptism of my love new born in joy
And looking on a sun-illumined world.
Then one of those grave dwellers in the
City,
Turning upon me dark and ominous eyes,
Said, ' 'Tis the music which the Snake did
weave
To mock the first of man when he had
fallen-
Self-pity is the mournful slave of sin ;
Do thou beware in time ! ' whereon I cried,
' A light is lost that never will return :
What canst thou give me now to heal the
heart
Made desolate as dust ? '
' Pray ! '
1 1 have pray'd ! '
Wait ! '
I have waited ! '
' If thy spirit fail,
Turn to the living wonder of the Word ! '
Then I perceived that he with whom I spake
Held in his hand an open Book like that
I bare within my breast ; and gazing round
I saw that every shape within those streets
Did hold a Book wide open as he walk'd,
Reading aloud and muttering to himself
Prayer, parable, and psalm. Wherefore I
cried,
' I know that comfort ; it was given for
bread,
But turn'd to bitterest wormwood long
ago!'
Then ere I knew it I was circled round
With faces terrible and white as death,
And one, a hoary wight with eyes of fire,
Shriek'd, ' Strike him down, O thunderbolt
of God !
He doth deny Thine everlasting Word I '
Hi
But one, more gentle, interposing, said :
' Silence, and list unto him. Pilgrim,
speak ;
Dost thou deny God's message unto men?'
THE PILGRIM.
Nay, I deny it not, but I have heard
That message, and I find no comfort there.
STRANGER.
No comfort in the justice of the Lord ?
No succour in the mercy of the Son ?
THE PILGRIM.
Sad is that justice, woeful is the mercy,
Most dark the testimony of the Book
But yonder, out beyond the City's wall,
The sun shines golden, and the earth is
merry,
And only here the grievous shadow lies.
STRANGER.
The shadow of thy sin, which sin is death.
Answer again : Believest thou the Book ?
THE PILGRIM.
As I believe in thunders and in storm.
STRANGER.
Dost thou reject all other testimonies,
Holding this only as the voice of God ?
THE PILGRIM.
Nay, for I hear it as the voice of men.
STRANGER.
Dost thou believe these wonders written
down?
THE PILGRIM.
Nay, for among them many are most sad,
Some are incredible, and all most strange.
STRANGER.
Rejectest thou the Book's own testimony,
That all these mysteries are truths divine ?
THE PILGRIM.
No book can testify unto itself ;
Nor is that Book a living voice at all !
82
THE CITY OF DREAM.
STRANGER.
These tokens testify to Word and Book :
The lights of Heaven and Hell ; the voice
of God
Heard in the beating of the human heart ;
Christ's burial ; last, His rising from the
grave.
Denyest thou these ?
THE PILGRIM.
Heaven have I fail'd to find ;
Hell have I found on earth, and in thy
City;
The voice of mine own soul rejects the
voice
I once did hear in my affrighted heart ;
I do believe Christ's burial, but, alas !
Why is the gentle promise unfulfill'd ?
Why doth the world's pale Martyr rest un-
risen ?
STRANGER.
In spirit He hath risen lo, His City,
To testify His prescience and His power.
Ev'n as he spake, there pass'd along the
street
A host of armed men in black array'd,
Led on by one who rode a sable steed
And wore a helmet shapen like a crown ;
These to Jehovah as they march'd did raise
A sullen hymn of praise for victory,
And some were to the ankles shod in blood,
But many as they march'd did gravely read
The open pages of the Holy Book.
' What men are these ? ' I ask'd, and one
replied :
'Warriors of Christ, who walk about the
world
Slaying and smiting in the blessed Name ! '
Then, laughing low in bitterness of heart,
I saw the doors and casements opening
wide,
And faces thronging with a wicked joy
To welcome back the warriors of the Lord.
Moreover, as I gazed, mine eyes could
mark
Dark chambers full of grave and silent men
Who sat at ebon tables counting gold,
And 'mid the golden heaps that each did
pile
The open Scripture lay ; and down the
streets
Came men who waved their hands, and
cried, ' Repent ! '
And here and there, in lonely darken'd
places,
The Tree of man's invention rose and
swung
With human fruitage dead and horrible ;
And 'neath that Tree more woeful voices
rose,
Crying, ' Repent and die ! Repent and die ! '
And million voices echoed back the sound,
And even those silent men who counted
gold
Moan'd answer from the darkness of their
dens.
Then cried I, ' He was wise who warn'd
me, saying,
" Thy sepulchre, O bleeding Nazarene,
Is still thy sepulchre ! " Thy dream was
peace,
But lo, destruction, sorrow, and a sword ;
Thy prayer was for the poor and meek of
heart,
But lo, the golden gloom and dust of
pride ;
Thy oreed was mercy for the worst and
best,
But lo ! the hideous Tree and not the Cross ;
Thy light was sunshine and a shining
place,
But lo ! deep dread and darkness of the
Book ; '
And turning to those men who follow'd
me,
' The black leaves of the Book are blossom-
less,
And of its upas-fruit whoever eats
Bears wormwood in his heart for evermore.'
' Blasphemer ! ' answer'd one in night-black
robes,
And hollow-eyed as Famine throned on
graves ;
1 The Gospel which is wormwood in the
mouth
Is honey being eaten and consumed.
Evil are mortals, evil is the world,
Evil are all things man hath written down ;
But this one thing is absolutely good :
Read it, and live ; cast it away, and die. '
WITHIN THE GATE.
THE PILGRIM.
I'll read no more ; fairer to me by far
That Book I read, not understanding yet,
Upon the lonely shores where I was born.
What Book is that ? and written by whose
hand?
THE PILGRIM.
By God's in the beginning ; on its front
He set the stars for signs, the sun for seal ;
Golden the letters, bright the shining pages,
Holy the natural gospel, of the earth ;
Blessed tenfold the language of that Book
For ever open ; blessed he who reads
The leaf that ever blossoms ever turn'd !
CITIZEN.
This Book I hold doth prove that other
dust ;
Its brightness is a fleshly sin and snare.
THE PILGRIM.
He made it ; left it open for our seeing.
CITIZEN.
The shadow of the primal sin remains.
There, on the fallen rose-leaves of the world,
The snake crawls, as in Eden long ago.
Upon me, as he spake, methought there fell
A shadow like that shadow which he fear'd ;
And in its midst, as in some night of storm
The crested billows flash with gleams of
foam,
The faces of those sombre citizens
Glimmer'd around. Mad with mine own
despair
stood as on some dreary promontory
Booking on tempest of a sunless sea
Behold the Book ! ' I cried, while from my
breast
drew it forth and held it high in air ;
Here in mine bosom it hath lain for long,
Chiller than ice and heavy as a stone ;
cast it back as bread upon the waters
Jplift it, wear it on his heart who will,
Henceforward I reject it utterly.'
So saying I threw it from me, while a shriek
Of horror rose from that black crowd of
men ;
And ere I knew it I was circled round
With living waters rising high in wrath
To drown and to devour and dash me down.
' Death to him ! to the foul blasphemer,
death ! '
' Wrath to the wretch who doth reject the
Word ! '
' Ah, Satan, Satan ! ' rose the murderous
cries,
While all in vain I sought to shield my head
Against a shower of ever-increasing blows ;
And, lo ! again, I saw the doors and case-
ments
Were open, and wild faces looking forth,
And warriors pointed at me with their
swords,
And women rushing with dishevell'd hair
Shriek' d ' Vengeance ! ' till meseem'd before
my feet
The very pit of Hell was yawning wide,
While flame flash'd up, and smoke of fire
arose,
Scorching my sense and blotting from my
sight
The towers and temples of Christopolis.
But as I struggled crying out on God,
Methought that one in raiment white and
fair
Strode to me through the horror of the crowd
And held me up from falling, while the
cry
Grew louder, ' Cast him out beyond the
Gate !
Slay him, and cast him forth ! ' and as a
straw
Is lifted on a torrent, I was raised,
And wildly, darkly, desolately driven
I knew not whither. From the earth still
rose
Darkness and fire ; fire from the heavens
o'erhead
Seem'd following : baleful fire did wrap me
round
As with red raiment but that succouring
hand
Still held me, and a low voice in mine ear
Cried, ' Courage,' as I drifted dumbly on.
From street to street, from lane to lane,
methought
oa
8 4
THE CITY OF DREAM.
They drove me, bruised and bleeding, till
I reach 'd
Another Gate, which on its hinges swinging
Open'd to let me pass, then with a clang
Did shut its soot-black jaws behind my back,
While from within I heard the sullen roar
Of those dark waters which had cast me
forth.
BOOK VI.
THE CALVARIES.
AT last methought I paused, and deathly
pale,
My raiment rent, my body bruised with
blows,
Turn'd to my rescuer with questioning eyes
And would have spoken, but the other cried,
' Hush for a space, lest thou be overheard ! '
And not until our feet had flown full far,
Down empty byways and down darken'd
lanes,
Nor till the populous walks were far behind
And we were deep in flowers and meadow-
grass
Of quiet uplands, did we pause again.
And now the star of evening had arisen
Set like a sapphire in the shadowy west,
And slow crows waver'd homeward silently
With sleepy waft of wing, and all was still,
Only the far-off murmur of the City
Came like the distant thunder of a sea.
Then pausing, I upon my gentle guide
Gazed closely, and beheld a face benign,
Sweeten'd with many sorrows, sweetest eyes
Weary and weak with their own gentleness,
And lips sweet too, yet close together set
With sad resolve. Tall was the stranger's
height,
His gestures noble, but his shoulders
stoop'd
With some dark burthen not beheld of eyes ;
And ever in his breast did creep his hand,
As if to still the tumult of his heart.
Yet, gazing on his garb, I shrank away
Sick and afraid, for lo ! upon his breast
Glimmer'd the crimson Cross of those fierce
Priests,
And clad he was like many in the City
Jn a white robe that swept unto his feet,
Darkly I cried, ' Avaunt ! I know thee not !
I deem'd thee good, but thou art even as
those
Who stoned me, thronging at my throat
like wolves,
And sought my life ; ' when with a smile as
bright
As had the vesper star above his head,
1 Friend, be at peace ! ' the gentle stranger
cried,
' Nor fear mine office, by the Cross I wear ! '
THE PILGRIM.
That Cross affrights my vision pluck it off,
And I shall know thou art a man indeed.
STRANGER.
I cannot, since I am God's Priest elect ;
Nay, rather in the Name of Him who bare
A cross like this I bid thee love the sign.
THE PILGRIM.
Carry thy firebrand back into the City,
I loathe it ! Evil is the sign, and still
Evil its wearers wheresoe'er they walk !
Art thou a Priest ? My curse upon thy head !
Avoid me ! to thy brethren get thee
gone !
STRANGER.
Until thy heart is calm'd I cannot go ;
Nor will I leave thee till thou hearest me.
THE PILGRIM.
Thou heardst me I proclaim'd it in the
City-
False are your fables, false your boasted
creeds,
Falsest of all your spirits and your lives.
There is no truth in any land at all
Ye darken, sitting by the side of Kings.
STRANGER.
False Priests are false, and these thine eyes
have seen.
THE PILGRIM.
All Priests are false, for falsehood is their
creed,
THE CALVARIES.
STRANGER.
Phrase me my creed ; if thou canst prove
it false
I promise thee I will abandon it.
THE PILGRIM.
How shall I name it? Which of many
names
Shall fit it now? Guile, Fraud, Hypocrisy,
Blood-thirst and Blood-shed, Persecution,
Pride,
Mammon in one word sum it, Vanity.
STRANGER.
Friend, thou hast miss'd the mark. Our
creed is Love.
THE PILGRIM.
I know that jargon. Spare it ; for I know
it.
The wolf wears wool, and calls himself a
lamb.
STRANGER.
Heed not our garb, or what we call our-
selves
Yea, judge not what we seem, but what we
are.
THE PILGRIM.
That have I done ; so is my judgment
proved ;
For they who flaunt your banners in Love's
name
Pursued me, stoned me on from street to
street,
And would have slain me with their bloody
hands.
STRANGER.
In sooth they would, had help not inter-
vened.
I know them well ; my friend, they have
stoned vie !
THE PILGRIM.
They do not spare each other, I believe ;
But even as wolves, when no poor sheep is
near,
I They fall upon each other and devour.
STRANGER.
Bitter thou art, o'er bitter, yet thy words,
Though harsh as wormwood, are in
measure just,
For many Priests are false, and follow ill
The Scripture they propound to foolish
flocks.
Yet mark me well ; though many sought by
force
To win the soul they could not win by words,
'Twas for thy soul they wrought, to save
thy soul,
And insomuch, though blind, they wrought
in love.
THE PILGRIM.
Smiling and slaying ! hungry for my life !
O Sophist ! now I know thee Priest indeed.
STRANGER.
Pause yet. I love their deeds no more than
thou,
Yet rather would believe them doubly blind
(For blindness may be crime, but is not sin)
Than wholly base and hypocritical.
Grant that they sought thy death through
death they sought
To win thy spirit to eternal life !
Thou laughest, and mad mockery in thine
eyes
Burneth with bloodshot beams. Resolve
me now
Dost thou deny that these same Priests are
blind?
THE PILGRIM.
To good, I grant thee, but for this world's
goods
Who have a sense so keen ? and wheresoe'er
Hath crawl'd this glittering serpent of a
Church
All men may know it by these tokens
twain
Blood-marks, and next, its slimy trail of
gold.
Blind are ye to the sun and moon and stars,
To good, and to the beggar at your gates ;
But unto usury ye are not blind ;
And into murderous eyes of Queens and
Kings
Your eyes can look approval, while your
mouths
Intone fond hymns to tyranny and war ;
86
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And unto raiment rich, and glittering coins,
And houses hung with crimson and with
gold,
And harlots beckoning in their golden hair,
Methinks all mortals know ye are not blind !
Thus spake I in the tempest of my heart,
Now pacing up and down with fever'd steps
The twilight-shadow' d lanes beyond the
City;
And now the eyes of heaven were opening,
And in dark woods hard by the nightingales
Sang softly up the slow and lingering moon.
And, hurrying my footsteps, soon I came
To where four roads did meet to make a
cross,
And in the centre of the way I saw,
Dim, livid, silhouetted on the sky,
A Calvary, and thereupon a Christ
Most rudely sculptured out of crimson
stone.
Thereon, methought, I halted shuddering,
Gazed, then shrank back, and covered up
mine eyes,
When once again I noted at my side
That white-robed stranger and upon mine
ear
Again the melancholy accents fell.
STRANGER.
Why shrinkest thou? Kneel down and
ease thy heart.
THE PILGRIM.
Peace, peace ! I will not worship wood or
stone.
Who set that image here to block the way ?
Nay, spare thine answer ; they who wrought
this thing
Are those who stoned me from Christo-
polis
Thy brethren ! Not the honeysuckled lanes,
The twilight-shadow'd meadows sweet with
flowers,
The violet-sprinkled ways and underwoods,
Not Nature's self, not the still solitude,
Are free from this pollution dark as death,
This common horror of idolatry.
STRANGER.
Knowest thou whose shape is carven on that
cross ?
THE PILGRIM.
The Man Divine whom Priests of Judah
slew.
STRANGER.
The Man Divine who still is hourly slain
Wherever sin is thought or wrong is done.
O brother, keep me by thy side a space,
And, looking on that symbol, hark to me.
Him did they stone, like thee and me ; and
yet
Mark this, He loved them, dying for their
sake.
Blame them, if they are worthy of thy blame,
Lament them, in so far as they have fallen
From the divine ideal they propound ;
But still remember this, amidst thy blame
They rear'd that Cross and set that symbol
there !
THE PILGRIM.
To what avail? To darken earth's sweet
ways?
STRANGER.
To hold forth hope to every living man,
To be a protestation and a power
Against their own defilement if defiled.
'Tis something to uprear a mighty truth,
Though from its eminence the weak will
falls ;
'Tis much to plant a beacon on the sea,
Though they who plant it lose their hold
and drown.
Were each priest evil in an evil world,
This would not prove that fair ideal false
Which for the common gaze they find and
prove.
Brother, hadst thou but watch'd this place
with me
By night-time, in the silence of the night !
For out of yonder City, as if ashamed,
Sad human creatures creep with hooded
heads
And falling at the feet of Calvary,
Scarce conscious of each other's presence,
weep
Such tears as yonder Christ deems worth a
world.
And moonlight falling on their haggard
faces
Hath shown the lineaments of cruel Kings
Set side by side with beggars in their rags,
THE CALVARIES.
And pale Queens, naked, crownless, gro-
velling close
To harlots with dishevell'd locks of gold,
And conscience-stricken Priests that beat
their breasts
With bitterest ululations of despair.
Then did I smile, and cry, ' I doubt thee
not !
What then ? Next dawn thy Kings were
on their thrones,
Thy Queens were crown'd, thy harlots plied
their trade,
Thy beggars craved for bread and gnaw'd a
stone,
Thy Priests were glorious in their gold and
gems,
And all the City busy as before.
Such conscience is an owl that flies by night,
No sweet white dove that moves abroad by
day ;
And he who in the sunlight brazens best
Is the worst coward in night's creeping
time.'
I added this, moreover, ' Since so far
Thy feet have follow'd, and since, further-
more,
I owe thee something for my weary life,
I will accost thee in a gentler mood,
Seeking thy soul's conversion even as thou
Hast sought for mine ; but first I fain would
know
Thy name, thine office, and thy quality.'
Whereon the other smiling, better pleased,
' My name is Merciful, the Priest of Christ,
And yonder in Christopolis I dwell
Half hated by my brethren and half fear'd,
Because I help the Pilgrims passing by
And lead them hither unto Calvary. '
THE PILGRIM.
Art thou not shamed to wear the garb
they wear,
Seeing their deeds profane it terribly ?
MERCIFUL.
Not so. If they fulfil their office ill,
That doth not prove the office evil too :
And wearing this white dress of sanctity
I work as one that hath authority,
And better help poor Pilgrims passing by.
THE PILGRIM.
Thus far, thou workest good. Now,
answer me
Dost thou believe the fables of the Book ?
MERCIFUL.
Not in the letter, but essentially.
THE PILGRIM.
Dost thou believe that still by one man's fall
We mortal men are lost and overthrown ;
But yet, since God did make Himself a
Man,
Attesting this by many miracles,
Through God's own Death the world may
still be saved ?
MERCIFUL.
I do believe these things symbol icallv,
As I believe the symbol of that Cross.
THE PILGRIM.
Did Jesus live and die in Galilee ?
Did he work miracles and raise the dead ?
Was Jesus God, and could God Jesus die ?
MERCIFUL.
I will not fall into that trap of words,
Which, grimly smiling, thou hast laid for
me,
But I will answer thee as best I may,
Clearly, and with no touch of sophistry.
' Did Jesus live ? ' I know a sweet Word
lives,
Coming like benediction on the sense
Where'er Love walks uplooking heaven-
ward,
And since no Word is spoken without lips,
Hearing that Word I know He lived and
breathed.
1 Did Jesus die? ' On every wayside cross,
In every market-place and solitude,
I see a symbol of a wondrous death ;
And, since each symbol doth its substance
prove,
How should I not believe that Jesus died ?
' Did he work miracles and raise the dead ? '
' Was Jesus God ? ' Here is my timid sense
Lost in a silence and a mystery
And yet I know, by every breath I breathe,
The Mighty and the Merciful are one :
88
THE CfTY OF DREAM.
The morning dew that scarcely bends the
flowers
Inhaled to heaven becomes the lightning
flash
That lights all heaven ere noon. 'Could
Jesus die ? '
If Death be Life, and Life Eternity,
If Death be but the image of a change,
Perchance even God might take the image
on,
And in the splendour of His pity, die.
So spake the gentle Priest, his mild blue eye
Dewy with love for all men and for God,
But I did answer with a hollow laugh
Deep as a raven's croak, that echoed on
Through all the architraves of that blue
vault
Above us bent. ' God help thee, man ! ' I
cried ;
' For" ffiou art pleased as any yearling babe
With playthings that thou canst not under-
stand.
Fables and symbols dazzle thy twain eyes,
And phantasies of loving sentiment
Puzzle thy reason and perplex thy will.
Wiser are they who on the tripod sit,
Intoning oracles and studying
The dry dull letter of theology,
Than they who, like to thee and such as
thou,
Are drunken with its gentle images.'
1 Kneel ! ' answer'd Merciful ; ' perchance
in prayer
Thine eyes may be unveil'd. '
But I replied,
Pointing at that pale Calvary which loom'd
Dim and gigantic in the starry light,
' I will not kneel to yonder shape of stone,
If by the name of God thou callest it ;
But if thou call'st it Man, Man crucified,
Manmartyr'd, I will kneel, not worshipping,
But clinging to an Elder Brother's feet,
And calling on the sweetest saddest soul
That ever walk'd with bleeding limbs of
clay
The solitary shades beneath the stars.
He found it not, the City that I seek,
He came and went upon His quest in vain,
And crucified upon His path by Priests
Became a portent and a piteous sign
On the great high way of man's pilgrimage ;
And though the memory of His love is
sweet,
The shadow of Him is cruel and full fraught
With tearfullest despairs ; and wheresoe'er
We wander, we are haunted out of hope
By this pale Martyr with His heavenly eyes,
Born brightest and loved least of all the sons
Of God the Father ! Could I 'scape the
sight
Methinks that I could fare along in peace ! '
'Never,' cried Merciful, 'where'er thou
fliest,
Wilt thou escape it ! Search where'er thou
wilt,
Follow what path thou choosest, soon or
late
With that red Cross thou wilt come face to
face
When least thou dreamest. On the desert
sands,
On the sad shores of the sea, upon the
scroll
Of the star-printed heavens, on every flower
That blossoms, on each thing that flies or
creeps
'Tis made the sign is made, the Cross is
made
That cipher which whoever reads can read
The riddle of the worlds. '
So saying, he fell
Low kneeling at the foot of Calvary,
And praying aloud ; and overhead indeed
The awful sacrificial lineaments
Seem'd soften'd in the moonlight, looking
down
As if they smiled. Darkly I turn'd away
Heartsick, first wafting to that sculptured
form
One look of love and pity.
Silently,
In meditation deep as my despair,
I follow' d the dark road I knew not whither,
As desolate as lo wandering ;
And like another Argus following,
Blue heaven with all its myriad eyes on
mine
Brooded ; and wayside scents of honey-
suckle
Came to my nostrils from the darken'd
fields,
And glowworms glimmer'd through the
dewy grass,
THE CALVARIES.
And all was sweet and still ; but evermore,
At intervals, on either side I saw
New Calvaries upon the lonely road
And sculptured Christs outstretching stony
BOOK VII.
THE WAYSIDE INN.
Now as I walk'd I mused . . .
' The Priest spake well :
The Cross is everywhere, and read aright
Is Nature's riddle ; well, I read it thus
Silent progressions to new powers of pain
Through cruel aeons of blood-sacrifice.
For life is based upon the law of death,
And death is surely evil ; wherefore, then,
All life seems evil. To each thing that
lives
Is given, without a choice, this destiny
To be a slayer or a sufferer,
A tyrant or a martyr ; to be weak
Or cruel ; to range Nature like a hawk,
Or fall in cruel talons like a dove ;
And of these twain, where both are evil
things,
That Cross decrees that martyrdom is best.
What then? Shall I praise God for
martyrdom ?
Nay ! I can drink the poison cup and die,
But bitter is the blessing I would call
Un Him who mix'd it with His fatal Hand. 1
j The path I follow'd now was dark as
death,
j\nd overhead the ever-gathering clouds
Were charged with rain ; the piteous stars
were gone,
plown out like tapers in a mighty wind
jrhat wheel'd in maddening circles round
the moon ;
nd deeper into the dark vaporous void
"he moon did burn her way till she was hid
nd nothing but the cloudy night remain'd.
'hen the great wind descended, and, it
seem'd,
n answer to it every wayside Christ
tretch'd arms and shriek 1 d. Suddenly,
with a groan,
jhe vials of the storm were open'd !
Then
(he rain fell, and the waters of the rain
Stream'd like a torrent ; and across the
shafts
Sheet-lightning glimmer'd ghastly, while
afar
The storm-vex'd breakers of Eternity
Thunder'd.
In that great darkness of the storm
Wildly I fled, and, lo ! my pilgrim's robes,
Drench'd with the raindrops, like damp
cerements clung
Around my weary limbs ; and whither I
went
I knew not, but as one within a maze
Drave hither and thither, with my lifted
arms
Shielding my face against the stinging lash
Of rains and winds. Methought my hour
was come,
For oft upon the soaking earth I fell,
Moaning aloud ; yet ever again I rose
And struggled on ; even so amid a sea
Of dark and dreadful waters strikes and
strives
Some swimmer, half unconscious that he
swims,
Yet with the dim brute habit of the sense
Fighting for life he knows not why or how
Nor whither on the mighty billows' breast
His form is roll'd !
But ever and anon
When, like a Ian thorn dim and rain-beaten
That flasheth sometimes to a feeble flame,
My dark mind into memory was illumed,
I thought, ' Despair ! I cannot last the
night !
Ah, would that I had stay'd with that pale
Priest,
Seeking for comfort where he findeth it.
Yea, better his half-hearted company
Than to be drifting in the tempest here,
Alone, despairing, haunted, woe-begone.
He cannot hear me. Shall I call on Christ,
His Master ? Christ ! Adonai ! He is
dumb,
Dumb in His silent sculptured agony
Dead ! dead ! '
I would have fallen with a shriek,
But suddenly across my aching eyes
There shot a bloodshot light as of some fire
Amid the waste. I stood, and strain'd my
gaze
Into the darkness. Steady as a star
The glimmer grew, shining from far away
THE CITY OF DREAM.
With slant moist beams on the black walls
of rain.
Lured by the lonely ray I struggled on,
Faint, stumbling, soaking, panting, over-
power'd,
But brighter as I went the glimmer grew,
And soon I saw it from the casement came
Of a dark dwelling on the weary waste.
Forlorn the dwelling stood, and on its roof
The rain smote with a cheerless leaden
sound,
And in the front of it, on creaking chains,
There swung a sign. Then did my heart
upleap,
Rejoicing once again in hope to feel
The touch of human hands, to hear the
sound
Of human voices ; and I cried aloud,
' Thank God at least for this lone hostelry,
But for its friendly help I should have
died.'
So saying, I knock'd, and as I knock'd I
heard,
Faint, far within, a sound of revelry
From distant rooms ; but still the cruel
rain
Smote on me, and above my head the sign
Moan'd like a corse in chains. I knock'd
again
More clamorously, striking with my staff
And soon I heard the shuffling of slow feet
Approaching. Hearing this, I knock'd the
more,
And then, with creak and groan of locks
and keys,
The door swung open, and before mine
eyes
Loom'd a great lobby in the midst of which
A marble-featured serving-maiden stood,
Sleepy, half yawning, holding in her hand
A dismal light. Bloodless her cheeks and
cold,
Her hair a golden white, her eyes dead blue,
Her stature tall, and thin her shrunken
limbs
And chilly hands. ' Welcome ! ' she mur-
mur'd low,
Not marking me she welcomed but with eyes
All vacant staring out into the night.
' Who keeps this house ? ' I question'd,
rushing in,
And as she closed and lock'd the oaken door
The maiden answer'd with a far-off look,
Like one that speaks with ghosts, ' My
master, sir,
Host Moth ; and we are full of company
This night, and all the seasons of the year.'
Even then, along the lobby shuffling came
The lean and faded keeper of the inn,
A wight not old, but rheumatic and lame,
With wrinkled parchment skin, and jet-
black eyes
Full of shrewd greed and knowledge of the
world ;
And in a voice of harsh and sombre cheer
He croak'd ' Despair, show in the gentle-
man
Methinks another Pilgrim from the City ?
Thy servant, sir ! Alack, how wet thou
art!
No night for man or beast to be abroad.
Ho there ! more faggots in the supper-
room,
The gentleman is cold ; but charily, wench,
No waste, no waste, for firewood groweth
dear,
And these be pinching times.'
So saying, he rubb'd
His feeble hands together, chuckling low
A sordid welcome, while a shudder ran,
Half pain, half pity, through my chilly
veins,
To see the lean old body clad in rags
A dreary host, methought ; and as I thou
glanced around me on the great
walls
All hung with worm-eat tapestry that stirr'i
In the chill airs that crept about the house ;
For through great crannies in the old inn'
walls
Came wind and wet, and oftentimes
place
Shook with the blast.
' How callest thou thine : nn
I ask'd, still shaking off the clammy rain
And stamping on the chilly paven floor
Methinks 'tis very ancient?'
'Yea, ind
Answer'd that lean and grim anatomy ;
None older in the land an ancient ho
Good sir, from immemorial time an inn.
Thou sawest the sign a skull enwrought
with roses.
THE WAYSIDE INN.
And wrought into a wine-cup ruby rimm'd ?
My father's father's father set it there.'
THE PILGRIM.
Thou seemest full of guests. Thine inn
must thrive.
HOST.
Thrive ? yea, with thrift ! We lie too far
away,
Too lone i' the waste, for many travellers ;
And they who come, good lack, are mostly
poor,
Penniless men with burthens on their backs
And little in their pouches, save us all !
Once on a time, in my good grandsire's day,
The house throve well, and at that very door
King Cruel and full many a mighty man
Lighted, a-hunting here upon the waste.
But now the house decays. Alack, alack !
Sometimes methinks 'twill fall about mine
ears.
What then ? I have no kin to leave it to,
And if it lasts my little lapse of time
Why, I shall be content !
Thus murmur'd he,
Ushering into a mighty bed-chamber
His shivering guest; and on the hearth
thereof
The marble maid strew'd firewood down
and sought
To light a fire, but all the wood was wet,
And with her cold thin lips she blew the
flame
To make it glow, while mine host chatter'd
' This, master, is the only empty room
Kept mostly for great guests, but since the
house
Is full, 'tis thine. Upon that very bed
King Cruel himself hath slept, and good
Priest Guile
Before they made him Pope. I'll leave
thee, sir.
When thou art ready thou shall sup below
In pleasant company.'
Then methought within
That antique room I stood alone and dried
My raiment at the faint and flickering fire ;
And in the chill blue candlelight the room
Loom'd with vast shadows of the lonely bed,
The heavy hangings, and dim tapestries ;
And there were painted pictures on the
walls,
Old portraits, faint and scarce distinguish-
able
With very age of monarchs in their
crowns,
Imperial victors filleted with bay,
And pallid queens. ' A melancholy place, '
I murmur'd ; ' yet 'tis better than the storm
That wails without ! '
Down through that house forlorn
I wended, till I reach'd a festal room,
Oak-panel'd, lighted with a pleasant fire,
And therewithin a supper-table spread
With bakemeats cold, chill cates, and weak
wan wines.
There, waited on by that pale handmaiden,
I supp'd amid a silent company
Of travellers, for no man spake a word.
But when the board was clear 'd and drinks
were served,
Around the faggot fire all drew their seats ;
And stealing in, a tankard in his hand,
The host made one, and fondled his thin
knees.
And now I had leisure calmly to survey
My still companions looming like to ghosts
In the red firelight of the lonely inn.
They seem'd of every clime beneath the
sun,
And clad in every garb, but all, it seem'd,
Were melancholy men, and some in sooth
Were less than shadows, houseless and
forlorn ;
And in the eyes of most was dim desire
And dumb despair ; and upon one another
They scarcely gazed, but in the dreary fire
Look'd seeking faces. For a time their
hearts,
In the dim silence of that dreary room,
Tick'd audibly, like a company of clocks,
But soon the host upspake, and sought to
spread
A feeble cheer.
' Come, gentlemen, be merry
More faggots strew them on the hearth,
Despair !
All here are friends and Pilgrims ; let's be
merry ! '
And turning round to one who by his dress
I
THE CITY OP DREAM.
And grizzled beard did seem a travelling
Jew,
He added, ' Master Isaac, thou art dull !
What cheer i' the town to-day ? How
thriveth trade ? '
1 111, master,' answer'd, with his heavy eyes
Still on the fire, the Jew itinerant :
' The accursed of Canaan in the temples
reign,
And he who by the God of Judah swears
Hath little thrift. I saw a merry sight :
Another Pilgrim stoned for following
The dream their Master, the dead Nazarene,
Preach'd for a sign. Could he not hold
his peace,
And smile, as / do, spitting o'er my head
In secret, for a curse upon the place ? '
Even as he spake I started, listening,
As if I heard the sound of mine own
name,
But ere my lips could speak, another voice
Came from the circle, shrill and petulant :
' I saw the sight, and laugh'd with aching
sides.
They would have let an atheist pass in peace,
But him they stoned. Poor fool ! he went
in rags,
Seeking the moonshine City those same
priests
Preach, laughing in their sleeves.'
A dreary laugh
Ran through the circle as he spoke, but
none
Lifted his vacant vision from the fire.
Then I, now glancing at the speaker's face,
Cold, calm, and bitter, lighted with a sneer,
Answer'd
' I am that man of whom you speak
What moves thy mirth ? '
'Thy folly,' grimly said
The other ; and the circle laugh'd again.
But with a cunning and insidious smile
The Jew cried, interposing, 'Softly,
friends !
Be civil to the gentleman, who is *
A rebel like yourselves, hating as much
Those cruel scarecrows of authority. '
Then, turning with a crafty look to me,
He added quietly ' Thy pardon, sir !
A Pilgrim unto Dreamland, I perceive?'
Whereat I answer'd, frowning sullenly
' Nay, to the tomb ! And as I live, me-
seems,
In this lone hostel's black sarcophagus,
I reach my journey's end, and stand amid
My fellow corpses ! '
As I spake the word,
There started up out of that company
A youth with wild large eyes and hair like
straw,
Lean as some creature from the sepulchre,
The firelight flashing on his hueless cheeks,
Waving his arms above his head, and
crying,
' A tomb ! it is a tomb, and we the dust
Cast down within it dead ! for on our orbs
Falleth no sunlight and no gentle dew,
Nor any baptism shed by Christ or God,
The Phantoms that we follow'd once in
quest !
To-day is as to-morrow, and we reck
No touch of Time, but moulder, coffin' d
close,
Far from the wholesome stars !' and as
the maid
Pass'd coldly, on her ghastly face he fix'd
His wild, lack-lustre eye : ' Fill, fill, sweet
wench ;
Let the ghosts sit upon their graves and
drink ;
And come thou close and sit upon my knee,
That I may kiss thy clammy lips and
smooth
Thy chilly golden hair ! '
He sank again,
Fixing his eyes anew upon the fire,
Whilst the Jew whisper'd softly in mine
ears :
' 'Tis Master Deadheart, the mad poet, sir ;
Heed not his raving ! Once upon a time
He was a Pilgrim like thyself, but now
He dwelleth in the middle of the waste,
Within a dismal castle, ivy-hung
And haunted by the owls.'
But I replied,
1 There's method in his madness. Unto hir
God is not, therefore he is surely dead,
And as he saith, a corpse, for God is Life.'
Then spake again he who had laugh'd
before
THE WAYSIDE INN.
93
At my dark plight, between his firm-set teeth
Hissing the words and smiling :
' Who is this
That prates of God? Another Phantom-
hunter !
Another Pilgrim after the All Good,
Who sees not all is evil, even the goad
Of selfish hope that pricks him feebly on? '
The tone was gentler than the words, and
spake
Pity supreme and sorrow infinite,
Wherefore not angrily did I reply :
1 1 love to know their names with whom I
speak,
First tell me thine, and I may answer thee? '
1 Why not ! ' replied the other quietly ;
' Our host doth know my name as that of
one
That plainly saith his say and pays his score.
My name is Wormwood, and hard by this
place
I keep a school for Pilgrims not too old
To learn of me ! '
THE PILGRIM.
Come, school me if thou wilt !
[ Thou sayest that all is evil prove thy
saying.
WORMWOOD.
Why should I prove what thine own simple
heart
Is chiming? Prove the sound of funeral
bells,
The trump of wars, the moans of martyr-
dom !
Man, like the beast, is evil utterly,
And man is highest of all things that be.
THE PILGRIM.
Man highest ? Aye, of creatures, if thou
wilt,
nd I will grant he hath an evil heart ;
.t higher far than Man is very God.
WORMWOOD.
Is the Phantom greater than the
Fact?
rhe Shadow than the Substance casting it ?
THE PILGRIM.
Not so ; and therefore God is more than
Man.
WORMWOOD.
Wrong at the catch for Man is more than
God;
For outof Man, the creature of Man's heart,
Colossal image of Man's entity,
Comes God ; and therefore, friend, thou
followest
Thine own dark shadow which thou
deem'st divine,
And since Man's heart is evil (as indeed
Thou hast admitted now in fair round
speech),
Evil is God whom thou imaginest !
The speaker laugh'd, and of that company
Many laugh'd too, and I was answeringhim,
When suddenly a hollow voice exclaim'd,
' A song ! a song ! ' and rising from his seat
With flashing eyes the maniac Poet sang :
I have sought Thee, and not found Thee,
I have woo'd Thee, and not won Thee
Wrap Thy gloomy veil around Thee,
Keep Thy starry mantle on Thee
I am chamber'd far below Thee,
And I seek no more to know Thee.
Of my lips are made red blossoms ;
Of my hair long grass is woven ;
From the soft soil of my bosoms
Springeth myrrh ; my heart is cloven,
And enrooted there, close clinging,
Is a blood-red poppy springing.
There is nothing of me wasted,
Of my blood sweet dews are fashion'd,
All is mixed and manifested
In a mystery unimpassion'd.
I am lost and faded wholly,
Save these eyes, that now close slowly.
And these eyes, though darkly glazing,
With the spirit that looks through them,
Both before and after gazing
While the misty rains bedew them,
From the sod still yearn full faintly
For Thy shining soft and saintly.
They are closing, they are shading,
With the seeing they inherit
But Thou fadest with their fading,
Thou art changing, mighty Spirit
And the end of their soft passion
Is Thine own annihilation !
94
THE CITY OF DREAM.
All join'd the wild refrain, till with the sound
The old inn shook. ' Well sung ! ' ex-
claim'd mine host,
And stirr'd the feeble embers of the fire ;
And in the calm that follow'd, turning to me,
The Jew smiled quietly and spake again :
' Good friend, since life is short, and man's
heart evil,
And death so near at every path we tread,
Is it not best to clutch the goods we have,
To trade, to barter, and to keep with
thrift,
Than to go wandering into mystic lands
Seeking the City that can ne'er be seen ?
Put out of sight that bleeding Nazarene
Whose shadow haunts our highways every-
where,
And, faith, the land we dwell in is a land
Gracious and green and pleasant to the eye.
Jew am I, but apostate from the God
Who thunder'd upon Sinai, and indeed
I love no form of thunder, but affect
Calm dealings and smooth greetings with
the world.
For this is sure that we are evil all,
Earth-tainted, man and woman, beast and
bird,
We prey on one another, high and low ;
And if we cheat ourselves with phantasies,
We miss the little thrift of time we have
And perish ere our prime.'
'Most excellent,'
Cried Wormwood ; ' carpe diemea.t and
live-
To-morrow thou shalt die ; ' and suddenly
He rose and sang a would-be merry tune :
Pour, Proserpine, thy purple wine
Into this crystal cup,
And wreathe my head with poppies red,
While thus I drink it up.
Then, marble bride, sit by my side,
With large eyes fixed in sorrow,
To-night we'll feast, and on thy breast
I'll place my head to-morrow.
Pale Proserpii.e, short space is mine
To taste the happy hours,
For thou hast spread my quiet bed,
And strewn it deep in flowers.
O grant me grace a little space,
And shroud that face of sorrow,
Till dawn of day I will be gay,
For I'll be thine to-morrow,
Am I not thine, pale Proserpine,
My bride with hair of jet ?
Our bridal night is taking flight,
But we'll not slumber yet ;
Pour on, pour deep ! before I sleep
One hour of mirth I'll borrow
Upon thy breast, in haggard rest,
I'll place my head to-morrow.
He ceased, and stillness on the circle
came,
Like silence after thunder, and again
All gazed with dreary eyeballs on the fire.
But now the chill and rainy dawn crept in
And lighted all those faces with its beam.
1 To bed ! ' cried one, and shivering I
arose,
And through great lobbies colder than the
tomb,
And up great carven stairs with curtains
hung,
I follow'd that pale handmaiden, who bare
A chilly wind-blown lamp, until again
I stood within the antique bedchamber,
And setting down the light the maiden
fix'd
Her stony eyes on mine and said ' Good-
night ; '
Then with no sound of footsteps flitted off,
And left me all alone.
Long time I paced
The dreary chamber, haunted by the
sound
Of mine own footfalls, then I laid me
down,
Not praying unto God as theretofore,
In the great bed, and by my bedside set
The rushlight burning low ; and all around
The pallid pictures on the mouldering
walls
Look'd at me silently and seem'd to smile,
While quietly the great bed's canopy
Dutstretch'd in rustling folds above my
head.
But as my senses faded one by one
I seem'd to see those pallid Kings and
Queens
Descend and flit across the oaken floor
With marble faces and blue rayless eyes ;
And that dark canopy above became
A Christ upon His Cross, outstretching
arms
And bending down to look into my face
With eyes of dumb, dead, infinite despair,
THE OUTCAST, ESAU.
95
BOOK VIII.
THE OUTCAST, ESAU.
' O DREARY dawn ! from drearier dreams I
woke,
And found it gently creeping through the
pane
And shedding dusky silver on the floor ;
Whereon I rose, and slipping down the
stairs,
From chilly gallery to gallery
I stole until I reach' d the ghostly hall ;
Yet, early as it was, Host Moth was up
And shivering in his slippers at the door,
For folk were bearing in upon a bier
A ragged woman and her newborn child,
| Both dead, found frozen on the waste hard
by,
And the lean host was chiding querulously,
j Bidding them take their ghastly load else-
where,
Nor mar his custom with a sight so sad ;
(So intent was he, he scarcely seem'd to heed
1 My greeting, but he clutch' d with eager
hand
The reckoning I tost him as I passed.
Then out again upon the dreary waste
il passed slow-footed, while a chilly wind
blew up along the black horizon line
Dusk streaks of crimson like dead burnish'd
leaves,
"\nd through their fluttering folds a gusty
film
Sparkled and melted into crystal dew.
jFhen I was "ware that straight across the
waste
here ran a dreary and an open way,
Vilh gloomy reaches of the sunless moor,
nd lonely tarns alive with ominous light,
tretching on either side ; and by the tarns
he bittern boom'd and the gray night-
hern cried,
nd high in air against the dreary gleam
string of black swans waver'd to the south ;
ut presently, as the dull daylight grew,
encounter' d men and women on the road
'oming and going ; all were closely wrapt,
/ith eyes that sought the ground, but
some strode by
|/ith frowning brows and haggard sleepless
eyes:
A melancholy race they seem'd indeed
Of toilers on the moorland and the marsh.
One I accosted, a tall, woeful man,
Gaunt, clad in rags, and shivering in the
cold,
And question' d of the City and whither led
That dreary open way ; and for a space
He answer'd not, but as a dumb man tries
With foam-froth'd tongue to gather shreds
of speech,
Stood muttering, with his blank eyes gazing
at me
In wonder, but at last he found a voice.
THE MAN.
A City, master ? Nay, I know of none,
And in this country I was born and bred.
THE PILGRIM.
But whither runs this road across the waste ?
Far as a man may walk until he drops,
And farther, league on league of loneliness.
It leadeth whither I know not, since my
toil
Keepeth me busy here upon the heath ;
But yonder to the right a rugged path
Winds to the mountains, where, I have
heard, there dwells
A race of moonstruck madmen, moun-
taineers.
THE PILGRIM.
Alas ! and toilest thou upon the ground,
Nor seekest to be wandering far away,
Upward and heavenward to the radiant place
Where stands the City of God ?
THE MAN.
I know not God,
Nor any City of so strange a name ;
Yet I have often heard my granddam tell
(When I was but a child) of some bright
place
Where folk might cease their weary work
and rest ;
But, master, she died mad ! My father saith,
Who reared me up and made me toil for
bread,
That they are mad folk too who pass this
way,
Clad like thyself in pilgrim's robes and shoon.
9 6
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Seeking that City and calling out on God.
I left him standing like a marble man,
With humbled head and heavily hanging
brow,
And wander'd on ; and when my weary feet
Had gone a little space, I backward gazed,
And saw him gazing dumbly after me
With vacant eyeballs ; and the daylight
grew ;
And many others pass'd with looks as dull,
Faces as blank, and tread as sorrowful,
And all seem'd little cheer'd by the dim
dawn,
But crawl' d to some dark taskwork on the
waste ;
But some that pass'd on horseback carried
loads
Of corn and gold, as to some dreary mart.
Deep darkness seal'd mine eyelids for a
time,
And when they open'd, opening still in dream ,
Amid mysterious shadows drifting by
Confused and imageless, methought my
form
Now shone deep hidden, like a stormy
moon ;
And fast I seem'd to fly, as seems the moon
Through the swift tempest-rack to plough
her way,
Yet stirs not, but beholds the vaporous drift
Floating and flying round her luminous feet.
Nor could my troubled eyes distinguish well
What land I walk'd in, or to what far bourne
My slow feet fared, though dimly I discern'd
A weary waste it was without a road,
Figure of man, or sign of any star.
Meseem'd that weary years had pass'd away
Since first upon that lonely waste I fared,
For ever struggling, yet for evermore
As stationary as the storm-vex'd moon ;
And endless seem'd the heavy space of time.
At last, as in the growing light of day
The night-clouds thin, and in white wreaths
of smoke,
Soon kindled into crimson, float away,
The shadows that across me darkly stream'd
Grew fainter, melted, brighten'd, and
dissolved,
Till every shade was fled, the prospect clear,
And once again I paused upon the path.
Standing and gazing round me, solitary,
'Mid dusky gleams of dawn.
Now, far away
I saw the flashing of Christopolis
Bright and remote as is a phantom city
Seen in the sunset, and as sunset towers
Crumble to golden vapour and are lost
Strangely and quickly of their own bright
will,
So flash'd the holy City's walls and spires
Dissolved by distance. 'Tween Christopolis
And my now lingering feet stretch'd waste
on waste,
Weary, forlorn, abandon'd, without bound,
With never wood or gentle cynosure,
Or flash of silver stream, or human dwelling,
To break its infinite monotony.
There had I linger'd, thence my feet had
fared,
I knew not how ; for all the way was dark
Behind me, dim the sense and memory,
And dimly sad ; and all my wandering
thither
Was like an evil ill-remember 'd dream ;
Nor yet of that forlornest solitude
My feet were free, for round about me still
Its dreary prospect dawn'd.
While thus I stood
Dejected, leaning heavy on my staff,
I faintly heard, far off across the heath,
The sound of horse's hoofs , which ever came
Nearer and nearer ; till mine eyes beheld
Approaching, swift as any storm-swept
cloud,
A horseman with his wild hair backward
streaming,
His hands outreaching o'er his horse's mane ;
Quickly he came, and from the ground be-
neath
Shot sparks of fire, for mighty was his steed
Beyond all common steeds that stride the
earth,
Maned like a comet, and as black as clouds
That blot a comet's path ;
And though its back was bare and 'tween
its teeth
It bare no bit, most tamely it obey'd
The white hand twisted in its trembling
mane;
And ever with its bright eye backward flash-
ing
Neigh'd to the murmur of its rider's mouth,
THE OUTCAST, ESAU.
97
And ever sprang more swiftly on and on
The more his hand caress' d. Onward it
came ;
And now I saw that he who strode the steed
Was slight and white and woman-like of
form,
Though on his pallid cheek there burn'd
resolve
Of mighty men ; and his. blue eye was fix'd
On vacancy, so that he noted not
The figure of the Pilgrim on his way ;
And he was flashing past with fair face set
Like any star, when with one mighty bound
The steed leapt back, its nostrils flashing
fire,
And striking up the sward with horny hoofs
Stood quivering. Starting from his trance,
like one
Shaken from quiet sleep, the rider turn'd
His face on mine, and, lo, that face was
stern
In pallor, and his dove-like eye became
Keen as an eagle's fix'd upon its prey.
1 What man art thou ? ' he question'd ; and
I said,
Dejected, sick from very weariness,
Scarce lifting up my head, ' See for thyself !
A pilgrim well-nigh spent ! '
The horseman's face
Grew brighter, though he laugh'd a bitter
laugh,
Then leaping from his seat but holding still
His black steed's mane, quickly across the
ground
He pass'd, and coming close he gazed for
long
Into my face ; then lightly laugh'd again,
Saying, ' Well met ! Methinks I know thee
now,
Or else thy dreary cheek belies thy soul
Thou comest from Christopolis ! How now ?
Hast thou been stoned i' the town, and
have thy robes
Been rent, and thou cast forth beyond the
gate?
Answer, and fear not ! I who question
thus
Am outcast like thyself.'
Then did I tell,
In hurried accents panting out my pain,
My hope, my dream, my weary life-long
quest,
And all my sorrow in Christopolis ;
11.
And how for many days and nights my
feet
Had struggled in the darkness of the
waste ;
And how my light was lost, my strength
nigh spent,
My path all solitary ; yea, how no Christ
Could bring me comfort, and no God at all
Could bring me peace' Because,' I mur-
mur'd low,
' My heart is dead ! '
Again that stranger laugh'd,
And, answering him, the jet-black steed
threw up
His head and through great nostrils neigh'd
aloud.
Then cried he, ' Toiler on the ground, too
low
Thou crawlest, even as a creeping thing.
But knowest thou me ? ' Whereon I
answer'd, 'Nay,'
And looking up more eagerly, beheld
The light of starry eyes that shook with
dew
Of their exceeding lustre, wondrously.
Then the clear voice, in accents sweet as
song,
Cried, ' Christ they crucified, and thee they
stoned,
And me they would have given to the
fire
Esau am I, call'd even after him
Whom smooth sly Jacob of his birthright
robb'd
In times of old. Another Jacob sits
In the high places of Christopolis,
Eating my substance. Long ago I rode
Into their Temples, overcasting them
Who at the bloody altars minister'd ;
And in their market-places I proclaim'd
Their god an idol and their creed a lie ;
And in the madness of mine own despair
Wassail I held, with lemans at my side,
In the dark centre of their midmost shrine,
And there they found me and shrieking
' ' Anti-Christ ! "
They would have slain me, but my steed
was nigh,
And on his back I sprang with laugh full
shrill,
Trampled their priests as dust beneath my
feet,
H
9 8
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And through their dark throngs plunged,
till once again
On the fair waste I wander'd.'
Then I said,
' Where dwellest thou ? '
1 Where doth the swift wind dwell,
That on the high places and on the low,
Homeless for ever, ever is found and lost ?
Even as the wind am I ; the lonely woods,
The torrents, the great solitary meres,
Know me, and through their solitude I
sail
Even as amid the tempest sails the crane.
All these have voices, crying as I pass
Com passionless, alone ; and from their
speech
And silent looks I have drunk deeper joy
Than ever in any temple rear'd by hands
The soul of man hath known. Wilt ride
with me ?
Pilgrim, wilt thou ride ? '
So saying, he sprang
Again upon his mighty sinewy steed,
Which leapt for very joy beneath his
weight,
And holding out his white hand eagerly,
He murmur'd, ' Come ! ' Then cried I,
hesitating,
1 But whither ? Knowest thou that fair
City I seek,
Or any place of peace ? '
' Ask not, but come,'
Answer'd that other, while his black steed
rear'd
In act to paw the air and bound along
And ere I knew it I had ta'en the hand,
And leaping on the steed was clinging
tight
To that pale horseman, who with wild
laugh cried,
' Away ! away ! '
As from a tense-strung bow
Whistles the winged shaft, or as a star
Shoots into space, the sable steed upleapt
And bounded on ; so swift its fiery speed,
That to its rider pale I clung in fear,
While underneath I saw the billowy heath
Rush by me like a boiling whirling tide.
I seem'd as one uplifted high in air,
Sailing through ever-drifting clouds, be-
tween
The regions of the flower and of the star,
And for a time my head swam dizzily
And in a trance of speed I closed mine
eyes.
Then in mine ears I seem'd to hear the
rush
Of many winds, the cry of many streams,
The crash of many clouds ; yet evermore
I felt the beating of the horse's hoofs
Beneath me, and its breathing like the
sound
Of fire blown from a forge.
At first my soul
Shrunk trembling, but betimes a new
desire
Uprose within my heart and in mine eyes
Soon sparkled while they open'd gazing
round ;
And I beheld with wild ecstatic thrills
New prospects flashing past as dark as
dream :
For through a mighty wood of firs and
pines
Shapen like harps, wherefrom the rising
wind
Drew wails of wild and wondrous melody,
The steed was speeding ; and the stars had
risen,
Cold-sparkling through the jet-black naked
boughs ;
And far before us in our headlong track
Great torrents flash'd round gash'd and
gaunt ravines ;
And higher glimmer'd rocks and crags and
peaks,
O'er which, with blood-red beams, 'mid
driving clouds
The windy moon was rising.
Once again,
I question'd, looking on the rider's face
Which glimmer'd in the moonlight dim as
death,
' Whither, O whither ? '
And the answer came,
Not in cold speech or chilly undertone,
But musically, in a wild strange song,
To which the sobbing of the torrents round,
The moaning of the wind among the pines,
The beating of the horse's thunderous feet,
Kept strange accord.
Winds of the mountain, mingle with my crying,
Clouds of the tempest, flee as I am flying,
Gods of the cloudland, Christus and Apollo,
Follow, O follow !
THE OUTCAST, ESAU.
99
Through the dark valleys, up the misty moun-
tains,
Over the black wastes, past the gleaming foun-
tains,
Praying not, hoping not, resting nor abiding,
Lo, I am riding !
Who now shall name me? Who shall find and
bind me ?
Daylight before me, and darkness behind me,
E'en as a black crane down the winds of heaven
Fast I am driven.
Clangour and anger of elements are round me,
Torture has clasp'd me, cruelty has crown'd me,
Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her
Fast speed I thither !
Not 'neath the greenwood, not where roses
blossom,
Not on the green vale on a loving bosom,
Not on the sea-sands, not across the billow,
Seek [ a pillow !
Gods of the storm-cloud, drifting darkly yonder,
Point fiery hands and mock me as I wander,
Gods of the forest glimmer out upon me,
Shrink back and shun me !
Gods, let them follow ! gods, for I defy them !
They call me, mock me ; but I gallop by them
If they would find me, touch me, whisper to me,
Let them pursue me !
Faster, O faster ! Darker and more dreary
Groweth the pathway, yet I am not weary
Gods, I defy them ! gods, I can unmake them,
Bruise them and break them !
White steed of wonder, with thy feet of thunder,
Find out their temples, tread their high-priests
under,
Leave them behind thee if their gods speed
ft after,
Mock them with laughter.
: Who standeth yonder, in white raiment reaching
Down to His bare feet ? Who stands there be-
seeching ?
Hark how He crieth, beck'ning with his finger,
' Linger, O linger ! '
Shall a god grieve me ? Shall a phantom win me ?
Nay by the wild wind around and o'er and in
me
Be his name Vishnu, Christus, or Apollo
Let the god follow !
(Clangour and anger of elements are round me,
ll'orture has clasp'd me, cruelty has crown'd me,
Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her -
Fast speed I thither !
And as the singer sang,
Dark hooded creatures, moving through
the woods
In black processions, paused and echoed
him ;
And on their faces fell the livid light,
While to the wind-blown boughs they lifted
hands ;
And from the torrent's bed a spirit shriek' d
With eldritch cry. Still the black steed
plunged on,
And as it went it seem'd that spectral hands
Were stretch'd to tear its rider from his
seat,
But laughing low he urged his eager steed,
And from his beauty those frail phantoms
fell
Like flakes of cloud blown into gleaming
air
By the soft breathing of some patient star.
Then upward, through the desolate ravines,
Past flashing cataracts and torrent pools,
Along dim ledges that in silence lean'd
O'er horrible abysses dimly lit
By mirror' d moons, the horseman held his
way,
Until he came unto a lonely sward
As bright and green as verdure softly trod
By elfin feet, which high among the crags
Stretch'd in the moonlight. Like some
abbey old
Around whose crumbling walls and but-
tresses
The ivy frosted white by moonlight twines,
And whose deep floor of deep green grass
is rough
With fragments of old shrines and mossy
graves,
This lone spot seem'd ; for round the stone-
strewn grass
The dark crags rose like builded walls and
towers
All dark and desolate and ivy twined,
And through the open arches overhead
The moon and stars shone in.
Here from his seat
(While I, too, leapt upon the grassy
ground)
Dark Esau lighted, and relinquishing
His grasp upon the mighty horse's mane,
Cried : ' Feed thy fill ! ' and o'er the silvern
grass,
Casting a shade gigantic, slowly walk'd
100
THE CITY OF DREAM.
The black steed, feeding gently as it went.
1 Behold my Temple ! ' upward pointing
cried
That pallid wanderer ' hark how the wind
Intoneth with deep organ-voice amid
These ivied lofts, and see how wondrously
With spectral hand that white moon lifts
the Host !
Hither, when I am sick of wandering
Like some dark spirit up and down the
earth,
I come by night, and pant my passing
prayer
To Him who made the tempest which ere
long
Shall gnaw the heartstrings of Christopolis !
Hither the white Christ comes not, nor His
priests,
Nor any feet of slaves ; and here thy soul
May rest a space and worship at its will
Whatever god thou choosest, or indeed,
May make an idol of its own despair,
And kneeling, pray to that!'
The wild wind wail'd,
The dark clouds drifted even as driving
waves
Over the moon, while 'mid the ivied crags
The screech-owl cried. Then said I,
shivering,
Yet feeling still my eager heart abeat
With all the ecstasy of that mad ride,
1 Most cheerless is thy Temple ! and its
god
Only the god o' the storm ! '
' Cheerless, perchance,'
Answer' d the outcast one, ' yet not unblest
For lo ! 'tis gentle, and its altar-stones
Cemented are with no poor innocent blood
Drawn from the throat of lambs or lamb-
like men ;
And from its porches Lazarus is not driven ;
And in its inmost shrines the priests of
Baal
Are not upheaping gold. Better such
cheer,
Though bitter as the bruised heart of Love,
Than merry music of a thousand choirs
Drowning the moans of sad humanity ;
Than glory of a thousand golden shrines,
Each one of which shuts up within its
folds
A thousand hearts still beating and still
bleeding !
This is my Temple ; and its god, thou
sayst,
Is but the Storm-god ? Blessings on that
god!
Upon his burning eyes and night-black
hair,
His dark breath and the fire around his
feet!
For rock'd in his wild arms the soul of man
May find the comfort of divine unrest.
O, who could dwell upon the dreary earth,
Hark to the wretched wailing, and behold
The terror and the anarchy of Nature,
And keep his heart from breaking, did he
never
Upleap and rush into the whirl of things,
And like a wild cloud driven up and down
Ease the mad motion of his life in tears ?
My Storm-god hear him cry ! my god o'
the winds,
List to him, list ! for as he murmureth
there
He murmur'd to the wind-blown tribes o'
the Jew !
More holy he than yonder hungry Lamb,
Who, pale and impotent in gentleness,
Sits in His niche complacent and beholds
Those hecatombs of broken hearts which
priests,
In blood-red robes adjusted smilingly,
Pile on His altars ! '
All erect he stood,
Pale as an angel in the white-heat gleam
Of Heaven's central sun, and from his eyes
Gleam'd light now lovely and now terrible ;
And in the cloudy wrack above his head
Answer'd the Storm-god with a clangour of
wind
Like far-off thunder.
Silent for a space
I waited, for the words within my heart
Woke awful echoes, but at last I spake,
Saying : ' Yea, there is wisdom in tl
words
Better to wander up and down the world
All outcast, or in Nature's stormy fanes
To pray in protestation and despair,
Than in Christopolis with priests and sla\
To gnaw the frozen crust of a cold creed
Amid the brazen glory of a lie.
Yet am I weary of much storm, and fain
To rest by quiet waters. Blest be thou,
If thou canst guide me thither. '
THE OUTCAST, ESAU.
101
Passionately
The wanderer laugh'd, brushing with thin
white hand
The long hair blown into his burning
eyes
' By quiet waters ? I have search'd the
world
And found them not ; yea, not from Zion hill,
Nor from the brighter sides of Helicon,
Such waters flow ; and all that I have seen
Are stony to the sight, and to the taste
Most bitter ! '
' Woe is me ! If this be so,
Where shall we rest our feet ? '
' Rest not at all,'
He answer' d. ' Doth the cloud rest, or the
stream,
Or sun, or star, or any shape that moves
Still onward, by its dim will piloted,
As solitary as the soul of man ?
Be thou a meteor blown from place to
place,
Still testifying up and down the earth
Against the power that made thee miserable ;
Then die ! soul-sure thou hast not lived in
vain,
If with thy hand ere dying thou hast smitten
Some hateful Altar down ! '
Then did I cry,
In darkness and iu agony and despair :
1 O misery ! Is there no light at all
To guide my footsteps on ? What country
lies
Beyond these hills ? '
Answer'd the Wanderer :
1 A land of Shepherds in the vales beyond
The flocks of Faunus feed. Why, how thy
face
Is shining ! '
THE PILGRIM.
Lead me thither very sweet
The name is, and methinks the land is fair.
I A shepherd there ' mong shepherds I will hear
[The brook flow, see the sheep upon the
heights
ickling like silvern streams ; and, if I
can,
'orget mine own mad quest.
ESAU.
Mount, if thou wilt,
\nd I will lead thee thither ; but remember
They knee strange gods.
THE PILGRIM.
Strange gods ?
ESAU.
Yea, strange and dead.
Still bleeding, with a dove upon his lips,
Down its bright streams the slain Adonis
floats ;
'Mid its deep umbrage Faunus lies his length
Strewn by the robin redbreast and the wren
With gentle leaves ; and in some dumb,
dark mere,
With all the lustrous ooze about his hair,
Lies drowned Pan !
THE PILGRIM.
Sweet gods ! I know them well.
Surely the land wherein they sleep is blest,
A land of peace ; surely thy stormy soul
Might there have found its place of rest?
ESAU.
The dead
Shall never have my worship ! Fair indeed
The land is, and amid its woods and vales
A space I wander'd, till its flowery breath,
Rich as the breathing of a summer rose,
Oppress' d my soul to swooning. So again
I rode into the tempest of the world !
Better to be the weariest-winged cloud
That to and fro about the shoreless heaven
Flieth without a spot to rest its feet ;
Better to be the weariest wave that breaks
Moaning and dying on Thought's shoreless
sea,
Than the supremest blossom born i* the
wood
And like a snow-flake shed upon the ground !
Oh, I have rested in a hundred bowers,
And should have dream'd to death a
thousand times,
But that the clarion of mine own despair
Found me and woke me. For this head of
mine
Earth finds no pillow ! I have cradled it
On breasts of women warm with wildest
love,
And sighing low, ' Here is my heaven at
last,'
I have sunken down into delicious sleep ;
But lo ! the very billowing of those breasts,
The very come-and-go of Love's own heart,
Hath waken'd me ! with every hot pulse
beating
102
THE CITY OF DREAM.
I have risen, and, upspringing to my feet,
Heard the far trumpet blowing !
As he spake,
His face flash'd like a star, and, raising
hands
To the dark, dripping wrack above his head,
He trembled as a tree in the mad wind
Of his wild words ; then whistling to his
steed,
Which came unto him tame as any hound,
With foot that paw'd the ground and eyes
of fire,
He cried : ' To horse ; and onward ! '
To his seat
Smiling he leapt, and, hesitating not,
I follow'd, clinging round his slender waist
With eager hands ; and swiftly once again
The lonely ride began.
Meseem'd we rode
For many nights and days, yet day and
night
Were strangely mingled, and my senses lost
True count of time. Through desolate
ravines,
O'er lonely mountain-peaks, and down the
beds
Of vanish'd torrents, our strange pathway
lay;
And fleeter than the feet of swift izzards
That twinkle on the Pyrenean crags
Where never man may creep or sheep may
crawl,
The feet of that swift steed, from spot to
spot,
M'oved, never slipping and for ever sure.
Ever above us moan'd the winds and moved
The clouds wind-driven ; ever with low
voice
Dark Esau sang ; and in his songs he
named
The death-star and the birth-star and the
signs
Of Adam, and of Christ, and Antichrist ;
And sometimes of dark woods and waters
wild,
And of the snow upon the mountain-tops,
He wove wild runes, and scatter'd them
like flowers
Upder the trampling footsteps of the storm.
So rode we on and on. At last, meseem'd
The pace grew slower, the steed's fiery
breath
More gentle, while upon my face there fell
A warmth like sunlight. Gazing round, I
saw
That we were riding down a green hillside,
Flowers and grass were growing underfoot,
The summer sun was shining, and a lark
Uprose before the horse's very feet,
Singing !
Still slower grew the dark steed's pace,
And now upon the brightening sward his
hoofs
Fell soft as fruit that falleth from the
bough ;
While Esau, ceasing his mad minstrelsy,
Relax'd his hold upon the flowing mane,
And with his chin sunk forward on his
breast,
Frown'd darkly, in a dream.
Beneath us lay
A mighty Valley, darken' d everywhere
With woods primaeval, whose umbrageous
tops
Roll'd with the great wind darkly, like a
sea ;
And waves of shadow travell'd softly on
Far as the eye could see across the boughs,
And upward came a murmur deep and
sweet,
Such as he hears who stands on ocean sands
On some divine, dark day of emerald calm.
And when we rode into the greenness
stretch'd
Beneath us, and along the dappled shades
Crept slowly on a carpet mossy and dark,
It seemed still as if with charmed lives
We walk'd some wondrous bottom of the
Deep.
For pallid flowers and mighty purple weeds,
Such as bestrew the Ocean, round us grew,
Soft stirring as with motions of the ooze ;
And far above, the boughs did break like
waves
To foam of flowers and sunlight, with a
sound
Solemn, afar off, faint as in a dream !
Now ever lull'd by that deep melody,
Dark Esau held his chin upon his breast,
And gazing neither right nor left, rode on
With deeper frown. So stole we slowly on
Through that green shade.
Suddenly on our ears
THE OUTCAST, ESAU.
103
There came a sound of sylvan melody,
Deep, like the lover's lute ; and 'mid that
sound
A voice rose clear and sparkling as a foun-
tain
Upleaping from some nest of greenery.
Dark Esau raised his head, and his twain
eyes
Grew luminous as any serpent's orbs,
Watching a space of sunlight bright as gold
Which open'd through the boughs before
his path.
And soon meseem'd into that sunny space
Slowly he rode, and dazzled in the gleam,
Stood glorified and shading both his brows ;
And there, beside the sparkle of a stream,
I saw a Shepherd and a Shepherdess
Sit smiling ; and upon a shepherd's pipe
The wight play'd soft and low, while loud
and clear,
.Sitting and clasping hands around her
knees,
And gazing at the glimmer overhead,
The Maiden sang !
Dark were the Shepherd's locks,
Threaded with silvern grey, and on his face
A brownness as of ripen'd fruitage lay ;
And though the fever of his youth was past,
His black eyes flash'd with some deep inner
fire
Wherein his heart was burning. O'er his
brow
A fillet green he wore ; around his form
A mantle azure as the open heaven,
And wrought with lilies like to heavenly
stars ;
Dark shoon upon his feet, and by his side
There lay a gentle crook Arcadian.
Him did I quickliest mark, and whisper'd
low :
4 What wight is he that plays ? ' and Esau
said,
Now smiling darkly and in mockery :
'Thyrsis, the shepherd of the flocks of
Faun ;
He saw Diana pass one summer night
In all the wonder of her nakedness.
He was a boy then, but his hair that hour
Was silver'd ; since that hour he hath not
smiled,
But on his cheek the wonder of that sight
Still flashes flame ! ' He added, while his
eye
Kindled to feverish rapture : ' Turn thine
eyes
On her who sings beside him in the sun !
Was ever hamadryad half so fair ?
He found her even like any fallen flower
In the warm heart o' the wood one summer
night,
And wanton spirits whisper'd in his ear
That she was Dian's child. He took the
babe,
And rear'd her as his own ; and there she
sits
Fairer than Dian's self ! '
Fairer, indeed,
Than any woman of a woman born
Was that strange Shepherdess. Her face
was bright
As sunlight, but her lips were poppy-red,
And o'er her brows and alabaster limbs
The lilies and the roses interblent
In that full glory. Raven-black her hair,
And black her brows o'er azure eyes that
swam
With passionate and never-ceasing fires
Deep hidden 'neath her snows ; most
brilliantly
They burnt, but with no trembling, fitful
light,
Nay, rather, steady as two vestal stars ;
And though their flame was passionately
bright,
Soul-'trancing, soul-consuming, yetitseem'd
Most virginal and sweetly terrible,
Chaste with the splendour of an appetite
That never could be fed on food of earth,
Or stoop to quench its chastity with less
Than perfect godhead.
As the steed drew near,
She ceased her song, and fix'd on Esau's
face
Her melting eyes ; and paler than the dead
He turn'd, his lips like ashes, and his hand
Held heavily on his heart. She did not stir,
Nor smile, nor did her shining features
change ;
But quietly the elder Shepherd rose
And stood erect, but leaning on his crook
In silence, while dark Esau, with a smile,
Grim as the smile upon a corpse's face,
Forced from his heart a hollow laugh, and
cried :
'Ho, Thyrsis ! see, what guest I bring tq
thee!
104
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Another Pilgrim sick of Christ and God,
And eager for the clammy kiss of Earth
Aye, or content, if thou wilt have it so,
To sleep on Dian's breast ! '
The Shepherd raised
His hand in deprecation, answering low :
' Blaspheme not, Esau ! she thou namest is
Too holy for thy lips ! ' then courteously
Turning to me, who now upon the grass
Hadleapt with eager feet, hebow'd his head,
Saying, ' Be welcome ! May thy soul find
rest
In these green shades ! '
But Esau, with his eyes
Still fix'd upon the maiden feverishly,
Echoed him : ' Rest ! God help him !
Rest with thee?'
'Why not? ' the Shepherd said, not angrily,
But softly as the rippling runlet falls.
The other answer'dnot, but laugh'd aloud,
And pointed with his fingers mockingly
At the pale Maiden, who unto her feet
Rose like a spirit, shining, with no sound.
Then Esau cried, with quick laugh like a
shriek,
' Away ! ' and as the laughter left his lips,
The steed sprang on across the golden glade
And plunged into the umbrage suddenly ;
But ere it faded Esau's pallid face
Cast one last look behind on her who shone
Still as a star.
Softly the Shepherd sigh'd,
And to the questioning look upon my face
Made answer : ' Dian, give that wanderer
peace !
None other, god or goddess, ever can !
I see thou marvellest much at his wild
words,
And wilder looks. Sir, 'tis the old, sad tale.
He loved my child, whom I in reverence
Named Dian, after Dian the divine,
The holy ministress of these dark woods.
He lovedher, as full many a wight hath done,
But never upon any man that lives
She smileth, and methinks the good gods
will
That she shall die a maid ! '
Then did my soul
Marvel in sooth to hear the names of gods
Falling so simply from the Shepherd's
tongue ;
For reverently, with lowly-lidded eyne,
The Shepherd spake, and reverently his
child
Gazed upward, like to one who seeth afar
The dewy star-point of an angel's wing.
Wherefore I murmur'd, half to those who
heard,
Half to myself : ' Gods ! but the gods are
dead ! '
And Thyrsis answer'd: 'As the pallid
Christ,
Swathen in burial linen icy cold,
Sepulchred deep, and sealed with a stone,
Yet walking from His grave, and withering
The grass of centuries with feet of fire,
As He is dead, so they ! If He abides,
They are not lost ! and though the eye of
Faith
Hath grown too dim to trace their forms
divine,
The gods survive, heirs of their own green
realm,
Inheritors of immortality !
For this is fatal : to be beautiful,
Is to be thrice divine, as Dian is ! '
And as he named the blessed name again
His face shone with its pale beatitude.
' But come !' he cried ' dwell with us for
a space,
And I will guide thee through our wood-
land realm,
And tell thee of its secrets one by one.
The fever of the world is on thy face,
The wormwood of the Priest is on thy heart
And here by quiet waters thou shalt brc
On shapes of beauty till thy thought becomt
As beautiful as that it broodeth on.'
He ceased ; I answer'd not ; my soul was
wrapt
In contemplation of the flower-crown'd
Maid,
Who turning on me, softly as a star
Opens in heaven, all the dreamful light
Of her still face, stood gazing into mine
With all the wonder of immortal eyes
Tremulous with unutterable desire
That never could be fed. Then, even as one
Under enchantment, spell-bound by that
face,
Still gazing on it in a burning awe,
In a low voice I answer'd, ' I will stay ! '
THE GROVES OF FAUN.
105
BOOK IX.
THE GROVES OF FAUN.
STILL listening to that stately Eremite,
And gently gazing on the snowy Maid
Who glided on before us golden-hair'd,
We pass'd into a mighty forest grove,
When on mine eager ears there swept a
sound
Of birds innumerable on leafy boughs
Singing aloud ! and as we softly trod
The mossy carpet of the broad bright glade,
With trees of ancient growth on either side,
We suddenly beheld a group of forms,
That, clustering before us on the sward,
With large, brown, lustrous eyes fix'd full
on ours,
Stood like a startled flock of fallow-deer
Prepared to spring away ; yet shaped like
men
Were these, though hairy were their limbs,
their feet
Cloven like feet of swine, and all their ears,
That large and hairy twinkled in the sun,
Prick'd up to listen. Golden shone the
light
Upon them, and their shadows on the sward
Were softly strewn, as thither with quick cry
Hasten'd the Maid ; but, ere into their midst
Her feet could spring, they ev'n as startled
deer
Leapt, flitted, vanish'd, with a faint, wild cry
Like human laughter on a hill-top heard,
Forlorn and indistinct ; but as their shapes
Vanish'd afar, deep down the emerald glade
A thousand sylvan echoes answer 'd them,
And from the leaves on either side the way
Innumerable faces flash'd, as fair
As ever wood-nymph wore. Then did I
know
Those glades were haunted by the flocks of
Faun ;
The Satyr dwelt there, and the Sylvan
throng,
And in the wood's hot heart the Naiad fill'd
The hollow of her white outstretched hand
With drops of summer dew.
And as I went
I gladden'd more ; for never groves of earth
Were half so fair as those wherein I trod.
Statues of marble, mystically wrought,
Gleam'd in the open spaces cool and white
As shapes of snow ; and here and there were
strewn
The ruin'd steps of marble white and red,
Or broken marble columns moss-bestain'd,
That show'd where once a Temple had
been raised
To Pan or Faunus, or some lesser god
Of wood or stream ; and though those
temples fair
Were overthrown, the Spirits unto whom
They had been raised were there, and merry
amid
The ruins of the shrine.
' I know them well,'
I murmur'd, smiling, ' these enchanted
groves,
Where Faunus leads his legions ruminant ;
And where Selene, with soft silvern feet,
Walks every summer night ; and well I
know
They are. but conjurations of the sense
Which sees them shadows, neither less
nor more,
Of Nature's primal joy. '
The Shepherd smiled,
And said : ' The substance, not the shadow.
These,
And all such joyous images as these,
Are elemental weary were the world
Whence they were wholly flown. Once on
a time
They peopled the wide earth, and man might
mark
At every roadside, and by every door,
Flower-crown'd Priapus, the fair child of Pan,
Close kin to Love and Death ; but now
they haunt
Only the places of the solitude
Where mortals seldom creep. Seen or un-
seen,
Known or unknown, they are immortal, part
Of that eternal youth and happiness
Which first created them, and whence they
draw
Their brightness and their being. 1
Silently
We wander'd on, and now our footsteps fell
In scented shade. From every nook i' the
leaves
io6
THE CITY OF DREAM.
A Spirit peep'd ; o'erhead from every bough
A Spirit sang ! and ever and anon,
Out of the flower-enwoven and emeral
gloom,
White arms were waved, while voices sof
as sleep
Did whisper, ' Come ! ' Calm through the
thronging flowers
Whose honey'd sweets were crushed agains
his lips,
The Shepherd trod. The bright light fel
subdued
Upon the snow of his divine grey hair,
And every woodland Spirit that upsprang
To clasp him in her warm and naked arms,
Gazed for a moment in his solemn eyes,
Then like a fountain falling sank in shame
To kiss his feet. The marble Maiden moved
Untouch'd by any of the glittering beams,
Pure as a dewdrop the light gleams upon
Yet cannot drink, while lost in light my soul
Sprang from its sheath of sorrow, and in
the sun
Hover'd like any golden butterfly !
I leapt i' the joyful air, I laugh'd aloud,
I stretch'd mine arms to every flashing form,
I kiss'd fair faces fading into flowers,
I drank the sunshine down like golden wine ;
And, lastly, sinking on a rainbow'd bank,
O'er-canopied by faces, forms, and eyes,
That changed and changed to radiant fruit
and flowers
With every breathing of the summer wind,
I cried, ' Farewell ! Leave me to linger here.
My quest was vain, but oh, these bowers
are blest !
I'll roam no further !
' Rise ! ' the old man said ;
1 Who linger in these vales of vain delight
Perish betimes ; it is thy privilege
To share as doth a master, not a slave,
Fair Nature's primal joy ! On every side
See scatter'd those who lie too wholly lost
Ever to rise again. ' And all around,
Across the tangled paths on every side,
I saw indeed that many mortal shapes
Were fallen like o'er-ripe fruit ; and many
of these
Were clad as if for heavenly pilgrimage,
Yea, arm'd with staff and scrip ; but o'er
them bent
Women so lustrous and so sweetly pale
They seem'd of marble and moonlight inter-
blent
And yet so bright and warm in nakedness
They seem'd of living flesh. Ah, God, to
see
Their syren faces, dead-eyed like the
Sphynx,
Yet lustrous-cheek'd, with bright vermilion
lips
Like poppy-flowers ! Yet sadder still than
theirs
The faces that below them on the grass
Flash' d amorous of the very breath they
drew !
Pale youths and students Time had snow'd
upon ;
Gaunt poets, clasping to their cold breast-
bones
Their harps of gold ; and hunters, clad in
green,
Gross-mouth'd and lewd ; and kings, that
proffer'd crowns
For one cold kiss ; and senile aged men,
Who shook like palsied leaves upon the tree
With every thrill of sylvan melody
That breathed beneath the overhanging
boughs.
These things beholding, to my feet I sprang
With piteous cry, and as I gazed around
Low voices from the scented darkness sang,
In slumbrous human tones :
Kiss, dream, and die ! Love, let thy lips divine \
n one long heavenly kiss be seal'd to mine,
While singing low the flower-crown d He
steal by
Thy beauty warms my blood like wondrc
wine
While yet the sun hangs still in yonder sky,
Kiss, dream, and die !
Dream, while I kiss ! Dream, in these haj
bowers,
Thy naked limbs and body strewn with flowers,
Thy being scented thro' with balmy bliss
Dream, love, of heavenly light and golden
showers,
Melting to touch of lips, like this and this
Dream, while I kiss '
Ciss, while I dream ! Kiss with thy clinging lips,
With clasp of hands and thrill of finger-tips,
With breasts that heave and fall, with eyes
that beam-
ing, lingering, as the wild-bee clings and sips,
)eep, as the rose-branch trail'd in the hot
stream,
Kiss, while I dream !
THE GROVES OF FAUN.
107
Kiss, dream, and die ! Love, after life comes
Death,
No spirit to rapture reawakeneth
When once Love's sun hath sunk in yonder
_ sky-
Cling closer, drink my being, drain my breath,
Soul answering soul, in one last rapturous sigh,
Kiss, dream, and die !
As the voice ceased,
There flash' d across the haunted forest-path
A flock so strange that even the happy Maid
Stood still, and gazed. A Spirit led the way
Like Bacchus crown'd with grapes and
leaves of vine,
And winged too like Love ; but underneath
The falling tresses of his golden hair
A death's head smiled ; on a white steed he
rode
Caparison' d with gold ; and at his back
The tumult follow'd Satyrs, Nymphs, and
Fauns,
Pale Queens with crowns ; dishevell'd naked
maids ;
Priapus next, the laughing garden-god,
Raining ripe fruit around and leaves of
gold ;
Then Ethiop dancers, clashing cymbals
bright ;
And after them, supreme among the rest,
A livid Conqueror like Caesar's self
With wild beasts chaii ed to his chariot-
wheels ;
Behind him drunken legions blood-be-
stain'd,
With captives wailing in their midst. These
pass'd ;
Then, mounted on a jet-black stallion's
back,
Herodias, bearing in her naked lap
A hoary, bleeding head ; and after her
A troop commingled from all times and
climes
Pale knights in armour, on whose shoulders
sat
Nixes or elves ; Goths, mighty-limb'd and
grim;
Pale monks, with hollow cheeks and lean
long hands ;
Nuns from the cloister, whose wild, hectic
cheeks
Burn'd red as blood between their ghastly
bands ;
And bringing up the rear a hideous flock
Of idiot children, twisted with disease,
And laughing in a mad and mindless mirth.
And gazing after them with gentle eyes
The old man sigh'd : ' They follow Death,
not Love !
From every corner of the populous earth
They come to mar that primal happiness
Which is the root of being ! '
But I cried,
Raising my hands ' Is it not pitiful?
Is it not hateful and most pitiful ?
Lo, out of every innocent bower of flowers,
And out of every bed where Love may sleep,
The Shape with " Thanatos " upon its brow
Dreadfully peeps ! Why may not Man be
glad,
Forgetting death and darkness for an hour ?
Is it so evil to be happy ? Nay !
Yet the one cup God proffers to his seed
Is wormwood, wormwood ! '
As I spake the Maid,
Coming upon a little mossy well,
That fill'd up softly as a dewy eye
And ever look'd at heaven through azure
tears,
Stood white as any lamb upon the brink,
And on her dim sweet double down below
Dropt leaves and flowers, and smiled for
joy to see
Her image broken into flakes of snow
But ever mingling beautiful again
Whene'er the soft shower ceased. While
on her face,
Serene yet masterful in innocence,
I gazed in awe, the old man answer'd me :
' Ev'n as the Gorgon mother ate her young,
Nature for ever feeds on and consumes
Those creatures who, too frail to quit her
breast,
Miss the full height and privilege of Man !
I say again that Man was made supreme,
Radiant and strong, to conquer with a smile
The transports that he shares ;
And he by wisdom or by innocence
May conquer if he will ;
And surely he who learns to conquer Love
Hath learnt to conquer Death ! Behold
my child !
See where she stands like marble 'mid the
beam
io8
THE CITY OF DREAM.
That beats so brightly on her sinless brows.
As she is, must thy soul be if thy soul
Would read our creed aright. '
But I return'd,
Bitterly smiling, ' She ? thine icicle !
Cold to the kiss of Man, what knoweth she
Of love or joy ? '
Still as a star her face
Turn'd full upon me, with a beam so sad,
So strange in sorrow and divine despair,
My heart within me shook ; and though
she had heard
She spake not, but moved onward silently ;
And sinking low his voice, and following
her,
Her foster-father cried :
' Is there no joy
But riot ? Is there no immortal love
To make eternal hunger sweeter far
Than lustful feasts ? O blind and wayward
one,
Hadst thou but seen what these sad eyes
have seen,
The passionate eternal purity
Walking these shadowy woods with silvern
feet!
I bear the lifelong glory in my heart,
And with the splendour of its own despair
My soul is glad ! '
I answer' d him again,
Still mocking, ' Keep thy vision ! she,
perchance,
Some night may look on hers ! '
' By night and day,'
Return'd the Shepherd very solemnly,
4 By night and day my child beholdeth him,
And quencheth all the fiery flame o' the
sense
Against his image, and is sadly glad.
Perchance ere long thine eyes may see him
too,
And kiss his holy feet as she hath done.
But now,' he added, looking sadly down
On the bright bowers around him, ' stay not
here;
For if thou dost, we twain must part, and
thou
Fade back to flower, or dwindle back to
beast,
As these thou seest are doing momently.
Come ! ' And he held me gently with his
hand,
And drew me softly on. Like one that
sleeps,
And sleeping seems to totter heavy-eyed
Through woods of poppy and rank helle-
bore,
Feebly I moved ; my head swam ; on my
lips
Linger'd sour savours as of dregs of wine,
And all my soul with sick and shameful
thirst
Woke, as a drunkard after deep debauch
Wakes to the shiver of a glimmering dawn.
In vain ripe fruits were crush'd against my
lips,
In vain the branches with their blossom'd
arms
Entwined around me ; vainly in my face
The naked dryad and the wood-nymph
laugh'd.
Past these I drave as fiercely as a ship
Before the beating of a bitter wind,
And crushing fruit and blossom under foot,
Tearing the tangled tracery apart,
I wander'd on for hours. Nor did I pause
Till from that wondrous Grove my feet had
pass'd,
And once again in open glades we stood
Under the azure canopy of heaven.
Now I beheld we stood upon the bank
Of a broad river flowing along between
Deep banks of flowering ferns and daffo-
dils
A gentle river winding far away
Under green trees that hung their laden
boughs
And shed their fruits upon it lavishly ;
Yet cool the water seem'd, and silve
bright
As any star, and on the boughs
it
Sat doves as white as snow, brooding
joy-
And by its brim one crane of glittering
gold
With bright shade lengthening from tl
pensive light
Stood, knee-deep in the mosses of tl
marge.
Slowly my sense grew clear. ' What place
is this ? '
THE GROVES OF FAUN.
109
I murmur'd ; ' Say, what place divine is
this
God's home, or Love's, or Death's ! ' but
in mine ear
The gentle voice replied, 'Question no
more,
But at the brink stoop down, and bathe thy
brows ;
And if thou thirstest, drink ! ' So on the
marge
I stoop'd, and in my hollow'd hand did
lift
The waters, scattering them upon my
face,
And tasting ; and the fever from my frame
Fell like an unclean robe, and stretching
arms
I, like a man rejoicing in his strength,
Stood calm and new-baptized. Tall by the
lake
The old man tower'd, and I beheld his
face
Was shining as an angel's, with new light
Of rapture in his eyes ; and by his side
The Maid, with lips apart and eager eyes,
Stood bathed in glory of her golden hair
And the great sunlight that encircled her !
Scarce had I drunk, when I was 'ware of
One
Who through the green glades by the river's
brim
V/alk'd, like a slow star sailing through the
clouds
Of twilight ; yea, the face of him afar
Shone starlike, and around his coming feet
The moon-dew shone. As white and still
he seem'd
As some fair form of marble brought to
life
And gliding in the glory of a dream ;
But from his frame, at every step he took,
Shot light which never yet from marble
gleam' d,
And splendour that was never seen in stone.
For raiment, backward from his shoulders
blown,
He wore a scarf diaphanous ; round his
form
A chlamys of the whitest woof of lambs;
j But all uncover'd was his golden hair,
His feet unsandall'd. 'Who is this that
comes ?.'
Trembling I cried. But suddenly on his
knees
The old man fell, with head submissive
bent
In gentle adoration. Then, methought :
' The City of my Dream is close at hand,
And this is He who comes to lead me
thither ! '
And wonder'd much that while the old man
knelt,
The Maid leapt forward with outstretching
arms,
And with less fear than hath a yeanling
lamb
Feeling its mother on a mead in May,
Thrust out her hand and took his hand who
came
And brightening in his brightness led hire
on
With bird-like cries. Then I perceived hei
face
Now smiling glorified, and straight I knew
That she was gazing on the lonely love
Of her young soul ; that all her maiden
dream
Was shining there in substance, fairer far
Than star or flower ; that on his faee she
fed
In palpitating awe, so strange, so deep,
She did not even kiss the holy hand
She held within her own.
' Who comes ? who comes ? '
I murmured to the old man once again ;
' A god the messenger of gods his name?
He smileth ; mine eyes dazzle in the light
Of his bright smiling ! ' And the other
cried,
Not rising, ' To thy knees ! and veil thine
eyes,
Lest the ecstatic ray his presence sheds
Blind thee apace ! He hath a thousand
names,
All sweet ; but in these glades his holiest
name
Is Eros ! ' ' Eros ! ' rapturously I sighed ;
And tottering as one drunken in the sun,
Fell at his feet who came ; and the pale
Maid,
Upleaping in the brightness, fountain-like,
Cried, ' Eros ! Eros ! ' leading Eros on,
While the birds sang and every echo
rang.
HO
THE CITY OF DREAM.
There was a pause, as when in golden June
The heavens, the glassy waters, and the
hills
Throb wrapt in mists of heat as in a dream,
So that the humming of the tiniest gnat
Is heard while in the motedray it swings,
There was a pause and silence for a space,
But soon the Shepherd, rising reverently,
Cried : 'Master of these golden groves of
Faun,
All hail ! Unto thy sacred place I bring
A Pilgrim from the dusty tracts of Time,
A seeker of the secret Beautiful
No ear hath heard ; and from the summer
bowers,
The gardens, and the glades of vain delight,
Latest he comes, still fever'd from the flush
Of those bright bowers. Him to thy feet I
bring,
And if his soul be worthy, thou perchance
Mayst heal his pain ! ' He ceased ; and on
the air
There rose the thrill of the divinest voice
That ever on a starry midnight charm'd
The swooning sense of lovers unto dream,
A voice divine, and in a tongue divine
It spake, such Greek, such honey'd liquid
Greek
As Psyche heard that night beneath the
stars
She threw her rose-hung casement open wide
And stood with lamp uplifted, welcoming
Her love, storm-beaten in his saffron veil.
' What seeks he? ' ask'd the voice ; and lo !
I cried,
Uplifting not mine eyes : 'O gentle God,
Surely I seek that City Beautiful,
From whence thou comest ! Dead I fancied
thee,
Fallen with that glorious umbrage of dead
gods
Which doth bestrew the forest paths of
Greece ;
And since thou livest, I can seek no guide
More beautiful than thou ! ' Whereon again,
Burning like amber in the golden beam,
That nightingale of deities replied,
1 O child of man, can the Immortal die ?
To love, is to endure ; and lo, I am ;
But from that City Beautiful thou namest
I come not, and I cannot guide thy steps
Thither, nor further than mine own fair
realm. '
Smiling I answer'd, rising to my feet :
1 If this thy realm is, Spirit Paramount,
Let me abide within it close to thee !
Peace dwelleth here, and Light ; and here
at last,
As in a crystal mirror, I perceive
The clouds and forms of being stream sub-
dued
Through azure voids of immortality.'
'Come, then,' said Eros, smiling beautiful;
' And for a season I will lead thy feet,
That thou mayst know my secret realm and
me ! '
And as he spake he waved his shining hand,
And lo, the cluster'd lilies of the stream
Again were parted by invisible airs,
And through the waters came a shallop
slight,
Drawn by white swans that cleft the crystal
mere
With webbed feet as soft as oiled leaves,
And in the shallop's brow a blood-red star
Burnt wondrous, with its image in the mere
Broken 'mid ripples into rubied lines.
Slow to the bank it came, and there it paused,
So slight, so small, itseem'dno mortalshape
Might float upon the crystal mere therein ;
And Eros pointed, silent, to the boat,
But I, half turning to my greyhair'd guide,
Question'd with outstretch'd hands and
glance of eyes,
'And thou?'
The Shepherd smiled, with gentle hand
Restraining now the Maid, who, stretching
arms,
Would fain have follow'd that diviner Form
On whom her eyes were fasten'd, ring in
ring
Enlarging, like the iris-eyes of doves.
1 Farewell ! ' he said ; ' further I fare
friend !
For whosoever sails that crystal stream
Must with the golden godhead sail alone.
My path winds homeward, back to
sunny glades
Where first we met. Farewell ! a k
farewell !
If ever backward through these groves
Faun
Thou comest, seek that Valley where I d\
And tell me of thy quest ! '
Methought I raised
THE GROVES OF FAUN.
in
The Maid, and set upon her brow the seal
Of one long kiss ; but me she heeded not,
Gazing in fascination deep as Death
| On that calm god ; then, stooping low, I
kiss'd
i The Shepherd's hand, and enter'd the
bright boat
| That on the shallow margin of the river
Did droop the glory of its rubied star
Like some bright water-flower. Beneath
my weight
The shallop trembled, but it bare me up ;
And slowly through the shallows lily-sown
It moved, pulsating on the throbbing stream
As white and warm as bosoms of the swans
That drew it. In its wake the godhead
swam,
| Gold crown'd ; and from beneath the mere
his limbs
jGleanVd, like the flashing of a salmon's
sides.
[Slowly it seem'd to sail, yet swiftly now
The shore receded, till the Man and Maid
Beyond the mists of brightness disappear'd,
i And ever till they faded utterly
Moveless the Maiden's face as any star
Shone tremulous with innocent desire,
And when they vanish'd, from the vanish 'd
shore
: There came a quick and solitary cry
That wither'd on the wind.
Then forth we fared,
fill nought was seen around us or above
But golden glory of the golden Day
I Reflected from the bosom of the mere
, l\.s from a blinding shield ; and, lo ! my
sense
Crew lost in dizziness and deep delight :
Jl things I saw as in a dazzling dream,
. [nd drooping o'er them drowsily gazed
down
into the crystal depths whereon I sail'd.
hen was I 'ware that underneath me
throbb'd
range vistas, dim and wonderful, wherein
he great ghost of the burning sun did
i shine
ilxlued and dim, amid a heaven as blue,
> blue and deep, as that which burnt o'er-
head ;
ul in the under-void like gold-fish gleam'd
inumerable Spirits of the lake,
Naked, blown- hither and thither light as
leaves,
Wfth lilies in their hands, their eyes half
closed,
Their hair like drifting weeds ; thick as the
flowers
Above, they floated ; near the surface some,
And others far away as films of cloud
In that deep under-heaven ; but all their
eyes
Were softly upturn'd, as to some strange
star,
To him who in the shallop's glittering wake
Swam 'mid the light of his lone loveliness.
Then all grew dim ! I closed my heated
eyes,
Like one who on a summer hill lies down
Face upward, blinded by the burning blue,
And in my ears there grew a dreamy hum
Of lark-like song. The heaven above my
head,
The heaven below my feet, swam swiftly by,
Till clouds and birds and flowers and water-
elves
Were blent to one bright flash of rainbow
light
Bewildering the sense. And now I swam
By jewell'd islands smother'd deep in flowers
Glassily mirror'd in the golden river ;
And from the isles blue-plumaged warblers
humm'd
Swinging to boughs of purple, yellow, and
green,
Their pendent nests of down ; and on the
banks,
Dim-shaded by the umbrage and the flowers,
Sat naked fauns who fluted to the swans
On pipes of reeds, while in the purple
shallows,
Wading knee-deep, listen'd the golden
cranes,
And walking upon floating lotus-leaves
The red jacana scream'd.
Still paramount
Shone Eros, piloting with lily hand
His shallop through the waters wonderful,
And wheresoe'er he went his brightness fell
Celestial, turning all the saffron pools
To crimson and to purple and to gold.
Calm were his eyes and steadfast, with a
light
Which in a face of aspect less divine
112
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Would have seem'd sad, and on his brows
there lay
A golden shadow of celestial thought.
Thus in my dream I saw him floating on,
While with dim eyes of rapture downward
turn'd,
I feasted on his beauty silently ;
And under him the strange abysses swoon' cl
And o'er his head the azure heaven stoop'd
down ;
And even as a snow-white steed that runs
Pleased with its burthen, merrily hasting
on,
The river rambled on from bank to bank,
In curves of splendour winding serpentine.
Betimes it broaden'd into bright lagoons
Sown with innumerable crimson isles ;
And merrily on the mossy banks there ran,
Pelting each other with ripe fruits and
flowers,
Bright troops of naked nymphs and cupidons
With golden bows ; and o'er them in the
air
Floated glad butterflies and gleaming doves ;
And ever to the rippling of the river
Rose melody of unseen voices, blown
From the serene abysms far beneath ;
And other voices answer 'd from the isles,
And from the banks, and from the snow-
white clouds
That, flowing with the flowing of the stream ,
Trembled and changed, like shapes with
lilied hands !
Now one green island stretch' d across the
stream,
Paven with purple and with emerald,
And walking there, all wondrous in white
robes,
Moved troops of virgins singing solemnly
To lutes of amber and to harps of gold.
Among them, resting on a flowery bank,
Sat one like Bacchus, roses in his hair,
His cheeks most pale with summer melan-
choly,
Fondling a tigress that with sleepy eyes
Nestled her mottled head into his palm.
O'er head an eagle hover'd with his mate,
And rising slow on great wind-winnowing
wings
Faded into the sunset, silently.
Now gazing on these wondrous scenes me-
thought :
1 This is enchantment, and these things I
see
Only the figures of an antique Joy,
Unreal as shapes in an enchanter's glass
And hollow as a pleasure snatch'd in sleep.
Suddenly, strangely, answering my thought
And smiling with a strange excess of light
Murmur'd that God my Guide : ' Fly from
thy dream,
And it shall last for ever ; cherish it,
And it shall wither in thy cherishing !
These things are phantasies and images
As thou and I are imaged phantasies ;
But if the primal joy of Earth is real,
And if thou sharest deep that primal joy,
These phantasies are real not false, bu
true. '
Then did I cry, ' If these fair shapes be true
No dream is false.' And Eros answer'c
me :
' All things are true save Sin and Sin'
despair,
All lovely thoughts abide imperishable,
Though countless generations pass and
die!'
The wonder deepen'd. Earth and Heaven
seem'd blent
In one still rapture, for their beating hearts
Were prest like breasts of lovers, close
together ;
And in the love-embrace of Heaven anc
Earth,
The river, ever-smiling, wound and wound
And as in beauteous galleries of Art
Picture on picture swooneth past the sense,
Marble with marble mingles mystically,
Till all is one wild rapture of the eyes,
E'en so that pageant on the river's banks
Went drifting by to sound of shawms andi
songs.
Bright isles with white nymphs cover'd ;
promontories
Whereon immortal nakednesses lay
Singing aloud and playing on amber lutes ;
Vistas of woodland, on whose shaven lawns"
The satyrs danced with swift alternate-
feet,
Came, faded, changed ; and ever far below
In the dim under-heaven floated fair
Those Spirits singing ; and ever far above
THE GROVES OF FAUN.
1*3
Those Spirits slight as flecks of whitest
clouds
Still singing floated ; and the same still way
The river floated did the heavens move on,
Till all seem'd drawn in a swift drift of
dream
To some consummate wonder yet unseen.
And now, the river narrowing once again,
We stole 'neath forest umbrage which o'er-
head
Mingled outstretching arms from either
bank,
And woven in the green transparent roof
Were glorious creepers like the lian-flower,
And flowers that ran like many-colour 'd
snakes
Turning and trembling from green bough
to bough ;
And in the glowing river glass'd with speed
This intertangled golden tracery
Was mirror'd leaf by leaf and flower by
flower,
For ever changing and ever flitting past.
Thus gliding, suddenly we floated forth
Upon a broad lagoon as red as blood,
| Stained with sunset ; and no creature stirr'd
Upon or round the water, but on high
i A vulture hover'd dwindled to a speck ;
I And on the shallow marge one silent Shape
Hung like a leafless tree, with hoary head
Dejected o'er the crimson pool beneath ;
I And no man would have wist that dark
Shape lived ;
suddenly into the great lagoon
shallop sail'd, and the white swans
that drew it
fere crimson'd, oaring on through crimson
pools
casting purple shadows. Then be-
hold !
crimson light on him who drave the
bark
?ell as the shafts of sunset round a star,
circling, touching, but suffusing not
shining silvern marble of his limbs ;
that dark Shape that brooded o'er the
stream
r'd, lifting up a face miraculous
> of some lonely godhead ! Cold as stone,
? ormlessly fair as some upheaven rock
lung with weary weeds and mosses dark,
face was ; and the flashing of that face
II.
Was as the breaking of a sad sea-wave, !
Desolate, silent, on some lonely shore !
Then Eros as he passed across the pool
Upraised his shining head, and softly
named
Three times the name of ' Pan ; ' and that
large Shape,
His face upturning sadly to the light,
Reveal' d the peace of two great awful eyes
Made heavenly by the starlight of a smile ;
And as he smiled, the stillness of the place
Was broken, and the notes of nightingales
Fell soft as spray of roseleaves on the air,
And once again the waters far beneath
Were peopled, and the clouds moved on
again
In their slow drift of dream they knew not
whither ;
But Eros swiftly pass'd and once again
The brooding godhead, sinking in his place,
Hung large and shadowy like a mighty tree
Above the brightness of that still lagoon.
And now methought that far away there
rose
Beautiful mountains stain'd with purple
shades
And pinnacled with peaks of glittering ice,
And o'er the frosted crystal of the peaks
The trembling splendour of the lover's star
Shone like a sapphire. Thitherward now
crept,
Slowly, in bright and many-colour'd curves
That river, hastening with a living will,
With happy murmurs like a living thing ;
And soon itturn'd its soft and flowery steps
Into the bosom of great woods that lay
Under the mountains. Peaceful on its
breast
Shadows now fell, while still gnats humm'd,
and flowers
Closed up their leaves i' the dew ; and thro"
the leaves,
With radiance faintly drawn as spiders'
webs,
Trembled the twilight of the lover's star.
At last, against a mossy shore, thick strewn
With violets dewy-eyed, the shallop paused,
And Eros, wading to the grassy bank
Under the shadow of the forest trees,
Cried ' Come ! ' and silently I follow' d him
Into the sunless silence of the woods.
I
H4
THE CITY OF DREAM.
BOOK X.
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
AND in my dream, which seem'd no dream
at all,
Methought I follow'd my celestial Guide
From path to path, from emerald glade to
glade ;
And ever as we went, methought the path
Grew with the summer shadows silenter,
While overhead from the great azure folds
Began to stray the peaceful flocks of stars.
Now I perceived before that Spirit's feet
A light like moonlight running, and I heard,
Far away, mystically, in my dream,
The song of deep-embower'd nightingales.
Along the woodland path on either side
There glimmer'd marble hermae crown'd
with flowers,
And 'mid the boughs hung many-colour'd
lamps
Like fruit of amber, crimson, purple, and
gold.
Last on mine ears there fell a sudden sound
Like shepherds piping or like fountains
falling,
A sound that gather'd volume, and became
As music of innumerable harps
And lutes and muffled drums, and there-
withal
A heavy distant hum as of a crowd
Of living men together gathering.
Then did I mark that all the forest way
Was thronging unaware with hooded shapes
Who moved in the direction of that sound ;
Shadows they seem'd, yet living ; and as
they went
They to each other spake in quick low tones
And hurried their dark feet as if in haste.
Tall in their midst shone that fair God my
Guide,
To whom I whisper'd as we stole along,
' What Shapes are these ? ' and ' Pilgrims
like thyself,'
The Spirit cried ; ' but hush, for we are
nigh
The midmost of the Shrine.' Ev'n as he
spake,
Out of the shadow of the woods we stept,
While on our ears the murmur of the crowd
Grew to low thunder, as of waves that wash
Silent, in darkness, up some ocean strand ;
And lo ! we saw before us thick as waves
Thousands that gather'd in their pilgrims'
weeds
Within a mighty Amphitheatre
Hewn in a hollow of the grassy hills,
And faces like the foam-fleck' d sides of
waves,
Before some wind of wonder blowing there,
Flash'd all one way and multitudinous
Far as the eye could see or ears could hear,
Watching a far-off curtain, on whose folds
Two words in fire were written : ' EPO2-
ANAFKH.'
More vast that crowded Amphitheatre
Than any hewn in olden time by man,
And round it, and before it, and beyond
That curtain, gather'd crags and monoliths
All rising up to peaks of glittering snow
And in a starry daylight darkening.
Amid that murmur as of sullen seas
Fair Eros moved, and of the shadowy
throng
Not one look'd round to gaze, while I and
he
Crept to a place, and finding seats of stone
Rested, with eager crowds on either side ;
And then I heard a shadow at my back
Murmur some question in an antique
speech,
And unto his another voice replied
' Bp6rios ' then the murmur of that
throng
Was changed to quick sounds in the same
sweet speech
Spoken as music by my guide divine.
But as I prick'd mine ears to list for more
There came a solemn silence, and behold,
Suddenly, to a sound of lutes and drums,
The. curtain dark descended.
Far away,
Upon a sward as green as emerald,
There sat, with wine-gourd lying at his
side,
Wild poppies tangled in his hoary hair,
Silenos, at whose feet a naked nymph
Lay prone with chin propt in her hollow'd
hands
Uplooking in his face and reading there
Deep-wrinkled chronicles as soft as sleep ;
And overhead among the wild ravines,
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
On patches of green emerald, leapt his
goats,
While far above the sunshine swept like
wind
Across the darkness of the untrodden peaks.
To the low music of an unseen choir
Silenos smiling spake, and as he spake
The white goats leapt, the soft light stirr'd
o'erhead,
The white clouds wander'd through the
peaceful blue.
For of much peace he told, of golden fields,
Of shepherds in dim dales Arcadian,
Of gods that gather 'd the still stars like
sheep
Dawn after dawn to shut them in their folds
And every dawn did loose them once again,
Of vintage and of fruitage, and of Love's
Ripe kisses stolen in the reaping time.
Sweet was his voice, and sweet that mimic
scene
So sweet I could have look'd and heark'd for
ever ;
And on that sight the throng was hungering,
When suddenly the choral music ceased,
And wearily up the mountains came a wight
Clad like a pilgrim of an antique land.
Tall was he, yet of human height, but there,
Upon that mighty stage, he seemed as small
As pixies be that play in beds of flowers ;
And him Silenos greeted, and those twain
Sat on the grassy carpet flower-bestrewn ;
And then the stranger told a seaman's tale
Of heroes sailing in their winged ships
To flash on Troia like a locust-swarm,
And among those he named his own fair
name
Ulysses.
Not as in the nether world,
Within some bright and lamp-lit theatre,
The drama calmly moves from scene to
scene,
^nd actors speak their measured cadences
make their exits and their entrances,
thus did that colossal spectacle
low on ; but as a bright kaleidoscope
s shaken in the hand, and with no will
rembles, dissolves, in ever-wondrous
change,
'he scenes upon that mighty stage did fade,
VTiile the deep voices of the unseen choir
Vere rising, falling, all within my dream,
io, even as that grey-hair'd Marinere
Spake with Silenos on the mountain side,
All strangely vanish'd ; and before our sight,
To martial music blown through tubes of
brass
The Grecian phalanx brighten'd, and afar,
Beyond the Grecian tents as white as snow,
The towers of Ilium crumbling like a cloud
Burnt brazen in the sunset. Suddenly
The shining phalanx and the snow-white
tents
Shrunk up like leaves, and in their stead
the earth
Was strewn with brightness of a thousand
flowers
'Mid which a great pavilion lily-white
Bloom'd, in its centre, seated like a queen,
Helena ! Oh, the wonder of that face,
That miracle of lissome loveliness,
That ripe red rose of womanhood supreme !
More fair she seem'd, seen thus from far
away,
Than Cytherea rising from the sea
Or seated naked on the lover's star
Strewing the seas beneath her silvern feet
With pearls and emeralds all a summer
night !
And from her body and from her breath
there came
Waft of rich odours that o'erpower'd the
sense,
And all around, strewn thick as fallen
leaves,
Were kings and warriors with dishevell'd
hair
Kissing her naked feet and with mad eyes
Uplooking in her face !
Then did I cry :
' Oh happy Earth, where seed like this is
sown,
And grows to such a womanhood divine !
Before the glory of that one fair face
Gods die, gods fade, there is no god but
Love ! '
And turning, I beheld each face that gazed
Was shining as anointed, for the throng
Was drinking all the sight with rapturous
eyes ;
But like a marble statue in his place
Stood that pale god my guide as stone to
flesh
His beauty that had seem'd so warm before
Was to that woman's on the mimic stage,
I 2
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And ever on her face he fix'd his eyes
With hunger of a pity infinite !
There was a silence as of summer seas ;
The heart stood still, while brighter and
more bright
That glory grew, till like a chrysolite,
It dazzled all those upward-looking eyes :
Then slowly, softly, silent as a cloud,
Veiling that miracle of womanhood
The curtain rose.
There was a sultry pause,
Such as there comes on summer days of
calm,
When every leaf doth seem to hold its
breath
And in the golden mirror of the pool
The lily's shadow lies like alabaster.
Each creature in that mighty company
Half closing heavy eyelids, brooded o'er
His own thick heart-beats ; only Eros stood
Calm, mute as marble, very fair and pale,
Folding his arms, and on the curtain dark
Reading his own sweet name !
Again there came
Vibrations of low music, strangely blown
From out the very hollows of the earth ;
These quicken'd, trembl'd, till there wildly
rose
The shrieking sharp of flutes innumerable,
To which once more, curling black folds to
earth,
The curiain fell. And lo! on that great
si u _
a: id the statues of the gods
iinic in a blood-red moon,
)ved in th-> n t he palace-roof
they see, eavens sown thick with
they went ^^^ j^
A lac" to each other spake longing spasm
Ofmurueried their dark feet stature seeir'd
Gigantic, on \midst shone urnus raised ;
And not a featur , woman changed,
All kept one horror of the mask they wore,
Yea, not until afar the bale-fire burn'd
On Ida, did she speak, descending slow,
And like low thunder, from the mask's thick
tube,
Her voice was wafted onward to mine ear.
But as she spake that midnight air was
cloven
By such a shriek as only once on earth
Was heard by mortal ears. Cassandra
wail'd !
It seem'd as if in answer to that wail
Chaos had come and all the graves of old
Given up their dead ; for suddenly the stage
Was cover'd with gigantic shrouded shapes,
Who stood and raised their hands to heaven
and shriek' d !
And in the dim, low light of blood-red stars
Tower'd Agamemnon bleeding from his
wounds ;
Iphigenia, like a spectre pale,
Half kneeling, hands uplifted, at his feet ;
Orestes, with a dagger in his grip,
Clutching the marble woman, while she
shrieked :
1 Hold, child ! strike not this bosom whence
so oft
With toothless gums thy mouth hath drunk
the milk ; '
Eleokles, with fratricidal knife ;
GEdipus groping for his daughter's hand,
And white as any lamb that Virgin's self ;
And in the background, glaring with cold
eyes,
Dumb as a pack of lean and hungry wolves
Full of blood-hunger, the Eumenides !
A wind of horror o'er that gathering grew,
And lo ! I shiver 'd like a rain-wash' d leaf,
While from the throats of those pale
spectres came
Fierce supplications and anathemas
On Zeus, and that pale skeleton that broods
For ever at his footstool, Anarchy.
1 God ! God ! ' they shriek'd, and ever as
they shriek'd
They gnash' d their teeth and rent their
luminous robes
And wept anew. Meseem'd it was a sight
Too much for human vision to endure !
Suddenly, as a black cloud swallowing up
Pale meteors of the midnight, once again
Uprose the curtain.
Then in a low voice,
Still shuddering with that horror past, I
spake :
1 Hear'st thou that cry, which from the dark
beginning
Pale souls, fate-stricken, have cast up at
heaven ?
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
117
How shall these things have peace?' and
in mine ears
Twas answer'd: 'As the innumerable
waves
Sink after tempest to completest calm,
For surcease of the mighty tumult pass'd,
So these wild waifs of being grow subdued
To subtle music of sublime despairs ;
For out of wrath comes love, and out of
pain
Dumb resignation brooding like a dove
On sunless waters, and of unbelief
Is born a faith more precious and divine
Than e'er blind Ignorance with his
mother's milk
Suck'd smiling down ! But, hark ! ' and
as he spake,
There came a twittering as of birds on
boughs,
A music as of rain pattering on leaves ;
And to this murmur the great curtain fell,
Revealing slopes of greenest emerald
By shallow rivulets fed with flashing falls,
And far away soft throbb'd the evening star,
And everywhere across those pastures sweet
Moved Lambs as white as snow ! Then as
I gazed
I heard Apollo singing on the heights
A shepherd's song divine, and as he sang
Those lambs their faces to the light upturn'd,
And each was human : a sweet woman's
face,
With large still heavenly eyes wherein there
swam
Dews of a dark desire ; and lo, I knew
The daughter of Colonos, golden-hair'd,
Electra, still and pensive as a star,
Alcestis pallid from the kiss of Death,
The daughters of Danaos, and the seed
Of Epaphos and lo ; and, behold !
Quietly through those mystical green meads
Stole the fair Heifer's self, as white as
snow,
Star-vision'd, woman-faced, miraculous,
Come after many wanderings to such peace
As only Love's immortals ever know.
Then down the mountain-sides, a tiger-skin
Back from his shoulders blowing, lute in
hand,
As brown as any mortal mountaineer,
Apollo, the glad Shepherd, hastening came,
And cried, ' Rejoice ! rejoice ! for Zeus is
dead ! '
And from a thousand throats those lambs
did seem
To bleat in human tones, while lo raised
Her moon-like head and utter'd her sad
heart
In one rejoicing cry ! Then did I turn
My startled eyes on Eros questioning,
And found his face like all those faces
round
Was shining as anointed, while his eyes
Were fix'd on that great stage whence
thrill'd a voice
Which murmur'd on : ' Rejoice, rejoice,
rejoice !
Now shall the sad flocks of Humanity
At last find peace ! '
In mine own heart of hearts
I echoed ' Peace ! ' and Kat great company
Breathed as a forest's multitudinous leaves
Breathe balmily after rain ; but suddenly
That scene kaleidoscopic changed once
more,
Came then a thunder as of gathering clouds,
Flashing of torrents down black mountain-
sides,
A storm, a troubled darkness, in whose
midst
A voice went crying aloud, 'Zeus is! Zeus
reigns ! '
And then, the darkness vanishing, behold !
The scene show'd mountains to whose snowy
peaks
Fierce cataracts frozen in the act to fall
Clung chained in ice, and in the midst
thereof
Gigantic, silent in his agony,
With all the still cold heaven above his head,
Prometheus Purkaieus !
Meseem'd he slept :
His eyes were softly closed, and he smiled
Like one who sleeps yet dreams ; and his
white hair
Had grown through long eternities of pain
Down to his feet, clothing his limbs like
wool,
And the fierce wedge of adamant that
pierced
His breast and vitals was with countless
years
Rusted blood-red, and hoary all he seem'd
As those ice-ribbed peaks that hemm'd him
round.
Transfixed were his mighty feet and hands.
THE CITY OF DREAM.
As when by Kratos and dark Bias nail'd
To those hard rocks, and brightly yet he bled,
For silently the fountains of his heart
Distill'd their blood like dew !
Sad was that sight,
And yet I gazed upon it with sweet joy,
For round the head of that great Sufferer,
And on his face, and on his closed lids,
There brooded peace most absolute and
power
Sublimely self-subdued. Afar away
Came voices of the Okeanides,
Singing their sad primaeval seabirds' song ;
And listening with quick spiritual ears,
Methought I heard, faint as a sound in
sleep,
The murmur of these deep eternal seas
Which wash for ever the weary feet of
Earth.
Then up those desolate heights, from ledge
to ledge
Of living granite, came a godlike shape,
Gigantic, yet smooth-flesh' d and young of
limb,
With eagle-eye that faced the midday sun
And shrank not, leading slowly (as one
leads
A wounded horse that falters with its pain)
An aged Centaur, man from brow to
breast,
Bearded and mighty -brow'd and venerable,
But bodied like some grey and mighty steed ;
And lo, I knew the first was Herakles,
The second Cheiron ; and behold, this last
Was faint thro' one green wound upon his
breast,
Deep, bloody, and he stagger'd as he came,
And ofttimes fell upon his quivering knees
And moan'd aloud, beating the solid rock
With hoofs of iron into sparks of fire.
Thereon, I turn'd to Eros questioning :
' Why cometh Cheiron, led by Herakles ?'
And Eros, on whose face there shone a light
New and ecstatic as the rising moon,
Answer' d : ' Until another immortal god
Contentedly shall take the cup of death,
Taking his stand in that pale Sufferer's
place,
Prometheus must abide and drink his doom ;
But Cheiron, weary from his wound and
weak,
Elects to perish in that pale god's stead,
And hither cometh led by Herakles,
That so the prophecy may be fulfilled. '
And lo, amid the rocks of that ravine,
Face unto face with that pale Sufferer,
Uprose those twain, and slowly at the sound
Prometheus woke, and shaking from his eyes
Eternities of the white blinding hair,
Gazed in their faces dumbly, even as one
Who wakes confusedly and mingles still
That which he sees and that which he hath
dream' d.
But Herakles cried loud with clarion-voice
' Prometheus ! ' and the Titan stared and
smiled,
Remembering ; but as his woeful eyes
Fell upon Cheiron's ghastly lineaments
He trembled, moaning, : Who is he that
stands
Beside thee, bleeding?' and the god
replied,
'Cheiron the Centaur, come to take thy
place,
To wear thy chains, to suffer, and to die I '
Suddenly, for a moment, that strange scene
Was blotted from the vision, and there rose
A sound as if of many fountains leaping,
Of many wild winds blowing, of many voices
Uplifted in a troublous melody ;
And when the darkness melted and again
That portent gather'd on the straining sight,
The moon was out and stars serenely bright,
And Herakles had freed Prometheus,
Who, standing awful in the moonlight
gazed
Around him with a sad and stony stare.
And whiter now he seem'd than any snow,
Clothed in the sorrow of his hoary hairs.
Then, as his chains fell from him with a
clang
Of sullen iron, from afar away
There came a cry, ' Prometheus is. free
Rejoice ! Rejoice ! ' and through those wild
ravines
From crag to crag, the weary echoes moan'd
' Rejoice ! ' but pallid still Prometheus stood
Chattering his teeth, while slowly Herakles
Led Cheiron to the rock of sacrifice,
Lifting the chains.
Even then the dark still air
Was pierced by such a shriek as froze the
blood,
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
119
Shook reason on her throne and palsied
will
A shriek of eldritch laughter ; and, behold !
There suddenly swarm'd in upon that stage
Pigmies innumerable, dragging in
A mighty Cross of blackest ebony !
As swift as thought they set it in the chasm,
Where for eternities of misery
The Titan wail'd, and still they laugh'd
aloud,
That the deep chasms of the mountain rung.
Then all the stars shrank up, and the pale
moon
Grew red and shrivell'd, but round Cheiron's
brow
Swam suddenly a luminous aureole !
And, lo, his face seem'd changed, and it
grew young,
And, as it changed, his nether limbs of beast
Swoon'd into limbs of white humanity,
And, lo, I knew him for that Man Divine
Whose wan face gazeth from the cloudy
Book
With wistful eyes ! Beneath the mighty
Cross,
Crouch'd like a lion couchant hoary hair'd,
Prometheus waited, while invisible hands
Raised up that other to his place of pain.
Then did the laughter cease, as Herakles
Transfix'd him thro' the shuddering hands
and feet,
When dropping chin upon his breast he
moan'd,
' My god, my god, hast thou forsaken me?"
Thrilled thro' the core of that great multitude
A moan of deep insufferable woe !
And I, with heavy hand upon my heart,
Turn'd unto Eros ; turning, saw him stand
Transfigured on his hands and on his feet
Stigmata red and bloody round his head
An aureole such as that other wore ;
And on the Crucified he fix'd his eyes,
And still the Crucified gazed down upon him,
And each was as the image of the other !
Two faces, far asunder, yet the same,
Two faces, one upon that mighty stage,
One in the midst of that vast multitude,
Shone silent, and the moon was white on
both!
It was a sight too sad for mortal soul
To look upon and live. I shriek'd and
swoon' d,
And dropt upon the earth as still as stone ;
While all that pageant and that multitude
Pass'd into night as if they had not been !
BOOK XI.
THE VALLEY OF DEAD GODS.
I WOKE : the night had fallen the scene
had changed
And living yet, I wander'd darkly on.
Alone within a Valley lone as death,
Alone tho' all around me shapes like men
Pass'd wailing, and their crying in mine ears
Was as the waves of ocean when they wash
On sunless arctic shores of rock and ice,
I wander'd, and at every step I took
The shadows of the night grew balefuller ;
Yet dimly I discern'd on every side
Black mountains rising up to blacker skies,
And hither and thither forked lights that
flash'd
O'er gulfs of dread new-riven ; and me-
thought
The path I trode was strewn on every side
With tombs of stone and marble sepulchres,
Out of whose darkness look'd the sheeted
dead,
Moaning ; and oft I paused in act to fall
Into some open grave, and looking down
Saw skulls and bleaching bones and snake-
like ghosts
That crawled among them. Then in soul's
despair
I call'd aloud on God, and all around
Thunder like hideous laughter answer'd me,
And from the throat of every open grave
Came shrieks and ululation.
Blacker yet
The Valley grew, until in soul's despair
I paused, and, looking upward, saw the
heights
Alive with pallid meteors, that like snakes
Crawl'd on the ground, or rose like wan-eyed
ghosts
In glimmering shrouds, or plunged into the
abyss
And vanish'd ; and the wailing all around
Grew thick as clangour of waves that smite
each other,
Clash back, and smite again ; and suddenly
I saw a blood-red star aloft in heaven
120
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Shoot from its sphere, and fall, and after that
Another and another, till ail the air
Was luminous and dreadful, sown with
drops
Of flame, like blood ! Then, as I upward
gazed,
There came a shape in pilgrim's weeds like
mine,
Who touch' d my arm and mumbled in mine
ear
With voice that seemed faint and far away :
' They fall ! they fall ! as thick as leaves they
fall,
Unpeopling all the starry thrones of heaven.
Rejoice ! rejoice ! ' And when I questioned
him
Of that strange Valley where I walk'd in
dread,
He answer'd, laughing feebly in his throat,
' The Valley of the shadows of dead gods !
Rejoice ! rejoice ! the gods are fallen, are
fallen ! '
Phantom he seem'd where all was phantom-
like,
Yet human. As he spoke, those open graves
Echo'd his cheerless laugh, and the white
stones
Chatter'd like teeth, and from the heights a
voice
Answer'd, ' Rejoice the gods are fallen, are
fallen!'
Then, pointing with his hand at that red rain
Which ever fell from heaven, ' Behold ! ' he
cried,
' Another and another and another ;
Eternity has closed its gates upon them.
Homeless they haunt the void, and fall, and
fall ! '
Then horror closed upon me like a hand
Clutching mine entrails, while I wander 'd on
In darkness visible ; and at my back
That greybeard follow'd, wailing, ' Fallen,
fallen ! '
And presently I saw a sheeted form,
Who sat upon a sepulchre, and struck
A harp of gold and sang : golden his hair,
Above a thin face wasted into bone,
And large regretful eyes , and lo ! his limbs
Within the open shroud were wasted not
But beautiful as marble, and his arms
As marble too ; and round about him danced
Wild ghosts of naked witches in a ring,
Who sang, ' Apollo ! hail, all hail Apollo !*
Then tore their hair and fell upon the ground
And shriek'd aloud ; and overhead the clouds
Were riven and sullen peals of thunder
shook
The empty thrones of heaven. Shuddering
I pass'd
And came unto a fiery space wherein
Two forms were struggling in a fierce em-
brace
One bright and beautiful, one black as night
And winged like an eagle ; and around
Monsters, like hideous idols wrought in
stone,
Yet living, hover'd, uttering shrieks and
cries.
And lo ! the first, who wore a golden crown
And robes of white and crimson like a king,
O'ercame and would have slain the night-
black foe
But that he spread his great wings monster-
wise
And shrieking fled ! Pallid with victory,
Yet ring'd around by frantic shapes of fear,
The bright god stood a moment's spaceand
held
A dagger like the sacrificial knife
Up skyward ; from the wold wild voices
wail'd
His name, the Buddha, while a lightning-
flash
Illumed him head to foot in blinding flame,
And underneath his feet the earth was riven,
And lo ! he bared his bosom white as snow,
Sheathing the knife therein, and with a
moan
Fell prone upon his face, while those
fierce forms
Crept nearer, hovering o'er him where he
lay
Like vultures hovering round a bleeding
lamb !
night of wonder ! Thro' that vale accurst
1 wander'd, struggling thro' strange seas of
souls
That thicken'd on my path like ocean-
waves ;
And all the place was troubled and alive
With dreadful simulacra of the gods
And ghosts of men , and wheresoe'er 1
trode
THE VALLEY OF DEAD GODS.
121
The earth was still torn open into
graves.
I saw, methought, on a dark mountain-
side
Legions of ghosts that surged and broke to
foam
Of waving banners and of hooked swords
Around a Sepulchre, wherein there sat
One with black eyeballs and a beard of
snow,
Who smote his hands together and cried
aloud,
' Allah il allah ! 'and the crowds around
Echoed the name of Allah, and above
The thunders answer'd Allah, while,
behold !
The heavens, blown open high above the
peaks,
Reveal'd in bloodiest mirage multitudes
Of phantom armies, struggling, multiply-
ing,
Coming for ever, ever vanishing,
With waving banners and with hooked
swords
Like those who heard the voice and named
the Name
On that dark mountain-side !
Then in my dream
I saw the spirits of departed gods
Sweep by like changing forms within the
fires
Of ^Etna, when the forked tongues of flame
Shoot skyward and the lava boils and foams
Down the bright shuddering slopes ; so thick
and fast
They came and went and changed ; and I
beheld
Astarte 1 , with her nude dishevell'd train
Of women-worshippers who smote their
breasts
And wept and wail'd; Moloch and Baal,
two shapes
Inform and monstrous, follow'd by a throng
Of kings in purple and of slaves in rags
And Ethiops clashing cymbals ; black-eyed
Thor,
Bearded and strong, stript naked to the
waist,
Girt round with eager cyclops while he
swung
His hammer near the furnace burning red
In a black mountain cavern, all his face
Gleaming, his form illumed from head to
foot
With subterranean fires ; Thammuz pale,
Walking through glades of moonlight like
a ghost ;
Lucifer, serpent-crested, clad in mail,
Shaking his sword at heaven, and with his
foot
Set on a writhing dragon : and all I saw
Vanished and came again, and vanishing
Gave place to more, chaos of gods and
ghosts
Confusedly appearing and departing ;
Every strange shape that Superstition
weaves,
That man or fiend hath fashioned : Gorgons
dire,
Chimasras, kobolds, witches, pixies, elves,
Undines, and vampires, intermix'd with
these,
Saints calendar'd and martyr'd ; naked
nuns
Embraced by satyrs stoled and shaven-
crown' d,
Goat-footed ; sable-stoled astrologers,
Waited upon by grinning apes and trolds
And wizards waving wands : so that my
soul
Was sicken'd and my fever- thicken' d blood
Paused in me and surcharged my fearful
heart
Until it ceased to beat : and as I fled
Weeping, all faded like a tempest-cloud,
And lonely in the night before my face
I saw the form of the eternal Sphinx
Dreadfully brooding with cold pitiless eyes
Fix'd upon mine, and round it momently
Sheet-lightning played, and 'tween its stony
claws
It held a woman's naked bleeding corpse
From which the shroud had fallen, and from
its throat
There came a murmur like the whole world's
moan,
Thunder of doom and uttermost despair !
Frozen to stone, I stood and gazed and
gazed,
Dead-eyed as that vast shape !
The vision pass'd
Like vapour from a mirror. Night again,
With one black wing of tempest, blotted out
That portent ; and before my face I saw
THE CITY OF DREAM.
A pale god with a dove upon his wrist,
Sitting upon a tomb and singing low
Some strange sweet song of summer ; then,
with tears,
He named the name of his fair brother
Christ,
And search'd the gloom with bright blue
heavenly eyes,
And listen' d for a coming ; and methought
I heard a sound of wailing, and, behold !
Along the valley came three woman-forms
Supporting One who seemed sick and spent,
A crown of thorns upon his bleeding brow,
Blood-drops upon his pierced feet and
hands,
And in his dexter hand a lanthorn-light
That flicker'd in the wind ; and as they
came,
These women wail'd aloud, ' He hath
arisen ! '
And joyfully his blue-eyed brother rose
To greet him coming, but shrank back be-
holding
The thin grey hair, the worn and weary
cheeks,
The pale lacklustre orbs of him who came
Unwitting whither, wearied out and spent
With centuries of sorrow and despair.
But Balder cried, uplooking in his face,
1 O brother, hast thou risen ? ' and that
other,
Moving his head feebly from side to side,
And groping with his hands, moan'd,
1 Risen ! risen ! '
Like one who dying murmurs to himself
Some echo from the weepers who surround
His piteous bed of doom ; and as he spake,
His eyes grew dimmer, and his bearded
chin
Fell forward on his breast, and like a corpse
He swung upheld by those wan women who
wail'd
1 Rejoice ! for Christ hath risen ! '
Then methought,
While Heaven and Hell moan'd answer to
each other,
And throngs of gods like wolves around a
fire
Gather'd, and earth as far as eye could see,
Was one wild sea of open graves, that broke
To foam of dead shapes shining in their
shrouds,
I heard a voice out of the darkness calling
And weary voices answering as it sang :
Black is the night, btU blacker my despair ;
The world is dark I walk I know not where ;
Yet phantoms beckon still, and I pursue
Phantoms, still phantoms ! there they loom and
there !
Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ?
One strikes before the blow I bend full weak ;
One beckoning smiles, but fades in act to speak ;
One with a clammy touch doth chill me thro'
See ! they join hands in circle, while I shriek,
Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ?
Dark and gigantic, one, with crimson hands
Upstretch'd in protestation, frowning stands,
While tears like blood his night-black cheeks
bedew
He tears his hair, he sinks in shifting sands
Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ?
The sad, the glad, the hideous, and the bright,
The kings of darkness, and the lords of light,
The shapes I loved, the forms whose wrath I
flew,
Now wail together in eternal night
Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too ?
Fall'n from their spheres, subdued and over-
thrown,
Yet living yet, they make their ceaseless moan,
Where never grass waves green or skies are
blue-
Theirs is the realm of shades, the sunless zone,
Where thou, O Master, weeping wanderest
too !
O Master, is it thou thy servant sees,
Cast down and conquer'd, smitten to thy knees ?
Ah, woe ! for thou wast fair when life was
new
Adonai ! Lord ! and art thou even as these ?
A shape forlorn and lost, a Phantom too ?
Black is the night, but blacker my despair ;
The world is dark I walk I know not where ;
Yet phantoms beckon still, and I pursue !
Phantoms, still phantoms ! there they loom -and
there !
Adonai ! Lord ! art thou a Phantom, too?
And while the voices wail'd, I watch'd his
face
Who swung in anguish to and fro, upheld
By those wan women ; and the face was
blank
And bloodless, his eyes sightless, and his jaw
THE VALLEY OF DEAD GODS.
123
Hung heavy as lead ; and still the women
cried
' Rejoice ! for He hath risen ! ' but when at
last
The music of those voices died away,
He slipt from their thin hands and with a
spasm
Shot forward on his face and lay as dead,
Still as a stone, while all the mighty vale
Was shaken as by earthquake, and afar
The solid night-black heavens were riven
as rocks,
And thunder answer'd thunder !
Then the waves
Of darkness breaking on me like a sea
Seem'd to o'erwhelm me, and I sank and
sank
Down, down to unknown depths of black
despair
Till sense and feeling fail'd me and me-
thought
The end of all was come ; but when again
Life flow'd within me, I was wandering still
In that sad valley ; and all forms and shapes
Had vanish'd, and the place was sleeping
calm
Under a piteous moonlight. Overhead
The ebon peaks touch'd the cold heavens,
alive
With stars like feeble specks of silver sand,
And all the heavens and the sad space
beneath
Were silent as a sepulchre !
Forlorn
And broken-hearted, then I wander'd on,
With tombs and open graves on either side,
Weeping nor wailing, but subdued to calm
Of weariest despair ; and no thing stirr'd
Around me, but full tide of silence fill'd
The shoreless earth and heaven ; when
suddenly
I saw before me, lying on the path,
One like myself in dreary pilgrim's weeds,
Fall'n prone upon his face ; and stooping
down,
I turn'd his wan face upward to the light,
And knew him, Faith, my townsman, cold
and dead !
His blind eyes glazed with the frosty film,
Cold icicles in his white hair and beard,
His right ..and gripping still the empty leash
Which once had held his beauteous snow-
white hound,
Now fled for ever to some sunless cave
To wail in desolation. Then my force
Fell from me, and my miserable eyes
Shed tears like blood, and, broken utterly,
I took the poor grey head between my knees,
Making a pillow, and with gentle hand
Smoothing the piteous hair, murmur'd
aloud
A sad song sung by women in our town
While weaving long white raiment for the
dead,
When the corpse-candles burn and all the
night
Time throbs the minutes like a beating heart
To those who weep and wait.
And thus I sang :
Dead man, clammy cold and white,
With thy twain hands clench'd so tight,
With thy red heart and thy brain
Silent in surcease of pain,
Wherefore still in strange surprise
Fix thine eyes ?
Glass'd to mirror some strange ray
Gleaming ghostwise in the day,
Staring silent, in amaze,
Dead man, glimmereth thy gaze,
Glazing through thy cold grey hair
With sick stare.
Not on men, and not on me,
Not on aught the living see,
Gazest thou but still, alas !
Thou perceivest something pass
I perceive not, tho' its thrill
Cometh chill.
Dead man, dead man, take repose !
Since thy twain eyes will not close,
I will shut them softly over
With the waxen lids for cover ;
Look no more upon the sun-
All is done !
And singing thus I knew (within my dream)
That all the gods were dead, and Death
was King,
For all the woeful Valley once again
Grew populous with silent ghostly shapes
Tumultuously moving, like a sea ;
And gazing thro 1 my tears I saw, within
The heart of that black valley, a Form that
rose
igantic, crag-like, frosted o'er and o'er
With, the cold crystals of eternity,
naked as a skeleton ; and, lo !
124
THE CITY OF DREAM.
I knew the shape and lineaments of Death,
Lord of the gods and chaos, first and last
Of portents and of phantoms : huge he rose,
Swarm'd on by that tumultuous tide of
ghosts
Which broke around his feet ; and round
him stretch'd
The realm of tears and silence, and above
him
Heaven open'd, an abyss of nothingness
Far as Despair could see or hope could
wing !
BOOK XII.
THE INCONCEIVABLE.
SADDER than night, and sunless as the
grave,
Was that strange darkness clouding soul
and sense ;
But when I saw the living light again,
And felt the blood within me crawling cold
As drops of quicksilver from vein to vein,
I stood alone upon a wan wayside
Watching the crimson eyeballs of the Dawn.
Darnels and nettles gather'd bosom-deep
Around a rain-worn Cross whereon there
clung
No shape of flesh or stone, but from beneath
Came a white glimmer as of bleaching
bones ;
And on the Cross a lonely raven sat
Preening his ragged plumage silently ;
And all around were bare and leafless woods
Through which the sunshafts straggled
crimson red ;
And crouching in the shadow of the Cross
Three spectral Women wrapt in ragged
weeds
Sat moaning ; and of these the first was old,
With hair as white as wool blown loose and
wild
Around her ; and the second woman bare
A lighter load of years, with jet-black hair
Just touch' d with hoarfrost ; but the third
was young,
With eyes of pallid speedwell-blue, and hair
Pure golden raining round her ripe round
arms
And naked breasta And unto these I
spake,
Remembering that beauteous god, my
guide,
And question'd them of Eros, if their eyes
Had seen him pass that way along the
woods
Quitting the woeful Valley of dead gods ?
And one said : ' He who suckled at my
breast
Is dead and cold, and walks the world no
more ; '
The second said : ' The vineyard is de-
stroyed ;
The Master of the vineyard sleeps for ever ; '
And the third said : ' He whom I loved,
whose feet
I wash'd and then anointed, at whose tomb
I have knock'd aloud for countless weary
years,
Is dead, and hath not risen ; ' and all the
three
Lifted their voices wailing piteously.
Ev'n as I look'd and listen'd v/oe-begone
I heard a voice behind me murmuring
1 Good morrow ; ' and quickly turning I
beheld
A gentle wight, who wore around his form
A pleasant woodland robe of grassy green,
Brown shoon upon his feet, and in his hand
Carried a staff enwound with ferns and
flowers ;
And when I question'd ' Who are these who
weep ? '
Upon those women wailing 'neath the
cross
He gazed in pity, not in pain like mine,
And answer'd,
' Outcasts from the world. Poor leaves !
Fall'n with the rain that beats upon a
grave.'
THE PILGRIM.
Methinks I know them. Yesternight I saw
These shadows, 'mong the shadows of dead
gods.
THE MAN.
Comest thou from thence ? Well may thy
cheek be pale,
Thy look wayworn and desolate, thy soul
Haunted and woeful. Hast thou wander'd
far?
THE INCONCEIVABLE.
125
THE PILGRIM.
Yea, thither and hither, from Christopolis.
THE MAN.
And whither goest thou ? From the dark-
ness yonder,
Surely to some new sunshine? Comfort,
friend !
The wailing of these wanderers cannot
drown
And lo, without their open sepulchres,
In every land beneath the sun and stars,
Women like these prolong and echo back
The piteous ululation. Woe is me !
Where shall I find a place on all the earth
That is not haunted and disconsolate ?
THE MAN.
Walk these green woods with me, and thou
shalt hear
the mountains and the The merry music of the waking world !
The music of
streams,
And scarce a stone's-throw from this
piteous place
The sunshine falls on crystal rivulets
And warms the snowy fleece of leaping
lambs !
Clear was his voice, yet dreamy-toned and
deep
As is the wood-dove's cooing when it broods
On its warm heartbeats ; and his face,
though grave,
Was brown as ripen'd fruit and wore no
shade
Of fear or sorrow ; and even as he spake
The morning brighten'd, and from far away
The silver clarion of the Spring was blown
To wake the drowsy world. ' Alas ! ' I
cried,
1 How shall the sunshine and the dawn
avail,
Since the sweet gods that made creation
glad
Are flown, and Eros, sweetest and most
blest,
Bends weeping o'er his Brethren slain and
cold
In yonder Valley of Divine Despair ? '
THE MAN.
Take comfort. Though the many pass away,
The One abides ; God bends o'er these dead
gods,
And smiles them into everlasting sleep.
THE PILGRIM.
Sleep? But they sleep not ! Weary ghosts,
they haunt
That Valley, and the ears of weary men
Can hear them wailing from the gates of
Death :
THE PILGRIM.
What is thy name, and wherefore dwelling
here,
So close to that dread Valley, canst thou
keep
A mien so peaceful and a voice so calm ?
Sylvan they name me, after some brave god
Who found my mother sleeping in the
shade,
Naked and warm and drowsy from her bath
In a great slumberous pool, and in his arms
Clasp'd her before she woke and quicken'd
in her
A newer life, mine own ; and when I lived
And drank the light, she told me with a smile
That she had never seen my father's face,
Yet knew by many a sign of leaf and flower
Some godhead had embraced her as she
slept !
THE PILGRIM.
Didst thou not say but now, the gods were
dead?
SYLVAN.
The gods of sorrow, but the gods of joy
Ever abide where'er the woods are green
And sunlight merry. Every flower and tree
Shares light and life with them, and is
divine.
THE PILGRIM.
A phantasy ! With such a phantasy
They sought to cheat me in the groves of
Faun.
SYLVAN.
The many pass away, but Pan abides,
And him we worship in these peaceful
woods.
126
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Now, as he spake, those forms beneath the
Cross
\ Grew fainter, and their dreary voices ceased.
Creeping from underneath with scented
arms
A honeysuckle and a rose-tree twined
Their tendrils round the Cross, and over-
spread it
With tender bells and blooms ; and as I
gazed
Meseem'd they lived and laugh'd to feel the
life
Sparkling within them, while their scented
breath
Perfumed the air I drew ; while all around,
As at the touch of a magician's wand,
The woodland kindled into emerald flame,
The grass along the sward ran bright and
green,
O'erhead the morning skies broke bright and
blue,
And the great sun became the golden heart
Of the violet of heaven. And Sylvan said :
1 Yea, verily the many gods are dead,
Yet that which was their life and quicken'd
them
Breaks into summer blossom o'er their
graves.'
Whereon I answer'd, walking sadly on
Beside him down the gladdening greenwood
glade,
' Christopolis remains, and in its core
Death sits, a crimson King ; and hither-
ward,
And yonder far as the wide gates of dawn,
His sceptre rules both gods and thinking
things
As well as tree and flower ; and high as
heaven,
He sets as sign of his sad sovereignty
The empty Cross ! ' But Sylvan, smiling,
said :
1 Death te the servant of the One we
serve,
Whose breathing fills the world with light
and 'i.tfe.'
THE PILGRIM.
Name me his name, that I may understand.
SYLVAN.
Nameless and formless is that Life Divine.
THE PILGRIM.
Hast thou not known him with thine eyes
and ears?
SYLVAN.
He dwells for evermore but dimly guessed.
THE PILGRIM.
A riddle, like the riddle of the Cross !
SYLVAN.
A certitude, like thine own beating heart !
The Ever-changing yet Unchangeable
Haunts His creation as the breath within
Thy body, and as the blood within thy
veins :
Moves in the mountains, fills the surging
seas,
Melts in the storm-cloud and becomes the
dew
That dims the lover's eyes.
THE PILGRIM.
Meseems I read
Thine easy riddle. He thou worshipest
Is shapeless as the blue ethereal air ;
Not God who builds a City for his own,
But that blind force whereby all cities fall ?
SYLVAN.
What he destroys he evermore renews,
As he renews the flowers and forest-trees.
THE PILGRIM.
Can he renew this desolate heart of dust
Failing away within me as the seed
That rots and falls away within the shell ?
Can he roll back the sun and summon back
The boy who gladden'd in the morning
time?
Can he bring back the gods whom he has
slain,
Sweetest and best the god of flesh and blood
For whom those three wan women weep
and wail ?
SYLVAN.
He can do more. With every dawn of day
He recreates
THE PILGRIM.
The mirage of a world !
O peace, for he thou fondly worshipest
Is not the God I seek, but him I fly.
THE INCONCEIVABLE.
127
We wander'd on, and all around us grew
Full sweetness of the summer. Green and
glad
The prospects brighten'd round us, and I
saw
Beyond the emerald reaches of the glade
A leafy valley, meadows, groves, and
streams,
With fountains sparkling and upleaping
lambs ;
And here and there a lonely human form
Flitted across the sunlight and was gone ;
Yet for the rest the place was solitary
And full of strange and solitary sounds
The wood-dove's brooding call, the whisper-
ing rill
Half drown'd in rustling leaves, the
lambkin's cry
Distant and drowsy, and from time to time
A far-off human call. Upon my heart
Fell a warm heaviness and dreamy sense
Of happiness fantastic and unreal
When, looking back, I saw along the glade
Those three wan Women slowly following
In silence, and the pathway as they came
Was sunless, dark and chill. ' Alas ! ' I
said,
'This valley where you dwell is haunted,
too,
By the dim ghosts of goddesses and gods ; '
And as I spake we left the woods behind
And came 'mong grassy slopes that
wander'd on
To pastoral mountains green and beautiful
Crown'd by the golden noontide. Here I
paused
And pointing upward cried, 'What land
lies yonder ?'
And Sylvan said, ' A beauteous mountain
land
Of Shepherds ; but at every height you climb
The air grows chillier, till beneath your
feet
Crumble the stainless crystals of the snow.
Be warn'd and fare no further. Rest con-
tent
Here in the lap of summer, laden ever
With roses of the dawn. '
And as he spake
The sunlight brighten'd, and the leaping
lambs
Cried faintly, and the cuckoo called her
name,
Deep hidden in the sunlight's golden
cage ;
And round my feet the warm grass crept
like moss,
Warm, green, and living, and the golden
glades
Kindled and blossom'd, yet afar away
Behind me still I saw those three wan
Shapes
Outlooking from the greenness of the
woods.
' Stay I ' cried he, as I faced the steep
ascent
And hasten'd heavenward ; but, mine eager
heart
Fill'd with the summer as a cup with wine,
Renew'd and strong, I left him standing
there
'Mong those bright pastures ; and as sings
a lark
For bliss of the glad beating of the wings
That waft it upward, so methought my
soul
Ran over gladly, and 'twas thus I sang :
Hark, I am call'd away !
Fain would my spirit stay,
Here, where the cuckoos call,
Here, where the fountains play
From dawn to evenfall,
Here, where the white flocks stray,
With the blue sky spanning all'
Here, where the world is May
Fain would I rest, grow grey,
But nay, ah nay !
Birds on the greenwood spray
Flit through the green and the grey,
Flocks on the green slopes cry,
Softly the streams glance by,
All things are merry and gay
Under the morning sky :
Sweet smiles the world to-day,
Yet must I wander away ?
Ah yea, ah yea !
A motion all things obey,
A breath in the cloud and the clay,
A stir in the fountain that springs,
A sound in the bird that sings,
From dawn to death of day
Quick in the heart of things !
All changes, and naught can stay ;
Blown like a breath o' the spray,
I must away !
128
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Ah, would that I could stay !
Yet, as those clouds obey
Winds that behind them blow
(See them, how soft, how slow,
Thro' the still heavens they stray ! ),
Onward I too must go !
No space to pause, to pray,
But heavenward, even as they,
I must away !
And now methought I came into that land
Of pastoral mountains, with green summer
cones,
Forests of pine and fir upon their flanks,
And waterfalls that flashing silver feet
Leapt with wild laughter into dark ravines ;
A land of sheep and shepherds ; o'er the
slopes
The snow-white flocks were spilt like broken
streams,
While faintly overhead against the blue
Sounded a shepherd's horn. In sooth it
seem'd
A green, a peaceful, and a pleasant land !
Climbing the shoulder of a sunlit hill,
Oft gazing back on him I had left behind
Dwindled by distance to a pigmy's size,
I reach'd a solitary cottage door,
And there a mountain maid with gentle eyes
Gave me sweet welcome, placed me in the
porch,
And brought me mountain cheer brown
bread and milk.
Around my seat flock'd children flaxen-
hair' d,
Brown men, barefooted maids, and wise-
eyed dogs ;
And when I question'd of that peaceful land,
And of the City throned in solitude
Somewhere amid the silence of the hills,
They look'd at one another wondering
And could not understand. But one, a
wight,
Grey-hair'd yet lithe, in goatskin mantle
clad,
Said : ' Master, I have wander'd, man and
boy,
These hills for seventy years, and seen no
City,
Save only cities in the sunset clouds
Or in the mirage of the rainbow' d heights :
Be warned by me, turn back, or rest thee
here;
The crags are perilous without a guide.'
I answer'd : ' God my Guide and Shepherd is ;
I need no other ; ' and I took my staff,
And bidding them farewell, I hastened on :
And as I climb' d the hill look'd back once
more
And saw them cluster'd children, men, and
maids
Watching me as I wander'd up the heights.
Then, faring onward towards the mountain-
tops,
I saw a herdboy like an antique Faun
Sitting upon a knoll, and piping sweet,
While round about him leapt his yeanling
lambs
And gentle mountain echoes answer'd him.
Bare was his neck and brown, his cheek
more red
Than are the berries of the mountain ash,
His hair like golden flax, his voice as clear
As cuckoos crying round the lake-lilies
That open'don the mountain mere close by.
Him for a little space I gazed upon,
Then greeted with a smile, and question'd
him,
Singing my question from a merry heart,
Till, smiling too and singing, he replied :
THE PILGRIM.
Little Herdboy, sitting there,
With the sunshine on thy hair,
And thy flocks so white and still
Spilt around thee on the hill,
Tell me true, in thy sweet speech,
Of the City I would reach.
'Tis a City of God's Light
Most imperishably bright,
And its gates are golden all,
And at dawn and evenfall
They grow ruby-bright and blest
To the east and to the west.
Here, among the hills it lies,
Like a lamb with lustrous eyes
Lying at the Shepherd's feet ;
And the breath of it is sweet,
As it rises from the sward
To the nostrils of the Lord !
Little Herdboy, tell me right,
Hast thou seen it from thy height?
For it lieth up this way,
And at dawn or death of day
Thou hast surely seen it shine
With the light that is divine?
THE INCONCEIVABLE.
129
THE LITTLE HERDBOY.
Where the buttercups so sweet
Dust with gold my naked feet,
Where the grass grows green and long,
Sit I here and sing my song,
And the brown bird cries ' Cuckoo '
Under skies for ever blue !
Now and then, while I sing loud,
Flits a little fleecy cloud,
And uplooking I behold
How it turns to rain of gold,
Falling lightly, while around
Comes the stir of its soft sound !
Bright above and dim below
Is the many-colour'd Bow ;
"Tis the only light I mark,
Till the mountain-tops grow dark,
And uplooking I espy
Shining glowworms in the sky ;
Then I hear the runlet's call,
And the voice o' the waterfall
Growing louder, and 'tis cold
As I guide my flocks to fold ;
But no City, great or small,
Have I ever seen at all !
So, sighing deep, I pass'd upon my way,
Not strengthen'd, but more spiritually calm
Because the little herdboy's voice was sweet ;
And now my pathway by a streamlet ran,
And in the midst upon a mossy stone
Sat the white-breasted ouzel of the brook,
Plunging with soft chirp ever and anon
Into the crystal pool beneath her feet,
And rising dripping dewily to her throne
In the mid stream ; and at the streamlet's
brink
A lamb stood drinking, and I saw beneath
The stainless shadow broken tremulously
'Mid troubled shallows into flakes of snow.
Then, journeying ever upward, I beheld
The crags and rocks and air-hung precipices
Redden in sunset, and above the peaks,
Upon a bed of crimson duskly gleam'd
The argent sickle of the beamless moon ;
And lo, the winds had fallen and curl'd
themselves
Like tired-out hounds in hollows of the hills,
Restlessly sleeping but from time to time
Audibly breathing ; and deep stillness lay
Upon the mountains, and the darkening
slopes
IK
Beneath their snows, and the low far-off
moan
Of torrents deepening that stillness came
From the untrodden heights.
Hung like a shield
Midway between the valley and the peaks
There lay a lone and melancholy mere ;
And in its glass the hills beheld themselves
Misting the image with their vaporous
breath.
Hither, while yet the sunset lit the crags
Mirror'd below tho' it had faded long
From the dark hollows and the mere itself,
I came, and sitting on its margin watch'd
The faint light fade below me, softly chang-
ing
From pink to crimson, and from crimson
dark
To darker purple, while one quiet star
Crawl' d like a shining insect of the depths
Upon the azure bottom of the mere.
Ev'n as I sat and mused I heard a voice
Behind me. Quickly turning I perceived
A gray grave mortal like a mountaineer
With crook and leathern shoon, his stature
tall,
His shoulders stooping, and his eyes cast
down
As if to read a book upon the ground ;
Who gently greeted me, and courteously,
Like one mild-vestured in authority,
Welcomed me to that solitary place.
' What man art thou ? ' I ask'd. ' A friend, '
he said,
' To all who cross this way on pilgrimage.
My name is Peaceful, call'd by simple folk
The Hermit of the Mere. '
' A lonely place,'
I answer'd ; ' lonely yet most beautiful !
Its calm and loveliness are on thy brow,
Its music in thy voice which sounds to me
Soft as a fountain falling. Hast thou found
Here, up among the hills, the Gate wherein
The pearl which passeth understanding lies,
And which for evermore with restless feet
We world- worn pilgrims seek ? '
Upon my face
Fixing the untroubled splendour of his eyes.
' Be comforted, ' he said, ' for thou hast reach'd
Those heights where the Seraphic Shepherd
guides
The world's sad flocks to their eternal fold,
K
1 3 o
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Thou seekest God. His stainless Temple
stands
Among these mountains ! '
THE PILGRIM.
Dwelling here alone,
Hast thou beheld Him with thy living eyes?
PEACEFUL.
I have beheld the flowers o' the earth and
sky,
The stately clouds that march and counter-
march,
The shining spheres ; these evermore fulfil
His ministrations ; radiant is the light
That covers up His face as with a veil ;
Soft is the shadow He in stooping casts
Nightly to bless the still and sleeping world !
THE PILGRIM.
The God I seek is not so solitary ;
He hath built a City for His worshippers !
PEACEFUL.
Nay, friend ; for he who seeks the living
God
Must seek Him in the gentle solitude.
Here doth His presence brood in peace for
ever
Still as the silence on the mountain-tops ;
And he who findeth it, as I have found,
Must leave the flocks of men, and dwell
alone.
Ev'n as he spake, and hush'd in awe I
shrank
As one that shrinks and dreads the sudden
birth
Of some miraculous divine event,
There pass'd across the scene we gazed upon
A mist like sudden breath : cloud follow'd
cloud,
And underneath the mountains and the
mere
Blacken'd, till utter darkness of the night
Enwrapt us fold on fold ; when, suddenly,
Out of the vapour rolling down the peaks
Red lightning came, before whose glaring
spear
The Thunder, like a wounded monster,
crouch' d
And shook with echoing groans 1
And with that change
My spirit changed within me, from deep
dread
Back to familiar trouble and unrest ;
But as I stood and wonder' d hesitating,
Methought that grave and gentle mountain-
eer
Did lead me to the shelter of his hut
Built by the lonely mere ; and there we sat
Together, while the tempest crash' d with-
out
And rain made leaden music on the roof ;
A flickering lamp of oil our only light,
Which served to show the peace upon his
face,
The unrest on mine; when, marvelling
much to mark
His mien of gentleness and happiness,
I brake the silence, thus :
1 Aye me ! methinks
There is no resting-place or succour here
Among these mountains ! Needless 'twere
to climb
So high to find the calm and storm of
God.
But 'tis the promised City that I seek
A City of clear sunlight and sweet air,
Not darkness, and a mystery, and a change,
Fretting the spirit with primaeval fear. '
' O friend,' he answer'd, ' I who speak have
found
Peace passing understanding in my home
In this great solitude. What seek'st thou
more?
Is't not enough to feel for evermore
The presence of the fair Artificer
Who made the holy heavens and the earth
And all within them? Can His living
breath
Not still thee, but thou criest for a sign ? '
Thereon I rose, and striding to the door,
Look'd forth into the night ; and, lo, the
storm
Had pass'd away, leaving that mountain air
The calmer for its coming - the blue void
Was sown with stars like snowdrops ; on
the mere,
Filmy with mist and moonlight, luminously
Like living things their bright reflections
stirr'd ;
And all the pathos and the peace of heaven
THE INCONCEIVABLE.
Was pour'd upon the world in pensive
beams.
Then rising too the hermit join'd me there,
And, looking upward with me, gently said :
' Still is the night and peaceful once again,
Have patience so shalt thou, too, lie and
bask
Under the beams of God. Come in and
rest ;
To-morrow, if thou wilt, fare forth again,
But be my guest this night ! '
He led me in,
And on the hearth he strew'd a simple bed
Of rushes dry and sweetly-scented fern,
Whereon I sighing threw my wearied limbs,
And for a time I toss'd in dark unrest,
But slept at last ; and when I open'd eyes
The merry light was flooding all the place,
And mountain, mere, and torrent were
rejoicing
In the new dawn of day.
Then in the hut
We twain broke bread together and join'd
hands
In fellowship of love ; but when he sought
To urge me to remain in that still land,
A hermit like himself, I seized my staff
And pointed to the mountain-tops that
flash'd
Their kindled peaks above us.
' Yonder lies
The path that I must follow, though it
lead
To utter darkness and to death,' I cried.
' Nor deem my soul ungrateful for this
help
Wherewith, most gentle and benign of
friends,
Thou hast sought to cheer my spectre-
troubled way.
But what thou dreamest I can never dream
By these still waters ; what thou dost behold
I, haunted out of patience, out of peace,
By that wild mirage of a heavenly City,
I, faint from a dark Valley of dead gods,
Behold not ; what thou findest mirror'd
brightly
Within thee as within that gentle mere,
Alas, I cannot find, being darken'd ever
And clouded with a fear : wherefore our
ways
Part gently, and my lips must say farewell, '
' So be it,' he answer'd. ' As the bow was
bent
The dart must speed : pray Heaven thy
soul at last
May hit its lonely mark ! But since thy
path
Is upward, I will guide thee for a space
Through yonder desolate and dark ravines.
High up among them, under shadowy crags,
One who once wander'd in the sun with me,
Nightshade by name, a lonely mountaineer,
Hath of a rocky cavern made his home.
He knows the loneliest summits and the
heights
Familiar with the morning, and perchance
May help thy footsteps onward, where the
peaks
Grow steep and perilous ! '
So side by side
We wander'd on together till we pass'd
From sunlight to the shadow of the hills ;
And as we went he spake in stately speech
Of pleasures that made glad his hermitage
Of moonrise and the wonders of the mere,
Of flowers and stars, white lambs, and
lamb-like men ;
So that I linger'd listening to his words,
And oftentimes glanced back with doubting
eyes
On the bright waters and his happy home.
But now the clarion of the winds was bio .vn
From height to height, and far above our
heads
A sunbeam, springing godlike on a crag
Stood tremulous, pausing between earth
and heaven ;
And my feet hasten'd, and I felt once more
The motion of the life within my veins
Drifting with wind and light and mist and
cloud.
Dark was the way, my path a torrent's bed
Dried up to spots of dusty quicksilver
And strewn with fallen rocks : but eagerly
I hasten'd, till at last my gentle guide
Paused, pointing, and I saw beneath a rock
One Nightshade sitting with lacklustre eyes
Gazing upon the ground and counting
thoughts
Like one who telleth beads.
And for a space
He saw us not, though standing near his
<?at
K2
132
THE CITY OF DREAM.
We watched him ; but at last, like one that
wakes
Out of a heavy sleep, he turn'd his head,
Saw us, and welcomed with a dreamful
smile.
Him Peaceful greeted, and deliver'd forth
My name and errand, when that other
rose,
Grasping my outstretch'd hand in both of
his,
And peer'd into my face like one that reads
A dark and mystic book.
' Pilgrim of God,'
He murmur'd, 'welcome to these lonely
crags
Wherein, with mystic sounds of death and
birth,
The chaos of the Elemental stirs
To Thought ineffable ! '
Even as he spake
He seem'd to fall again into a trance,
Whereon the other gently smiling said,
' Go with him ! even as the swift izzard,
Which safely walks the sword-edge of the
cliffs,
Or as some angel-led somnambulist
Who falters not where waking men would
fall,
He knows the paths of peril.'
Then once more
We two wrung hands and blessing one
another
Parted. And lightly downward Peaceful
ran
Until he left the shade of the ravine
And stood in golden sunlight far away
Uplooking, waved his hand, and from my
sight
Vanish 1 d for ever.
Then to the other turning,
I told him of my quest and soul's desire
For certainty and peace ; ' But surely now, '
I added, ' surely now the end is near,
And I shall share the heavenly sight which
fills
Thy face with rapture of mysterious dream ! '
He answer'd not, but, muttering to himself,
Walk'd upward, choosing a dark path
which seem'd
To wander right into the stony heart
Of those wild mountains : soon the riven
rocks
Rose o'er us, leaving only one blue space,
A hand's breadth wide, to show the open
heaven !
And as one lying in an empty well
May, though full daylight burns beyond it,
see
Stars circling in their orbits, I beheld
On that blue patch of space above my head
The gleam of constellations. Darker yet
The pathway grew, and now on every side
Gulfs yawn'd, abysses blacken'd, caverns
deep
Open'd into the hollow of the crags,
And down the abysses cataracts leapt with
hair
Foam-white that flash'd behind them, and
there came
A sound and motion as of wings of birds
Beating the darkness ; so that unaware
My head swam, and methought I should
have fallen
Into the precipices under us,
Bnt even as I totter' d Nightshade's hand
Grasp' d and upheld me.
' Courage ! ' he exclaim'd,
' And fear not ; what thou dreadest is the
abyss
Of thought within thee ! Follow fearlessly,
And look not downward ! '
Crag was piled on crag
Above us, precipice on precipice
Swam dizzily beneath us ; but as one
Who clings to a magician's robe, I gript
My Guide, and walk'd in safety till we
gain'd
A place of caverns where like living ghosts
Wild shadows came and went ; and in the
void
Above those caverns lay an open space
Night-black and scrawl'd with starry zodiac
signs ;
And faint lights of the far-off universe
Came, went, and came again, and in the
void
The tremulous pulses of the eternal Light
Were visibly throbbing !
Shuddering and afraid,
1 cried, ' What realm is this ? and who are
these
That are as living things and come and
go ?'
And Nightshade answer'd : ' 'Tis the peace-
ful realm
THE INCONCEIVABLE.
133
Where with her crying children darkly
dwells
The midnight mother, Meditation :
And what thou now dost see, or seem to
see,
Is the dim conflict of unconscious shapes
In act to be ! ' And as he spake he pass'd
Into the shadow of a cave wherein
There sat a creature shapen like a man
But wan as any moonbeam ; and me-
thought
Its face was misted with a vaporous veil
Through which its eyes shone dimly, while
its lips
Moved to wild music, and 'twas thus it
sang :
I am lifted on the wind
Of a thought as fleet as fire,
No foothold can I find,
But the wings of my desire
Beat the troubled air and gleam
With the dripping dews of dream !
I can hear the deep low thunder
Of the strong wheels of the sun,
I can see the green earth under,
As a golden ball is spun,
Rolling softly round and round
To a sweet and showery sound.
Life and Death unto my seeing
Are as vapours roll'd afar,
Through their folds the sea of Being,
With God's secret like a star
Shining o'er it, dark doth beat
'Neath the winds below my feet.
I am tranced into fear
Of mine own swift-striking wings,
For I hover darkly here,
And the mystic cloud of things
Swims around me, and my brain
Trembles drenched with their rain.
And I cannot pause to think,
But my wings must beat and beat ;
If 1 pause for breath I sink
To the Ocean at my feet
With the wings of my desire,
On a wind as swift as fire,
I must struggle ; and my thought
Gathers naught from my soul's sight
Only shadows star-enwrought,
Death and Birth and Dawn and Night,
And the soft ecstatic motion
Of the Star above the Ocean.
Could I pause a little space,
Could I pause a space and listening,
With that starlight on my face,
See it glistening and glistening,
I could comprehend full plain
All the spirit seeks in vain.
But the wind whereon I sail
Is as terrible as fire,
And I walk the winds, but fail
With the wings of my desire,
And I swoon and seem to sink
On the mighty Ocean's brink.
And the cold breath of that Ocean
Lingers wildly in my hair,
And that strange Star's rhythmic motion
Soothes my passionate despair,
And on that one Star I call,
As I fall and fall and fall !
The wild strain ceasing, from the caves and
crags
There came the cries of other piteous voices
Blent in one murmur like the clangour
cold
Of numerous ocean waves ; and as I paused
In terror, watching those phantasmic
shapes,
One like a naked man pass'd by me shriek-
ing
And plunged to some black gulf that yawn'd
beneath ;
And standing on the verge of the abyss
Another, like the spirit of the torrent,
Paused gazing upward with great sightless
eyes,
And pointed at the lights of heaven, and
moan'd :
The Woof that I weave not
Thou wearest and weavest,
The Thought I conceive not
Thou darkly conceivest ;
The wind and the rain,
The night and the morrow,
The rapture of pain
Fading slowly to sorrow,
The dream and the deed,
The calm and the storm,
The flower and the seed,
Are thy Thought and thy Form.
I die, yet depart not,
I am bound, yet soar free,
Thou art and thou art not,
And ever shall be !
134
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Ev'n as he spake there flash' d across the
peaks
A Spectre such as tirnid cragsmen see
Flashing upon the Brocken overhead :
So near, it lit the chasms and the peaks,
So far, it seem'd a comet far away !
Clear yet transparent, pale though phos-
phorescent,
It stream'd across the darkness terribly,
Fading and changing ; now a formless thing,
Trembling and meteoric, then, a space,
Bright as a winged beast of burning gold ;
Then kindling into human lineaments,
Wild locks, outstretching hands ; and then
again
Melting to fiery vapour and departing
Swift as a shooting star ; and as it changed
Those spirits from their caves peer'd out
and wail'd,
And splendour as of sunrise lit the crags
And show'd the continents and seas beneath,
The silver'd map of the dark sleeping
world ;
And thunders from the heavens and earth
beneath
Clash'd loud together, and the face of night
Was hidden, and from out the depths of life
There came the moans of countless weary
' Behold,' cried Nightshade, lit from head
to feet
By that strange miracle of light, ' Behold
The Spectre of the Inconceivable !
The Light that flaming on the shuddering
sense
Within us fades, but flash'd from soul to
soul
Illumes that infinite ocean of sad thought
We sail and sail for ever and find no shore !
The Dream, the Dream ! The Light that
is the Life
Within us and without us, yet eludes
Our guessing fades and changes, and is
gone ! '
Ev'n as he spake the light illumining
His form grew dimmer, and his face shone
pale,
The shadows deepen'd, and the stars again
Lifted their silvern lids to gaze upon us,
While like a meteor that strange Portent fled
And darkness dwelt upon the lonely peaks.
BOOK XIII.
THE OPEN WAY.
WHEN I awaken'd, wakening still in dream,
Methought that I was frail and bent with
years,
And on a road that wound through a green
vale
Slowly I trod, with pilgrim's staff and scrip,
While far away o'er dimly lightening hills
The rosy hand of Dawn closed softly o'er
One fluttering moth-like star ; and as the
light
Grew clearer, on a bank I sat me down
To watch the coming day, and rest and
muse.
' Another day ' (ev'n thus my musings
ran)
' Another coming of a dewy day
After a night of pain ! Once more above
The radiant rose of heaven openeth,
Petal by petal, glimmering in the dew ;
Once more the lark arises paramount ;
Once more the clouds move like a flock of
sheep
Shepherded by the gentle summer wind.
The darkness is behind me, and I wake.
The way winds fresh before me, and I live.
O God ! O Father ! if indeed Thou art,
face beyond the Phantom ! much I fear
My feet fail, while Thy City yet is far !
The world is green as ever, and the way
Sweeter by reason of those perils past ;
Yet on my hair the snow falls, in mine eyes
Thy dust is blown. Now I perceive full
well
1 set my soul upon a life-long quest
Which faileth if I pause before the end,
And yet my strength fails and my feet are
sore
And surely I grow gray before my time.
Now of my weary journey nought remains
But babble of voices, glimmering of ghosts,
Tumult of shadows, with an under-sense
Of fair progressions moving to dim ends
Across a sad and problem-haunted world.
Much certes have I learn'd to make me wise,
Little to make me glad ; yet now I see
The green earth dripping balmy from the
bath
Of orient, smiling ; but my soul for smiles
THE OPEN WAY.
135
Is now too weary. Once my soul rejoiced
To drink the breath of each new dawn, to
feel
The passion and the radiant power of life,
But now 'tis otherwise. The mask of
Nature
Is beautiful yea, far more beautiful
Than aught that I have known in happy
dreams,
Yet seeing that I know it for a mask,
I love it less ; and through its sockets
shine
The Eyes behind, with portent horrible
And dangerous expectation. Help me,
Lord!
For I am sick and weary of the way. '
O bright the morning came, as brightly
shining
Upon the trembling murtherer's raised
hand
As on the little clench'd hand of the babe
Smiling in sleep ! softly the white clouds
sail'd,
Edged with vermilion, to the east ; the mists
Rose like white altar-smoke from that green
vale,
The forests stirr'd with numerous leafy
gleams,
The birch unbound her shining hair, the
oak
Shone in his tawny mail, and from the wood
The brook sprang laughing ; and above
the fields
The lark rose, singing that same song it
sang
On Adam's nuptial morn ! Fresh, fair,
and green,
Glisten' d that valley only here and there
A little fold of morning vapour clung
To curtain yet some dewy mystery ;
But through these folds of mist peep'd
shining spires,
Fir tops as green as emerald, rookeries
Loud with the cawing rooks. In the damp
fields
The mottled cattle gleam'd, while o'er the
stile
The shepherd, yawning with a fresh red
face.
Came ankle-deep in dew.
Then I beheld
The vale was populous, for here and there
In straight lines upward through the dead
still air
The smoke of quaint and red-tiled hamlets
rose,
And mossy bridges arch'd like maidens-
feet
Spann'd still canals whereon, by stout
steeds drawn,
Moved broad boats piled with yellow
scented hay,
And soon my heart took cheer ; and as I
went,
Half sad, half-merry to myself I sang
This ditty of the sunshine and the dawn :
Pleasant blows the growing grain,
Golden, scented with the rain :
Pleasant soundeth the lark's song
O'er the open way.
Pleasant are the passing folk,
Russet gown and crimson cloak,
To and fro they pass along
All the summer day.
I can hear the church bells sound
From the happy thorpes around ;
Men and maidens, old and young,
Flock afield full gay.
Sweet is sunshine on the lea,
Sweet it is to hear and see,
Sweet it were to join the throng,
If my soul could stay !
So sang I, hastening by the open road,
And all my heart was quicken'd twenty-fold
Because of brightness and a pleasant place ;
But even as I sang I overtook
A wight who walking slowly seem'd to brood
In potent meditation, downcast-eyed.
And with no sign I would have pass'd him
by,
Scarce noting the calm brow and clear-cut
cheeks,
Had not the stranger raised his eyes and
smiled
Calm greeting such as fellow-scholars gave,
Half absently, when pacing slow within
The groves of Academe ; whereat, indeed,
My feet began to pause unconsciously,
And my looks question'd of the pale cold
face,
The dreamless eyes, the calm unruffled
brow,
For all was restless trouble in my soul,
136
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Yet these seem'd peaceful as a woodland
well.
Now, seeing my perplexity, once more
The stranger smiled, saying : ' Good
morrow, sir,
A scholar, I presume ? and by thy guise
A dweller in some city by the sea ?
But wherefore in such haste ? '
Then I replied :
1 Because the hunger and the thirst divine
Consume me, and with sleepless feet I seek
The City of the Lord.'
STRANGER.
Nay, pardon me
What City, friend ? and furthermore, what
Lord?
THE PILGRIM.
The Lord of Light, whose name is Beauti-
ful,
Thou smilest. Is thy soul so desolate
That it hath never heard the name of
God?
STRANGER.
Not so. I know the names of God full
well.
But which god ? There are many, I believe.
THE PILGRIM.
There is one God which made the heavens
and earth,
The ah-, the water, all that in them is.
STRANGER.
In sooth? Hast thou beheld Him with
thine eyes ?
THE PILGRIM.
Nay ; none may look upon His face and
live.
STRANGER.
Thou hast not seen Him yet thou sayest He
is,
He whom thou hast not seen ?
THE PILGRIM.
I say again ,
No mortal may behold Him and endure, j
STRANGER.
If thou hast not beheld Him for thyself,
How knowest thou that? Upon what
testimony ?
THE PILGRIM.
Upon the testimony of His works
Yonder wide heaven, this green-hollow'd
earth ;
His footprints on the rocks and on the
sands ;
His finger-touch o' nights when I sleep
sound
(Yet start on being touch'd and waken up
With empty arms !) ; His seal on dead
men's graves ;
His signs, His portents, His solemnities.
STRANGER.
'Tis strange ; for I have search'd as close as
thou,
Deeper than most, aided by such wise lore
As lieth in the circles of the schools
I have found naught, where thou hast found
so much.
THE PILGRIM.
Dost thou deny Him ?
STRANGER.
Nay, by Epicurus !
Logician am I and philosopher :
What, on the one side, cannot be affirm'd,
Can never be denied, upon the other.
THE PILGRIM.
I will accost thee in a rounder way.
Canst thou keep calm, canst thou sleep
sound o' nights,
Indifferent whether there be God or no ?
STRANGER.
And I will answer thee as roundly, friend.
But first, permit me to disclose my name,
My calling, and the business I pursue.
I am a scholar, christen'd Lateral,
Truth-speaker, dweller on the open way.
Much have I read in books, and more in
men,
Far have I wander'd, deeply have I weigh'd
The words and ways of pilgrims passing by ;
And much, I grant thee, they have blown
abroad
THE OPEN WAY.
137
This rumour of a City and a God :
Sometimes a City and a God ; ofttimes
A God without a City ; but a God
Invariably. Nay, in earlier days
I was beguiled out of the open way
To seek Him : in full daylight, diligently,
i sought Him, and I sware I found Him
not ;
Nor did I seek Him blindly, nor by night,
But in full daylight, on the public road.
I do not say, He is not ; this I say :
To me He is not, being thus unseen.
And thou hast said, None may behold this
God,
Because the sight would wither up the eyes ;
But as I am a scholar, I affirm
There is no sight of all that I have seen
So dazzling that mine orbs endured it not.
What can be seen is harmless to the eyes,
Since what the eyes can see the eyes can
bear.'
Thereon I mused (methought) with darken'd
brow,
Then said : ' Dost thou know one Icono-
clast?
Meseems that thou hast learn'd his lessons
well.'
But Lateral cried, with wave of his white
hand,
' I know the man thou meanest know of
him
Much good, some ill but they would stone
him here,
Where I walk free, upon the open way.
He gibes at all things, I at no thing gibe,
But measure all men's problems logically,
Not mocking, but in truthful reverence.'
We twain, thus walking, wander'd side by
side,
And groups of men and women pass'd us by
In silence, as on harvest labour bent,
And many greeted Lateral by name.
Then as the toilworn congregation grew,
I ask'd ' What folk are these who come and
go?'
And Lateral in a low voice replied :
' Friend, some of these are pilgrims like
thyself
Whom I most courteously have spoken with,
Persuading them, whatever they believe,
That labour near the open way is best ;
And lo ! they leave the riddle of the gods
And quench their sad desires in blessed toil. :
Whereon I cried : ' Hast thou search' d
everywhere ? '
And ' Yea," said Lateral ; when solemnly,
With mine uplifted finger pointing back,
I cried : ' Raise now thine eyes to yonder
peaks
Of mountain crested with eternal snow
Hast thou sought there ? ' And Lateral
answer'd ' Nay !
I am a dalesman, no mad mountaineer,
Nor do I deem a God, if God there be,
Would hang his glory like an icicle
Out of the common sunlight ! '
' Raise thine eyes,'
I answer'd, in a whisper thick with awe ;
' Hast never, in the darkness, seen His feet
Flash yonder, like the flashing of a star?
Or 'midst the hush of a still frosty night
Hast thou not seen Him from afar, swathed
round
With moonlight, lying like a corpse asleep
Upon the silence of the untrodden peaks,
With lights innumerable round His head
Blowing blue i' the wind ? or hast thou
never mark'd
A motion, the white waving of a hand ? '
Then Lateral, discerning in mine eyes
Who spake the tumult of a maniac pain,
Gently replied : ' I should have told thee,
friend,
I am close-vision'd : what I see full nigh,
I see full clear, but these poor eyes of mine
Have never reach' d to the cold realm of
ghosts. '
Then did I laugh in scorn. ' Blind human
mole,
Dull burrower in the darkness ! not for thee
God's glimmer, or the secret of the stars.
I see in thee the sexton of the creeds
A cold and humourous knave, with never a
guess
Beyond his spade and the cold skull it strikes
In digging his own grave. But fare thee
well
Our paths part here.'
I spake, and on I ran,
Leaving the pallid scholar far behind.
138
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And as I pass'd along the open way,
I met on every side the drowsy stare
Of bovine human faces, heard the hum
Of hollow human voices ; here and there
From bushy thickets peep'd a peaceful
spire,
And oftentimes a church-bell rang, and folk
Came thronging unto prayer.
Then, slackening pace,
Darkling I mused. ' They toil, and pray
together
In intervals of toil ; and yet meseems
Their toil and prayer are cold mechanic
things,
Since on no face there lieth any light
Of expectation, hope, or bright resolve.
Happy they seem ; and happy are the beasts
They yoke for labour in the water'd meads ;
And with the reverent habit of the sense
They soothe the solemn motions of the soul."
And, looking round, on every side I sought
Some pilgrim with a heaven-seeking face,
But found none : only harvest-hoping eyes,
And lips compress'd with thoughts of golden
gain.
At last, grown weary of the open way,
I turn'd aside, prest through a quickset
hedge,
And over meads that rose to sunny slopes
Began with careless idle feet to fare ;
But resting on my staff from time to time,
Drawing deep breath, I watch' d the wind-
ing road
Crowded with men and women of the vale.
Sweet were the slopes I trod with grass
and thyme
And cool the clear air blew from bank to
bank
Of crowsfoot flowers ; and as I went I cried :
' O gladder this than is the open way,
The common level road of tilth and toil
or men are foolish, weak, and miserable,
azing straight downward like to blindest
beasts,
Yoked to the ploughshare and prick' d for-
ward ever
By base ignoble goads ! '
Even as I spake,
I saw, upon a green bank in the sun
Beside a running brook, a curious wight
Who lying on his belly half asleep
Heard the brook gurgle in a gentle dream,
Yet read or seem'd to read an open Book
Set among scattered lilies on the- grass.
He, looking upward as I slowly came,
Smiled like an infant or a heathen god
Calm and complacent in its gilded niche,
And nodded greeting supercilious
With half-shut eyes ; and him I gazed upon
Awhile in silence, breathing from the ascent,
Then question'd :
' Who art thou that liest here
Close to the tumult of the open way,
Lord of thyself and pitiful to scorn
Of those who all around thee like to bees
Throng in and out the hive ! What man
art thou,
And what is that great Book which thou
dost read ? '
Then smiling softly, with the studied scorn
Of perfect courtesy, the man replied :
' I am a student, Microcos by name,
Who, scorning babble and the popular voice,
Dwell in the certainty of summer meads
Scarce vex'd by fear of thunder ; and in this
Book-
Observe it old it is and worm-eaten
Writ in the common tongue and there-
withal
Dear to the common folk, I smiling read
Strange, sweet, old tales of God.' Thereon
I said,
Stretching mine arms out with a weary cry :
' Thou art the man. I seek, for surely thou
Must know the magic that makes conscience
clear
And as with nard and frankincense anoints
The sad worn feet of Woe. Unfold to me
Thy knowledge and the knowledge of thy
Book.'
But Microcos uplifted a white hand
In protestation. ' Friend,' he said, ' becalm.
Dark on thy tired eyes lies dust of earth,
And on thy tongue the echoes of the road
Ring hollow yet. Mark me, the sweet blue
sky
Was ne'er yet mirror'd in a broken water !
And for the blessed knowledge thou dost
seek
Calm is the consecration ! Sit awhile
Beside me on the greensward by the brook,
And mark the white clouds sailing overhead,
The blue sky misted with its own soft
breathing,
THE OPEN WAY.
139
Then while the brook sings and from yonder
comes
Subdued by distance the deep hum of meni
Let us together read a little space
The Legend of the Book.'
Methought I stretch'd
My weary limbs upon the velvet sward,
And watch'd the white clouds sailing over-
head,
The blue sky misted with its own soft
breathing ;
Then listen'd to the murmur of the brook,
And heard the cries of mortals faint as
dream,
While in alow voice Microcos intoned,
With white forefinger on the stained page.
But scarcely had he turn'd one fluttering
leaf,
When with a moan of wonder and of pain
I leapt up, wildly crying : ' Peace ! O peace !
'Tis the same Legend I so oft have read
The same dark Legend that hath made men
mad
No more, no more ! '
MICROCOS.
Now verily I perceive
The ways of unbelief have darken'd thee.
Sweet is the Book, read sweetly, in sweet
weather.
O listen, and thy soul will be at peace.
THE PILGRIM.
Peace ! Who names peace ? O man ! the
words thou readest
Are as a whirlwind on a battle plain,
And every letter on that printed page
Is red as blood. How canst thou sit and
smile,
And 'mid that carnage of the stained leaves
Sit as a dove that o'er its own voice broods
Perch' d on the red mouth of a murther'd
man?
MICROCOS.
Meseems the Book is very beautiful,
Read in the light of Beauty, beautifully.
It tells of God, who framed the heavens and
earth,
Who made Himself a sorrow and a sword,
Who lash'd Euroclydon unto his grip,
And 'mid the fiery smoke of sacrifice
Sat as the Sphinx with cold eternal eyes
Outlooking on his pallid worshippers.
Nay, further, of that same strange God il
tells
Who clothed Himself with our humanity
As with a garment, drank the running
brook,
And pass'd, a wan Shape waving feeble
hands,
Silently thro' the very gates of Death !
THE PILGRIM.
That God I seek ! O if these things be
true,
Instruct me let me look upon His face !
Thou smilest. Read the riddle of thy smile.
MICROCOS.
I smile because thou comest fresh from
paths
Where Literal and Lateral (the drones !)
Interpret the dry letter of the Book.
I tell thee, friend (now hear and be at
peace !),
These things are phantasies and images
As unsubstantial as the dream I dream
Stretch'd here beside the babbling of the
brook ;
Yet sweeter, being dream : yea, no less sweet
Than moonlight, or the wonder of the
flower,
Or aught of beautiful or terrible
That haunts the regions of the earth or air.
THE PILGRIM.
Where is this God ? I care not by what name
Ye know Him Beautiful or Terrible?
Where is this God ? and is He God at all?
MICROCOS.
I have not seen Him, and Mcnow Him not,
THE PILGRIM.
Dost thou believe He is ? or dost thou read
A fable, disbelieving that He is ?
For either all that Book is dust and lies
I Or else there was a Father and a Son
A cruel Father and an outcast Son
The story of whose tears on this sad earth
Is there in words of wonder written down.
140
THE CITY OF DREAM.
But with a dreamy smile the wight replied :
' These things I understand not ; this I
know
Sweet is the Book, read sweetly, in sweet
weather.
I prithee quit my sunshine ! ' Thereupon
He turn'd his back, and on his elbows
leaning,
Smiled and read on, while with a bitter
cry
I left him, and ascended the green hill
Close to whose feet he lay.
Meseem'd I climbed
Through verdurous ways for hours until I
reach'd
The grassy summit , there methought I
found
A man in ragged raiment all alone ;
And lo, his face was set as is a star
In contemplation of some far-off thing
Down in a valley underneath his feet.
Nor when I near'd him did he turn or speak,
But sadly gazed ; and following his gaze
Mine eyes saw nothing but afar away
What seem'd a shining cloud
I touch' d his arm
And question' d : ' What is that thou gazest
on?"
And he replied, not looking in my face
' The City without God, where I was born.'
BOOK XIV.
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
BEAUTEOUS and young, yet bent as with
the load
Of weary years, pale as a wintry May
When lingering frosts silver the path that
leads
To brightness of the flowering summer
meads,
Was he who spake : his locks of tender gold
Sadden'd with gleams of grey, his great blue
eyes
Pallid and dim with melancholy light,
His voice forlorn yet sweet ; and by a chain
He held a snow-white lamb that stood beside
him
And gently lick'd his thin transparent hand.
I echoed him : ' The City without God !
Alas ! what City ? ' ' Yonder,' he replied,
' Behold it gladdening in the light of day ! '
So saying, he pointed downward, and be-
hold !
I saw the gleam of shining roofs and walls
Below me on the plain ; and fair they
seem'd
As any upbuilt by hands, and thitherward
Ran divers ways with thronging crowds that
seem'd,
Seen from that hilltop, small as creeping
ants.
He stood as moveless as a marble man
Down gazing, while I question'd : ' Weary
years
I have sought the City of God and found it
not.
Who built this other underneath God's
heaven ? '
He answer'd, keeping still his misted eyes
Fix'd on the vision : ' They who built the
City
First laid the shadowy ghosts of all the gods,
And, lastly, God the Father's ; then they
wrought
Beneath the empty void and drain'd the
marsh,
And out of earth quarried the marble bones
Of buried seons, and with blood and tears
Cemented them together, and at last,
Strange as a dream, the City of Man up-
rose.'
THE PILGRIM.
How fair it seems ! yea, even fairer far
Than the proud City of Christopolis !
And thither hasten crowds as eagerly
As happy people making holiday i
THE STRANGER.
From every corner of the earth they throng,
Hearing the joyful music of the bells
Proclaiming that the reign of God is done !
I woke to that same music long ago,
Nor wonder 'd, tho' mine ears had never
heard
The name of any God, nor knew of any,
Save the great Spirit of Man ; and when I
ran
A child along the golden streets, and saw
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
141
The air alive with shining argosies,
The ways all beautiful, the temples fill'd
With sunshine and with music, I rejoiced
As only children may ; but presently,
Ere yet I grew to the full height of man,
There came a wight in pilgrim's weeds like
thine
Who told me of strange Cities far away
Where God still reign'd, and of the woeful
Valley
Still haunted by the shadows of dead
gods,
And suddenly, out of a gate in heaven,
A piteous Face Divine look'd down upon
me
And vanish'd ; and from that dark hour I
knew
No gladness in the shining of the sun.
His voice was as a cry upon a mountain
Far off and faint, yet clear ; and as he ended
He turn'd his eyes upon me, dim with tears,
Then said : ' Retrace thy steps and hasten
back!
Better the woefulest cities thou hast seen
Than yonder happy City of Despair ! '
Whereat I cried : ' Since in Christopolis
No comfort dwells, but only (as I have seen)
A blood-red crucifix upon a grave,
And since my weary flight has ranged the
world,
Seeking in vain a City upbuilt by God,
I will go down to yonder City of Man
And therewithin find some calm place of
rest;
For they who built it up so bright and fair
Must of all men be closest kin to gods
In love, in wisdom, and in mastery.'
He answer'd ; ' Search the City if thou wilt,
And I will guide thee thither ; yet be
warn'd,
No pilgrim God hath haunted out of hope
Ever abides among those shining walls ;
For if they slay him not, or if he 'scapes
Their melancholy prisons of the mad,
He flies into the wastes beyond the City
And nevermore returns. '
Then side by side
We pass'd descending towards the open
way
Crowded with wayfarers ; and as we went
The splendour of the City dazzled me
Like the great golden lilies of the dawn ;
And presently we reach'd the living river
Which swept us onward till I saw full clear
The marvel of the domes that man had built.
Even as I paused in wonder, crying aloud :
' Rejoice ! for, lo, I have found at last a
City
More beauteous far than any built by
gods ! '
I turn'd to share my joy with that pale wight
Who had led me thither, but his face and
form
Had vanish'd in the crowd surrounding me,
And into those bright streets I pass'd alone.
Thus wandering on I joyfully discern'd
The white and shining walls, the flashing
roofs,
Of that great City ; not so fair, meseem'd,
As far-off splendours of Christopolis,
Yet stately, calm, and beautiful indeed,
With marble palaces in stately squares,
Broad streets with glad green trees on
either side,
Bright gardens, leaping fountains, temples,
fanes,
Observatories lifted high in air
Near to the sun and stars, all beauty and
grace
Of earthly cities builded up by hands ;
No walls it had, nor gates of brass or stone,
But mighty avenues on either side
Where all might enter in ; and as I went
I pass'd the citizens in snowy robes
Going and coming calmly in the sun.
Brighter, and ever brighter, as I went
Grew the full sunlight of the shining place
And as I wander'd through the bright broad
streets
With leafy colonnades on either side,
And saw the stately white-robed citizens,
Peaceful and gentle, moving to and fro,
And watch'd o'erhead the many-colour'd
ships
Winged like eagles sailing hither and
thither,
My sorrow lessen'd and my fears grew cold.
For surely never City of the earth
Was brighter and more fair ! Down every
street
A cooling rivulet ran, and in the squares
142
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Bright fountains sparkled ; and where'er I
walk'd
The library, the gymnasium, and the bath
Were open to the sun ; virgins and youths
Swung in the golden air like winged things,
Or in the crystal waters plunged and swam,
Or raced with oiled limbs from goal to
goal ;
And in the hush'd and shadowy libraries,
Or in the galleries of painted art,
Or in the dusk museum, neophytes
Walk'd undisturb'd ; and never sound of
war,
Clarion or trumpet, cry of Priest or King,
Came to disturb the City's summer peace ;
And never a sick face made the sunlight
sad,
And never a blind face hunger 'd for the
light,
And never a form that was not strong and
fair
Walk'd in the brightness of those golden
streets.
Then thought I , ' Fairer at least and happier
This City is than was Christopolis,
For all that dwell herein are strong and
free ! '
And as I spake I saw afar away
The reddening sunset and the approaching
night ;
When, suddenly, ere the dark night could
fall,
Radiance like sunlight from a thousand
lamps
Flooded the bosom of the wondrous City
And made it bright as dawn !
Methought I sat
Out in the brightness of a mighty square,
And watch'd the light and airy argosies
Quietly sailing "gainst the shadow'd sky,
Now rising, now descending, even as birds,
With some fresh freight of men beneath
their wings ;
But as I mused I heard a sudden roar
As of a tide of life fast flowing trnther,
And soon a crowd of white-robed citizens
Surged wildly round me, bearing in their
midst
That pallid wight whom I had mark'd at
morn
Leading his flower-degk'd lamb ; and many
frauds.
Were reach' d unto him, to grasp or strike
him down,
And crying wildly to my side he ran
And saying ' Help me, brother ! ' fell and
knelt,
Grasping my robe.
Then, as the crowd swept down,
I faced them, saying, ' Stand back, and
touch him not !
Children of freedom, citizens of peace,
Why are your spirits vex'd against this
man ?'
Then one, a reverend wight with beard like
snow,
Stepp'd from their ranks and answer'd :
' Give him to us !
He hath profaned our temples, and is mad.'
THE PILGRIM.
What would ye with him ? Back, and
answer me !
CITIZEN.
Strange to this City must thou be indeed,
Not knowing that its rulers, holy men,
Endure not in the shrines or public ways
The hideousness of disease or pestilence,
Nor any sight of moral leprosy,
Nor any form of spiritual taint
Whereof men surely die. Give up the
man ;
We shall not slay him, but deliver him
To those who in our public hospitals
Are the approved physicians of the soul.
THE PILGRIM.
Name me his madness ere I yield him up,
And give me proof of his profanity.
CITIZEN.
The proof is simple. Through our streets
he walk'd
Crying on some wild spectre of the brain,
Yea, naming an old name of little meaning,
The name of God, which (as our grand-
dames tell)
Was in the olden times of ignorance
By nurses used to quiet children with ;
Moreover, having enter'd unperceived
One of our holy Hospitals of Birth
Wherein the wheat is winnow'd from the
tare,
The strong life from the weak, he straight-
way raved
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
143
And in the name of that same God blas-
phemed !
Then stooping down to him who clutch' d
my robe,
question'd saying, ' Brother, are these
things true ? '
And like a man whose face is blanched still
From some strange sight of horror infinite,
He wail'd reply :
' Ah, God ! it haunts me still !
The darken' d hall, the devils stoled in
black,
The cries of little children newly born,
And from the distant darkness the low
moans
Of woeful mothers ! Brother, stoop thy
head
And listen ! As they bare the sweet babes
in,
Methought they look'd like angels newly
fallen,
Tender as rose-leaves, from the hands of
God;
And some were strong, and drew great
draughts of life,
And these they spared ; but some were
weak and frail,
Poor little waifs with sad dim heavenly eyes,
And these, being tried with delicate instru-
ments,
Were straightway still' d, and quickly swept
away
Like useless leaves, for instant burial ;
And some were blind, and since they could
not see,
They threw them into darkness with the
rest !
Then, brother, looking on that piteous
sight,
Seeing the little children cast away,
I hid my face, and call'd aloud on God ! '
CITIZEN.
You hear him. Yea, he raves ! And such
as he,
In name of that effete and loathsome Christ
Who made of this sweet world a lazar-
house,
Would swarm our streets with sick and
halt and lame,
And give our precious birthright to the
blind !
THE PILGRIM.
Take heed, lest thou thyself blaspheme and
rave !
CITIZEN.
How now ? Dost thou defend and justify
him?
THE PILGRIM.
Would 'twere as easy a task to justify
Meters and measurers of the flesh and soul ;
For if these things he saith be true indeed
Tis your arch priests who are surely mad,
not he ;
For who, beholding any thing new-born,
Be it fair or frail, happy or miserable,
Shall say what soul may grow from such a
seed?
And who shall know but theinfirmest flesh,
Though dark and dumb as any chrysalis,
May hold the strongest and the surest wings
That ever rose to the clear air of heaven ?
Nay, who shall tell what light we cannot see
Whose orbs see only earth and earthly things
Steals through the darken'd casements of
those eyes
Whereon the Hand divine hath drawn a
veil?
CITIZEN.
Beware to echo him and share his blame !
THE PILGRIM.
He cried to God, and God shall hear his
cry!
I join my voice to his and cry a curse
On this your City, fouler far to God
(If these sad things he saith be true indeed)
Than Sodom, which He did destroy by fire.
CITIZEN.
Another madman ! Brethren, grasp them
both!
THE PILGRIM.
Yea, seize us and destroy us, since ye slay
The little crying helpless seed of Him
Who in His pity made Himself a Child !
O God, Who made the lambkin and the
babe,
And fill'd the great heart of the martyr'd
babe
With human dews of love and gentleness,
So that He grew the help and friend of
man
144
THE CITY OF DREAM
God, whose smile was for the sick and
sad,
The halt, the lame, the wretched, and the
blind,
Put out Thy hand to help Thy little ones,
And gnaw to death with Thine avenging
worms
This Herod of .the Cities in its pride !
Ev'n as I spake, with frantic prayers and
cries,
Clasping that hunted brother in my arms,
They swept upon us and despite our shrieks
Tore us asunder, trampled under foot
The flower-fed lamb that gentle wanderer
led,
And swept me cruelly I knew not whither.
Struggling amidst their throng, methought
I swoon' d ;
And when I open'd startled eyes once more
Methought that I was lying chain'd and
bound
Within some lonely madhouse of the City 1
How strange it seem'd that, ere my sense
grew clear,
My eyesight ready to distinguish shapes,
1 lay and listen' d to an old sweet hymn
Sung o'er my cradle when a little child !
And then I heard a sound like murmur'd
prayer,
And louder singing as of angel-choirs.
Then, looking round, I saw that I was
lying
Within a large and dimly-lighted hall,
And all around were human shapes like
mine
Women and men, some chain'd as I was
chain'd
And others moving ghostlike to and fro ;
And from the throats of some of these there
came
The murmur I had heard of hymn and
prayer.
Gentle they seem'd, save one or two who
shriek'd,
Gnash'd teeth, or tore their hair, crying
aloud
Upon the God of Thunder. Some stood
rapt
Their eyes on some strange vision and their
arms
Wildly outreaching ; others knelt at prayer ;
A few moved to and fro, with eyes cast
down,
Musing and pale ; and many told their
beads.
Bare was the place no picture hanging
there,
Or any fair device to please the gaze ;
But on the whitewash' d wall the mad folks'
hands
Had written strange old names of God
the Lord,
Christ Jesus, Mary Mother, and the Saints ;
And crouching in a corner one poor soul,
Dreaming aloud and muttering to himself,
Had drawn in charcoal Death the Skeleton,
Buddha as black as night but radiant-
wing'd,
And Christ with hanging head, upon His
Cross.
Wondering and pitying I gazed around
Seeking some friendly face ; and I beheld,
Standing close by me in a saffron robe,
A maiden like Madonna heavenly-eyed,
Her white hands folded meekly on her
breast,
Praying and looking upward in a dream.
To her I spake, demanding reverently
What place it was wherein I prison'd lay,
And who my weary fellow-sufferers were
That in that dreary building flock'd to-
gether ?
'Dear brother/ she replied, 'this is the
place
Wherein those weary wights who are mad
past cure
Are prison'd from the sunshine and sweet
air;
All here are pilgrims like thyself, who seek
God and God's City, with assurance sweet
Of life immortal and eternal peace.'
THE PILGRIM.
Then these are mad folk, and I, too, am
mad ?
And yet meseems, though some are sad
and wild,
Many are smiling, bright and well-content.
THE MAIDEN.
Because each night, when all the doors are.
closed,
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
145
Fair angels fresh from heaven enter here ;
Yea, even Christ the Lord doth often come
To comfort them in their extremity.
I gazed upon her wondering, and methought
Her azure eyes were strange and sweetly
wild,
And patiently her bosom rose and fell
With some disturbing rapture of the soul ;
Wherefore I cried :
' Alas ! they are mad indeed !
Since they behold what is not, and perceive
That Phantom Christ whose other name is
Death ! '
THE MAIDEN.
Nay, they behold the eternal Light and
Life,
Whose earthly name is Christ the Crucified !
THE PILGRIM.
Yet tell me, wherefore are they prison'd
here?
THE MAIDEN.
Because the rulers of the City hold
That they are lepers, who, being suffer'd
forth,
And speaking with the people in the streets,
Would spread their souls' disease a hundred-
fold.
If any man doth breathe the Name Divine,
Or seeing strange visions tell what he hath
seen,
Or speak of lands of dream beyond the
grave,
Straightway they lead him here, to these
dark halls,
For inquisition.
Even as she spake
The inquisitors appear'd, grave men and old
Array'd in solemn black, and usher'd in
By ceremonious guardians of the place ;
But, save myself, methought, none heeded
them,
All those pale prisoners being intent in
prayer,
Or singing aloud, or tranced into dream.
Then one, a keeper of the prison, led
The inquisitors to the corner where I lay,
And touching me upon the shoulder cried
' Stand up ! and hearken 1 'and still
chain'd I rose
II.
And faced them, while with calm and pity-
ing eyes
They coldly read my face for testimony.
Then one said, smiling, ' Fear not ! since
we come
To healthee, not to harm thee, if perchance
Thy grievous malady admits a cure.
Thou art one of those who darkening in a
dream
See visions, and beyond these clouds of
Time
Some phantom City builded upon air?'
Then I, forewarn'd and cunning to escape,
Smiled also : ' So they said who left me
here ;
And peradventure, when I first set forth
On the sad pilgrimage which brought me
hither,
I saw such phantoms, dream'd such dreams,
and raved ;
But now, alas ! the euphrasy of pain
Hath purged mine eyes of that ancestral
rheum,
And what my soul once saw I see no more. '
' How now ? ' I heard them mutter among
themselves,
'The man perchance is saner then we
thought.'
And looking in my face, another said,
' Be sure, if thou art heal'd of thy disease
Thou shalt escape these chains and wander
free.
Now answer ! What is highest of living
things?'
THE PILGRIM.
Man ; since he is the chief and lord of all.
INQUISITOR.
Whence comes he ? whither goes he ?
THE PILGRIM.
Out of dust
He cometh, and full soon to dust returns.
INQUISITOR.
When Death hath broken the light vase of
life,
What then remaineth ?
THE PILGRIM.
Ashes in an urn.
L
146
THE CITY OF DREAM.
INQUISITOR.
Think ! When the body is dust, doth
naught survive ?
THE PILGRIM.
Those thoughts which are the heirloom o:
us all,
The Spirit of Man which lives though men
pass by.
INQUISITOR.
Look round upon these souls which share
thy prison
What are they ?
THE PILGRIM.
Madmen.
INQUISITOR.
Yea ; but wherefore mad ?
THE PILGRIM.
Because they see a Shadow on the world,
Namely, the Shadow of Death, and call it
God;
Because their prayers like fountains flash at
heaven
And fall unanswer'd back upon the ground ;
Because they, travelling in a desert place,
Behold the mirage of a City of Dream !
Then I perceived they look'd at one another,
Smiling well pleased, and presently they
said :
' The man is surely harmless let him go ! '
And straightway I was free ; but as I
moved
In act to leave the place, the mad folk
throng' d
Around me, crying the name of God aloud,
Rebuking and upbraiding ; and one, the
maid
With whom I first had spoken, moan'd in
mine ear,
1 God help thee ! Since thou hast denied
thy God,
Who now shall be thy succour and thy
stay ? '
As sick of soul and shamed I crept away,
I heard behind me from the madhouse walls
The murmur of a fountain of strong prayer,
Voices that sang, ' Hosannah to the Lord !
He hath built His City, and He calls us
thither ! '
And once again it seem'd the cradle-hymn
That I had heard when I was lying a babe
Fresh from the shores of some celestial sea ;
Wherefore my eyes grew dim with piteous
tears,
And bowing down my head, I sobb'd aloud
But bright as Hesper in the morning beams
The City sparkled square and street and
mart
Busy and merry, throng' d with white-robed
crowds,
The blue air bright with happy argosies,
The water full of swimmers swift and nude,
The fountains leaping, and the hearts of
all
Leaping in unison, while from countless
choirs
A merry music rang ! But all my soul
Was weary of gladness, and I long'd, me-
thought,
To be alone with God ; and seeing pass
One whose grave eyes seem'd sadder than
the rest,
I touch'd him on the arm and said unto
him,
' Prithee, are there no Temples in this City,
Wherein a soul worn out on pilgrimage
May rest a space and pray ? ' and he replied,
' Yea, truly there are many and yonder
stands
One of our fairest ' pointing as he spake ;
And I beheld a mighty edifice,
Its dome of azure enwrought with golden
signs,
Stars, constellations, jewell'd galaxies,
And changeful symbols of the zodiac ;
Over the columns of the portico
A frieze in marble strong Asclepios
Pictured Apollo-like in godlike strength,
Dispensing herbs and healing crowds of
sick,
a\r)deveiv Kal rb evepyer^v,
Written in golden letters underneath.
I climb'd the marble steps, and pushing
back
The curtain on the threshold, enter'd in ;
And in an instant, as one quits the sun
And steals 'mid umbrage where the light is
strain'd
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
147
Thro' blood-red blooms and alabaster
leaves,
I found myself alone in solemn shades.
Facing me to the eastward, whence the day
Crept thro' a stained window (figuring
The Sun himself burning with golden beams
And lighting globes of green and amethyst),
A solemn Altar, upon which there stood
The golden image of a sleeping Child,
And bending o'er the cradle where he lay
A Skeleton of silver, ruby-eyed ;
And round the solemn place, to left and
right,
Were many-colour'd windows limn'd where-
on
Instead of saints were wise men of the
earth
Physicians azure-robed, astronomers
With stars for crowns, pale bards in singing
robes,
And women like the sibyl, book in hand.
From some mysterious heart of this fair
shrine
A solemn organ music slowly throbb'd,
With deep pulsations, like the sound o' the
sea.
Then spirit-broken, awed and wondering,
I cast myself upon my face and pray'd ;
And while I lay, methought, an unseen
choir
Sang of primaeval darkness suddenly
Struck by the golden ploughshare of the sun,
Of kindling azure fields where softly fell
The nebulous seeds that blossom'd into
worlds,
Of dark transfigurations changing slowly
From rock to flower, from flower to things
of life,
And through the mystic scale, from beasts to
man ;
And lo ! meseem'd a darkness and despair,
O'ermastering, awe-compelling, creeping
down
Like clouds that blacken from the mountain-
peaks
And shroud the peaceful valleys, stole upon
me,
And swathed my soul in dread before I knew,
So that I could not pray, nor knew indeed
What spirit to pray to or what god to praise,
For all I felt within and over me
Was some blind sense of demiurgic doom
Feeling with strange progressions up to life,
Then breaking, as a wave that breaks and
goes !
Then cried I : ' Spirit of Man, if spirit thou
art
That in this Temple broodest like a cloud,
Blind Spirit of Doom and Mystery and
Change,
How shall I apprehend thee ? Wrap thyself
In humble raiment of some awful god,
And I shall know thee ; clothe thy ghost
divine
In piteous limbs of white humanity,
Speak with a human whisper in mine ear,
And rest thy human hand upon my hair,
And I shall feel thy touch, and worship thee ;
Come down, O God ! if thou art quick not
dead,
And walk as other gods have walk'd the
world
With tread that thunders or with feet that
bleed,
That I may feel thee pass and bow to
thee
For who shall worship darkness deep as
death,
And silence still as stone, and dreariest
dread,
Faceless and eyeless, formless, without
bound ? '
Thus praying, I was startled by a voice,
Angry though feeble, crying in mine ear,
1 Arise ! profane not with a foolish cry
This Temple of the Law ! ' and looking up,
I saw a woman very grey and old
Leaning upon a staff and gazing at me :
Her robe all black and wrought with starry
signs
Like those upon the Temple's azure dome,
Her hair as white as wool, her wrinkled face
As blank and ashen-grey as is the Sphinx ;
So strange and sinister her look, sheseem'd
One of the fabled Mothers who for ever
Intone Cimmerian runes of death and birth.
' What woman art thou ? ' I cried, and she
replied,
' A Virgin of the Temple ; one whose task
'Tis to preserve the altar clean and pure,
And sweep the floor of dust. I heard thee
praying
And came to warn thee hence ; for prayers
like thine
Offend the solemn Spirit of the place.'
L2
I 4 8
THE CITY OF DREAM.
THE PILGRIM.
Name me that Spirit, and I will pray to
Him !
THE WOMAN.
Alack ! no tongue hath named him, and no
eye
Hath seen, no mortal known, the Unknow-
able ;
But if thou needst must pray, give prayers
to those
Who are pictured on the windows and the
walls
The blessed men who by their thoughts and
deeds
Have builded up this Temple of the Law.
THE PILGRIM.
Men that have perish' d ! why should I pray
to those,
Seeing I famish for the Imperishable?
THE WOMAN.
Aye me ! the foolish hunger and the thirst
Of babes who sit before the laden board
And crave for fabled meat and drink of
gods!
Take heed ; for in a little while thine
eyes
Shall close from seeing, and thy throat and
ears
Be fill'd with dust. Death is the one thing
sure,
And Death is here, the Shadow in the
shrine !
Yet Death is but the shadow of a change,
Since naught that is departs, tho' all things
die!
THE PILGRIM.
Thy words are dark as night. What
meanest thou ?
THE WOMAN.
Lives pass. The Spirit of Life alone sur-
vives.
THE PILGRIM.
Yea, and survives for ever, being God.
THE WOMAN.
There is no God, but only Death and
Change.
THE PILGRIM.
Read me thy riddle, Mother Sibylline I
THE WOMAN.
The Darkness that for ever gathers here,
And in the heavens, and in the heart of man,
Is elemental ; 'tis the primal force
For ever quickening into life and change,
For ever failing in a thousand forms,
And falling back to feed the central Heart
That throbs for ever thro' the flaming
worlds.
Spark of that Heart, that heliocentric flame,
Art thou, who, being kindled for a moment,
Shalt vanish as a spark blown from a forge !
THE PILGRIM.
Aye me ! only a spark, to flash and fade !
THE WOMAN.
Nay, less ! this earth is but a flake of fire,
Fallen from the nearest of those flaming suns
Which burn a space and then like lesser lives
In their due season blacken arid grow cold.
Think on thy littleness, thy feebleness,
And praise the mystic, all-pervading Law,
Which on the eyelids of unnumber'd worlds
Sheds the ephemeral life, the dust of Time.
THE PILGRIM.
Alas ! how should I praise the Invisible,
Which shows me baser than the dust
indeed ?
The empty Void shall never have my prayer,
But that which lifts me up and gives me
wings,
And proves me more than any unconscious
world
However luminous and beautiful,
That will I worship. Fairer far, methinks,
The meanest, smallest, tutelary god
That ever gave men gifts of fruit and
flowers,
The frailest spirit of human fantasy
Blessing the worshipper with kindly hands,
Than this dead Terror of the Inevitable,
Weighing like leaden Death, with Death's
despair,
In the core of countless worlds ! I ask for God,
For Light, not Darkness, and for Life, not
Death ;
Not for the fatal doom which leaves me
low
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
149
Nay, for the gentle, upward-urging Hand
Which lifts me on to immortality !
So saying, I left her standing sadly there,
And quitting that proud Temple fled again
Into the common sunlight ; but my soul
Was sad as night and darken'd with a doubt,
And in my veins the ominous sense of doom
Was creeping like some cold and fatal drug ;
So that the City with its thousand lights
Seem'd like a feeble taper flickering
In chilly winds of death, and all the throng
Moths hovering round a melancholy flame.
Faint was my spirit as a sickly light
Held in the night and shielded by thin hands
From the strong wintry wind, when
presently
I mark'd another temple marble-wrought,
And seeing that the doors were open wide
Enter'd, and passed thro* echoing corridors,
And found myself within its inmost core.
And in a lofty hall, with marble paven,
One stood before a table wrought of stone
And strewn with phials, knives, and instru-
ments
Of sharpest steel ; before him, ranged in
rows,
On benches forming a great semi-moon,
His audience throng'd, all hungry ears and
eyes.
The man was stript to the elbow, both his
hands
Were stain'd and bloody ; and in the right
he held
A scalpel dripping blood ; beneath him lay,
Fasten'd upon the board, while from its
heart
Flowed the last throbbing stream of gentle
life,
A cony as white as snow. In cages near
Were other victims cony and cat and ape,
Lambkins but newly yean'd, and fluttering
doves
Which preen'd their wings and coo'd their
summer cry.
The hall was darken'd from the sun, but lit
By lamps electric that around them shed
Insufferable brightness clear as day.
Presently at the door there enter'd one
Who by a chain did lead a gentle hound
Which scenting new-shed blood drew back
in dread
Whereon from all the benches rose a cry
Of cruel laughter ; and the lecturer smiled,
And wiping then his blood-stain'd instru-
ment
And casting down the cony scarcely dead,
Prepared the altar for fresh sacrifice.
The hound drew back and struggled with
the chain
In act to fly, but roughly dragged and
driven
He reach'd the lecturer's feet and there lay
down,
Panting and looking up with pleading
eyes;
The lecturer smiled again and patted him,
When lo ! the victim lick'd the bloody
hand,
Pleading for kindness and for pity still.
Then in my dream methought I heard a
voice
Ring clearly and coldly as a churchyard
bell,
Saying, ' Lo ! our next subject, friends a
hound,
Chosen in preference even to the ape,
Because the convolutions of his brain
Are likest to the highest, even Man's ! '
Suddenly in my vision I perceived
The victim's face, though hairy and hound-
like still,
Was now mysteriously humanised
Into the likeness of a naked Faun,
Who pricking hairy ears and rolling eyes
Shriek'd with a sylvan cry ! and at the sound
There came from all the cages round about
A murmur such as in the leafy woods
Comes rippling from the merry flocks of
Pan;
Yea, I beheld them cony and cat and ape,
And lo ! the tamest and the feeblest there
Had ta'en the pretty pleading human looks
Of naiad babes and tiny freckled fauns,
Sweet elves and pigmy centaurs of the
woods !
And when the victim moan'd, they answer'd
him
With pitying babble of the unconscious
groves,
Cries of the haunted forest, and such shrieks
As the pale dryad prison'd in the tree
Yields when the woodman stabs her milky
bark;
'50
THE CITY OF DREAM.
And mingled with such piteous woodland
sounds
There came a gentle bleating as of lambs,
Blent with another and a stranger sound,
Faint, as of infants crying for the breast !
This pass'd ; for all my soul, being sick and
sad,
Grew blinded with the fastly-flowing tears ;
Yet straining once again my troubled sense
I saw the faun strapt down upon the board,
And though his feet were beast-like, his
twain hands
Were human, and his fingers clutch'd the
knife !
He shriek'd ; I shriek'd in answer ; and,
behold,
His head turn'd softly, and his eyes sought
mine.
Then, lo ! a miracle face, form, and limbs,
Changed on the instant neither hound nor
faun
Lay there awaiting the tormentor's knife,
But One, a living form as white as wax,
Stigmata on His feet and on His hands,
And on His face, still shining as a star,
The beauty of Eros and the pain of Christ !
I knew Him, but none other mortal knew,
Though every tiny faun and god o' the
wood,
Still garrulously babbling, named the
Name ;
And looking up into the torturer's face
He wept and murmur'd, ' Even as ye use
The very meanest of My little ones,
So use ye Me ! ' That other smiled and
paused
He only heard the moaning of a hound
Then crushing one hand on the murmuring
mouth,
He with the other took the glittering knife,
And leisurely began !
I look'd no more ;
But covering up mine eyes I shriek'd aloud
And rush'd in horror from the accursed
place ;
But at the door I turn'd, and turning met
The piteous eyeballs fix'd in agony
Beneath a forehead by the knife laid bare !
'Almighty God,' I cried, 'behold Thy
Son !'
And pointed at the victim. As I spake,
A throng of frowning men surrounded me,
Crying, ' Who raves ? down with him !
drive him forth ! '
And in an instant I was smitten and driven
Beyond the porch into the open air.
There stood I panting, dazzled by the day
Which burnt all golden in the paven square,
And gazing back upon the gloomy porch
As on the sulphur-spewing mouth of Hell.
Then one, a tall grave wight in priestly
robes,
Strode to me, crying, ' Hence ! profane no
more
The Temple with thy presence ! ' but I
call'd
My curse upon the place, and lifting hands,
Again cried out on God.
THE PRIEST.
What man art thou
That darest in this holy place blaspheme,
Knowing God is not, knowing the wise have
proved
All gods to be a shadow and a snare?
THE PILGRIM.
God is ! He hears ! O God, send down
a sign
To slay these slaves who torture Christ Thy
Son!
THE PRIEST.
Wild is thy speech. What hast thou heard
or seen,
To rob thee of thy wits and make thee mad ?
THE PILGRIM.
In there the Christ is worse than crucified ;
He moans, He bleeds beneath the torturer's
knife !
THE PRIEST.
O fool ! what is this Christ of whom you
rave ?
A man of Judah, who, being mad like thee,
Eighteen long centuries since was crucified,
And cried the self-same wild despairing cry
To God who could not, or who would not,
hear?
What wrought he for the world ? A net of
lies !
What legacy bequeath 'd he? Tears and
dreams !
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
I tell thee, man, that those who uplift the
knife
In this fair Temple of Humanity
Have heal'd more wounds in man's poor
suffering flesh
Than e'er your Christ did open in man's
soul.
Your God had sacrifice of lambs and beeves,
A holocaust whose smoke did blacken
heaven !
We to a fairer god, the Spirit of Man,
Offer in love a few poor living things
Whose sufferings by use are sanctified.
THE PILGRIM.
E'en as ye serve the meanest of His lambs,
So serve ye Christ, the Shepherd of the
flock!
THE PRIEST.
Man is the Shepherd of this world, and we
The friends and priests of Man ; to Man
alone
Belongs the privilege of dispensing pain ;
All lower things are means and instruments ;
And if to save him but a finger-ache
'Tis meet the baser types should bleed and
die.
Look round upon this City ! Years ago
Your Christ, a hideous Phantom, haunted it,
And in his train Disease and Pestilence,
Foulness and Fever, danced their dance of
Death.
Our wise men came and drave the Phantom
forth,
And since that hour the ways are bright
and clean ;
Disease is banish'd, Pestilence is now
An old man's memory, Death itself is turn'd
Into the servant and the slave of Man.
THE PILGRIM.
Death comes indeed ! Ye have not van-
quish' d Death !
THE PRIEST.
Death is the holy usher stoled in black
Who cometh to the wearied out and old
Saying, ' Your bed is made 'tis time to
rest ! '
Right gladly to the solemn death-chamber
They follow, and are curtain 1 d in that sleep
Which never yet was stirr'd by man or God ;
And yet they die not, since no force is lost,
But passeth on, and these survive for ever
In children ever coming, ever going,
To make the merry music of the world.
THE PILGRIM.
Merry, indeed ! made up of tears and
moans,
Of fair things martyr'd, frail things sacri-
ficed,
In name of that most cruel god of all,
The godless Spirit of Man ! and lo ! at last
Your children are baptized with blood of
beasts,
And heal'd with death of innocent childlike
things,
And strengthen'd out of slaughter. Woe
is me !
That ever child should draw his strength
from death,
And be the heir of cruelty and pain !
Like one half waking and half sleeping,
risen
From spirit-chilling visions of the night,
Uncertain of the world wherein he walks,
Haunted and clouded, thro' the City I
pass'd ;
And voices seem'd afar off, and all sounds
Ghostly and strange, and every face I met
Fantastic, melancholy, and unreal :
And weary hours pass'd by, and still I
walk'd ;
And in the end I found myself alone
Upon a green hillside beyond the town,
Entering a beauteous Garden of the Dead.
The place was green and still, with shadowy
walks,
And banks of gracious flowers ; and ranged
in rows
Along the grassy terraces were placed
White urns that held the ashes of the
dead,
In each of these a handful white as salt
Left from the cleansing fire ; and in the
midst
There stood a building like a sepulchre
From the iron heart of which a pale blue
flame
Rose strange and sacrificial ; hither came
The bearers with their burdens linen-wrapt
[ Which being dropt into the furnace-flame
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Shrivell'd like leaves and swiftly were con-
sumed.
While near the fiery place I gazing stood
I saw from out the glistening gate of brass
An old man issue, naked to the waist,
And holding in his hands a silver urn.
Still darken'd and perplex'd I spake to
him,
And when he answer'd, setting down the
urn
And gazing at me with lacklustre eyes,
His voice seem'd ghostly, faint, and far
away.
' Art thou the sexton of this place ? ' I cried ;
And straightway he replied, wiping his
brows,
' Adam the Last, the watcher of the fire
That is my name and office, gentle sir.'
THE PILGRIM.
So, Adam, last or first, the old order
stands?
Your masters have not yet abolish' d Death !
ADAM.
Nay, God forbid ! (alas ! the foolish name
I learnt when I was young !) Death comes
to all ;
The one thing sure and best man's Com-
forter !
THE PILGRIM.
Can men that are so merry, having upbuilt
A City so serene and beautiful,
Still welcome silence and the end of all?
ADAM.
Yea, verily though should they hear me
breathe
The dreary truth, the rulers of the City
Might rob me of mine office, gentle sir ;
But by thy face and raiment I perceive
Thou art a stranger, coming from the land
Of gracious gods and old, where I was
born.
Fair is the City, as thou sayest, and merry,
Yet many men grow weary of its mirth,
And ere their time would gladly welcome
sleep !
THE PILGRIM.
How so ? 'Tis surely bliss for any man
To live and gladden in so sweet a place ?
ADAM.
I know not. Times are changed. In times
gone by,
When Fever and Disease and Pestilence
Walk'd freely through the streets and
garner 'd men,
I have mark'd upon the brows of those that
died
A light that comes not now. I have stood
and watch'd
By deathbeds, and as Death bent down to
grasp
The throbbing throat and clutch the flut-
tering life,
I have seen him shrink and like a frighten'd
hound
Crouch panting at the flash o' the dying
face,
The proud imperious wave o' the dying
hand ;
Yea oftentimes, when men call'd out on
God,
Defying Death with smiles, it seem'd a
charm
To affright the Phantom which affrighteth
all!
THE PILGRIM.
Yet now men welcome Death, as thou hast
said.
ADAM.
Yea, but how differently, how wearily !
With no sweet hope of waking, with no
thought
Of meeting those who have fallen to sleep
before ;
With no glad childish vision of delight
To come upon them when the morrow
breaks
Happy and loving as a father's face.
They know their day is o'er, and that is all :
What matter if it hath been sunny and
merry,
Tis ended night come duly all is done.
Moreover, nowadays, methinks that men,
Knowing so clearly, love not one another
As in the good old times when I was young !
For, look you, master, wedlock is a bond
Between the strong and strong, who know
that soon
All fall asunder in Death's crucible ;
And when a man or woman dies by chance,
THE CITY WITHOUT GOD.
153
What use to mourn? the vase of life is
broken,
And there's an end ; wherefore, methinks
that men
Knew more of Love when they were mourn-
fuller.
For Suffering and Sorrow walk'd the world
Like veiled angels pointing heavenward,
And folk were sadder then, but hopefuller ;
And now, indeed, since Hope hath gone
away
With all the other angels, Death alone
Remains the one cold friend and comforter.
Now much I marvell'd, hearing such sad
speech
Drop from the old man's mouth like simple
sooth ;
And gazing down upon the glorious City
Which sparkled in the sunshine under us,
Seeing the earth and air alive with life,
And catching from afar the faint glad cries
Of multitudinous creatures fluttering
Like motes in the sunbeam, still I seem'd
to be
A ghost upon the borderland of Death,
Having no portion in humanity ;
And like another ghost the old man seem'd,
Garrulously babbling with a voice as thin
As any heard in dream ; then side by side
We walk'd together to the highest bourne
Of that fair burial-place, and lo ! I saw,
Stretching before me on the further side,
A darkness like a mighty thunder-cloud
Darkness on darkness, far as eye could see.
1 What land lies yonder at our feet ? ' I said,
And pointed downward. Gravely he re-
plied :
' Nay, sir, 1 know not, but I have heard
folk say
A melancholy and a sunless land,
Forest on forest, dreary, without bound,
Haunted by monsters, beasts and saurians
Of the primaeval slime ; a land, alack !
Unfit for man to dwell in, melancholy
As were the dusk beginnings of the world.'
Then in my dream, which seem'd no dream
at all,
Methought I leapt, like one who takes the
plunge
From some black cape into a midnight sea,
Into that gulf of darkness ; and the night
Crash'd round and o'er me, as I sank and
sank
Down, down, to dark oblivion deep as death,
When for a space I lost all count of time,
But senseless lay amid the ooze and drift
Of the unconscious shadows ; yet at last
I stirr'd and waken'd, lying like a weed
On a cold isle of moonlight in the midst
Of cloud on cloud breaking like wave on
wave
Around me ; thro' the darkness I perceived
Far off the glowworm glimmer of the City
Which I had left behind.
Feebly I rose,
Affrighted at the cold new stir of life
Along my veins, and murmur'd, 'Woe is
me !
I live, who would have died ; I am quick,
who fain
Would have return' d to stony nothingness !
And I have search'd the world, and left the
prints
Of my sad footsteps on the tracts of Time,
Yet am I houseless and a wanderer still
From City unto City, knowing at last
My quest is fruitless and my dreaming
vain ! '
Then with a cry I faced the seas of night,
And blindly hasten'd on, I knew not
whither !
BOOK XV.
THE CELESTIAL OCEAN.
METHOUGHT I pass'd into the shadowy land
Where Nature like a gorgon mother sits
Devouring her own young ; a rocky land,
Formless, chaotic, lonely, terrible,
And yet alive with monstrous shapes as
strange
As e'er mad poet fabled : shapes that lived,
And moan'd, and open'd jaws chimsera-
like,
And changed, and died ; yet ever when I
sought
To approach them, faded into lifeless forms
Of crag and rock. In stagnant sunless
meres
I saw foul monsters swim, some serpent- wise,
Others web-footed like the water-birds,
154
THE CITY OF DREAM.
While overhead, from a black mountain-
peak,
The winged pterodactyl of the chalk
Flapt to its eyrie on the snake-strewn
shore.
'Almighty God,' I moan'd, 'whose Hand
did frame
These hideous creatures of the ooze and
slime,
Within whose lineaments I seem to trace
Strange far-off hints of sweeter shapes and
forms
Flowering at last in naked flesh of man,
Haunt me not with the deathlike fantasy
Of pageants fit for Hell ! ' And as I spake
Meseem'd I felt within my living veins
The speckled blood that steals like quick-
silver
Under the hydra's skin, and knew my sense
Sick with primaeval foulness of the slime
From which 'twas fashion'd when the
Monster ruled
A rank and watery world. Yet I beheld
Within that land of portents pale gray men
Who stood and smiled, as happy children
smile
On curious gnomes and trolls of Faeryland ;
And many murmur'd, ' Wondrous is the
Lord!
Whose word hath touch'd the darkness,
till, behold,
It stirs and breathes and lives ! '
How long I walk'd
In that wild realm I know not, but at last
I found myself ascending a steep path
Upwinding to forlornest mountain- peaks ;
And as I went the light grew cheerfuller,
And far away above my head I saw
A light clear space of sun-kist snow that
seem'd
Like God's hand resting on the Mastodon
That felt it and was still ; and suddenly
There flew across my path a bright-eyed
bird
Of eagle-size, but whiter than a dove,
And fluttering upward lighted on a rock
And waved its pinions looking down upon
me,
And when I follow'd rose and fled again,
Again alighting ; thus from rock to rock
It flew, I following, while at every step
The light grew clearer, and my soul less
sad.
At last methought I reach'd a green plateau
Far up among the peaks and loud with
sound
Of many torrents falling ; and the grass
That grew thereon was strewn with tiny
shells,
Prismatic, beautiful, left by the lips
Of some receding sea ; and pausing there,
I gazed into the valleys I had quitted,
And saw a darkness as of flood and cloud
Spear'd by the red lance of the setting
sun,
And from the darkness came a solemn
sound,
Terrible, elemental, as of waves
Wandering without a home.
While thus I stood,
I saw two shapes approaching from the
peaks,
One leading and one following : that, a
Child,
Bright as a sunbeam, merry and golden-
hair' d,
Who ran before and beckon'd, ran again
And beckon'd pausing ; this, a reverend man,
Clad in a robe of samite white as snow,
And leaning on a staff enwrought with
shapes
Of flower and dove and serpent. As they
came
Great awe fell on me, for methought ' They
come
To bring me tidings that my search is
done ! '
Fair was that Child, and 'neath her rosy
feet
The coarse grass blossom'd into crystal
blooms,
And fair was he who follow'd reverently-
Most proud his step as if he walk'd on
thrones,
His dark eyes suffering with the kingly light
They shed upon me through his reverend
hair.
And coming near, the Child with birdlike
cries
Paused, looking on my features wonder-
ingly,
Then turning quickly beckon'd once again,
And slowly approaching he who follow'd
her
Did greet me like a monarch welcoming
THE CELESTIAL OCEAN.
155
Some stranger to the kingdom which he
rules ;
Then looking on my pilgrim's staff and
scrip,
And pouring into my half-dazzled eyes
Strange lustre of his own dark orbs, he
said :
'Welcome, O Stranger, to these lonely
peaks !
Far hast thou travell'd from a weary world
To find firm foothold on the mountains
here."
And as he spake he placed his gentle hand
Upon the bright head of the Child, who
stood
Smiling and listening; and his voice was
deep
As torrent-voices partly drowning it,
Yet musical and passionately calm.
THE PILGRIM.
Far have I travell'd, wearily have I sought
A world of sense and phantoms, shapes and
signs,
Since in an earthly City last I stood
Wailing my lot and calling out on God.
THE MAN.
Be comforted here shall thy cry be still'd,
Or drown' d in voices more miraculous.
Thou comest from the City where I was
born?
THE PILGRIM.
The City men have builded, without God ?
THE MAN.
The same. These hands of mine did help
to raise
Some of its temples, and its inmost shrine.
When I drew breath 'twas but a noxious
marsh
With some few dwellings long untenanted,
But in the heyday of my youth I cried :
' Upbuild ! create a City out of stone
That we who know not God may dwell
therein ; '
Saying moreover, ' Wiser far are they
Who drain the marsh and make the market
thrive
Than they who waste their toil on pyra-
mids.'
Ev'n while I spake the City of Man upgrew,
To music sweet of the invisible choir
Who form the dusky vanguard of the dead ;
And temples rose like lilies from the mere
Of human creatures multitudinous,
And Night was vanquish'd, and Disease
and Pain
Crept from the shining of the strange new
light.
THE PILGRIM.
But Death remain'd.
THE MAN.
And reign' d ! Ere long I saw
The Shadow veil'd with sunlight looking
down
Upon the beauteous City we had built ;
And with a spectral hand he pointed ever
At the glad pageant, at the heart of man,
And at the living soul within the soul.
Then thought I, ' Man hath conquer 'd God,
not Death,
And the broad harvest Man hath sown
Death reaps ; '
And surely I had madden' d in despair,
Had I not seen one morning, as I stood
In the still burial-place beyond the City,
This Child, who ran and play'd among the
tombs,
Blown hither and thither like a butterfly
By some strange wind of gladness ; then
behold,
Shebeckon'd, and I follow'd (for methought
She was not as the common things of earth,
But wondrous, fed on some diviner air) ;
And from the gates she drew me with a
smile
Until I came, as thou thyself didst come,
Among the darkness of primaeval Time,
Haunted by monsters, hydras, mastodons,
Strange forms, the slime of Chaos ; but
whene'er
I falter'd faint of heart, the Child ran back
And slipt her little hand into mine own,
And prattling of the sunshine and the dawn
Did draw me gently on, until at last
I left the haunted valleys and beheld
A stainless snow like to the hand of God
Lying on yonder peaks ; and even yet
I know not if the thing that led me on,
And leads me ever, is a mortal Child,
1 5 6
THE CITY OF DREAM.
Or some angelic presence sent to guide
My footsteps through the shadows of the
world.
THE PILGRIM.
An angel, surely ! See how rapturously
Her happy face is shining into thine !
An angel still, if human ; for methinks
Her eyes reflect the glory and the dream
Of God's celestial City which I seek.
Yet surely this is evil, that thy feet
Still tread the loneness of the mountain-tops,
Thine eyes see not the splendour she hath
seen?
THE MAN.
It is enough to know that such things are,
Beyond the silence and the setting sun.
THE PILGRIM.
Alas ! how knowest thou not that after all
They are not phantasies and images
Like those that met thee yonder in the vales ?
Alas ! if thou hast won these lonely heights,
What hast thou gain'd, what have thy
soul's eyes seen
More than the souls in yonder City see ?
THE MAN.
The peace of God, the assurance of His
heaven,
Seen mirror' d in the blue eyes of a Child !
THE PILGRIM.
But surely Death shall follow and find thee
here?
THE MAN.
I wait his coming, eager for more light
Such as he brings to those who love its
beams,
Yet not impatient, for from these high peaks
I look on more than mortal sight can
measure
Or human soul conceive and apprehend :
Dawn flying like a dove from isle to isle
Of Chaos ; infinite and wondrous life
Stirring from form to form ; the march of
lives
From sleep to sleep, from death to death ;
the flow
Of earth's progressions, and the ebb of Time.
Wherefore mine age is clothed with mastery
As with a garment ; slowly I have learn'd
That to be young and innocent is best,
Next best it is to be serene and old.
THE PILGRIM.
Having beheld these things, beholding still
Their stress and pain, dost thou believe on
God?
THE MAN.
I know not. What is infinite transcends
The seeing of the finite, evermore.
Gaze in the heavenly eyes of this fair Child,
And thou shalt see a light more mystical
Than all thy spirit can conceive of God.
Pilgrim of earth, wouldst thou behold a
sign?
Conceive the inconceivable, attain
To prescience which would prove, if
absolute,
The annihilation of thy thinking soul ?
Come, then, and standing yonder on the
peaks,
The highest point of earth, survey the waste
Of that mysterious Ocean without bound,
Which wash'd thee hither as a grain of
sand
And sow'd thee deep among these drifts of
dust
To quicken into strange humanity !
He ceased ; and on the heights above his
head
The daylight faded, while the hand of Night
Hung closed a moment o'er the rayless
snows,
Then open'd suddenly and from its grasp
Loosen'd one lustrous star ! Then with a
cry
The Child sprang upward on the dizzy path,
And paused above us beckoning ; and we
follow'd
From crag to crag till we together stood
Close to the edge of that celestial Sea
Which breaks for ever on these dark shores
of earth.
"tone on the heights we stood as on a
strand
Oceanward gazing ; and the world beneath
Faded to an abyss of nothingness,
Unseen, unheard, unknown, but at our feet
The waves of ether rippled, gleam'd, and
broke
In silence ; and as far as eye could see
The waste caerulean stretch'd in windless
calm,
THE CELESTIAL OCEAN.
157
Here bright, there shadowy, strewn with
shimmering flakes
Like lunar gleams ; and suddenly, to lend
New splendour to the solitary scene,
The island of the moon broke into beams
And shook upon the azure shallows around
Wild shafts of silver : then the stillness grew
Intenser, and the deep ethereal voids
Seem'd opening to their inmost, till I saw-
Far as the pin-point of the furthest sphere
In the dark silence and abysm of space,
And from the far-off unimagined shores
There came, or seem'd to come, a stir of
sound
So faint it scarce did seem to touch the sleep
Of that vast Ocean !
Then with reverent eyes
Up-gazing, and upon his pallid face
Light falling faintly from a million worlds,
Thus spake that old man masterful, my
guide :
' Thou seekest God behold thou standest
now
Within His Temple. Lo, how brilliantly
The Altar, fed with ceaseless starry fires,
Burns, for its footstool is the mountain-
peaks,
The skies its star-enwoven panoply !
Lo, then, how silently, how mystically,
Yonder unsullied Moon uplifts the Host,
While from the continents and seas beneath,
And from the planets that bow down as
lambs,
And from the constellations clustering
With eyes of wonder upon every side,
Rises the murmur which Creation heard
] n the beginning ! Hearken! Strain thine
ears !
Are they so thick with dust they cannot
hear
The plagal cadence of the instrument
Set in the veiled centre of the Shrine ! '
He ceased, with arms outstretch'd to the
great Deep
In adoration ; and once more I seem'd
To catch that music, rather felt than
heard,
Out of the open'd heavens ; and lo, it grew
Deeper, intenser, audible as breath,
With thrills as from the silvern stops of stars
And murmurous constellations 1
1 Hearken yet !
He murmur 'd, while I trembled to my
knees,
' Yonder the veil'd Musician sits, His feet
Upon the pedals of dark formless suns,
His fingers on the radiant spheric keys,
His face, that it is death to look upon,
Misted with incense rising nebulous
Out of abysmal chaos and cohering
Into the golden flames of Life and Being !
And underneath His touch Music itself
Grows living, heard as far as thought can
creep
Or dream can soar ; so that Creation stirs,
And drinks the sound, and sings ! So far
away
He sits, the Mystery, wrapt for ever round
With brightness and with awe and melody ;
Yet even here, on these low-lying shores,
Lower than is the footstool of His throne,
We hear Him and adore Him, nay, can feel
His breath as vapour round our mouths,
inhaling
That soul within the soul whereby we live
From that divine for-ever-beating Heart
Which thrills the universe with Light and
Love ! '
THE PILGRIM.
So far away He dwells, my soul indeed
Scarcely discerns Him, and in sooth I seek
A gentler Presence and a nearer Friend.
THE MAN.
So far? O blind, He broods beside thee
now
Here in this silence, with His eyes on
thine !
deaf, His voice is whispering in thine ears
Soft as the breathing of the slumberous seas !
THE PILGRIM.
1 see not and I hear not ; but I see
Thine eyes burn dimly, like a corpse-light
seen
Flickering amidst the tempest ; and I hear
Only the elemental grief and pain
Out of whose shadow I would creep for ever.
THE MAN.
Thou canst not, brother ; for these, too,
are God 1
i 5 8
THE CITY OF DREAM.
THE PILGRIM.
How? Is ray God, then, as a homeless
ghost
Blown this way, that way, with the ele-
ments ?
THE MAN.
He is without thee, and within thee, too ;
Thy living breath, and that which drinks
thy breath ;
Thy being, and the bliss beyond thy being.
THE PILGRIM.
So near, so far ? He shapes the furthest sun
New-glimmering on the furthest fringe of
space,
Yet stoops and with a leaf-light finger-touch
Reaches my heart and makes it come and
go!
THE MAN.
Yea ; and He is thy heart within thy heart,
And thou a portion of His Heart Divine !
THE PILGRIM.
Alas ! what comfort comes to grief like
man's
To weave a circle of sweet fantasy
Around him, and to share so dim a dream ?
For if thy calm philosophy be true,
He is, yet is not, here ;breathes with our
breath,
Yet evermore eludes us like the stir
Of the unconscious life within our veins ;
Haunts us for ever in a mystery,
Broods close within us 'tween our walls of
flesh,
Yet when we seek to look into His eyes
Fades far away above us and looks down
With loveless eyes of stars. Meantime my
quest
Is for a City builded on the rock,
Not on the raincloud ; for a God whose
face
Is humanised to lineaments of love ;
Not one who, when my hand would clutch
His robe,
Slips as a flash of light from world to world
And fades from form to form, then vanishes
Back to the formless sense within my soul
Which evermore pursues and loses Him ! >'
E'en as I spake methought (so strangely
changed
My wondrous dream that was no dream at
all)
That not alone we stood on those dark
shores,
But round us gather'd ghostly living forms
Featured like men and women, pointing
hands
Out to the dusky space and starry isles ;
And on the sands below them silent lay
Two bright transparent forms as if asleep
One old and hoary, featured like a man,
The other maidenlike and golden-hair'd ;
And o'er these sleeping, smiling as they
slept,
That radiant Child bent tearfully and cried,
' Awake, awake ! ' but they awaken'd not,
Though quietly the lucent waves of light
Crept near and rippled round their shrouded
feet.
Then said aloud that old man masterful :
'They are not dead but sleeping, vex
them not,
Their eyes shall open on serener shores.
We come from the eternal night to find,
And not to lose, each other ; what is born
And liveth cannot die.' And while those
forms
Still pointing wildly seaward moan'd and
sobb'd,
He murmur'd, ' Ere these twain lay down
and slept,
They pray'd the prayer and sang the song
which Man
Hath made from the beginning. Sing it
now,
That He who listens through eternity
Yonder across the azure seas may hear.'
And lo, methought, in piteous human tones
Those spirits bent above the dead and
sang :
^ *
Unseen, Unknown, yet seen and known
By the still soul that broods alone
On visions eyesight cannot see,
By that, Thy seed within me sown,
Forget not me !
Forget me not, but hear me cry,
Ere in my lonely bed I lie,
Thus stooping low on bended knee,
And if in glooms of sleep I die,
Forget not me !
THE CELESTIAL OCEAN.
159
Forget me not as men forget,
But let Thy light be with me yet
Where'er my vagrant footsteps flee,
Until my earthly sun is set,
Forget not me !
Though dumb Thou broodest far away
Beyond the night, beyond the day,
Across the great celestial Sea,
Forget me not, but hear me pray
' Forget not me ! '
By the long path that I have trod,
The sunless tracks, the shining road,
From forms of dread to forms of Thee,
By all my dumb despairs, O God,
Forget not me !
Forget not when mine eyelids close,
And sinking to my last repose,
All round the sleeping dead I see,
Yea, when I sleep as sound as those,
Forget not me !
Forget me not as they forget,
Hush'd from the fever and the fret,
From all long life's remembrance free,
Though I forget, remember yet
Forget not me !
Then even as they sang meseem'd I saw
Far off upon the rippling waves of light
A shadowy Bark approaching with no
sound,
Wing'd like an eagle, floating ominously
On that aerial sea ; from space to space
Of brightness, and from shadow on to
shadow,
It moved, until at last its shining prow
Touch'd the dusk shore, and paused ; and
in it sat
A Spirit dark and hooded, girt around
With many shining forms, and not on
these
The Spirit gazed, nor on the shapes that
throng'd
The sands of earth, but on the spectral faces
Of that worn hoary man and gold-hair'd
maid
Who lay there waiting, smiling in their
shrouds.
Then as the very heart within me fail'd,
And on that sight I gazed through blinding
tears,
The old man stretching white hands
heavenward
Cried : ' Lo, the life which ends and but
begins !
God that remembers, Death that ne'er
forgets,
The dream of generations justified !
O Grave, where is thy victory ! O Death,
Where is thy sting ! O deathless Mystery,
At last we apprehend and sleep in peace !
For this the timorous nebulas cohered
To fashion luminous worlds ; for this the
night
Conceived and labour'd, till the infant Life
Quicken'd within its womb and stirr'd and
lived ;
For this all things have striven and agonized,
Flashing from ever-changing form to form,
Yet, as the flame ascending clarifies,
Growing for ever purer, peacefuller,
Till that divinest growth, the Soul of Man,
Was fashion'd paramount and stood
supreme,
And trembling with the very breath it drew,
Knowing itself, beheld within itself
The inspiration it hath christen'd "God,"
And which alone betokens it divine ! '
Then, as he spake, methought that radiant
Child
Approach'd him, knelt, with eyes divinely
glad
Look'd up in his, and all the seas of heaven
Kindled and brighten'd, while with out-
stretch'd arms
Of blessing, drinking in with rapturous gaze
The splendour of the radiant universe,
The old man cried :
' O Mystery Divine,
Simple as babble of the yeanling babes,
And gentle as the breath of mother's love !
How far we seek thee o'er these wastes of
Time,
And find thee not, although thou broodest
ever
Within us, like an ever-homing dove !
Nay, all we see, upon these luminous walls
Of sense conditioning and surrounding us,
Is what thine Eldest-born and Best-beloved
Saw long ago, a crimson cross of pain,
A cipher which whoever reads hath read
The riddle of the worlds. And Man hath
raised
City on city, creed on creed, hath sought
To chain the electric lightnings of the soul
i6o
THE CITY OP DREAM.
In temple upon temple, all in vain ;
Yet what he found not visibled in form
Hath haunted him with dreams invisible
From height to height, till like a god he
stands
Perceiving good and evil, knowing himself
Thine effluence, and immortal. Thus the
law
Within him, yet without him, justifies
The eternal law he cannot understand
Yet drinks like royal breath ; and all his
pain
Falls from him like a garment, leaving him
Naked arid warm in light, a happy child
Sure of his birthright, innocent and wise,
Foredoom'd to that eternal hope and joy
Whose other names are God, and Life, and
Love ! '
Aye me, the tearful wonder of my dream !
For shapes of brightness raised those twain
who slept
And placed them in the Bark, when through
their frames
The crystal splendour of eternity
Shot sacramental ; and the hooded Spirit
Bent o'er the dead, and his dim eyes distill'd
Bright tears like dew, while all those shining
shapes
Gather'd around and sang the same sweet
hymn
Which those had sung who throng' d the
lonely shore.
Though deeper than the deepest Deep
Be the dark void wherein I sleep,
Though ocean-deep I buried be,
I charge Thee, by these tears I weep,
Forget not me !
Remember, Lord, my lifelong quest,
How painfully my soul hath prest
From dark to light, pursuing Thee ;
So, though I fail and sink to rest,
Forget not me !
Say not ' He sleeps he doth forget
All that he sought with eyes tear-wet
'Tis o'er he slumbers let him be ! '
Though / forget, remember yet
Forget not me !
Forget me not, but come, O King,
And find me softly slumbering
In dark and troubled dreams of Thee
Then, with one waft of Thy bright wing,
Awaken me !
Then lost in wonder, standing on that shore,
The highest peak of earth, I sigh'd aloud :
' Yea, God remembers, God can ne'er
forget ! . . .
I have gone inland and not oceanward
The earthly Cities only have I known
But these who sleep shall waken and behold,
Yonder across those wastes whereon they
sail,
God and the radiant City of my Dream ! '
And as I spake the ether at my feet
Broke, rippling amethystine. Far away
The mighty nebulous Ocean, where the
spheres
Pass'd and repass'd like golden argosies,
Grew phosphorescent to its furthest depths :
Light answer'd light, star flash'd to star,
and space,
As far away as the remotest sun
Small as the facet of a diamond,
Sparkled ; and from the ethereal Deep there
rose
The breath of its own being and the stir
Of its own rapture. Then to that strange
sound
Stiller than silence, the pale Ship of Souls
Moved from the shore ; I stood and
watch' d it steal
From pool to pool of light, from shade to
shade,
Then melting into splendour fade away
Amid the haze of those casrulean seas.
VENVOL
& ddvare iraiav.
O BLESSED Death ! O white-wing'd form.
Still winging through the night !
O Dove, that seekest through the storm
Some lonely Ark of Light !
While the dark flood of human pain
Rises with weariest moans,
Touching and falling back again
From heaven's deserted thrones,
Thou wanderest on with wondrous wings
On that celestial quest !
And looking on thee, weary things
Sob tearfully and rest !
1} ENVOI.
161
What were the world and what were Man
Without thee, heavenly Death ?
An empty sky, a starless span,
A mist of troubled breath !
The one thing sure, the one thing pure,
The one thing all divine,
Though all else ceases, doth endure,
Though all grows dark, doth shine !
Our souls have probed this world of clay,
And measured the great sea,
Our sight hath conquer 'd night and day,
But still thou soarest free !
Wisdom hath cried, ' No God ! not one !
Nay, heaven and earth shall cease 1 '
But as thou passest, winging on,
We hush our cries in peace.
For all things fade, save thou alone,
Bird of the sleepless wing !
From world to world, from zone to zone,
We see thee voyaging !
Angel of God, still homeless here,
Now clouds have hid God's face,
Bright Dove that on these waves of fear
Can find no resting-place !
O blessed Death, O Angel fair,
Still keep thy course divine !
Till o'er the flood of our despair
The Bow of God doth shine !
The Outcast.
(1891.)
AD CARISSIMAM PUELLAM.
A GRAY Sea wrinkling dark,
And out on the dim sea-line
A Barque
Becalm'd amid silver shine,
While gazing over the Sea
From an Isle of yellow sands,
Sat we,
Holding a book in our hands !
Do you remember, Dear,
The time and the place and the tale?
The drear
Ocean, the one sad Sail?
We sat there, spirit-stirred,
In the rainy Hebrides,
And heard
The wash of the windless seas,
While ever, upraising eyes,
We saw the Ocean, the gray
Cold Skies,
And the Sail afar away !
II,
Still as the still hours'fled,
That day of gentle gloom,
We read
Our tale of Death and Doom,
Of the Outcast woe-begone
Who, 'mid the Tempest's roar,
Drave on
Homeless for evermore.
Dearest, his piteous tale
Made your clear eyes grow dim ;
Snow-pale
You read, and you pitied him !
' How sad, how strange,' you sigh'd,
Out 'mid the Storms to roam,
Denied
The lights of Heaven and Home !
1 Dead, yet a thing with life,
Under the blight and the ban,
At strife
With God, forgotten by Man ! '
M
1 62
THE OUTCAST.
I whisper'd, ' Nay, but hear
How he learn'd the Love Divine ! '
More near
You crept, and your hand sought mine
Under those sunless skies,
We follow'd the dark strange theme,
Our eyes
Alive with love and dream ;
And then, when the tale was done,
And you turn'd your face to me,
The Sun
Shone out upon the sea :
Rainy and dimly bright .
Out of a cloudland pale,
The Light
Stream'd on that lonely Sail ! . . .
We thought of Poets lost
Whose souls still voyage on,
Storm-tost
By His wind, Euroclydon ;
Born to divine despairs,
Kingly yet trampled down,
Sad heirs
Of the Martyr's cross and crown.
We thought of the English-born
Childe with the bleeding breast,
All scorn,
Pride, and sublime unrest.
Yea, and that other too,
Pallid and radiant-eyed,
Who drew
The Hyperion glorified !
We thought of Singers dead
Who shared the Outcast's doom
And shed
Songs on the Sea, his Tomb :
Of him who wildly flies
No more on the Waters deep,
But lies
In gray Montmartre, asleep I
[How loud his shrill voice rang !
Yet often his voice grew clear
And sang
Songs that a child might hear !]
Of him who strongly smote
The Scald's harp laurel -crown'd,
Afloat
On a stormy Surge of Sound !
Softly upon my breast
I laid your golden head,
And prest
My lips to your brow, and said :
1 Mine was that Outcast's doom,
Tost 'mid the surge of shame,
All gloom
Until my Darling came !
' Scornful of Nature's plan
I nurst my pride and grief,
A man
Stony in unbelief.
' This little hand of snow
Touch'd the hard rock, my heart,
And lo !
Its stone was cleft apart,
' Then came the blessed dew,
The consecrating tears !
I knew
God's Love after all those years !
' Thus was I saved, redeem'd,
As even His Outcasts are ! '
Bright gleam'd
The Light on the seas afar !
We sat there, spirit-stirr'd,
In the rainy Hebrides,
And heard
The wash of the windless seas,
While rainy and dimly bright
Out of its cloudland pale,
The Light
Stream'd on that lonely Sail !
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
' A WORLD without a God ! Heigho ! . . .
The good old God had merit, though !
Le Bon Dieu, gravely interfering
In all Humanity's affairs,
Bowing His kind gray head and hearing
The orphan's moans, the widow's
prayers,
Was worth, or so it seems to me,
Whole cataracts of Tendency ;
For though He now and then grew crusty,
And damn'd some few (as all gods must),
He
Was patient 'spite deep provocation
With the small things of His creation !
Jesus He loved, and tolerated
Even Goethe's patronising nod !
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
163
Century on century He waited
While great philosophers debated,
Then, finding men dispense with " God,"
Took His departure from the earth,
Where still some limbs were genuflected,
The day that Schopenhauer had birth,
And left the human race dejected ! '
Without, while in my chambers dreary
I mused and watch'd the flickering flame,
The snow fell thickly, night winds weary
Moaned miserere ! miserere !
And shivering revellers went and came.
'Twas Christmas Eve ! The bells were
ringing
In faintly joyful jubilation :
I heard the tidings they were bringing
But groan' d apart in indignation.
My plans in life had all miscarried ;
My only friends were dead, or married ;
My book (that Epic you remember)
Had gone to wrap up cheese and butter ;
And lonely, in the lone December,
As feebly as a leaf may flutter
From bough to bough while bleak winds
blow,
Till rough feet tread it in the mire,
This heart of mine had sunken low,
Dead to the world and its desire !
1 Confound their superstitious revels ! '
I murmur'd, spirit-sick and sour,
1 I'll dine with Care and the blue devils
And curse the world with Schopenhauer !
There is no God, and all men know it
Except the preacher and the poet ;
Women are slaves and men are flunkeys,
The best but well-developed monkeys,
And Virtue is a huswife's sampler,
Self-sacrifice an usurer's chatter ;
Once Heaven was sure and Hope was
ampler,
But now the Devil rules Mind and Matter !
Le Roi est mart destroy'd and undone,
Or impotent and deaf and blind
So vive le Roi of Hell and London,
Who weaves a shroud for Humankind ! '
Peace upon earth I good will to men !
The bells rang out with sad vibrations.
I poked the fire, pursued again
My misanthropic meditations.
The last new Philosophic Pill,
A panacea for every ill,
Is ' Quit thy service in the Shrine
Prophets and seers have deemed divine,
Give up the Sphinx's dark acrostic,
Be neither atheist nor agnostic,
But, since thy days are just a span.
Worship and praise the new God, MAN !
He shall endure when thou art dust,
Gain that of which thou art bereaven,
He shall absorb thy love and trust,
Thy dying struggles shall adjust
The ladder which he climbs to heaven !
The better thou, the grander he,
This god of thee and thine, shall be !
And in the thought of his perfection,
To which all creatures are proceeding,
Thy soul shall 'scape from its dejection
Caused by too much eclectic reading ! '
Service of Man, or Monkey ? Far
Better to sit rectangular,
And like a dervish contemplate
My very navel till it grows
The central whirligig of Fate,
The Rose of Heaven that burns and
blows !
Better to dance with barefoot souls,
Like good John Calvin, on hot coals,
And, full of sin yet grace-deserving,
Face the Arch-enemy without swerving '.
But worship MAN ? Go back once more
To image-worship as of yore,
And bend my head and bow my knee
To this King Ape, Humanity ?
This stomach-troubled, squirming, aching,
Mud- wallowing creature of a day,
This criticising, this book-making,
Fretful, dyspeptic thing of clay !
This Multi-face whom it hath taken
Ages to leain to wash and dress !
This horde of swine, doom'd to be bacon,
And now, by countless devils o'ertaken.
Shrieking in impotent distress !
This mass of foulness and of folly
Through whom the Paracletes have
died!
This Yuletide carcase deck'd with holly
In honour of its Crucified !
Now great Jehovah lies o'erthrown,
Shall the mere Pigmy reign at last ?
Pshaw, rather worship stick or stone,
And let Humanity crawl past !
1 Man as an individual, I
Hold first of creatures 'neath the sky,
164
THE OUTCAST.
But though I'm human at the best,
Man the Abstraction I detest !
Collectively, this Human Race,
Despite its brag and self-acclaim,
Its pride, its pompous talk, is base ;
Ever, in every clime and place,
Its record is of sin and shame !
Bright holocausts of martyr 'd blood
Mark its progression up the ages ;
The sensual protoplasmic mud
Bespatters even its Seers and Sages !
Nay, what are all the human crew
But maggots from corruption bred?
" By heaven, we talk like gods, and do
Like dogs ! " Nat Field has wisely said !
' A poor half-witted Caliban,
Wailing his nature and condition,
Still prone upon the mud, is Man,
And ne'er can be his own Magician ;
Far less, far less, his own supreme
Master and Lord and Arbitrator !
Nay ! till the stars shall cease to gleam,
The wretch shall blunder in a dream
And say his Noster in coelis Pater!
In Heaven (or, if you please, in Hell)
Must reign the Lord of man and woman
Not 'mid these shadows where we dwell,
Not on this blood-stain'd sward where fell
The foolish gods who have loved the
Human.
Nay, man can ne'er by man be shriven,
By borrow'd rays his star must shine,
Not threefold heritage in Heaven
Could purge his spirit of its leaven,
Or make the Upright Beast divine ! '
. . . While thus I mused, I heard without
A foot that blunder'd on the stair,
Then sounds of one who groped about
To find a door ' Some dun, no doubt ! '
I thought, not rising from my chair.
Then some one softly knock'd. I stirred
not
But sat stone still as if I heard not. . . .
Again ! ' Come in,' at last I cried,
Whereon the door flew open wide,
And on the threshold there was seen
A stranger, elegant of mien,
Tall, white-shirt-fronted and dress-suited,
Faultlessly gloved and neatly booted,
Who, paletot upon his arm,
Opera hat upon his head,
Smiled at my start of vague alarm,
And pausing ere he enter' d, said
' Pardon this call so unexpected.
I sail from England, sir, to-morrow,
And to your room have been directed
A little kind advice to borrow.
If I have been instructed rightly
You are a Poet, and the man
I seek for' (here he bow'd politely),
1 I'm sure you'll help me if you can.'
So saying, he closed the door behind him,
And threw his coat upon a chair,
While I, a little piqued to find him
So confident and debonair,
Cried, ' Who the Devil are you ?'
The light
Fell on his features waxen white,
His raven ringlets thinly threaded
With silver as he stood bareheaded,
His black moustache, and underneath
Two pearl-white rows of smiling teeth.
1 The Devil ? ' he cried. ' Pray did you
mention
That very primitive invention,
Who surely, whatsoe'er cognomen
You give him Satan, Ahrimanes,
Baal, Moloch though he awes old women,
The merest fiction of the brain is ?
The Poets have invented for us
Some six or seven Fiends that bore us
Chiefly the one your gentle Milton
Set the high buskin and the stilt on,
And taught to make speech after speech to
A God extremely given to preach, too !
Nay, Goethe even, though well acquainted
With his infernal subject, painted
A fiend impossibly malicious
And supernaturally vicious.
Sir, the real Devil, Science teaches,
Not only wears man's hat and breeches,
But shares Humanity's affliction.
In short, sir, Satan is a fiction,
Save in so far as we sad creatures
Assume his airs and ape his features.'
[ listened in amaze, while he,
Smiling at my perplexity,
Advanced into the room and stood
Full in the firelight's crimson glow,
A lithe, tall form of flesh and blood,
Yet pallid as the bloodless snow :
A modern shape such as we meet
Cigar in mouth and homeward strolling
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
165
After the play, in Regent Street,
Where Phryne trips with loitering feet
And lissome Lais goes patrolling.
Answering his smile I cried, ' Who is it ?
Your name ? and why this midnight visit ? '
Fixing on me his bright black eyes,
'A poet, sir, should recognise,'
He answer'd, ' one who has so long
Been theme for satire and for song !
I' faith, I am somewhat widely famed
As PHILIP VANDERDECKEN, named
The FLYING DUTCHMAN ! '
As he spake
I seemed to hear the surges break
On some steep shore, while thunder-crashes
Answer'd the Tempest's fiery flashes !
My head swam round I shrank in dread
From that world-famous Form of fiction.
' Pray calm yourself,' he laughing said,
' For we are fellows in affliction !
The cliques have damn'd you too, I hear,
For many a melancholy year,
Because, in trying hard to double,
Against a stream of tears and trouble,
The Cape of Desolate Endeavour,
And reach Fame's Ocean (smooth for
ever ! )
You used bad language, loudly swearing,
For great or small gods little caring,
You'd toss on Life's mad Sea until
You'd work'd your wild poetic will !
Sir, you lack'd reverence, as / did,
Who in my impotence derided
The Artificer of storm and thunder,
The great Self-Critic of Creation :
And now, like me, you've learn'd your
blunder,
You hug your doom and desolation.
Well, well, let gods and critics be,
Sit down a little space with me,
Comparing notes, our friends commending,
Cursing our foes, this wintry night !
Come, though our strife is never ending,
We've had our pleasure in the fight !
Not fearing Hell or hoping Heaven,
We face the Elemental Flood ;
Far better to be tempest-driven
Than rot upon the harbour mud ! '
' A ghost ! '
1 A man ! '
' A poet's theme,
Woven of nightmare and of dream ! '
'Nay, flesh and blood, sir there's my
hand
To prove it ! '
Laughing low, I took
His ring'd white hand in mine, and scanned
His marble features like a book.
No sun-brown'd, wind-blown face, but one
Strange to the shining of the sun,
And sicklied o'er with sad moonlight
Beneath its ringlets black as night ;
So young, and yet so old ! so still,
So callous and so coldly proud ;
The eyes so bright, the cheeks as chill
As some dead sleeper's in his shroud.
Gazing, I heard, beyond the sound
Of happy church-bells ringing round,
The murmur of the sleepless Sea
Stirring and breathing balefully,
While Argus-eyed and strangely fair
The wintry Heaven, stooping low,
Laid softly on its stormy hair,
With sighs of blessing and of prayer,
Thin tremulous finger-tips of snow !
Then cried I, wakening from a trance,
That sad sea-music in my ear,
' Whoe'er thou art, whatever chance
Brings thee this night, be welcome here !
Spectre or mortal, man or devil,
Draw up thy chair and toast thy toes,
And while the world prepares for revel
Tell o'er thy rosary of woes !
I, too, as thou hast aptly said,
Have had my share of castigation ;
I, too, with fretful, feverish tread
Have paced the decks of life, and shed
My sullen curses on Creation.
Sit, kindred spirit ; let's together
Rail at the stupid heavenly fiction ;
Come summer days or wintry weather,
We brood apart in contradiction.
We know the world there's nothing in
it,
Now gods and heroes have departed ;
Palsied and feeble, every minute
It grows more melancholy-hearted.
The Creeds have withered one by one,
Frost-bitten roses in the garden ;
There's nothing left beneath the sun
But lives that pass and hearts that
harden.
Sit down, sit down, my gallant Rover,
And tell me, in the name of wonder,
i66
THE OUTCAST.
What brought thee down the Straits ofDover
To this sad City shadow'd over
With fog and vapour, mist and thunder ? '
Then smiling, comfortably seated
In the warm firelight's flickering glare,
He told his tale as I entreated,
With tranquil after-dinner air,
Turning his talk aside each moment
For light contemporary comment,
That showed him apt in whatsoever
Was taking place from here to Hades-
Most diabolically clever,
And intimate with lords and ladies ;
Familiar with the latest news,
The freshest novels of sensation,
Scandal of palaces or stews,
The last misconduct of the Muse
With bards of naughty reputation ;
Well read in Science, verst extremely
In current philosophic knowledge ;
As intimate with works unseemly
As any Fellow of a college ;
In short, an intellectual Dandy,
With every art of culture handy
Libertine, with a touch of passion,
Callous, but sadder than he knew
Sceptic of course, as is the fashion,
Yet somewhat superstitious too ;
For fiercely as his wit might strike
On God and gods and men alike,
His furtive glances as he spoke
Belied the open laugh and joke,
As if he fear'd, despite the sneer,
Taught by a secret intuition,
The coming of some Shape of Fear,
Or some celestial Apparition !
He told me of his doom, and how
Despairing he had roam'd till now
From land to land, from sea to sea,
In his doom'd Ship upon the Ocean,
As bored as any soul could be,
And soul-sick of the troublous motion.
His crime ? The form of his offence
Against avenging Providence?
He laugh'd, and told me. ' Unbelief!
Too much philosophy,' said he ;
' I laugh'd at all the gods in chief
The ^Eon who is One in Three J
Although a sailor of the main,
I was a man of erudition,
And having logic in my brain
Saw syllogistically plain
The blunder of His Proposition 1
For this, sir, and for minor sins,
Not unconnected with Eve's daughters,
He pull'd my ears and kick'd my shins,
And drove me out upon the waters.'
' A contradiction if you knew
God was not, could God punish you ? '
He laugh'd. ' Precisely ! Many a man
Has argued so since Time began !
But know the cause of my disgrace,
And with my argument agree :
I swore to the Old Fellow's face
He was not, and He could not be !
His thunder answer'd : but I proved
'Twas only phantom-drift and cloud
The more the elements were moved
Against me, more I laugh'd aloud !
Then some one interceded 'twas,
As usual, one of Eve's dear sex !
And on a day it came to pass,
Standing upon the slippery decks,
I heard that I from time to time
Might cease upon the waves to dance.
" Father, he knew not of his crime,
Give the poor devil another chance 1 "
" One chance a dozen ! " answered He,
Whom I had proved could never be !
So said so done ! The Eternal Force,
Law, Love, Power , God, whate'er youplease
To name it, steered my sleepless course
To land for intervals of ease ;
And there, at the divine request
Of her who deem'd me worth retrieving,
I roam'd about and did my best
To grasp what millions die believing.
In vain ! in vain ! where'er I went,
Folly and death were all I found,
My upas-tree of discontent
With dead sea fruit was rightly crown'd ;
I found both men and women rotten,
I saw no joys but health and money,
Love was a fable long forgotten,
While Lust, though sweet, was poison'd
honey.
I knew all creeds, all superstitions,
All gods that men and women rever.
I tried all customs and conditions,
Adopted every priest's petitions,
And got the same old answer ever.
The answer ? Your dyspeptic German
Has given it Death ! Annihilation!
So back to sea, half ghost, half merman.
Scorning the terrors that deter Man,
I hasten'd, sick of all Creation 1 '
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
167
I listen'd wondering. Thoughts as drear
Had haunted me for many a year,
And yet so phrased they seem'd to be
Accurst and full of blasphemy.
Into his face I look'd again
And saw my soul's reflection there,
Pallor of passion and of pain,
Shadows of cruel, black despair :
A spirit poison'd through and through,
Yet hungering for the sun and dew ;
A nature warp'd and wild, yet fraught
With agonies of piteous thought ;
A soul predoom'd to Death and Hate,
Yet eager to be saved and shriven
A life so wholly desolate
It seem'd fierce irony of Fate
To mock it with one glimpse of Heaven !
1 A hundred years ago,' said he,
' Began my folly or my crime ;
Since then I've kept a Diary
To pass away my idle time.
Just for a joke, 'tis written in
Mine own red blood, on parchment skin
(Best for the brine and wet), and here
Upon my heart for many a year
I've kept it. Would you care to view it ? '
So saying from his breast he drew it
A book with many a finger-mark,
And placed it in my hand and while
I glanced across its pages dark,
He prattled on with cynic smile.
' Like a young lady, truth to tell,
I've kept my cordiphonia well !
My thoughts, my careless meditations,
Are all set down in these queer pages
My bonnes fortunes and my flirtations,
Sketches of ladies of all nations
Tall, short, dark, fair, and of all ages !
There's matter there of strange variety,
Strange retrospects of sport and scandal,
Which any journal of society
Would roundly pay, methinks, to handle.
They are at your service, if you please
To use them prithee look them over
Memoirs are now the mode, and these
Are highly spiced, as you'll discover !
They prove at least that such a quest
To find true love and self-surrender,
Is but a foolish, idle jest !
I've roam'd the world from east to west,
Found many kind, and some few tender,
But never one prepared to give
Her soul that he she loved might live,
And Death's last draught of hemlock take
For some poor damned devil's sake.
I'll grant you, Man were saved and proved
Immortal, could he thus be loved ;
But no ! the seed of Eve our mother
Is capable of much, but never
Of wholly losing for another
All stake in happiness for ever !
They'll love, and even accept damnation,
So they but hold their man the surer,
But absolute obliteration
Of self for his soul's preservation,
Demands diviner powers and purer.
I've tost the gauge to God, and cried :
' ' Prove such self-abnegation to me !
Find such a Soul I'll stoop my pride,
Admit the justice I denied,
With which you torture and pursue me.
Assume one Angel possible,
And God is surely proved as well !
Admit one soul from self set free,
You prove Man's Immortality.
The problem's fair ! As I'm a sinner,
The Old One finds it hard of proving ;
I hold myself an easy winner,
After a century of loving." '
' Peace upon earth ! Good will to men /'
The bells rang out around the room,
Beyond the frosted window pane
The still snow wavered through the
gloom :
Hung on the wall above my head
A prickly branch of holly bled
Bright drop by drop berry and thorn
Symbolic of that Christmas morn !
' Not one,' methought ; ' yes One who
gave
His life that those might live who
die!
Rabbi,' I cried, ' come from Thy grave,
To give this mocking voice the lie ! '
He laughed. ' My wager, sir, concern'd
The softer sex and not the other !
A million hearts like yours have turn'd
For comfort to our Elder Brother.
In vain ! He found, as we must find,
The baseness of all humankind,
And broke His gentle heart in proving
Sisters and brethren not worth loving J
i68
THE OUTCAST.
He, too, in that consummate minute,
As I have done, His God denied ;
He play'd for Heaven and fail'd to win it,
Bow'd a despairing head, and died ! '
E'en as he spake the bells peal'd loud
In clearer, wilder jubilation ;
He listen'd, with his dark head bow'd,
A little space in meditation,
His face toward the fire, his soul
Black as the sullen flickering coal.
Suddenly from the embers came
A tremulous blood-red hand of flame,
Touch'd him upon the forehead, lit
His gloomy cheek and crimson' d it
As if with fire from Hell ! . . . and still
The white snow waver 'd through the
gloom ;
' Peace unto men ! peace and good will!'
The bells, in mockery of his doom,
Rang loud and clear !
' Enough,' he said,
' Our King of Doctrinaires is dead.
Once, I believe, one wintry night,
Hundreds of years ago, He rose,
And blundered with His ghostly light
Across the drift, amidst the snows,
Forded the narrow seas and found
The Devil and Pope Joanna crown'd,
Set side by side beneath the dome
Of great St. Peter's, there in Rome ;
Then, finding He too soon had risen,
And was not wanted or expected,
Back to His resting-place and prison
He hasten'd sleepy and dejected,
And laid Him down, and closed His eyes
There, dead as any stone, He lies !
Poor fellow ! He was disappointed,
Like all your dreamers in the end ;
What God the Father left unjointed,
Shapeless and vile, no priest anointed,
No seer, no doctrinaire, can mend.
Enough of Him, enough of folly !
What use o'er fruitless dreams to
ponder ?
Pull down your evergreen and holly,
And hang the skull and crossbones
yonder.
Sweeter than constant introspection
The light afloat which rovers follow
There's not a creed will bear reflection,
There's never a god escapes dissection,
Not even Jesus or Apollo !
I know where man stands now! I've
studied
Your last philosophies right through
Found my poor intellect bemudded,
Grown sceptical and bitter-blooded,
And curst the whole pragmatic crew.
'Sdeath, what a waste of time, to pore
On all such melancholy lore
Only to find this world as silly,
As puzzled, as in times long gone,
When grew from Christ's pure Huleh-lity
The prickly \6jos of St. John ! '
He paused, then added, ' All this season,
During my residence among you,
I've search'd the poor stale scraps of reason
The last Philosophers have flung you.
I've read through Comte, the Catechism
(Half common sense, half crank andschism),
And Harriet Martineau's synopsis ;
Puzzled through Littre"s monstr'-informous
Encyclopaedia enormous,
Until my brain grew blank as Topsy's ;
I've suck'd the bloodless books of Mill,
As void of gall as any pigeon ;
I've swallow' d Congreve's patent pill
To purge man's liver of Religion ;
I've tried my leisure to amuse
With Freddy Harrison's reviews ;
I've thumb'd the essays of John Morley,
So positive they made me poorly ;
Turning to follow with a smile
The tea-cup tempests of Carlyle,
I've been amazed at times to view
The proselytes Tom fill'd with wonder
Ruskin, half seraph and half shrew,
And divers dealers in cheap thunder.
I've also, Heaven preserve me ! read
Daniel Deronda ! which was worse
Than any doom a wretch may dread,
Except, of course, pragmatic verse !
The Leben Jesu, Renan's Vie,
I also studied thoroughly ;
I vivisected cats with Lewes,
I tortured gentle dogs with Ferrier,
Found out just what grimalkin's mew is
And how tails wag in pug and terrier,
But came, however close I sought,
No nearer to the riddle of Thought !
With Huxley's aid, now much in vogue,
I made cheap Knowledge all my own.
And kissed, allured by Tyndall's brogue,
The scientific Blarney-stone !
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
16$
I talk'd with Bastian, who affirms
Spontaneous generation proven,
And, prone with Darwin, watch' d the worms
Wriggling like live eels in an oven.
Then finally, in sheer despair,
Burn'd deep with Scepticism's caustic,
Found Spencer staring at the air,
Crying " God knows if God is there ! "
And in a trice, became agnostic !
1 In this most fashionable creed,
Which even he who runs may read,
I found an Open Sesame
To England's best society.
The great Arch-Priest of Canterbury
Kindly invited me to dine,
And with the Bishops I made merry
Over the walnuts and the wine :
Found them agnostic to a man,
But doing all good fellows can
To make their crank old Ship, the Church,
Still staggering on with many a lurch,
Take in her sails and trim her anchor
Before the Storm swept down and sank her.
I met Matt Arnold at their table,
Where no Dissenter hoped to be ;
Voting the Trinity a fable
I dived as deep as I was able
Into the " Stream of Tendency ! "
Then floating on, in soul's distress,
Currents that swirl to righteousness,
Was bound, half drowning, to assever
" Poof ! further off from God than ever ! "
' About that time I met a girl
With raven hair and teeth of pearl,
And just one touch of rouge to veil
The ennui of a cheek too pale.
One evening, after we had sat
In the Lyceum, wondering at
The great tragedian wrapt in gloom
Of Hamlet's sable cloak and plume,
We, strolling down at midnight-tide
To the Embankment, paused to see
The two stone Sphinxes, heavy-eyed,
Crouching together side by side
And gazing at Eternity.
" Behold," I said, "the Mystic Ones
Who know the secret of the suns,
And coldly sit in contemplation
Of the dark riddle of Creation ! "
She laugh'd. "My dear, don't heed " (she
said)
" Those ray less eyes try mine instead !
Love's the one riddle worth the guessing,
Woman the one Sphinx worth caressing!
Don't mind those stony ancient Misses
Who cannot feel and cannot see-
Quit things incapable of kisses,
And take a hansom home with me/ " '
While, diabolically sneering
At every system, foul or fair,
He prattled on, I nodded, hearing
The echo of mine own despair
Indeed, the mocking voice I heard
Seem'd more within me than without :
Yea, every thought and every word
Chimed discord to my dread and doubt.
Fainter and fainter, as it seem'd,
Grew the strange ghostly Form of fancy,
Till, rubbing eyes as if I dream'd,
I cried, ' By heaven, 'tis necromancy !
Ghost, alter ego, dull delusion
Of sense and spirit in confusion,
Begone ! avaunt ! back to the Ocean
Of vague primordial emotion
From which you came ! ' But as I spake
He rose, with eyes that flash'd like
steel !
' Nay, shake your sleepy soul awake,'
He said, ' and know that I am real !
Yet now my period of probation
Ends for the present, and I go
Back to the watery desolation
The cruel Ocean's ebb and flow
Hark, hark, they call me ! ' Tall an I
wild
He panted quick as if for breath,
His pallid face no longer smiled,
His eyes grew sunken, dim with death,
And from the distance, through the swells
Of moaning wind and Yuletide bells,
A faint sound broke upon mine ears
Of ' Hillo, hillo come away ! '
Then laughter as of marineres
Hoisting their anchor 'mid the spray ;
Nay, more, I seem'd to catch the sound
Of whistling cordage, flapping sail.
I gazed aghast my head went round
The house seem'd rocking 'neath the
bound
Of billows shrieking to the gale.
' Once more, once more,' he moaned aloud,
'Adrift, unpitied, lost in gloom,
As lonely as a thunder-cloud,
I fly to face the blasts of doom |
THE OUTCAST.
No peace, no rest, on earth or heaven
No respite yet,' I heard him cry,
' Spirit of Pain, to be forgiven !
To rest a little space, and die ! '
Then all my soul was strangely stirred .
To pity, and my eyes grew dim ;
And quietly, without a word,
I stretch'd my hands out, blessing him !
But louder, clearer, through the dark,
With, ' Hillo, hillo, come away ! '
Those voices from some phantom Barque
Rang, while he trembled to obey ;
A moment more, he rose his height,
His eyes shot gleams of baleful light,
His hands were clench'd, and with a shriek
Of mocking laughter, he return'd :
' I come ! I come ! ' But lo, his cheek
Grew frozen, and though his dark eyes
burn'd
With wicked fire, his body grew
Bent as with centuries of care,
Transform'd he shrank before my view,
With snowy beard and sad grey hair !
Yea, e'en his raiment seem'd to change
To something ancient, quaint, andstrange
Rags blown with wind and torn with storm
That round a skeletonian form
Clung wild as weeds. Ah ! then indeed
I knew God's homeless Outcast, he
Who, poison'd with the Serpent's seed,
Can ne'er be purified or freed
Till Death shall drink the mighty Sea !
I saw him for a moment thus,
Storm-beaten, old, and blasphemous,
All desolate and all forlorn,
Then, while I pitied his despair,
The bells rang in the Christmas morn,
And he had vanish' d into air ! ...
That was in Yuletide '77.
Ten winters later I again
Beheld beneath the sunless heaven,
Pallid in ecstasy of pain,
That outcast Shape : or did I only
Dream, and behold him as I dream'd
No longer desolate and lonely
But beauteous and at last redeem'd?
Of that sublime transfiguration
My later song, not this, must be
Meantime I mark in meditation
His dreary voyage to salvation
Across a sad and sleepless Sea.
Here follow, tuned to English tongue,
The Flights of Vanderdecken, sung
By one whose soul oft seems to share
His doom of darkness and despair.
Accept the songs, O Reader ! weft
Of that strange Book the Outcast left,
Mingled with warp of modern fashion.
Telling the story of his quest,
His weary wanderings without rest,
I seem to plumb mine own soul's passion !
Here, then, the Modern Spirit stands,
Holding within his ring'd white hands
The Book of Doubt, the Writ of Reason !
While foolish women weep and wonder,
He ponders in and out of season
And gropes from blunder on to blunder.
He needs no Devil to beguile him,
While wine and wantons lure and wile
him ;
He needs no God to thunder o'er him,
While Nature spreads her storms before
him.
This is the Modern this is he
Who would, yet cannot, bend the knee !
Who would, yet cannot, be once more
A child in the soft moonlight kneeling !
All creeds he knows, all wicked lore
That puzzles thought and palsies feeling.
How shall he yonder heavens afar win
In poor Spinoza's merry-go-round ?
How shall he 'scape the apes of Darwin,
Dark'ning what once was fairy ground ?
How in this tearful world, tomb-paven,
Shall he find resting-place and haven ?
How ? By the magic which of old
Set yonder suns and planets spinning !
By that one warmth which ne'er grows cold,
By that one living Heart of gold
Which throbs and throbb'd at Time's
beginning !
By that which is, and still shall be,
In spite of all Philosophy !
From that we came, to that we go,
By that alone we live and are
Core of the Rose whose petals blow
Beyond the farthest shining star !
Safe, despite Nature's cataclysm,
Sure, though the suns should cease to
shine,
Love burns and flames through Thought's
abysm,
Serene, mysterious, and divine !
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
171
One little word solves all creation,
Abides when Death and Time have
pass'd
Damn'd by the genius of Negation,
Man shall be saved by Love at last !
AD LECTOREM.
Herein lies a Mystery,
If you but knew it !
Peruse this strange History
You'll never see thro' it,
Till Love learns your blunder
And comes to assist you :
When, smiling and weeping,
With heart wildly leaping,
You II find, to your wonder,
God's Angels have kissed you !
GENTLE READER,
Read herein,
English' d and versified out of the Double
Dutch,
THE STRANGE FLIGHTS
of
PHILIP VANDERDECKEN,
called the FLYING DUTCHMAN,
Being a Record of
His A mours in all climes and countries ;
His experiences of all complexions ;
His CONVERSATIONS
with the great Goethe, and other persons of
reputation, some still living ;
His curious and often improper REFLEC-
TIONS on
MEN, MANNERS, and MORALS ;
with a full, true, and particular account of
His VARIOUS RELIGIOUS OPINIONS ;
The whole showing, in a series of
Startling Episodes,
How, having been
DAMNED,
By reading the philosophy of Spinoza,
He was finally
SAVED
By the Love of a Woman,
CANTO I.
MADONNA.
MORE than a hundred years have fled
Since Philip Vanderdecken read
Spinoza, and was damn'd ....
For days
He ponder'd in a dark amaze
The Demonstration Absolute
Mortal nor angel can confute,
Which proves the Eternal One must be
Divorced from Personality ;
Establishes sans contradiction
The fact more terrible than fiction
Of the mysterious Substance shed
Through stone and tree, the quick and dead,
Suns and the glowworm, bread and leaven,
Sunlight and moonlight, Fool and Seer,
Earth-dung, the nebulae of Heaven,
Shakespere's calm smile and Arouet's sneer
And having ponder'd every cranny
O' the argument, not missing any,
The Captain, standing all forlorn
In his brave vessel off Cape Horn,
Swore with a mighty oath and round
Spinoza's argument was sound !
' Damn me for evermore,' said he,
' If any Personal God there be !
If there be any worth a straw
Stronger than primal Force and Law,
Why, let Him show his power and keep
Our vessel struggling on the Deep
For ever and for ever. ' Thus
This Mariner most impious
Call'd on the Spirit of Creation
To approve Himself by his damnation !
Becalm'd on billows bright as brass
That slowly 'neath her keel did pass
But broke not, lay the lonely Barque
Scorch'd by the sunlight, stiff and stark.
From the high poop the Captain view'd
The sad and watery solitude.
Tall, lithe, and sinewy, marble pale
Despite the stings of many a gale,
With hair as ebon black as night,
Black eyes alive with ominous light,
White teeth, and lips of lustrous red,
Rings on his fingers waxen white
As frozen fingers of the dead ;
And though the garb that wrapt his form
Was rough and fit to face the storm,
And of a long-past fashion, he
Was dandified exceedingly ;
His whole appearance, all would grant,
Byronically elegant !
Nor young nor old, but just the age
To cozen maidens not too sage,
172
THE OUTCAST.
And kindle thoughts and looks that burn
In dames of a romantic turn.
The ship, a Dutchman weather-beaten,
With wind- worn sails and decks worm-eaten,
High poop, and for a figurehead
A Woman Form with arms outspread,
Stript to the waist, and serpent hair
Falling upon her shoulders bare,
Roll'd like a log, and rose and fell
Groaning upon the molten swell.
His crew, a hideous band, were such men
As only can be found 'mong Dutchmen
Squat, fat, red night-capp'd, hairy dogs,
Gruesome and guttural as hogs,
Yet ghostly, with lacklustre eyes
Full of strange light and dark surmise ;
Faces that could not smile, although
Their voices croak'd with laughter low,
As they crept feebly to and fro.
They all were scar'd as by a brand
Held in some cruel Demon's hand,
And show'd the trace of every sin
That blurs the soul or stains the skin.
Most were the very froth and scum
Of mortal mariners, but some
Were well-born rogues of education
Gone wrong through vice and dissipation.
The mate, the meanest rascal there,
A lean thin rogue with hoary hair,
Could quote a thousand sayings pat in
Sanscrit and Hebrew, Greek and Latin,
And by the metaphysicians show
That black was white and soot was snow ;
For he, so arm'd with wicked knowledge,
Had been Professor of a College,
And occupied with reverend air
The moral-philosophic chair,
Till wine and women, which so few shun,
Had brought him down to destitution,
And he had been compell'd to gain
His bread upon the stormy main.
The ruffians shared their Captain's doom,
But each to him was as a satyr ;
They watch 1 d him, while with looks of
gloom
He ponder' d deep on Mind and Matter ;
Clustering at the mast they stood
Like hounds that feel their master nigh ;
They knew the devil in his blood
And fear'd the lightning of his eye
Then broke to many a mutter 'd curse
On him and all the Universe ;
For well they knew by many a sign,
Within them and without, that they
Were exiles from the Grace Divine
And doom'd to toss upon the brine,
Branded and curst, and cast away !
Three days and nights the calm had lain
Upon the seas with blistering rays,
Hot as a forge the suffering Main
Lay throbbing, Cashing back the blaze ;
On gaping decks and sails that hung
Like shrunken foliage dry to death,
The heaven sent down a serpent's tongue
Of sunlight, and with fiery breath
The burning Skies, the scorching Sea,
Embraced each other lustfully.
But salamander-like, while all
His seamen cursed the sultry weather,
The Captain paced with calm footfall
The blistering decks for hours together.
Indifferent to the beams that fell
On his proud head like flames of Hell,
E'en thus he poised and weigh'd and sifted
The Problem with Spinoza's aid ;
But when his eyes at last were lifted
And his decision at last was made,
Suddenly, with a troublous motion,
The sleeping waters of the Ocean
Awoke and moan'd ! thick cloud and gloom
Enwrapt the ship, and sudden thunder,
With blood-red gleams and sulphurous
fume,
Tore the great darken'd Deep asunder !
And lo ! like monsters fiery-eyed
The great waves rose on every side,
And shriek' d, tumultuously driven
Beneath the fiery scourge of Heaven.
' Hoho ! ' the Captain laughed, ' is this
Your answer, O ye Elements !
The same old argument, I wis,
To justify Divine intents !
Think you I quail because you grumble ?
Think you I change because you swear ?
By heaven, the Universe shall crumble
Before you cow me into prayer !
Away ! away ! I heed your screaming
No more than any teapot's steaming !
Roar yourself hoarse, ye slavish surges,
In awe of what appals the creature !
Swallow the pill that twists and purges
Your watery bowels, mother Nature !
I, son of man, being man at least,
Can still preserve my self-respect here :
MADONNA.
173
What churns you Elements to yeast,
What terrifies each mindless beast
Awes not the form that stands erect
here!
Away ! away ! Hell and the Devil
Approve your dread, while / hold revel,
And, scornful of your protestation,
Laugh, lord and master of Creation ! '
Long nights and days, through gulfs of
gloom,
The ship accurst was fiercely driven
Now swallow'd deep in ocean-spume,
Now lifted like a straw to heaven
Like some struck bird that ere it dies
Trails its wet wings and seeks to rise,
But flutters feebly down again
Smit by the lash of wind and rain.
Still on the decks the Captain clung,
Lick'd by the lightning's serpent-tongue,
And still his cold defiant cry
Answer'd the threats of sea and sky.
But when the Seventh Day dawn'd, behold !
A thin pale Hand of fluttering gold
Stole thro' the clouds, and silently
Touch' d the wild bosom of the Sea,
So that it softly rose and fell
With tearful sob and windless swell ;
And gently on the waters lay
The silence of the Sabbath Day.
O gracious day of peace and calm !
When, sweetly and supremely blest,
On the world's wounded heart falls balm
And frankincense of perfect rest !
After Creation's storm and grief,
After life's fever and life's woe,
One long deep breath of soft relief
Eases all Nature's lasting woe !
The Sabbath of the Universe
Abides, though gods and systems cease
The human doom, the primal curse,
Is hush'd to sacramental peace.
Now and for ever, comes the sign
God giveth His beloved sleep,
While music of some choir divine
Steals softly in from Deep to Deep !
It touch'd the Outcast's weary brow,
It calm'd his stormy soul's distress.
He had not fear'd God's wrath, but now
He trembled at God's gentleness !
Standing in desolation there,
He seem'd to hear from far away
Soft chimes that fill the Sabbath air
When happy mortals flock to pray ;
And o'er green uplands he could see
A spire Faith's finger peacefully
Pointing to Heaven ! A moment thus
He linger'd, pale and tremulous,
Then through his heart again there stole
The pride that poisons sense and soul,
And from his brow he shook again
The benediction all may gain
' A day of rest ! A day of peace !
Perish the lie,' he fiercely said
' Nay, not till Heaven and Earth shall cease,
Till death shall mingle quick and dead !
If God could rest, Man resteth never !
Storm is his portion now and ever
He laughs that one day out of seven
Shall justify the frauds of Heaven !
Accept your Sabbath, winds and waves,
Rest for a little from your sorrow,
The cruel Hand that made ye slaves
Shall lash your backs again to-morrow !
Man knows no Sabbath, no cessation
Of utter storm and tribulation !
Man stands erect, defiant, knowing
From Death he comes, is deathward going !
Man, first of things and last of blunders,
The crown of Nature and her shame,
Stands firm, and neither prays nor wonders,
Lord of the Tomb from which he came !
Suddenly, as he spake, the Barque
With mist and cloud was wrapt around,
But as between the dawn and dark
Soft lights of sunrise with no sound
Part the dim twilight and reveal
The morning-star as bright as steel,
E'en so the mist was blown apart
Like dark leaves round a lily's heart,
And in the core thereof were seen
Still bright'ning shafts of golden sheen,
Dazzling his sight yet dimly there
He saw, or seem'd to see, a Form
With saffron robe and golden hair,
Walking with rosy feet all bare
The Waters slumbering after storm !
A maiden Shape, her sad blue eyes
Soft with the peace of Paradise,
She walk'd the waves ; in her white hand
Pure lilies of the Heavenly Land
Hung alabaster white, and all
The billows 'neath her soft footfall
174
THE OUTCAST.
Heaved glassy still, and round her head
An aureole burnt of golden flame,
As nearer yet with radiant tread,
Fixing her eyes on his, she came !
Then as she paused upon the Sea,
Gazing upon him silently
With looks insufferably bright
And gentle brows beatified,
He knew our Lady of the Light
Mary Madonna heavenly-eyed.
How still it was ! The clouds above
Paused quietly and did not move ;
The waves lay down like lambs the air
Was hush'd in sad suspense of prayer
While coming closer with no sound
She hover'd pale and golden crown'd
And named his name ! And even as one
Who from dark dreams of night doth
stir,
And fronts the shining of the sun,
With haggard eyes he look'd on her !
But as he gazed his sense grew clear,
His dazzled brain shook off its fear,
And all his spirit fever-fraught
P'rom agonies of cruel thought,
Rose up again in callous scorn
' Vision or ghost, whate'er you be,
Welcome afloat this Sabbath morn,
Bright Shining Wonder of the Sea !
Methinks I seem to know,' he said,
' That face so fine, that form so fair,
They hung in childhood o'er my bed
And from the village altar shed
Soft influence over folk at prayer.
And yet, I know, 'tis only fancy,
Some bright delusion of the brain,
Poor Nature plays such necromancy
To cheat our reason, all in vain.
I would each optical illusion
That sets poor mortals in confusion
Were beautiful and bright and pleasant
As that which haunts my sight at present !
Rose of a Maid, I bend in duty
Before thy miracle of beauty !
Speak, let me hear thee if a spirit
Is capable of conversation,
By Venus, I would gladly hear it
'Mid these dull gulfs of desolation ! '
How still it was ! and could it be
A voice that answer'd, or the Sea
Just stirring softly in surcease
Of tempest into throbs of peace ?
Low as his own heart's beat, yet clear
And sweet, there stole upon his ear
An answer faint like Sabbath bells
Heard far away from leafy dells
Buried in leaves and haze, so still
And soft it only seems the thrill
Of silence through the summer air
A sigh of rapture and of prayer !
MADONNA.
Child of the storm, whose spirit knows
No reverence and no repose,
Who disbelievest God the Lord
And holdest Humankind abhorr'd,
Knowest thou Me ?
VANDERDECKEN.
Madonna, yes !
How oft thy radiant loveliness
Has shone upon me with soft eyes
In earthly picture-galleries !
By Raphael's and Murillo's brushes,
So skilled to catch thy lightest blushes,
By Tintoretto and the rest,
Thou'rt even fairer than I guess'd !
MADONNA.
Dost thou believe in God my Son ?
VANDERDECKEN.
A categoric question, one
Most difficult to answer rightly
And, at the same time, quite politely !
Frankly, Spinoza's text has showed
The impersonality of God ;
And for thy Son, well, I opine
No mortal man can be Divine,
Nor may a maid who takes a mate
Conceive yet be immaculate !
MADONNA.
Blasphemer ! Is there man or woman,
Or any shape divine or human,
Or any thing, save Death and Sin,
Thy wicked soul believeth in ?
VANDERDECKEN.
Madonna, no ! I grieve to tell
I question Heaven and smile at Hell,
Believe all human creatures are
Accurst in each particular,
MADONNA.
175
Especially the sex of madam
Who gave the fruit to falling Adam !
MADONNA.
Christ help thee ! Hast thou never loved ?
Never known woman's love, or proved
The depth of faith that dwelleth in her ?
VANDERDECKEN.
Never, as sure as I'm a sinner !
I like the sex, 'neath sun and moon
Have found full many a bonne fortune ;
But that deep faith have never met.
MADONNA.
Yet woman's love might save thee yet !
VANDERDECKEN.
Madonna, how? Though now, I fear,
Past saving, I would gladly hear !
MADONNA.
Then listen ! By the charity
Of Him who loveth even thee,
By Him whose feet flash'd down on dust
Shall bruise the hydra heads of Lust,
By Him, my Son, who cannot rest
E'en in the Gardens of the Blest,
But ever listening strains His ears
To catch the sound of human tears,
From Him, who fain would kiss thy brow,
I offer thee redemption.
VANDERDECKEN.
How?
MADONNA.
Thy doom it is to wildly beat
Without a home to rest thy feet,
Monster, yet featured like a man,
And lonely as Leviathan.
So far thy doom hath been fulfill' d
And found thee stubborn and self-will'd,
But now my Son shall suffer thee,
One short year out of every ten,
To leave thy Ship upon the Sea
And wander 'mong thy fellow-men.
There shalt thou seek (and mayst thou
find!)
Some gentle shape of womankind,
Who in the end shall freely give
Her life to death that thou mayst live ;
Who loving thee, and thee alone,
Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone,
Heart of thy heart, content to share
Thy loneliness and thy despair,
Shall from the fountains of her soul
Baptize thy brows and make thee whole.
Then, with that woman, hand in hand,
Shalt thou before the Master stand,
Saying, ' By her thy love hath sent,
Lord, I believe, and I repent ! '
VANDERDECKEN.
Madonna, this thy boon to me
Seems somewhat of a mockery !
Have I not proved, do I not know,
By long experience here below,
No woman, howsoever tender,
So capable of self-surrender?
Love comes, love goes, and is the one
Sweet conquering thing beneath the sun,
But never have I seen or noted
One human creature so devoted
That I could say, ' Her soul is mine,
And God is good, and Love divine ! '
Spare me the respite, if you please,
And let me stop upon the seas.
MADONNA.
Not so ! The Lord, my Son, commands,
And thou shalt search through many lands,
Yea, search and search, though it should
be
Through most forlorn Eternity.
Thy manhood, in immortal prime,
Shall triumph over Death and Time,
Thy face into the very Tomb
Shall peer, yet keep its living bloom ;
Nature shall aid, from Earth's dark breast
Shalt thou take gold to aid thy quest.
Begin thy search whene'er thou wilt,
Pass on through clouds of sin and guilt,
Range every clime, search every nation,
Until thou light on thy salvation !
So saying, as a star grows bright
Then flashes into sudden night,
She vanish'd ! and the sleeping Main
Awaken'd monster-like again,
Shook the loose brine from its fierce hair,
And shriek'd in tempest-toss'd despair,
Then crouching for a moment, roar'd
Before the Lightning's sudden sword,
176
THE OUTCAST.
Thrust thro' and thro' and thro' it, and then
Drawn flashing up to the heavens again !
With whistling shroud and thundering sail,
The Ship sped on before the gale,
The seamen lifting spectral faces
With ' Hillo ! hillo ! ' took their places,
And on the poop, while on they flew,
The Captain thunder'd to his crew.
From night to day, from day to night,
Through gulfs of gloom the ship took flight,
Until, although the bitter blast
Shriek'd still, and the great waves made
moan,
The troubled heavens grew clear at last,
And through the storm-mist drifting fast
A cold wan Moon was wildly blown,
And on the surge- vex' d ocean ways
Shed down her melancholy rays.
Then gazing southward through the night
They saw, o'er seas that blackly roll'd,
A starry bale-fire blazing bright
The Southern Cross of glistening gold !
Suddenly, as they look'd thereon,
The blast fell still the Storm had gone !
And though the waves, too sad for rest,
Still heaved as one tumultuous breast,
The wind grew faint and stirr'd like dim
Breath on a mirror o'er the Sea,
While near the heaving ocean-rim
The great Cross crimson'd balefully !
Then while deep dread and dim eclipse
Lay on the watery solitude,
And on the decks with soundless lips
And awe-struck hearts the outcasts stood,
Out of the ghostly twilight stole
Great frozen Spectres from the Pole.
Silent and dim and marble pale,
Like ship on ship with frozen sail,
They crept from out the vaporous gloom,
Each misted with its own cold breath,
And cluster'd round the Ship of Doom
Like shrouded giant shapes of Death.
Still grew the Deep with scarce a stir
Still lay the Barque while all around
The Bergs, like one vast Sepulchre,
Closed in upon it with no sound !
Small as a shallop floating lone
Under great mountain-peaks of stone,
Seem'd the great Ship, while o'er it rose
Crag beyond crag of ice and snows !
And now the little light had fled,
Chill shadows fill'd the air with dread,
And on the cold decks kneeling dumb,
Thinking the end of all had come,
With haggard faces seam'd with tears
Gather'd the woe-worn marineres.
But in their midst, erect and tall,
The Captain stood without emotion
He whom God's wrath could ne'er appal
Smiled at those Spectres of the Ocean.
Still unsubdued and undismay'd,
Calm and superior, he survey'd
The crumbling peaks of strange device,
The threatening towers, the chasms dark,
The cruel silent walls of ice
That closed and closed to crush the
Barque !
And for a time his lips were seal'd,
But when his soul found speech at last
His voice like thunder round him peal'd
From chasm to chasm cold and vast !
' Welcome,' he cried, ' ye shapes of Death !
Goats of the Goatherd throned on high !
Come, Phantoms born of God's cold breath,
And crush the dust that longs to die !
Give him the coup de grace, ye Slaves
Of that blind Force he scorneth still.
Annihilate him as he craves,
Ye Monsters, at your Master's will !
Yet, if the hour be not yet here,
Crouch down like dogs and disappear,
Fade, Phantoms, from his path, and creep
To pasture further on the Deep ! '
Thunder on thunder answer'd him !
The great Gulf heaved, the heavens grew
dim,
And like to thunder-clouds storm-driven
Together, crashing rent and riven,
Totter 'd those shapes of ice and snow,
As if an Earthquake rock'd below !
While toppling peaks and crumbling towers
Darken'd the air with frozen showers,
Shrieking and waving frosty wings
The Bergs replied like living things !
And smother'd 'neath the snows that fell
As thick as lava snows of Hell,
Lay the doom'd Ship upon its side,
Beaten and bent, but undestroy'd,
While still its Captain's voice defied
God and those Spectres of the Void.
' Judgment ! swift judgment and no shrift,'
He cned, ' are all for which we yearn ;
MADONNA THE FIRST HAVEN.
177
This life that was a Monster's gift
Back to the Giver we return ! '
But as he spake a forked track
Of windless waters ebon-black
Was rent between the frozen mass
Of mountains that the Ship might pass !
And faintly, feebly quivering,
A bird with trailing broken wing,
The ship crept on !
Then loud and clear
Above the thunders roaring near,
The Captain laugh'd ! ' On to Cape
Horn
We'll round the Cape at merry morn
Up ! up ! hoist sail ! ' And at the word
The frozen crew at last were stirr'd,
And gazing round with spectral faces
With ' Hillo ! hillo ! ' took their places ;
And slowly, through the Shapes of Snow
That drew aside to let it go,
Crimson'd by brightening beams of day
The Ship of Death pursued its way.
CANTO II.
THE FIRST HAVEN.
WHOM shall I dedicate this Book to ?
(Each Canto needs a dedication. )
I want some briny Bard to look to
For sympathy and inspiration !
The theme is primitive at present
Nature undrest, without her stays :
To Tennyson 'twould seem unpleasant
He blends no vine-leaves with his bays.
Scorning the flesh and all things hot,
Will Morris wanders sans culotte,
And tries the hydra-mob to tame ;
While Patmore rocks a baby's cot
And sings sweet nuptials void of blame.
(Ah ! gentle Bards without a spot !
Beshrew me if I envy not
Such innocent and stainless fame !)
Next, though the rogues have wit in plenty,
I still must pass politely by
The Savile bards, those four-and- twenty
Blackbirds all piping in one pie !
I do not fancy Lewis Morris
Would care for rhythmic freaks so
strident
Non sibi Venus mittitflores,
Non sibi cequora ponti rident I
II.
Matt Arnold seeks for ' light ' no more
But sleeps serene and satisfied ;
While Edwin, of that ilk, doth pore
On screeds of luminous Eastern lore
By moonlight on the Ganges' side.
Dear Roden Noel, round whose throat
Byron's loose collar still is worn,
Now tunes his song to one clear note
Divinely gentle and forlorn ;
Far, far from him whom holy choirs
Of angel infants stoop to kiss,
The stormy doubts, the fierce desires,
Of questionable songs like this !
George Meredith might serve my turn
For thoughts that breathe and words that
burn,
Or, better still, his master Browning,
A sober'd Saul in evening dress ;
But both these bards would end by frowning
At my mad Muse's gamesomeness.
No ! these respectable and gracious
Bards with clean shirts will never do !
I need a spirit more audacious,
Morality more free and spacious,
To inspire my song and help me through.
The world is tired of things poetic,
But poets are themselves to blame ;
Their wine's too sickly and emetic,
Or, grown too thin and dietetic,
It lacks the old flush of morning flame 1
Far is the cry from Byron's brandy
To Pater's gods of sugar-candy !
Lost the Homeric swing and trot,
Jingle of spur and beam of blade,
Of that moss-trooper, Walter Scott,
Riding upon his border raid,
And pricking south with all his power
To capture Shakespeare's feudal tower !
Where the swashbucklers throng'd in force
The aesthete mounts his hobby horse,
And troubadours devoid of gristle
Play the French flute and Cockney whistle.
Sir Alfred only, gently glad,
Stainless and chaste as Galahad,
Clothed in white armour like a maid
Goes carolling through glen and glade,
Singing in silvern tones a song
Against the world of lust and wrong
Certain, though all his fellows fail,
Of gaining the Parnassian Grail !
Peace with these poets one and all !
Flowers on their happy footsteps fall !
N
i 7 8
THE OUTCAST.
Yet would to Heaven their songs could be
More glad, more primitive and free !
Ah, for the days gone by ! when Singers
Were wonder-workers, pleasure-bringers !
When Art was bold, when sunburnt Mirth
Gladden'd around the Maypole leaping ;
When the mad Muses tript the earth,
Not clad, as now, in silks by Worth,
But gipsy-like and briskly skipping !
Then, skirts were lifted in the breeze
To show brown legs and lissome knees !
Then, men were hale and maids were
merry,
Then, Nature felt the breath of Spring ;
Then poets shouted ' Hey down deny ! '
And played at kisses-in-the-ring !
But when the trumpet-call rang round them
Threw armour on and rode to fight,
Till in due time the people crown'd them
The Kings of Music, Mirth, and Might !
My Dedication 1 Well, no more
I'll linger on this sunless shore,
Where prim landlubbers of the island
Go gathering shells of verse on dry land !
No ! o'er the seas I sail, to seek
My Homer of the southern seas,
Who, proudly pagan, Yankee-Greek,
Flung out his banner to the breeze,
Then, wandering onward like Ulysses,
Heard Syrens sing of Nature's charms,
Leaping on shore to greet with kisses
The dainty dimpled nutbrown misses,
Found the lost Eden in their arms !
To thee, O HERMANN MELVILLE, name
The surges trumpet into fame,
Last of the grand Homeric race,
Great tale-teller of the marines,
I give this Song, wherein I chase
Thy soul thro' magic tropic scenes !
Ah, would that I, poor modern singer,
Spell-bound with Care's mesmeric finger,
Might to the living world forth-figure
Thine Odyssean strength and vigour !
Alas ! o'er waves you tost on gladly
I sail more timidly and sadly,
And find no surcease or protection
From mal de mer, or introspection !
Yet ne'er the less, in spite of all
Mishaps and ills that may befall,
Despite the tumult and commotion,
The countless shipwrecks of the time,
Away I go across the Ocean
In this my cockleshell of rhyme !
Aid me, O sea-compelling man !
Before whose wand Leviathan
Rose white and hoary from the Deep
With awful sounds that broke its sleep !
MELVILLE, whose magic brought Typee
Radiant as Venus from the Sea !
Who, ignorant of the draper's trade,
Indifferent to the arts of dress,
Drew Fayaway the South-Sea maid
Almost in mother-nakedness !
Without a robe, or boot, or stocking
(A want of clothes to some so shocking),
With just one chemisette to dress her,
She lives, and still shall live, God bless her !
Long as the Sea rolls deep and blue,
While Heaven repeats the thunder of it,
Long as the White Whale ploughs it
through,
The Shape my Sea- Magician drew
Shall still endure, or I'm no prophet !
OUT on the waters, lost in light,
His ship fades softly out of sight,
While on a beach of golden sands,
Shading his eyes with arched hands
And gazing up to heights of palm,
Alone the dark-eyed Outcast stands
And breathes warm airs of spice and
balm :
Behind him amethystine seas,
Just touch'd with shadows of the breeze,
Foam on the red-lip'd reefs that rise
Beyond the shallows rainbow-hued
Before him, under burning skies,
Rise slopes of pine and sandalwood,
High as the topmost summit where
A lonely palm-tree stirs its fan
Sharp-shadow' d 'gainst the golden glare
Of cloudless voids cerulean.
And downward from the wooded height
A torrent hangs its scarf of white,
A sparkling necklace that unfurls
Strung with for-ever-changing pearls,
Turning the sunlight in its fold
To rainbow beams and glints of gold.
And down beneath lie rounded huts
Tree-shaded, dusky, brown as nuts,
With lithe black figures moving slow
From sun to shadow to and fro :
THE FIRST HAVEN.
179
And from the stillness all around
Comes now and then a distant sound
Of voices faint and far, that seem
As strange as voices heard in dream !
In the warm hush of summer weather,
The tremulous hearts of Sky and Sea,
Like hearts of lovers prest together,
Lie still, just throbbing peacefully
And where they mix with sleepy sighs,
Soft stirs of bliss and rapturous smile,
Upon the Sea's blue bosom lies
This jewel of a coral Isle
A dark green spot with gentle gleams
Of golden sands and silver streams,
With dusky depths of scented glade,
And cool wells bubbling in the shade ;
And over all sleeps soft as balm
A glowing Paradisal calm.
Slowly, with shadow blotted black
On the white sands, the Outcast moves,
Leaves the blue waters at his back
And gains the quiet coca-groves.
His stormy heart scarce seems to beat,
His troubled blood scarce seems to flow
' If this were Death, then Death were
sweet ! '
He murmurs in the golden glow.
Tall, dark, and strange, a stately form,
He walks thro' woods of emerald green,
When suddenly the branches swarm
With dusky faces mild of mien !
He pauses, starts, and looks around,
The faces vanish with no sound,
But 'mong the boughs he seems to hear
A sound like laughter merry and clear.
And presently, beside a pool
Blue as a patch of fallen sky,
He stands, and in the mirror cool
Sees shades of swift bright birds float by.
Upon the marge he sits, below
Acacia-branches white as snow,
And marks his own face worn with care
Uplooking from the waters there.
Suddenly, as he sits and broods,
Come laughter and soft chattering cries,
And mother-naked from the woods
Steal dusky shapes with wondering eyes !
The tropic boughs, the flowery brakes,
Grow live with limbs that move like snakes,
Great open eyes 'mid opening flowers
Gleam out amid these shadowy bowers,
The foliage trembling and astir
Is full of creatures warm and bright,
Who on the sad-eyed Mariner
Gaze in mild wonder and delight !
He raised his melancholy eyes
And back they shrank with bird-like cries -
But when he droop' d his head again
And thro' the woods went wandering,
With speech as soft as summer rain,
Voices that seem'd to sigh or sing,
They murmur'd to him in a tongue
Most sweet yet scarce articulate,
Such as was heard when Love was young
And Adam coo'd to woo his mate !
All vows, all vowels, language such
As bees might use if they could tell
Their tremulous thrills of taste and touch
Deep in some honeysuckle's cell ;
Murmur of insects and of birds,
Just turning joy to honeyed words,
Half human speech, half speechless cadence,
Voluptuous as the time and place,
And rapturous as some rosy maiden's
Sigh, when she yields to Love's embrace.
The simile in that last line
Is Vanderdecken's (and not mine)
Ta'en from the Notebook written in
His own red blood on parchment skin.
Henceforward, that the reader may
Avoid confounding his reflections
With mine, I'll use throughout my lay
His own remarks and interjections.
So understand, whene'er I quote
Passages some consider shocking,
Inverted commas will denote
'Tis only Vanderdecken mocking !
' I turn'd they vanish'd, with a sound
Like music of some scented shower
That ceases on warm grassy ground,
While all the green boughs rustle round
And bright drops cling on leaf and flower.
But as I wander'd from the shade
The happy creatures follow'd after,
Clear voices ran in the green glade
Answer'd with rippling peals of laughter !
And when into the sun I strode
They ring'd me round with throngs at
gaze,
As if they \ooked upon a god
In mingled worship and amaze !
N 2
i8o
THE OUTCAST.
1 Then one, with laughter low yet clear,
Ran from the rest to interview me,
But paused at arm's length full of fear
And turn'd a wistful face unto me
Beauteous, a woman yet a child,
Her gentle eyes upon me bent
With humid orbs both sweet and mild,
She stretch'd a little hand, then smiled
In welcome and in wonderment !
And lo, as if a fountain's dew
Was scatter' d on my brows and hair,
Refresh'd and gladdening ere I knew,
I felt the smile, and, smiling too,
Shook off the cloud of my despair !
1 Venus ! Natura procreans /
Te, Dea, adventumque tuum,
All living things obey, and Man's
Proud spirit vainly plots and plans
Thy spells to scatter, and break through
'em !
A look a smile a touch suffices
To witch our nature and to win it
Stone turns to merry flesh, and ice is
Wine warm and rosy in a minute !
So was it then, so is it ever,
'Spite all Morality's endeavour !
So shall it be, though parsons patter,
As long as Man is two-thirds Matter !
Won by the face and form of her
Who welcomed me for all the rest,
J felt my stony heart astir
And throbbing gently in my breast.
I took her little hand, and gazed
Into her eyes with kindly greeting ;
Hers did not drop, but, softly raised,
Sparkled with pleasure at the meeting !
And full of joy, no longer flying
The strange sad form from distant lands,
Her dusky kinsfolk, laughing, crying,
Flock'd round about with outstretch'd
hands ;
Women and men and children small,
Dusky and gentle, old and young,
Welcomed the stranger, one and all
Uttering the same soft bird-like call,
And prattling in that golden tongue ;
And what I fail'd to understand
The kindly folk made bright and clear
By smile of face and touch of hand,
Which said, ' ' O Stranger, welcome here ! "
For they had never seen before
A white man on that sunny shore,
And to their gaze I seem'd to be
Clothed round with grace of Deity !
A little bored, a little scorning,
I gazed with calm superior air
On these wild Children of the Morning
Happy with scarce a rag to wear ;
And some were comely, all were bright
With life and innocent delight,
And never one among the throng
Suspected cruelty or wrong :
Happy as beasts or birds, unstricken
With modern psychical disease,
Free of complaints whereof souls sicken,
They felt the sun within them quicken
And lived the life of swarming bees :
Their very speech, as I have said,
Scarce consonanted, clear and sweet
As warm winds whispering overhead,
As runlets rippling at their feet,
Beauteously fitted to express
Anacreontic happiness,
One cooing and delicious tone,
Like that to Grecian lovers known,
v Aryetcw
' And so, as on a flowery stream
One floateth in a summer dream,
Upon this flow of lives, swept round
By merry maids and children gay,
'Mid soft delights of scent and sound,
I floated and was borne away
From shade to sun, from sun to shade,
Laughing they led me thro' the land,
And still that dimpled dainty Maid
Nestled quite close, and unafraid
Smiled in my face and kiss'd my
hand.
And laughing too, while on me fell
The golden glamour and the spell,
I wander'd on at their sweet will !
O had I power to paint the scene,
Not scribbling with this blood-stain'd quill,
But with a brush of sweep serene !
I, the sad Man with dark locks shed
Round features worn and marble pale,
My lithe form strangely garmented
In raiment wrought to brave the gale ;
Rings on my waxen hands ; around
My throat a bright scarf lightly wound ;
On broad brows beaten by the sea
A sailor's hat worn jauntily !
The centre of the picture, this ;
Around, dark Darlings of the Isle,
THE FIRST HA VEN.
181
Warm bosoms panting full of bliss,
Waists to embrace and lips to kiss,
And best, that Maiden's sunny smile !
Thus was I tangled in the mesh
Of those bright moving living bowers !
The sun shone free, the wind blew fresh,
And Eden smiled, all fruit, all flowers !
Far off, beyond the emerald land
Sloping to shores of yellow sand,
Beyond the stately coca-trees
Stirring their fans in the soft breeze,
Past the red coral reef whereon
The turquoise Sea broke milky white,
Far as my dazzled eyes could con
Ocean and Heaven mingling shone,
Veil beyond veil of golden light !
' And now we come to swarms of huts
Dusky and brown as coca-nuts,
Beneath a crag that skyward towers
Festoon'd from crown to base with flowers :
Some high, like great brown birds'-nests,
clinging
High up and with the tree-boughs swinging,
Some fallen like husks of fruit and lying
Wide open on the grassy sward ;
And hither and thither, multiplying
Like happy bees in sunlight flying,
Fresh flocks of happy creatures pour'd,
Until the place was all alive
With forms that swarm'd from hive to
hive,
Buzzing and murmuring every one
In that soft lingo of the Sun !
' Close to the flowery crag there clung
A brown thatch'd roof with wild flowers
hung,
Supported on four sapling trees
That pour'd sweet scents on the warm
breeze,
And underneath it, loosely wall'd
With boughs as green as emerald,
There lay a wide and open bower,
A mossy nest of fruit and flower,
With soft green hammocks swinging high
To the wind's summer lullaby.
Grass was the floor, but o'er it spread,
Crumbling warm spice beneath the tread,
Were woven carpets green and soft
As the fresh blooms that swung aloft.
Thither my captor, that sweet Maid
Who held me in her sweet control,
Led me, and, seated in the shade,
My throne an old tree's mossy bole,
I watch' d the throng who round me went
In welcome and in merriment.
1 Possession's nine points of the law,
Even yonder in the southern seas :
And murmuring softly " Aloha ! "
(Which means "I love you, "if you please!)
That Maid who was the first to capture
My idle eyes with her strange beauty
Gazed on my face in tender rapture
And kiss'd my hand in sign of duty.
Then, when some others, gladsome girls
With sunny cheeks and teeth like pearls,
Came thronging all around to view
My face and give me welcome too,
She waved them back with flashing eyes
And seem'd to say (if looks could do it)
" This man is mine ! I claim the prize,
And if you touch him, you shall rue
it ! "
Smiling and laughing merrily,
I just look'd on, content to be
Appropriated for the present
By one so young and plump and pleasant ;
And nodding, by my side I placed her,
Patted her brown back and embraced her,
Whereon the happy native bands,
Incapable of jealous spite,
Laugh'd their approval, clapt their hands,
And shared the little Maid's delight.
' Then, at a signal from the Maid,
They brought me poi, a native dish
Of island grains and juices made,
And stickier than one might wish
Her two forefingers lightly dipping
Therein, she twirled them round about,
Then drew a glutinous, slimy, dripping
Mouthful, like macaroni, out ;
Next, quickly raised her finger-tips
Thus coated to her rosy lips,
Sucking them like a bonbon, while
I watch'd her with a wondering smile.
Ev'n thus she show'd me full of joy
The native mysteries otpoi
And presently, I made essay
To eat it in the native way,
And found the flavour of the stuff
(Altho' the modus operandi
Was strange and primitive enough)
Was much like rice and sugar-candy.
182
THE OUTCAST.
And next they brought in goblets green
Of coca-shell a pleasant tipple
As clear as mead or Hippocrene
Or milk that flows from Venus' nipple ;
And quaffing this right joyously
I felt my heart within throb quicker,
For, like most sailors of the sea,
I on occasion love good liquor !
And thus they feted me and fed me,
And when at last I paused contented,
To a green couch the Maiden led me,
And down I sank on leaves sweet-
scented ;
When nimble virgins, at her sign,
Kneaded me, limbs and loins and thighs,
Till rack'd and rent I sank supine
With aching frame and sleepy eyes,
And sank to charmed sleep ! (They name
This swift shampooing of the frame
The lomi-lomi. ) When at last
I woke, all sense seem'd sublimated,
Bathed in a comfort deep and vast
I lay like Adam new-created
Ambrosial peace and perfect rest
Stole through my veins and warm'd me
through,
Serenely strong, completely blest,
I gladden'd at each breath I drew ;
And all the world and its annoy
Turn'd to an odorous rose of joy,
Taking both soul and sense in capture
With soft celestial folds of rapture !
' Meantime her kinsfolk, blithe and gay
As motes that in the sunbeam play,
Simple as babies biting coral,
Without one instinct known as moral,
Eager to welcome and caress
Whatever stranger they beheld,
Full of the sunny happiness
That from their dusky hearts up-well'd,
Came smiling round the flowery nest
Wherein I lay in blissful rest.
Then one, an Elder of the place,
A glad old boy with wrinkled face,
Laugh'd and clapt hands, and at the
sign
All squatted down or lay supine,
And from the shade of these dark bowers
Outpour'd, with wondrous twists and
twirls,
Most lightly raimented in flowers
A band of lissome Dancing Girls
These [while the rest began to croon
A drowsy droning native tune],
With gestures loose and looser raiment,
With postures never for broad day meant,
With panting mouths and shining eyes,
With heaving breasts and quivering thighs,
Began a measure which to see
Would shock our modern modesty !
A measure? nay, a dance that knew
No measure Thought could time it to
A leaping, eddying, unabating
Revel of flesh and blood pulsating
Now soft and sweet as fountains falling,
Now mad and wild as billows bounding,
Now murmurous as wood-doves calling,
Now corybantic and appalling,
And changeful as it was astounding ! '
Reflections on the margin, made
In Rome, at a quite recent time,
Follow, and tho' I'm half afraid
To quote them, here they are, in rhyme :
. . . ' Aye me, what witchery may be
wrought
By soft round arms and looks of passion !
What magic flooding sense and thought
By limbs in beauteous undulation !
Love rules the world, and Love shall rule it,
Tho' rogues corrupt and sages fool it !
Love moves the chessmen, Kings and
Knights,
And stirs the merest pawns as well,
Hence change of empires, bloodiest fights,
And all the game of Heaven and Hell.
Herodias dances, and demands
The Baptist's head as instant payment !
Phryne just stirs her little hands,
Lifting the edge of her light raiment,
limpse of trim ankles to discover,
And lo ! a Dynasty is over !
Were I the Devil, I'd rather deal
With incantation such as this is,
Than have great senates at my heel !
Show me whole legions clad in steel
I'll rout them easily with kisses !
Kings for such guerdon will pay down
ladly the sceptre and the crown !
Bishops their mitres and their crosiers
For soft limbs beautified by hosiers !
od gets no hearing anywhere
While Womankind is fond and fair,
And so the world is at the mercy
Of the supreme enchantress, Circe {
THE FIRST HAVEN.
' Hartmann, whose page explains to us
The creed of the Unconscious,
By the Unconscious means the Power
Which fills Life's Tree from root to flower.
Pulsating out of yonder sunlight,
Flowing in flame from form to form,
Is the eternal Light, the one Light
For ever wanton, wild, and warm,
Shedding magnetic rays of splendour,
In ecstasies of new creation,
Forcing all creatures to surrender
To Love's amphibious invitation !
Amoebae in the ooze, and fishes,
Beasts in the fields, birds in the air,
Sweep whither the Unconscious wishes,
And recreate forms foul or fair
All sing Natura Cumulans,
Nature, the Matronhood immortal
In vain le ban Dieu sits and plans
Yonder beyond the heavenly portal,
Crying like Canute, to the Ocean
Of loose primordial mad emotion,
" Thus far, no further "while its waves,
Beating the shore of human graves,
Surging and rising, ever growing,
Submerging earth from zone to zone,
Drown Man's frail Soul, and overflowing
Flood the bright Footstool of the
Throne ! '
Wide-eyed in wonder and delight
The Wanderer drank in the sight
A Bacchic rite in emulation
Of the first orgies of Creation !
And when the dancers sank o'erpower'd
With their own rapture, blossoms shower'd
Upon them, and with flashing faces
They clung in beautiful embraces.
Then when the cup of joy was full
Up to the brim and running over,
Out of the darkness green and cool
A girl coo'd clearly to her lover !
One bird-like note, one plaintive call,
Passionate yet celestial,
Thrill'd through the silence ! then there
came
Out of the darkness, robed in white,
With arms outstretch'd and eyes aflame,
Alive with Love and Love's delight,
That Flower of Maidens, fair she stood
Full in the sunset's crimson flood,
And gazing on the heavens above
Warbled her wondrous song of Love !
And fascinated, thrilling through
With bliss at every breath he drew,
The Outcast listen'd, while the throng
Were hushed to hear that Orphic song !
But as he leapt to her embrace
She laugh'd and vanish'd from his
glance,
And once again the leafy place
Was loud with life and song and dance
Again, while loud the music rung,
The choir of dancing girls upsprung,
And mingling in the measure wrought
Their fine gyrations passion-fraught !
But now the dance was less capricious,
The undulations more subdued,
Subsiding into throbs delicious,
Faint rapture stealing through their
blood,
The maidens moved like one bright billow
Now heavenward, now upon the ground,
All swaying on an airy pillow
And swooning with soft zones unbound,
And spicy odours, burning beams,
Blew round them as they rock'd in dreams,
While on their happy cheeks and eyes
Rain'd diamond dews from Paradise !
A pause a thrill which seem'd to be
A long sweet dream of ecstasy
Then suddenly, before he knew,
All vanish'd from his wondering view
Of all the throng not one was there,
Men, women, maidens, turn'd to air,
And lonely on his couch he lay
Lit by the sunset's fading ray
But as he sigh'd and lookt around,
He heard again that bird-like cadence
And turning saw, with lilies crown'd,
That tender miracle of maidens
Her eyes on his one soft hand prest
To still the billowing of her breast
Her cheeks all smiles, her eyes all bliss,
Sending new thrills of rapture through
him,
Her mouth bent down for him to kiss,
Her soul a votive offering to him !
Then Twilight spread its purple fold
Dew-spangled o'er the blue sky's bosom,
And ripe and large as fruit of gold
Great sun-fed stars began to blossom,
Such stars as never kindle save
Out yonder o'er the tropic wave,
1 84
THE OUTCAST.
Each like a little moon, and making
In the smooth Ocean trails of light,
While others, from the darkness breaking
Like bursting fruit, shot seaward shaking
Prismatic splendours through the night.
As each new splendour flashed afar
And melted in the quiet Main,
It seem'd as if some shining star
Had burst within the Wanderer's brain !
And spicy scents of that green Land
On the warm wind were wafted thither,
As holding that dark Maiden's hand,
Silent he sat, uplooking with her.
Then sighing heavily, he turn'd
His dark eyes shoreward, and discern'd
The spume upon the reef that fell
Like white milk from the coca-shell,
The waters round of lustre green
Alive with rays of starry sheen,
And far off, on the water's bound,
The Moon uprising large and round,
Clear lemon-yellow, without rays,
Out of the pathless ocean-ways !
HE turned his eyes on that sweet Maid,
Who smiling in his face essay'd
Quick eager speech of rippling words
More musical than any singer's.
He guess'd the meaning of the words
By the warm pressure of the fingers !
Child-like she stood, with eyes of light
Full of the happy tropic night,
A white straw hat upon her head
With ferns and flowers bright garlanded,
Her dress one cool chemise of snow
Wherein her soft form slipt at ease,
Sleeveless, around the breasts cut low,
And fluttering to the supple knees ;
Her limbs and arms all bare and warm,
Her bosom gently palpitating,
Her face alive with Love, her form
Thrill'd through with fires of Love's
creating !
Over that night now falls the veil !
Earth held her breath. The stars grew pale
Down-gazing. Heavenly balms were strewn
On those two forms who 'neath the Moon
Took Love's divine first kiss. The Night
Linger'd above them in delight,
Till softly and serenely blest,
Still as two love-birds in a nest,
They slept ! . . .
O Aloha ! (which means
' I love you,' mind) delightful Maiden !
Still in the daintiest of your teens,
Yet woman-soul'd and passion laden !
Through you, alas ! I make this canto
More warmly-colour "d than I want to !
For I profess let all men know it
To be a Psychologic Poet !
Not that with solemn cogitations
I mean to tire the reader's patience,
Hair-splitting and refining ether
Like some bards (and no small ones neither)
Who show with philosophic hiccup
The metaphysics in a teacup,
And plummets deep as Death apply
To gauge the depths of apple-pie !
But aiming at the adumbration
Of Nature's chaos of sensation,
The more I of these Mysteries speak
The more I pause with blushing cheek !
Many will misconceive me ; some
Will just be thunderstruck and dumb
That I should dream of spiritualising
A subject which there's no disguising
Is delicate extremely. Then
I dread the Critics, those small men
With those big voices ! . . .
Furthermore
The days of passionate song are o'er,
And now no Poet wins the laurel
Who is not absolutely moral.
We've had our fill of impropriety,
Since Byron rose to shock Society,
And of all moods by bards affected
Anacreon's has been least neglected.
The favourite Muses, Greek or British,
Have ever been extremely skittish,
And modern bards have drunk too wildly
The warm Greek wine which Goethe
mildly
Sipt at while sketching with soft shade his
Loose-laced, lax-moral'd German ladies ;
Gretchen, Philina, all the crew,
Fleshly yet sentimental too,
Sad sensuous things of scant decorum,
Lost like the Magdalen before 'em,
Save Mignon, who, as story teaches,
Lack'd fat and so became the breeches.
Then we've had Byron, that lame Cupid
Of odalisques sublimely stupid,
Not to name here Chateaubriand,
Alfred de Musset, and George Sand,
THE FIRST HAVEN.
185
All watering with artistic squirt
The flower of passion grown in dirt,
Till Gautier made the Immortals flutter
By rolling Venus in the gutter !
But patience ! this strange tale I tell
Is high as Heaven, though deep as Hell,
And in the end shall please the mind
That's to analysis inclined ;
Shall show you, ere the last sad line,
The great Eternal Feminine
(Das Ewigweibliche, to wit,
As amorous Wolfgang christen'd it),
And vindicate its flights immodest
Through scenes where Venus lies un-
bodiced,
By flying on with fearless pinions
To the clear air of God's dominions,
That night, within their bower of bloom
Flooded with moonlight and perfume,
The Captain and his new-found treasure
Drank deep of Love's o'erflowing measure,
Then down the Unconscious sinking deep
Floated on shimmering seas of Sleep.
v/Wonder and hush miraculous !
When, weary of her load of care,
This Earth, whose fond arms shelter us,
Feels softly on her brows and hair
The cool dark dews of twilight fall
Mysterious and celestial !
Lo ! while her golden robe of day
Slips film by film and falls away,
Naked and warm she stands a space,
The sun-flush fading from her face :
Then, with bow'd head and soft hands
prest
Upon her bare and billowing breast,
Takes, while the chill Moon steals in sight,
The cold ablution of the Night !
And then, as by the pools of rest
She lieth down subdued and blest,
As on her closed eyes are shed
Dim influence from the heavens o'erhead,
We nestling in her bosom close
Our feverish eyelids and repose
Our spirits husht, our voices dumb,
Our little lives a little still'd,
We sleep ! and round us softly come
Souls from whose fountains ours are
fill'd !
Spirits as soft as moonbeams flit
Around our rest, not breaking it,
Brushing across our lips and eyes
Wings wet with dews of Paradise !
While at God's mercy and at theirs
We lie, they bless us unawares,
Watch the Soul's pool that lies within
The branches dark of Flesh and Sin,
And stir it as with Aaron's rod
To gleams of Heaven and dreams of God !
Lifting the filmy tent of Sleep
With gentle fingers, on us peep
Those errant angels, soft and tender
With some strange starlight's dusky
splendour ;
With balm from Heaven they bedew us,
Bring flowers from Heaven and hold them
to us,
Flash on our eyes the diamonds shaken
To fairy rainbows as we waken,
And jubilantly ere departing
Ring those wild echoes in our ears,
Which, flusht and from our pillows starting,
We hearken for with childish tears !
If Dreams were not, if we could fall
To slumber and not dream at all,
If when the eyes were closed, the sense
Close shut, all seeing vanish' d thence,
Why, 'twere not difficult to fancy
This life no freak of necromancy,
And Man a clock, contrived to go
(Bar breakage) seventy years or so,
Yet running down and pausing nightly,
Pendulum fluttering with no pain,
Till, as the daydawn glimmers brightly,
A Finger quickens it again !
But Dreams, though sages think them silly,
Attest us Spirits willy-nilly,
And prove that, when the Unconscious glides
Around us with its numbing tides,
Shapes past conceiving or control
Stir the dark cisterns of the Soul !
All day God veils Himself in Light,
But down the starry stairs each night
He steals with solemn soundless tread
And finds us fast asleep, not dead !
Ah, then begins the conjuration,
The Mystery, the Incantation !
The Feet Divine with soft insistence
Plash through the Waters of Existence,
Send strange electric thrills each minute
Down to the very ooze within it,
While, startled by the shining Presence,
All Nature breaks to phosphorescence ! . . .
i86
THE OUTCAST.
Now came the golden tropic Morning !
Not like our dawns of chilly gloom :
One glow, one crimson flash of warning,
Then one great flood of blinding bloom
The world awoke and leapt the Sea
Flasht like a mirror radiantly
The leaves and flowers were all alive
A miracle of Light was done
And glad as bees from out the hive
The people flock' d into the sun !
Happy, contented, and serene,
The Outcast left his nuptial bed,
While blushing like a happy queen,
His bride just kissed his lips and fled,
But soon tript back on lightsome feet
With troops of maidens in her train,
Bringing her lord fresh fruits to eat
And cups of coca-milk to drain.
Then gay and glad he sought the strand
And stript, and plung'd into the tide,
And, striking strongly out from land
In pools of Dawn beatified,
He heard a rippling laugh, and turning
Saw her behind him, swimming too
Her dusky face upon him yearning
Baptized with joy and morning dew !
That was the Dawn, the bright beginning
Of one long day of Love's delight !
Happy, unconscious she was sinning,
His slave by day, his bride by night,
She, with her people's acquiescence,
Said in Love's language, ' I am thine,'
And happy in her constant presence
He lived and loved and felt divine !
And ah ! what wonder he was glad,
That all his soul grew iridescent,
Forgot the past so dark and sad,
W r ith such a Bride for ever present ?
Soft almond eyes of starry splendour,
Lips poppy -red, teeth white as pearls,
A warm brown cheek sun-tan'd and
tender,
The nicest, nakedest of girls !
Her form from shoulder down to foot
Like Cupid's bow a splendid curve,
Her flesh as soft as ripen'd fruit
Yet quick with quivering pulse and nerve
Her limbs, like those of some fair statue,
Perfectly rounded, strong yet slight,
Her childish glance, when smiling at you,
Alive with luxury of light !
O happy he whose head could rest
Upon that warm and bounteous breast,
And so ecstatically capture
Its tropic indolence of rapture !
How darkly, passionately fair
She seem'd when, resting by him there
Upon a couch of leaves sweet-scented,
She smiled without a single care,
And took no kiss that she repented,
And knew no thought he could not share.
And when he wearied with the light
Shed on his dazzled soul and sight,
Still as a bird within the nest
She saw his dark eyes close in rest ;
And lay beside him fondly waiting,
Obedient as a happy child,
Watching his face, and palpitating
Till he awoke again and smiled !
For all her pleasure was to trace
The happiness upon his face,
To feel his breath flow warmly thro' her,
To kiss his hands and draw them to her,
And place them on her heart, that he
Might feel it leaping happily !
And ever springing from his side,
She brought him fruit and dainties sweet,
And knelt beside him, happy-eyed
To see her Lord and Master eat
And if he frown'd her face grew very
Sad ; if he laugh'd, her face grew merry ;
So every shade of his emotion
Pass'd to her face and faithful eyes,
As shadows of the summer Ocean
Answer the changes of the Skies !
A Rose with Dawn's cool dew and savour
Renew'd at every kiss he gave her,
A Blush Rose passionately scented,
Serene, unconscious, and contented,
She felt soft airs of Heaven bedew her,
And drank their sweetness deep into her,
Kept Soul and Body, through light and
glooming,
One Flower for ever freshly blooming !
O happy Life ! O blissful Passion !
Far from Life's folly and Life's fashion !
Far from the tailor and the hatter !
Far from the clubs and criticasters !
Far from all metaphysic patter,
From all cold creeds of God and Matter,
From silly sheep and sillier pastors !
No Parliaments, to lying given
No paupers, and no governing classes
THE FIRST HAVEN.
187
No books, or newspapers, thank Heaven !
And no god Jingo for the masses !
O happy Life, without a trouble !
Pure and prismatic as a bubble,
Fresh as a flower with dewdrops
pearl' d,
Ere naked Truth rose, with a wink,
Black from her Well (of printer's ink)
Or out of chaos woke the World I
IV.
PAUSE, Moral Reader, ere you scold
A Bard that seemeth overbold,
And grasp the truth that I who sing
Am like my Hero wandering
Outlaw'd and lost ! Let me commend you,
Moreover, should the theme offend you,
To realise that he whose tale
I tell was ' damn'd' (right justly too),
Forgetting this, you'll wholly fail
To gain the proper point of view.
For your assistance, I'll again
Quote from the Notebook, thus translat-
ing :
4 How peaceful, after all the pain
Of endless doubting and debating !
How restful, after stormy grief,
This quiet of the lotus-leaf !
And yet, and yet ! how Memory flashes
Her mirror in my sleepy eyes,
While darkly on my drooping lashes
The tear-drops linger as they rise !
I mark the Land where I was born,
The red-tiled Town beside the sea,
The Mother who awakes at morn
And turns to give her kiss to me I
I walk along the sun-brown'd sands,
I gather sea-shells in my hands,
I run and sport till death of day,
Then kneeling by my cot, I pray. . .
Again I am a fisher-lad,
I haul the net, I trim the sail,
I whistle to the winds, right glad
To hear the gathering of the gale.
Then sailing homeward tan'd and brown
I watch the red lights of the Town
Gleam blur'd and moist thro' mist and rain,
While down the anchor merrily goes again !
I leap on land, run up the shore,
Eager to gain my home once more,
And startle with a boy's delight
The widow'd Mother waiting there !
Almighty God ! that night, that night !
Ev'n now it chokes me with despair !
For lo, I see the thin white form
Stretch'd on the bed in ghastly rest,
The lips clay cold that once were warm,
The frail hands folded on the breast-
Mother ! my mother ! even now,
I bend and kiss thy marble brow,
The boy's heart breaks, the salt tears flow,
And the great Storm of human Woe
Sweeps round the quick and dead ! Aye
me,
That first great grief, the worst of all !
That first despair and agony,
To which all later woes seem small !
'Then first I knew Thee, God! whose breath
Is felt in pestilence of Death !
Then first I knew Thee whom men bless
And found Thee blind and pitiless !
I knew and lived for 'twas Thy will
Only to torture, not to kill
And so the torn heart heal'd at last,
And I survived, but not the same
And ere the sense of sorrow pass'd
The life within me broke to flame
Of Youth's first love ! and I forgot
The woe which is our mortal lot,
Because a maiden's face was fair,
Because a maiden's lips were sweet,
She bound me with her golden hair
And threw me captive at her feet.
Then, the glad wooing ! The new birth
Of man and God, of Heaven and Earth,
When softly, thro' the shades of night
We stole and watch'd the evening star,
While faint and distant, flashing white,
Waves murmur'd from the harbour bar.
How good Thou wast, Almighty One,
Blessing my troth, the maiden's vow !
But ere another year was done
I curst Thee, as I curse Thee now.
For lo, Thine Angel Death pass'd by,
With flaming finger touched her breast-
Scarce woman yet, too young to die,
She sicken'd of a vague unrest,
Till on her lips clung day by day
The blood-phlegm ever wiped away
By the thin kerchief, while she tried
To force the smile that fought with
tears
1 88
THE OUTCAST.
God, hear my curse once more ! She
died,
But still, across the raging years,
Her wan face rises, to proclaim
Her Maker's infamy and shame ! ~*
' Pass all the rest ! My Soul knew then
The hourly martyrdom of men,
And turn'd in very impotence
To books for comfort, gathering thence
(For they had taught me how to read)
The lies and lusts of every creed.
Then, an old Scribe, who loved to pore
On pages of forbidden lore,
Gave me, for service gently done,
The knowledge that I long'd to gain,
Good soul ! he used me like his son,
And made me erudite and vain.
Four years of this, in Rotterdam,
Combin'd with studies less improving,
And I became the thing I am,
Worn with much thinking and much
loving,
For in that City women were
As bountiful as they were fair.
Then, suffering from an accidental
Complaint to lovers detrimental,
I passed some time, just for variety,
'Mong doctors in the Hospital
Then, tired of land and she-society,
Cried " Curse the women ! one and all ! "
And off again I went, as sailor
Before the mast, upon a Whaler.
"Gentleman Phil " they had me christen'd,
For I could curse in French and Greek,
And merrily the rascals listen' d
When I discoursed, with tongue in cheek,
On men and women, God and Matter,
And all things wicked and unclean !
Lord, how they loved my learned patter,
My blasphemies and jokes obscene !
' Long after, came my Luck. Despairing
Of gaining much by pure seafaring,
I join'd some honest men and brothers
Who robbed upon the Wet Highway,
And being cleverer than the others
I gathered gold, as rascals may
Grown rich, I earn'd their approbation
By deeds accurst they dared not do,
And being skill'd in navigation,
And of some little education,
Became the Captain of the crew,
By Heaven and Hell, those days were
merry !
We knew no pity, felt no fear,
Devils that played at hey down derry
With all that honest men hold dear !
Nor were the smiles of Venus wanting,
For many a fat ship was our prize,
And many a woman most enchanting
Struck her red blush-flag, and sank panting
Under our fire of amorous eyes. . . .
Ah deeds accurst ! Do I repent ?
Perhaps a little, now and then !
But what was God about, who sent
Things that were pure and innocent
To be the spoil of beast-like men ? '
Much in this not too pious vein
The crimson leaves o' the Book contain
Much, too, of scenes which would have
staggered
Jules Verne or Mr. Rider Haggard,
So full they were of wind and water,
Clangour of swords, and general slaughter.
But presently we find him pining
To slip his fetters and be free,
On beds of amaranth reclining
With eyes upon the turquoise sea.
1 So, as I've said, or just suggested, ^
I, the crass Outcast of the Lord,
Seeking salvation (as requested),
In that first Haven snugly nested,
Was rapidly becoming bored.
The Honeymoon, I've always thought,
Is a mistake ! I'd tire, I swear,
If in the net of Wedlock caught,
Of Venus' self, the ever Fair !
No, 'tis the wooing and the winning,
Not the long end, but the beginning,
That is the joy of Love ! Mere courting
Passes all amorous disporting,
And what we crave contains a blessing
We never compass in possessing !
Some men, I grant (not damn'd like me)
Are arm'd so strong in purity,
That wedlock is an endless boon,
And life one long-drawn Honeymoon,
And these appease their modest wishes
As peacefully as jelly-fishes,
And floating flaccid 'neath the sky
Tamely increase and multiply.
But these are fish-like things, not Lovers,
Spawn of the pools, not Ocean rovers,
THE FIRST HAVEN.
189
Lives drifting where the currents choose,
Or sunk in matrimonial ooze.
Moreover, I who write had sown
My wild oats early, and had known
All kinds of pleasure, long before
My rotten Barque set out from shore.
And when the Master of Creation,
Or some blind Force, His adumbration,
Gave me the chance to find salvation
Somewhere on earth, I steered despairing
To this soft Eden in the seas,
And nothing hoping, nothing caring,
Thought " Here at least I'll rest at ease ! "
Not to the Cities did I wander,
Not to the Schools where pedants ponder,
Not to the tents of Civilisation,
But back, straight back, to nude Crea-
tion !
And here I found the general Mother
Beauteous and bounteous, warm and wild,
And from her heart, like many another,
I drank Life's milk, a happy child.
My blessing on her ! Grand and free,
Untainted with morality,
With but one Law of life and pleasure
To render her supremely blest,
She gives me all she hath, full measure
Of that great Milky Way, her Breast
Yet though I linger here, replete
As any flower with all that's sweet,
I often long to be once more
A foam-fleck blown from shore to shore ! '
A ' London ' Note. ' How faint to-day
Seems all that Eden far away !
Ev'n then that life, such as the pure hope
To find at last beyond the sky,
Was far removed from life in Europe
And all the scandal and the cry
Of life in Cities ! People there
Were naked babies sucking corals,
Spent blissful days without a care,
Had no idea what morals were,
And so were innocent of morals.
Since then the Gospel has been spread there,
And divers bad complaints been shed there,
And Civilisation's boisterous busy hum
Has quite destroyed that sweet Elysium.
Soon, if the natives keep progressing,
They'll turn to Scandal for variety,
Receive the new god Jingo's blessing,
Become aesthetic in their dressing,
And have their Journals of Society ! '
Another, blasphemous and fierce.
' Oft, when I think of that fair place,
I front the heavens and seek to pierce,
O God, Thy cloudy hiding-place.
For mark, ev'n there, unseen by me,
Thy Deputies, Disease and Death,
Were crawling snake-like from the sea
To taint pure Nature with their breath.
There, tangled in Thy mesh of woes,
Tortured and stain' d the Leper rose,
And join'd his wail to all the cries
That from the host of martyrs rise
High as Thy Throne! Tell me, Thou
God,
Who, striking Chaos with Thy rod,
Creating Heaven, and Earth, and Flood,
Praised Thine own work and call'd it
"good,"
Tell me, O God, if God Thou art,
Doth Thy Hand rend the breaking heart ?
In beasts and men, doth it adjust
The Hate of Hate, the Lust of Lust,
And blotch Thy work, Humanity,
With these foul stains of Leprosy !
What art Thou, God, if this be so ?
What is the glory Thou dost claim ?
Thy tribute is eternal woe,
Thy pride eternal Death and shame !
I toss the gage to Thee again !
Unfold Thyself, defend Thy plan,
Or own Thy primal work was vain,
And let Thy tears descend like rain
To attest Thy sin at making Man !
' We feel too much, we know too little,
We gaze behind us and before ;
The magic wand of Faith, grown brittle,
Breaks in our grasp ; our Dream is'o'er !
Wakening at last, we understand
The World's no pretty Fairyland,
No sunny World with gods above it,
No happy World with God to love it,
But a worn World whose first sweet prayer
Is turned to darkness and despair
A World without a God !
' O Mother,
We cling to thee with feeble cries,
Fight for thy breast with one another,
Or wondering watch thy sightless eyes
Upturn'd to Heaven ! O Mother Earth,
Still fair and kind as at thy birth,
Still tender yet forlorn, as when
Out of thy womb the race of men
190
THE OUTCAST.
Came crying with the same sad cry
That haunts thee while they droop and die !
Sad as the Sphinx, and blind ! for thou
Hast look'd once on the Father's face,
Hast felt His kiss upon thy brow,
Hast quicken'd, too, in His embrace,
Till blind with light of Deity
That clasp'd thee and was mix'd with thee,
Thine eyes for ever ceased to see ;
And night by night and day by day
Patiently thou dost grope thy way,
Clasping thy children, heavenward,
In search of Him who comes no more
O Mother ! patient ! evil-star'd !
Who now shall be Thy stay and guard,
Now that first Dream of Love is o'er?
' Thy children babble of green fields !
Thy youth and maidens, gladly crying,
Suck all the sweets that Nature yields,
And lie i" the sun, as I am lying !
They learn the raptures of the sense,
Break Love's ripe virgin gourd and thence
Drink the fresh waters of delight . . .
What then? To-morrow Death and Night
Shall find them, or if Death denies
The boon which closes weary eyes,
Despair more dire than Death shall come
To linger o'er their martyrdom !
O Mother ! martyred too ! yet blest
To feel the new-born at thy breast,
What of thy Dead ? What of the prayers
Taught them of old to still their cares ?
What of the promise fondly given
Of comfort, and a Father in Heaven ?
There is no God ! there is no Father !
And that which clasp'd thee, mother
Earth,
Was formless, voiceless, monstrous, rather
Than gracious and of heavenly birth
The attributes we take from thee
Are bright and fair, tho' only clay,
The living force that keeps us free,
The joy of Life, the bliss of Day !
What we inherit from the Sire
Is formless, passionless, and dim,
Deep dread, despair, unrest, desire
To climb the heavens and gaze on Him !
Ah, hopeless and eternal quest !
Ah, Life so sweet ! so fugitive !
Dear Mother, endless sleep is best,
But ere we close our eyes in rest
We loathe the Power which made us live.
' What mercy hast Thou, Father? None,
Even for Thine own Beloved Son,
Who weeping sadly, drinking up
The poison of Thy hemlock cup,
While the rude rocks and clouds were
shaken,
And even Thine angels sobbed in pain,
Cried, " Eloi, why am I forsaken ? "
And dying, sought Thy Face in vain ! . .
Reveal that Face ! -Uplift Thy veil,
O God, and show Thyself, that we
Who struggling upward faint and fail
May know Thy lineaments and Thee !
Thou canst not, for Thou art not I I
Have never found in sea or sky
One living token that Thou art,
One semblance of a Father's heart,
One look, one touch to attest Thy claim
To godhead and a Father's name ! '
Bright crimson was the blood wherein
Those words were written down !
' My sin
Falls like a garment to my feet,
Naked I front Thy Judgment Seat,
Veil'd Maker of the World. Thy Word
Breath'd on the darkness, and it stirred
And lived for what ? That Man might
rise
With hopeless heaven-searching eyes,
Clothed in Thy likeness ? Thine f the
Form
No man hath seen, no man may know,
A Phantom riding on the Storm
While Earthquake rends the earth below ;
While like a hawk that hunts its prey
Death, creeping on from plain to plain,
Tortures the Human night and day,
Wounds what 'twere pitiful to slay,
And scatters Pestilence and Pain.
I tell thee, one poor human thing,
One little suffering lamb, one frail
Form of Thy cruel fashioning,
Refutes the Lie which cries ' ' All Hail,
Father Almighty ! "
' Mighty ? No !
Weaker than we who come and go
Erect and proud, whose deeds approve
A human brotherhood of love.
Our love and hate have aims, but thine
Are idle bolts at random hurl'd ;
THE FIRST HAVEN.
191
Impotent, hidden, yet Divine,
Brood o'er thy broken-hearted World ! '
My last quotation (for the present),
Though far less fierce, is still unpleasant :
' Pictor Ignotus / Power Unseen !
Who imn'd this sight whereon I gaze,
The still blue Seas, the arc serene
Of yon still Heavens of radiant sheen,
I doff my hat and give Thee praise !
Thy skill in painting this green Earth,
The forms upright that seem divine,
Proclaim Thy most exceeding worth
No technique, Master, equals Thine !
Step forward, then, O great Unknown,
Accept our humble admiration !
All men of taste will gladly own
The excellence of Thy Creation !
A beauteous bit of work like this
Whereon I feast mine eyes this morning,
All peace, all prettiness, all bliss,
Hushes at once all doubt, all scorning.
Tell me, Great Master, did'st Thou make
This thing for the mere Beauty's sake,
Having no other test to measure
Thy work, but pure aesthetic pleasure?
If this be so, why do we see
Elsewhere, attributed to Thee,
So many things which, I opine,
Are really coarse and Philistine ?
Another question, which concerns
The aesthetic spirit. Many hold,
However bright and clear it burns,
'Tis selfish, passionless, and cold ;
Indifferent to the means whereby
It gains the artistic end in view,
It broods alone, with cruel eye
That keeps the handcraft sure and true.
If this be so, and Thou, O great
Master, art but a craftsman fine,
I understand and estimate
(At last) Thy process, called " Divine "-
Cold to the prayer of human sorrow,
Deaf to the sob of human strife,
Thou workest grandly, night and morrow,
On Thy great Masterpiece of Life !
For Thine own pleasure is it done,
Since Art's delight is in the doing,
Thine own enjoyment, slowly won,
Is the sole end Thou art pursuing -
No dull despairing criticaster
Troubles Thee or disturbs Thee, Master !
No thought of human approbation
Perturbs Thy rapture of creation !
No sound of breaking hearts can reach
Thee,
No touch of tears Thy sense can thrill,
Tho' millions praise Thee or beseech Thee,
Indifferent Thou labourest still ;
Picture on Picture is destroyed,
And thrown into the empty void ;
World upon world is made, and then
Rejected gloomily again ;
Life upon life is painted fair,
Then tost aside in Art's despair ;
And so, with blunders infinite,
Thou toilest for Thine own delight !
' And when Thy task is done, when Art
Crowns to the full Thy great endeavour,
Alone, Unknown, still sit apart,
And glory in Thy work for ever 1 '
THERE, where eternal Summer lingers,
The Isle lay golden 'neath the blue,
Save when the Rain's soft tremulous fingers
Just touch'd its eyes with cool dark dew,
Or when with sudden thunderous cry
The chariots of the clouds went by,
And trembling for a little space,
The Isle lay down with darken'd face
Under the vials of the Storm,
Then shook the sparkling drops away
And looking upward felt the warm
New sunlight gladdening thro' the grey I
Like a child's heart that beats so gladly,
So full of joy for Life's own sake,
Did not the sudden tears flow madly
A moment's space, 'twould surely
break,
So did that Land of Summer capture
Just now and then surcease from rapture !
But after storms, the bliss grew finer,
And storms indeed were far between,
The days divine, the nights diviner,
With peace celestial and serene.
From dawn to dark the golden Light
Dwelt on green cape and gleaming height,
On yellow sands where the blue Sea
Pencil'd in silvern filagree
Frail flowers and leaves of frost-white spray
That ever came and flash'd away.
I 9 2
THE OUTCAST.
Then, the deep nights ! great nights of calm,
Full of ambrosial bliss and balm !
Smooth sun-stain'd waves as daylight fled
Broke on the reef to foam blood-red,
Till the white Moon arose, and lo !
The foam was powdery silver snow,
And slowly, softly, down the night,
O'er the smooth black and glistering Sea,
The starry urns of crystal Light
Were fill'd and emptied momently !
Then in the centre of the glimmer
The round Moon ripen'd as she rose,
And cover' d with the milk-white shimmer
The glassy Waters took repose ;
And round the Isle a murmur deep
Of troubled surges half asleep
Broke faintlier and faintlier
As Midnight took her shadowy throne ;
In heaven, on earth, no breath, no stir,
No sound, save that deep slumb'rous
tone !
Wonder of Darkness ! 'neath its wing
All living things sank slumbering,
Save those glad lovers in delight
Clinging and gazing at the sky,
While phosphorescent thro' the night
Portents of Nature glimmer'd by !
In such dark hours of stillness Love
Reaches her apogee of bliss ;
The fountains of the spirit move
Upward, and cresting to a kiss
Sink earthward sighing then we seem.
Creatures of passion and of dream,
Ethereal shadowy things whose breath
May touch the cheeks of happy Death,
Who smile, and sigh for joy, and fall
Into deep rest celestial !
Such joy I've had on autumn eves
When the Moon shines on slanted sheaves,
And thro' the distant farmhouse pane
The lighted candle flashes red,
And darker over field and lane
The gloaming of the night is shed.
Then, pillow' d on a warm white breast,
And gazing into happy eyes,
While the faint flush of radiance blest .
Still came and went on the dark skies,
I've felt the dim Earth softly spinning
On its smooth axle, while above
The bright stars as at Time's beginning
Turn'd in their spheres of Light and
Love ;
O joy of Youth ! O adumbration
Of Hope and ecstasy intense !
When Life's faint stir, Love's first pulsa-
tion,
Turn to a splendour dazzling sense !
One night like that were more to me,
Now I am weary with Earth's ways,
Than all a long Eternity
Of strident, garish, gladsome days !
Ah, to be young ! ah, once again
To drink Youth's wild and wondrous
wine !
To quit the pathos and the pain
For passionate hours of joy divine !
To feel the breast that comes and goes
While fond white arms around me twine,
To feel the ripe mouth like a rose
Prest close, with kiss on kiss, to mine !
To feel all Nature thus fulfil
Her gladness in that touch of lips,
Which cling and cling and cling and thrill
One Soul to the soft finger-tips,
All this, which I can ne'er express,
This flush of Youth and Happiness,
Methinks, is infinitely nicer
Than being counted good or clever
Than growing every day preciser
And finding Love has flown for ever !
For ever? No ! Thank God, the power
Of Love can move me to this hour ;
And tho' my moonlight pranks are over,
And those old sheaves are shed like sleet,
I'll be a Poet and a Lover
Until my heart doth cease to beat !
Yet there are nobler things than pleasure,
Diviner things than Flesh can gain,
Insight too deep for joy to measure
Comes with supremacy of pain !
When kneeling by the Dead and seeing
That still white Lily with shut eyes,
We feel, stirred to the depths of Being,
The pathos of poor human ties.
If in that awful trysting place,
We watch, thro' tears that blindly roll,
Pale Love and shadowy Death embrace
And blend to one eternal Soul,
How feeble, of how little worth,
Seem all those ecstasies of Earth !
Out of corruption and decay
Spring flowers that cannot pass away
Out of a grief transcending tears
Springs radiance that redeems our lot,
THE FIRST HA VEN.
193
While faintly on our listening ears
Rings the soft music of the spheres,
' Forget me not ! forget me not ! '
Shall we forget ? Shall Death not be
The gauge of our Humanity ?
Shall Love and Death, one Soul, one
Thought,
Not waft us upward as on wings ?
Almighty God, our life were naught,
Were this dark Miracle ne'er wrought
To prove us spiritual things.
Dust to the dust there let it lie !
Soul to the Soul which cannot die !
The dim white Dove of Death is winging
O'er Life's great flood in lonely flight,
That sad black leaf of olive bringing
To prove a hidden Land of Light !
God, who created Earth and Heaven,
Lord of the Dead Thy love can save,
Thy Bow still comforts the bereaven
While Death wings on from wave to
wave !
Standing 'neath Sorrow's sunless pall
We hail a symbol bright and blest,
And by that sign know one and all
That when these troubled Waters fall
Our Ark on Ararat shall rest ! . . . ,
So the sweet days stole on, and still
The Outcast wandered at his will
From dream to dream, from bliss to bliss,
Glad and unconscious of his doom ;
His thought, a smile his life, a kiss
His breath and being, one perfume !
But even as the Snake once stole
Unseen, unguess'd, to Eden's Bowers,
Ennui, the Serpent of the Soul,
Crept in deep-hid 'neath fruit and
flowers !
Slowly the ecstasy intense
Fever'd the life of Soul and Sense,
And certain of delight the eyes
Grew weary of the happy Skies,
And looking up into his face,
Her only Heaven, the Maid could trace,
Ere he himself was yet aware,
The filmy clouds of nameless care !
Sometimes he'd sit wrapt deep in
thought,
His gaze upon the glassy Sea ;
Sometimes from sleep his passion-fraught
Spirit would wake him suddenly !
H.
Sometimes, on days of summer rain,
When gentle storms swept round the
land,
He paced the shores, and seemed again
Upon the wave-tost deck to stand !
And wistful as a hound, that lies
Watching its master's face, and tries
To share his sorrow or delight,
The Maiden mark'd him day and night !
' This is the worst of Joy the more
We bask ' (he writes) ' beneath its ray,
The sooner is the magic o'er,
The quicklier doth it fade away !
Sunshine without a cloud at all
Of its own peace begins to pall,
And calm too tropic and intense
Soon fevers to indifference !
Whence little rain-clouds, tempests even,
Keep Hymen's garden green and grow-
ing,
And lovers weary of a Heaven
Where no rain falls, no wind is blowing !
One sickens of fine weather, tires
Of ever-gratified desires,
Is bored, although at first enchanted,
By having every fancy granted.
And ah ! my little Maid, unskill'd
In any art of the coquette,
All love, all rapture, sweetly filled
With the warm wine her soul distilled,
Incapable of fear or fret,
Ne'er knew what women more capricious
Learn, with long culture for a guide,
That joy is render' d more delicious
By being now and then denied.
How could a Passion-Flower, all scent,
All bloom, and all abandonment,
Appreciate the subtle ways
Which wiser modern women show
forth?
Such dainty tricks came in with stays,
Flounces, and pantalettes, and so
forth,
Whence we our Modern Venus see,
Not in immortal nudity,
But veil'd in beauteous mystery !
But Love in that bright Land abode
Almost in mother-nakedness,
Pure Nature all her beauties showed
Indifferent to the arts of Dress :
No Milliner had wander'd thither,
Bearing Parisian magic with her :
i 9 4
THE OUTCAST.
The skirt's sly folds, the robe's disguises,
The pruderies of silken hose,
The roguish petticoat's surprises,
The thousand spells that Art devises
To veil the secrets of the Rose !
That Child of Sunlight never guess'd
How winsome and how fair may be
A modern Maiden bravely drest
In opalescent modesty !
The scented form that shrinks away
At the first look of tenderness,
The faltering tongue that murmurs " nay,"
Belying eyes that answer "yes,"
The flying feet a lover chases,
The half-withdrawn, half lingering
hand,
The breast that heaves 'neath creamy
laces
Craving yet shrinking from embraces,
Were all unknown in that sweet Land ! '
And so, already, as I've told,
The fabled Snake was crawling there,
Since he who trod those shores of gold
Had brought it with him unaware !
For worldly knowledge and its pride
Tainted the man's dark nature thro',
And as they wandered side by side,
Lonely as Adam and his bride,
Under those skies of Eden's blue,
He often watched her in the mood
Of modern Bards and Heroes, saying :
' True, she is beautiful and good,
As fine a thing of flesh and blood
As ever loved or went a-Maying.
She recognises, too, completely
The privilege of her master Man,
And, ever fond and smiling sweetly,
Supplies his needs, as Woman can.
She is the instrument placed by me
To calm, perhaps to purify, me !
And I, of course, in this affair,
Fit object of her daily prayer,
Am the one person whose salvation
God takes into consideration !
/ am the Hero I am clearly
The object of His circumspection,
And she, although I love her dearly,
Is but a means to my perfection. '
And so, like other cultivated
Dunces by Folly sublimated,
He took that angel's fond and true
Homage as if it were his due !
A Hero ! he! Now God confound him,
And all such Heroes great or small
The crown of pride with which Love crown'd
him
Was but a Fool's cap after all !
HEROES ? The noblest and the best
Are those of whom we never know ;
God's Greatest are God's Lowliest,
Who move unnoted to their rest
Nor build their pride on human woe.
Napoleons of Sword or Song,
The proud, the radiant, and the strong,
The inheritors of Earth, are clay
To the slain Saints of every day.
The Kings of Action and of Thought
Pass in their pride and leave no sign,
But the slain Martyr's flesh is wrought
By suffering to Life divine.
In the eternal Judge's sight
This truth refutes the common lie :
What men call Genius hath no right
To scorn one single human tie.
Come up, ye Poets, and be tried !
Stand up, you shrieking, mouthing
throng !
Shall you be spared and justified
For a few scraps of selfish song ?
By Heaven, the weary world could spare
All poets since Creation's day,
If one poor human heart's despair,
One poor lost Soul's unheeded prayer,
Must be the price it hath to pay !
Bury your Homers mountain-deep,
Strangle your Shakespeares ere they wake,
If they their heritage must keep,
If they Parnassus- ward must creep
O'er souls they stain and hearts they break.
For what is Verse, and what is Fame ?
Great reams of paper, much acclaim !
And what are Poets at the best
But busy tongues that often bore us ?
One noble heart, one loving breast
Is worth the whole long-winded chorus !
But hold ! true Poesy keeps ever
Great wisdom as its pearl of price ;
The sleepless Dream, the long Endeavour,
The questioning Thought that resteth never,
Demand no living sacrifice.
THE FIRST HAVEN.
195
Your Goethe's pyramid was made
Of broken hearts and lives betrayed,
Wherefore men found it, when complete,
A pyramid of Self-conceit.
And take your Shelley (tho' I hold
The fellow had a harp of gold) :
He stained the Soul he had to save
The day he turn'd from Harriet's grave.
But leave me Burns, and Byron too,
They had their faults, and those not few,
And gave the nations much offence
By riot and concupiscence,
But Love was in the rogues ! they paid
Full dearly for the pranks they played,
And never, in their wildest revel,
Pleaded the privilege of Fame,
Or called on Genius and the Devil
To justify their guilt and shame !
Some men, all women, worship Strength :
Carlyle did, till experience taught him
That even the athlete pays at length
The bills that Time and Death have
brought him.
Rough Thomas loudly preached for long
That hero-worship of the Strong,
The right of muscle and of sinew
To use the weak and crush the small,
' Do something ! show the spirit in you,
Work, in God's name ! ' men heard him
call.
' Speech, sirs, is silvern silence gold ! '
He cried aloud with lungs of leather ;
Nay, even when wearied out and old
He could not keep his tongue in tether.
Friedrich, Napoleon, Mirabeau,
Danton and Goethe were his crazes !
They stood like puppets in a row,
Tall spectres of a wax-work show,
While lustily he shrieked their praises.
Meantime the bleeding Christ went by,
And heard the acclaim in Cheyne
Walk,
Heard from the threshold, with a sigh,
The creed of Silence proved by Talk,
And passing slowly on, footsore,
Left on the noisy Prophet's door
The mark of Passover, for token
A Lamb must die, a life be broken.
'Twas done, and in a little space,
Silent at last as in a tomb,
The Prophet, tears on his worn face,
Sat old and lonely in the gloom
How did his Heroes help him then ?
What word had Friedrich, Mirabeau,
Napoleon, and the mighty men
He glorified with tongue and pen,
To assuage the tempest of his woe ?
Old Hurricane, I hated thee
When, shrieking down Humanity,
High as a Dervish thou upleapt,
But in thine hour of agony,
I could have kissed thy wounds and
wept.
The pity ! ah, the pity of it !
Well, Life is piteous at the best.
Thou wast most mighty, poor old Prophet,
When weakest, saddest, silentest !
Tho' all the gods were dead, and He,
The great God, who is One in Three,
' Did naught ' (at least in thy opinion,
Though thou did'stcry His Name so loud)
Though Belial reigned in His dominion
And led the many-headed crowd,
Yet supernatural Shapes of Fear,
Fiend-like or god-like, pass'd thee by,
And Froude, thy Nemesis, was near
With watchful biographic eye.
Heir to thy weariness and folly,
He warm'd thy night-cap, brought thy
gruel,
Sat by thine arm-chair, melancholy,
And fed thy fantasy with fuel.
And now across the earth he passes,
Babbling of thee and Parson Lot,
And serves up tepid for the masses
Thy gospel, once so piping hot ;
Feeds little strong men with his praise,
Just as you fed the strong and great,
Bewails the dark degenerate days,
The dreadful Democratic craze,
The shipwreck of our ancient State ;
Longs for another Drake (or gander),
Of whom in Eyre he saw some traces,
Some rough, swashbuckler, bold com-
mander,
To govern the inferior races ;
Thro' the colonial seas careering
Avers philanthropies are vile,
And rests, forlornly pamphleteering,
The Peter Patter of Carlyle.
Man is most godlike, I affirm,
Not when he seeks to top the skies,
And peer, poor evanescent Worm,
Into the heavenly Sphinx's eyes,
O2
196
THE OUTCAST,
Not when he vainly tries to patter
Of Gods and heroes, Mind and Matter,
Or cries, with folly sublimated,
' Lo, I am first of things created,'
Or flapping further leaden-bodied
Assumes a legislative godhead ;
But when, in tears, he humbly kneeling
Prays in the silence of the night,
Knows himself blind, and dimly feeling
With frail arms upward, craves for Light !
Then, from without or from within,
Comes in that solemn silent hour
The miracle which turns his sin
To hope, to insight, and to power !
Then comes the Voice from far away,
Saying : ' My love shall be thy guerdon !
Be of good heart, poor thing of clay,
Soon shall I turn thy night to day,
And free thy Soul from flesh, its burden ! '
He listens, breaks to tears, and straightway
Feels this rough load of bone and brawn
Grow lighter, sees a heavenly Gateway
Swing on its hinges far withdrawn,
Revealing glimpses bright and blest
Of good old-fashion'd Realms of Rest,
The Heaven which all his kin have sighed
for,
Which bards have dreamed of, martyrs died
for,
Which Christ the Master postulated,
Which every creed hath pictured there,
Which Death itself hath adumbrated
Out of the cloud of Life's despair !
Dear foolish Creed ! sweet Superstition !
Fair childish Dream, now faded wholly !
By men of brains and erudition
Despised as ignorance and folly !
Humanity, the wise inform us,
Is intellectua , or naugn ,
And Heroes, wondrous and enormous,
Have soared to thrones of godlike
thought,
Attesting that Humanity
By its own seed redeemed may be,
And that the Titans of each nation
May face the Saturn of Creation.
For ' God 'if there be God at all
Does nothing (that's the Chelsea teach-
ing !)
And to be weak and frail and small,
To reach up arms and feebly call
Onsomeveil'd Nurse, in blind beseeching,
Is just to forfeit altogether
The privilege of Adam's seed !
' No, if in Nature's stormy weather,
You'd find a foothold and a creed,
A light, a buckler, an example,
A sign to swear by (or to swear at),
Find out some Hero strong and ample
Who. on your neck hath strength to trample,
Crying, " Qui meruit palmamferat !"
Follow that form the small birds sing to,
O'er fields of slain the vultures wing to,
While women wail and warriors revel !
Since you can find no God to cling to,
Worship some proud heroic Devil ! ' . . .
Well, to my Tale for I'm digressing
Most damnably, and space is pressing.
At times, indeed, despite the curse
Of Knowledge in him, my poor Hero,
Lord of his own Soul's universe,
Yet lone as Lapland, low as zero,
Felt childishly beatified,
Foolishly pious, tried to gulp a
Tear of repentance down, and cried
1 Lord of the meek, forgive my pride,
O mea culpa I mea culpa ! '
For even a Hero, one who deems
Himself the centre of Creation,
Who, proud of God's attention, beams
With self-approving admiration,
Is only clay ! A great philosopher
Will often whimper on the sly,
And sceptics often try to cross over
The Bridge of Prayers that spans the
Sky.
On moonlight nights, on Sabbath days,
When Earth herself lies still and prays
Rock'd in the sad Sea's quiv'ring arms,
And God's Hand, laid upon her breast,
'Mid folds of trembling darkness, charms
Her fears to momentary rest,
All creatures, proud or lowly, share
That dusky rapture of despair !
And now the Outcast who had sneer'd
At all the schemes of Earth and Heaven,
Who fear'd no wrath or tempest, feared
The peace, the joy, which God had
given !
And gazing in that Maiden's eyes
Full of soft love and sad surmise,
He saw a starry radiance shine
That show'd hi m base, and her divine !
THE FIRST HAVEN.
197
Ah, then he could have prayed, and wept,
Humble, and low, and spirit-sore
But the mood pass'd, and o'er him crept
The cankering curse of pride once more.
Yet those were happy, happy days !
'Twas Eden tho' the Snake was there !
Eternal Summer shed its rays
O'er these still seas, thro' these green ways,
And all was primitive and fair !
Life grew so still and softly sweet
The rapturous heart scarce seemed to
beat,
And sense and spirit seem'd to swoon
To the hot hush of one long Noon ;
Sometimes thro' forest paths of green
They walk'd, and thro' the leafy sheen
O'erhead, beheld the bright skies grow
Miraculously white, like snow ;
Or to some grotto's shade they came
And saw with slimy weeds o'ergrown
Some carven god without a name
Sit in the chillness all alone,
And on her face the little Maid
Fell for a space and softly prayed,
Then dipt her finger tips into
The cool green drops of sunless dew
That on the idol dript and fell,
And laid them on her lover's brow,
And seem'd to say, ' Love, all is well
He gives us both his blessing now ! '
Sometimes upon the peaceful Sea
They paddled out in light canoes,
And floating softly, silently,
O'er deep cool voids of rainbow hues,
Saw far below them, far as was
The mirror'd heaven as smooth as glass,
Thro' soft translucent depths of dream,
Down, down, within the clear abysm,
Bright creatures of the Ocean gleam
And fade, like colours in the prism ;
There, rocked on crystal waves that were
As clear and shadowless as air,
They seem'd suspended near the sun
Between two Heavens that throb'd as one !
Sometimes they climb'd the peaks, and
stood
Full in the moonlight's amber flood,
And saw the great stars as bright as gold
Steal breathless from the azure fold,
And like strange luminous living things
Move to their silent pasturings ;
And down beneath them, far as gaze
Could see into the ocean-ways,
Such shapes as in a mirror shone,
And softly pasturing too, crept on !
And all around them on the heights
Eternity set beacon-lights,
And meteors, flashing suddenly,
Fell radiant from sky to sea,
While sadly as some heart bereaven
Throb'd the great luminous Heart of
Heaven !
Almighty God, who out of clay /-
Fashioned us creatures of a day,
Who gave us vision to perceive,
And souls to wonder and believe,
How calmly, coldly, we behold
Thy daily marvels manifold !
Thy raiment-hem of glory sweeps
Across the darkness of the Deeps,
And quickens light and life, O God,
In all it touches, stone or clod
And we ... things of a day, an hour,
Accept the wonder as our dower,
And wearying of the splendour, lust
For darkening pleasures of the dust.
Tho' Thou hast girdled us around
With ecstasies of sight and sound,
Tho' all without us and within
Thy Thought takes form and adumbra-
tion,
Dark is the answer it doth win
From us, the waifs of Thy creation !
We cry for Miracles, and lo !
All Nature is illumed for us ! ;
The sun, the stars, the flowers, the snow,
Change at Thy touch miraculous
In vain, in vain, the Mystery,
We understand not, tho' we see,
And like sick children, turning thence,
Fret out our little sum of sense !
Yet sometimes to Thy touch we quicken
A moment, like that Man and Maiden,
And while Thy wonders round us thicken
We pause and marvel, passion-laden,
Then lifted in some air divine
High o'er this world to yonder Sky,
See, where Thy constellations shine,
The Darkness of Thy Face go by !
An instant only ! could the wonder
Last but another, then indeed
Our bonds of flesh were torn asunder,
And we were purified and freed
But no ! the thrill celestial
Ceases and .down to Eartk we fall,
I 9 8
THE OUTCAST.
And coldly once again survey
Thy miracles of Night and Day !
Back to our lovers ! Could I tell
Of all they felt and dream'd and thought,
How Love for ever changed the spell
That bound their spirits fever-fraught,
How night and day their lives were blent
In rapture and abandonment,
My song would never end ! the Hours
Flew by like maidens crown'd with flowers,
Each like the other dancing on,
Till many nights and days were gone,
How many who can tell ? Not I
For in these passionate relations
We count not Time as it goes by,
But measure it by palpitations :
At last, we waken, and look back
Along the pleasant flowery track
By which we've journey'd, to discover
The flowers are flown, the leaves are
dead ;
So, at least, was it with our Lover,
When his long honeymoon was over
And the first bloom of Love had fled.
And how it would have ended, whether
He would have stealthily departed,
Or roughly cut the tender tether
That held their sunny lives together,
And left the maiden broken-hearted,
I know not. Fate, the wild Witch-woman
Who thwarts the plans of all things human,
Came flying to that Isle so sunny
With imps of mischief in her train,
And changed Love's waning moon of honey
Into a baleful star of pain !
BENEATH thick boughs of emerald green
Turn'd by the sunlight's golden ray
To curtains of transparent sheen,
They had roam'd, for half a summer's
day :
Now resting in the dappled shade
By silvern fount or bubbling well,
Now passing thro' some open glade
Where the spent shafts of splendour fell ;
But ever as they wander 'd on
The man look'd dark as one who dreams,
With inward-looking eyes that shone
To restless melancholy gleams ;
And all her loving arts were vain
To stir the shadow of this paia ;
On passive lips as chill as clay
Her kisses fell ; her warm hand lay
Fluttering in a hand of stone ;
No look of love, no tender tone,
Answer 'd the sweetness of her own ;
Till suddenly the umbrage deep
Of those great woodlands still as sleep
Parted, and grassy heights were gained
Sloping to great crags crimson-stain'd,
And 'tween the crags, that heavenward rose
Crown'd with one solitary palm,
The Ocean ! troublous in repose,
Murmurous in folds of summer calm !
Then his eye brighten'd, and with fleet
Footsteps he hasten'd on until,
Where the high cliffs and clouds did meet,
The white surge far beneath his feet,
He paused, and gladdening drank his fill
Of some new rapture. Blithe and bright,
To see his gloom had passed away,
She join'd him on the lonely height,
And, happy as a child at play,
Ran gathering ferns and flowers that grew
Above the chasm's purple blue
Between her and the rocky shore ;
She scarce could hear so far away
The breaking billows' ceaseless roar,
But saw the line of snow-white spray
Frozen by distance. Then she turn'd,
And lo ! his face no longer yearn'd
Fondly to hers, but eagerly
Bent to the far-off shoreless Sea !
And ah ! the hunger and the thirst
Of sleepless wanderers tempest-nurst,
The look which wives and mothers fear
I' the eyes of those they hold so dear,
The rapture which is Love's despair,
The unrest of Ocean, all were there,
Mirror'd in that bright restless gaze
Which swept the wondrous watery ways !
She spoke he smiled ! and she could
read
In that strange smile the doom of Love !
No more her own, in dream or deed,
Lifted in some wild air above
Her hopes and dreams, he felt again
The power, the passion, and the pain
Of that Revolt, that mad Surmise,
The sleepless Waters symbolise !
But then he looked at her and smiled
Again, and now it seemed once more
THE FIRST HAVEN.
199
The smile of Love, tho' wan and wild,
Not soft and sunny as before ;
And gazing back thro' tender tears
She drank the smile, and softly scan'd
Her lover's face, while on her ears
Fell words she could not understand.
'Close tome, close ! ' he cried aloud,
'Would that this hour, my child, we
twain
Might mingle, drifting like one cloud
Over the melancholy Main !
Would that the cup thy love hath brought
Might quench the thirst of my despair !
Would that my spirit fever-fraught
Might kneel with thine in peaceful
prayer !
But no, the golden Dream is done
(O God, how sweet ! O God, how fair !)
Thy life grows here beneath the sun,
Mine is among the Storms, out there !
God bless thee, child if God there be,
His benediction must be thine
But voices yonder from the Sea,
Voices of Souls as lost as mine,
Still call aloud that He I name
Hath still no power to calm or tame
The spirit who denies and spurns
The peace for which thy nature yearns.
The storm-cloud touches with its shower
The flower that blossoms sweet and
low
But the cloud blends not with the flower,
Nor rests in peace where flowers may
grow.
My child, my child ! Would I had been
Pure like thyself and purely true,
Sure of my dower of Light serene,
Sure of the earth from which I grew
But no ! no rest, no joy, contents
The outcast Soul, the sleepless Will
And what the cruel Elements
Have mixed in wrath, no Love can still ! '
Even as a child who tries to guess
The words she little understands,
But kindles into happiness
Thro' smile of eyes and clasp of hands,
She listened ! then her lips to his
Were sealed in a heavenly kiss,
And running from his side again
She gathered flowers and brought them
to him,
And as he took them, piteous pain,
Scornful yet wistful, trembled thro' him.
As some bright bird of Paradise,
Or some fair fawn-like pard, seem'd she,
An earthly thing with elfin eyes,
Scarce humanised, yet fond and free ;
And lo, he loved her, as men love
Earth and the flowers that blossom thence,
The beasts and birds of wood and grove,
All happy things that live and move
Like apparitions round the sense ;
But deep within his troubled breast
An alien love, a vague unrest,
Stirr'd to a sense of vaster things,
Great doubts and dreams, divine desire,
An eagle's thirst to unfold its wings,
Upward to fly in circling rings,
And front the blinding solar fire !
High o'er the utmost crag there grew
The palm-tree, rooted in the rock,
Bent by each ocean-blast that blew,
But firm amidst the tempest's shock.
And round its roots, beneath its shade,
Flowers like our wind-flower clustering
crept,
Thither, swift-footed, unafraid,
Laughing, the little Maiden leapt ;
Till down beneath her fairy feet
She saw the distant surges beat,
Great birds that look'd like butterflies
Hovering white o'er ridged waves,
While trumpet-calls and thunder-cries
Rose from the distant chasms and
caves ;
Then as she gained the lonely tree,
And stooped among the flowers, the
sound
Of air and water suddenly
Thunder'd like earthquake all around !
Fearless and happy, white and fair,
She paused in pretty wonder there,
Then looking back beheld her lover
Beckoning with face as pale as death.
' Come back, come back ! ' he cried, while
over
The gulf she hung with bated breath
Then smiling back to him who yearn'd
Beyond her, merrily she turn'd,
And kneeling o'er the chasm hung
To pluck one fair white flower that clung
Beneath her o'er the chasm's gloom,
With light quick finger touch'd the bloom,
200
THE OUTCAST.
And then . . .
Great God, who gav'st us sight,
Yet see'st us grope with close-shut eyes,
Blind to the blessings of the Light,
Dead to the Love that deifies !
Unto how many men each hour
Frail little fingers seek to bring
Some gentle gift of love, some flower
That is the Soul's best offering ?
Some happiness which we despise,
Some boon we toss aside for ever,
And only that our selfish eyes
May smile one moment on the giver !
How many of us count or treasure
The little lives that perish thus,
To garner us a moment's pleasure,
A moment's space to comfort us?
Blind, ever blind, we front the sun
And cannot see the angels near us,
Forget the tender duties done
By willing slaves, to help and cheer us !
Earth and its fulness, all the fair
Creations of this heaven and air,
All lives which die that we may live,
All gifts of service, we pass by,
All blessings Love hath power to give
We scorn, O God, or we deny !
Is there a man beneath the sun,
Tho' poor and basest of the base,
For whom such duty is not done
To pleasure him a little space ?
A singing bird, a faithful hound,
A loving woman, or a child,
Contented with our voice's sound,
Patient in death if we have smiled,
These, these, -O God, are daily sent
To give thine outcasts sacrament,
And in so giving themselves attain
Thy sacred privilege of pain !
Yet still our eyes turn sunward blindly,
And blindly still our souls contemn
The loving hands that touch us kindly,
The lips that kiss our raiment's hem ;
And we forget or turn away
From flowers that blossom on our way :
Blind to the gentle ministration
Of tutelary angels near,
We find too late that our salvation
Lies near, not far ; not there, but
here / . . .
Even then, as with her little hand
She grasped the flower and sought to rise,
The crag's edge crumbled into sand,
And fluttering from her lover's eyes
She vanished ! With a shriek of dread
He gained the crag, and pausing there,
The great rocks trembling 'neath his tread,
Gazed down and down thro' voids of
air,
And saw beneath him, thro' the snow
Of flying foam that rose below,
A still white form stretch'd silently
On those cold rocks that fringed the Sea !
What next did pass, he knew not. When
His blinded soul grew clear again,
He stood beneath the craggy height
Close to the surges flashing white,
And, dazzled by the foam and spray,
Bent o'er that bruised and bleeding
Form ;
Crush'd on the cruel shore it lay,
Silent and still, yet soft and warm ;
And as he knelt with tender cries
Lifting her gently to his breast,
She stir'd and moan'd, then, opening
eyes,
With one last smile serene and blest,
Brighten'd to see her Master bow
Above her, gladly drank his breath,
With fluttering fingers smooth'd his brow,
Kiss'dhim, and closed her eyes in death !
How still it was ! the clouds above
Paused quietly and did not move
The waves lay down like lambs the
sound
Of crags and waves was hushed all round.
' O God, my God ! ' the Outcast said,
Kissing the lips still warm and red,
While the frail form hung lax and dead.
And lo ! there stole upon his ear,
Low as his own heart's beat, yet clear,
A murmur faint as Sabbath bells
Heard far away 'mid forest dells
Buried in leaves and haze, so still
And soft it only seems the thrill
Of silence thro' the summer air
A sigh of rapture and of prayer !
And lo ! his dark face seaward turn'd,
As in a vision he discerned,
Thro' thickly flowing tears, a Form
In saffron robes and golden hair,
Walking with rosy feet all bare
The Waters slumbering after storm !
THE FIRST HA VEN.
201
A Maiden Shape, her sad blue eyes
Soft with the peace of Paradise,
She walked the waves ; in her white hand
Pure lilies of the Heavenly Land
Hung alabaster white, and all
The billows 'neath her light footfall
Heaved glassy still, and round her head
An aureole burnt of golden flame,
As nearer yet, with radiant tread,
Fixing her eyes on his, she came.
Then as she paused upon the Sea
Gazing upon him silently
With looks insufferably bright
And gentle brows beatified,
He knew our Lady of the Light,
Mary Madonna, heavenly-eyed !
He look'd he listen'd.
1 Speak ! ' she said,
' By Him who judgeth quick and dead,
Art thou content for evermore
Here on the lotus leaf to rest ?
Speak ! and thy wanderings are o'er,
And sleep is thine if sleep be best !
Speak ! and this fluttering flower of flesh
Shall lift its head and bloom afresh,
Guide and companion unto thee
Thro' Eden for Eternity ;
She loves thee, as the birds and flowers
Love, and all things of sun and shore.
Speak ! and the sunshine and the showers
Shall lap thee deep in these bright bowers
For ever and for evermore.'
He answer'd, heavy-eyed and pale,
' Madonna ! let me journey on !
Better the surges and the gale,
Better to sail and sail and sail
Before thy wind, Euroclydon.
Here have I found delight and joy,
Here hath my spirit been renew'd,
Yea, with the mad thirst of a boy,
All Adam burning in my blood,
I have drunken of the brimming cup
Nature for ever holdeth up.
Nay more, the primal sympathy,
The first sweet force which stirs thro'
all,
Hath quicken'd gentler thoughts in me
Than yonder where the Tempests call
Deep pity kindles in my heart
For all glad things beneath the Blue,
For her, the brightest and the best,
This life of sunlight and of dew ;
And yet ... and yet ... tho' I can weep
Above her, since she loved me so,
I would not wake her from her sleep
To share my happiness or woe !
Poor child, she knew no thought of pain !
A blossom, born to bloom and kiss,
She open'd, then stole back again
To Nature's elemental bliss !
Here let her dwell, till Time is done,
With all such creatures of the sun
Here let her still remain, a part
Of Nature's warmly beating heart ;
Here, blest and blessing, wrapt up warm
In kindling dust, her place shall be,
While I return to face the storm
Out yonder on the sunless Sea ! '
Ev'n as he spake, the air grew dark,
Some veil of awe shut out the day,
And voices from the Phantom Barque
Cried, ' Hillo ! hillo ! come away ! '
Then, while Our Lady's form grew dim
And vanish'd, with sad eyes on him,
He saw beyond the line of surge
Breaking upon the lonely strand,
The shadow of the Ship emerge
And hover darkly close to land.
And woeful voices of the Sea
Call'd to his soul tumultuously,
As kneeling by the Maiden's form
He kissed the lips that yet were warm,
And in the cold still ear that lay
Frail as a little ocean-shell,
Once warm with life, then wash'd away,
Whisper 'd his passionate ' farewell !'
Then, moaning like a death-struck bird,
Sprang to his feet, and while he heard
The flapping sail, the whistling shroud,
The murmuring voices, fill the gloom,
' I come ! I come ! ' he cried aloud,
And totter'd to the Ship of Doom.
INTERLUDE.
So endeth Song the First !
Long years
Ere you and I, my love, were born,
The Outcast sail'd away, his ears
Full of mad music of the Morn.
Once more upon the lonely Main
He dree'd his weird of bitter pain,
Haunted by dreams where'er he flew
Of that sweet Child of sun and dew.
202
THE OUTCAST.
But ten years later, and every ten
At intervals 'twixt now and then,
He landed wearily again
And sought what still he seeks in vain !
The record tells us of his quest
From north to south, from east to west,
Affairs with most delightful ladies
Of every clime beneath the sun,
From far Cathay to sunny Cadiz,
From Ispahan to Patagon,
Of all religions and complexions,
Of every shape and every fashion ;
He learn'd all phases of affections,
The dark sultana's introspections,
The Persian concubine's soft passion !
Thus lightly roaming here and there,
Seeking his fate from zone to zone,
Betimes he came to Weimar, where
Jupiter-Goethe had his throne :
This stately Eros in court-breeches
Deign'd with our Pilgrim to converse,
But bored him hugely with set speeches
And pyramids of easy verse,
Of which some solid blocks still stand
Amid Saharas of mere sand.
In Germany he spent a year
Of wondrous love and strange proba-
tion
What of that land of bores and beer
He thought, you in good time shall hear,
If I survive for the narration.
Soon afterwards I find that he
Roam'd southward, into Italy,
And standing near St. Peter's dome,
Was present at the sack of Rome.
Thence in due time he wander 'd right on
To Paris, where, some years ago,
He saw the garish lamps flash bright on
The Second Empire's feverish Show
A Fair by gaslight booths resplendent,
Bright-tinsel' d players promenading,
Street lamps with handsome corpses
pendent,
Couples beneath them gallopading,
Soldiers and journalists saluting,
Poets and naked harlots dancing,
Drums beating, panpipes tootletooting,
State wizards gravely necromancing ;
And in the midst, the lewd and yellow
God to whom wooden Joss was fellow,
En wrapt in purple, painted piebald,
Cigar in mouth, lacklustre-eyeball'd,
Imperial QESAR PUNCHINELLO !
But now, alas ! I hesitate
Before I venture forward, dreading
My Hero's own unhappy fate,
The people's scorn, the critics' hate,
For dark's the path my Muse is treading
And this strange poem is compounded
Of mixtures new to modern taste,
And Mr. Stead may be astounded
And think my gentle Muse unchaste.
Until we reach the journey's end,
(Finis coronal opus /) many
May dream I purpose to offend
With merest horseplay, like a zany !
Mine is a serious song, however,
As you shall see in God's good time,
If life should crown my long endeavour,
And grant me courage to persever
Thro' this mad maze of rakish rhyme.
I who now sing have been for long
The Ishmael of modern song,
Wild, tatter'd, outcast, dusty, weary,
Hated by Jacob and his kin,
Driv'n to the desert dark and dreary,
A rebel and a Jacobin ;
Treated with scorn and much impatience
By gentlemanly reputations,
And by the critics sober-witted
Disliked and boycotted, or pitied.
I asked for bread, and got instead of
The crust I sought, a curse or stone,
And so, like greater bards you've read of,
I've roamed the wilderness alone.
But that's all o'er, since I abandon
The ground free Mountain Poets stand on,
And kneel to say my catechism
Before the arch-priests of Nepotism.
Henceforth I shall no more resemble
Poor Gulliver when caught in slumber,
Swarm'd over, prick'd, put all a-tremble,
By Liliputians without number.
The Saturday Review in pride
Will throne me by great Henley's side,
The Daily News sound my Te Deum
Despite the Devil and Athenaum ;
Tho' Watts may triple his innuendoes,
And Swinburne shriek in sharp crescendoes,
The merry Critics all will pat me,
The merry Bards bob smiling at me,
All Cockneydom with crowns of roses
Salute my last apotheosis !
For (let me whisper in your ear !)
Of Criticism I've now no fear,
INTERLUDE.
203
Since, knowing that the press might cavil,
I've joined the Critics' Club the Savile !
And standing pledged to say things pleasant
Of all my friends, from Lang to Besant,
With many others, not forgetting
Our school-room classic, Stevenson,
I look for puffs, and praise, and petting,
From my new brethren, every one.
A Muse with half an eye and knock-knees
Would thrive, thus countenanced by
Cockneys ;
And mine, tho' tall, and straight, and
strong,
Blest with a Highland constitution,
Has led a hunted life for long
Thpo' Cockney hate and persecution.
And yet a terror trembles through me,
They may blackball, and so undo, me !
In that case I must still continue
A Bard that fights for his own hand :
Bold Muse, then, strengthen soul and sinew
To brave the Liliputian band !
I smile, you see, and crack my jest,
Altho' my fate has not been funny !
Storm-tost, and weary, and opprest,
The busy Bee has done his best,
But gather'd very little honey !
My life has ever been among
The drones, in deuced rainy weather,
I've hum'd to keep my heart up, sung
A song or two of the sweet heather,
Nay, I've been merry too, and tried,
As now, to put my gloom aside ;
But ah ! be sure the mirth I wear
Is but a mask to hide my care,
Since on my soul and on my page
Fall shadows of a sunless age,
And sadly, faintly, I prolong
A broken life with broken song.
As Rome was once, when faith was
dead,
And all the gentle gods were fled,
As Rome was, ere on Death's black tree
Bloom'd the Blood-rose of Calvary,
As Rome was, wrapt in cruel strife
By black eclipse of faith and life,
So is our world to-day ! and lo !
A cloud of weariness and woe,
Dark presage of the Tempest near,
Fills the sad universe with fear,
And in this darkness of eclipse,
When Faith is dumb upon the lips,
Hope dead within the heart, I share
The Time's black birthright of despair ;
Hear the shrill voice that cries aloud :
' The gods are fallen and still must fall !
King of the sepulchre and shroud,
Death keeps his Witches' Festival ! '
Hark ! on the darkness rings again,
Poor human Nature's shriek of pain,
Answer'd by cruel sounds that prove
The Life of Hate, the Death of Love.
Now, since all tender awe hath fled,
Not only for the gods o'erhead,
But for the tutelary, tiny,
Gods that our daily path surround,
The kindly, innocent, sunshiny
Spirits that mask as ape and hound,
Since neither under nor above him
Man reverences the powers that love
him,
What wonder if, instead of these
Who brought him gifts of joy for token,
Man looking upward only sees
A hideous Spectre of the Brocken,
And 'mid his hush of horror, hears
The torrent-sound of human tears ?
The butcher'd woman's dying shriek,
The ribald's laugh, the ruffian's yell,
While strong men trample on the weak,
Proclaim the reign of Hate and Hell.
And in the lazar-halls of Art,
And in the shrines of Science, priests
Of the new Nescience brood apart,
Crying, ' Man's life is as the Beast's ! '
There is no goodness 'neath the sun
The days of God and gods are done,
And o'er the godless Universe
Falls the last pessimistic curse !
Old friends, with whom in days less
dark
I roam'd thro' green Bohemia's glades,
While ' tirra lirra ' sang the lark
And lovers listen'd in the shades,
When Life was young and Song was
merry,
And Morals free, and Manners bold,
When poets whistled ' Hey down deny,'
And toil'd for love in lieu of gold,
When on the road we trode together
Old honest hostels offered cheer,
And halting in the sunny weather
We gladden'd over pipes and beer,
20 4
THE OUTCAST.
Where are you hiding now ? and where
Is the Bohemia of our playtime?
Where are the heavens that once were
fair,
And where the blossoms of the May-
time ?
The trees are lopt by social sawyers,
The grass is gone, the ways asphalted,
Stone walls set up by ethic lawyers
Replace the Stiles o'er which we vaulted !
See ! with rapidity surprising,
Thro" jerry-building ministrations,
Neat Literary Villas rising
To shelter timid reputations ;
Each with its garden and its gravel,
Its little lawn right trimly shaven,
Its owner's name, quite clean, past cavil,
Upon a brass plate neatly graven !
And lo ! that all mankind may know
it,
We are respectable or nothing,
The Seer, the Painter, and the Poet
Must go in fashionable clothing
High jinks, all tumbling in the hay,
All thoughts of pipes and beer, are
chidden,
The girls who were so glad and gay
Must be content in hodden-gray,
Nay, merry books must be forbidden.
And ecce signum /primly drest
Here come the Vigilance Committee,
Condemning Murger and the rest
Because they may corrupt the City !
Vie de Boheme /Life yearned for yet,
En pantalon, en chemisette
Life free as sunshine and fresh air,
Now gets no hearing anywhere,
And o'er a world of knaves and fools
The Moral Jerry-builder rules.
Moral ? By Heaven, I see beneath
That saintly mask, the eyes of Death,
The wrinkled cheek, the serpent's skin,
The sly Mephistophelian grin !
And where he wanders thro' the land
The green grass withers 'neath his tread,
While those trim villas built on sand
Crumble around the living-dead.
Under the region he controls
Sound of a sleeping Earthquake rolls,
And at the murmur of his voice
The Seven Deadly Sins rejoice !
Meantime, the Jerry Legislator,
Throttling all natures broad and breezy,
Flaunts in the face of the Creator,
The good old-fashioned Heavenly Pater,
This gospel ' Providence Made Easy!'
Proving all gods but myths and fiction,
He treats man's feeble constitution
With moral drugs and civic friction,
To force the work of Evolution ;
Shows ' Rights ' are merely superstition,
And Freedom simply Laisserfaire,
And puts a ban and .prohibition
On Life that once was free as air.
Behold the scientific dullard,
Cocksure of healing Nature's plight,
Turning Thought's prism many-colour'd
Into one common black and white,
Measures our stature, rules our reading,
Tells us that he is God's successor,
And vows no man of decent breeding
Would seek a wiser Intercessor.
For ' Rights,' read 'Mights,' aloud cries
he,
For ' Thought,' ' Paternal Legislation,'
And substitutes for Liberty
The pompous Beadles of the Nation.
Aye me, when half Man's race is run,
The screech-owl Science, which began
By flapping blindly in the sun,
Huskily croaking, ' Night is done !
Hark to the Chanticleer of Man ! '
Now goose-like hops along the street
Behind the Priests and Ruling Classes,
And fills the air where birds sang sweet
With vestry cackle, as it passes !
Ah, for the days when I was young,
When men were free and songs were
sung
In old Bohemia's sylvan tongue !
Ah, for Bohemia long since fled,
The blue sky shining overhead,
Men comrades all, all women fair,
And Freedom radiant everywhere !
Ah, then the Poet knew indeed
A tenderer soul, a softer creed,
And saw in every fair one's eyes
The light of opening Paradise ;
Then, as to lovely forms of fable
Old poets yielded genuflection,
He knelt to Woman, all unable
To throw her corpse upon a table
For calm oesthetical dissection !
INTERLUDE.
205
Zola, de Goncourt, and the rest,
Had not yet woven their witch's spell,
Not yet had Art become a pest
To poison Love's pellucid well !
We deem'd our mistresses divine,
We pledged them deep in Shakespeare's
wine,
And in the poorest robes could find
A Juliet or a Rosalind !
And when at night beneath the gas
We saw our painted sisters pass,
We hush'd our hearts like Christian men
Remembering the Magdalen !
Well, now that youth no more is mine,
I worship still the Shape Divine,
And to the outcast I am ready
To lift my hat, as to a lady ;
But when I hear the modern cry,
Mocking the human form and face,
And watch the cynic's sensual eye,
Blind as his little soul is base,
And see the foul miasma creep
Destroying all things sweet and fair,
What wonder if I sometimes weep
And feel the canker of despair ?
That mood, thank God, is evanescent,
For I'm an optimist at heart,
And "spite the dark and troubled Present
See lights that stir the clouds apart !
Rare as the dodo, that strange fowl
(Now quite extinct thro' persecution),
Despite the hooting of the owl
I still preserve my youth's illusion,
Believe in God and Heaven and Love,
And turning from Life's sorry sight,
Watch starry lattices above
Opening upon the waves of Night,
Find shapes divine and ever fair
Thronging with radiant faces there,
While hands of benediction wave
O'er these wild waters of the grave.
Et ego in BohemiA fui !
Have known its fountains deep and dewy,
Have wander'd where the sun shone mellow
On many an honest ragged fellow,
And for Bohemia's sake since then
Have loved poor brothers of the pen.
I've popt at vultures circling skyward,
I've made the carrion-hawks a by-word,
But never caused a sigh or sob in
The heart of mavis or cock-robin,
Nay, many such (let Time attest me ! )
Have fed out of my hand, and blest me !
So when my wayward life is ended,
With all my sins that can't be mended,
And in my singing rags I lie
Face upward to the cruel sky,
The small birds, fluttering about me,
While birds of prey and ravens flout me,
May strew a few loose leaves above
The Outcast whom so few could love,
And on my grave in flower-wrought words
The Inscription set, that men may view
it,
1 He bless'd the nameless singing birds,
Loved the Good Shepherd's flocks and
herds,
Et ille in Bohemid fuit /'
+ FIDES AMANTIS.
DEAREST and Best ! Light of my way !
Soul of my Soul, whom God hath sent
To be my guardian night and day,
To make me humbly kneel and pray,
When proudest and most turbulent !
Calm of my Life ! dear Angel mine !
Come to me, now I faint and fail,
And guide me softly to the Shrine,
Where thro" the deep'ning gloom doth shine
Life's bleeding Heart, Love's Holy Grail,
Where Soul feels Soul, and Instinct, stirred
To Insight, looks Creation thro',
And hear me murmur, word by word,
The Creed I owe to Heave
' I do believe in GOD ; that He
Made Heaven and Earth, and you and me !
Nay, I believe in all the host
Of Gods, from Jesus down to Joss,
But honour best and reverence most
That guileless God who bore the Cross.
I do believe that this dark scheme,
This riddle of our life below,
Is solved by Insight and by Dream,
And not by aught mere Sense can know ;
That the one sacrifice whereby
We attest a faith which cannot die,
Is the burnt offering we place
On Truth's pure Altar day by day,
Whereby the sensual and the base
Within us is consumed away ;
That just as far as we forego
Our selfish claim to stand alone t
Proving our gladness or our woe
Is Humankind's and not our own,
206
THE OUTCAST.
So far as for another's sake
Our cup of sorrow we accept,
And crave, although our hearts should break,
The pain supreme of God's Adept,
So far shall we attain the height
Of Freedom, in the Master's sight.
I do believe that our salvation
Lies in the little things of life,
Not in the pomp and acclamation
Of triumph, or in battle-strife,
Not on the thrones where men are crown'd,
Not in the race where chariots roll,
But in the arms that clasp us round
And hold us backward from the goal !
In Love, not Pride ; in stooping low,
Not soaring blindly at the sun ;
In power to feel, not zeal to know ;
Not in rewards, but duties done.
' Corollary : all gain is base,
The Victor's wreath, the Poet's crown,
If conquest in the giddy race
Means one poor struggler trampled down,
If he who gains the sunless throne
Of Fame, sits silent and alone,
Without Humanity to share
His happiness, or his despair !
' This Gospel I uphold, the one
The latter Adam comes to prove :
To every Soul beneath the sun
Wide open lies a Heaven of Love ;
But none, however free from sin,
However cloth'd in pomp and pride,
However fair, may enter in,
Without some Witness at his side,
To attest before the Judge and King
Vicarious love and suffering.
Who stands alone, shall surely fall !
Who folds the falling to his breast
Stands sure and firm in spite of all,
While angel-choirs proclaim him blest.
Dearest and Best ! Soul of my Soul !
Life of my Life, kneel here with me !
Pray while the Storms around us roll,
That God may keep us frail, yet free !
Be Love our strength ! be God our goal !
Amen, et Benedicitel
The Wandering Jew.
(1893.)
TO MY DEAR FATHER
ROBERT BUCHANAN
POET AND SOCIAL MISSIONARY
THIS CHRISTMAS GIFT.
FATHER on Earth, for whom I wept bereaven,
Father more dear than any Father in Heaven,
Flesh of my flesh, heart of this heart of mine,
Still quick, though dead, in me, true son of thine,
I draw the gravecloth from thy dear dead face,
I kiss thee gently sleeping, while I place
This wreath of Song upon thy holy head.
For since I live, I know thou art quick not dead,
And since thou art quick, yet drawest no living
breath,
I know, dear Father, that there is Life in Death.
This, too, my Soul hath found that if there
were
No hope in Heaven, the world might well
despair,
That thro' the mystery of my hope and love
I reach the Mystery that dwells above . . .
Father on Earth, still lying calm and blest
After long years of trouble and sad unrest,
Sleep, while the Christ I paint for men to see
Seeketh the Fatherhood I found in thee !
COME, Faith, with eyes of patient heaven-
ward gaze !
Come, Hope, with feet that bleed from
thorny ways !
With hand for each, leading those twain to
me,
Come with thy gifts of grace, fair Charity !
Bring Music too, whose voices trouble so
Our very footfalls as we graveward go,
Whose bright eyes, as she sings to Human-
kind,
Shine with the glory of God which keeps
them blind !
Not to Parnassus, nor the Fabled Fount,
Nor to the folds of that Diviner Mount
THE WANDERING JEW.
207
Whereon our Milton kneeling prayed s<
deep,
But hither, to this City stretched asleep
In silence, to this City of souls bereaven,
I call you, gracious hierophants of Heaven
Come, Muses of the bleeding heart of Man
Fairer than all the Nine Parnassian,
Fairer and clad in grace more heavenly
Than those sweet visions of Man's infancy,
Come from your lonely heights with song
and prayer
To inspire an epos of the World's despair
For lo, to that White Light which floweth
from Him
Before whose gaze all sense and sight grow
dim,
Holpen by you, His Angels pure and strong,
With tears I raise this tremulous Prism of
Song!
O shine thereon, White Light, and melted
be
Into the hues that lose themselves in Thee,
And tho' they are broken and but faintly
show
Hints of the ray no sight may see or know,
On the poor Song let some dim gleam re-
main
To prove that Light Divine is never sought
in vain !
As in the City's streets I wander'd late,
Bitter with God because my wrongs seem'd
great,
Chiller at heart than the bleak winds that
flew
Under the star-strewn voids of steel-bright
blue,
Sick at the silence of the Snow, and dead
To the white Earth beneath and Heaven
o'erhead,
I heard a voice sound feebly at my side
In hollow human accents, and it cried
'For God's sake, mortal, let me lean on
thee ! '
And as I turn'd in mute amaze to see
Who spake, there flew a whirlwind overhead
In which the lights of Heaven were
darkened,
Shut out from sight or flickering sick and
low
Like street-lamps when a sudden blast doth
blow ;
But I could hear a rustling robe wind-swept
And a faint breathing ; then a thin hand
crept
Into mine own, clammy and cold as clay !
"Twas on that Night which ushereth in
Christ's Day.
The winds had winnowed the drifts of cloud,
But the white fall had ceased. There, pale
and proud,
In streets of stone empty of life, while Sleep
In silvern mist hung beautiful and deep
Over the silent City even as breath,
I mused on God and Man, on Life and
Death,
And mine own woe was as a glass wherein
I mirror'd God's injustice and Man's sin.
And so, remembering the time, I sneer'd
To think the mockery of Christ's birth-tide
near'd,
And pitying thought of all the blinded herd
Who eat the dust and ashes of the Word,
Holding for all their light and all their good
The Woeful Man upon the Cross of wood ;
And bitterly to mine own heart I said,
' In vain, in vain, upon that Cross He bled !
In vain He swore to vanquish Death, in vain
He spake of that glad Realm where He
should reign !
Lo, all His promise is a foolish thing,
Flowers gathered by a child and withering
In the moist hand that holdeth them ; for
lo!
Winter hath come, and on His grave the
snow
Lies mountain-deep ; and where He sleeping
lies
We too shall follow soon and close our eyes
Unvex'd by dreams. The golden Dream
is o'er,
And he whom Death hath conquer'd wakes
no more ! '
ven then I heard the desolate voice intone,
And the thin hand crept trembling in my
own,
And while my heart shut sharp in sudden
dread
Against the rushing blood, I murmured
Who speaks? who speaks?' Suddenly in
the sky
The Moon, a luminous white Moth, flew
bv
208
THE WANDERING JEW.
And from her wings silent and mystical
Thick rays of vitreous dust began to fall,
Illuming Earth and Heaven ; when I was
'ware
Of One with reverend silver beard and hair
Snow-white and sorrowful, looming sud-
denly
In the new light like to a leafless Tree
Hung round with ice and magnified by mist
Against a frosty Heaven ! But ere I wist
Darkness return'd, the splendour died away,
And all I felt was that thin hand which lay
Fluttering in mine !
Then suddenly again
I heard the tremulous voice cry out in pain
' For God's sake, mortal, let me lean on
thee ! '
And peering thro' the dimness I could see
Snows of white hair blowing feebly in the
wind ;
And deeply was I troubled in my mind
To see so ancient and so weak a Wight
At the cold mercy of the storm that night,
And said, while 'neath his -wintry load he
bent,
' Lean on me, father ! ' adding, as he leant
Feebly upon me, wearied out with woe,
' Whence dost thou come ? and whither
dost thou go?'
O then, meseem'd, the womb of Heaven
afar
Quickened to sudden life, and moon and star
Flash'd like the opening of a million eyes,
Dimming from every labyrinth of the skies
Their lustre on that Lonely Man ; and he
Loom'd like a comer from a far Countrie
In ragged antique raiment, and around
His waist a rotting rope was loosely bound,
And in one feeble hand a Ian thorn quaint
Hung lax and trembling, and the light was
faint
Within it unto dying, tho' it threw
Upon the snows beneath him light enew
To show his feeble feet were bloody and
bare !
Thereon, with deep-drawn breath and dull
dumb stare,
'Far have I travelled and the night is cold,'
He murmur'd, adding feebly, ' I am old ! '
He spake like one whose wits are wandering,
And strange his accents were, and seem'd
to bring
The sense of some strange region far away ;
And like a caged Lion gaunt and grey
Who, looking thro' the bars, all woe-be-
gone,
Beholdeth not the men he looketh on,
But gazeth thro' them on some lonely pool
Far in the desert, whither he crept to cool
His sunburnt loins and drink when strong
and free,
Ev'n so with dull dumb stare he gazed thro'
me
On some far bourne ; and tho' his eyes were
bright
They seem'd to suffer from the piteous light
They shed upon me thro* his hoary hair !
Then was I seized with wonder unaware
To see a man so old and strangely dight
Wandering alone beneath the Heavens that
night ;
For round us were the silenced haunts of
trade,
The public marts and buildings deep in
shade,
AH emptied of their living waters ; cold
And swift the stars did plunge thro' fold on
fold
Of vaporous gauze, wind-driven ; and the
street
Was washen everywhere around my feet
With smoky silver ; and the stillness round
Was dreadfuller by memory of the sound
Which fill'd the place all day from dawn to
dark:
And strange it was and pitiful to mark
The heavy snow of years upon this Man,
His furrow'd cheeks down which the rheum -
drops ran,
His wintry eyes that saw some summer land
Far off and very peaceful, while his hand
Dank as the drowned dead's lay loose in
mine.
But, my fear lessening, eager to divine
What man he was, and thro' what cruel fate
He wander'd homeless and disconsolate,
Scourged by the pitiless God who hateth
men,
A victim, the more piteous in his pain
Because that God had given him length of
days,
I cried, 'Who art thou? From what
weary ways
THE WANDERING JEW.
209
Coniest thou, father ? Thou art frail and
old!
Sad is thy lot upon a night so cold
To wander barefoot in a world of snow !
Speak to me, father ! for I fain would know
What cruel Hand is on thee out of Heaven,
That by the wintry tempests thou art driven
Hither and thither ? Speak thy grief out
strong,
For God, I know, is hard, and I, too, have
my wrong.'
Then as I looked full eagerly on him,
And my limbs trembled and mine eyes grew
dim,
With dull still gaze he stared on thro' me
At that far bourne of rest his Soul could see,
And shiver'd as the frost took blood and
bone,
And even as a feeble child might moan
He murmured, ' I am hungry and athirst ! '
then my soul was sicken'd, and I curst
The winds and snows that smote this Man
so old,
And drave him outcast thro' the wintry
wold,
And made the belly of him tight with pain
For lack of food, and only with the rain
Moisten'd his toothless gums ! and 'neath
my breath
1 curst the pitiless Lord of Life and Death,
And 'All the hate I bear for Him who
wrought
This crumbling prison-house of flesh' (me-
thought)
4 Is vindicated by this Wight who bears
The rueful justification of grey hairs ! '
And as I held his clay-cold hand, nor spake,
For I was hoarse with sorrow for his sake,
He cried in a strange, witless, wandering
way,
Not loud, but as a burthen children say
When they have known it long by heart,
1 Aye me !
The blessed Night is dark on land and
sea,
On tired eyes the dusts of Sleep are shed,
And yet I have no place to rest my head ! '
Ev'n as he spake there flash'd across my
sight
A glamour of the Sleepers of the Night :
ii.
The hushed rooms where dainty ladies
dream,
And shaded night-lamps shed a slumberous
gleam
Across the silken sheets and broider'd
couch ;
The beggarman, a groat within his pouch,
Pillow'd on filthy rags and chuckling deep
Because his dreams are golden ; the sweet
sleep
Of little children holding in pink palm
The fancied toy, and smiling ; slumbers
calm
Of delicate-limb'd vestals, slumbers wild
Of puerperal women and of nymphs defiled
Wasting like rotten fruit ; as scenes we
see
By lightning flashes, changing momently,
These visions came and went, each gleam-
ing clear
Yet spectral, in the act to disappear ;
I marked the long streets empty to the
sky,
And every dim square window was an
eye
That gazing dimly inward saw within
Some hidden mystery of shame or sin,
Lovebed and deathbed, raggedness and
wealth,
Pale Murder, tiptoe, creeping on in stealth
With sharp uplifted knife, or haggard Lust
Mouthing his stolen fruit of tasteless dust ;
And then I saw strange huddled shapes
that lay
In blankets under palm trees, while the
day
Drew far across the sands its blood-red line ;
The sailor drearily dozing, while the brine
Flash'd eyes of foam around him ; glimpses
then
Of purple royal chambers, where pale men
Lay naked of their glory ; and of the warm
Bonfires on mountain sides, where many a
form
Lay prone but gript the sword ; of halls of
stone
Lofty and cold, where wounded men made
moan,
And the calm nurse stole softly down the
row
Of narrow sickbeds, like a ghost ; and lo !
These pictures swiftly came and vanished
Like northern meteors, leaving as they fled
210
THE WANDERING JEW.
A trouble like the wash of leaden seas.
Then, while the glamour of such images
Weighed on my Soul, I said, ' Hard by I
dwell,
Poor is the place, yet thou mayst find it well
After thy travail. Thither let us go ! '
And by my side he falter'd feeble and slow,
Breathing the frosty air with pain, and soon
We reached a lonely Bridge o'er which the
Moon
Hung phosphorescent, blinding with its
wings
The lamps that flicker'd there like elfin
things ;
But near us, on the water's brim, engloom'd
In its own night, a mighty Abbey loom'd,
Clothen with rayless snow as with a shroud ;
And suddenly that old Man cried aloud,
Lifting his weary face and woe-begone
Up to the painted window-panes that shone
With frosty glimmers, ' Open, O thou Priest
Who waitest in the Temple ! ' As he ceased,
The fretted arches echoed to the cry
And with a shriek the wintry wind went by
And died in silence. For a moment's space
He stood and listened with upturned face,
Then moan'd and faltered on in dumb
despair,
Until we stood upon the Bridge, and there
The vitreous light was luminously drawn,
Making the lamps burn dim, as in a ghostly
dawn.
VASTER and mightier a thousandfold
Than Babylon or Nineveh of old,
Shrouded in snow the silent City slept ;
And through its heart the great black River
crept
Snakewise, with sullen coils that as they
wound
Flash' d scales of filmy silver ; all around
The ominous buildings huddled from the
light
With cold grey roofs and gables tipt with
white,
And lines of lamps made a pale aqueous glow
With streaks of crimson in the pools below
Between the clustering masts. 'Twas still,
like Death !
Still as a snow-clad grave ! No stir ! No
breath !
A mist of silence o'er the City asleep,
A frozen smoke of incense that did creep
From Life's deserted Altar. And on high
Clouds white as wool that melted o'er the
sky
Before the winnowing beams. In Heaven's
Serene
No sound ! no stir ! but all the still stars,
green
With their exceeding lustre, shedding light
From verge to verge of the great dome of
Night,
And scattering hoarfrost thro' the lustrous
space
Between their spheres and the dark dwelling
place
Of mortals blind to sight and dead to sound.
So lay the silent City glory-crowned,
All the rich blood of human life that flows
Thro' its dark veins hushed in deep
repose,
The pulses of its heart scarce felt to beat,
Calm as a corpse, the snow its winding
sheet,
The sky its pall ; and o'er its slumbers
fell
The white Moon's luminous and hypnotic
spell,
As when some bright Magician's hands are
prest
With magic gloves upon a Monster's
breast,
So that the heart just flutters, and the
eyes
Shut drowsily ! But it dream'd beneath the
skies
God knows what dreams ! What dreams
of Heavens unknown,
Where sits the Lord of Life on His white
Throne,
While angel-wings flash thick as fowl that
flee
Round islands Hebridean, when the Sea
Burns to a molten sapphire of dead calm !
Upon my fever'd eyes fell soft as balm
The ablution of the Midnight, as once
more
I led that old Man weary and footsore,
Guiding his steps, while ever and anon
He paused in pain ; and thro' the light that
shone
THE WANDERING JEW.
211
O'er the still Bridge we falter'd, with no
sound.
Then, as he paused for breath, and gazed
around,
Again I questioned gently whence he came,
His place of birth, his kindred, and his
name,
And whisper'd softly, ' I can surely see
Thou art a comer from a far Countrie,
And thou art very old ! ' 'So old ! so old ! '
He answered, shivering in the moonlight
cold;
Then raised his head, upgazing thro' the
Night,
And threw his arms up quick, and rose his
height,
Crying, ' For ever at the door of Death
Faintly I knock, and when it openeth
Would fain creep in, but ever a Hand
snow-cold
Thrusteth me back into the open wold,
And ever a voice intones early and late
"Until thy work is done, remain and
wait ! "
And century after century I have trod
The infinitely weary glooms of God,
And lo ! the Winter of mine age is here ! '
Even as he spake, in a low voice yet
clear,
Clinging upon me, with his hungry
eyes
Cast upward at the cold and pitiless
skies,
His white hair blent with snows around
him blown,
And his feet naked on the Bridge of stone,
Methought I knew that Wanderer whom
God's curse
Scourgeth for ever thro' the Universe
Because he mocked with words of blas-
phemy
God's Martyr on the path to Calvary,
Yea, did deny Him on His day of Death !
Wherefore, with shuddering sense and bated
breath
I gazed upon him. Shivering he stood
there,
The consecration of a vast despair
Cast round him like a raiment ; and ere I
knew
I moaned aloud, ' Thou art that Wandering
Jew
Whose name all men and women know too
well ! '
Strangely on me his eyes of sorrow fell,
And bending low, as doth a wind-blown
tree,
In a low voice he answer'd :
I am He !'
in.
NIGHT of wonder ! O enchanted Night !
Full of strange whisperings and wondrous
light,
How shall 1, singing, summon up again
Thine hours of awe and deep miraculous
pain?
For as I stood upon those streets of stone
1 seem'd to hear the wailing winds intone
' AHASUERUS ! ' while with lips apart,
His thin hand prest upon his fluttering
heart,
His face like marble lit by lightning's glare,
His frail feet bleeding, and his bosom bare,
List'ning he stood !
From the blue Void o'erhead
Starlight and moonlight round his shape
were shed,
And the chill air was troubled all around
With piteous wails and echoes of such sound
As fills the great sad Sea on nights of
Yule,
When all the cisterns of the heavens are
full
And one great hush precedes the coming
Storm.
And like a snow-wrapt statue seem'd the
form
I looked on, and of more than mortal
height !
Wintry his robe, his hair and beard snow-
white
Frozen like icicles, his face all dim,
And in the sunken, sunless eyes of him
Silent despair, as of a lifeless stone !
And then meseem'd that in some frozen zone,
Where never flower doth blossom or grass
is green,
Chill' d to the heart by cruel winds and keen
Shiv'ring I stood, and the thick choking
breath
Of Frost was round me, terrible as Death,
And he I look'd on was a figure wan
Hewn out of snow in likeness of a Man ;
Pa
212
THE WANDERING JEW.
And all the silent City in a trice
Was turn'd to domes and towers of rayless
ice,
As of some spectral City whose pale spires
Are lighted dimly with the auroral fires
That gleam for ever at the sunless Pole !
How long this glamour clung upon my Soul
I know not ; but at last methought I spake,
Like one who, fresh from vision, half awake,
Murmurs his thought : ' Father of men that
roam,
Outcast from God and exile from thy home
(If such there be for any Soul in need),
I will not say, God bless thee, since indeed
God's blessing is a burthen and a blight ;
Yet will I bless thee, in that God's despite,
Knowing thy sorrow manifold and deep.
Aye me, aye me, what may I do but weep,
Seeing thy poor grey hair, and frail shape
driven
Hither and thither by the winds of Heaven,
Sharing thy sorrow, hearing thy sad moan
That penetrates all hearts but God's alone,
Knowing thee mortal, yet predoom'd to fare
For ever, with no rest-place anywhere,
Although all other mortal things may die !
Death is the one good thing beneath the
sky;
Death is the one sweet thing that men may
see ;
Yet even this God doth deny to thee !
Thou canst not die ! ' With feeble lips of
clay
He answered, yet the voice seem'd far away,
'Yea, Death is best, and yet I cannot die! '
Before my vision, as I heard the cry,
There flash' d a glamour of the Dead ; and
lo !
I saw a hooded Phantom come and go
Across great solitary plains by night,
Red with all nameless horror of the fight,
And dead white faces glimmer'd from the
sward,
And here a helmet gleamed and there a
sword,
And all was still and dreadful, and the scent
Of carnage thickened where the Phantonl
went.
This faded, and methought I stood stone-still
In a great Graveyard strewn with moon-
beams chill
Like bleaching shrouds, and through the
grassy glooms
Pale crosses glimmer'd and great marble
tombs ;
But as I crost my frozen hands to pray
The apparition changed and died away,
And I was walking very silently
Some oozy bottom of the sunless Sea.
And 'midst the sombre foliage I could
mark
Black skeletons of many a shipwreck'd
bark
Within whose meshes, washing to and fro,
Were skeletons of men as white as snow
Picked clean by many a hideous ocean-thing.
The waters swung around me as they swing
Round drowning men, and with a choking
pain
I struggled, and that moment saw again
The sleeping City and the cold Moonshine,
And in the midst, with his blank eyes on
mine,
That Man of Mystery who could not die !
And lo, his lips were open'd with a cry,
And his lean hands were stretched up to
Heaven.
'Ah, woe is me,' he said, 'to stand be-
reaven
Of that which every man of clay may share !
Eternity hath snowed upon my hair,
And yet, though feeble and weary, I
endure.
Still might I fare, if Death at last were
sure,
If I might see, eternities away,
A grave, wide open, where my feet might
stay ! '
Then in a lower voice more deep with
dread,
' Father which art in Heaven,' the old Man
said,
' Thou from the holy shelter of whose
wing
I came, an innocent and shining thing,
A lily in my hand and in mine eyes
The passion and the peace of Paradise,
Thou who didst drop me gently down to
rest
A little while upon my Mother's breast,
Wrapt in the raiment of a mortal birth,
How long, how long, across Thy stricken
Earth
THE WANDERING JEW.
213
Must I fare onward, deathless ? Tell me,
when
May / too taste the cup Thou givest to
men,
My brethren and Thy children and the
heirs
Of all my spirit's sorrows and despairs?
My work is o'er my sin (if sin there be)
Is buried with the bones of Calvary ;
My blessing has been spoken, and my
curse
Is winged vengeance in Thy Universe ;
My voice hath thrill'd Thy dark Eternity
To protestation and to agony,
And Man hath listen'd with wild lips apart
As to a cry from his own breaking heart !
What then remains for me to do, O God,
But fold thin hands and bend beneath Thy
rod,
And ask for respite after labour done ? '
In sorrow and in awe he spake, as one
Communing with some Shape I could not
mark,
And all his words seem'd wild, his meaning
dark;
And as he ceased the Heavens grew dark in
woe,
And faster, thicker, fell the encircling Snow
Wrapping him with its whiteness round and
round ;
But from the Void above no sign, no sound,
Came answering his prayer.
1 Father,' I said,
' Chill falls the snow upon thy holy head
(Yea, holy through much sorrow 'tis to
me),
And He to whom thou prayest so piteously
Hears not, and will not hear, and hath not
heard
Since first the Spirit of Man drew breath
and stirred !
Let us seek shelter ! ' But I spake in
vain
He heard not ; but as one that dies in pain
Sank feebly on the parapet of stone.
Upon his naked breast the Snow was blown
Thicker and colder on his hoary head
Heavily like a cruel hand of lead
It thickened so he stood from head to
feet
Smother 'd and wrapt as in a winding sheet,
Forlorn and weary, panting, overpowered.
Then lo ! a miracle ! For a space he
cowered
As if o'ermastered by the cruel touch,
But all at once, as one that suffers much
Yet quickeneth into anger suddenly,
He said, in a sharp voice of sovereignty,
' Cease, cease ! ' and at the very voice's
sound,
The white Snow wildly wavering round and
round
Rose like a curtain, leaving all things
bright !
Spell-bound and wonder-stricken at the
sight,
And comprehending not its import yet
j (For still my Soul with fever and with fret
Was laden, and I bore upon my mind
The darkness of that doubt that keeps men
blind),
I cried, ' See ! see ! the elemental Snow
Obeys thy call, in pity for thy woe
Gentler than He who fashioned men for
pain,
The white Snow and the wild Wind and
the Rain
Would bless thee, and there is no cruel
beast
Which He hath made, the greater or the
least,
Which would not spare thy life and lick thy
hand,
Poor outcast comer from a lonely land.
Yea, only God is cruel Only He
Whose foot is on the Mountains and the Sea,
| And on the bruised frame and flesh of Man ! '
Lo, now the Moonlight lit his features wan
With spectral beams, and o'er his hoary hair
A halo of brightness fell, and rested there !
And while upon his face mine eyes were
bent
In utterness of woeful wonderment,
Into mine ear the strange voice crept once
more :
' Far have I wandered, weary and spirit-
sore,
And lo ! wherever I have chanced to be,
All things, save men alone, have pitied me !
2I 4
THE WANDERING JEW.
Then then even as he spake, forlornly
crown "d
By the cold light that wrapt him round and
round,
I saw upon his twain hands raised to Heaven
Stigmata bloody as of sharp nails driven
Thro' the soft palms of mortals crucified !
And swiftly glancing downward I descried
Stigmata bloody on the naked feet
Set feebly on the cold stones of the
street !
And moveless in the frosty light he stood,
Ev'n as one hanging on the Cross of wood !
Then, like a lone man in the north, to whom
The auroral lights on the world's edge
assume
The likeness of his gods, I seem'dto swoon
To a sick horror ; and the stars and moon
Reel'd wildly o'er me, swift as sparks that
blow
Out of a forge ; and the cold stones below
Chattered like teeth ! For lo, at last I knew
The lineaments of that diviner Jew
Who like a Phantom passeth everywhere,
The World's last hope and bitterest despair,
Deathless, yet dead !
Unto my knees I sank,
And with an eye glaz'd like the dying's drank
The wonder of that Presence !
White and tall
And awful grew He in the mystical
Chill air around Him, at His mouth a mist
Made by His frosty breathing ! Then 1
kissed
His frozen raiment-hem, and murmured
1 Adonai ! Master ! Lord of Quick and
Dead ! '
'Twas more than heart could suffer and still
beat
So with a hollow moan I fainted at his feet !
v.
O YE, ye ancient men born yesterday,
Some few of whom may in this Yuletide lay
Feel echoes of your own hearts, listen on,
Till the faint music of the harp is gone
And the weak hand drops leaden down the
string !
For lo, I voice to you a mystic thing
Whose darkness is as full of starry gleams
As is a tropic twilight; in your dreams
This thing shall haunt you and become a
sound
Of friendship in still places, and around
Your lives this thing shall deepen, and im-
part
A music to the trouble of the heart,
So that perchance, upon some gracious day,
Ye may bethink you of the Song, and pray
That God may bless the Singer for your
sake!
Not unto bliss and peace did I awake
From' that deep swoon, nor to the garish
light
Wherein all spiritual things grow slight
And vanish nay ; the midnight and the
place
Had changed not, and o'er me still the Face
Shone piteously serene ; I felt its ray
On mine unclosed eyelids as I lay ;
Then gazing up, blinking mine eyes for
dread
Of some new brightness, I discerned instead
That Man Forlorn, and as I gazed He smiled
Even as a Father looking on a child !
/Aye me ! the sorrow of that smile ! 'Twas
such
As singer ne'er may sing or pencil touch !
But ye who have seen the light that is in
snow,
The glimmer on the heights where sad and
slow
Some happy day is dying ye who have seen
Strange dawns and moonlit waters, wood-
lands green
Troubled with their own beauty ; think of
these,
And of all other tender images,
Then think of some beloved face asleep
'Mid the dark pathos of the grave, blend
deep
Its beauty with all those until ye weep,
And ye may partly guess the woe divine
Wherewith that face was looking down on
mine,
While trembling, wondering like a captive
thrown
By cruel hands into some cell of stone,
Who waiting Death to end his long despair
Sees the door open and a friend stand there
Bringing new light and life into his
prison,
I faltered, ' Lord of Life, hast Thou arisen f
THE WANDERING
215
' Arisen ! Arisen ! Arisen /'
At the word
The silent cisterns of the Night were stirred
And plash'd with troublous waters, and in
the sky
The pale stars clung together, while the cry
Was wafted on the wind from street to
street !
Like to a dreaming man whose heart doth
beat
With thick pulsations while he fights to
break
The load of terror with a shriek and wake,
The sleeping City trembled thro' and thro 1 !
And in its darkness opened to my view
As by enchantment, those who slumbered
Rose from their pillows, listening in dread ;
And out of soot-black windows faces white
Gleamed ghost-like, peering forth into the
night ;
And haggard women by the River dark,
Crawling to plunge and drown, stood still
to heark ;
And in the silent shrouded Hospitals,
Where the dim night-lamp flickering on the
walls
Made woeful shadows, men who dying lay,
Picking the coverlet as they pass'd away
And babbling babe-like, raised their heads
to hear,
While all their darkening sense again grew
clear,
And moaned ' Arisen ! Arisen ! ' In his
cell
The Murderer, for whom the pitiless bell
Would toll at dawn, sat with uplifted hair
And broke to piteous impotence of prayer !
Then all grew troubled as a rainy Sea,
I sank in stupor, struggling to be free
Even as a drowning wight ; and as the brain
Of him who drowneth flasheth with no pain
Into a sudden vision of things fled,
Faces forgotten, places vanished
Came, went, and came again, and 'mid it all
I knew myself the weary, querulous, small,
Weak, wayward Soul, with little hope or
will,
Crying for ' God, God, God,' and thrusting
still
Cain's offering on His altar. All this pass'd
Then came a longer darkness and at last
I found myself upon my feet once more
Tottering and faint and fearful, a dull roar
; Of blood within mine ears, still crying aloud
', ' Arisen ! Arisen ! Arisen ! ' . . .
Whereon the cloud
J Of wonder lifted, and again mine eyes
' Saw the sad City sleeping 'neath the skies,
Silent and flooded with the white Moon's
beams
As still as any City seen in dreams ;
And lo ! the great Bridge, and the River
that ran
Blindly beneath it, and that hoary Man
Standing thereon with naked pierced feet
U plooking to the Heavens as if to meet
Some vision ; and the abysses of the air
Had opened, and the Vision was shining
there !
Far, far away, faint as a filmy cloud,
A Form Divine appeared, her bright head
bowed,
Her eyes down-looking on a Babe she
prest
In holy rapture to her gentle breast,
And tho* all else was ghost-like, strange
and dim,
A brightness touched the Babe and cover'd
Him,
Such brightness as we feel in summer days
When hawthorn blossoms scent the flowery
ways
And all the happy clay is verdure-clad ;
And the Babe seem'd as others who make
glad
The homes of mortals, and the Mother's
face
Was lilce a fountain in a sunny place
Giving arid taking gladness, and her eyes
Beheld no other sight in earth or skies
Save the blest Babe on whom their light did
shine ;
But he, that little one, that Babe Divine,
Gazed down with reaching hands and face
aglow
Upon the Lonely Man who stood below,
And smiled upon Him, radiant as the
morn!
Whereat the weary Christ raised arms
forlorn
And answer'd with a thin despairing moan !
And at the sound Darkness like dust was
blown
216
THE WANDERING JEW.
Over the Heavens, and the sweet Vision
fled,
And all that wonder of the night was
dead ! . . . .
Yet still I saw Him looming woe-begone
Upon the lonely Bridge, and faltering on
With feeble feet beneath the falling snow,
And in His hand the lamp hung, flickering
low
As if to die, yet died not. Far away
He seemed now, altho' so near, a grey
Ghost seen in dreams ; yet even as dreams
appear
To one who sleeps more mystically clear
Than any vision of the waking sight,
He shone upon the sadness of the Night
As softly as a star, while all around
Loom'd the great City, sleeping with no
sound
Save its own deep-drawn breath. Yet I
could mark
The glimmer of eyes that watched Him from
the dark
Shadows beyond the Bridge, and, where
the rays
Of the dim moonlight lit the frozen ways,
Shapes crouching low or crawling serpent-
wise
Waited to catch the pity of His eyes
Or touch His raiment-hem !
Then, while I wept
For pity of His loneliness, and crept
In wonder after Him, with bated breath,
Fell a new Darkness deep and dread as
Death ;
And from the Darkness came tumultuously
Clangour and roar as of a storm-torn
Sea,
And, shrill as shrieks of ocean-birds that fly
Over the angry waters, rose the cry
Of human voices !
Then the four Winds blew
Their clarions, while the stormy tumult
grew,
And all was dimly visible again.
METHOUGHT I stood upon an open Plain
Beyond the City, and before my face
Rose, with mad surges thundering at its
base,
A mountain like Golgotha ; and the waves
That surged round its sunless cliffs and
caves
Were human countless swarms of Quick
and Dead !
Then, while the fire-flaught flickered over-
head,
I saw the Phantoms of Golgotha throng
Around that ancient Man, who trailed along
A woeful Cross of Wood ; and as He went,
His body bruised and His raiment rent,
His bare feet bleeding and His force out-
worn,
They pricked Him on with spears and
laughed in scorn,
Shouting, ' At last Thy Judgment Day hath
come ! '
And when He faltered breathless, faint, and
dumb,
And stumbled on His face amid the snows,
They dragged Him up and drave Him on
with blows
To that black Mountain !
Then my soul was 'ware
Of One who silent sat in Judgment there
Shrouded and spectral ; lonely as a cloud
He loomed above the surging and shrieking
crowd.
Human he seemed, and yet his eyeballs
shone
From fleshless sockets of a Skeleton,
And from the shroud around him darkly
roll'd
He pointed with a fleshless hand and
cold
At those who came, and, in a voice that
thrill'd
The tumult at his feet till it was still'd,
Cried :
' Back, ye Waters of Humanity !
Wait and be silent. Leave this man to me.
The centuries of his weary watch have
pass'd,
And lo ! the Judgment Time is ripe at last.
Stand up, thou Man whom men would
doom to death,
And speak thy Name ! '
' JESUS OF NAZARETH ! '
Answer'd the Man.
And as He spake His name,
The multitude with thunderous acclaim
THE WANDERING JEW.
217
Shriek'd.
But again the solemn voice, which thrill'd
The tumult and the wrath till they were
still'd,
Cried: 'Peace, ye broken hearts, have
patience yet !
This man is surely here to pay his debt
To Death and Time.'
And to the man he said :
' Jesus of Nazareth, lift up thy head
And hearken ! Brought to face Eternity
By men, thy brethren, form'd of flesh like
thee,
Brought" there by men to me, the Spirit of
Man,
To answer for thy deeds since life began,
Brought hither to Golgotha, whereupon
Thyself wast crucified in days long gone,
Thou shalt be judged and hear thy judg-
ment spoken
Before the World whose slumbers thou hast
broken.
Thou saidst, ' ' I have fought with Death and
am the stronger !
Wake to Eternal Life and sleep no longer ! "
And men, thy brethren, troubled by thy
crying,
Have rush'd from Death to seek the Life
undying,
And men have anguish' d, wearied out with
waiting
For the great unknown Father of thy creat-
ing,
And now for vengeance on thy head they
gather,
Crying, " Death reigns ! There is no God
no Father ! " '
He ceased, and Jesus spake not, but was
mute
In woe supreme and pity absolute.
Then calmly amid the shadows of the
Throne
Another awful shrouded Skeleton,
Human yet more than human, rose his
height,
With baleful eyes of wild and wistful light,
And said :
1 O Judge, Death reigned since Time began,
Sov'ran of Life and Change ! and ere this
Man
Came with his lying dreams to break our
rest
The reign of Death was beautiful and blest ;
But now within the flesh of men there grows
The poison of a Dream that slays repose,
The trouble of a mirage in the air
That turneth into terror and despair ;
So that the Master of the World, ev'n
Death,
Hated in his own kingdom, travaileth
In darkness, creeping haunted and afraid,
Like any mortal thing, from shade to
shade,
From tomb to tomb ; and ever where he
flies
The seed of men shrink with averted eyes,
And call with mad yet unavailing woe
On this Man and his God to lay Death low.
Wherefore the Master of the Quick and
Dead
Demandeth doom and justice on the head
Of him, this Jew, who hath usurp'd the
throne
The Lord of flesh claims ever for his own.
This Jew hath made the Earth that once
was glad
A lazar-house of woeful men and mad
Who can yet will not sleep, and in their
strife
For barren glory and eternal Life,
Have rent each other, murmuring his
Name ! '
He paused and from the listening host
there came
Tumult nor voice there was no sound, no
stir,
But all was hushed as a death-chamber ;
And while that pallid shrouded Skeleton
In a low voice like funeral bells spake on,
From heart to heart a nameless horror ran.
VII.
1 IN the name of all men I arraign this Man,
Named Jesus, son of Joseph, and self-styled
The Son of God !
' Born in the East, the child
Of Jewish parents, toiling for their bread,
He grew to manhood, following, it is said,
His father's humble trade of carpentry ;
But hearing one day close to Galilee,
One John, a madman, in the desert crying
Baptising all who came and prophesying,
218
THE WANDERING JEW.
This Jesus also long'd to prophesy ;
And lo ! ere very many days went by
He left his tools, forsook his native town,
And for a season wandered up and down
On idle preaching bent. Now, as we know,
Madness and Falsehood wedded are, and
grow
With what they breed ; so the Accused ere
long,
Finding his audience fit, his rivals strong
(For prophets in those realms were thick as
bees),
Began to invent such fables as might please
The ears of ignorant wonder-seeking men,
And finding 'mong the Jewish race just then
The wild old prophecy of a Christ and
King,
Destined to lead the race, still lingering,
He threw the royal raiment ready made
On his bare back, and blasphemously
played
The Christ they craved for ! next, to clinch
his claim,
And prove his Godhead not an empty name,
The Man wrought miracles, calling to his
aid
Simple devices of the wizard's trade,
Healing the sick nay, even, 'twas avowed,
Bidding a dead man quicken in his shroud !
Pass over that as idle turn with me
To the completion of his infamy !
In time, when he had sown with such false
seed
Rank madness broadcast like an evil weed,
Choking the wholesome fields of industry,
And setting all the fiends of folly free,
This Jesus, with great numbers following,
Rides to Jerusalem like any King,
And throned on an ass goes thro' the
Gate.
Arrived within the City, he keeps his
state
With publicans and harlots, vaunts abroad
His proud vocation as the Son of God,
And last, presuming on his pride of place,
Profanes the Holy Temple of the race.
The rest we know they slew him, as was
right,
Set him upon a Cross in all men's sight,
Then, lastly, buried him. And now 'twas
thought
The Man had made amends ; the ill he
wrought
Died with him, since his foolish race Was
run.
1 Not so ; the Man's black crime had scarce
begun !
1 For on the Sabbath day, as scribes aver,
Three Women, watching by his Sepulchre,
Beheld the stone roll'd back, and in the
gloom
Beyond, a cast-off shroud and empty tomb !
The Man had risen, and that very day
Appeared among the faithful far away,
Spake, vanish'd, and wa.s never after seen
By those who knew him, loved him, and
had been
His life-long followers.
' Now, hear and heed
Had this Man, like the rest of Adam's seed,
Rested within his grave, turned back to
dust,
Accepted dissolution, as were just,
Well had it been for him and all man's
race !
' He rose, this Jew but in what secret place
He for a season hid his evil head
We know not ; followers of his tribe have
said
He walked with bleeding feet dejectedly
The lava shores of Hell (if Hell there be !),
Pondering' his plan to lead the world
astray
But after sundry years had pass'd away
Mortals began to see in divers lands
A Phantom pale with pierced feet and hands
Who cried, " I am the Christ believe on
me
Or lose your Souls alive eternally ! "
And of those men a few believed, and
cried
" Lo ! Christ is God, and God we crucified !
But He shall come to judge the Quick and
Dead ! "
' Now, mark the issue. Where this rumour
spread,
All other gentle gods that gladden'd Man
Faded and fled away : the priests of
Pan,
That singing by Arcadian rivers rear'd
Their flowery altars, wept and disappeared ;
THE WANDERING JEW.
219
And men forgot the fields and the sweet
light,
Joy, and all wonders of the day and night,
All splendours of the sense, all happy
things,
Art, and the happy Muses' ministerings,
Forget that radiant house of flesh divine
Wherein each Soul is shut as in a shrine,
Because this Phantom, like a shape in sleep,
Showing his red wounds, murmur'd, " Pray !
and weep ! "
And when fair Earth, mother of things of
clay,
The gladsome Mother, now grown gaunt and
grey,
Cried to her children, " Children, stay with
me !
I made you happy, innocent, and free !
Although this Man, my latest born, your
brother,
Casts dust in the living eyes of me, his
mother,
Follow him not, forsake me not, but stay ! "
They too, because he beckon'd, turned
away,
Or cursing her who bare them, they too shed
Dust in her eyes, dishonour on her head.
' First, in her name, the Mother of all our
race,
Whom this unfilial hand smote in the face,
Whom he defamed and shamed with cheats
and lies,
And taught a thousand children to despise,
I demand justice on her Son, this Jew !
1 Pass on. The rumour of his godhead grew ;
Yea, men were conscious of a Presence sad,
Crowned with thorns, in ragged raiment
clad,
Haunting the sunless places of the Earth ;
And mystic legends of his heavenly birth,
His many miracles, his piteous death,
Were whisper'dby the faithful under breath ;
And wights grown sick from tearfullest
despairs,
And many weary souls worn out with cares,
Sick men and witless, all who had assailed
The gleaming heights of Happiness and
failed,
But chiefly women bruised and undertrod,
Believed this Man indeed the Son of
God,-
Because he said, "The high shall be
estranged,
The low uplifted, and the weak avenged,
And blest be those who have cast this world
away
To await the dawning of my Judgment
Day ! "
And straightway many yielded up their lives,
Blasphemed their bodies, gash'd their flesh
with knives,
In attestation that these things were true.
And I deny not that to some, a few
Poor Souls without a hope, without a friend,
The lie brought comfort and a peaceful end ;
Nor (to be just to him we judge, even him,
This Jew, whose presence makes the glad
World dim)
That often to the martyr in his prison
He went and whisper'd "Comfort! I am
risen ; "
Nor that to sickbeds sad, as Death came
near,
He stole with radiant face and whisper d
cheer,
And to the Crucified brought secretly
The vinegar and sponge of Charity !
' Yet in the name of those who died for
Him,
Self-slain, or by the beasts rent limb from
limb,
Who in his Name with calm unbated breath
Went smiling down the dark descent of
Death,
Who went because he beckon'd with bright
hand
Out of the mirage of a heavenly Land,
I demand justice on their Christ, this Jew !
1 Pass on. From land to land the tidings
flew
That Christ was God, and that the World
was doom'd !
Then droopt the lilies of delight, then
bloom'd
The martyr's rose of blood ; Kings on the'
thrones
Cast down their crowns and crawled will
piteous moans
To the baptismal font where Priests, grown
bold,
Held high the crucifix wrought round with
gold.
22O
THE WANDERING JEW.
And soon (how swiftly seeds of evil spring !)
They set a Priest on High and crowned him
King,
Yea, King of all earth's Kings, and next to
Christ !
There reign'd he, at his will the realms were
priced,
And each, grown blind to worldly gain and
loss,
Paid tribute to the King and to the Cross.
Behind that King, this Phantom most
forlorn
Kept watch, from morn to night, from night
to morn ;
And countless Temples rose into the air,
Golden and vast and marvellously fair,
And artists wrought on canvas and on
stone
Strange images of Christ upon his Throne
Judging the World ; and voices filled each
land :
"Rejoice the heavenly Kingdom is at
hand ; "
And for a space indeed, so well he feign'd,
It seem'd that Christ had conquer'd Death,
and reigned.
'The triumph passed. The poison of the
Lie
Spread, as all foul things spread beneath
the sky ;
And presently, the time being ripe at last,
From shrine to shrine this pallid Phantom
pass'd
Whispering, "My Word hath grown a
winged fire,
Yet thousands doubt me and blaspheme the
Sire-
See ye to this, O Priests ! seek the abhorred
And judge them, with your Master's Flame
and Sword."
' Look, where the culprit croucheth in his
place,
Blood on his hands, and terror in his face !
Aye, glue your gaze upon him, while I tell
Of damned deeds and thoughts befitting
Hell ! . . . .
They went abroad, his Priests, like wolves
that scent
Lambs in the fields, and slew the innocent ;
The holy Shepherds who in places green
To Isis sang and Thammuz songs serene
They found and slaughter'd, till their red
blood ran
In torrents down the streams Egyptian ;
The gentle Souls who loved their mother
Earth,
And wept because she had given the Monster
birth,
They cast in cruel fire, and sacrificed
To appease the blood-thirst of this Jew,
their Christ !
From land to land, from sea to sea, they fled,
And where they went the plains were strewn
with dead.
Then, when all men knelt down and cried
in pain
" Hosannah to the Lord for Christ doth
reign,"
When no man doubted, since he dared not
doubt
Because of fiends that ringed him round
about,
When no man breath' d in his own dwelling-
house,
They paused a little time and held carouse,
With full cups pledging Christ ; but mark
the rest !
While they in triumph revelled east and west,
He pass'd 'mongthem, his chosen, and dis-
tilled
A fatal poison in the cups they filled,
And when thro' vein and thew the poison
crept,
Like wolves upon each other's throats they
leapt,
Rending each other in their Master's sight.
'Next, in the name of Love and Love's
delight,
And in the name of pagans blest and blind
Who loved the old gods best for they were
kind,
Of virgins who despite the fire and sword
Shrank from this Scourge and called on
God the Lord,
Of haggard men who dared not draw their
breath
Because they deem'd this man, not Christ,
but Death ;
Yea, in the name of his own Priests profaned
Because they did his bidding, and he reigned,
I demand justice on their Christ, this Jew.
' Nay, listen yet, The dark corruption flew
THE WANDERING JEW.
221
Like loathsome pestilence from land to
land;
From every Altar, raised at his command,
Blood dript like dew ; grown mad with
pride and scorn
His Priests cast off the masks that they had
worn,
And 'neath the Cross, within the very
shrines,
Held hideous revel with their concubines,
Flaunted before their silent Christ thorn-
crowned
The emblems of Priapus, and around
Danced naked, with lewd songs and signs
obscene ;
Then the bald monk, upon the con vent green,
Rolled with the harlot ; then the King of
Priests
In the very Shrine did lewdness worse than
beast's,
While Incest and foul Lusts without a name
Crawl'd in his temples, and he felt no
shame.
For when the people murmur'd, Priests
and Kings
Made answer, " Be at peace, ye underlings !
Since 'tis enough to deem that Christ is
Lord,
To adore his symbols and to wield his sword,
And all our deeds, tho' black as blackest
night,
Are vindicated in our Master's sight ! "
Oh, God that madest Man, if God there
be,
Didst make these things, didst hear this
blasphemy ?
No writing on the wall disturbed the feasts
Of pathic Popes and lep'rous, lech'rous
Priests !
This Man with falsehoods seventy times
seven
Defamed Thy world, and Thou wast dumb
in Heaven !
' Now, in the name of vestals sacrificed
To feed the lust of those same priests of
Christ,
Of acolyte children tangled in the mesh
Of infamous and nameless filths of flesh,
In the name of those whom King and Priest
and Pope
Cast down to dust, beyond all peace and
hope,
Yea, in their names who made this Man
their guide,
And curst by men, by him were justified,
I demand justice on their Christ, this Jew !
' Pass on. With cruel pitiless hand he drew
A curtain o'er the azure Heavens above,
Hiding the happy Light, darkening the love
Which kept life clean and whole ; so that
in time
The very smile of Life became a crime
Against his godhead ! Brother turn'd from
brother,
The father smote his child, the son his
mother,
And every fire that made home warm and
sweet
Was trampled into ashes 'neath his feet.
Then cried he, ' ' Life itself is shame and sin 1
Break ye all human ties, and ye shall win
My Realm beyond the grave ! " and as he
cried,
Mortals cast ashes on their heads and died,
The virgin deem'd that Love's own kiss
defiled,
The mother's milk was poison'd for the
child,
The father, worse than beasts who love their
young,
Cast to the wolves the little ones who clung
Crying around his neck ; the Anchorite
Turn'd from the sunshine and the starry
light
And hid his head in ordures of self-prayer ;
The naked Saint loomed black against the
air
Upon his tower of Famine ; and for the
sake
Of this Man's promise, and the Lie he
spake,
Nature itself became a blight and ban !
Nay, more ! thro' all the world corruption
ran
As from a loathsome corpse in every clime
Disease and Pestilence did shed their slime,
Till human Life, once clean and pure and
free,
Shrank 'neath the serpent-scales of Leprosy !
' Now in the name of Life defiled and
scorn' d,
1 Of hearts that broke because this Phantom
warn'd,
222
THE WANDERING JEW.
Of weary mothers desolately dying
For sons whose hearts were hardened to
their crying,
Of wives made husbandless and left unblest,
Of little children starving for the breast,
Of homes made desolate from sea to sea
Because he said "Leave all, and follow me,"
I demand justice on their Christ, this Jew !
' He reign'd where Peace had reign'd ! and
no man knew
The World wherein he dwelt, nor sought to
guess
The holy laws of Light and Happiness ;
Yea, from our sight the beauteous Heavens
were veil'd
And the Earth under them, while yet Man
trail'd
His self-wrought chain across the fruitless
lands
And tore his own pure flesh with impious
hands.
Then from the depths of sorrow pale men
came,
Who dimb'd the heights and lit thereon
the flame
Which scatter'd darkness and illumed the
skies,
And on the stars they fixed their starry eyes
And measured their progressions, crying
aloud
' ' This Phantom of the Christ is but a cloud
Veiling the glory of the Infinite ! "
What then ? His creatures found them in
the night
And smote them down, and with a fouler fire
Made for their martyred bones a funeral
pyre
That did proclaim his glory and their
despair !
Even thus the Martyr, Man, once the glad
heir
Of Earth and Heaven, made with eyes to
see
And sense to comprehend his Destiny,
Was bound and render'd blind, until he fell
To Darkness dimly lit by lights of Hell,
And there, bereft and desolate of all
That made him free, he felt his dungeon wall
And wail'd on God ; and lo, at this man's
nod,
His Priests and Kings appear'd, instead of
God,
Saying " Bow down, thou Slave, and cease
thy strife,
Confessing on thy knees that Death is Life,
And Darkness, Light ! " and to his mouth
they thrust
Their cruel Cross, defiled with blood and
dust ;
And when he had testified in all men's
sight
That Death was Life and Darkness heavenly
Light,
Forth to the fire the shuddering wretch was
brought,
And slaughter'd to the Lie themselves had
taught.
' Now, in their names, the Souls of priceless
worth,
Who glorified the lights of Heaven and
Earth,
Who fathom'd Nature's secret star-sown
ways
And read the law of Life with fearless gaze,
Yet, for reward, with fire were shrivell'd up,
Or poison'd by the fatal hemlock-cup,
I demand doom and justice on this Jew !
1 Pass o'er the rest the countless swarms he
slew
To appease his lust for life in every land ;
The happy Nations stricken by his hand
With Famine or with Pestilence ; the
horde
Of butchering Tyrants and of Priests ab-
horred
Who fatten'd on the flesh and blood of men,
Because this Jew had died and risen again !
Come to the issue. Hear it, Jew, and know
Nature hath gather'd strength to lay thee
low !
Humanity itself shall testify
Thy Kingdom is a Dream, thy Word a Lie,
Thyself a living canker and a curse
Upon the Body of the Universe !
For lo, at last, thy Judge, the Spirit of
Man
And I, his Acolyte since Time began,
Have taught thy brethren, things of clay
like thee,
That all thy promise was a mockery ;
That Fatherhood and Godhead there is
none,
No Father in Heaven and in Earth no Son,
THE WANDERING JEW.
223
That Darkness never can be Light, that still
Death shall be Death, despite thy wish or
will,
That Death alone can comfort souls be-
reaven
And shed on Earth the eternal sleep of
Heaven.
Yet not until the weary world is free
Of all thy ghostly godhead, and of thee,
Shall he who stills all tumult and all pain
Unveil the happy Heavens once more and
reign ! '
He ceased, and Jesus heard, but made no
sign.
Then, gazing sadly on that Man Divine,
He added, ' Peace, and hearken yet, O
Jew !
For what we come to judge, we pity too !
The blessed sleep Death sheds from sea to
sea,
Shared by thy brethren, may be shared by
thee,
If he who sits in Judgment deems it well ! '
While on those silent hosts his dark eyes
fell,
And thro' the Waves of Life that darkly
roll'd
Around him, ran a tremor deathly cold,
He cried, 'Awake, awake, for 'tis the
time !
Appear, ye Witnesses of this Man's
crime ! '
VIII.
THE WITNESSES.
FIRST to the front a shrouded figure crept,
Gazed upon Jesus, hid his face, and wept,
Saying, ' What would ye ? Wherefore am
I taken
Out of the dark grave where I slept for-
saken,
Forgetting all my heritage of woe ? '
'What Soul art thou?'
' One Judas, named also
Iscariot. '
' Know'st thou the Accused ? '
1 Aye me.
In sooth I know him, to my misery !
I followed him, and I believed for long
That he was God indeed, serene and strong ;
Then with an eager hunger famishing
To see his Kingdom and to hail him King,
I did betray him, thinking ' ' When he stands
Bound and condemn'd in the oppressor's
hands,
When Death comes near to drink his holy
breath,
He will put forth his power and vanquish
Death ! "
But when I saw him conquer'd, crucified,
I hid my face in shame and crept aside,
And in the Potter's Field myself I hung.'
' Now answer ! Was thy spirit conscience-
stung ?
Having betrayed him, wherefore didst thou
die?'
' Because I knew his promise was a lie,
Because I knew the Man whom I had slain
Was not Messiah Now, let me sleep
again ! '
1 Pass by. The next ! '
Forth slept before their sight
A form so old, so wan and hoary white,
It seem'd another Christ, as old, as sad ;
And he in antique raiment too was clad,
Ragged and wild and his white hair was
strewn
Like snow around him 'neath the wintry
Moon,
And by his side a lean she-bear there
ran,
Gentle and tame uplooking at the man
With piteous bleats, while his thin hand
was spread
With touch as chill as ice upon its head.
When on the Accused this old man turned
his eyes
He shook and would have fled with feeble
cries,
But a hand held him. Shivering and
afraid,
He shrank and gazed upon the ground, but
stayed.
' Thy name ? '
' AHASUERUS. Far away
Beyond the changes of the night and day,
22 4
THE WANDERING JEW.
In the bleak regions of the Frozen Zone,
Lit with auroral beams I roamed alone,
When a voice called me, and behold I came.
Look on the Accused.
Form and Name ? '
Know st thou his
' Alack, I know him, as I know my doom
To wander o'er the world without a tomb,
Alone, unpitied, hopeless, weak and
wild . . .
Before my door I stood with wife and child
That weary moment when they led him by,
Bearing his heavy Cross of Wood, to die.
He would have rested at my dwelling-place,
But knowinghim blasphemer, branded base,
Taking the name of God in vain, I cried,
" If thou art God, now cast thy Cross aside,
And take thy Throne if thou hast lied pass
on! "
He turned on me his face all woe-begone,
And murmur'd faintly, as he crawl'd away,
" Thou shalt not rest until my Judgment
Day;
Till then walk on from sleepless year to
year ! "
He spake. That doom pursued me. lam
here.'
1 Take comfort, brother. Tho' thy wrongs
are deep,
When this same Jew is judged thou shalt
sleep.
Pass by.'
With feeble moan and weary pace
He went. Another stept into his place.
' Thou ? '
' PILATE, to whose Roman judgment seat
They brought this Jew, casting him at my
feet
And clamouring for his life. I smiled to see
So mad a thing usurping sovereignty,
And said, " O Jews, if so ye list, fulfil
The law, and spare or slay him as ye will
The Roman wars not with such foes as
he
Upon your heads, not mine, this deed shall
be.'
And ere to shameful Death the man was
borne,
Iturned aside and washed my hands in scorn
Of them and him ! '
' Pass on ! '
The Roman cast
One pitying look upon the Jew, and pass'd
Into the darkness. As he sank from sight
There came in pale procession thro' the
night
Great Phantoms who the imperial robe did
wear,
Sceptre in hand, and bayleaves in the hair,
Each lewd and horrible and infamous,
A monster, yet a man : Tiberius,
Sejanus, and the rest ; and last of all
Came one who trode the earth with light foot-
fall,
And sang with shrill voice to a golden lute ;
And lo ! a woman's robe from head to foot
Enwrapt him, and his face was sickly white
With nameless infamies of lewd delight,
And on his beardless cheeks mine eyes could
see
The hideous crimson paint of harlotry,
While, in a voice as any eunuch's shrill,
He cried :
' This Jew, their Christ, lay cold and still
Within his Sepulchre, and slept supine,
While I, the Antichrist, pour'd blood like
wine
To appease my parasites and paramours !
Nay, more, before my shining palace-doors
And round the gardens of the feast, I placed
The naked forms of men and maidens chaste
Who worshipt him, and lit the same to be
The living torches of my revelry ;
And all in vain, thus stript and sacrificed,
They called on Christ to conquer Antichrist !
In the amphitheatre I sat and smiled
On strong men martyred and on maids
defiled ;
Then clad myself in skins of beasts, and flew
To glut my lechery in all men's view,
And ravenous-claw'd my bestial lust I fed
On shuddering flesh of virgins ravished.
And yet he rose not ! Still and stark he lay.
God-like I reign'd, with a god's power to
slay,
Shame, sadden, gladden. To the old Gods
I sang
My triumph song that thro' the nations rang
While Rome was burning ! On my
mother's womb
I thrust the impious heel ! Yet from his
tomb
THE WANDERING JEW.
225
This Jesus stirred not ! God-like still, I died
By mine own hand, not shamed and crucified
As he, this Jew, had been ! He lives, ye
say?
Poor Phantom of the Cross, forlorn and
grey,
What shall his life avail ? His day hath fled,
But other Antichrists uplift the head
And laugh, and cry " The reign of Christ is
o'er !
Make merry ! " Yea, the Earth is his no
more,
His Heaven a Dream, and where he wrought
in vain
The harlot and the sodomite still reign ! '
He spake, and with a shrill and cruel cry
Followed his brethren ; in his track crept
by
Pale ghostly Phantoms filleted or crown'd,
Imperial harlots with their zones unbound,
And haggard children clutch' d yet un-
caress'd,
Rolling blind eyes and fighting for the
breast ;
And after these a throng of martyrs slain,
Bloody and maim'd and worn, who wail'd
in pain,
Fixing their piteous eyes on that pale Jew.
Crowd after crowd theypass'd, and passing
threw
A curse or prayer on Him who anguish'd
there
Crown'd with the calm of a divine despair,
And one by one He mark'd them come and
go
While down His wrinkled cheeks deep-sunk
in woe
The salt tears ran, and ever and anon
He hid Hisjface so weary and woe-begone,
Or peering vaguely up into the Night
Pressed His skinny hands together tight
And moan'd unto Himself !
IX.
THEN saw I rise
A shape with broad bold brow and fearless
eyes,
Behind him as he came a murmuring train
Of augurs, soothsayers, and armed men,
With gentle priests of Ceres and of Pan.
'Room there, ' they cried aloud, 'for
Julian ! '
U,
Bareheaded, helm in hand, he took his place
Before the Accused, a smile upon his face.
' Thy name was JULIAN ? '
He answered, ' Yes !
I wore the Imperial robe in gentleness,
And looking on the World around my
throne
I heard the wretched weep, the weary moan,
Saw Nature sickening because this Man
wrought
To scatter poison in the wells of Thought,
So that no Soul might live in peace and
be
Baptised in wisdom and philosophy ;
Wherefore I summoned from their lonely
graves
The Spirits of the Mountains and the waves,
The tutelary Sprites of flowers and trees,
The rough wild Gods and naked Goddesses,
And all alive with joy they leapt around
My leaf-hung chariot, to the trumpet's
sound !
Yea, and I wakened from ancestral night
The human shapes of Healing and of
Light
Asclepios with his green magician's rod,
And Aristotle, Wisdom's grave-eyed god,
And bade them teach the natural law and
prove
The eternal verities of Life and Love.
What then ? I fail'd. This Serpent could
elude
My priests, however swiftly they pursued,
And since I warned them not to slay with
steel
Nor bruise it cruelly beneath the heel,
1 It lived amid their very footprints, fed
! On blood and tears, upraised the impious
head,
j Then last, still living on my day of doom,
! Stung my pale corpse and coil'd upon my
| tomb !
j Oh, had I guessed that mercy could not
win
Blood from the stone, or change the
Serpent's skin,
That pity and loving kindness ne'er could
gain
Foothold in Superstition's black domain,
Then surely I the avenging sword had bared
And slain in mercy what I blindly spared 1
Q
226
THE WANDERING JEW.
Twas but a spark ! one stamp of foot, and
lo!
The thing had perished ! Fool, to let it
grow !
So that it grew as such foul hell-fire can,
Spreading from City unto City of Man,
Turning this World of greenness and sweet
breath
Into a charnel-house of shameful Death.
The Galilean conquered as I threw
My last wild jet of life-blood to the blue,
Nature resigned her birthright with a
groan,
And Thought, like Niobe, was turn'd to
stone ! '
His legions shouted faintly as he cast
One glance of scorn on the pale Jew and
pass'd
To darkness. Following him, methought,
there stalked
Aurelius, calmly musing as he walked,
With many another lesser King of clay,
Who paused and testified, then pass'd away ;
So thick they came from out the troubled
dark
My brain grew dizzy and I ceased to mark,
Until at last a marble Maiden rose,
Stript naked to the skin and bruised with
blows,
Yet fair and golden-haired and azure-eyed
She stood erect with fearless gaze, and cried :
' I was HYPATIA. Round my form fell free
The white robe of a wise virginity,
While in the fountains of the Past I sought
Strange pearls of Dream and dim Platonic
thought.
Now, as I gazed therein, I saw full plain
The faces of dead Gods whom men had
slain
How fair they seemed ! how gentle and how
wise !
The Spirits of the gladsome earth and skies !
And lo, I loved them, and I lit anew
Their vestal lamps that men might love
them too,
And so be passionately purified.
The rest ye know. Thro' this same Jew I
died.
Peter the Reader and his monkish throng
Found me and slew me, trail'd my limbs
along
The streets, and left me, bloody, stark, and
dead ! '
I watch' d her as with slow and silent tread,
Erect tho' naked, cloth'd with chaste cold
Light
As is the virgin votaress of the Night,
She vanished in the darkness. Then for
long
I marked the Witnesses in shadowy throng
Come, say their say, and go ; from every
side
They gathered one by one and testified,
And as they testified against the Jew
Creation darkened and the murmur grew !
Meantime the Accused stood listening, with
His eyes
Fixed ever sadly on the far-off skies
Where flocks of patient stars moved slowly,
driven
By winds unseen to the dark folds of
Heaven,
And ever as His gaze upon it yearned
The blue Void quicken' d and new splen-
dours burned,
And while the lights of all the stars were
shed
As lustrous dew upon His hoary head,
He knelt and prayed !
Then rose a mighty cry
Which shook the solid air and rent the sky,
And flowing thither came a countless
crowd
Of women and of men who called aloud
1 Allah il Allah ! 'Darkening under Heaven
Like to the waves of Ocean tempest-driven,
Out of the midnight I beheld them come
Up to the Judgment seat and break to
foam
Of dusky faces and of waving hands ;
And many raised aloft great crooked brands
And banners where the moonlike crescent
burn'd.
Then dimly thro' the darkness I discern'd
A stately turban'd King, who stood alone ;
Around his form a prophet's robe was
thrown,
And in his hand he bore a scimitar
Unsheath'd and shining radiant like a star ;
And on his head there shone a crescent
gem,
Bright as the moon ; and to hisraiment-h(
THE WANDERING JEW.
227
Clung women, naked, glorious-eyed, and
fair,
Houris of Heaven with perfumed golden
hair :
And the great Sea of Life, that raged and
broke
Behind him, sank to silence as he spoke,
Awed by the gleam of his dark eyes ; forlo !
He paused not, but moved onward proud
and slow,
Saying, as past the Judgment Seat he strode,
' This man cried, ' ' I am Allah ! very
God ! "
Yet helpless as a slaughter'd lamb he fell
Beneath the angry breath of Azrael,
Great Allah's Angel, sent to avenge his
Lord!
But I, who raised alike the Cross and Sword,
In Allah's name, his Prophet, was content
To avow myself the man by Allah sent
To do his will in proud humility.
So men forgot this Jew, and turn'd to
me,
Who on the desert-sands my flag unfurled
And wrought great miracles to amaze the
world !
Upon the neck of Kings my foot was set,
And all the Nations knew me MAHOMET ! '
And at the name the echoing millions roar'd
' Allah il Allah ! Mighty is the Lord !
Mahomet is his prophet ! ' Cloud on cloud,
Wave following wave, with clash of tumult
loud,
The mighty Sea of Lives passed onward
crying,
' Allah il Allah ! ' and ever multiplying ;
And when the far-off western horizon
Was darkened yet with those who had come
and gone,
Millions still came from the eastward, sweep-
ing by
The Judgment seat with that victorious
cry;
And endless seem'd the space of time until
The swarms had pass'd, and all again was
still,
When, fronting the Accused, the Accuser
cried :
1 Greater than this pale Jew men crucified
Was he whose mighty star, blood-red and
bright,
Shines on the minarets of the Islamite ! '
But as he spake, out of the East there
came
One follow'd, too, with clangorous ac-
claim
A human Shape, wrapt in white lamb-like
wool,
Star-eyed and sad and very beautiful,
A sceptre in his hand, and on his head
A crown of silver, brightly diamonded ;
Who, flying swift as wind on veiled feet,
Approach'd, and pausing at the Judgment
seat,
Cried :
' Sleeping in my Sepulchre, wherein
I deem'd myself secure from sense and
sin,
A voice disturbed me, and awakening,
I heard wild voices o'er the Nations ring,
Naming the names of lesser gods than I.
Deathless I pause, while all the rest pass
by-
They taught them how to live, I taught them
how to die !
Heir of the realms of sorrow and despair,
I, GAUTAMA, the BUDDHA, gently bare
The Lily, and not the Cross, and not the
Sword,
And countless thousands hailed me King
and Lord !
What voices break my rest ? What impious
strife
Stirreth my sleep and brings me back to
life?
Yea, plucks me from God's breast, whereon
I lay,
To take my place again 'mong Kings of
clay,
Inheritors of Sorrow ! '
Even as
He spake, the throngs who follow'd bent
like grass
Wind-blown to worship him !
With radiant head
He pass'd on, follow'd by the Quick and
Dead.
And in that train I saw, or seem'd to see,
Other inheritors of Deity
His Brethren, Gods or God-like, following :
Pale ZOROASTER, crowned like a King ;
MENtJ and MOSES, each with radiant look
Cast on the pages of an open Book ;
Q2
228
THE WANDERING JEW.
CONFUCIUS, in a robe of saffron hue,
Enwrought with letters quaint of mystic
blue;
PROMETHEUS, dragging yet his broken
chain,
And gazing heavenward still, in beautiful
disdain.
Ghostwise they testified and vanished,
These mighty spirits of the god-like Dead ;
Some reverend and hoary, some most fair,
With brightness in their eyes and on their
hair,
Each kingly in his place, and in his train
Souls of fair worshippers that Jew had slain.
THEN, waiting on and watching thro' the
gloom,
I saw the glimmer of an open Tomb
Hewn in the mountain-side, and thence a
band
Crown'dand tiara'd, each with Cross in hand,
Of woeful Phantoms issued, murmuring :
' We were the Vicars of this Christ, our King !
And lo, he let us reign ! and sins like lice
Ran o'er us, while we sought with foul device
To cloak the living Lie on which we fed ! '
And one cried, ' As I lay upon my bed,
My leman at my side, mine hands still red
With mine own brother's blood they
strangled me ! '
And one laugh'd, ' With this Cross as with
a key
I open'd up the caves where Monarchs kept
Their secret gold ! '
And one who wail'd and wept,
Yet could not speak, gaped with black jaws
forlorn
To show the mouth whence the red tongue
was torn.
And one said, ' Murder was my hand-
maiden !
I made a Throne with bones of butcher'd
men
And set her there, and in my Master's name
Baptised her ! ' And all those others cried
again
' We were his Vicars, and he bade us reign ! '
Back to the Tomb they crept with senile
cries,
Mumbling with toothless gums and blinking
eyes
Thick with the rheum of age ! and in their
stead
Rose shapes of butcher'd Seers whose
wounds still bled,
And some were clothen with consuming
flame
As with a garment, crying as they came :
' We saw all Nature blacken' d far and
wide
Because this Jew was dead yet had not
died,
For thro' the world of broken hearts he went
Demanding blood and tears for sacrament,
Crowning the proud and casting down the
just,
Lighting the altar-flames of Pride and Lust,
Calling the Deadly Sins accurst and dire
To be his acolytes and to feed the fire
Through which we perish'd ; yet we testified
With all our Souls against him ere we died ! '
Night of terror ! O dark suffering Night,
With wounded bleeding heart and great
eyes bright
With starry portents and serene despairs !
1 saw them, one by one, the ghostly heirs
Of Wisdom and of Woe, the Souls long
fled
Who died like Him, and like Him are not
dead,
The Great, the Just, the Good, who cannot
die,
Because this piteous Phantom passeth by,
And when they fain would slumber,
murmureth
' Lo, Christ is God, and God hath van-
quish'd Death ! '
Like wave on wave they came, like cloud
on cloud.
Before the Throne stood one wrapt in his
shroud,
And bearing in his lean uplifted hand,
That shook but did not fall, a flaming
Brand.
The Judge spake (while I dream 'd who this
might be) :
' Thy name?'
GALILEO, of Italy,'
THE WANDERING JEW.
229
He answer' d ; while two other shapes in
white
Crept to him, on the left hand and the right.
1 These Brethren, standing side by side
with me,
Wore the white raiment of Philosophy,
Yet died in anguish, butcher'd in Christ's
name.
He on my right hand, BRUNO, died by
flame.
He on my left, CASTILIO, starved for bread.
We saw the Heavenly Book above us
spread,
We pored upon its living lines of fire,
And saw therein the Name of God the Sire.
Upon us as we ponder'd, thought and
prayed,
Came this man's Priests and Soldiers, and
betrayed
Our Souls to torture and to infamy ! '
' Tis well. Ye kept your Souls sublime
and free,
And he who slew you waits for judgment
there!'
Suddenly, with a shriek that rent the air,
Shadows on shadows throng' d around and
cried :
' We, too, were slain because we testified !
Our bones are scattered white in every land !
We pass'd the Fiery Torch from hand to
hand :
Fast as one fell, another raised it high,
Till he in turn was smitten down to die.
Yet on, from clime to clime, from pole to
pole,
It pass'd, and lit the Beacons of the Soul,
Till wheresoever men could gaze they saw
The fiery signs and symbols of the Law,
Older than God, which saith the Soul is
free ! '
The Accuser smiled, and rising quietly,
With ominous lifted hand, ' O Judge,' he
cried,
1 If I should question all men who have died
Because this Jew once quickened in the
sun,
Eternity would pass ere all was done.
Enough to know, wherever men have striven
To read the open scrolls of Earth and
Heaven,
Wherever in their sadness they have sought
To find the stainless flowers of lonely
Thought,
Raising the herb of Healing and the bloom
Of Love and Joy, this man from out his
Tomb
Hath stalk'd, and slaying the things their
souls deem'd fair
Hath poison' d all their peace and stript
them bare.
Century on century, as men count Time,
This man hath been a curse in every clime ;
So that the World, once the glad home of
men,
Hath been a prison and a lazar-den,
A place of darkness whence no Soul might
dare
To seek the golden Earth and heavenly
air,
Save fearfully, with panting lips apart,
Fearing the very throb of his own heart
As 'twere a death-knell ; nay, this Jew set
free
Disease and Pestilence and Leprosy
To crawl like loathsome monsters and
destroy
Great Cities once alive with life and joy ;
And of all foul things fouler than the beasts
Were this Man's Servants and approven
Priests,
Stenching the Cities wheresoe'er they trod,
Poisoning the fountains in the name of
God.
Save for this Jew, a thousand years ago
Man might have known what he awakes to
know
The luminous House of flesh and blood
most fair,
Rainbow' d from dust and water and sweet
air,
The green Earth round it, and the Seas
that roll
To cleanse the Earth from shining pole to
pole,
The Heavens, and Heavens beyond without
a bound,
The Stars in their processions glory-crown'd,
Each star so vast that it transcends our
dreams,
So small, a child might grasp ft, so it seems,
Like a light butterfly ! The wondrous
screed
Of Nature open lay for Man to read ;
230
THE WANDERING JEW.
World flashed to world, in yonder Void
sublime,
The messages of Light and Change and
Time;
The Sea had voices, and the Spirit of Earth
Had sung her mystic runes of Death and
Birth,
Of all the dim progressions Life had known,
And writ them on the rocks in words of
stone ;
Nay, Man's own Soul was as a mirror,
bright
With luminous changes of the Infinite !
And yet Man rested blind beneath the sky
Because this Jew said, ' ' Close thine eyes, or
die ! "
Enough pass onward one by one, ye throng
Who sinn'd thro' Christ, or suffer'd shame
and wrong ;
Stay not to speak your faces shall
proclaim,
More loud than tongues, your martyrdom
and shame ! '
Ghostwise they pass'd along before my
sight,
Martyrs of truth and warriors of the right,
Some reverend and hoary, some most fair
With sunrise in their eyes and on their
hair.
So swift they came and fled, I scarce had
space
To note them, but full many a world-famed
face
Came like a breaking wave and went
again :
JUSTINIAN, living, yet a corpse, as when
They tore him from his tomb ; old, gaunt,
and grey,
The Master of the Templars, Du MOLAY,
Clasp'd by the harlot, Fire, follow'd by
pale
And martyr'd warriors bleeding 'neath their
mail;
ABELARD, still erect on stubborn knees
Facing the storms of Rome, and ELOISE
Clad like an abbess, from his eyes of fire
Drinking eternal passion and desire ;
KING FREDERICK, his step serene and
strong
As if he trod on altars, with his throng
Of warriors, Christian and Saracen ;
Great ALGAZALLI and wise ALHAZEN,
White-robed and calm, with many a lesser
man
Wrapt in the peace of lore Arabian ;
Pale PETRARCH, laurel-crowned, gazing on
The white face of that sister woe-begone
Who thro' the lust of Christ's own Vicar
fell;
JOHN Huss, still wrapt around with fires of
Hell,
Clutching the Book he bore with piteous
tears.
Silent they pass'd, the Martyrs and the
Seers,
Known and unknown, the Heirs of love
and praise ;
And last the Three who with undaunted gaze
Faced the great Ocean of Earth's mystery,
Mighty and strong as when from sea to sea
They sail'dandsail'd : DE GAMA following
COLUMBUS, who with sea-bird's sleepless
wing
Flew on from Deep to Deep ; and, mightiest,
MAGELLAN, faring forward on his quest,
Putting the craven cowls of Rome to shame,
And lighting Earth and Heaven with his
resplendent name !
WITH woe unutterable, and pity vast
As the still Heaven on which His eyes were
cast,
That old Jew listen'd, while new voices cried,
' We too were slain because we testified ! '
But as they pass'd along with waving brands
Beneath Him, He outstretch'd His trembling
hands
As if to bless them, murmuring low yet clear,
' Father in Heaven, where art Thou ? Dost
Thou hear ? '
And at the voice those Spirits cried again,
' We testified against thee and were slain ! '
And never down on them His eyes were
turn'd,
But still upon the silent Heaven that
yearn' d
Its heart of stars out on His hoary head.
Even as a shipwrecked wight doth cling in
dread
To some frail spar, and seeth all around
The dark wild waters swelling without
bound,
i
THE WANDERING JEW.
231
While momently the black waves flash to
foam,
Ev'n so I saw the spirits go and come
With piteous cries around me. From all
lands
They gathered, moaning low and waving
hands,
Women and men and naked little ones ;
And some were dusky-hued from flaming
suns
That light the West and East ; for lo, I knew
The hosts of Ind, the children of Peru,
And the black seed of Ham ; and following
these,
Wan creatures bearing hideous images
Of wood and stone ; yellow and black and
red,
They gathered, murmuring as they came,
and fled !
And all the air was troubled, as when the
rain
Maketh the multitudinous leaves complain
In some deep forest solitude, with the stirs
Of tutelary gods and worshippers,
Of creatures thronging thick as ants to up-
build
Strange Temples, frail as ant-heaps, faintly
filled
With the first gleams of godhead chill and
grey,
Then crumbling into dust and vanishing
away !
Borne on a purple litter came a King
Gold-crown'd, with eager armies following
Swift-footed like the pard, crested with
plumes
Of many-colour'd birds, and deck'd with
blooms
Of many-colour'd flowers ; and as he came
Choirs of dark maidens sang in glad
acclaim,
' All hail toMoNTEZUMA, King and Lord ! '
And round him dusky Priests kept fierce
accord
Of drums and cymbals, till their lord was
borne
Close to the Throne ; and on that Man for-
lorn
Fixing his sad, brown, antelope's eyes, and
lying
Like to a stricken deer sore-spent and
dying,
He cried :
' In the grassy West I reigned supreme
O'er a great kingdom wondrous as a dream.
As high as Heaven rose my palaces,
And fair as Heaven was the light in these,
And out of gold I ate, and gold and gems
Cover'd me to the very raiment-hems,
And gems and gold miraculously bright
Illumed my roofs and floors with starry light.
The wondrous lama-wool as white as milk,
More soft and snowy than the worm's thin
silk,
Was woven for my raiment ; unto me
The creatures of the Mountains and the Sea
Were brought in tribute ; and from shore to
shore
My naked couriers flew for ever, and bore
My mandate to the lesser Kings, my slaves ;
Yea, and my throne was on a thousand
graves,
And Death, obedient to my lifted hand,
Smiled peacefully upon a golden Land.
There, as I reigned, and millions bless'd my
sway,
Came rumours of a fair God far away
Greater than those I worshipt, till my throne
Shook at the coming of that form unknown ;
And o'er the Ocean, borne on flying things
That caught the winds and held them in
their wings,
Riding on maned monsters that obeyed
Bridles of gold and champ'd the bit and
neigh'd,
Came this Man's followers, clad and shod
with steel,
Trampling my naked hosts with armed heel
And raising up the Cross ; and me they
found
Within my shining palace sitting crown'd,
'Mid priests and slaves that trembled at my
nod,
And bade me worship him, their pale white
God,
Nailed upon a Tree and crucified ;
And when upon mine own strong gods I
cried,
They answer'd not ! nay, even when I was
cast
Unto the dust, bound like a slave at last,
Still they were dumb ; and tho' my people
arose
Innumerable, they were scattered even as
232
THE WAtfDERING JEW.
Before the wintry blast ; with sword and
spear
The bloody Spaniard hunted them like deer,
So that my realm ran blood in this Man's
name ;
And lo ! my proud heart broken with its
shame,
I died to all my glory, and lay mute,
Defiled, and scorn'd, beneath the Spaniard's
foot,
And all my Kingdom fell to nothingness. '
He pass'd, and after him came Monarchs
less
Than he, yet proud and mighty, Iwatch'd
them fly
Like flocks of antelopes beneath the sky,
And harrying them the Hunters clad in
mail
Follow'd, with cruel faces marble pale,
Lifting the Cross, and speeding fast beyond
My sight, on steeds with gold caparison'd.
Nor ceased the pageant yet. Sceptred and
crown'd,
A King, with plumed legions wailing round,
Stood up and cried :
' The splendour of the Sun
Illumed the Temples where my rites were
done,
And to the Sun-god who for ever gazed
With face of gold upon my realm, I raised
The paean and the prayer. Beneath my rule
The happy lands grew bright and beautiful,
And countless thousands innocent of strife
Bless'dme, and that refulgent Fount of Life.
Fairer my palaces and temples far
In sight of Heaven than Morn or Even Star,
For in them dwelt the quickening Light of
him
Before whose glory every sphere is dim !
Yea, but at last mine eyes did gaze upon
A blood-star, rising o'er the horizon
Out eastward, and before its baleful ray
The Sun-god shrivel'd and was driven away ;
And leagued with iron monsters belching
fire,
And riding living monsters tame yet dire,
Out from the gulfs of sudden blackness
pour'd
A mailed band who called this man their
Lord,
And slew us ev'n as sheep, and undertrod
The shining temples of the Sun, our God ;
Me too they smote and slaughter'd, offering
me,
Last of the Incas, to their Deity
And Darkness reign'd where once the
Light had shone ! '
Wailing, he wrung his hands and wander'd
on,
And after him like bleeding sheep a train
Of naked slaughter'd things that sob'd in
pain
'Midst them a dusky woman richly dress'd
Who wrung her hands and smote her naked
breast
Crying, ' I loved the soldier of this Jew,
And me he lusted for, then foully slew,
And wheresoe'er his Cross waved overhead
Came shrieks of women torn and ravished ! '
And round her as she spake those butcher'd
bands
Of women smote their breasts or wrung
their hands.
'O shadowy crowds of men,' the Accuser
cried,
' Dark naked women, children piteous-eyed,
All manacled and bleeding, worn and
weak,
How do ye testify against him ? Speak ! '
' Because,' they said, ' the radiant summer
Light
Had burnt our bodies and made them black
yet bright,
Altho' our hearts within were sweet and
mild,
We suffered sorrow, man and wife and
child .
Far in the West we prayed, bending the knee
In Cities fairer far than Nineveh,
And high as Heaven arose fair Palaces
Lit with the many-colour'd images
Of gentle gods, but on our shores there
came
Devils that smote us in this white God's
name,
Our gods dethroned, our temples overcast,
And scattered us as chaff before the blast.
Phis Jew looked on. His Priests piled gold,
while we
Were basely slain or sold to slavery ;
THE WANDERING JEW.
233
Tears worse than blood we shed, and
bloodiest sweat,
While on the soil, with blood of millions wet,
They did upraise his church that rose on
high
With fiery finger pointing at the sky
Where every happy star had ceased to
shine ! '
XII.
THOU hearest, Jew ? '
But Jesus made no sign.
With woe unutterable and pity vast
As the still Heaven on which His eyes were
cast,
He listen'd dumbly, while new voices cried,
1 We too were slain, and by his Priests we
died ! '
And like to cloud on cloud, blown by the
wind
And broken, dusky swarms of Humankind
Still came and went ; and then rose wailing
crowds
Who bare the lighted candle, and in their
shrouds
Walk'd naked-footed to the martyr's pyre ;
With men whose entrails Famine's hidden
fire
Gnaw'd till they shriek'd aloud ; and every-
where
A cruel scent of carnage filled the air,
As countless armed legions of the slain
Roll'd up as if for battle once again,
While o'er them, flaming between earth and
sky,
The crimson Cross was swung !
All these pass'd by ;
Then Silence deep as Death fell suddenly,
And all was hushed as a rainy Sea !
Then came a rush of hosts mingled in storm
Confusedly, and phantoms multiform
That shriek'd and smote each other.
' Behold them," cried
The Accuser, ' Followers of the Crucified !
The ravening wolves of wrath that never
sleep,
Yet seek his fold and call themselves his
sheep 1
Where'er they strive, Murder and Madness
dwell,
And Earth is lighted with the hates of Hell !
Lo, how they love each other, having heard
The crafty gospel of his broken Word !
Lo, how they surge in everlasting strife,
Seeking the mirage of Eternal Life ! '
Struggling unto the Judgment-place they
came,
Smiting each other in their Master's Name ;
Beneath their feet fell women stab'd and cleft,
And little children anguishing bereft.
And like a River of Blood that ever grew,
They rush'd until they roll'd round that
pale Jew,
And lo ! His feet grew bloody ere He was
'ware !
Yet still they smote each other, and in
despair
Shriek'd out His praises as they multiplied
Their dead around Him . - . And thus they
testified !
And He, the Man Forlorn, stood mute in
woe.
I saw the white corpse of the Huguenot
Float past Him on that dreadful Sea of
Lives ;
I saw the nun struck down and gash'd with
knives
Ev'n as she told her beads; I saw them
pass,
The Martyrs of the Book or of the Mass,
Cast down and slain alike ; the priest of
Rome
Fought with the priest of Luther, thrusting
home
With venomous knife or sword ; and ever-
more
The Cross of Blood was wildly waven o'er
The waves of carnage, till they swept from
sight,
Moaning and rushing onward thro' the
Night.
Then, as the Storm seem'd weeping itself
away,
I saw two ghostly Spirits coming grey
Against that dark Golgotha, and one of
these
Clung to the other, and sank upon his knees.
234
THE WANDERING JEW.
' What man art thou T
JEAN GALAS."
' He whose hands
Thou, kneeling, wettest with thy tears ;
who stands
Smiling upon the Accused ? '
The last replied :
' VOLTAIRE the people named me. I denied
The godhead of that Jew, and at his brow
Pointed in mockery and scorn, as now !
Pope, Kings, and Priests shiver'd like
frighten'd birds
Before the rain and lightning of my words,
And crouch' d with draggled plumage, awed
and dumb,
Because they deem'd that Antichrist had
come.
One day I heard this man in his poor home
Shriek loud, encircled by the snakes of
Rome ;
And tho' their poison slew him, ere he died
I crush'd the vipers 'neath my heel, and
cried
' ' Thy woes shall be avenged ; I am here ! "
Even then a million wretches cast off fear,
And looking on this man's seed, redeem'd by
me,
Fear'd the foul Christ no longer, and grew
free ! '
Thin, gaunt and pale, around his lips the ray
Of a cold scorn, he smiled and pass'd away,
His eyes upon the Jew ; and with him went
Dark silent men whose musing eyes were bent
On open scrolls ; and 'mong them laughing
stood
A King who held a mimic Cross of wood,
And broke it o'er his knee, with a fierce jest ;
So pass'd they, Holbach, Diderot, and the
rest,
The foes of Godhead and the friends of
Man ;
But after them great crowds in tumult ran,
Who waved their dark and blood-stain' d
arms and shriek'd,
' We, who had lain in darkness, rose and
wreak'd
Man's wrath on this false God, who had
scorn' d our prayer
And sent his Kings and slaves to strip us
bare !
Yea, in his Name the Harlots and the
Priests
Yoked us and harness'd us like blinded
beasts ;
And when we cried for food they proffered
The stones of his cold Gospel and not
bread ;
And where his blessing fell the foul found
gold,
And where it fell not we were bought and
sold.
His foot was on the heads beneath him
bowed,
His hand was with the pitiless and the
proud,
His mercy failed us, but the curse he gave
Pursued our spirits even beyond the grave.
Thus he who had promised love gave only
hate!
He spake of Heaven and made Earth deso-
late !
Thou didst at last avenge us, Spirit of
Man,
Through thee the Night was cloven and
Day began,
And on thine altars blood as sacrament
Appal'd the Kings of Earth this God had
sent ! '
Then once again the Accuser rose and cried :
' The countless hosts of Dead have testified ;
But lastly, to this solemn Judgment-place,
I summon up the seed of this Man' s race ;
Bear witness now, ye Jews, against this
Jew!'
XIII.
THEN instantly, as if some swift hand drew
A curtain back, the Darkness of the Night
Was cloven, and thronging in the starry
light
New legions of the ghostly Dead appear'd
And ever, as the Judgment Seat theynear'd,
They shriek'd ' MESSIAH ; ' and with lips
apart
Startled as if a knife had prick'd His heart,
That pale Jew listen'd and His wan face
turn'd
To those who cried ; but when those hosts
discern'd
His human lineaments they shriek'd anew :
1 One God we worship, and this Man we
slew,
THE WANDERING JEW.
235
Seeing he took the Holy Name in vain !
And since that hour that he was justly slain,
His hate hath followed us from place to
place !
Wherefore, O Judge, we, children of his race,
Scorn'd, tortured, shamed, defamed, denied,
and driven
Outcast from every gate of Earth or Heaven,
Still martyr'd living and still dishonour'd
dead,
Demand thy wrath and judgment on his
head,
Jesus the Jew, not Christ, but Antichrist ! '
Dumb as a lamb brought to be sacrificed,
Helpless and bound, He listen' d still with
gaze
Fix'd on the starry azure's pathless ways,
But down His cheeks, furrow'd with weary
years,
Slowly and softly fell the piteous tears.
Like hordes of wolves, fierce, foul, and
famishing,
That round some lonely Traveller shriek
and spring,
Black'ning the snows around his lonely path,
Rending each other in their hungry wrath,
The children of the Ghetto, gathering there,
His brethren, fed their eyes on His despair
And spat their hate upon Him ; and the
snow
Was sooted with these nameless shapes of
woe ;
But hither and thither 'mid the ravening
horde
Moved Rabbis who lookt upward and
adored
The Lord of Hosts, with hoary Saints and
Seers,
And dark-eyed Maids who sang with sobs
and tears
Of God's bright City overthrown in shame,
Jerusalem the golden ! and at the Name
The woeful throngs who roll'd in tumult by
Rent robes, and wail'd, and echoed back
the cry
'Jerusalem ! Jerusalem !' and lo !
From 'midst the multitudinous ebb and
flow
That ever came and went, there did arise
A Prophet, with white beard and burning
eyes,
Saying, ' Holy, Holy still, thy Name shall
be,
Jerusalem, thro' God's Eternity !
For tho' thy glory hath fallen, and thy
gate
Lies broken, and thy streets are desolate,
And on thy head ashes and dust are
flung,
And in thy folds the wolf suckles her
young,
Thou shalt arise in splendour and in
pride,
And we, thy people, shall be justified ;
Our tents are scattered, and our robes are
riven,
Like chaff before the blast our race hath
driven
In darkness, ever homeless, thro' the lands,
But never another City by our hands
Hath been upbuilded, since where'er we
roam
Thou, City of God, art still our Hope and
Home !
And tho' with bitterest tears our eyes are
dim,
We hearken ever for the call of Him
Who thundered upon Sinai ! . . . In thy
breast
This Snake who stings thee still doth make
his nest !
This Son who smote thee, Mother, still
doth lie
Within thine arms ; but o'er thee, yonder
on high,
Watches the God of Jacob! Patience
yet!
Tho' for a little space thy sun hath set,
As red as blood it shall arise again
For vengeance, and the God of Wrath
shall reign,
With thee, his Bride long chosen, and over
us,
Thy children ! '
Thronging multitudinous,
With one great voice they answered : 'Holy
be
Thy Name, Jerusalem, thro' Eternity ! '
And now their wailings sobb'd themselves
to calm,
While to a sound of harps and lutes the
psalm
Of Israel rose to Heaven ' Holy be
Thy Name, Jerusalem, thro' Eternity /'
236
THE WANDERING JEW.
THEN said that Form who sat in Judgment :
'Jew !
Once judged and slain, yet risen and judged
anew,
Thou hast heard the Accuser and his Wit-
nesses.
Hast thou a word to utter answering these ?
Hast thou a living Soul beneath the sky
To rise upon thy side and testify ?
Summon thy Witnesses, if such there be,
Ere I pronounce the doom of Man on
thee ! '
The Jew gazed round, and wheresoe'er His
gaze
Shed on that throng its gentle suffering rays
Tumult and wrath were hush'd, as in deep
Night
Great waves lie down to lap the starry
light
And lick the Moon's cold feet that touch
the Sea.
' I have no word to answer," murmured
, He,
' The winter of mine age hath come, and
lo!
My heart within sinks 'neath its weight of
woe !
So faint and far-removed all seems to be,
I seem the ghost of mine own Deity,
The apparition of myself, and not
A living thing with will or strength or
thought !
Yet I remember ' (here His piteous eyes
Search'd the bare Heavens again with dim
surmise)
' Yet I remember, on this my Judgment Day,
Not what is near, but what is far away.
Within my Father's House I fell to sleep
In dreamless slumber mystical and deep,
And when I waken' d to mine own faint cry-
ing,
Above the cradle small where I was lying
A Mother's face hung like a star, and smiled,
' Transform'd into the likeness of a child,
Feebly I drank the milk of mortal being ;
But as the green world brightened to my
seeing
And the round arc of air closed over me,
The Land beyond grew dark to memory,
And I forgot my former dwelling-place,
The Life Eternal, and my Father's Face.
Closer and darker, as the summers flew,
The folds of flesh around my spirit grew,
Shutting that heavenly Mansion from my
sight,
Save oftentimes in visions of the night
When for a space I slept the sleep of
earth ;
But since that moment of my mortal birth,
I have not seen my Father, and now He
seems
More faint than any form beheld in dreams ! '
He paused, uplifting still His weary gaze
To search the empty Heaven's pathless
ways
For miracle and token, then was dumb.
' Thy quest hath fail'd, thy Kingdom hath
not come,'
The dark Judge said ; ' thy promise was a
Lie
Thy Witnesses ? '
And Jesus made reply :
' Hosts of the happy Dead whom I have
blest ! '
' Call let them come ! '
' I would not break their rest. '
' Thou hast lied to them, O Jew ! ' the dark
Judge cried.
And Jesus said, ' O Judge, I have not lied ! '
' False was thy promise false and mad
and drear.
There is no Father ! '
' Father, dost Thou hear ?'
1 Enough renew thy miracles, and prove
Thy words, O Jew ! From yonder Void
above
Summon the Form, the Face, in all men's
eyes,
And we absolve thee ! '
On the starry skies,
THE WANDERING JEW.
237
Still thinly shrouded with the falling snow,
He fix'd His wistful gaze, and answer'd
low,
1 1 bide my Father's time ! '
XV.
THEN, as He bent
His brow like one who kneels for sacra-
ment,
And on His feeble form and hoary head
The benediction of the Night was shed,
Methought I saw a Shape behind Him stand,
Grim as a godhead graven in brass, his
hand
Uplifted, and his wrinkled face set stern,
While terrible his deep black eyes did burn
In scornful wrath. Naked as any stone
He stood, save for a beast's skin loosely
thrown
Around his dusky shoulders, and he said :
1 Thy Witnesses ? Lord of the Quick and
Dead,
Call them, and they shall come ! / first,
who stood
And prophesied by Jordan's rolling flood,
And saw thee shining o'er the throng on me
Thro' the white cloud of thy Humanity,
And knew thee in a moment by those eyes
Full of the peace of our lost Paradise !
Master and Lord of Life, these hands of
mine
Baptized thee, blest thee, hailed thee most
Divine,
Long promised, the Messiah ! and tho'
thy brow
Is furrowed deep with years, I know thee
now,
And in the name of all thou wast and art,
God's substance, of the living God a part,
Bear witness still, as I bare witness then,
Before this miserable race of men ! '
Then saw I, as he ceased and stood aside,
Another Spirit fair and radiant-eyed,
Who, creeping thither, at the Jew's feet
fell,
And looking up with love ineffable
Cried ' Master ! ' and I knew that I beheld,
Tho' his face, too, \vas worn and grey with
eld,
That other John whom Jesus to His breast
Drew tenderly, because He loved him best !
But even as I gazed, my soul was stirred
By other Shapes that stole without a word
Out of the silent dark, and kneeling low
Stretched out loving hands and wept in
woe :
The gentle Mother of God grown grey and
old,
Her silver hair still thinly sown with gold,
Mary the wife, and Mary Magdalen
Who murmur'd ' Lord, behold thy Hand-
maiden,'
And kiss'd His feet, her face so sadly fair
Hid in the shadows of her snow-strewn hair ;
And close to them, as thick as stars appear'd
Faces of children brightening as they near'd
The presence of their Father ; and following
these
Pallid Apostles falling upon their knees,
Crying ' Messiah ! Master we are here ! '
As some poor famish'd wight doth take
good cheer
Seeing an open door and one who stands
Upon the threshold with outstretched hands
That welcome him to some well-laden
board,
That Wanderer brightened, while they
murmur'd ' Lord !
We are thy Witnesses in all men's sight ! '
Feebly yet happily He rose His height,
And even as a Shepherd grave and old
Who smiles upon his flock within the fold,
He shone upon them till that sad place
seemed
Fair as a starry night ; and still they
stream' d
Out of the shadows, passionately crying
Upon the Name Beloved and testifying,
Till the dark Earth forgot its sorrowing
And grew as glad as Heaven opening !
Then one cried (and I knew him, for his
face
Was dark and proud, yet lit with dews of
grace,
And like an organ's peal his strong voice
rang
With solemn echoes as of Saints that sang),
' Thy Witnesses ? Father of all that be,
I persecuted those who followed thee,
Thy remnant, till thy fire from out the sky
Smote me, and as I fell I heard thee cry,
THE WANDERING JEW.
" Saul, Saul ! "and shook as at the touch
of Death ;
But on ray face and eyelids came thy breath
To make me whole ; and lo ! I sheathed
the sword
And girded up my loins to preach thy Word.
And the World listen'd, while the heathen
praised
Thy glory, and believed ; and I upraised
Temples of marble where thy flocks might
pray,
And where no Temple was from day to day
I made the Earth thy Temple, and the sky
A roof for thy Beloved. Lamb of God,
Thy blood redeemed the Nations, while I
trode
The garden of thy gospel, bearing thence
Strange flowers of Love and holy Innocence,
And setting up aloft for all to see
Thy Huleh lilies, Faith, Hope, Charity ;
And of these three I knew the last was best
Because, like thee, dear Lord, 'twas low-
liest !
Thy Witnesses ? Countless as desert sands
Their bones are scatter' d o'er the seas and
lands !
Whene'er the Lamp of Life hath sunken low,
Whene'er Death beckon'd and 'twas time
to go,
Where'er dark Pestilence and Disease had
crawl' d,
Where'er the Soul was darken'd and appal'd,
Where mothers wept above their dead first-
born,
Where children to green graves brought
gifts forlorn
Of flowers and tears, where, struck 'spite
helm and shield,
Pale warriors moan'd upon the battlefield,
Where Horror thicken'd as a spider's mesh
Round plague-smit men and lepers foul of
flesh,
Where Love and Innocence were brought to
shame,
And Life forgot its conscience and its aim,
Thy blessing, even as Light from far away,
Came bright and radiant upon eyes of clay
And turn'd the tears of pain to tears of
bliss I
Nay, more, to Death tself thy loving kiss
Brought consecration ; he, that Angel sad,
Ran like a Lamb beside thee, and was
glad
Uplooking in thy face ! '
He ceased, and lo !
Like warriors gathering when the trumpets
blow,
Shapes of dead Saints arose, a shining
throng,
And standing in their shrouds upraised the
song
' Hosannah to the Lord ! ' Faint was the
cry
Withering on the wind as if to die,
And loud as clarion-winds above the sound
Shrill'd the fierce anger of the hosts
around ;
And while before the Storm His head was
bowed
They rose like ocean waves and clamour'd
aloud
For judgment on the Jew !
the
FAR as the sight
blackness of the
I Could penetrate
Night,
i Stretched the multitudinous living Sea,
The angry waters of Humanity,
' And lo ! their voice was as the ocean's
roar
Thund'rously beating on some sleepless
shore ;
And He, the Man Divine, whose eyes were
dim
With shining down on those who worshipt
Him,
Seem'd as a lonely pharos on a rock,
Firm in its place, yet shaken by the shock,
And ever blinded by the pitiless foam
Of waves that surge and thunder as they
come !
And as I have seen, on some lone ocean-
isle
Where never Summer lights or flowers may
smile,
But where the fury of the Tempest blows,
The ocean birds in black and shivering
rows
Huddle along the rocks ; now one, alone,
Plunges upon the whirlwind, and is blown
Hither and thither as a straw, and then
Struggles back feebly to his rocky den,
There still to shiver and eye the dreadful
flood
And with his comrades hungering for food
THE WANDERING JEW.
239
Ruffle the feathery crest and brood in
fear :-
Ev'n so, those lonely Saints who gather'd
near
The Man forlorn, seem'd to the Sea of Life
Which rose around with ceaseless stress and
strife,
And ever one of these, as if to face
The angry blast, would flutter from his
place,
And driven hither and thither be backward
blown,
And fall again with faint despairing moan
At his sad Master's feet !
Then as the Storm
Raged ever louder round His lonely form,
The Jew uplifted hands and cried aloud !
And in a moment, Darkness like a cloud
Cover'd Him, the great whirlwinds ceased
to roar,
And all those Waves of Life were still once
more.
XVII.
THEN said that Form who sat in Judgment
there :
' Ye saw a mirage and ye thought it fair,
He brought a gospel and ye found it sweet,
Yea, deemed it heavenly manna and did eat,
Yet were ye empty still and never fed.
This man has given ye husks to eat, not
bread.
He said "There is no Death ! " yet Death
doth reign.
He promised you a gift no man may gain,
Yea, Life that shall endure eternally,
And told ye of a God no eye shall see,
Because He is not ! Bid him lift his hand
And show the Life Divine and Heavenly
Land,
Bid him arise and take his Throne and
reign !
He cannot, for he knoweth he dream'd in
vain,
And empty of his hope he stands at last,
Now the full measure of his power hath
pass'd.
Not yours the sin, poor Shadows of the
Dead,
Not yours the shame, which rests upon his
head
j As dust and ashes. Back to your graves,
and sleep !
We judge the Shepherd, not the blameless
sheep
Who gather'd on the heights to hear his
voice
Cry down to deep on deep ' ' Rejoice !
rejoice ! "
Fringe of his raiment that is riven and rent,
Breath of his nostrils that is lost and spent,
Thin echoes of his voice from out the tomb,
Go by. This man is ours, to judge and
doom.'
He spake ; and quietly, without a word,
The Christ bow'd down His head, but those
who heard,
His remnant, wringing hands and making
moan,
Cried : ' Lord, thou hearest ? Speak and
take thy Throne !
Still these wild waters of Humanity,
Walking thereon, as once on Galilee !
Our graves lie open yonder, but we are fain
To wake with thee and never to sleep
again
Unfold thy Heavens, and bid these clouds
give place,
That we may look upon the Father's face ! '
And Jesus answer'd not, but shook and
wept.
Then the grey Mother to His bosom crept,
And with her thin hands touch'd His sad
grey hair,
Saying, ' My Son, My First-born ! Let me
share
Thy failure or Thy glory ! Free or bound,
Cast down into the dust or throned and
crown'd,
Thou art still my Son ! ' and kneeling at His
feet,
That other Mary, gazing up to meet
The blessing of His eyes, cried ' Holy be
Thy Name, for all the joy it brought to me!
Not for thy Godhead did I hold thee dear,
Not for thy Father, who hath left thee here
Helpless, unpitied, homeless 'neath the
skies,
But for the human love within thine eyes 1
And wheresoe'er thou goest, howsoe'er
Thou faliest, tho' it be to Hell's despair,
240
THE WANDERING JEW.
I, thy poor handmaid, still would follow
thee,
For in thy face is Love's Eternity,
And tho' thouart of all the World bereaven,
Still, where thou art, Beloved, there is
Heaven ! '
As some white Alpine peak, wrapt round
with cloud,
Suddenly sweeps aside its clinging shroud
Of gloomy mists and vapours dark and
chill,
And shines in lonely splendour clear and
still,
With gleams of stainless ice and snow thrice
shriven,
Against the azure of the opening Heaven,
So that the soul is shaken unaware
With that new glory desolately fair,
E'en so the Christ, uprising suddenly
To loneliness of lofty sovereignty,
Cast off the darkness of despair and tower'd
High o'er the shadows that beneath Him
cower' d !
Then all was hush'd, while on His hoary
head
Light from a million spheres was softly shed,
Fire from a million worlds that lit the Night
Fell on His face miraculously bright,
And even that Judge who watch' d Him from
afar
Seem'd but a storm-cloud shrinking 'neath
a Star !
And thus, while heavenly anger lit His cheek
As still sheet-lightning lights the snowy
peak,
He answered :
' Woe ! eternal Woe ! be yours
Who scorn the Eternal Pity which endures
While all things else pass by ! Your lips
did thirst
I brought ye water from the Founts which
burst
Beneath the bright tread of My Father's
feet!
Ye hunger'd, and I brought ye food to eat
Manna, not husks or ashes : these ye
chose,
And me, the living Christ, ye bruised with
blows
And would have slain once more, and ever-
more !
Ye revell'd, and I moan'd without your door
Outcast and cold ; ye sinned in my Name,
And flung me then the raiment of your
shame ;
Ye turn'd the heart of the Eternal One
'Gainst you, his children, and 'gainst me,
his Son,
So that my promise grew a dream forlorn,
And all I sow'd in love, ye reapt in scorn.
Woe to ye all ! and endless Woe to Me
Who deem'd that I could save Humanity !
The Father knew men better when he
sent
His angel Death to be his instrument
And smite them ever down as with a sword !
Instead of Death, I offer'd ye my Word !
My Light, my Truth, my Life ! I wasted
breath,
For though I gave ye these, ye turn'd to
Death !
And I, your Lord, for love of you, denied
My soul the sleep it sought, and rose to
guide
Your footsteps to the Land we ne'er shall
gain,
Because at last I know my Dream was vain !
I plough'd the rocks, and cast in rifts of
stone
The seeds of Life Divine that ne'er have
grown;
I labour'd and I labour, last and first,
Within a barren Vineyard God hath
curst ;
And now the Winter of mine age is here,
And one by one like leaves ye disappear,
While I, a blighted Tree, abide to show
The Woe of all Mankind, the eternal Woe
Which I, your Lord, must share ! '
Even so He spake,
Pallid in wrath ; but as low murmurs wake
Under the region of the Peak, and rise
To thunders answered from the thund'ring
skies,
While cataract cries to cataract, and o'er-
head
Heaven darkens into anger deep and dread,
Cries from the shadowy legions answer'd
Him,
Wild voices wail'd, and all the Void grew
dim,
With cloud on cloud. So that serene sad
Face
Was blotted out of vision for a space,
THE WANDERING JEW.
241
And out of darkness on that radiant form
Sprang the fierce pards and panthers of
the Storm !
Then the Earth trembled, and the crimson
levin
Shot swift and lurid o'er the vaults of
Heaven,
And thunder answer'd thunder with crash
on crash
As beast doth beast, but at each lightning-
flash
I saw Him standing pale and terrible,
Unscath'd yet swathen as with fire from
Hell!
But lo, from out the darkness round His feet
There came a voice most passionately sweet
Crying ' Adonai ! Lord ! Forgive us, even
Altho' our sins be seventy times seven !
Comfort the remnant of thy flock and bless
Thy Well Beloved ! 'and my Soul could
guess
Whose voice had called, for at the voice's
sound
He trembled and He reach'd towards the
ground
With eager trembling hands ; and at the
touch
Of her who had loved not wisely, but too
much,
His force fell from Him, and He wept aloud,
While heavily His hoary head was bowed
In utter impotence of Deity 1
XVIII.
EVEN then, methought, that angry living
Sea
Surged round Him, and again I did discern
The Phantoms of Golgotha ! Soldiers stern
Who pointed with their spears and pricked
Him on,
While on His shoulders drooping woe-be-
gone
They thrust the great black Cross ! Upon
His head
A crown of thorns was set, and dript its red
Dark drops upon His brow, while loud they
cried
' Lo, this is Jesus whom we crucified,
And lo, he hath risen, and shall die once
more ! '
And as a waif is cast on some dark shore
II.
By breaking waves of Ocean and is ta'en
Back by the surge again and yet again,
Even so the Man was tost, till He lay prone,
Breathless, a ragged heap, beneath the
Throne.
Golgotha ! Like the very Hill of Death,
Skull-shapen, yet a living thing of breath,
The dark Judge loom'd, with orbs of fateful
flame,
And motion' d back the crying crowd that
came
Shrieking for judgment on that holy head ;
And lo, they faltered back !
Then the Voice said
' Arise, O Jew ! '
And Jesus rose.
Take up thy Cross ! '
' Again
Calm, with no moan of pain,
Jesus took up the Cross. While 'neath its
load
He shook as if to fall, His white hair snow'd
Around His woeful face and wistful eyes !
While thus He stood, bowed down in pain,
the cries
Of those who loved Him pierced His suffer-
ing heart.
Trembling He heard again, with lips apart
And listening eyes, the faithful remnant
moan :
1 Adonai ! Lord and Master ! Take thy
Throne
And claim thy Kingdom ! ' but with
clamorous sound
Of laughter fierce and mad the cry was
drowned,
And at His naked breast the forked light
Stabb'd like a knife, while thro' the gulfs of
Night
The thunders roar'd !
Trembling at last He rose,
And as a wind-smit tree shakes off the snows
That cling upon its boughs, He gathered
His strength together, and with lifted head
Gazed at His Judge ; and lo, again the storm
Of darkness ebbed away and left His Form
Serene and luminous as an Alpine peak
Shining above these valleys ! On His cheek
R
2 4 2
THE WANDERING JEW.
The sheeted light gleam'd softly, while on
high
The silent azure open'd like an eye
And gazed upon Him, pitilessly fair.
So round about Him as He waited there
Silence like starlight fell, till suddenly,
Like surge innumerable of one great Sea,
A million voices moaned, ' Speak now His
Doom ! '
x xix -
THEN, pointing with dark finger thro 1 the
gloom
On Him who stood erect with hoary head,
The Judge gazed down with dreadful eyes,
and said :
' Ere yet I speak thy Doom that must be
spoken
Before the World whose great heart thou
hast broken,
Hast thou another word to say, O Jew? '
And the Jew answer'd, while the heavenly
blue
Fill'd like an eye with starry crystal tears,
1 Far have I wander'd thro' the sleepless
years
Be pitiful, O Judge, and let me die ! '
' Death to him, Death ! ' I heard the voices
cry
Of that great Multitude. But the Voice
said :
'Nay!
Death that brought peace thyself didst seek
to slay !
Death that was merciful and very fair,
Sweet dove-eyed Death that hush'd the
Earth's despair,
Death that shed balm on tired eyes like
thine,
Death that was Lord of Life and all
Divine,
Thou didst deny us, offering instead
The Soul's fierce famine that can ne'er be
fed-
Death shall abide to bless all things that be,
But evermore shall turn aside from thee
Hear then thy Doom ! '
He paused, while all around
The Sea of Life lay still without a sound,
And on the Man Divine, Death's King and
Lord,
The sacrament of heavenly Light was
pour'd.
' Since thou hast quicken'd what thou canst
not kill,
Awaken'd famine thou canst never still,
Spoken in madness, prophesied in vain,
And promised what no thing of clay shall
gain,
Thou shalt abide while all things ebb and
flow,
Wake while the weary sleep, wait while they
go.
And treading paths no human feet have
trod
Search on still vainly for thy Father, God ;
Thy blessing shall pursue thee as a curse
To hunt thee, homeless, thro' the Universe ;
No hand shall slay thee, for no hand shall
dare
To strike the godhead Death itself must
spare !
With all the woes of Earth upon thy head,
Uplift thy Cross, and go. Thy Doom is
said.'
xx.
AND lo ! while all men come and pass
away,
That Phantom of the Christ, forlorn and
grey,
Haunteth the Earth with desolate foot-
fall. . . .
God help the Christ, that Christ may help
us all !
THE DEVIL'S CASE.
243
The Devil's Case.
NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME CORRECTLY STATED, AND DILIGENTLY
VERSIFIED, AS
A BANK HOLIDAY INTERLUDE.
(1894.)
Please remember, Gentle Reader,
Not to judge me line by line :
Tho' I try to state it clearly,
Tis the Devil's Case, not mine !
DEDICATION.
NOVEMBER, 1894.
WHEN the life-thread was spun
From the blood in her breast,
She look'd on her Son,
Smiled, and rock'd him to rest.
How swift the Hours run
From the East to the West )
Erect stood the Son,
And the Mother was blest.
Of all Life had won
Love like his seem'd the best '.
He was still the dear Son
She had rock'd on her breast !
Yet lo ! all is done !
('Twas, O God, Thy behest !)
In his turn the gray Son
Rocks the Mother to rest !
All is o'er, ere begun ! . . . .
O my dearest and best,
Sleep in peace, till thy Son
Creepeth down to thy breast !
R. B.
THE DEVI US CASE.
WOULD you know how I, Buchanan,
Met the Devil here in London,
Chatted with him, interview'd him?
Listen, then, and you shall hear !
Not in great heroic measures
Shall I sing on this occasion,
But in roguish rhymeless stanzas
Much esteem'd by Greeks and Germans.
Genius of the Greeks and Germans,
Lend me, then, your light trochaics,
Loose, an easy-fitting raiment
Fit to lounge in, as I sing !
For my perilous subject-matter
Mingled is of jest and earnest,
To be treated in a manner
Jaunty, free, yet philosophic ;
Bold it is, you'll cease to doubt it,
When I once am fairly started !
Sad it is, and yet its sadness
Trembles on the verge of laughter !
Other bards in days departed
Have (they tell us) met the Devil ;
Often I'm inclined to doubt it
Since they libel'd him so grossly.
No ! the fiends of their acquaintance
Were but small inferior Devils,
Feeble foolish masqueraders,
Tho' their talk was often clever ;
Tho' to other generations
They might seem appalling creatures,
Really they were not authentic,
Not the GREAT ORIGINAL !
For the first time, I assure you,
He, the real and only Devil,
Sick of being by poets libel'd,
Has to utterance condescended ;
K 2
244
THE DEVI US CASE.
Wherefore, I entreat you, Reader,
Listen to his explanations !
Judge with kindness and discretion
Interview'd and Interviewer !
I, the Interviewer, hated
Cordially by cliques and critics,
Rail'd at in a hundred journals
As a Scotchman lost and lorn ;
He, the Interview'd, for ages
Outlaw'd by the cliques of Heaven,
Who for ever and for ever
Roll the Log and praise the Lord 1
I, the Interviewer, banish'd
From the Eden of the poets,
Where the stainless laurel-wearers
Wander innocent and nude ;
He, the Interview'd, for ever
Boycotted by God Almighty,
Curst in leader-writer's thunder
By the great celestial Times.
Neither of us, I assure you,
Has been reasonably treated ;
Neither of us is so naughty
As the public prints assever.
Both began with warm approval
Of the Church and ruling classes ;
/ was praised by the Spectator,
He was orthodox and holy !
Both, alas ! have wholly fallen !
I, from gulfs of impious thinking,
See the Heav'n of Poetasters
Guarded still by Hutton's sword ;
He, the greater grander Devil,
Prowling in the outer darkness,
Sadly eyes the loaves and fishes
On the Thunderer's banquet-table.
Still, we keep as our possession
One thing even the Angels envy
Power to stand erect, while cravens
Roll the Log and bend the knee ;
Power to feel and strength to suffer,
Will to fight for freedom only,
Zeal to speak the truth within us,
While the slaves of Heaven are dumb.
But. . . your pardon, Gentle Reader !
I'm anticipating somewhat
All impatient waits my Devil,
Swishing tail and grimly smiling :
What he is, himself shall tell you
What he thinks, you soon shall gather,
When I say, the Judge saluting,
' I'm, my lud, for the Defendant ! '
NIGHT lay o'er the Heath of Hampstead-
One by one the merry-makers,
Romping, mad, accordion-playing,
Beer-inspired, were trotting townward.
All that afternoon I'd wander'd
'Mid the throng of Nymphs and Satyrs,
Now at last the Bacchanalian
August holiday was over.
Sad my soul had been among them,
Envying their easy pleasures,
Since for many a month behind me
Wolf-like creditors had throng'd ;
Since my name and fame were lying
In the gutter of the journals,
While the laws of Earth and Heaven
Seemed one vast Receiving Order !
Bankrupt thus in fame and fortune,
Wearily I walk'd and ponder'd
On the lonely Heath of Hampstead,
In the silence of the Night. . . .
Gently, one by one, the azure
Lattices of Heaven blew open ;
Dimly, darkly, far above me,
God began to light His lamps :
Silent, still, a shadowy Presence
Felt not seen, the Old Lamplighter
Pass'd above my head fulfilling
Feebly His appointed task.
How my spirit rose against Him !
How I curst His deaf-and-dumbness !
While above me twinkle-twinkle
Gleam'd those melancholy lights I
7 HE DEVWS CASE.
245
Far down westward, over Harrow,
Pensively the Moon was shining
Opening her dark bed-curtains
With a wan and sleepy smile ;
Soft and cool a breeze was blowing
Like the Earth's own breath in slumber,
Falling on my fever'd eyelids
With a dewy sense of tears.
Night was there and Night within me,
As with sad eyes gazing skyward
I beheld the bale-fires burning,
Multiplying, overhead !
HE who hath not turn'd already
From my rakish, rhymeless poem,
Seeking what the crowd loves better,
Rhyme and tintinnabulation,
May esteem me a blasphemer,
Just as I, at our first meeting,
To be presently recorded,
Thought my honest friend, the Devil !
He alone blasphemes who smothers
Truth his conscience bids him utter ;
Nowadays in Hell and London,
Truth, methinks, is sorely needed 1
And (remember) I, Buchanan,
Spite of all my slips, have ever
Loath'd the foul materialistic
Serpent that surrounds the world. . .
In his autobiographic
Fragment, Stuart Mill assevers
That from infancy to manhood
He was never pious-minded :
Never did his spirit falter
Into Brahmic meditation :
Quite enough for him to brood on
Was the moral side of Man.
Souls like that the Fates may fashion,
But I fail to comprehend them
From the hour I first remember
I was gazing at the stars ;
I was wondering, I was dreaming,
Speculating and aspiring,
Reaching hands and feeling backward
To the secret founts of Being.
All the gods were welcome to me !
All the heavens were wide and open !
All the dreams of all the Dreamers
In my heart's blood were pulsating !
Beautiful it was to wander
In a glad green world, beholding
Faith's celestial Jacob's Ladder
Rainbow'd out 'tween Earth and Heaven,
And upon it shining Angels,
Some descending, some ascending,
Golden-hair'd, with rosy faces
Smiling on me as I walk'd.
W T ell, those happy days were over,
With the roses of the Maytime
One by one my youth's illusions
Had been spirited away.
Ev'n as eyeless Samson labour'd
Wearily 'mong slaves at Gaza,
I had done my daily taskwork,
Blind and sad, yet not despairing ;
Spite of all my load of sorrows,
I was hoping, I was dreaming ;
Still, tho' all my gods had vanish'd,
Reaching empty arms to heaven !
BITTERLY, that night of August,
All my load of woes upon me,
Bare I witness 'gainst the Serpent
Who had made me see and know.
Far away the Sword was flaming
O'er the gates of Youth and Eden
Never, never, should I enter
Those celestial Gates again 1
And the Woman ? Somewhere yonder
She was sorrowing and sobbing
Never, never, would we wander
Thro' the Garden, hand in hand I
Bitterly I cursed the Serpent !
Bitterly I cursed the Apple !
Honey in the mouth, but wormwood
In the stomach, being eaten !
2 4 6
THE DEVWS CASE.
Suddenly my soul grew conscious
Of dark forms that flitted near me :
All the pallid Heath was peopled
With the shadows of the Dead :
Woeful shadows, well I knew them !
Phantoms of the years departed
Men and women, apparitions
Of the days when I was young !
Never one (and this was strangest !)
Cast a look upon me passing
Some gazed downward, darkly dreaming,
Others look'd on vacancy ;
Lost they seemed in contemplation,
All unconscious of my presence
Some were smiling, some were weeping,
All were hastening God knows where !
Well I knew one weary figure
Bending as beneath a burden,
Talking to himself, nor heeding
While I sob'd and murmur'd ' Father ! '
And another, whitely shrouded,
Thin and spectral were her features
Underneath her locks all golden
As her namesake's, the Madonna's ;
And another, tall and slender,
Bright-eyed like the star of morning,
Beauteous as that other David
When he sang to comfort Saul !
And another, bright-eyed also,
Tho' the years had snowed upon him
(Twas but yesterday, my Roden,
That dear hand was clasp'd in mine !)
Shadows, phantoms, apparitions,
Heedless though I cried unto them,
Though my wounded heart was bleeding
For a look, a loving word ;
Shadows dead, yet omnipresent,
Wrapt in Death as in a garment,
Heedless of the living creature
Who implored their intercession,
Ant-like moved they, this way, that way,
Purposeful yet void of purpose
As the ants are, ever thronging
Busily, they know not whither.
Never one stretch'd hand unto me !
Never one would look upon me !
All alone I stood among them
With a void and aching heart.
Far away, the lights of London
Glimmer'd like a crimson crescent !
Far above, the lamps of Heaven
Flicker'd in the breath of God !
SUDDENLY from out the darkness
Sprang the Moon, and thro' the trembling
Pools of azure softly swimming
Flooded Heaven with rippling rays.
Well I knew the Naked Goddess !
Many a midnight, there in London,
She had witch' d my sense with wonder,
Stirr'd my soul to pensive dreams !
In her light the Phantoms faded,
While the lonely Heath around me,
Lit as with a ghastly daylight,
Loom'd distinct against the sky. . . .
Even then I saw before me
Something, featured like a mortal,
Sitting silent in the moonlight
On a fallen wither'd tree.
Gnarl'd and knotted like the branches
Seemed his form, yet bent and weary,
Worn his features were, and wither'd,
And his hair was white as snow.
In his hands he held the paper
He was quietly perusing,
Glancing up at times and gazing
At the City far away.
Startled to perceive a mortal
Sitting in a place so lonely,
Wondering I paused and watch'd him,
And betimes my wonder grew :
Silent, heedless of my presence,
Sat he reading by the moonlight,
Clerically dress'd, bareheaded,
Spectacles upon his nose.
THE DEVIL'S CASE.
247
1 Tis,' I thought, ' some priest or parson,
Or some layman who, like Mawworm,
Feels " a call to go a-preaching,"
Yet what folly brings him here ? '
Nearer then I stole unto him,
Keen to know what he was reading
When I saw that 'twas the latest
(Pink) edition of the Star.
Still he heeded not my presence,
Till I broke the gloomy silence,
Saying, ' Friend, your sight is surely
Wondrous for a wight so old,
1 Since by moonlight dim as this is
You can read your evening paper ? '
As I spake he gazed upon me,
Smiling, with uplifted eyes.
'Yes,' he said, benignly nodding,
' I am blest with goodly eyesight,
Owing chiefly, like most blessings,
To a strictly moral life.
' In my sanctum, sir, you find me,
After weary hours of labour,
Glancing, to refresh my spirit,
At the doings of the day.
' Never globe of gold or crystal,
Used by any Necromancer,
Flash'd more wonders on the vision
Than the Newspaper I hold !
1 Here, epitomis'd and pictured,
We behold the human Pageant,
All the doings on this planet,
All the stress and strife of men ;
' Kings pass by with trains attendant,
Shadowy Armies follow ever,
Ghostly faces glimmer on us,
Everywhere the Phantoms pass !
' Scenes of wonder and of terror,
Fields of battle dimly looming,
Cain still slaughtering his brother,
Having cast his Altar down ;
' Parliaments in congress gather'd ;
Judges on their benches nodding,
While the tedious sleepy trial
Oozes darkly, slowly, on ;
' Then, the groups of famish'd creatures
Then, the Pit's Mouth, fiercely flaming,
While the wild-eyed wives and mothers
Clamour round and shriek for aid!
' Of all Miracles the greatest
Is the Newspaper,' he added
' Daily, hourly, adumbrating
All the anarchy of Life ! '
' Adumbrating too,' I answer'd,
' All life's wonder, all life's beauty
Telling men of mighty causes,
Solemn issues, glorious deeds !
' Heroes pass across its mirror,
Angel-faces flash before us,
Eyes of countless Saints and Martyrs
Cast upon us looks of love.
' Still the Seer, the Priest, the Poet
Speak of 'God, and point to Heaven !
Still the Churches stand, proclaiming
Life is more than mere despair. '
' Surely ! ' said the quiet Stranger ;
' Here, ev'n here, the Soul is shining ;
Still the pious leader-writer
Vaunts the government of God !
'Church and State, sir, Queen and
Country,
Party Rule and all its blessings,
Progress, Culture, Loaves and Fishes,
Still are potent in the Land !
' Shibboleths like these are precious
Ev'n though one devours another,
Though the shibboleth of white men
Wrecks the shibboleth of black !
1 Yet (you warn me) still the Dreamers
Speak of God and point to Heaven !
Still the spire, like Faith's bright finger,
Points to some far Paradise !
' Meantime, God is busy, bungling,
In the old familiar fashion,
Heedless of the things He crushes
Underneath His clumsy foot !
2 4 8
THE DEVWS CASE.
VI.
' TAKE my Newspaper a moment ! '
(Here I did so) ' Read the headings : '
' Shipwreck of the Golden Mary
Loss of every Soul on board !
' Earthquake in Sardinia. Twenty
Villages destroyed entirely.
Many thousand living creatures
Swallow 'd in the black abysses. . . ,
' floods in China . . . Decimation
Of much populated districts,
Whither, while the folk were sleeping,
Rush'd the great destroying waters . . .
' Cholera in Russia ! . . . Famine
In the East! and millions starving! . . .
Railway accident in Texas,
Sickening details ' (columns long).
' Look on Nature. Hear the wailing
Of a million martyr'd beings
Tell me, then, the God you pray to
Cares one straw for human life !
' Well it is for you, sir, coming
From a fireside calm and cosy,
To believe some kindly Person
Rules the destinies of Earth !
1 Pestilence, Disease, and Famine
Desolate this world you praise so ;
Who shall bid them cease their ravage ?
Who shall say to Death " Go by ! " '
Then I answer'd, hot and angry,
' Grant the pain and grant the carnage
(How my soul has sicken'd o'er them ! )
Grant the thousand woes of men !
' This they prove, and this thing only :
Human life as we behold it
Is as nothing in the vision
Of a larger Thought than ours.
' All this world and its delusions,
All this life, its joys and sorrows,
Death itself, become as nothing,
When we learn that nought can die.'
' Dreamer ! ' said he. ' One thing certain
Is the death of every unit :
Life, I grant you, is eternal,
But the personal life must pass.
' Nay, not only lesser beings,
But the greater with the lesser
Like the individual unit
Dies the individual world !
' Look at men. Regard them closely
Mark the madmen chasing bubbles,
Pleasure, honour, reputation,
Gold and women most of all !
' Think you things like these are worthy
Of eternal prolongation ?
God knows better in Death's furnace
Melts the dross for other uses !
' God ? ' he cried. ' If such a Ruler,
Wise, Omnipotent, All-seeing,
Had concerned Himself in making
Worlds at all, and living creatures,
1 He'd have made them wholly perfect,
With no fuss of evolution . . . . ;
If there is a God, He blunder'd :
Man is here to set Him right ! '
VII.
HORRIFIED to hear such language
From a man so old and saintly,
1 Sir," I said, ' at first I took you
For a clergyman, or priest !
' Now I hear you thus blaspheming,
I conclude that you're no parson
Mother Church perchance has thrust you
Scornfully beyond its doors ? '
' Sir,' he said, ' your guess is clever !
Once I was in holy orders
(Long ago) and for my blunders
Heaven's Archbishop kick'd me out !
' Since that time, sir, I've been busy
Prowling up and down your planet,
Whence I've come to this conclusion
All Religion is a Fraud ! '
Like a spectacled Magician
Rose the man as he proceeded,
Blinking calmly down upon me
Thro' his glasses, with a smile ;
THE DEVIL'S CASE.
249
Tall and lean he tower'd above me,
Looming 'gainst the moonlit heaven,
Baleful rays of something evil
Glimmering from his rheumy eyes.
'Yes,' he mutter'd, gazing upward ;
1 Though the stars may shine their bright
est,
Though the Churches shriek their loudest,
God is utterly played out ! '
' Blasphemy ! ' I cried. ' Our Maker
Is, and works in His own fashion :
How shall purblind human creatures
Comprehend His works and laws ?
' Shall ephemerae of a moment,
Fluttering for a breath, then fading,
Fathom the Eternal Glory
Of the loving Lord of all ?
1 What we see of sin and sorrow
Is but darkness of the vision
Far beyond it God the Father
Moveth to some fair Event !
' In due season those who love Him
Shall awake to understanding
Meantime, certain of His wisdom,
Patiently they watch and wait ! '
'So they tell us in the Churches,'
Said the Stranger : ' so the Human,
Blindly hoping and despairing,
Postulates a God of Love !
' Since the world appears so evil,
It must surely be delusion !
So they argue in a circle,
Proving blindly, black is white !
' All the while their great Creator,
Moving to the Event you speak of,
Freely scatters His damnation
On two-thirds of living things !
* Let the Preacher and the Poet
Dream the old sweet dream of Heaven ;
Meantime, God reminds them daily
Of a warmer place below !
' Read my Newspaper ! the journal
Of the Inferno He created !
Tir'd of that, peruse the pages
Mark'd by History's bloody hand !
' Sheol burnt from the beginning,
Sheol burns to-day around us
Countless millions of you mortals
Fail to feed its hungry fires !
' City still has followed City
Down this crater of damnation
Still it yawns, and o'er it London
Smokes, like Babylon of old !
' Here and there, from Hell and Chaos,
Some fair type is seen emerging
Pleased to find His work so pretty,
God approves it for a space ;
' Then, dissatisfied and peevish,
Crushes it with foot or fingers !
Greece, Rome, Egypt, thus have perish'd,
Yet the fires of Hell burn on ! '
WROTH to hear him still blaspheming,
Pitying, ne'ertheless, his blindness,
Since the years had snow'd upon him
And his face lookt worn and weary,
' Thinkest thou,' I cried, ' the Father,
Wise, omnipotent, all-seeing,
Ever would consign His children
To an anguish everlasting ?
' Nay, there is no Hell, save only
Conscience working deep within us,
Warning us 'gainst sin and evil,
Ever whispering " Repent ! " '
Smiling quietly, the Stranger
Answer'd, ' Sin is God's invention 1
Often have I doubted Heaven
Never have I doubted Hell !
Look around. Hell is. Of all things
Vlade by God, the one thing certain.'
Then with twinkling eyes he added,
Just as soon, I'd doubt the Devil 1 '
Lost in utter indignation
Scornfully I turned upon him :
Cease thy blasphemy ! No magic
Can recall the Prince of Evil !
250
THE DEVWS CASE.
' Nay ! for Man has passed for ever
From those caves of superstition
Where that image cloven-footed
Of our sin was first created.
' Hell is not, nor any Spirit
Wholly lost and wholly evil.
He who dares believe in either
Out of ignorance blasphemes.'
'Pardon me,' he smiling answer'd
' What was done by old Magicians
Still is easy Modern magic
Still is potent, be assured !
' Think of all the woes of Nature !
Picture, then, the Prince of Evil,
As thy conscience can conceive him
Straightway he shall stand before you !
1 Yet I warn you, you may find him
Neither tail'd nor cloven-footed
Nay, a person civil-spoken,
And extremely sympathetic ! '
Even as he spake, his features
Shone with vitreous rays reflected
From the Heavens above him bending,
And his eyes grew bright as stars ;
And meseem'd his form dilated
As with soot-black wings, expanding
Into something strange and baleful,
Shadowy, mystical, and sad.
Like some ragged ancient raven
Stood he fluttering before me,
While the moonlight's tremulous fingers
Smooth' d his woeful hoary hair !
Straightway, then, methought I knew him,
Shrinking back in trepidation,
Crying ' Get behind me, SATAN ! '
Trembling in the act to fly !
' STAY," he said, ' and listen to me !
I am he thy conscience pictures,
I am he whom men deem evil,
Anti-Christ and Anti-God !
' I have answer'd to thy summons !
I am he whom the Almighty,
Judge as well as prosecutor,
Ever hath condemn'd unheard.
' Never has the case been stated
Properly for the Defendant
I entreat you, listen to me !
Set me right before the world !
' Purblind as the priests and prophets
Ev'n the Poets have traduced me,
Ev'n the Poets, tho' I love them,
And have taught them all they know !
' Marlowe, though my favourite pupil,
Painted me a very Monster,
Corybantic, cloven-footed,
Insolent and goggle-eyed.
' Milton's Devil was a parson
Voluble and bellows-winded,
Like his garrulous God Almighty
Quite impossibly absurd.
' Calderon malign'd me also !
Painting in his assonantic
Magico Prodigioso
Only hideousness divine.
'All the others, down to Goethe,
Fed the foolish superstition
Goethe, that superior person,
Blunder'd also, like his betters.
' Byron (tho' I loved the fellow !
Tho' I gave him winged arrows
To destroy the swinish virtues
In the pigsties of King George !)
' Byron could not paint me truly,
'Stead of gazing in the mirror,
Where he surely might have found me,
Fair of face though lame of foot,
' He proclaim 'd a prosy Devil
Like the fiend of Bailey, mixing
Bad blank verse and metaphysics
In the same old-fashion'd style !
' Even Burns, my prince of singers,
Nature's skylark render'd human,
Treated me with scornful pity,
Prayed that I might mend my ways !
' Never one has comprehended
My true nature and profession ;
Every one of these, my chosen,
Sped the hideous libel on.
THE DEV1US CASE.
251
1 I'm the kindest-hearted creature
In this Universe of Sorrows !
My affection for you mortals
Is the cause of all my woes !
' Listen, then for you're a Poet,
Equal in your own opinion
To the best of all those others,
Tho' extremely little read ;
' Men, be sure, will never make you
Laureate in a Christian Country,
Nay, the office is abolish'd
Since no Christian Bard survives :
I Be the Laureate of the Devil !
Justify his ways to mortals !
State the case for the Defendant
'Spite the Times and 'spite the gods !
I 1 have watch'd and waited for you
Since you sang that Yuletide Carol,
Picturing the Jew immortal
Wailing vainly for a Father !
' From the darkest depths of Sheol
I was marking and applauding. . . .
Having sung the only Jesus,
Go and sing the only Devil !
' Do it straightway ! and for ever
I'll protect your reputation !
Long as I, the Devil, am reigning,
You shall honour'd be in Hell ! '
Half in jest and half in earnest
Spake the Devil, smiling slyly,
And I answer'd, ' Sing your praises ?
Devil take me if I do !'
1 WITH your wish, sir, or without it,
He will take you soon or later ! '
Said he laughing grimly ; ' wherefore
Do him, pray, this friendly turn !
' I've a case which, rightly stated,
Must procure me an acquittal :
Yes, the case for the Defendant
Will astonish God Himself !
' God's my Judge, and cannot therefore
As a witness speak against me ;
God the Judge must be the Jury
Men of science and discretion.
' When they call the roll, you'll challenge
All the slaves of superstition,
Fashionable priests and poets,
And all military men ;
' Thieves and publishers and critics
Shall be warn'd from off the jury,
Ev'n philosophers and pundits
Must be keenly scrutinised
' Politicians, Whig and Tory,
Jewish, Christian, and Agnostic,
Must be challenged they are liars
Both by practice and profession.
' Lastly, challenge all the prying
Members of the County Council-
Prurient things of all three sexes,
Loathing Liberty and Light.
' Well I know that I shall triumph,
Since against me, as chief witness,
That disreputable person,
Jesus Josephson, is summon'd.
1 I shall prove that Witness surely
The supremest of impostors-
One whom no enlighten'd thinker
Can believe upon his oath 1 '
As he spake, his wrinkled features
Shrivel'd up to hideous seeming,
And his eyes flash'd bright, flamboyant
With a fierce and baleful light.
1 Devil ! ' cried I, ' Prince of Devils !
Devil verily by nature,
Peace ! Blaspheme not ! He thou namest
Is a star above thy head !
1 Man or God, or both united,
He, the beautiful Redeemer,
Far transcends in power and pity
All the draff of humankind.
' True or false, His Dream has gladden'd
Millions of created beings ;
Man or God, His love hath vanquish'd
All things evil, even Death ! '
252
THE DEVI US CASE.
As I spake, that troubled Spirit
Changed again his gaze grew gentle
From his face the anger faded,
And his eyes were dim with tears.
' Yea,' he said, ' thou speakest truly,
He thou nam'st was good and holy
Pardon, pardon, Son of Sorrow,
Well beloved, even by me I
' Even in thy worst delusions
Thou wast holy, thou wast loving,
Yea, thy heart was great and gracious,
Tho' thine eyes were very blind.
' Yea, and thou, too, wast an outcast >
All thy goodly Dream is over !
He who rules thy realm, my Jesus,
Never wore thy crown of thorns !
' Not of thee, but of that other
Who usurps thine earthly kingdom,
Spake I ; not of thee, my Jesus,
But of him they name the Christ.
' Yet . . . forgive me ... of thine error
Was this evil monster fashion'd ;
Blindly, gently, didst thou blunder,
Out of pure excess of Love.
' Thus, perchance, of all Souls living
Least thy spirit comprehended
Him who sits beyond these vapours
Heedless of His own Creation. '
Pale he stood, like one invoking
Some benign and awful Spirit ;
Then he sigh'd and softly smiling
Turn'd his wistful eyes on mine.
Long he spake, with accents human,
In his own self-exculpation ;
Till at last I comprehended
Meanings that at first seem'd dark.
Then, while on his pallid features
Flamed the alien lights of Heaven,
' Come ! ' he cried. ' Hell's fires burn yonder !
Come and gaze upon my Kingdom ! '
In a moment I was lifted
High in air, and wildly clinging
To the fringe of his dark raiment,
Wafted to the silent City.
XI.
As the cold metallic Ocean
Swings and clangs around the drowning,
So the solid air around me
Swung, till sense and sight departed ;
Dimly, darkly, I was conscious
That I floated swiftly onward,
Moving to a rhythmic motion
Like the beat of mighty pinions.
Suddenly, like one in slumber
FaHing wildly till he wakens,
Down like lead I seem'd descending
Dizzily I knew not whither,
Till at last, I shriek'd and struggled
Blind and breathless, and awaken'd,
And beheld him standing by me
Pointing with a spectral finger.
' Look, ' he said. ' The Hell thou doubtedst
Burns for evermore around thee
Wheresoever human creatures
Wail in anguish, is my Kingdom ! '
Then, methought, the moonlit houses
Everywhere became transparent,
And I saw the shapes within them
Hopeless, aimless, and despairing :
Dead and dying ; woeful mothers
Wailing o'er afflicted children ;
Creatures hollow-eyed with famine
Toiling on from dark to dawn ;
Haggard faces from their pillows
Gazing, as the pale nurse flitted
On from bed to bed in silence,
Mid the night-light's ghostly gleam :
Shapes sin-bloated from the cradle
Thrown in heaps obscene together,
While from gulfs of desolation
Rose the sound of idiot laughter !
Under arches dark and dreadful
Lay the murder'd corpse still bleeding,
While the murderer stood and listen'd
Wildly, with uplifted hair.
THE DEVIUS CASE.
253
Everywhere Disease and Famine
Held their ghastly midnight revel
Even in the darken'd palace
Rose the moan, the lamentation.
Everywhere a spectral Angel
Moved, with terrible forefinger
Touching shapes that shrank in anguish
With the flame that burns for ever :
On the cheeks of men and women
Fell the mark of that dread finger,
Burning inward, while the vitals
Gnaw'd with hell-fire life-consuming.
Then I turn'd to him who led me
Thither, and behold ! his features
Misted were with tears of pityj
Falling from his woeful eyes !
Not on me those eyes were gazing
But at something far above us ;
Not to me his lips were saying :
' Lord, I loathe Thy Works and Thee I
1 Just such measure as the Father
Metes to his afflicted children,
Would I mete to Thee, the Father,
In the name of those I rule !
' Thou hast given me my kingdom.
I accept its crown of sorrow,
Scorning still to kneel and thank Thee,
Pulseless, null Omnipotence ! '
As I listen'd, horror seized me.
' Nay,' I cried, to Heaven upgazing,
' Blame not Him who first created
All things beautiful and fair
' He, the holy Heavenly Father,
Mourns the woe of things created
Out of sin that woe was fashion'd,
And our sin arose from thee /'
Pityingly he gazed upon me.
' Sin,' he said, ' was God's invention !
He created Hell, my kingdom,
Tho' I wear its earthly crown !
'I, the eternal Prince of Darkness,
Found it ready for n,y coming
Pestilence, Disease, and Famine
Burnt there, by the will Divine 1
' Since that hour of my accession
I, the Devil, have ruled benignly,
Seeking like a kindly monarch
To improve my woeful realm.
' Thus, in spite of the Almighty,
I have leaven'd its afflictions,
Teaching men the laws of Nature,
Wisdom, Love, and Self-control.
' Every year the Hell-fires lessen,
Every day the load is lightened,
'Neath my care the very devils
Grow benign and civilised !
' This I have achieved entirely
By the very means forbidden
At the first by God Almighty,-
Teaching men to see and know.
' Prince of liars was the pedant
Who aver'd that man's afflictions
Came from eating that first apple
From the great Forbidden Tree !
' From its seeds, by me ungather'd,
Many a living tree hath sprouted
Where those trees bear fruit, believe me,
Even Hell resembles Heaven !
' Whoso eats that fruit forbidden
Knows himself and finds salvation,
Stands erect before his Maker,
Claims his birthright and is free.
' Thus, for ages after ages,
I, the Devil, have drain'd the marshes,
Cleansed the cesspools, taught the people,
Like a true Progressionist !
' By the living Soul within me
I have conquer' d ! tho' for ages
I have been most grossly libel' d
By the foolish race of mortals.
' All my errors have proceeded
From a sympathetic nature ;
Prince of Evil men have styled me,
Who alone am Prince of Pity !
' Never man-god, Christ or Buddha,
Ever anguish'd more sincerely
For the sufferings of others,
Than myself, whom men call Devil.
254
THE DEVI US CASE.
' What is further to my credit,
I'm not merely sentimental
I have practically labour'd
To improve the world's affairs.
1 I'm the father of all Science,
Master-builder, stock-improver,
First authority on drainage,
Most renown'd in all the arts.
'While the Priests have built their
Churches
To a God who does not heed them,
I have fashion'd decent dwellings,
Public hospitals, and baths.
' "Take no heed about To-morrow,"
Said the man-God, " do no labour,
Be content with endless praying
And eternal laissez-faire"
' But the Devil, being wiser,
Knows that he who fails to reckon
With the morrow, will discover
That To-morrow is To-day !
' And To-day is, now and ever,
All Eternity or nothing
He who sits and twiddles fingers
Now, hath done it evermore ! . . .
' From which statement you may gather
I, the Devil, am transcendental
Wise in all the ways of knowledge
Even down to metaphysics.
' This I merely state en passant,
Lest you deem me uninstructed,
All philosophers I've studied,
From Heraclitus to Hegel.'
XII.
ONCE again I was uplifted
High in air, but now my spirit
Wing'd (methought) beside the Devil
Like a kestrel by an Eagle :
Strength and insight grew within me,
Tho' my heart was sick with sorrow,
As we hover'd for an instant
O'er the silent lamplit City 1
Far beneath on lonely bridges
I beheld the outcast women,
Sisters sad of lust and midnight,
Wandering weary and forlorn.
Over palaces and prisons,
Over hospitals and brothels,
Wheresoever Hell is burning,
Flew I, wafted as on wings.
From the tainted founts of Being
I beheld the new-born rising,
Sick, sin-bloated scum of infants
Fashion'd out of shameful slime ;
What the dead men and the dying
Sow'd in shame these reaped in sorrow,
Thick as bubbles on a cauldron
They were coming, breaking, going ;
Over waters black with tempest,
Where the ships were lightning-riven,
Where the terror-stricken seamen,
Sinking, shrieked aloud to God !
Over plains where ghostly armies
Came and went, and smote each other,
While the priests from the high places
Cried them on, and waved the Cross ;
Over silent legions waiting
For the nod of moonstruck rulers ;
Over countries famine-smitten ;
Over cities foul with plague ;
Wheresoever Hell is burning
I was wafted ! From mine eyrie
I beheld the exiles crawling
To the black Siberian mine ;
Shrieks of men and wails of women
Fill'd the air with lamentation,
While the Cossack cold arid silent
Plied the knout and joined the chain.
I beheld the lonely Leper,
With his face to heaven uplifted
Blotted out of human likeness,
Crawling to his nameless grave.
I beheld the armed Arab
Ravishing the black man's village
I beheld the red race dying
Dumbly, like a deer at bay.
THE DEVWS CASE.
255
Everywhere the strong man triumph'd !
Everywhere the weak lay smitten !
Everywhere the gifts of Godhead
Rain'd on over-laden hands !
Everywhere (and this was strangest)
Priests were praying, men were kneeling,
Everywhere the broken martyrs
Lifted piteous eyes to Heaven !
Wheresoever Hell is burning
I was wafted ! And the bale-fires,
Fed with human lives for ever,
Burnt from Europe to Cathay.
. . . Like strange forms reflected darkly
In the glass of a Magician,
Ever flitting, ever fading,
Gleam 'd the ghastly shapes of Sheol !
Till my soul grew faint within me
And again the air around me,
Ev'n as seas around the drowning,
Swung, and sense and sight departed.
XIII.
... ON the lonely Heath of Hampstead
I awaken'd, and beside me
Saw the woe-worn outcast standing,
Shadowy, mystical, and sad.
Even as I gazed upon him,
All the baleful hideous seeming,
Falling from him like a garment,
Left him beautiful and fair !
Lost in awe I gazed upon him !
Angel-naked stood the Devil ;
Thin and tall ; upon his forehead
Light, as of some dim grey Dawn !
Fair he seem'd, tho' pale and weary,
Sorrowful, but softly shining,
Beautiful, as when, ere fallen,
Seated on the morning star !
Not on me his eyes were gazing,
But upon the far-off City ;
Not to me his lips were saying,
Lord, I loathe Thy Works and Thee ! '
Once again that outcast Angel
Turned his luminous eyes upon me,
Dark deep eyes that seem'd to suffer
From the light they shed around them
Rays as of the star of morning
Glimmer'd o'er him as he murmur'd
In a voice like stars vibrating :
' Thing of clay, dost know me now ?'
' Yea,' I said, ' immortal Spirit, *>
Now at last I seem to know thee,
And my spirit yearns in kinship
With thy beauty and thy woe ! '
Once again he cast upon me
Luminous looks of scorn and pity :
As a trembling star's reflection
Shakes in shadowy shallow waters,
Fell the glory of the Angel
On the waters of my spirit,
While I trembled, half in terror,
Half in wondering adoration.
' Thou art he, the prince of Evil,
Whom thy God created perfect,
Yet who, doubting and rebelling,
Sank to darkness and despair ! '
4 Yea,' he answer'd, darkly frowning,
' I am he thy conscience pictures !
Lucifer once named up yonder,
Satan now re-named, the Devil !
' At the elbow of the Father
Once I stood and sang His praises
Endless praises and hosannahs
To the crowned King of Heaven.
1 So I could have sung for ever,
Drinking rapture from His presence :
In an evil hour I wander 'd
From His side, to view Creation !
' And at first I sang the louder,
Marvelling at His works and wonders,
Suns and stars and constellations
Join'd my joyful hallelujah ! '
As he spake he seem'd to brighten,
Dazzling all my sense with wonder,
Round about him like a raiment
Clung a cloud of golden music 1
2 5 6
THE DEVI US CASE.
' Such I was, His servant-angel !
Such I was, and so I worshipt !
Then from out the worlds He fashion'd
Came a wail, a lamentation.
' On the sun I stood, down-gazing,
O'er the universe around me,
And the wail grew shriller, louder,
Till my joyful song was drown'd.
' Far away, where'er my vision
Wander'd, I beheld His Angels
Watching for His lifted finger,
Now creating, now destroying ;
' Here a moaning world was shrivel'd
Like an infant in the cradle ;
Here a planet shrank in darkness
To a sound of souls despairing ;
' Everywhere across Creation
Were the threads of Being broken,
Everywhere the Lord Almighty
Crush'd like shells the worlds He made !
' Then my soul was wroth within me,
And I cried to the Almighty :
" Evil, Lord, is Thy creation,
Since Thou sufferest pain to be !
1 " Or if pity stirs within Thee
For the woes of Thy creating,
Thou art even as Thine Angels
Strong, but not Omnipotent !
" ' Back on Thine own footsteps treading,
Ever slaying and re-making,
Ever bungling, Thou art only
Demigod, not God at best ! "
1 Then He struck me with His lightnings,
Me, and many lesser angels,
Who in pity and compassion
Echo'd my protesting cry ;
' Smitten here upon the forehead,
Down I fell thro' the abysses,
Clinging wildly for a moment
To some star, as to a straw !
' Till I reached this lonely planet,
Stood upon it, and before me
Saw the naked Pair in Eden
Praising Him as / had done.
' " Tempt them, try them, undeceive them !"
Said the Father's voice from Heaven
" But be sure that deeper knowledge
Only means more swift despair ! "
' For a space I hesitated,
Seeing them so blindly happy,
Even as the beasts that perish
Knowing nought of Time or Death ;
' Then I said (may Man forgive me !)
Better far to know and suffer,
Reach the stature of us angels,
Than be happy like the beasts.
' Wherefore, as thou know'st, I tempted
First the Woman, whispering to her,
While she munch'd the golden apple,
Hints of nakedness and shame.
' Then I saw the Pair forthdriven
From the golden Gates of Eden,
Hunted, while I wept for pity,
By the Bloodhound-angel, Death ! '
XIV.
WHILE he spake his starry splendour
Faded, ever growing dimmer
Sadder, darker, stood the Angel,
Fixing weary eyes on mine ;
Clouds of woe were gather'd round him
Ev'n as raiment, and upon them
Silvern tremors caught the moonlight,
Glimmering like the Serpent's coils.
' Forth the Exiles fled together,
Knowing not of that dread Angel
Ever following their footsteps
Thro" their weary wanderings ;
1 From the woman's womb there blossom'd
Little children, and their voices
Fill'd the solitude with music,
While the parents toil'd and gladden'd :
' And the world grew green about them,
God and Eden were forgotten,
Till the Father's voice from Heaven
Cried for prayers and adulation ;
THE DEVWS CASE.
257
' Till that hour of desolation
When the first-born smote his brother,-
And upon him, from the shadows,
Sprang the pallid bloodhound, Death !
' Then they heard a voice above them
Thundering " Out of sin and sorrow,
Thro' that fruit by Me forbidden,
Death is brought into the world ! "
'I, the Sapient Snake, knew better !
I, the Outcast, deeply lesson'd
In the book of God's Creation,
Knew the Heavenly Voice was lying/'
As he spake his shape grew shrunken
Into something black and baleful,
Woefully his eyes were burning
Like the eyeballs of the Serpent.
' Death was born in the beginning
By the will of God the Father ;
Ever slaying and destroying
Death had crept from world to world !
1 Thro' the Universe were scatter'd
Shrouded spheres that once were living
Everywhere in yonder heavens
Life had broken like a bubble !
' Nay, this very world of Eden
Was a Sepulchre ; within it
Countless races long forgotten,
Slain of old by Death, were sleeping.
' Blindly, feebly, God had blunder'd,
Type on type had been rejected,
Race on race had come and vanish'd,
Ere the Human flowered in Adam.
' From the throats of things created
Wails of anguish had arisen,
Since above the waste of waters
Winged flew the pterodactyl.
1 In the rocks and 'neath the Ocean
Lay the bones of beasts and monsters ;
Ages ere the Pair was fashioned,
Human-featured walk'd the Ape.
1 Nay, the very Pair I tempted
Were no separate creation,^
Hi
Their perfection had proceeded
From a long ancestral line ;
' Ages ere their evolution
God had bungled, God had blunder'd,
Now selecting, now rejecting,
Harking back, and retrogressing ;
' Thus the Archetype was fashion'd
Thro' perpetual vivisection,
Countless swarms of martyr' d creatures
Mark'd his passage to the Human.
1 This I knew, and this I purposed
Teaching long ago to mortals,
But for many an age of darkness
Mortals mourn'd, but would not listen.
1 While the tribes and generations
Multiplied from father Adam,
O'er the world in which I wander'd
Spread the Pestilence, Religion.
' Nations, Jacob's seed and Esau's,
White and red and particolour'd,
Rose, and in the desert places
Swarm'd the soot-black seed of Ham.
' Busy still in every City,
Under every tent and dwelling,
Death abode, and never tiring
Did the bidding of his Master.
' Then in every Nation, shadow'd
With the darkness pestilential,
Priests arose, and woeful altars
Steam' d with sacrifice to God.
XV.
' MEANTIME I, the Accurst, was busy !
Whensoe'er I spake with mortals
Men grew gentle to each other,
While I taught them peaceful arts :
' How to till the soil, to fashion
Roofs of stone against the tempest,
How to weave the wool for raiment,
Yoke the monsters of the field ;
' Fire I brought them, teaching also
How to tame it to their uses,
Turning ironstone to iron,
Frame the ploughshare and the sword ;
2 5 8
THE DEVWS CASE.
' Help'd by me they drain'd the marshes,
Lop'd the forest trees, and fashion'd
Ships that floating on the waters
Gather' d harvest from the Deep.
' Bravely would my work have thriven,
Save for cunning Priests and Prophets,
Who, by dreams of God inflated,
Blunder'd ever like their Master. . . .
' Yonder by the yellow Ganges
Rose the Temples of the Brahmin,
Threefold there the mystic godhead,
Agni, Indra, Surya, reign'd.
' By the impassive, cruel features
Well I recognised the Father,
Huge as some primaeval monster
Crawl' d He in the Vedic ooze.
1 Mystical, un comprehended,
In their shadowy shrines He brooded,
Silent, and the souls of mortals
Crawl' d like fearful snakes before Him.
' Thither, serpent- wise, I folio w'd,
Whispering " Strange is God and mighty ;
Yet, altho' He fashion'd all things,
Impotent in utter godhead."
' With my gospel pantheistic
I perplex'd their Priests and Prophets,
Tho' in spite of all my teaching,
Still they pray'd, and preach'd, and fasted.
1 Still the cloud of superstition
Darken'd Earth and shrouded Heaven,
While the shivering naked people
Trembled at the priestly thunder. . . .
1 Further East I wing'd, and burning
Like a sunbeam from the zenith,
On a sunlit mountain summit
Found the Persian, Zoroaster.
' Crying, ' ' If thou needs must worship
What transcends thine understanding,
Raise thine eyes, behold the Fountain
Whence the Light of Life is flowing! "
' Him I left upon his mountain,
Crimson fires of dawn around him
Gazing till his eyes were blinded
At his Sun-god, and adoring. . . .
1 On the threshold of his palace
Stood the monarch Arddha Chiddi,
Roseate robes of youth were round him,
Yet his eyes were full of sorrow ;
' Down beneath him on the river
Corpses foul of men and women
Floated seaward, gnaw'd and eaten
By the water-snakes and fishes.
' Him I spake with, sadly showing
Death alone was lord and master
Over all the worlds created,
And that Death was surely evil.
1 Never since the world's beginning,
Throb'd a human heart more gentle
In its secret fount of sorrow
Stir'd the living springs of pity :
' From his palace door he wander' d,
Left the pomps of power behind him,
Wrapt a linen shroud about him,
Weeping for the woes of mortals.
1 Yet, in spite of all my teaching,
How to snatch from Death and Sorrow
Strength to live and zeal to labour,
In despite of God the Father,
' He, the Buddha, sought ablution
In the waters of Nirwana,
Crying loud ' ' There is no Father
Only Death and Change for ever ! "
' Thus, denying God, he entered
God's great darkness of Negation,
Till the living springs of pity
Froze at last to calm despair ;
' Till, denying yet believing,
Conquering yet by godhead conquer d,
He to Death as Lord and Master
Bow'd the saintly head, and blest him !
' Countless swarms of living creatures
Follow' d him into the darkness,
White and wondrous o'er his kingdom
Rose the Temples of the Lama ;
THE DEVIDS CASE.
259
' Countless millions still despairing
In his temples gather kneeling
Priests of Lama, blindly praying,
Swing the piteous lamps of Death.
1 Thus the first and best of mortals
Conquer 'd was, and o'er my Buddha
Brooded still the joyless, deathless,
Impotent Omnipotence !
XVI.
' HIGH in air on eagle-pinions
I, the outcast Angel, hover'd
Gazing sadly down while mortals,
Ants on ant-hills, toil'd and struggled.
' Here and there were armed nations
Moving restless hither and thither ;
'Mong the mountains, gazing upward,
Gather'd lonely tribes of shepherds.
' Ever darkly multiplying,
Crowning Kings and hailing prophets,
Toiling blindly in the darkness,
Grew the races of the Human.
' Ever 'mong them Death was busy,
Evermore the units perish'd,
Evermore the new-born creatures
Swarm'd from out the depths of Being.
' Nought they knew of Heaven above them,
Nought of Earth itself, their dwelling,
Circling with the mightier planets
Round the heliocentric fires ;
1 Everywhere the Priest was busy
Raising temples, building altars,
Everywhere the foolish Prophets
Raved aloud and wail'd for wonders :
' Everywhere the martyr'd peoples
Toil'd and struggled and were smitten ;
Evermore to blind their senses,
Signs and miracles were wrought.
' 'Mong the people rose Messiahs,
Preaching, healing, prophesying,
Pointing to the empty heavens
With a wan and witless smile. . . .
' By the Nile the son of Isis
Walked and mused, upon his mantle
Mystic signs were wrought in silver,
And he wore a crown of thorns,
'Saying " Lo, from Phthah the Maker,
I, the human Emanation,
Come and I elect to suffer,
To appease His righteous anger."
' Then the people sprang upon him,
Stript him bare and crucified him
Pityingly I bent above him,
As he swung upon his Cross.
' Then the faithful who revered him,
In their spicy clothes embalmed him,
While the priesthood which had slain him
Hail'd him " Son of God, Osiris ! "
' 'Mong his worshippers I lighted,
Priestly raiment wrapt around me,
Crying with them, " Hail, Osiris !
Woman-born and yet divine ! "
' " Kingly men and mighty monarchs
Are indeed the only godhead
Wherefore let them have our praises,
Endless worship and hosannahs."
' Then I taught them hieroglyphics,
Mystic shapes and signs and letters,
Where the story of the Ages
Written was on brass and stone ;
' Then the busy Ants of Egypt
Raised the Pyramids ; around them
Shaping colonnades and pylons
For the sepulchres of Kings.
' Thus I taught them architecture,
How to hew the rocks and fashion
Monuments that stand for ever
In despite of God and Time.
' Nay, to mock the mute Almighty,
I the mystic Sphinx invented,
Silent, impotent, impassive,
Gazing on a million graves !
' Numbers, too, I taught the people,
How to measure Earth and Water,
By the stars and their progressions
Guide the floods and count the seasons.
s 2
260
THE DEVWS CASE.
' Then the God I had offended
Spread his darkness over Egypt,
Sent his Angels, hither, thither,
Turning men against each other ;
' While the haggard Priests and Prophets
Wail'd and work'd their signs and wonders,
The Assyrian and Egyptian
Struggled in their death-embraces.
' Vain was all that I had taught them
Peace and wisdom, light and knowledge,
Strength to raise in spite of Nature
Pyramids of mortal making,
' 'Gainst the angels masquerading
In the forms of Gods and Demons,
Shrieking loud from blood-stain'd altars
For their holocausts of Death.
' Pharaohs came and Pharaohs vanish'd,
Cities rose and Cities perish'd,
Still arose, o'er seas of slaughter,
Those sad Sphinxes I had fashion'd. . . .
XVII.
1 FAR away, 'mong sea-girt islands
Dwelt a race of blue-eyed mortals
From the happy groves of Hellas
Rose the lyric song of shepherds.
1 Knowing nought of God the Father,
Innocent they were and happy,
Merrily they piped, and round them
Danced my Satyrs and my Fauns.
1 1, too, went and dwelt among them,
Gentle, wise, yet cloven-footed,
Fruit and flowers they brought, and gladly
Hail'd me as the wood-god, Pan.'
While he spake his face grew gentle
As the shadows on the greensward,
From his throat came woodland music
Heard in Arcady of old.
1 Taught by me, they loved and welcomed
All the living powers of Nature
Every tree was sweet and human,
Every fountain was a goddess.
' From the turquoise seas I summon'd
Aphrodite 1 fair and naked-
Side by side we sang, and lovers
Gather'd hand in hand to listen.
' Fairer than the long-lost Eden
Seem'd the sea-girt land of shepherds,
Never tree of fruit forbidden
Grew within the groves of Faunus.
' Suddenly the heavens above us
Darken'd, spirits passed in thunder,
From the far Caucasian mountains
Came a cry of lamentation.
1 Swift as light I travelled thither
Over waters torn with tempest,
Nail'd unto a rock and bleeding
Hung Prometheus Purkaeus !
' While the vulture tore his entrails
Not a sound the Titan utter'd,
But beneath the Cross lamenting
Gather'd woeful wailing women.
1 Of my flesh this Christ was fashion'd,
From the side of me, the Devil,
He was born in the beginning,
Ev'n as Eve was born of Adam !
' On his calm undaunted spirit
Fell my heritage of sorrow
Love for men, eternal pity
For the lot of living creatures.
' Then I knew that God was waking
From his stupor of inaction ;
Darkly out of yonder heaven
Gazed the silent Sphinx-like Face ! . .
' Taught by him, the mighty Titan,
Men had built a marble City,
Athens, on the heights above it
Stood the snow-white Parthenon ;
1 In the streets and groves of Athens
Calmly walk'd the seers and sages,
Words of wisdom dropped like honey
From the mouths of mighty teachers ;
1 Harp in hand went happy poets
With their singing robes about them,
Music as of birds and fountains,
Mingling sweetly, fill'd the air.
THE DEVWS CASE.
261
' Here, ev'n here, despite the Titan
Priests of God and Death were busy :
In the Temples knelt the people
Seeking woeful signs and omens ;
1 There the image of Athene"
Blink'd her eyes, and idols sweated,
While the Augurs, bloody-finger'd,
Read the entrails of the slain.
1 Then to many a mighty poet
I unfolded Nature's riddles :
Aeschylos, my word-corn peller,
Sang the Titan's martyrdom !
' Vain was all my loving labour !
Tho' I lavish'd gifts upon them,
Tho' to witch their eyes with beauty
Phidias breathed his soul through stone,
' Tho' the poets and the sages
Spread my peace and benediction,
Tho' the laws of Earth and Heaven
Sifted were by gentle seers,
' Still the Priests of Heaven against me
Smote with all the strength of godhead,
Still the people, crouching dumbly,
Moan'd for miracles and signs.
1 Vain was all my strife for mortals >
Vainly wrought my servant angels !
Vainly toil'd Asclepios, vainly
Helen smiled, and Sappho sang !
' As a rainbow dies from Heaven,
As a snow-white cloud of summer
Breaks and fades, the pride of Hellas
Brighten'd, melted, pass'd away 1 '
XVIII.
PITEOUSLY the stars of Heaven
Fix'd their million eyes upon him,
While his dark form droop'd and slowly
Darken'd, like a blackening brand ;
Brightness of the Angel faded
Into darkness sad and baleful,
Old at last he seem'd and human,
Bending 'neath the load of years ;
In his voice I heard no longer
Music as of stars vibrating,
Sound of solemn psalms, or pipings
Of the merry flocks of Pan :
Nay, the voice that spake unto me
Broken seem'd, like chimes discordant
Ringing over lonely uplands
In the silence of the night.
' Thus/ he said, ' the light of Hellas
Died away in desolation,
Setting where it first had risen
'Mong the eastern pyramids !
1 O'er the land of seers and poets
Blew the breath of God's dark Angel,
Broken lay the marble statues
Of my tutelary gods !
' Meantime, like another Titan,
Rome had risen ! Strong and mighty,
From the mountains swarm'd the savage
Tribes of Romulus the shepherd.
' 'Mong them walk'd my servant-angels
Teaching them the lore of Nature,
Strong they grew and ever stronger
Till they conquered Earth and Sea.
' Earth and Sea I gave unto them,
Saying, ' ' Surely ye are strongest !
Since no tyrants dwell among you,
Since ye know not fraud or fear ! "
' Tutelary gods I gave them,
Harmless gods whom they might worship,
Since I knew that in His creatures
God had sown the lust of godhead ;
' Strong they grew and ever stronger,
Building thus their great Republic,
Fair and great it rose, and o'er it
All the winds of plenty blew.
' Then, to mar my work for ever,
God the Eternal Tyrant fashion'd
Lesser tyrants in His image,
So His Caesars rose, and reigned 1
' God's they were, not mine, the Devil's !
Nay, by Hades, I abjure them !
Freedom comes of Light and Knowledge,
Tyranny is born of God !
262
THE DEVWS CASE.
' Ever, since the world's beginning,
I, the gentle Prince of Pity,
Taught one Trinity to mortals
Wisdom, Love, and Self-control
' ' ' Shed no blood, since God doth shed it !
Love each other, help each other,
Rise erect against all tyrants,"
Is my gospel evermore.
' ' ' Only for a little season
Shalt thou draw the breath of Being
Try to make that little season
Bright and glad, in spite of God ! "
' Turn the records of the Roman !
Read again the blood-stain' d pages !
See the spectres of the Caesars
Passing on to endless night !
' Nay, but even here / triumph'd !
From the cesspool and the palace
Rose the cry of slaves and tyrants
Saying " Death alone is God ! "
' So the crown of God descended
On the brows of Death, His angel 1
So the Tyrant of Creation
Found no worshippers at last !
' Then, as in the eternal City
I was wandering weary-hearted,
Outcast from the hideous revels
Where the crowned Spectre reign' d,
' Sick of God and God's creation,
I, the Devil, heard the crying
Of a voice amid the Desert,
Saying, " Rejoice, the Christ is born ! "
' Eastward flew I, and I found Him,
Best and worst of the Messiahs,
Walking meekly, meditating,
By the Lake of Galilee ! '
XIX.
FOR a space his voice was silent
In his hands his face was buried,
While the elemental Darkness
Clung about him like a cloud ;
Wonderingly I gazed upon him,
For I knew that he was weeping
Till, at last, again I saw him
Pointing angrily to Heaven.
Woefully, with snake-like glimmers,
Clung the coils of his black raiment,
Scornfully he laugh'd, and round him
Glimmer'd with a serpent's eyes.
' Let Him rise, and keep His promise !
Let Him wake who sleeps for ever !
King of poets and of dreamers
Was this moonstruck Son of God !
1 Him I fronted in the desert,
Pointing out His mad delusion,
Fool, He wrapt His rags about Him,
"2oTOJ/a, OTTiffO) /JLOV ! "
1 Feeble, gentle Thaumaturgist !
What knew He of God the Father ?
Pityingly I bent above Him,
As He swung upon the Cross !
' Yea, and blest Him, little knowing
How the seed of His delusion,
Sown in love and human kindness,
Should be reap'd on fields of blood.
1 1, the Devil, as they style me,
Have dispensed a benediction !
He, the Christ, self-styled, self-chosen,
Has become a winged curse !
1 Dead, His crown of thorns beside Him,
In His sepulchre He slumbers,
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,
Never can He wake again !
4 Yet the lies His folly father'd
Live and multiply above Him :
Lie the First / " A life hereafter
Shall redeem the wrongs of this ! "
' Lie the Second ! ' ' Love thy neighbour
As thyself ! " The dream, the fancy !
Were it true, each soul's existence
Would be proved by self-negation.
' Lie the Third I ' ' About the morrow
Take no heed sufficient ever
Is the evil of the moment
Take no trouble to redress it ! "
THE DEVWS CASE.
263
1 Lie the Fourth!" Lord God the Father
Loves His children and redeems them "
He f the loveless, pulseless, deathless,
Impotent Omnipotence !
1 Well, He staked His life, and lost it !
Flock on flock of sheep have follow'd
That bell-wether of the masses
Into darkness and despair !
' Eighteen hundred years of Europe
Have been wasted 'spite my warning :
" Fools, one life is all God grants you,
Sweep your houses, heed your drains !
' ' ' Love each other, help each other,
Juggle not with dreams and phrases
Make ephemeral existence
Beautiful, in spite of God !
' ' ' Pass from knowledge on to knowledge
Ever higher and supremer,
Clothe these bones with power and pity,
Live and love, altho' ye die !
1 " Fear not, love not, and revere not
What transcends your understanding !
Keep your reverence and affection
For the brethren whom ye know ! "
' Fools, they heard but did not heed me !
Far away from 'mong the vapours
Came the sound of their bell-wether
Tinkling to the same old tune !
1 While the poets, priests, and prophets
Gather'd, crying "Listen! listen!"
To the church-bells' ululation
Rose the Christian holocaust !
' While the haggard priests and prophets
Pray'd aloud and cried for wonders,
Christs of Cyprus and Tyana
Heal'd the sick and raised the dead.
' God had conquered, with His darkness
Blotting out my stars of promise ;
Three times to the mad Plotinus
He revealed His Sphinx-like features.
' God had conquer'd, Death was reigning
O'er the lands of Light and Morning ;
Plato's music turned to discord
In the mouth of Porphyry.
' Thro' the world a spectral Shepherd
Walk'd, knee-deep in blood of martyrs,
Death the Christ, whom men call'd Jesus,
Till they crown'd him Pope, at Rome !
xx.
1 MEANTIME, I, the Accurst, was busy !
I who firstly to the Titan
Brought the fire of human knowledge,
Love for man and scorn for godhead.
'While the poets, priests, and prophets
Libel' d me beyond believing,
Pictured me a shameless Devil
Cloven-footed and obscene,
' I was strengthening my children !
I was comforting and cheering
Many a martyr in his prison,
Pale and ready for the stake !
' Nay, my word had raised Mohammed,
Strong and true, a creed-compeller,
'Spite the foolish Christian leaven
Mingled with his nobler clay.
' From the East I brought the Arabs
With their wondrous arts of healing ;
Small yet strong and cabalistic
Rose my mystic Alphabet !
' Out of fire I snatch'd the parchments
Scribbled o'er with ancient wisdom,
Pluck'd the books of Aristotle
From the cesspools of the Pope.
1 While the countless priests were lying,
I was preaching and beseeching
Crying "The eternal godhead
Helps but those who help themselves ;
' " Pestilence, Disease, and Famine
Phantoms are of God's creation
Man alone hath power to slay them,
Knowing good and knowing evil ;
' " Eat, then, of the tree of knowledge
As your parents did in Eden
Eat, and though your limbs be naked
Earth will yield you decent clothing J
26 4
THE
CASE.
' " God who knoweth, feeleth nothing,
Cannot help you ! Thol 'tis written
Not a sparrow falls without Him,
Ne'ertheless the sparrow falls ! "
' Yea, by Hades, I was busy !
In the monasteries even,
Many a learned monk was lesson'd
By the Devil whom he dreaded ;
' While the shaven head was nodding
Over parchment and papyrus,
I persuaded the good fellow
To transcribe my carnal books !
' Aye, and in their written Bibles,
Full of priestly contradictions,
I contrived to mingle deftly
Human truths with holy lies.
' True it is, indeed, I tempted
Both St. Anthony and Luther-
Proving to their consternation
Only fools despise the Flesh !
I 1 it was who fired the Painters,
Bade them fling upon the canvas
Holy infants and Madonnas
Warm with nakedness and love ;
' I it was who made them picture
Christ the Shepherd, sweet and human,
Bright and young, with fond eyes gazing
On the rosy Magdalena !
1 Thus with Life and Love and Beauty
War'd I on the side of Nature,
Knowing well that Man's salvation
Must be wrought of flesh and blood !
' Yea, and to the Priest I whisper'd :
" Rise erect, thou Beast, in manhood !
Reverence thy sex and function
Snatch the fruits of Love and Joy !
' " He who scorns the Flesh despises
Nature's Holiest of Holies
In the Body's Temple only
Burns that mystic lamp, the Soul ! "
1 I alone whom men call'd Devil,
I, who fought for Truth and Knowledge,
I, the scorn' d and fabled Serpent,
Loved the human form divine 1
' "Crouch no more to gods or idols,
Crawl no more in filth and folly,
Stand erect," I cried to mortals,
' ' Take your birthright, and be free !
' " What ye take not freely, boldly,
From the brimming hands of Nature,
God the Lord will never give you,
God the Lord gives all, yet nothing ! "
1 Still they heark'd to their bell-wether,
Still they stumbled in the shambles,
Still they fumbled with their crosses,
Dwindling back to brutes and beasts.
' Westward then I sent Columbus !
Southward then I sent Magellan !
Starward, sunward, I, the Devil,
Turn'd Galileo's starry eyes !
' Crying, while the screech-owl Churches
Shriek'd their twenty-fold damnations,
" See and know ! demand your birthright
Search the suns and map the spheres ! " '
FOR a space the starry splendour
Flash'd upon him out of Heaven,
As, with eager arms extended,
Angel-like he upward gazed ;
Then again the cloud of sorrow
Fell upon him ; darkly drooping,
Grew his form more sadly human,
As he proudly spoke again.
' While the tribes of priests and liars
Rear'd their shrines and lazar-houses,
Sold their charms and absolutions,
Did their clumsy Miracles,
' I to shame their winking Virgins,
Sweating Christs, and minor marvels,
Was with all my might preparing
For a miracle indeed !
' Of my letters cabalistic
Tiny blocks of wood I fashion'd,
Ranged them patiently in order
(Chuckling slyly up my sleeve) ;
THE DEVWS CASE.
265
1 Then I fasten'd them together,
Smear'd them o'er with ink from Hades,
Stamp'd the words on leaves papyric
And the Miracle was done !
1 1, the Devil, invented printing !
Calling to my aid the youngest
Of my sons, my little darling
Benjamin, the Printer's Devil.
1 First I printed (mark my cunning !)
God's own Book, the Christian Bible,
Turn'd it out in fine black-letter,
So that he who ran might read !
' Thus, observe, I pin'd the churchmen
Down to very verse and chapter !
Thus, sir, for the good times coming,
I was nailing Lie on Lie !
' This was only the beginning
Of my Miracle ! The moment
I produced that great invention,
Light and Liberty were born !
' Suddenly arose and blossom' d
Man's new Tree of Good and Evil,
Shedding forth its leaves abundant,
Ripening to golden fruit !
1 Large it grew and ever larger,
Ever putting forth fresh members,
" Lop it ! cut it down ! destroy it ! "
Cried the churchmen, shriek'd the Popes.
' All the priests of all the Churches
Rush'd to smite it with their axes,
Fools ! for every twig so smitten
Out there sprang a magic branch !
' As from some strong oak, moreover,
Growing in the merry greenwood,
From my Tree of Good and Evil
Acorns dropt, and oaklings sprouted ;
' Little birds pick'd up the acorns,
Dropt them down in distant places,
Wheresoe'er the seed was carried,
New trees rose, till forests grew !
' ' ' Shun that leafage diabolic !
'Ware that wicked fruit of Knowledge ! "
Croak' d the ravens of the Churches,
Hovering o'er it in the air ;
1 But the maiden and the lover
Sat beneath its shade and listen'd,
While the merry leaves were lisping
Songs that shepherds sang of yore ;
1 Here the footsore and the weary,
Creeping from the dusty highway,
Lay beneath and hearken'd smiling
To the magic talking branches ;
' Kings arrived with trains attendant
Saying ' ' Here at least 'tis pleasant ! "
From my magic Tree they gather'd
Runes of Norseland, tales of Troy.
1 Reaching to my Tree, Erasmus
Gather'd gentle leaves of learning,
On the greensward underneath it
Petrarch and his Laura walk'd !
1 Even rough old Martin Luther
Pluck'd a leaf and smiled approval !
Gazing upward in the starlight,
Abelard wept, and Tasso sang !
4 Nay, the very monks came flocking
Open-mouth'd to look and listen,
Charm'd they slyly sow'd my seedlings
In the monastery garden !
' Wheresoe'er my Tree enchanted
Spread its branches cabalistic,
Gladness grew, and wise men gather'd,
And 'twas Fairyland once more !
' Vain were all their winking Virgins,
Sweating Christs, and minor marvels, -
I, the Devil, had done the latest,
Greatest Miracle of all !
1 SINCE that hour the Fight hath lasted !
Strong, beneficent, and gentle,
I, the foe of all the Churches,
Have remain'd the friend of Man.
' All the horde of Priests and Prophets,
Moonstruck, mad, have rail'd against me,
Crying to the weary nations
" Fear the Flesh, and shun the Devil ! "
266
THE DEVIDS CASE.
1 In the name of God the Father
They have sicken'd Earth with slaughter ;
In the name of their Messiahs
They have lied, and lied, and lied !
' O'er the vineyards I have planted
They have scatter' d seed of thistles ;
In the mansions of my making
They have swarm'd with fire and sword.
' Year by year, with God against me,
I for Humankind have striven,
Winning patiently and slowly
Thro' a small minority !
' Poor are all the Church's martyrs,
By the side of mine, the Devil's !
Those have died for Filth and Falsehood,
These for Liberty and Light !
' Mine the Seers and mine the Poets,
Stoned and slain in every nation !
Even those who most denied me
Learn'd thro' me to stand erect !
' I it was who put the honey
On the tongue of Ariosto !
I who cast a light from Heaven
On Boccaccio's golden page !
' In the ear of many a monarch
I was whispering my reasons
Taught by me, your bluff King Harry
Faced the Pope and flay'd the cowls !
' Aye, and in your throned Virgin
1 inspired both wit and learning
I was hunting gladly with her,
When she whipt the wolves of Spain.
' While the Priests were busy burning,
/ created Merrymakers !
Rock'd, despite the shrieking Churches,
Rabelais in his easy-chair !
' In your land of fogs and vapours ,
Where the church-bells toll'd for ever,
I, the Devil, upraised the DRAMA
Still by priestcraft shun'd and curst :
' First I bribed the monks to help me,
Made them place on mimic stages
(Little 'ware what they were doing)
Plays of miracles absurd.
' God Himself and little Jesus
Were by mortals represented,
While myself and other devils
Join'd them in the pagan dance.
' Thus, without a word of warning,
Rose the THEATRE, my Temple !
Sunny as the soul of Nature,
Fearless, beautiful, and free !
' "Shun it ! shun the Devil's dwelling ! "
Shriek'd the jealous cowls ; but straightway,
Loud, the prelude of the battle,
Thunder' d Marlowe's mighty line !
' There I taught your gentle Shakespeare
What no shaven monk could teach him
Mingled wit and wisdom, foreign
To a God who never smiles !
' Churchmen curst, and still are cursing
What transcends their sermonizing,
Hating, in the way of traders,
Rival shops with smarter wares.
4 In my Temple rose the voices
Of the Seers and Music-makers,
Shapes of beauty and of terror
Waken'd to the conjuration !
' There the glad green world was pictured,
There the lark sang " tirra-lirra,"
There the piteous human pageant
Broke to tears or rippled laughter
' " Shun it, shun the Devil's dwelling ! "
Croaked the jackdaws from the steeple
Long as Shakespeare's lark is singing,
Still my Theatre shall stand ! . . . .
Then I mock'd their tracts and sermons
With my songs and my romances :
Light and Freedom, Mirth and Music,
Scatter'd sunshine through the air.
' Milton even, tho' intending
To exalt the Lord Almighty,
Spread my teaching Manichsean
Who's his hero ? I, the Devil !
THE DEVWS CASE.
267
1 Aye, and when his voice demanded
Freedom for my printing presses,
Liberty of speech for all men,
Who inspired him ? I, the Devil !
' Then, to mock their monkish fables,
I invoked my Story-tellers !
Till at last, full-blown and bounteous,
Bloom 'd the Modern Novelist !
' True, the Novel is elephantine,
Pachydermatous, long-winded,
Of all Art the large negation,
Yet, by Heaven ! it serves a turn 1
' My Cervantes and my Fielding
Struck the rock of human knowledge,
Freed the founts of Fun, still foreign
To a God who never laughs !
' How the Priests and Preachers trembled
At my quips and cranks and fancies,
Furious when I requisition'd
Rogues, like Sterne, within the fold !
' Evermore my printing presses
Labour'd, and across my kingdom,
Thick as leaves in Vallombrosa,
Fell the merry carnal books !
' Then, like sunshine made incarnate,
Rose the merry Djinn of Fiction,
How the laughter of my Dickens
Scared the ravens and the owls !
1 Then, the knell of all ascetics
Sounded, as my Reade upstarted,
Flooding all the gloomy Cloister
With the fires of Hearth and Home !
XXIII.
' MEANTIME, God had not been idle !
Angry at my benefactions,
He was wakening very slowly
To the peril long impending. . . .
1 Over yonder where the people
Groan' d like oxen yoked together,
Goaded on o'er stony fallows
By the Princes and the Priests,
' Where the Abb6 curl'd and scented
Told his beads and lay with harlots,
While the Christ of Superstition
Dallied with the Pompadour,
' I, the Devil, in indignation
Raised my periwig'd Alter Ego \
Darling son of my adoption,
Whom the people named Voltaire !
' Diabolically smiling,
Up to Priest and Prince he strutted,
Tap'd his snuff-box, and politely
Crack'd his jokes at the Madonna !
1 Nought of holy reputation
'Scaped the ribald rascal's laughter
Far away as Rome the Churches
Echo'd with his jests profane ;
1 Then behold, a transformation 1
Suddenly he rose transfigured,
Periwig and snuff-box vanish'd,
And an Angel stood reveal'd !
' In his hand my sword of Freedom
Flashing on the eyes of Europe,
While the hounds of persecution
Paused, and Galas kiss'd his feet !
' Then, while far as Rome the tumult
Rang, and voices shriek'd ' ' Destroy him
" Lo, 'tis Antichrist arisen !
Smite him, in the name of God 1 "
' At the lifting of my finger
Stormy spirits gather'd round him
Strong and calm arose Condorcet,
Strong and fierce stood Diderot.
' Day by day the war was waging,
I, the Devil, and my Titans,
'Gainst the God of Popes and Bibles
And His deputies on earth !
' Till at last the flames of battle
Caught the curtains of the palace,
Panic-stricken 'mong the people
Rush'd a monarch God- anointed.
1 Then began the conflagration,
Mitres, crosiers, crowns and sceptres,
Mingled up with moaning mortals,
Fed the ever increasing fires !
268
THE DEVIL'S CASE.
' I, the Devil, wept for pity,
While the bale-fires rose to Heaven,
I, the Ishmael of the Angels,
Sicken'd at the fumes of blood.
1 'Midst that carnage all the cruel
Parasites of God were busy,
IGNORANCE, His page-in-waiting,
DEATH, His master of the hounds !
' Vainly to the madden'd people
Cried my Titans, interceding
For the innocent and gentle
Seized to feed the conflagration.
' Not a hair of beast and mortal
Ever fell through me, the Devil,
From the first my rebel spirit
Bled and wept for the afflicted.
' Death and Pain were God's conception,
Never mine, the Prince of Pity's !
If they dwell within my kingdom,
I, the Devil, am not to blame.
' I for ages after ages
Had proclaimed the truth to mortals
" God is powerless to redeem you,
In yourselves abides salvation ;
' " Love each other, help each other,
Eat the golden fruit forbidden,
Out of Knowledge ripely gather'd
Wisdom comes and Freedom grows !" . .
1 Out of evil, evil springe th,
Even so, in Hell and Paris,
Centuries of evil sowing
Turn to aftermath of Hate !
' Lastly, from the conflagration
Sprang a spirit, man or Devil,
Whether God or I begat him
I could never quite discover !
' Diabolically clever,
Strong as any of my Titans,
Impudent as any Devil,
Rose the little Corporal ! . . .
I 1 incline to think the fellow
Was a sort of blood-relation
Who, by lust of loot perverted,
Join'd the legions of the Lord !
' O'er the nations sick with slaughter
Many a night and day he gallopt
God had lent him Death's White Charger
{Well described in Revelation]
' Death himself, afoot, ran after
With the hosts of the Grand Army,
Feeding well, where'er he followed,
On the flesh and blood of mortals. . . .
' After all, and on reflection,
I reject this Demi-devil,
Since within his soul there quicken'd
Neither love nor human kindness
1 (Which, I hold, are the supremest
Qualities of true revolters) ;
Yes, God played a trick upon me,
Thro' a devilish renegade !
1 Down in Hell are decent people,
Honest souls who love their fellows ;
To the cruel God of Battles
I relinquish Buonaparte" ! '
XXIV.
ALL the glory of the angel
Now had utterly departed-
Quietly he now addressed me,
Calm and modern as at first ;
On the lonely Heath at Hampstead
Sat my Devil, grimly smiling,
In his hand the evening journal,
Spectacles upon his nose. . . .
' Troubled by the devastation
Laying waste my little kingdom,
Showing that the Lord Almighty
Wrought against me as of old ;
' Sick because the blinded masses
Clamour'd still for signs and portents,
" Time it surely is," I mutter'd,
" For another Miracle ! "
1 So, my Benjamin assisting,
I the NEWSPAPER invented
'Gainst the Church's red battalions
Rose at last the thin black line !
THE DEVIL'S CASE.
269
' Nought that Priests and Tyrants plotted,
Nought that mortals did or suffer'd,
Nought that passes on this planet,
Any more remained in darkness !
' Nay, I tamed the very Lightning
To assist my revelations
Thro' the night it took its tidings
Flashing into fiery words :
' On the walls of hut and palace
Flamed my messages to mortals
Startled 'mid the feast, Earth's rulers
Looked aghast at one another !
' All the affairs of Hell and Heaven
By my servants were recorded,
I had watchful correspondents
Even in the Vatican !
' For the first time human creatures
Knew the affliction of their fellows
Tyrants blush'd to find recorded
Deeds they had not blush'd to do !
' O my Benjamin, the youngest
Of my sons, the Printer's Devil !
I myself at times was startled
At the rogue's irreverence !
' Nought that God had done in darkness
Could escape his circumspection !
All the evils God created
Now were patent to the world ! '
' Even so,' I answer'd quickly,
' Thanks to thee, O woeful Spirit,
Ever prying and denying,
Nought is hid from eyes profane :
' Ignorance is at last completed
By this thing of thy creation,
Foul as any other priestcraft
Is the priestcraft of the Press !
' Clamour of thy Printer's Devil
Silences the wise and holy,
Life grows hideous, while his shameful,
Shameless scandals fill the air ;
' By the filth thou namest Knowledge
All the springs of life are poison'd,
Foul St. Simeons of the column
Pose, and proffer absolution !
' Poison of thy fiends was scatter'd
On the world-worn eyes of Coleridge ;
Poison'd daggers of thy devils
Stab'd to Keats's heart of hearts !
' Foulest of all human follies
Is the Newspaper ! ' I added
1 Art and all things fair and holy
Fade at last before its breath ! '
Scornfully he smiled upon me,
1 Grant,' he said, ' my servant blunders ;
In a scheme so democratic
Individual merit fails.
' Yet, with all its limitations
This, the latest of my labours,
Is a boon of light and leading
To the woe-worn race of men.
1 Priests have cried, ' ' Let there be darkness !
Hide away the truths thou fearest ! "
I, the Devil, being wiser,
Cry, " Let Truth and Light prevail ! "
1 By the printed words, the record
Of the conscience of the people,
By my clamouring Printer's Devil,
Freedom spreads from land to land :
' Deeds of night no more are hidden,
Deeds of grace are multiplying ;
Light into the dungeon flowing
Strikes the fetters of the slave.
' At my printed protestation
On his throne the Tyrant trembles ;
Words of hope for Freedom utter' d,
Shake the footstool of the Czar !
' Even the lying leader writer
Pillories the God he praises !
Even the critic speeds the triumph
Of the Seer he mocks and scorns 1
' Ever in my open daylight
Truth and falsehood stand together
In the daylight Falsehood withers,
Truth is known and justified !
270
THE DEVWS CASE.
1 Those who serve your God Almighty
Cry aloud "The Light is hateful ! "
In the night His Church has flourish'd,
In the daylight it doth fall !
1 War not, in thy soul's impatience,
'Gainst my busy benediction !
Rail not, Poet, 'gainst my Devils,
Wroth because they will not praise thee !
' If thy soul be just and gentle,
Be thou sure that men shall know it !
If thy song be great and deathless,
God nor devil can destroy it !
1 1, the Devil, refuse to foster
Vanity in God or poets !
Both believe in loaves and fishes
And in fulsome adulation.
' I, the Devil, am democratic !
For the general good I labour
Those who would be prais'd and petted
I relinquish to the Tories.
1 Tennyson I liked extremely
(Even pardon'd him for praising
That white sepulchre, King Arthur)
Till he join'd the House of Lords.
' Light and Knowledge for the masses,
Speech for Wisdom and for Folly,
These I claim, and even the zany
May announce his zanyhood ;
Busily my printing presses
Publish all things, good or evil :
When my printer's Devil blunders
'Tis at least in open day.
' Light is Death to Falsehood ever !
Light illumes my printing presses !
Ev'n thro' fools my truth shall triumph
And my Demos witch the world ! '
XXV.
FOR a space he paused, and gazing
Proudly upward to the heavens,
Where the countless constellations
Clustered close as if to listen,
Lost he seem'd in contemplation
Of the shining lights above him,
VTiile the soft celestial splendour
)n his woe-worn face was raining.
Heir,' he said, ' of all Earth's sorrow,
brother of those lonely spirits
Vho on yonder stars and planets
till perform their tasks allotted,
I, the outcast Prince of Pity,
rlave at last to Man unfolded
All the story of Creation,
Birth and Death, and Evolution.
I have taught him how to measure
bonder spheres and their processions,
Seizing for his apprehension
God's abstractions, Space and Time !
What Galileo dreamed, what Bruno
Juess'd from sleepless inspiration,
[ at last have demonstrated
Thro' the mouths of mighty thinkers.
Open lies the Book of Heaven !
Children even may read its pages,
Stranger far than any fable
Is the record of Creation !
Nay, the mind of Man may follow
God into the depths of darkness
From the wonders Seen divining
Those Unseen, and yet not hidden !
By my symbols algebraic
I have counted lands and waters,
With my chemics cabalistic
I have solved the Elemental !
' Further, to the sight of mortals,
I the womb of Earth have open'd
Showing how, through endless ages,
Man's strange embryos were fashion'd !
' Nay, and to their wondering vision
I have map'd the life within them
Clear as yonder starry Heaven
Lies the microcosm, Man !
' Wondrous as the Light lifegiving
Thro' the Universe pulsating,
Floweth Light in Man, the Unit,
From the heart, its central Sun,
7 HE DEVI US CASE.
271
1 As the cell that builds the planet
Is the cell that builds the mortal
As the greater is the lesser,
As the lesser is the greater.
' Thro' my love and benediction
Man has plumb'd the abyss of Being
By the law that never endeth
Life and Death revolve for ever.
'All the arts by God forbidden,
All the knowledge hid in darkness,
I reveal, while the Creator
Rests in impotence of Godhead.
' Nay, I show that God is fetter'd
By the chains of His own making
Blind and bound He broods, while Nature
Moveth on in calm progression.
1 Thro' my love and benediction
Man hath learn'd the gifts of Healing
Now for every Church that falleth
Hospitals arise to Heaven ;
' Strong, beneficent, and gentle,
Christs of surgery and leechcraft
Work their wonders, far more holy
Than the marvels of Messiahs.
' Wheresoever Death is busy
Fly my ministers of blessing,
Snatching ever from his talons
Creatures beautiful and fair.
' Cast thy look along the ages !
Read the record of the Churches !
Pestilence, Disease, and Famine
Fill the footprints of the Christ !
' Thro' the very Fruit Forbidden,
Thro' the laws of Light and Knowledge,
I have fought with Death and Evil,
Conquering, in despite of God
' Curst, and yet the source of blessing,
Outcast, yet supreme 'mong Angels,
I, the only true Redeemer,
Work my miracles for men ! '
SMILING scornfully, I answer'd :
1 Strange it seems to find the Devil,
'Spite a record so despairing,
Optimistic, after all !
' Yet, methinks, thy boasted Demos
Is the very worst of tyrants !
Better far a single Caesar
Than a Caesar hydra-headed !
' Gaze again upon thy kingdom !
Look on Rome ! As thou didst wander
In the streets of Rome departed,
Sick of God and God's creation,
' So from day to day I wander
In the City of thy Demos,
Demos is a fouler Caesar,
London is a lewder Rome !
1 Still the Priests and Seers and Prophets
Preach the faith they feel no longer
Keeping to the ear the promise
They have broken to the Soul ;
' Still the slaves and tyrants palter
With the truth they dare not utter
Still the spectral Man of Sorrows
Starveth at the Church's door ;
' Still, to blind the foolish people,
With the worn-out creed men juggle,
Even o'er their cheating parchments
Smiling lawyers hold the Cross ;
' Atheist judges, cold and cruel,
Toss the murtherer to the hangman,
Crying, while they shrug their shoulders,
" God have mercy on thy soul ! "
' Dark and dissolute and dreadful
As that other Rome departed,
Is this later Rome and lewder,
Death is crowned here as there !
' Last, thy Demos, while denying
All Divinity, assevers
He's essentially a Christian
Since he leads a moral life ! '
Smiling quietly my Devil
Answer'd, ' True, O angry Poet
There my Demos errs : Messiahs
Always are immoral persons !
272
THE DEVI US CASE.
' If the Christ of Superstition
Work'd no miracles or wonders,
If the man was well-conducted,
He was surely no Messiah ! '
Sadly, wearily, he added :
' Here as in the Rome departed
Priests abide and Folly lingers
Conquering in the name of God ;
' Priests abide, but Death is reigning !
Thus, in spite of God, I triumph !
Patience, patience, for my Demos
Groweth wiser day by day !
' 'Tis the way of foolish mortals,
When they cease to feel religion,
To become severely moral,
Hating Liberty and Light
' So, I grant, my woe-worn Demos
Makes Morality his fetish,
Closing ears and shutting eyelids
To the sanctions of the Flesh.
' Patience, patience ! I will teach him
Love that passeth understanding !
All the wondrous lore of Nature
Shall be open to his gaze !
'This, at least, is certain : Never
Will he lose again his birthright !
Never bend before his tyrants,
Here on earth, or there in Heaven !
' Never will he kneel and listen
To the lies of your Messiahs,
Forfeit for a fancied blessing
Light and Liberty and Life !
' Patience, patience ! Light is growing
God at last shall be forgotten
Man shall rise erect, subduing
All things evil, even Death ! '
XXVII.
1 IF thou speakest truth,' I answer'd,
' Much, indeed, thou hast been libel'd !
Yet thy very benedictions
Spring from Him, the first Creator.
' By the will of Him, the Father,
Thou hast wrought to cleanse thy king-
dom
From the first His eyes, all-seeing,
Knew thee as His instrument !
' If Mankind, tho' dimly, darkly,
Moveth onward to perfection,
If at last the ills of Nature
Shall be heal'd and render'd whole,
1 Even there I trace the Finger
Of the Almighty slowly working,
Till the hour when thou, His servant,
Kneeling low shall be forgiven !
1 Then Humanity, made holy,
Kneeling also to the Father,
Shall accept His final blessing
And be lifted up and saved ! '
Wistfully he lookt upon me,
Once again his face was clouded
With that mist of woeful pity,
While his eyes grew dim with tears . . .
Then, another transformation !
Bright and radiant, tho' despairing,
Rose he to his angel's stature,
Looking up with starry orbs ;
While the stars and constellations,
Fixing countless eyes upon him,
Shed upon his woe-worn features
Splendour from a million worlds,
In a voice like stars vibrating,
Answer'd by the hosts of Heaven,
Cried he, while his troubled spirit
Shook with woeful indignation :
' Cast thy thought along the Ages !
Walk the sepulchres of Nations !
Mourn, with me, the fair things perish'd !
Mark the martyrdoms of men !
' Say, can any latter blessing
Cleanse the blood-stain'd Book of Being ?
Can a remnant render'd happy
Wipe out centuries of sorrow ?
' Nay, one broken life outweigheth
Twenty thousand lives made perfect !
Nay, I scorn the God whose pathway
Lieth over bleeding hearts !
THE DEVI US CASE.
273
' From the first the cry of anguish
Hath arisen to yonder Heaven !
From the first, the ways of Nature
Have been cruel and accurst !
1 Man, thou sayest, shall yet be happy ?
What avails a bliss created
Out of hecatombs of evil,
Out of endless years of pain ?
' Happy ? Looking ever backward
On the graves of generations,
Haunted by the eyes despairing
Of the millions lost for ever ?
' Even now the life he liveth
Builded is of shame and sorrow !
Even now his flesh is fashion'd
Of the creatures that surround him !
1 From the sward the stench of slaughter
Riseth hourly to his nostrils !
By his will the beast doth anguish
And the wounded dove doth die !
' Dreamer ! Even here thy fancy
Fails before the truths of Nature
God, thy great all-loving Father,
By His will created Death !
1 Like the races long departed,
So the perfect race shall perish !
Like the suns burnt out and faded,
Shall thy sun be shrivell'd up !
' Juggle not with words and phrases !
Lie not with the Priests and Prophets !
Pain and Death are God's creation,
And eternal, like Himself !
' I alone, whom men call Devil,
Have allay'd the woes of Nature !
Death alone I cannot vanquish
Death and God, perchance, are One ! '
O, the sorrow and the splendour
Of that woe-worn Outcast Angel !
Reverently I bent before him,
Blessing him, the Prince of Pity ;
Round him, as he look'd to Heaven,
Clung a cloud of golden music
II,
Fair he seem'd as when, ere fallen,
Singing on the morning star !
' Thus,' he said, ' throughout the ages,
O'er the world my feet have wander'd,
Watching in eternal pity
Endless harvest-fields of Death !
1 One by one the tribes and races
To the silent grave have waver 'd,
Never have I seen a sleeper
Slip his shroud, to rise again !
1 Dead they lie, the strong, the gentle,
Dead alike, the good and evil,
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,
All is o'er they rest at last !
All the tears of all the martyrs
Fall'n in vain for Man's redemption !
All the souls of all the singers
Dumb for ever in the grave !
' Where are they whose busy fingers
Wove the silks of Tyre and Sidon ?
Where are they who in the desert
Raised the mighty Pyramids ?
' Ants upon an ant-heap, insects
Of the crumbling cells of coral,
Coming ever, ever going,
Race on race has lived and died.
' Ev'n as Babylon departed,
So shall yonder greater City ;
Like the Assyrian, like the Roman,
Celt and Briton shall depart !
1 Yea, the Cities and the Peoples
One by one have come and vanish'd :
Broken, on the sandy desert,
Lies the Bull of Nineveh !
' Ev'n as beauteous reefs of coral
Rising bright and many-colour'd
In the midst of the great waters,
Wondrous Nations have arisen ;
1 First the insects that upbuilt them
Labour'd busily, and dying
Left the reef of their creation
Crumbling wearily away ;
274
THE DEVWS CASE.
' O'er the reef the salt ooze gathers,
Mud and sand are heapt upon it,
Then the trees and flowers and grasses
Bury it for evermore !
1 Shall I bend in adoration
To the Lord of these delusions ?
Nay, I stand erect, and scorn Him,
Pulseless, null Omnipotence !
' Deaf to all the wails and weeping,
Blind to all the woes of Being,
Plunging daily into darkness
All the dreams of all the Christs ! '
XXIX.
' NAY,' I cried, ' the Christ shall triumph !
After centuries of sorrow
Man at last shall gain his birthright
And arise, a living Soul !
' Proves not this that One above thee
Wrought in love from the beginning ?
Creeds and systems come and vanish,
But the Law Divine abides !
' Out of endless tribulation
Springs the Human, casting from him
One by one the sins and sorrows
Worn in ignorance of godhead ;
' All around him and within him
Lies his Kingdom, but he rules it
By the grace of One Supremer
Who created it and him !
' " Know thyself ! " the Voice Eternal
Crieth ; and himself he knoweth,
God incarnate, bowing meekly
To the Eternal Voice and Law.
' Even thus thy God hath conquer'd !
What thy spirit wrought against Him
Turneth ever to a witness
Of His glory everlasting !
1 Kneel, then, rebel, and adore Him !
Kneel with Man and chant His praises,
Hallelujah to the Highest,
As 'twas sung in the beginning 1 '
Pallid in the moonlight, turning
Sad eyes upward to the Heavens,
Head erect, still proud in sorrow,
Stood that weary fallen Spirit !
' Fool, 1 he answer'd, ' what availeth
Praise or prayer or lamentation ?
Blindly, pitilessly, surely,
Worketh the Eternal Law.
1 Dust to dust, ashes to ashes ;
Nought escape th, nought abide th
Man, the sand for ever shifting
In an hour-glass, cometh, goeth !
1 Death alone is King and Master !
Death is mightiest here and yonder,
Man, the drop within a fountain,
Riseth ever, ever falleth !
1 Vain the Dream and the Endeavour !
Vain the quest of Love and Knowledge,
Man, the dewdrop in the Rainbow,
Shineth, then is drunk for ever !
' Answerest thou, that nought can perish?
That the elements for ever
Disappearing, re-emerging,
Shape themselves to Life anew?
' Even so ; but Death shall silence
All that forms thy human nature
Memory, consciousness, self-knowledge,
Personality, and Love !
' Out of darkness God hath drawn thee,
Back to darkness thou returnest
In that moment of thy making
Thou becam'st a conscious Soul !
' Loving, hoping, apprehending,
Yearning to the Souls around thee,
Father, mother, wife and children,
Sharers of thy joy and sorrow ;
' These are thou, and these must vanish
Leaving not a trace behind them
With the Elemental godhead
Thou and these shall mix for ever 1
' The Supreme, the Elemental,
Voiceless is, and all unconscious !
But the conscious type emerging
Shineth, and is trumpet-tongued 1
THE DEVWS CASE.
275
1 From the dark he cometh, standing
Beautiful and demigod-like,
Crying gladly, ' ' Lo my kingdom,
Where I reign as God's anointed ; "
1 Knowing, feeling, apprehending,
Thus he cometh to his birthright
Memory, consciousness, self-knowledge,
Personality, and Love !
' Fool, Death taps him on the shoulder,
Death, the wraith of the Almighty,
Saying, ' ' Cease ! The law of being
Meaneth endless retrogression !
' " Back into the Night ! re-mingle
With the elemental Darkness !
Only for a little moment
God permits thee to abide ! "
' Broken-hearted and despairing,
Into silence he returneth
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes !
Crush'd he lies, a crumbling shell !
1 Name me not the Prince of Evil,
Call me still the Prince of Pity,
Since alone among immortals
I have wept for human woes !
' What remaineth ? One thing only,
Since Death cometh soon or later :
Carpe diem ! While it lasteth,
Stand erect, Ephemeron !
' Waste no thought on the Almighty ;
Seek, with all thy soul's endeavour,
How to make thine earthly dwelling
Bright and fair, in God's despite !
' Only for a day thou livest !
Make that day, so quickly fleeting,
For thyself, for all thou lovest,
Beautiful with Light and Joy !
' Yet, the pity ! ah, the pity !
Back, far back, along the ages,
Stretch the graves of countless creatures
Who have borne the Cross for thee /
1 They, too, loved the light that lieth
On the seas and on the mountains !
They, too, by their God forsaken,
Died at last on Calvary !
' They, too, dreamed of Life Eternal !
They, too, knelt before the Father !
They, too, clung to one another,
Till He drave them back to dust ! '
XXX.
As he spake, I saw around me
Once again the Apparitions
Moving ant-wise hither and thither
'Neath the glimpses of the moon ;
Faces of the dead departed
Glimmer'd on me from the shadows,
While a sound of woeful voices
Faintly wailing fill'd the air :
And again (which still was strangest !)
Never one did gaze upon me,
Though I named them wildly sobbing,
Stretching hungry empty arms :
Then at last my soul within me
Sicken' d, and the air around me,
Even as seas around the drowning,
Swung, till sense and sight departed !
XXXI.
ON the lonely Heath of Hampstead
I awoke, and as I waken'd
Saw the Devil departing from me
Thro' the shadows of the night ;
Limping lame, and bending double,
Like a venerable mortal,
Round he turn'd, before he vanish'd,
Sigh'd, and fixed his eyes on mine.
(Ah, the sleepless eyes, so woeful
With the wisdom of the Serpent !
Ah, the piteous face so weary
With the woes of all the worlds !)
Forcing then his wrinkled features
To a smile, and grimly laughing
' Plead,' he said, ' for the Defendant 1
Be my Laureate, yet remember :
' If the priests were right, and yonder
Waited Heaven and compensation,
I'd at once admit my folly,
Taking off my hat to God ! '
T 2
2 7 6
THE DEVWS CASE.
Nodding quietly, he vanish'd
While again I sadly wander'd
O'er the lonely Heath of Hampstead,
Thro' the silence of the Night. . . .
LITTLE did I dream or fancy
I should ever (God forgive me !)
State the Case for the Defendant
Whom I loath'd with all my soul !
From a race of cattle stealers,
Rievers of the clan Buchanan,
I, Buchanan, sprang the riever's
Savage blood is in my veins ;
Thieves and wolves we were, but never
Foxes, and our Celtic motto
Reads in Roman lingo ' Magnest
Veritas et prevalebit /'
Tell the truth and shame the Devil !
Tell it, even tho' it praise him !
Tell the truth for the Defendant,
Tho' the Accuser be thy God !
Better still let the Defendant
Plead his Case in his own person :
Tho' it means thine own damnation
Let the awful truth prevail ! . . .
Yet, alas ! that happy Eden !
All the golden, gladsome Garden !
God the Father smiling on us,
Raining gentle blessings down !
Eve, that ne'er shalt be a mother,
Wrap thy sleeping shroud about thee !
All is over, all is over,
But the Devil was not to blame !
THE LITANY. DE PROFUNDIS.
O GOD our Father in Heaven, Holy, Unseen,
and Unknown,
Have mercy on us Thy children, who pray
beneath Thy Throne !
O God our Father in Heaven, Holy, Unseen,
and Unknown
Have mercy on us Thy children, who pray
beneath Thy Throne.
O God the Maker of Mortals, Life of all lives
that be,
Speak, that our ears may hear Thee, shine, that
our eyes may see !
O God the Maker of Mortals, Life of all lives
that be,
Speak, that our ears may hear Thee, shine, that
our eyes -may see.
O God the Unbegotten, Fountain whence all
things flow,
Open the Rock of Thy Secret, that we may see
Thee and know.
O God the Unbegotten^ Fountain whence all
things flow,
Open the Rock of Thy Secret, that we may see
Thee and know.
Son that had never a Father, Father that never
had Son,
Here on the Earth and yonder in Heaven, Thy
will be done.
Son that had never a Father, Father that never
had son,
Here on the Earth and yonder in Heaven, Thy
will be done.
Remember not our offences, O Father and Lord
Divine,
Pity and spare Thy children, whose sins and
offences are Thine ;
For if they are blind and see not, 'tis Thou who
closest their eyes,
And if they are frail and foolish, 'tis Thou who
shouldst make them wise !
And be not angry, O Father, but sheathe Thine
avenging Sword,
Spare the things of Thy making, love them and
spare them, O Lord
We are the things of Thy making, spare us and
love us, O Lord.
From all things hateful and evil, which come, O
Father, from Thee,
From Sin, the Flesh, and the Devil, whom Thou
permittest to be,
From what through Thee we suffer, since Thou
hast made men thus,
From lesser and greater damnation, O Lord,
deliver us !
From lesser and greater damnation O Lord}
deliver us.
From pride and from vain glory, from all hypo-
crisy,
From envy, hatred, and malice, and all unchz
From filth, from fornication, from all things vil
and abhorred
Which leaven the bread of Thy making, delh
us, O Lord.
THE LITANY. DE PROFUNDIS.
277
From filth, from fornication, from all things
vile and abhorred
Which leaven the bread of Thy making, deliver
us, O Lord.
From thine avenging Lightning ! from Fire and
Famine and Pest !
From all the terrors and portents Thy Will makes
manifest !
From War Thy witless Daughter, from Murder
Thy maniac Son,
From Death that at Thy bidding betrays us,
Almighty One,
From all Thy hand hath fashion'd to keep men
mourning thus,
From all the woes of Creation, good Lord, deliver
us.
From all the woes of Creation, good Lord,
deliver us,
We are the things of Thy making, we are the
clouds of Thy breath !
Life hast Thou made, O Father, to flee for ever
from Death,
Flesh Thou hast wrapt around us, Flesh and the
lusts of the same,
Out of Thy Word 'twas fashion'd, out of Thy
mouth they came !
From all the doubt and the darkness Thy vials of
wrath have poured
To blind the spirits that seek Thee, deliver us,
good Lord.
From all the doubt and the darkness Thy vials
of wrath have poured
To blind the spirits that seek Thee, deliver us,
good Lord.
Thou hast set these Rulers above us, to bind us,
to blind our eyes,
Thou hast sent these Priests to lure us with creeds
and dogmas and lies,
Thou hast built Thy Church on the sands still
shifting and tremulous :
From Churches, and Priests, and Liars, good
Lord, deliver us.
From Churches, and Priests, and Liars, good
Lord, deliver us.
By Thyself Incarnate within us, Thy Voice in
our aching ears,
By Thy birth and Thy circumcision, Thy
baptism of tears,
By fasting and by temptation, from all the
passionate horde
Of Devils that seize and slay us, deliver us, good
Lord.
By fasting and by temptation, from all the
passionate horde
Of Devils that seize and slay us, deliver us, good
Lord.
By the woe Thou hast never felt, by the Cross
and the Crown of Thorn,
By the agony and the sweat on the brow of Thine
Eldest Born,
By the cry that never was answer'd and ringeth
ever aloud,
By the tomb that never was open'd, the dust
therein, and the shroud,
By Him who sleepeth for ever, while we implore
Thee thus,
From death and from tribulation, good Lord,
deliver us.
From death and from tribulation, good Lord,
deliver us.
Strengthen our hearts to know Thee, O God that
cannot be known !
Make righteous the Kings who rule us, and sit
on an earthly throne !
Set in their hands Thy sceptre, place in their
hands Thy sword
Help us to bear their yoke !
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.
Shine on the eyes of Thy Priests, illumine Thy
Bishops, shed
Lightnings to quicken life in the creeds that are
pulseless and dead.
When the Holy supper is set, and the Ghost of
the Christ at the board
Sits, be Thou there in our midst !
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.
Instruct the Lords of the Council ! endow the
brain of the Fool !
Bless and preserve our Masters who sit in high
places and rule !
But when in their granaries yonder the harvest of
toil is stored,
Spare us some mouthfuls of bread !
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.
Father that dwellest in Heaven, so far from the
sorrows of Earth,
Soften to us, Thy children, the travails of Death
and of Birth,
Teach us to love Thee and dread Thee, to eat
the bread of Thy Word,
Altho' it be hard as stone !
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord, when
darkness and sorrow are near us,
When blindly we grope thro' the dark, good Lord,
we beseech Thee to hear us,
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord, and
send Thy Spirit to cheer us !
When Thy yoke is hardest to bear, good Lord, we
beseech Thee to hear us.
27 8
THE LITANY. DE PROFUNDIS.
Help us when we are falling, as we help others
who fall !
By land and by sea preserve us, O Father, Maker
of all!
Comfort the sick and the weary with tidings of
hope and of peace,
All children, all women who labour that what
Thou hast made may increase,
Open the gates to the captive, lift up the weak
and forlorn,
Feed, too, the fatherless orphans, comfort the
widows that mourn.
Have mercy, Father in Heaven, and send Thy
spirit to cheer us,
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord !
Good Lord, we beseech Thee to hear us.
O Father who canst not conquer our sorrow,
since it is Thine !
Maker who cannot unmake us, since we, like
Thee, are divine !
Light that dwellest within us, Light that art far
away !
Nearest to, farthest from us, answer our prayers
when we pray !
Lord, have mercy upon us ! Send Thy Spirit to
cheer us !
Have mercy and hear us, O Lord !
O Lord, have mercy and hear its.
Save us from all our enemies, Most High !
In our afflictions, Lord, be ever nigh !
Pity our sorrows, Fountain of all Light !
And when we pray be near us day and night.
Let us pray.
THE PRAYER.
Father, which art in Heaven, not here below !
Be Thy Name hallowed, in that place of
worth !
And till Thy Kingdom cometh, and we know,
Be Thy will done more tenderly on earth !
Since we must live, give us our daily bread !
Forgive our stumblings, since Thou mad'st us
blind !
If we offend Thee, Lord, at least forgive
As tenderly as we forgive our kind.
Spare us temptation, human or divine !
Deliver us from evil, now and then !
The Kingdom, Power, and Glory all are Thine
For ever and for evermore. Amen.
Let us pray.
O God, Unseen, Unknown, yet dimly guessed
By spirit and by sense,
The miracle of Nature doth attest
Thy dread Omnipotence !
Teach us to love Thee, God and Lord of all,
And lead us to Thy Light !
We love Thee not, we are too weak and small,
And Thou too Infinite ! . . . .
O God, we have heard with our ears, and our
fathers have told it unto us,
That Thou canst uplift or cast down, redeem, or
for ever undo us,
The works Thou hast made we behold as dawn
after dawn cometh breaking,
But evil and pain and despair are blent with the
worlds of Thy making,
Unveil the light of Thy Face, till all Thy dread
ways become clear to us !
Deliver us out of the Darkness ! Bend
thro' Thy clouds and give ear to us.
Glory be Thine, O Father, from all thinj
fashion'd by Thee.
As it was in the beginning, is, and ever shall be.
The Ballad of Mary the Mother.
(1897.)
SHEPHERDS, wake, 'tis Christmas tide !
(Over the snow the bleak winds blow !)
Follow, with yonder Star for guide,
On Christmas day in the morning.
1 The way is dark, the way is long,
We cheer the way with a blithesome song.
' Thro' the valley and over the hill,
Hush, now hush, for the Star stands still !
' It stands so still and it shines so clear
This is the place ! Our Lord is here ! '
Ye who have gifts, your gifts unfold
Wood of Lebanon, gems, and gold.
Kneel, and shrive ye of your sin
Then lift the latch, and enter in
Alack, why stand ye weeping there ? . . .
' The fire is out, and the hearth is bare !
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
279
1 Far have we wander'd thro' wintry gloom
To seek His cradle, and lo ! His tomb !
' Still overhead the Star shines clear,
But only the dust of the dead lies here :
' Ashes and dust in a frozen shroud,
Wherefore we wonder and weep aloud !
' Here He was born who long since died
(Over the snow the bleak -winds blow .')
Dark is the bield this wintertide
On Christmas day in the morning.'
'TWAS Mary, the woeful Mother,
Came wandering footsore,
And stood, with her rags around her,
Outside the synagogue door.
' O, who art thou, thou woeful woman,
And what may thine errand be ? '
' I am Mary, the Mother of thy Lord,
And I come from Galilee.'
1 Stand back, stand back, whoever thou
art,
Thou canst not enter here,
Thy Son is doing His Father's work
Among His brethren dear.
' O woman, thou canst not enter now,'
The grim door-keeper said,
' Thy Son is pouring the Wine of Life,
And breaking the holy Bread. 1
"Twas Mary, the gentle Mother,
Smiled, and laid bare her breast.
1 'Twas here he drank, and 'twas here he
lay
Both waking and at rest.
' Go in, and tell him his Mother waits
Out here among the crowd '
And as she spake, from far within
She heard Him praying aloud.
'Twas one went in to the synagogue
When the deep prayer was done,
' Rabbi, a woman is at the door,
Who saith Thou art her Son.
' Her bare feet bleed from the thorny ways
'Twixt here and Galilee,
And with the woman Thy brethren come,
And they would speak with Thee. '
The Lord stretch'd out His gentle hands
To His disciples dear :
These are my mother, these are my
brethren,
None else may enter here !
I know no brethren, I know no mother,
Save those who believe on Me !
W 7 ho eat with Me of the Bread of Life
My mother and brethren be ! '
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Stood at the open door ;
'Twas Jesus passed on His Heavenward
way
And left her weeping sore.
His eyes were fixed on the far-off skies
As He left her there bereaven,
He turned away from His mother's face
To His Father's face in Heaven.
As He wandered on from door to door
She followed Him from afar ;
His face was bright as the moon in Heaven,
And hers like a lonely star.
It was Mary, the woeful Mother,
Wept as she watched Him go
Through the town, and up the height
That looks on the sea below ;
And His feet were as swift as the wind,
And His eyes were as bright as fire,
And the face He turn'd to the shining Heaven
Was wan with His heart's desire ;
And His dress was of white, white wool,
And His breast and His feet were bare,
And the light came down like His Father's
Hand
And lay on His golden hair !
And she heard His voice from afar
Crying o'er land and sea :
' Father, my Father which art in Heaven,
Shine down and strengthen me ! '
280
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
It was Mary, the woeful Mother,
Sat weeping on a stone,
It was Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Found her weeping alone.
' O why dost thou weep so sadly,
And why is thy grey head bowed ? '
(And the smile came through her great black
eyes
Like the light through a summer cloud. )
' Rise up, thou weariful woman,
Rise up and come with me
Thou shalt sit this day in my palace bower
And I will sit at thy knee ;
1 And when my maidens have wash'd thy
feet,
And the feast is over and done,
Thou shalt loosen thy lips and open thy heart
And tell me of thy Son ! '
It was Mary, the woeful Mother,
Rose, weeping bitterlie,
And leaning on Mary the Maiden
Hied to her bower by the sea.
As they walked through the fields of corn
The birds were singing their song,
But the voice of the Lord above them
Rang out more clear and strong ;
And they saw the crowd on the mountain
Gathering with glad acclaim,
And the Lord was standing above them
And blessing those who came.
In the bower of Mary the Maiden
There's a high seat and a low,
And the white-robed serving maidens
Are moving to and fro.
With dishes of gold and silver
The banquet they prepare,
And the scent of myrrh and roses
Is filling the air.
With white wine and with red wine
The brimming gourds o'erflow ;
And the Mother sits on the high seat,
And the Maid on the seat below.
When the virgins have wash'd and anointed
The weariful Mother's feet,
When over her head they have broken
A box of ointments sweet ;
When her mouth of the food hath eaten,
And her lips have touched the wine,
She looketh on Mary the Maiden,
And dryeth her tear-wet eyne.
' On thee and thine, my daughter,
All peace and blessings be !
The God of Israel bless thee
For thy sweet charitie ! '
As fair as the Huleh lily
That blooms in the summer beam,
Was Mary the Maiden, wearing
Her robe of the silken seam ;
And on her hair and her bosom
Were jewels and gems of price,
And round her neck there was hanging
A charm with a strange device :
A heart of amber, and round it
Ruby and emerald bands,
And over it, wrought in crystal,
Two little winged hands !
White and warm was her bosom
That rose and fell below,
And light on her face was playing,
Deep, like the after-glow ;
With the waves of her heaving bosom
That strange light went and came,
Now dim and dark with the shadow of
earth,
Now flush'd with a heavenly flame ;
And the warmth of the glad green meadows,
The scent of the Night and the Day,
Flow'd up from Mary the Maiden
To Mary the old and grey.
' O wherefore, my namesake Mary,
Art thou so good to me,
The woeful woman who wedded
With Joseph of Galilee ?
1 Poor is my lot and lowly,
Sad is my heart and sore,
I am not worthy, my daughter,
To enter thy palace door I '
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
281
Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
The beautiful shining one,
Answer'd, ' I love thee, Mother,
For the Rabbi's sake, thy Son !
' To the fairest and best of mortals
Thy womb hath given birth,
Like the moon on the troubled waters
He walketh the waves of Earth !
' White as a statue of marble
Wrought in some Grecian land,
Fair as a palm-tree growing
Green, 'mid the desert sand,
' Monarch of men he shineth
Bright as the morning star,
A God, and of Godhead fashion'd,
Not mortal as others are !
' There's a storm in my snow-white bosom
Only his touch can still,
There's a void in my heart, O Mother,
Only his love can fill ! '
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Bent down and kissed her brow :
1 God help thee, Mary, my daughter,
And all such maids as thou !
I His love is not for the things of earth,
His blessing for things of clay,
A voice from a Land beyond the grave
Is calling my Son away !
' How should he stoop to a love like thine
Who hath no love for me ?
In my womb he grew, from my womb he
fell,
And I nurst him on my knee.'
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Smiled through her night-black hair,
I 1 met his eyes as he passed this day,
And methought he found me fair !
' There is never a man of the sons of men
Who would not smile on me,
But if thy Son is more than a man,
Alack for me and thee !
' But if thy Son is Joseph's son,
E'en as his brethren be,
Why, I am Mary of Magdala !
And a King might mate with me.'
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Answered again, and said :
' The love of the world is not for him,
Nor the happy bridal bed !
' He has cast away all women of earth
Even as he casts out me,
In my womb he grew, from my womb he
fell,
And I nurst him on my knee.'
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Frown'd, answering scornfullie
' Nay, rather than be another's bride
I would his leman be.
' Rather than mate with Herod the King
Or Caesar himself, his lord,
I'd be thy Son's, and ask no more
Than a kindly look or word.
1 I'd make my bed across his feet,
I'd be his handmaiden,
There is no other lord for me
'Mong all the sons of men.
' Yea, though thy Son be Joseph's son,
Who toileth for his bread,
For one warm kiss of his rosy mouth
Gladly I'd die,' she said.
'Twas Mary the Mother answer'd :
' Thy woe is even as mine ;
Fain would I see my Son stoop down
To a human love like thine.
' Hast thou not heard, O Mary,
The wondering people say
" He is Moses or Eli risen again,
Or a greater even than they " ?
' Hast thou not heard them whisper low
Who follow him night and day
" The seed within his mother's womb
Came from no human clay " ?
' Hast thou not heard that, ere I wed
My husband leal and true,
My womb was full of a wondrous life
That quicken'd ere I knew ;
282
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
1 And how my mate was wroth and thought
To thrust me from his side,
And how an angel in the night
Came to his bed and cried:
' Forbear to know the woman thy wife,
Yet put her not away,
She is quick with child of the Holy Ghost,
And hath known no man of clay ;
' Behold it was written long ago,
Ere thy life's thread was spun,
' ' A Virgin shall conceive of God,
Quicken, and bear a Son /" '
It was the dark-eyed Mary
Sprang up her height and cried :
' Is this thing true, and is thy Son
He that was prophesied ? '
'Twas Mary, the Mother, raised her hands,
And wept and tore her hair,
' Woe worth the day that I was born,
Or ever a child did bear !
' Hearken to me, my daughter,
Sit down and hearken to me ;
But breathe not, out in the world of men,
The thing I tell to thee.
' For the sands of my life run low,
And the thread of my woe is out-worn,
And the Lord hath smitten the Mother down
By the hand of her eldest-born.
' 'Twas but a little hand
When my babe lay here at rest,
A weak little hand, like a rose-leaf,
That felt for my milky breast.
' Hearken to me, my daughter,
And when my tale is done,
We'll kneel in the night together
And pray for the man my Son ! '
Green leaf and blossom,
White flower and red,
The whole world is gladdening
Where Love's feet tread f
There's light in the morning,
There's life for the young,
' Tis then the songs of Eden
On every bough are sungt
The young maid is listening,
Her lover by her side,
Heaven the earth encircles,
The bridegroom his bride.
Green leaf and blossom,
White flower and red,
The whole world is gladdening
Where Love's feet tread !
' The God of Israel passeth
From world to world on high,
The seas and the mighty mountains
Quake as He passeth by ;
' No eye hath looked upon Him,
No soul hath fathom'd His ways,
His face is veil'd, though His breathing
Filleth our nights and days ;
' His Hand is a Hand in the darkness,
His Voice is a Voice in the gloom,
But seed of Jehovah hath never
Been sown in a woman's womb.
1 Yet the Light that blindeth the vision
Comes from the worlds He made,
And fire of the flesh He fashion' d
Maketh the soul afraid.
' I wander'd happy and lonely
By wood and meadow and stream,
And the joy of my youth was upon me
And twined me away in a dream.
' And my love's voice said ' ' Thou art fairest,
Thine eyes are the eyes of the dove,
Thy breasts are roses and lilies,"
And I heark'd to the voice of my love !
Yea, the joy of my life was upon me,
And the light of my youth in my eyes,
And a breath like the breath of the morning
Woke me in Paradise !
' By the beautiful waters of Marah
We pitch'd our tent in the sun,
And we drank of the waters rejoicing,
And lo ! our dreaming was done ;
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
283
' For the taste of the waters was bitter,
And the bright sun shone no more,
And I sat alone in the gloaming,
And the day of my dream was o'er ;
' Then I rose in my sorrow, casting
Ashes and dust on my head,
For the seal of my womb was broken,
And the flower of my youth had fled.
4 Yet no one wist of the wonder
As home to our house I came,
Only the God of our fathers
Knew of His daughter's shame.
' And I dwelt in the house of my people
And veil'd my face like a maid,
But ever when men came wooing
I fled to my chamber and prayed.
' Morning and eve to the fountain,
Bet\Yeen the night and the day,
I went with the village maidens
Bearing my pitcher of clay.
And a man from a neighbouring village
Saw me, and thought me fair,
And lo ! when I journeyed homeward,
I found him waiting there ;
' And while he spake with my father
His eyes grew large on me ;
And the man was stately and gentle,
With a voice like the sough of the sea.
' And my father gave me unto him,
With goats and kine for a dower,
And I fled to my lonely chamber
And wept for many an hour.
4 For the eye of my God was upon me
While I wept and sorrow'd apart,
And a little hand in the darkness
Was lifting the latch of my heart !
' Would I had died in the night-time,
Would I had ne'er been born,
[ feared the eyes of the bridegroom,
And sorrow'd from night till morn.
' Then came the hour of the bridal,
The feast and the bridal song,
O, weak is the heart of a woman,
But the Law and the Lord are strong !
' As he bare me home to his dwelling
'Twas summer in all the land,
But my heart was broken within me
By the touch of that little hand.
' As we stood in the bridal chamber
He offered me bread and wine,
And I feared the light of his loving
As his eyes grew large on mine ;
' And I fell at his feet, and weeping
Pour'd out the gourd of my shame,
And the wrath of the Lord around him
Like fire-flaught went and came !
1 And at first he hunger' d in anger
To thrust me beyond his door,
But the mercy of God came on him
Though his soul was stricken sore.
' And at last, when his wrath was over,
His face grew gentle and mild,
And he spake as a gentle father
Might speak to an erring child.
' O blessings upon the bridegroom
Who shielded his bride from wrong
The heart of a woman is feeble,
But the strength of a man is strong !
' The mighty God of our fathers
Bless him in life or death,
Wisest and best of mortals
Was Joseph of Nazareth !
1 He shielded me in my sorrow,
He calm'd my spirit to rest,
He found the sheep that had wander'd
And warm'd it on his breast.
1 And when my travail was over,
And the night of the birth-pang done,
He lifted the Babe from my bosom
And said, ' ' Behold our Son ! "
1 Yea, over the babe and the mother
The balm of his love he poured,
And he named the new-born JESUS
Which meaneth "Sent by the Lord,"
284
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' And I clave to my mate and master,
The tenderest man among men,
Yea, I grew to his breast in gladness,
His wife and his handmaiden !
' And after my cleansing he knew me,
Yea, gave me the bridegroom's embrace,
And children were born unto us
To gladden our dwelling-place.'
'Twas Mary, the grey-hair'd Mother,
Bowed down her woeful head ;
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Reach'd up her arms and said :
' God's grace and blessing, Mother,
Wrap thee from head to feet !
The ways of the world are weary,
But the kiss of a mouth is sweet !
' Now tell me who was the lover
Who brought thee such glad pain ?
Some mighty lord of the City ?
Some chief of the lonely plain ? '
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Moan'd to herself and said :
' His name will never be utter'd,
Darkness hideth his head !
1 He is gone like the dew of the morning,
He is fled with the flowers of the May,
His name on the sands of the desert
Was written and blown away.
' I clave to my lord and master,
And peace and joy were mine,
For the blissful milk of the mother
Flow'd in my breast like wine ;
' For the lips of my babe drew from me
The poison and the pain,
Till the weariful heart within me
Gladden'd and leapt again !
1 A maid's love, O my daughter,
Is a pearl that men may buy,
But the love of a new-made mother
Is a rainbow in the sky !
' All peace of earth and of heaven
Are gather 'd in her embrace
Smiling the little one lieth
And looketh up in her face !
' His lips are lilies and roses,
His scent is sweeter than myrrh,
He draweth bliss from her bosom
And breatheth it back to her !
' Still as a star on my bosom
My little first-born lay,
And like a fountain around him
My love flow'd day by day !
' Clear as the summer heavens
I saw his blue eyes shine !
Never on mortal bosom
Shone babe so bright as mine !
'The days flow'd on like a murmuring
brook
That gladdeneth in the sun,
For I heard the music of earth and heaven
From the mouth of my little one !
' Brighter and fairer my first-born grew,
And O, but it was sweet
To hold him up with a finger touch
When he stood upon his feet ;
' I could hold him up with a finger touch,
He was so light and frail,
But now he hath the might of a man
How should my strength avail ?
' Yet even in those sweet far-off days,
So bright and now so dim,
Meseem'd the bairns his playfellows
Were different from him !
' He seem'd not as other children
That play in the summer beam,
With the sound of their mirth around him
He stood and look'd up in a dream !
' And while from hillock to hillock
They flew with laugh and cry,
He watch' d the white clouds passing-
Over the still blue sky !
' So grave and yet so gentle,
So still and yet so blest,
It seemed some fountain of wonder
Flow'd in his baby breast.
THE BALLAD OF 'MARY THE MOTHER.
' And one by one in the darkness
The new-born waken'd and cried,
And I gladden'd, a fruitful Mother,
Forgiven and purified !
' For lo ! he gladden'd among them,
The fairest and goodliest,
And still that fountain of wonder
Flow'd in his gentle breast !
' And so he grew in the dwelling
And brighten'd from day to day.
And the Light of the Lord was on us,
And the Angels looked our way ! '
There's a cry of little ones in the bield,
And a patter of feet on the floor ;
The Sun is splashing o'er farm and field
To the golden pool at the door !
The earth is twining flowers in her hair,
And there 's some for you and me ;
Smile, Babe Ileap, Babe trock'd upon
Mother's knee I
Of all the joys that the years can bring
There is never a joy like this,
Flowers to bloom, birds to sing,
And the bud of a mouth to kiss /
Our good-man looks smiling on,
And a proud good-man is he !
Smile, Babel leap, Babe .'happy on
Mother's knee ;
Clear as a fountain by our fireside
The cry of the young is heard,
Answer d over the whole world wide
By the cry of lamb and bird I
It's home-time now in the happy world
And it's Heaven with my bairns and me !
Smile, Babe ! leap, Babe I rock'd upon
Mother's knee I
Round and around our house they run,
A laughing, barefoot band
Bright at the door the merry Sun
With a golden nod doth stand !
And it's oh! for the peace of Heaven and
Home,
And the light on my bairns and me!
Smile, Babe ! leap, Babe ! happy on
Mother's knee I
As the flower of the Huleh lily
Shineth after the rain,
The face of Mary the Mother
Smiled, and grew bright again !
For the milk of the glad young mother
Seem'd flowing in her breast,
And once again to her nipples
A little mouth seem'd prest ;
And her great grey eyes half closing
Were dim with the happy dew,
And her red lips trembled and open'd
As the quick glad breath came thro' !
' The peace of God was upon me,
The smile of God at my door,
My soul was a summer fountain
That filleth and floweth o'er !
' Fairer and fairer my first-born grew
Till he was seven years old,
And his eyes had the glint o' the waters
blue
And his hair the sunset's gold.
' His voice was low as the voice o' the dove
That cries in a shady place,
And the light of a love that was more than
love
Flowed from his shining face ;
' For he loved all things that the Lord hath
made
Who maketh great and small,
And he folded his little hands and prayed
That God might guard them all 1
' But ever of all God's creatures
He loved the weak things best,
The lamb that leaps in the meadows
Would come and lie in his breast ;
' The doves that dwell on the house-tops
Would gather about his feet,
And the hungry dogs would lick his hands
As he walk'd i' the sun-scorch'd street !
' And he loved the folk who were sick and
weak,
Whom God had stricken sore,
Yea, the tears would roll adown his cheek
For pity of the poor ;
286
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' And sad was the heart of my little one,
And his eyes grew wet and dim,
When the spotted lepers crawl'd i' the sun
And held out hands to him ! . . .
' In the synagogue of his fathers
He heard the Rabbis preach,
And better than play or pleasure
He loved their stately speech ;
' Yea, even as the wild bee gathers
Its honey from flower to flower,
He gathered the words of wisdom
For many a happy hour.
' But best he loved (God bless him,
And cherish him night and day)
The wandering men of the desert
Who silently fast and pray.
' For when from the holy places
One of these wights footsore,
With scoop of brass, and apron
Of linen, would pass our door,
1 My good-man, merrily toiling
Within at the carpenter's board,
Would bid the pilgrim enter
And rest, in the name of the Lord ;
' And when he had made ablution
He'd enter and bless the place,
The silence of God around him,
The light of God on his face ;
1 And Jesus would gaze upon him,
Till he reach'd out hands and smiled,
And murmur'd, "The God of Jacob
Preserve the little child ! "
' Then silently like a shadow
He'd rise and wander away,
But the Light of God and His Silence
Would dwell on the child all day.
' Oft, as he spelt his letters,
Resting the scroll on my knee,
He'd close the scroll in his little hand
And sigh, and question me
'And 'twas " O, mother," and "why
mother,
Do mortals weary and die ?
Surely our Father in Heaven
Heareth His children cry ? "
1 The tales that a thousand mothers
Tell to their sons, I told,
Of the chosen race of Israel
And the weariful days of old ;
' And how in the land of bondage
We wail'd beneath God's hand,
Till the prophet came to set us free
And we gain'd the Golden Land ;
1 Dumbly he'd stand and listen
While I those tales did tell,
And o'er and o'er he'd have me sing
The psalms of Israel !
' O sweet he was as the summer rain
That falleth on desert ways,
But ever the cry of human pain
Troubled his nights and days !
'And 'twas "O, mother," and "why,
mother,
Are folks so weary and sad ?
The sick folk die, and the lepers cry,
Though the sun shines bright and
glad !"
' And he'd stand and muse apart
Like an old man bent with years,
And the well of wonder within his heart
Fill'd, like an eye with tears !
1 And so my little one grew,
The whitest lamb in the fold,
But the shadow dwelt in his eyes of blue
And his ways were strange and old. . . .
' We came to the Holy City,
And the streets were bright and gay,
And lo ! from the hour my bairn was
born
"Twas thirteen years and a day.
' The Temple stood with its gates of gold
On the heights of Jerusalem,
And the children gather'd like lambs i' the
fold
And the Elders question'd them ;
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
287
1 And we missed the child in the holy place,
And wondering, sought for him,
And lo ! he stood with a shining face
In the halls of the Sanhedrim !
'And the Priests and Rabbis gathered
round,
And smooth'd their beards and smiled,
To hear the words of wisdom sound
From the lips of a little child.
' Proud and glad was my heart that day
For joy of the little one !
And blithe and merry we rode away
When the Holy Feast was done ! . . .
' Stronger and fairer my first-born grew
And in our bield he stayed,
For now he toil'd at the bench and knew
My good-man's gentle trade !
1 And his voice chimed cheerily all day long
To the chime of the busy plane,
And as I sat and heark'd to his song
My heart was glad again !
1 For methought ' ' My shame hath passed
away,
My Son grows strong and tall,
The God of Israel be his stay
Wherever his feet may fall !
' " The God of Israel grant him life
And be his light and guide,
And when he taketh a maid to wife
May their seed be multiplied !
1 " May their days be long in a fruitful land
Under the summer skies,
And ere I sleep may he hold my hand
And close my happy eyes."
' O the light o' the Lord shone bright indeed
Upon our dwelling-place !
For methought my seed was a goodly seed
To quicken and grow apace !
' And I saw my Son's seed multiply
And gladden from day to day,
And I heard my children's children cry
Like voices far away !
' The life of man is a tale thrice told,
His joy is a flower full blown
When our Son was nineteen summers old,
He toil'd at the bench alone !
' The weight of years on his hair so grey,
The sleep-dust in his eyne,
My good-man Joseph passed away
While I held his hand in mine ;
' Gently he beckon'd the first-born near
And gazed in his face and said :
" O, Jesus, look to thy mother dear
When I lie cold and dead ! "
' 'Twas darkness then in the lowly bield
For many and many a day ;
For he who had been my strength and shield
Was taken and hid away.
' My children gathered around my knee
And I bowed my widow'd head,
But gently my first-born smiled on me
And my grief was comforted.
1 0, blessed be the name of the Lord !
He taketh and giveth again,
His wrath is fire and a flaming sword,
But His love is summer rain ;
' The flesh of the stricken He healeth up,
The sick He maketh sound,
When our grief is full as a brimming cup
He poureth it on the ground.
' The peace of God on my spirit fell \
For joy of the man my Son,
At his father's board he wrought full well
Till his daily task was done.
' There was never a man of woman born
Was half so fair as he,
Like the sound of a fountain night and
morn
Was the voice of my Son to me.
' And evermore when his toil was o'er
He loved to wander away,
To comfort the sick and cheer the poor,
Or to muse apart and pray.
' And in the synagogue he'd teach
Among the Rabbis old,
And he gather'd wisdom, and lo ! his speech
Grew stranger twentyfold ;
288
THE BALLAD OF MARV THE MOTHER.
' But ever I murmur'd cb.y and night,
" Never was Son like mine ;
O, may his days be long and bright,
And his flesh a fruitful vine."
1 Out of the lonely desert
Preaching Jochanan came,
And stood in the shallows of Jordan
Naming the one God's Name.
' Wild as the horse of the desert
No man may saddle and ride,
Over his naked shoulders
A cloak o' the camel's hide ;
' He cried aloud to the people
Who gather 'd on the strand :
' ' Repent ! repent ; for the Kingdom
Of Heaven is close at hand ! "
' And men and women and children,
From morn to evenfall,
Flock'd to the Prophet's bidding
And he baptised them all ;
1 With water he baptised them
Under the open sky,
And lo ! on the second morning
The man, my Son, stood nigh 1
' And lo ! as they met together
The eyes of John were dim,
For as morning star unto evening star
Was the man, my Son, to him !
' Yet with water he baptised him,
And lo ! when it was done.
The hunger and thirst of Godhead
Grew in the soul of my Son ;
1 And he wandered away from the people
Into a desert place,
And there alone with the Silence
He fasted and hid his face ;
1 And the stars of Heaven beheld him,
And the wild beasts hovered near,
But the eye of man did not see him
And the ear of man did not hear ;
' And he ate not and he drank not,
But fasted and prayed, and so
The flesh on his bones was wasted,
And the light of his life burnt low.
' And when I again beheld him
I trembled and sobbed aloud,
For the dews of Death were upon him
And his face seem'd set in a shroud !
' " O where hast thou been, my Jesus,
And why is thy look so wild ? "
He stood like a ghost in the doorway
And look'd in my face and smiled ;
' And his smile was loving and gentle,
Tho" his face was ashen grey,
But his eyes were gazing through me
At something far away !
' " O where hast thou been, my Jesus,
And what didst thou hear and see ? '
" I heard the winds of the night," he said,
" And the Silence spake to me ! "
' ' ' Alas and alas, my Jesus,
And what didst thou see and hear ?"
" I saw the Dead in their shrouds pass by
And the Souls of the Dead stood near !
' " And I heard the beasts of the desert
Moaning like human things,
And the Spirit of Darkness cover'd my
head
And wrapt me 'neath his wings.
1 " But I knelt and prayed that my Father
in heaven
Would shrive me of my sin,
And the Gates of Heaven swung open
wide
To show the lights within ;
1 " And a Face looked out of the Golden
Gates,
And the Spirit of Darkness fled,
And the Hand of God like a Father's
hand
Was placed upon my head.
1 " And the Voice of God, like a Father's
voice,
Came down the dark to me,
' Go forth, go forth in thy Father's Name,
For He hath chosen thee.' "
,
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
4 " Alas, and alas, my Jesus,
What didst thou see and hear ?
The words thou speakest are dark and
strange
And fill my soul with fear.
' "The Master of Earth and Heaven
Hath neither feet nor hands,
The wind of His breath is as the blast
That bloweth the desert sands.
" His face no eye hath looked on,
His voice no ear hath heard,
And yet His face is the Light o' Life,
And His voice is a winged Word."
' Sadly he gazed upon me,
With great eyes dim with pain,
And the face of my Son burn'd bright
through tears,
Like a rainbow through the rain.
' "Come in and rest, my Jesus,
Thy spirit is weary and worn,
Come in and sleep in thy father's house
Where thou, my child, wast born ;
' "And I, thy mother, will sit beside
Thy bed, and sing to thee
The song I sang when I sang and rock'd
Thy cradle with my knee."
' Sadly he gazed upon me,
Folding his hands in prayer,
" My Father's house is wide as the world,
And high as the heavens up there.
< My Father's house is wide as the world,
And I was born therein,
My Father calleth me out of Heaven
To cleanse it of its sin.
1 " Never again shall my Father's Son
Rest in a narrow bed,
To and fro, and up and down,
His weariful feet must tread.
1 " Never again shall my Father's Son
Hark to thy cradle song,
To and fro, and up and down,
He goes, for the way is long."
' " Hearken to me, my Jesus,
Stay, and hearken to me ;
Thy sisters and brethren who sit within
Would break their bread with thee.
1 " Come in, come in, and sit at the board,
Where my first-born should be,
And I, thy mother, will wash thy feet,
And stand and wait on thee ! "
' Sadly he gazed upon me,
Frowning he turned away,
" Who break with me the Bread of Life,
My sisters and brethren are they !
' "No brethren dwell in my Father's house
Save those who eat His Bread,
No mother's love can save the quick
Or wake and shrive the dead !
1 ' ' And woe is me for my brethren dear
Who o'er the wide world stray,
And woe is me for the witless love
That withereth in a day !
1 " Lo, there be beds in my Father's house
Many as waves o' the sea,
From bed to bed my feet must pass
Till the sleepers wakened be !
' " Lo ! there be boards in my Father's
house
Where men feast merrily,
From board to board my feet must pass
Till all shall follow Me ! "
' He turn'd away with a weary moan
From the bield where he was born,
And as he wander'd from door to door
His townsfolk laughed in scorn !
1 For strange he seemed as a witless wight
Whose soul and sense are dim,
And his eyes were bright with a vacant
light
And the children mock'd at him !
We followed him slowly as up the street
Slowly he went his way,
And we saw him enter the synagogue,
For 'twas the Sabbath day ;
' And silently he enter'd in
And stood in the midst o' the crowd,
And his head was raised as they named the
Name,
Tho' all the rest were bowed !
U
290
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' And he took the scroll in his thin white
hand
While the Elders gather'd round,
And he read the lesson, and named the
Name,
And sat down to expound ;
' The first words that he utter'd there
Were gentle and soft and low,
And the sound of his voice was as the sound
Of a fountain's ebb and flow ;
1 The next words that he utter'd there
Were wild and strange and loud,
And the sound of his voice was as the sound
Of the riven thunder-cloud ;
' The next words that he utter'd there
Were drown'd in fierce acclaim,
For the Elders rose and tore their beards
And the folk shriek' d out in shame !
' Around my Son like an angry sea
They gather'd shrieking shrill,
And his face was calm as a patient star
And his pale lips murmur'd still :
' Again he utter'd the Name of Names
Nor knelt on bended knee,
But his eyes looked up as if they saw
The Face no man may see.
1 With curses and blows they thrust him forth
Into the open street,
And spectral pale he stood at the door
Like a corpse in his winding sheet.
' " Come home, come home, my Jesus,
Come home with me," I cried,
And gently I sought to guide him home,
But he pushed my hand aside.
1 ' ' No home have I but my Father's Home,
And thither my feet must fare,
My Father's Home is as wide as the world,
And high as the heavens up there." '
* * *
Thou shalt not see, thou shalt not hear.
Yet /, the Lord thy God, am near.
Thou shalt not hear, thou shalt not see,
Yet /, thy God, abide with thee.
My Spirit stirs around thee (saith
The Lord], thy nostrils drink my breath.
So near am I both night and day,
And yet my throne is worlds away.
Seek not to unveil or fathom Me,
But shut thine eyes, and bend thy knee.
Juggle not with the Law Divine,
Nor seek my Heavens for a sign.
1 am veil' d for ever, I am dumb,
And yet my thunders go and come.
Father and Lord I am indeed,
A nd yet have neither Son nor seed.
Thou shalt not hear, thou shalt not see,
Yet I, thy God, abide with thee.
Let it suffice thee that I reign,
Beware to take my Name in vain.
Go then thy ways, though I am near,
Thou shalt not see, thou shalt not hear.
* * *
It was Mary, the woeful Mother,
Cried, weeping bitterlie,
1 My days are dark, for the Lord my God
Hath taken my Son from me !
' He walked by the lonely waters,
And saw the ships go by,
And he cried aloud, and the men o' the
ships
Heard, and answer'd his cry !
' And the sound of his voice could still the
pain
In the hearts of the tempest-blown,
For he spoke of the waters no ship may gain
And the land no man hath known !
' And the men o' the sea forsook their nets
And, gathering one by one,
Sat by the waters of Galilee
And heark'd to the man, my Son.
1 And his voice was soft as the rain
That falleth cool on the grass,
And his face was like the moon in the sky
That watches the Tempest pass !
1 And the souls of the men o' the sea
Close to my Son did creep,
And he reached out hands and counted them
As Q, Shepherd counteth his sheep !
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
291
' Alone I bode in the lonely house
And his blessing reached not me,
I heard his voice like a sea-bird's cry
Far out on a sunless sea !
' And the elders flocking about our house .
Cried, " Woe to him and thee !
The mad folk gather to hear thy Son
And his mouth speaks blasphemy !
' " He prophesieth and raveth loud
Out there by Galilee,
With woven hands and with magic spells
He lures the men o* the sea !
' " He eateth and drinketh un purified,
He breaketh the Sabbath day :
He is Eli or Moses risen, he saith,
Or a greater even than they ! "
' Nay then, the words they spake were sore
For a mother's ear to hear,
And I cried : " He is holy and pure of heart,
And such to the Lord are dear !
1 ' ' Fair as a lily-flower, my Son
Hath grown to the height of man
Ah, never yet grew a flower so fair
On earth, since the earth began ! "
' Yet ever the wonderful rumour grew,
And men began to tell
Of mighty magic in secret wrought
Wherever my Son's foot fell :
1 How the lame man walked, and the blind
man saw,
And the dumb man spake and heard,
How the waxen man laid out for dead
Had bitten his shroud and stirred !
' Nay then, my heart was sick with fear
And I feared for the man, my Son,
For I wist such wonders are often wrought
By will of the Evil One !
' " He casteth down Devils by Beelzebub,
Who is Prince of Devils," they said,
And I turn'd my face to the wall, and cast
Ashes and dust on my head.
' For my buried shame had risen again
And haunted my soul forlorn,
As I prayed for the soul of the man, my
Son,
Even Jesus my first-born.
' Suddenly through the streets o' the town
I heard the laugh and the cry,
And follow'd by throngs of stranger folk
Jesus, my Son, went by.
1 And those who follow'd were ragged and
poor,
And many were gaunt and gray,
And I cried his name as he passed our
door
But his face was turned away.
1 And the townsfolk mock'd him as he
walked
Swiftly from street to street,
But when he came to the edge o' the town
He shook the dust from his feet.
' " Never was Prophet honoured yet
By those of his own countrie,
Woe to the town where I was born
And the folk who mock at me 1 "
'And he wandered up and over the hills,
And his feet were swift as wind,
And I join'd the throng o' the sick and poor
That crept and crawl' d behind ;
' And down to the shore of the lonely Sea
Of Galilee he came,
And the throngs of woeful women and men
Gather 'd and called his name."
It was Mary, the gentle Mother,
To Mary the Maiden cried,
' Like waves o' the sea, the people
Flow'd on the mountain side ;
' And even as a rock in the waters
The man, my Son, stood there,
And the light of the still blue Heaven
Slept on his golden hair.
1 When he reached out hands and bless'd
them,
They were hush'd as waves o' the sea,
And their faces were dark with yearning
As they listen'd on bended knee :
2 9 2
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
1 For his voice was sweet as a fountain
Or the voice of the turtle dove,
As he told of a Heavenly Kingdom
And the love that is more than love ;
' And the burden of earth was uplifted
By the touch of a magic hand,
And the folk beheld as they hearkened
The gleam of the Promised Land :
' A land of milk and of honey,
Golden and bright and blest,
Where the wicked would cease from troub-
ling
And the weary would be at rest !
1 Then the peace of God flowed round me
And the days of my woe seemed done,
As I listened happy and smiling,
To the voice of the man, my Son !
' Kind were his words and gentle,
Bright was his face and mild,
Happy he seem'd and loving
As when he was a child !
1 " Come to me, ye who hunger,
Come, and be straightway fed I
For lo ! I bring from the Father
Not ashes and dust, but bread !
1 " Come to me, ye who are weeping,
And all your tears shall cease,
For lo ! I bring from the Father,
Not trouble and pain, but peace !
1 " Come to me, ye who are stricken,
Who sicken and fight for breath,
For lo ! I bring from the Father
Eternal Life, not Death ! "
1 Sweet as a fountain's falling
The music filled our ears :
" Your Father in Heaven loves you
And fain would dry your tears !
' ' ' Your loving Father in Heaven
Heareth his children's cries
Let him who is sick, then, gladden,
Let him who hath fallen rise ! "
' And the wind of his words went swiftly
Over the wondering crowd,
And like waves of the sea uprising
They wept and they sob'd aloud !
' Then one shriek'd loudly, " Rabbi !
Heal me, lest I die ! "
And lo ! with a thousand voices
They echo'd that woeful cry !
' Ragged, and worn, and weary
They gathered under the skies,
And the blind men groped unto him
Rolling their sightless eyes !
' And the little afflicted children
Close to his knees upcrept,
But the lepers stood afar off
And reach'd out hands and wept !
1 Pale as a man of marble
He stood on the lone hillside,
And wept as he gazed upon them,
And lifted up hands and cried :
' "The Light I bring from the Father
Shineth in secret ways,
Only the Hand that smiteth
And slayeth, hath power to raise !
' "And yet the sick shall be healed,
And the blind shall surely see,
For my Father's door is open
To those who follow me !
' ' ' Weep not, but be of comfort !
Fret not, your woes shall cease !
For lo ! I bring from the Father
Love, and exceeding Peace ! "
' But still they gather'd and murmur'd
With piteous woes and cries :
And the blind cried, " Master, heal us !'
Rolling their sightless eyes !
' But e'en as they flock'd around him
And reached out hands and cried,
He girded up his raiment
And passed from the mountain side.
1 Swift through the clamouring people
He walked, nor gazed on them,
While they thronged to look upon him
And to touch his raiment-hem ;
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
293
1 And the blind folk groped in the sunlight,
And the sick folk wept in woe,
And the lepers gazed from afar off
And wail'd, as they watched him go ! '
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Reach' d out her hands and cried :
1 These things thou sawest, O Mother,
These things and nought beside ?
1 Was not the sick man healed ?
Did not the blind man see ?
Such wonders were wrought, 'tis rumour'd,
Out yonder by Galilee ! '
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Answer'd in soul's despair,
1 Woe worth the day that I was born
Or ever a Son did bear !
1 How shall the hand of a mortal
Give back what God hath ta'en
If the hand of a man could dry our tears
No man would weep again !
' The sick would sicken no longer,
The blind would gladden and see,
But man is dust, and what God hath
bound
No man that is dust shall free ! . . .
' When darkness over the mountain
Fell, for the day was done,
Silently down the mountain side
I followed the man, my Son ;
' And I found him standing alone,
On the shore of a stormy sea,
With hair and raiment backward blown
He prayed, and he marked not me ;
' And his hands were raised to the sky
Where the angry storm-clouds drave,
" Father, Father," I heard him cry,
"Stretch down thy hand and save !
1 "That the blind may see, that the sick be
heal'd,
That my word may wake the Dead ! "
And the storm roll'd on, and the thunders
peal'd,
And the lightning flash'd and fled.
' ' ' Father, Father, if I indeed
Thy dread commandments keep,
Help me to heal the hearts that bleed,
To dry the eyes that weep.
' " Wearily over the whole world wide
My stricken brethren lie ;
Father in Heaven, look down," he cried,
"Succour them, since they die ! "
' And lo ! he fell on his face and prayed
Alone on the lone sea- shore,
And I watch'd him, trembling and afraid,
Till he stirred and rose once more.
' And, lo ! the storm of the night had fled.
Softly the night-wind blew,
And the clouds were opened overhead,
And the stars were shining through.
' And the light, like a hand snow-white,
Lay on his golden hair,
As he walked on the shore at the dead o'
night
And found me waiting there.
' Face to face in the silence
We stood by the sleeping sea,
"Woman," he said, "what brings thee
here,
And wherefore seekest thou Me ? "
' Then my heart broke in my bosom,
And I sank on my bended knee,
" I am Mary, thy Mother, and all night
long
My tears have flowed for thee.
1 " I heard thy voice on the mountain side
Sweet as the wood-dove's cry,
And the doors of Heaven seemed opening
wide
And the Spirit of God went by ! "
' Gently he gazed upon me
As I knelt upon my knee,
' ' God bless thee, Mary, my Mother,
Dost thou believe on Me ?
1 " I have prayed, and my prayer is answer'd,
I have wept, but my tears are done,
My Father in Heaven hath heard my
prayer,
And, lo ! we twain are One.
294
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' " Even as the love of the Father
The love of the Son shall be ;
Even with hands of the Father
The Son shall set men free.
1 " Greater than I is the Father,
And yet we twain are One ! "
Weeping I rose to my feet and gazed
In the face of the man, my Son.
' ' ' Alas, alas, my Jesus !
Thy riddle is hard to read,
The God of Israel dwelleth afar,
And hath neither Son nor seed !
' " No eye of a mortal fathom can
The waters of Death and Doom,
Seed art thou of a mortal man,
And grew in thy mother's womb !
' ' ' Come home, come home, my Jesus,
And dwell in peace with me
The Lord is the Lord of Heaven and Hell,
Thy mother hath only thee."
1 Sadly he gazed upon me,
Frowning he turn'd away,
1 ' Woe to thee, woman of little faith,
In the dawn of my Judgment Day !
' " I have no brethren, I have no mother,
Save those who believe on Me !
Son of my Father am I, and no other
Judgeth the lost, and thee 1 "
' Sadly he gazed upon me
With eyes all woe-begone,
Full of the hunger of Godhead
That gleam'd in the eyes of John 1
' But when I clutched at his raiment,
He wept and turned from me,
And passed on shipboard, and sailed away
With the wild-eyed men o' the sea ;
' And his voice rang out once more
From the deck of the ship, and lo !
The sick and blind flocked down to the
shore,
And wail'd as they watch'd him go !
' And swiftly into the Night
He flew, as a sea-bird flies,
And the lepers gathered upon the height,
And wail'd to the empty skies.'
The Leper said :
' Lord God, if Thou art just,
Heap earth upon my head,
Bury me, dust to dust!
I did not crave to be,
Yet lo, I crawl i' the sun,
And if Thou healest not me,
Slay me and set me free
So let Thy Will be done /'
The Blind Man said :
' Lord God, I seek the Light-
Wherever my cold feet tread,
'Tis night, eternal night.
Darkly Fve sought for Thee,
Dear Lord, since life begun,
But since I still must be,
God, give me eyes to see
So let Thy Will be done /'
The Mad Man said :
1 Lord God, uplift Thy hand!
Demons and spectres dread
Fill me at Thy command /
I loathe Thy works and Thee,
O Thou Almighty One,
I did not crave to be
Slay me, or set me free,
So let Thy Will be done /'
God said :
' Peace I for your cry is vain,-
I weave of quick and dead
An ever lengthening chain.
Peace! from my Law and Me
No man escapeth, none,
Long as the earth and sea
Endure, these things shall be,
For so My Will is done I '
'Twas Mary, the gentle Mother,
Listen'd with lips apart,
While the voice from the lonely mountain
Flow'd thro' her empty heart.
' Fairer he is and gentler
Than other mortals be,
But his thoughts are yonder in Heaven,
Not here on the earth with me.
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
295
' I would to God he were lying
A babe on my breast this day,
The light of his eyes is the light o' love,
But it shineth so far away !
' I hear a voice still crying
Aloud to the sons of men,
But the cry of the babe on my bosom
Will never be heard again !
1 Rabbi the people call him,
Rabbi and Master and King ;
He breaketh bread on the mountain,
While I sit famishing ! '
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Gazed from the bower and said :
' He healeth the spots of the Leper,
He raiseth up the Dead !
1 And lo ! as he passeth the gateway
With ragged throngs behind,
Out of the lanes are crawling
The sick and the halt and the blind ;
1 E'en as a King of the people
He passeth on his way,
And whoso toucheth his raiment-hem
Is straightway healed, they say !
1 Their bread he multiplieth,
He turneth their water to wine
Surely this Man, O Mother,
Is more than flesh of thine?'
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Bowed down her head and cried,
' The God of Israel bless him
From morn to eventide !
1 Flesh of my flesh, O Mary,
Bone of my bone, is he,
In my womb he grew, from my womb he
fell,
And I nursed him on my knee.
' From place to place he passeth,
Stately and tall, like one
Who walketh on thrones to his kingdom,
And yet . . . he is my Son !
1 Gladly my soul would greet him
Though he were thricefold King,
But ever behind him as he walks
The Shadow is following !
' Man is a spark in the darkness,
His days are only a breath,
The wings of the Lord are wide as the
world
And the shadow thereof is Death.'
'Twas Mary, the grey-haired Mother,
Rose trembling on her feet
' The ways of the world are many,
But yonder, all ways meet !
1 The wings of the Lord are mighty
And shadow all things that be,
I hear their sounds in the silence
Deep as the sound of the Sea.
1 The heart of the Temple is cloven,
The high-priest waileth aloud,
The wrath of the Lord is growing,
Black as the thunder-cloud.
1 The rose and the Huleh lily
Bloom but a little space,
After his day man sleepeth,
Alone in a lonely place.
' Never the dead that sleepeth
Shall slip his shroud and rise
His ears are sealed for ever,
Darkness filleth his eyes.'
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Stood at the gate and cried :
' O, hark ! they hail him as sent of God,
Promised and prophesied ! '
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Stood up and tore her hair :
' Woe worth the day that I was born
Or ever a son did bear.
1 The God of Israel crieth
" There is no God save Me ! "
The Elders of Israel gather in wrath
Like waves of a stormy sea.'
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Gazed from the gate and cried :
1 Thy Son shall wear a crown on his head,
Yea, and a sword at his side.
2 9 6
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' The people cry he is Lord and King,
Tho' he be Son of thine,
would that I were the Queen o' the King,
Or even his concubine !
' There is never a man of the sons of men
Who is half so fair as he,
Be he seed of a mortal or son of God,
He is Master of men and me.'
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Sank to her knees and said :
' Look forth, look forth, and tell me now
Whither my Son's feet tread? '
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
Laughed merrily, answering :
' His face is turned to Jerusalem,
And there they will crown him King.
' Be he seed of a mortal or son of God,
The folk will crown him there."
'Twas Mary the Mother shrieked aloud,
And wept and tore her hair !
' I hear a Voice he cannot hear,
That crieth "Forbear ! forbear ! "
1 see a Hand he cannot see
That holdeth a sword in the air !
' The Elders of Israel gather in wrath
Like waves of a stormy sea !
The God of Israel crieth aloud,
" There is no God but me ! "
' The God of Israel crieth aloud
As He to our fathers cried
' ' The soul of a man is the breath of a
mouth,
But I, the Lord, abide ! " '
The Lord and the Law are One
A nd nought can sunder them I
Wherever their swift feet run
The worlds rock under them I
Wherever the Lord hath pass 'd
The Law fulfilleth Him,
E'en Death lies low at last,
For a mightier stilleth him I
One, the Law and the Lord,
That passes and interpasses
Sure, as the sweep of a sword,
Still, as the growth of the grasses /
Two, yet ever the same,
Life and Death for their token
The Lord that hath no name,
And the Law ne'er broken I
No miracles come of these
Whose miracles are for ever,
Their mystery no man sees,
It is uttered never.
Life and Death and Birth
Betoken their ministration,
On the Earth, and over the Earth,
And through all Creation.
The Law and the Lord are One,
And nought can sunder them I
Wherever their Will is done,
A II things bow under them I
Think not with prayer or praise,
When the grave gapes wide for thee,
To stop the sun on its ways
Or turn God aside for thee /
He is ford to the furthest sun,
With His strength He thrilleth him,
But the Law and the Lord are One,
And His Work fulfilleth Him !
As they parted His raiment among them,
For His vesture casting lots,
On the clouds of the night burnt brands of
light
Like crimson leper-spots ;
But the storm of the night was over
And the wild winds ceased to cry,
Yea, all was still on the skull-shaped hill
As the Spirit of Death crept by.
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Lay prone beneath the Tree,
And Mary the Maid knelt down and prayed
With Mary of Bethany.
And the light came out of the skies
And struck the Cross on the hill . . .
And Jesus moaned and open'd His eyes,
And the heart of the world stood still !
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
297
On His head the thorny crown,
His body bleeding and bare,
He woke on the Cross, and gazing down
Beheld His Mother there !
And ' Mother ! Mother dear ! '
He murmured smiling sweet,
And Mary arose, and creeping near
Sobbed, and embraced His feet.
And ' Mother ! Mother dear ! '
Softly He sighed again,
And over His wounds, as she sobbed to
hear,
Her wild tears ran like rain !
Not to His Father in Heaven,
Not to the empty skies,
To Mary the Mother He looked, and no
other
Blest, with His dying eyes.
The love of the Lord of Heaven
Is a dream that passeth by,
But the love of a mortal Mother
Is a love that doth not die !
The sword of the Lord of Heaven
Husheth His children's cry,
But the love of a mortal Mother
Shines on, tho' God goes by 1
Gently He gazed upon her
Who had loved Him last and first,
Then darken'd again with the cruel pain,
And murmur'd low, ' I thirst ! '
As they set the sponge on a spear
And moisten'd His mouth, He said,
Smiling down on His mother dear,
1 Lo, it is finished ! '
And He bowed His head on His breast
And utter'd a woeful cry,
And the weariful Mother's lips were prest
To His wounds, while God went by !
Twas Mary, the happy Mother,
Smiled and knelt on her knee,
And bared her breast and opened her
arms
As they drew Him down from the Tree.
She pillow' d His head on her bare breast-
bone
And gave Him kisses three
' In my womb he grew, from my womb he
fell,
God giveth him back to me ! '
And over the cold still waxen face
Rain'd down her locks o' grey,
And the heavens were black, but the gates
of Heaven
Were opening far away ;
And the birth-star looked from the gates o'
Death
As she rock'd the corse on her knee,
And the Earth lay silently down to watch
In the still bright arms o' the Sea.
On the breast of Mary the Mother
He rock'd beneath the Tree,
And Mary the Maiden sat at His feet
With Mary of Bethany ;
And, lo ! they croon'd His cradle-song
As she rock'd Him on her knee,
There was Mary the Mother, and Mary the
Maiden,
And Mary of Bethany.
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Wept as she sang, and cried :
1 My little one sleeps upon my breast,
For, lo ! 'tis the eventide.
'And round and round my cold breast-
bone
I feel the white milk stir ! '
And she wept aloud, and the Maries twain
Wept, and drew close to her.
1 Now dry thine eyes, O Mother dear,
Smile and be comforted,
Thy Son doth sleep, but thy Son shall wake
To judge both Quick and Dead.
' Thy Son hath promised to wake again,
And the folk shall bring his crown,
The clay thou nursest is not thy Son,
But thy Son is looking down.'
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Pressed tight her mouth to His :
' My Son is sleeping upon my breast,
And his red, red mouth I kiss.
2 9 8
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' By the milk that stirreth around my heart
I know my little one ;
By the flesh that was woven in my womb
I know
The flesh and the bone of my Son.
' I hold him now, I clasp him now,
He is mine for evermore,
For the sun hath sunken upon his wrath,
And the day of his Dream is o'er.
' Never more will he open his eyes
To waken and weep !
Never more will the wind and the rain
Trouble his sleep !
' The heart of the Temple is cloven,
The High Priest teareth his hair,
But God is good, He giveth me back
The fruit that my womb did bear !
' Yea, God is good, for my Son is mine
To cherish and clasp and keep,
And I too, holding him in my arms,
Shall croon myself to sleep ! '
'Twas Mary, the bright-eyed Maiden,
Rose up her height and cried :
' The womb of the night is cloven with light !
He liveth, and hath not died !
' He liveth, Lord and Master of men,
And he shall rise and reign !
For man is dust, and the hand of a man
Smiteth at God in vain ! '
Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Raised up her face and cried :
1 Go by ! the seal of thy God lies here
On the lids of the Crucified !
' Go by, for I loved my child too well
To bid him waken and weep
My God is good, and the hand of God
Giveth my little one sleep ! '
'Twas Mary of Bethany weeping cried,
' Hush, for I hear a tread !
They're coming hither over the hill
To seek and bury the dead ;
1 And one uplifteth a torch on high
To light them as they go,
And they who follow are bearing a shroud
Of linen white as snow ! '
And now they've embalm'd His white bodie
With myrrh and spices sweet,
And round and round they've lapt the
folds
Of the long, long winding sheet ;
And they've bound up tight His bearded
chin
With waesome linen bands,
And over His frozen breast they've spread
His yellow waxen hands ;
And they've borne Him up to the black
hillside
To His lonesome Sepulchre,
And they've set Him down in the narrow
place,
And still He doth not stir ....
' Now come away, thou woeful woman,
And leave him sleeping alone,
Let us close the mouth of his Sepulchre
And seal it with a stone ! '
'Twas Mary the Mother kissed His cheeks
And sobbed in soul's despair,
And the torchlight lay like a bloody hand
Upon her poor grey hair.
And from over the hill the stars looked
down
With dim sad tearful eyes,
For the cry of the Mother's broken heart
Rang through the empty skies.
(It rang to the foot of the Throne of Gc
Where all the wide world's woe,
The dole of a million broken hearts,
Melts like a flake of snow. )
'Twas Mary the Maiden weeping cried :
' Come forth, O Mother dear ! '
'Twas Mary the Mother answered, ' Nay !
Go thou and leave me here !
' Go forth, go forth, and on your head
All peace and blessing be,
But leave me here with the little Son
I nurst upon my knee !
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
299
1 There's room here at thy side, my Son,
There's room here with thee,
And O ! to hold thee in my arms
Is more than Heaven to me !
' And thou shall sleep, and calm as thine
My own deep sleep shall be !
For ever and for evermore
I'll rest, my Son, with thee ! '
They have led her forth from the lonesome
place,
Despite her woeful moan,
They have closed the mouth of the
Sepulchre
And sealed it with a stone ;
And down the hill to Jerusalem
They pass, but leave the three
There is Mary the Mother, and Mary the
Maiden,
And Mary of Bethany.
'Twas Mary, the dark-eyed Maiden,
First dried her weeping eyes :
1 Mother dear, we will keep watch here,
For lo ! he will arise !
' Master and Lord of men was he,
And he will wake again,
Yea, ere he died he prophesied
That he would rise and reign !
* He is not dead, but only sleeps,
And soon shall rule again
O Mother dear, we'll keep watch here,
Till he doth rise and reign ! '
'Twas Mary the Mother answered not,
But sat like a frozen thing,
Her dim dark eyes on the door o' the Tomb,
Vacant and famishing.
The first night they sat waiting there
The great Deep thunder'd loud,
And the lightning Snakes crept in and out
Their soot-black caves of cloud ;
The next night they sat waiting there
Came Silence strange and chill,
And the stars hung watching out of heaven.
And the heart o' the world stood still ;
The third night they sat waiting there
The winds began to cry,
And a cold snow fell from the frozen stars,
And the Spirit of Death went by !
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Rose to her feet and said :
' The gate of the Tomb is sealed fast,
And the Light of the world hath fled.
' Never again shall the man, my Son,
Brighten the night or the day
The soul of a man is the breath of a mouth,
And lo ! it passeth away !
1 And it's O ! for the kiss of his mouth,
And the touch of his hand, aye me !
My day is dark, for the Lord my God
Hath taken my child from me !
'And it's O ! for his long, long sleep,
Alone in a lonely place,
My Son is dead, for the wrath of the Lord
Hath fallen and hidden his face.
' O had ye left me lying there,
At his side or at his feet,
In peace, in peace like a fount that falls,
My heart had ceased to beat ! '
Then Mary, the gentle Maiden,
Answer'd her cry and said :
' Wait on, wait yet, for a heavenly sign
That our Lord is quick, not dead 1 '
'Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Stood up and rent her hair :
' Woe worth the day that I was born
Or ever a son did bear 1
' How shall the hand of a mortal
Gather the sheaves of the Lord ?
The hand of a man is ashes and dust,
God's hand is fire and a sword 1
' How shall the seed of a woman
Master Euroclydon ?
A woman's seed is as thistlebloom,
And lo, with a breath 'tis gone 1
1 My son was fair as a lily,
His hair was of golden sheen,
But the lilies of Sharon perish
When the winds of the Lord blow keen !
300
THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER.
' What man shall stand in the whirlwind
Where only the Lord may stand ?
The feet of the Lord are on the Dead,
And the Quick blow round like sand ! '
Twas Mary, the woeful Mother,
Crept down from Calvary,
Held up by Mary the Maiden
And Mary of Bethany ;
And over the hill the Dawn's bright feet
Plash'd in the Night's cold springs,
And a lark rose, shaking the drops o' pearl
From the tips of his dewy wings ;
And the heart of the world throb'd deep
and strong
As on Creation's Day,
And the skies that roof the happy earth
Were as blue and as far away !
Shepherd dear, the winds blow cold,
' Tis dark, so dark, on the wintry wold, .
Waken and gather thy flocks to fold !
Over the stormy hills they roam,
Feebly crying they go and come,
With never a Shepherd to help them home.
Shepherd dear, ere the day was done,
Around thy feet in the summer sun
They flock' d, and were counted one by one ;
Thy white hands blest them, Shepherd dear,
And thy voice said sweetly : ' Be of cheer I
The fold is open, and I am here*
Now, alas ! the light hath fled,
The heavens are starless overhead,
We listen still for thy voice, thy tread.
So cold, so still, this wintertide,
Thou sleepest, who wast once their guide,
Thy crook lies broken at thy side.
The cold snowfalls, the shrill winds cry,
The flocks are scattered, they droop and die,
And there's never a star in the wintry sky.
A las ! thou dost not see or hear !
In the frozen sheep/old, Shepherd dear,
Thou sleepest on, while we weep in fear.
Shepherd, Shepherd, the winds blow cold I
' Tis dark, so dark, on the wintry wold,
Waken, and gather thy flocks to fold.
AD MADONNAM.
IF I could worship in these Shrines at all,
Methinks that 'twould be yonder, where I
see
The Holy Mother fair and virginal
Holding the radiant Child upon her
knee :
For Rome, eternal foe of all things free,
Still quick tho' stretch'd out cold 'neath
Peter's pall,
By this one gift of grace redeems her fall
And makes amends to poor Humanity.
Madonna, pure as mortal mothers are,
Type of them all, for ever calm and good,
Over thy Son thou shinest like a star
While at thy milky breasts His mouth finds
food . . .
Holiest and best of all things, holier far
Than Godhead, is eternal Motherhood !
II.
Nineteen sad centuries have passed away,
Madonna, since this Man thy Son was
slain,
Since pillow' d on thy breast thy dead Child
lay
Nor heard thy moan of deep despair and
pain :
So long ! and all earth's tears have fallen in
vain
Upon the grave that cover eth that sweet
clay
Thou, too, didst cease to watch and plead
and pray,
And slept at last never to wake again.
Best of all living creatures, thou alone
Whom God Himself had chosen (saith the
Screed !)
Thou, Virgin of the Lily, must have
known
If He, thy Son, was Son of God indeed ;
Yet thou ('tis written) didst that claim dis-
own,
Denying godhead to this Man, thy Seed !
AD MADONNAM.
301
in.
' His Mother and His Brethren stood without
And waited I ' Ah, poor Mother, full of tears
While men believed and gladden'd, thou
couldst doubt
And to that cry of godhead close thine ears !
Thro' the dark cloud of those forgotten years
I hear thee moaning yet, ring'd round about
With maniac faces, while the madmen shout
And high 'gainst Heaven the crimson Cross
appears.
Mother of God ! and yet thou couldst deny
In thine excess of love the Godlike claim !
Chosen of God, yet thy despairing cry
Rose up to God in passionate grief and
shame,
While, wrapt in kingly robes thy Son went by,
Nor answer'd when thy lips did breathe His
name !
IV.
His face was raised to Heaven, not turn'd to
thee,
While thou didst call Him back from that
mad quest ;
Taught by thy Mother's heart, thine eyes
could see
The piteous end of His divine unrest. . . .
Ah, well, God heard thy cry, and on thy
breast
Again He sleeping lay, and thou and He,
United at God's feet, eternally
Abide in peace, of all things last and
best. . . .
And yet, God knows ! We know not !
Wherefore, then,
The weary strife, the fret that ceaseth never,
Wherefore the witless want which madden-
eth men,
The cruel sleepless quest, the long
endeavour,
If, having waken'd once, we sleep again,
And lose our heritage of Love for ever ?
Our heritage of Love ! . . Life and not
Death,
Light and not Night, we seek from age to
age;
The Spirit Thou hast kindled with Thy
breath
To serve thee, Lord of Life, demands its
wage !
Amid Thy tempests that for ever rage,
Man at Thy conjuration travaileth :
' I did not crave to be, O God ! ' (hesaith)
' But since I am, give me my heritage !
What Thou hast quicken'd, what Thy power
hath taught
To serve Thee through all moods of doubt
and fear,
The mystic mood that flashes back Thy
Thought,
The love that seeks Thy Heaven, and finds
it here,
These are Thy works, and what Thy hand
hath wrought
Claims service still, from sleepless year to
year ! '
VI.
And yet, alas, the ways of God are dark,
His purpose hid, His will a mystery,
No sign or voice that man may see or
hark
Hath ever broke His Law's Eternity.
A little space we strive, then cease to be,
A day we smile, and then lie stiff and
stark,
Forgotten 'neath the dust with none to
mark,
Silent, Madonna, like thy Son and thee !
God gave no answer to our Brother's prayer,
The empty Heavens echoed back His cry ;
He fainted 'neath the load we all must
bear
That bitter day they led Him forth to
die,
'Father,' He cried, in darkness and
despair,
And drank the cup no hand hath yet put
by!
VII.
Gentle and loving was this Man, thy Seed,
And innocent as any lamb at play,
For all the woes of man His heart did
bleed,
Yea, till the wrath of God made dark His
day,
Till with the whole world's woe His soul
grew gray,
As radiant as the morning was His creed :
To heal the sick, to succour folk in need,
To bless the poor and wipe their tears
away . . .
3 02
AD MADONNAM.
Then groping darkly, maddening in His
place,
Vainly He sought to grasp what none may
find,
For never tongue can speak or eye may trace
The Mystery God keeps dark from human-
kind,
And he who seeks to front God face to face
Is, by that Sun of Wonder, stricken blind !
And lo ! the issue ! Of that loving Word
Thy dear one spoke, a multitudinous moan !
Not peace thy Son hath sent us, but a
Sword
Shapen cross- wise, that flames from zone to
zone !
And still the weary generations groan,
And still the vials of God's wrath are poured
On innocent and guilty, and the Lord
Veileth the very footstool of His Throne !
And unto every man, as to thy Son,
Cometh, at last, the same dark dread and
doom
All that our hands have wrought, our
prayers have won,
Endeth with Him in utterness of gloom,
Our brief day endeth, and our Dream is
done,
And lo ! the woven shroud, the opening
tomb!
IX.
Patient Madonna, with the heavenly eyes
Not upward bent, but downward on thy
Child,
Within thy open arms is Paradise
Happy and innocent and undefiled !
Smile thus, as many a mother sweet hath
smiled,
Forgetful of that Shadow in the skies,
Hushing the whole world's woe, and all the
wild
Tumult of Nature, in thine Infant's cries ;
And there, beneath that ever-loving gaze,
Eternal Child, find peace and calm at last !
Deaf to Thy passion, heedless of Thy praise,
God dwelt afar off in the empty Vast,
But Thou returnedst, after many days,
Unto the Heaven whence Thy feet had
passed !
And O Madonna mine ! O dear grey-hair' d
Mother, of human mothers first and best,
All that my soul hath sought, my dream
hath dared,
All that my youth and hope thought good-
liest
Depart, and leave me crying for thy breast I
A child again, I see thy bosom bared,
And, lo! I falter to the place prepared
Where, ajter life's long fever, I may rest I
This gift alone, when the long day is done,
I ask from Him -who holds all gifts in
store
After the weary battle, lost or won,
To find thy love and blessing as before,
To be again thy little helpless son,
And feel thy dear arms round me ever*
more /
Thou sleepest, Dear I and yet a little space
I stir above thee, waiting for a sign :
Colder than coldest marble is thy face,
Shut are thine eyes, 1 cannot see them
shine ;
But thou wilt waken I and thine arms will
twine
Around me in the dark and narrow place
Where thou art lying, and again God's
grace
And blessing will be on us, Mother mine I
My hair is grey like yours, my faltering
feet
Are weary, and my heart grows chill and
cold,
Faint is the prayer my feeble lips repeat,
Sad is the soul that once was bright at
bold,
But when at last thou wakenest, smili?
sweet,
I'll be thy child again, not worn and old.
A CATECHISM.
What is thy name ?
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Who
Gave thee that name ?
Those from whose seed I grew,
A CATECHISM.
33
He from whose loins I sprang, she in whose
warm
Womb I grew shapen into flesh and form,
Whereby I first did crawl, then walked up-
right
A child, inheritor of Life and Light.
What did thy Father and Mother then for
thee ?
Three things they swore : firstly, to shelter
me
From all things evil, teaching me to find,
Through love for them, due love for all
Mankind ;
Next, that through that first faith, made
ripe and good
Through human motherhood and father-
hood,
My soul should learn to apprehend and
know
The Parentage Divine whence all things
flow;
Lastly, that, walking all my nights and
days
In love and reverence, I should learn God's
ways
And His commandments. These things in
my name,
They promised and fulfill'd, until I came
To full estate of all Life's joys and woes ;
And as the measure of my love for those
Who first made Earth a happy dwelling-
place,
And ring'd me round with offices of grace,
So may my love for all things measured
be
Now and for ever, through Eternity.
Dost thou still think that thou art bound in
right
To keep those pledges ?
Yea, and morn and night
I keep them ; if I stumble unawares,
The fault is on my head, and not on
theirs
Who hold me dear for ever in their sight,
And turn'd my face to Heaven, to feel the
Light.
Rehearse the articles of thy belief.
I do believe in God, supreme and chief
Of all things, first and last ; whose works
proclaim
His glory, and the glories of His name ;
I do believe in all the gods that shine
Beneath Him, humanised for eyes like mine
To images of loveliness divine ;
I do believe that through my Father in
Heaven
My sins (if Sin could be) would be forgiven,
And that, though Death for ever passes by,
Whate'er hath come to life can never die.
Thou saidst ' If Sin could be ' ?
If Sin be blent
Into my nature as its element,
Then 'tis my God's as surely as 'tis mine ;
But since I know my Father is Divine,
I know that all which seemeth Sin in me
Is but an image and a mystery.
Who is the God of Earth and Sea and Sky
All-living and all-knowing ?
He is I ;
Impersonal in all that seems to be,
He first and last grew personal in me ;
His inward essence shines behind these
eyes ;
His outer form in all they recognise.
Hath He no Being ; then, apart from thee ?
None.
Yet abidelh through Eternity f
As / abide.
Yet is He Lord of Death t
Yea, and if / should perish, perisheth.
Is He not more than thou ?
He is the Whole
Of which I am the part, yet this my
Soul
Is He, and surely through this sight of
mine
He sees Himself and knows Himself Divine.
Now, name His attributes ?
They have but one name,
Love, which embracing all things grows the
same
34
A CATECHISM.
As that it contemplates.
Lov'st thou the Lord f
Nay ; tho' I bow before His will and word.
How doth He manifest Himself?
In me,
And in mine other self, Humanity.
Name the Commandments !
Ten. Thou shalt have one
God, and one only (may His will be done !)
Thou shalt not fashion graven images
Of Him, or any other, and to these
Give prayer or praise ; nor shall thy faith
be priced
By any priest of Christ or Antichrist,
In any Temple or in any Fane ;
Thou shalt not take the Name of God in
vain.
All days shalt thou keep holy, pure and
blest,
Six shalt thou labour, on the seventh rest,
But every day shall as a Sabbath be
Of heavenly hope and love and charity.
Honour thy father and thy mother, not
That God may lengthen and make bright
thy lot,
But that the love thou bearest them may
spring
Fountain-like to refresh each living thing
Which lives and loves like thee. Slay not
at all,
Neither to feed thy wrath, nor at the call
Of nations lusting in accursed strife,
Nor to appease the Law's black lust for life ;
But take the murderer by the hand, and
bring
Pity and mercy for his comforting.
Tho' thou must never an Adulterer be,
Deem not the deed of kind Adultery,
But reverence that function which keeps
fair
The Earth, the Sea, the Ether, and the Air,
And peopling countless worlds with lives
like thine,
Maketh all Nature fruitful and divine ;
For as thou dost despise thy flesh and frame
Shalt thou despise the Lord thro' whom
they came,
And if one act of these thou deemest base
Thou spittest in the Fountain of all Grace.
Thou shalt not steal, nor any lie sustain
Against thy neighbour; covet not his
gain,
His wife, or aught that's his to have and
hold,
For robbing him, thou rob'st thyself ten-
fold !
What dost thou learn from these Command-
ments ?
Love
For things around me, and for things
above
Worship and reverence ; hate of deeds that
sin
Against the living God who dwells within
This Temple of my life ; obedience
To that celestial Light which issues thence.
Swearest thou to renounce, reject, and shun
The Flesh and all the lusts thereof?
Not one ;
For these are of the godhead, which is I,
And if this Flesh could pass, this Soul must
die.
Shall not the Flesh dissolve and disappear ?
Shall not this Body which surrounds thee
here
Pass into nothingness ?
Never, since 'tis made
Of God's own substance, which can never
fade.
Dost thou believe in Jesus Christ, God's Son ?
In Him, and in my Brethren every one :
The child of Mary who was crucified,
The gods of Hellas fair and radiant-
eyed,
Brahm, Balder, Guatama, and Mahomet,
All who have pledged their gains to pay my
debt
Of sorrows, all who through this world i
dream
Breathe mystery and ecstasy supreme ;
The greater and the less : the wise, tl
good,
Inheritors of Nature's godlike mood ;
A CATECHISM.
305
In these I do believe eternally,
Knowing them deathless, like the God in
me.
How many sacraments hath God ordained
Whereby the strength of man may be
sustained ?
None ; since all sacraments in Man are
blent,
And I myself am daily sacrament.
Dost thou not realise that, being base,
Thou art lost for ever, if no saving grace
Were sent in pity out of yonder sky f
Dost thou not know that, answering man's
cry
For help and aid, thy God who is Divine
Put on a human likeness such as thine,
Knew all thy doubts and fears, was foully
slain,
Died, rose a space, and shall arise again ?
Death cannot touch the Lord my God. I
know
That in a dream of death long years
ago
Mine Elder Brother beautiful and fair
Inherited life's sorrow and despair,
And being weary of the garish day
Died, blessing me. He hath not passed
away,
But filling all the world with His sweet
breath
Walks, watch'd by two pale Angels, Sleep
and Death.
Dost thou not in thine inmost heart be-
lieve,
Despite the lies which faithless sophists
weave,
In Holy Church ?
All Churches, great or small !
But most, that roof'd with blue celestial,
And fairer far than Temples built by
hands,
Which, while all others fall, survives and
stands !
More, I believe in Hell, and hope for
Heaven !
Yea, also, that my fears may be forgiven,
And that this Body shall arise again
To Light and Everlasting Life. AMEN.
II.
ANTIPHONES.
THE LOVE OF GOD.
How can I love Thee, God that madest
me ?
Who saith he loves Thee, lies !
Behold him, mouthing on his bended knee,
Upgazing to the skies !
Thy works, Thy wonders, Thine Omnipo-
tence ?
Shall these awake my love ?
Nay, these are only phantoms of the sense
Whereby I live and move !
Thy mercies and Thy gifts? Thy large
delight
In making living things ?
Love is not born of any token bright
Imperial Nature brings.
I love my fellow men, I love this hound
Who gently licks my hand,
I love the land around me, and the sound
Of children in the land.
But Thee f I love not Thee ! Stoop down,
come near
To me whom Thou hast made,
Then I may know Thee close, and hold
Thee dear,
But now I shrink afraid.
There's never a helpless thing surrounding
me,
No timid bird or beast,
I love not better far, O God, than Thee,
Tho' Thou be first, these least.
I love the maid I woo, the mother whose
touch
I feel upon my brow,
The friend who grips my hand ! for these
are such
As I, and not as Thou.
Thou Vision of my Thought ! Thou
Mystery
Of which men preach and rave !
I would not look, if Heaven held only Thee,
One foot beyond the grave !
X
<p6
ANTIPHONES.
I seek the gentle ones who once were near,
Not Thee, O light above,
I crave for all who learn'd to love me here
And whom I learn'd to love !
Out of Thy Darkness to this Light I came,
Thro' whim or wish of Thine,
Miracle ! O God unknown ! O Name
Eternal and Divine !
And since Thy Glory fills these nights and
days
That are so fugitive,
1 give Thee thanks, O God, I give Thee
praise,
But love I cannot give !
CONTRA CHRISTUM.
No Mediator, none ! If thou art God,
Thy torments were self-wrought ;
If thou wast Man, despised and undertrod,
Thy sorrows teach me nought.
I look within and find my Godhead there,
Not yonder on the Cross !
Sharer of my soul's doubt, my heart's des-
pair,
My daily gain and loss,
Howshouldst thou mediate for me and mine
Who art thyself not free ?
If thou thyself wast deathless and Divine,
What part hast thou with me ?
If thou art but the Son, and like the rest
Fell slain before God's Throne,
Then will I love thee (lo ! my hand is prest,
Dear Comrade, in thine own !)
But if thou art the Father in disguise,
I snatch my hand away ,
Back to thy realm, back to thy silent
skies,
I'll wait thy Judgment Day !
I search within, I find my one God still.
What answereth He ? ' Had /
Been God all- Powerful, fashioning to my
will
All things that creep or fly,
' / had not built their glory or their gain
On endless suffering,
I had not blent my Godhead with the pain
Of any living thing. '
Can the all-Powerful be all-Pitiful ?
The all-Cruel be all-Kind ?
If this be so then thou, my God, art null,
Then thou, my Soul, art blind !
No Mediator, then ! Soul of my Soul,
God of my Thought, rest free :
Sure of myself while the long ages roll,
I turn in peace to Thee.
MY ENEMY.
LIKE to a Leper clings this man to me,
I strike at him in vain !
My soul is haunted by mine enemy
In endless forms of pain.
I would forget him, turning in delight
To those my soul holds dear.
I cannot. Like my shadow, day and night,
Mine enemy is here.
My very being, blighted with his breath,
Droops like a thing forlorn,
Yea, with his presence, dim and dread as
Death,
My living force is worn.
I scorn him as the dust beneath my feet,
I curse him loud or low
God hears me yonder on His Judgment
Seat,
And yet he doth not go.
Yea, even more firmly than the first ai
best
Of mortals loved by me,
Clingeth with fierce hands on my wounded
breast,
This man, mine enemy !
Sometimes, when fiercely struggling throat
to throat,
Like snakes that intertwine,
Our eyes meet, and within his eyes I note
An agony like mine.
ANTIPHONES.
Sometimes, when God doth beckon from
His skies
And bids me climb or soar,
I see great tear-drops in the hated eyes
That mock me ever more.
And now I know that neither I nor he
Can ever part at all,
If I arise, I lift mine enemy,
And if he falls, I fall !
Nay, then, we two must down or upward
move
With the like end and aim,
The links of Hate are as the links of Love,
Nay (Nature saith) the same !
The same ? Nay then, I hold mine enemy
Too near for hate or scorn,
For what I hate in him is born of me,
Like his own hate, self-born.
At last I pray for him, and praying know
That he and I are one,
United at God's feet we fall, and lo !
Our foolish strife is done !
IV.
RESURRECTION.
ScORNER of Flesh, thou who wouldst plunge
in gloom
This radiant thing God made,
What shall abide if this should cease to
bloom,
This Flesh Divine should fade ?
The Soul ? A Flower of which this Flesh
is seed ?
Nay, Flesh and Soul are one !
Thou who wouldst part this one in twain,
take heed,
Lest all should be undone !
This eye of Flesh, to see and apprehend,
Is thy Soul's eye ! This clay,
That adumbrates thy Soul, shall find no end
Till that, too, fades away !
Lo, lying with a lily in her hand,
Thy dear one slumbereth,
Yet on a day she shall arise and stand
Smiling on vanquish'd Death.
All Flesh, all Form, all that was pure and
fair
Here on Life's crowded road,
She shall arise, nay, not one little hair
Shall pass away, saith God !
All that was beautiful, all thine eyes and
sense
Saw beautiful and whole,
The Form, the Flesh, no part shall vanish
hence,
Since these things are the Soul !
Nought that is beautiful can die, no form
That once grew fair can fade,
This flesh shall still be radiant, sweet, and
warm,
Form of the soul God made !
From the unconscious to the conscious
life
Man hath emerged, to know
Self-knowledge, Sight, victorious o'er the
strife
Of Nature's ebb and flow.
The day God can divide this life in twain
Its length of day is done,
But both, be sure, will rise and live again,
If Flesh and Soul are one !
V.
NATURE.
NOUGHT is so sure as this, that Nature
strives
Reckless of human pain,
That on the hecatomb of slaughtered
lives
She looks with large disdain.
Canst thou appease her hunger? For a
space,
But surely not for long ;
She strews Life's Deep with wreckage of
our race,
For she alone is strong.
Behind her footsteps crawl Calamity,
Sorrow, Disease, and Death !
And yet she shareth in the agony
Of these, who are her breath.
x a
308
ANTlPJfiONES.
Gladsome and beautiful, divinely fair,
Eager to blight or bless,
She carries in her heart all life's despair,
Yet still is pitiless.
How then escape her ? Summon to thine
aid
Thy God, all gods that be,
Inexorable, silent, undismayed,
She smiles on them and thee.
Fringe of her raiment, dewdrops on her feet,
Gleams of her own surmise,
Thy Gods go with her, fading as they meet
The flashing of her eyes.
Dying yet deathless, changeful yet
unchanged,
Still here, though all are gone,
All Love, all Hate, avenging and avenged,
She passetn slowly on.
Yet be of comfort, let her wend her way !
Watch as she goeth by !
The power which slayeth all things cannot
slay
Herself, who cannot die ;
And thou, my soul, art deathless, being part
Of her who is Divine,
Pulse of that great and ever-beating Heart,
Its length of life is thine !
Destroying all things, she destroy eth
nought
(Wherefore, be comforted !)
For if her life could fail within thy thought,
She would herself be dead !
L'ENVOI.
Think not that I blaspheme
Because I worship not this God of thine ;
Because I bend not, either in deed or dream,
To that dread Force Divine.
Atheist thou callest me,
'A0e<k, he who stands apart from God,
While priests and poets name Him fearfully
And tremble at His nod !
Poets and priests have lied
From immemorial Time, and still they lie ;
Close to the ground they watch, dull-soul'd,
dull-eyed,
The Lord of Hosts go by !
Not thus in far-off days
The Titan stood, fronting the stars and
sun
Erect he watch'd, with neither prayer nor
praise,
The inevitable One !
'A.6e6s, too, was he
Who everywhere the Soul of Pity saw
The God he prayed to, yonder in Galilee,
Was not your God of Law !
He dream' d as atheists do
Of love that triumphs on, tho' undertrod ;
He worshipt not the gloomy God o' the Jew,
Nor even Nature's God !
The Law, the Might, the Lord,
Won not the worship of the Crucified,
Murmuring another name, a gentler word,
The last Great Dreamer died.
Alas, he could not heal
The woes of Nature, or subdue her strife,
But in sublime revolt he made men feel
The piteousness of Life ! . . .
It is not reverence
To kneel in Temples priests and slaves
upraise :
The Law which sweeps us hither and sweeps
us hence
Heeds not our prayer or praise.
It is not blasphemy
To front, Prometheus-like, Eternal Fate !
The God to whom your priests now bend the
knee
Left Jesus desolate !
So died he, ade6s,
Seeking in vain to break the Tyrant's rod ;
Tormented, like Prometheus, on his Cross,
By all the slaves of God !
THE NEW ROME.
309
The New Rome.
(1900.)
PROEM. TO DAVID IN HEAVEN.
THIRTY YEARS AFTER.*
Lo ! the pale Moon roaming
Thro' the autumn gloaming,
Walking yonder Heavens alone, as many a
year ago !
Lo ! the dark streets under,
Hush'd their voice of thunder,
Silenced their mighty streams of life, and
still'd their wails of woe !
Lo ! Night's benediction
Shed on all things sleeping,
The round still Moon above, beneath, the River
silently creeping !
Do I dream, or waken ? . . .
On mine eyelids shaken
Falls the silver dew that shuts so many
weary eyes ;
Sleeping not, I wander
'Neath the Moon, and ponder,
A dream that wanders in a dream, a soul
that sings and sighs
Sorrow clingeth to me,
Time hath overcome me,
Sorrow and Time pursue in vain the friend who
was taken from me !
Pale with dead ambition
Comes his Apparition !
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, so beauti-
ful and fair !
Here in the night he lingers,
Creeps close, with clay-cold fingers
Touches my feverish aching brow, and softly
smooths my hair :
My heart breaks within me,
My tears fall, and I name him
The soul alive with love and light, till the dark-
ness overcame him.
In the City that slew him
My spirit hungereth to him,
Fain would clasp him close, but lo ! he fadeth
and is gone !
* David Gray. See the Prologue to the
author's ' Undertones.'
Lone and weary-hearted
I think of days departed,
The shining hope, the golden lure, that led
our footsteps on !
That led me even hither
To Night and isolation,
That crowns me with the weary crown of a sun-
less aspiration !
Is it gone for ever,
The bright young endeavour,
Hope that sang among the stars, and Joy
that drank the day ?
Has the deeply cherish'd
Aspiration perish'd,
And is the Dream we dream'd of old for ever
fled away ?
By the strife scarce ended,
By the battle braved,
Whisper a magic word to-night, from the grave
where I left you, David !
Help me, I am failing !
So sad, so unavailing,
Seem these weary waiting years, to your
long years of rest !
Yours the sweeter sorrow,
To strive not night or morrow,
But tranquilly to sleep and dream, as on
your mother's breast !
Winter stealeth on me,
The snow-time cometh nigh me,
Aye me ! the Spring, when I was young, and
sang, and my friend was by me !
When we trod together
Yonder land of heather,
Poets gladden'd in the world, divinely
dower'd and born
Now, the few remaining,
Sad souls westward waning,
Walk sighing and look backward to the
darken'd gates of Morn !
Dead Gods sadly beckon,
Godlike Poets follow,
The hooting of the owl is heard in the Temples
of Apollo!
What, then, shall awaken
Souls of men forsaken
By the Poets, by the Gods, by Hope and
Faith and Song?
3io
THE NEW ROME.
Teach me, ere I wander
Through the shadows yonder,
One word of comfort and of joy, to make my
spirit strong !
Ah, your voice is silent,
Like those greater voices,
Gone is the glory of the Dawn, and the music
that rejoices !
All I sang and sought for,
Agonised and fought for,
In my hand is faery gold, these wan anc
withered leaves
Wherefore still importune
Fame or fickle Fortune ?
Ah, wherefore chase the Naked Shape tha
beckons and deceives ?
All I plead and pray for
Is one glimpse of Maytime,
The light of Morning on the fields of the flower
time and the play-time !
How should Fame avail me,
If you and God should fail me,
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, who left
me long ago ?
Empty now, full measure,
Fortune, all thy treasure
Tis but a heap of withered flowers, and
never a seed to sow !
All I plead and pray for,
Be it night-time or day-time,
Is one red bud of living bloom from the rose-trees
of the Maytime !
Here, alone and weary,
1 hear man's miserere
Sound from Temples where the Gods stand
frozen into stone ;
Loud the world complaineth,
But never a Bard remaineth
To stand upon the mountain-tops and trumpet
mortals on !
'Tis over, all is over !
The world lies bereaven
Of Time's young dream, of Love's bright lure, of
the Hierarchies of Heaven !
Love me, David, love me !
From thy place above me
Send me strength to stand erect, in Life's
great Hippodrome !
The mob shrieks ' Ad leones ! '
And on the Imperial throne is
Christ with the crown of Antichrist, lord of
another Rome J
His legions shriek around him,
His creatures deify him,
But naked in the ring I wait, while the harlot
Fame sits by him.
' Loosen the wild leasts 1 ' Hither
Springs Hate, and Falsehood with her,
Fateful, cruel, leonine, they crouch and gaze
at me !
How shall arms avail me
When all the horde assail me,
And foulest, spotted like a snake, the leopard,
Calumny !
Alone in the arena,
Strewn with dead and dying,
I look into their eyes and wait, while the horde
is multiplying !
Love me, David, love me !
Stay and bend above me !
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, there's
still no love like thine !
See ! I raise in token
This sword blood-red and broken,
And point at yonder scarlet thing, the Farce
we deemed divine :
The imperial Harlot rises,
Her cold dead eyes look thro' me,
With shrill clear voice she crieth ' On ! ' and
pointeth the wild beasts to me !
'Tis over ! all the splendid
Dream of joy hath ended !
Fame is Death, and Death is Fame, and
Death is victor here !
Once, in days departed,
Dying happy-hearted
I could have borne the martyr's doom, but
now I shrink in fear.
No Heaven opens o'er me,
I hear no heavenly voices !
Gone is the faith which fights or falls, when the
heart of youth rejoices !
This we learn, who linger
Beneath Time's wither'd finger,
In a little while we cease, and all our dream
is o'er ;
Youth's fair morning vision
Of God and life Elysian
Is but a foolish fantasy, a childish dream
no more ;
This the wise have taught us
Every weary morrow :
That all the Glory and the Dream are the rain-
bows of our Sorrow !
Better cease as you did !
Star-eyed, divinely-mooded,
Hoping, dreaming, passioning, fronting the
fiery East !
Better die in gladness,
Than watch in utter sadness
The lights of Heaven put slowly out, like
candles at a feast !
THE NEW ROME.
You emerge victorious,
We remain bereaven :
Better to die than live the heirs of an empty Earth
and Heaven !
Stay ! and whisper to me
Comfort to renew me
Say the broken Gods survive, say the dead
Bards live yet !
Tell me the Immortals,
Past the grave's dark portals,
Remember all the melodies that we on earth
forget !
That, gathering grace together,
Gods and Poets wander
In shining raiment, side by side, thro' a Land of
Light up yonder !
Say, the upward-springing
Heirs of noble singing
Fill the starry thrones and keep their heritage
supreme
Swiftly sunward flying
Byron still is crying,
Wordsworth along the calm blue aisles walks
in his gentle dream !
Shakespeare, grave and gracious,
Reads some scroll of wonder ;
Keats watches Homer's blind blue eyes, while
the gods sweep past in thunder ! . . .
Ah, the dream, the fancy !
No power, no necromancy,
Peoples Heaven's thrones again or stirs the
poet-throng !
Nought can bring unto me
You who loved and knew me,
The boy's belief, the morning-red, the May-
time and the Song
Faintly up above me
Winter bells ring warning
Aye me ! the Spring, when we were young, at
the golden gates of Morning !
THE NEW ROME.
(Kensington Gardens. Late evening. )
THE POET.
(Declaiming from a Manuscript.")
4 " THE time is out of joint. O cursed spite
That ever I was born to set it right ! "
Yet forth I'll venture, leaping in the lists,
To join the knightly band of Satirists !
For since the hour '
A VOICE.
Proceed ! I'm listening !
Prithee, remember I am always near
When Bards who ought to soar to Heaven
and sing
Elect to crawl upon the ground and sneer !
THE POET.
Satan again !
THE NEW-COMER.
I see you recognise me \
The real and only Devil, whose cause
dejected
You champion'd 'gainst a world that vilifies
me,*
And so for Hell's black laurel were
selected !
Yea, Satan! Not the gruesome De'il in-
vented
Up north by Kings and ministers demented,
Not the Arch-Knave in bonnet and cock's
feather
Who scaled the Brocken peaks in windy
weather,
Far less that fop of fashionable flummery
Beloved by Miss Corelli and Mont-
gomery : -
Nay, the true ^EoN, friend of things created
Whom 'tis your glory to have vindicated !
THE POET.
What brings you hither ?
THE .EON.
Partly to remind you
Of sundry noble themes well worth your
while,
My son, to sing of, but alas, I find you,
Putting this joyful Jubilee behind you,
A-swing on Twickenham's too easy Style !
Ware satire, friend ! and most of all, I
pray you,
Shun jogtrot jingles of the pinchbeck
Masters !
THE POET.
And if my Muse refuses to obey you ?
THE .EON.
Be damn'd with Austin and the poetas-
ters !
* See ' The Devil's Case, passim
THE NEW ROME.
But come, your subject ?
THE POET.
ROME ! the new-created
And dominant realm which now makes
jubilation !
This Empire, which is Rome rejuvenated !
THE .(EON.
Continue, if you please, your declamation !
THE POET.
' Yet since the hour when in the throat of
Wrong
The Roman thrust his blunt-edged sword
of song,
Since as a tigress suckling cubs unclean
The Imperial City fed its fiefs with sin,
Full circle round the Wheel of Time hath
rolled,
And lo ! another Rome, like Rome of old,
Heir of the ages, gathering hour by hour
The aftermath of human pride and power,
Pitiless as its prototype of yore,
Sweeps on with conquering sails from shore
to shore !
As 'Rome was then, when all the gods were
dead,
When Faith was gone, and even Hope had
fled,
Yet when the Roman still in every land
Knelt and upraised to Heaven a blood-red
hand,
So is our England now /yea here as there,
Temples still rise and millions kneel in
prayer-
Pale gods of Peace are carelessly adored,
While priests and augurs consecrate the
Sword !
" Honour the Gods !" the people cry who
know
Those gods were dead and buried long
ago:
Atheists in thought and orthodox in deed
Men throng the forum and uphold the
Creed,
For fashion still preserves what Truth hath
slain,
Still simulacra of the gods remain,
And still 'tis decent, 'spite the scoffer's
sneer,
To keep the word of promise to the ear
And break it to the Soul ! '
THE ^EON.
Bravo ! a strain
Which makes the little hunchback squeak
again !
Proceed !
THE POET.
You're laughing !
THE ;EON.
THE POET.
As you say !
Doth not the parallel strike home ?
Is not the Empire of to-day
Another and a lewder Rome?
Is not this Realm, whose flag unfurl'd
Flies now where'er the surges roar,
Even as that wonder of the world
Sung by your Juvenal of yore ?
My Juvenal ?
THE ..EON.
THE POET.
At least you'll grant
'Tis such a Bard the people want
Fearless, free-spoken, sane, and strong,
To smite with stern and savage song
This monstrous Age of shams and lies?
THE ./EON.
Nay, on my soul ! I recognise
The justice of your parallel,
As high as Heaven, as deep as Hell ;
But not by hate and not by scorn,
Not by the arts of bards outworn,
/ work ! I conquer and confute
By Love and Pity absolute !
And he who earns my praise must find
The Light beyond these clouds of Fate, -
By love, not hate, for Humankind,
Must he enfranchise and unbind
The slaves whom God leaves desolate !
Amen !
THE POET.
THE .<EON.
For in his throat he lies,
Who, taught by tyrants, sees in me
The Evil Spirit that denies,
Nay, by my Christ's poor blinded eyes,
My task is to affirm and free !
THE NEW ROME.
313
Your Christ ?
THE POET.
THE ;EON.
Yea, mine ! I claim as kin
All noble souls, however blind,
Who freely stake their lives to win
Respite of sorrow for mankind !
'Tis true He failed, like all who fancy
That tears can stay God's chariot-wheels,
And seek with childish necromancy
The Force which neither spares nor
feels.
Peace to His dream ! He loved men well,
Despite that superstitious leaven,
He help'd to calm the unrest of Hell,
Although He failed to climb to Heaven !
Like Him I place beneath my ban,
With sycophant and knave and priest,
Those bitter fools who find in Man
Only the instincts of the Beast !
For now (as you yourself have sung)*
In faith in Man lies Man's last chance !
Only the over-old or over-young
Look on Humanity askance !
But to your parallel again
How do you prove and make it plain ?
THE POET.
Look back across the rolling years,
Through Time's dark mist of blood and
tears,
Across the graves of those who died
Despite their Saviour crucified,
And mark the imperial City rise
The cynosure of all men's eyes !
Domitian rules ! Though men still see
The crimson light on Calvary,
From east to west, in every land,
The Roman banners are unfurled,
And the strong Roman's blood-red brand
Reapeth the harvests of the world.
Shrieks of the slain beyond the foam
Gladden the crowds who rest at home -
The gilded throng at Caesar's heels,
The runners by his chariot-wheels,
The Priests and Augurs who intone
Praise of the gods around his throne.
A thousand starve, a few are fed,
Legions of robbers rack the poor,
The rich man steals the widow's bread,
And Lazarus dies at Dives' door ;
* See infra ' The Last Faith.'
The Lawyer and the Priest adjust
The claims of Luxury and Lust
To seize the earth and hold the soil,
To store the grain they never reap,
Under their heels the white slaves toil,
While children wail and women weep !
The gods are dead, but in their name
Humanity is sold to shame,
While (then as now !) the tinsel'd Priest
Sitteth with robbers at the feast,
Blesses the laden blood-stain'd board,
Weaves garlands round the butcher's
sword,
And poureth freely (now as then)
The sacramental blood of Men !
Ah me !
THE .<EON.
THE POET.
Pursue the parallel :
Hear the New Woman rant and rage,
Unsex'd, unshamed, she fits full well
The humours of a godless age,
Too proud to suckle fools at home,
From every woman's function free,
Lo (now as then !) she leads in Rome
The dance of Death and Vanity !
In manly guise she strives with men
In the Arena (now as then !)
Or by some painted Player's side
Sits lissome-limb'd and wanton-eyed,
Forgetting for a Mummer's nod
Her sex, her children, and her God !
THE JEON.
Stop there ! my poet must not flout at
Woman !
1 Das Ewigweibliche ' is still my care !
Thro' her, so long the White Slave of the
Human,
I mean to baulk the blundering Force up
there !
The reign of Fools and Dandies, Prigs and
Clerics,
Is o'er, with all its creeds of fiddle-
faddle
And lo, she leaves her vapours and hys-
terics,
And on the merry wheel she rides
astraddle !
314
THE NEW ROME.
Unsex'd? Enfranchised, rather! Slave
no longer,
Each hour she groweth saner, fairer,
stronger,
Full-soul' d in health, redeem' d from super-
stition,
Yet mightier for her functions of fruition !
THE POET.
To breed and suckle fools and madmen?
These
Alone can live in the accurst time coming !
Lo ! all the gods men hailed on bended
knees
Are fallen and dead, and o'er the seven seas
Only the little banjo-bards are strum-
ming !
O Age of Wind and windy reputations,
Of Windmill-newspapers that grind no
grain !
Where once the Poet sang to listening
nations
The leader-writer pipes his servile strain,
Praises the gods he knows are dead and
cold,
Hails the great Jingo-Christ's triumphal
car,
Nay, in that false Christ's name, grown
over-bold,
Shrieks havoc, and lets loose the dogs of
War!
Nay, pass the peddling knaves whose hands
have hurled
Trash by the ton upon a foolish world,
Who print in brutal type the gigman's creed
For the great mass of rogues who run and
read!
Come to the Seers and Singers, on whose
page
We read the glory of thy Mother- Age
Off hat to those, the mighty men, whose
names
The Empire honours and the world ac-
claims !
THE POET.
Find them !
I' faith, I leave that task to you
Whom do you honour? Surely one or
two?
THE POET.
Not those at least whom Rumour's brazen
throat
Trumpets as worthy of the crown and
bays
Dress-suited sages, gentlemen of note,
Sure of the newsman's nod, the gigman's
praise.
I turn from them, the sycophantic horde
Who tune their scrannel throats to praise
the Lord,
And seek the heights whereon the Wise
Men stand . . .
Lo ! the Philosopher ! with cheek on
hand
And sad eyes fix'd on God's deserted
Throne,
He cries, ' Rejoice, since nothing can be
known !
I show, beyond my ever-lengthening track
Of synthesis, the eternal Cul de sac ! '
Lo, then, the Poet ! happy, and at home
In all the arts and crafts of learned Rome,
He sees the bloody pageant of despair,
All Nature moaning 'neath its load of care,
Takes off his hat, and with a bow polite
Chirps, ' God is in his Heaven ! The
world's all right ! '
Add unto these the Sage who in the school
Of Timon madden'd and became God's
Fool,
And all the would-be Titans of the time
Who pant in cumbrous prose or rant in
rhyme,
Where shall one find, to slake his soul's
desire,
The piteous mood or cloud-compelling fire ?
THE yON.
More satire, eh ? F faith, if you'd your will
The Gods of this our Rome would fare but
ill
You ask too much, my friend ! . .
hark, that cry !
The hosts of Tommy Atkins passing by !
The Flag that for a thousand years h;
braved
The battle and the breeze is floating
there !
What Shakespeare glorified and Nelson
saved
Is worth, I think, some little praise and
prayer !
THE NEW ROME.
315
Even I, the Devil, at that note
Feel the lump rising in my throat !
"Pis something, after all, you must agree,
To mark the old Flag float from sea to sea !
THE POET.
Amen ! God bless the flag, and God bless
those
Who bled that it might wave aloft this
day,
The nameless, fameless martyrs, who re-
pose
Unwept, unmourn'd, on shores afar
away !
Honour to those who died for this our
Rome,
Honour to those who, while we crow at
home,
Preserve our freedom for a beggar's pay!
4 Let loose the dogs of War ! ' the gigman
cries,
Feasting on gold while Tommy starves and
dies ;
' Glory to England and to us its brave ! '
He shouts, while hirelings dig the soldier's
grave !
O shame ! O mockery ! for a little gold
The freedom which we vaunt is bought and
sold,
And when a foeman smites us in the face,
' A blow ! ' we cry ; ' prepare the battle-
field ! '
Then bribe a starving wretch to take our
place
And draw the ancestral sword we fear to
wield !
You're out of temper with the times
And overstate your accusation,
'Tis not her follies or her crimes
That keep this England still a Nation !
The gigman's lust, the bagman's greed,
The counter-jumper's peddling creed,
Are foam and froth of the great wave
Of Freedom rolling proudly on
This England's heart of hearts is brave
And duteous as in ages gone !
The mercenary, who fulfils
The bloody deed another wills,
No alien is, within his veins the bold
And fearless blood of a great race is flow-
ing
The flower of Valour, though 'tis bought
and sold,
At least is home-bred and of English
growing !
Enough of Rome ! My Poet's gentle eyes
Are blinded with the City's garish day-
Sleep in the Moonlight for a time ! you'll
rise
Renew'd and strong, and Care will wing
away.
Yonder among the hills of thyme and
heather
I'm holding Jubilee myself full soon ;
The Spirits of the Age will feast together
And there'll be merry doings 'neath the
moon.
Join us ! you'll find the mountain air more
pleasant
Than this foul City gas you breathe at
present ;
Since to your soul these voices sound
abhorrent,
Exchange them for the voices of the Tor-
rent ;
With dewy starlight freshen up your fancy,
Dip once again in Nature's lonely foun-
tains,
And when you've drunk your fill of
necromancy,
Flash back to Rome your message from
the Mountains !
SONGS OF EMPIRE.
Songs of Empire.
' Monstro, quod ipse tibi possis dare : semita certe
Tranquillae per virtutem patet unica vitae.
Nullum numen babes, si sit prudentia : nos te,
Nosfacimus, Fortuna, Deam, cceloque locamus ! '
Juv., Sat. x.
CARMEN DEIFIC.
AWAKE, awake, ye Nations, now the Lord
of Hosts goes by !
Sing ye His praise, O happy souls, who
smile beneath the sky !
Join in the song, O martyr'd ones, where'er
ye droop and die !
The Lord goes marching on !
'Mid tramp and clangour of the winds and
clash of clouds that meet,
He passeth on His way and treads the Lost
beneath His feet ;
His legions are the winged Storms that
follow fast and fleet
Their Master marching on !
From battlefield to battlefield He wends in
royal array,
Dead worlds are strewn like wither'd leaves
on His triumphal way,
The new Suns blossom at His touch, the old
spent Suns grow grey ;
Their Lord goes marching on !
His eyes are blind with their own Light, He
knows not where He goes,
The Day before, the Night behind, with all
its wails and woes,
And ever more on foul and fair His glory
overflows
As He goes marching on !
He is the Sea without a bound, for ever
strong and free,
Lord of the worlds that break like waves,
and every wave is He,
He is the foam that flies and falls and yet He
is the Sea
For ever rolling on I
He could not if He would turn back and
listen to thy prayer,
He could not if He would dispel the clouds
of thy despair,
Impotent in omnipotence He wends He
knows not where,
For ever marching on !
He hath no time to pause a space and lool
upon thy Dead,
How should He heed the living dust
crushes 'neath His tread?
Blind, deaf, and dumb, He heareth nc
when prayer or curse is said,
But still goes marching on !
Awake, awake, ye Nations, now the
of Hosts goes by !
Sing ye His praise, O happy ones, wt
round His chariot fly,
Join in the song, if so ye list, ye Lost, wl
droop and die,
The Lord goes marching on !
II.
Out of the dust beneath His tread,
Ashes and dust beneath His train,
Dust and earth of the living-dead,
Rises this ant-heap of Rome again !
Tower and turret and palace-dome,
Mart and temple, arise once more . . .
Where is the glory that once was Rome ?
Where are the laurels its Caesars wore?
Quickens the dust to a human cry,
Ashes and dust take shape and form,
Once again as the Lord goes by
Ashes are living and dust is warm,
Crowds to our insect cities come,
Legions of ants increase their store . .
Where is the glory that once was Rome?
Where are the laurels its Caesars wore ?
CARMEN DEIFIC.
317
Empire fair as any of old,
Proud it stands in the rosy light !
For crumbs of bread and morsels of gold
Its people struggle from morn to night,
Seize their plunder and carry it home,
Slay each other like folks of yore,
So they slew in that other Rome
Plucking the laurels the Caesars wore !
A little while and a little life
A little life and an endless rest
An endless rest to the fever'd strife
Of atoms heedlessly ban'd or blest !
Others have made this clod their home,
Lived and vanished through Death's dark
door . . .
Where is the glory that once was Rome ?
Where are the laurels the Caesars wore ?
in.
1 How long, my love,' she whisper'd,
1 How long shall it be,
The light upon the mountain-tops,
The sunlight on the sea ?
For ever and for ever,
Or only for a day ? '
He drew her gently to him
And kiss'd her tears away
' Perchance, dear love, for ever,
Perchance for a day ! '
' How long, my love,' she whisper'd,
1 How long shall it be,
The joy that thrills across the earth
And mingles you and me ?
For ever and for ever,
Too sweet to pass away?'
He sigh'd, ' If not for ever,
At least for a day !
So heart to heart, my darling,
If only for a day ! '
IV.
Stand up, Ephemeron !
This hour at least is thine, though it must
fly!
So waste it not by gazing at the sky
With eyes so woe-begone !
Thou shalt be dust anon,
Who now art rapture and a living
thing 1
Grasping what gifts the winged moments
bring,
Rejoice, Ephemeron !
Increase, Ephemeron !
Thou hast a time to quicken in delight,
And after thee shall others no less bright
Follow, when thou art gone !
Be proud and buckle on
Thy pigmy armour and thine insect mail !
Strive with thy kind, and, though a thousand
fail,
Emerge, Ephemeron !
If I were a God like you, and you were a
man like me,
If from a throne omnipotent I ruled all
things that be,
Tidings of light and love I'd send as far as
thought could fly,
And one great hymn of happiness should
sound from sky to sky,
And on your brow my gentle hand should
shed the saving dew,
If you were a man like me, and I were a
God like you !
If I were a God like you, and you were a
man like me,
And in the dark you prayed and wept and
I could hear and see,
The sorrow of your broken heart would
darken all my day,
And never peace or pride were mine, till it
was smiled away,
I'd clear my Heaven above your head till
all was bright and blue,
If you were a man like me, and I were a
God like you !
If I were a God like you, and you were a
man like me,
Small need for those my might had made
to bend the suppliant knee ;
I'd light no lamp in yonder Heaven to fade
and disappear,
I'd break no promise to the Soul, yet keep
it to the ear !
High as my heart I'd lift my child till all
his dreams came true,
If you were a man like me, and I were a
God like you !
SONGS OF EMPIRE.
VI.
A Voice was heard in the night, and it
haunts the night for ever,
And these are the words of the Voice that
God shall silence never :
' How often, God of the Glad, and God of
the Lost, shall I name Thee !
Cursing Thee under breath, too weak to
stay Thee or shame Thee !
' Blundering blindly on, with blood and
tears for Thy token,
Thou tramplest down the Weak, yea the
Strong by Thee are broken !
' Yet still Thy praise is heard, the perishing
pray unto Thee,
And lo ! I woke in the night, and smiled
for methought I knew Thee !
' I watch'd Thy sacrifice flame up, and I did
not falter,
Though the lamb and the little child were
offered up on the Altar !
' I praised Thy Day and Thy Night, Thy
manifold works and wonders.
Thy purpose gladden' d my soul, O God of
a million blunders 1
' From failure on to failure I saw Thy Light
progressing,
I felt the lash of Thy Law, yet knelt to
entreat Thy blessing.
1 Thou hast not spared Thy dearest, Thy
best beloved Thou art slaying,
Thine ears are shut to the prayers of Thy
Saints, yet lo, I am praying !
' I fear Thee, God of the Night, for Thy
Silence hath overcome me,
I hear the wails of the souls Thy Night hath
taken from me.
' Darkness shrouds Thy feet, and darkness
Thy Face is veiling
Shepherd, 'tis dark all round, and Thou
comest not to our wailing ! '
This Voice was heard in the Night, and the
Lord shall still it never !
For those are the words of the Voice that
cries in the Night for ever !
THE IMAGE IN THE FORUM.
NOT Baal, but Christus-Jingo ! Heir
Of Him who once was crucified !
The red stigmata still are there,
The crimson spear-wounds in the side ;
But raised aloft as God and Lord,
He holds the Money-bag and Sword.
See, underneath the Crown of Thorn,
The eyeballs fierce, the features grim !
And merrily from night to morn
We chaunt his praise and worship him,
Great Christus-Jingo, at whose feet
Christian and Jew and Atheist meet !
A wondrous god ! most fit for those
Who cheat on 'Change, then creep to
prayer ;
Blood on his heavenly altar flows,
Hell's burning incense fills the air,
And Death attests in street and lane
The hideous glory of his reign.
O gentle Jew, from age to age
Walking the waves Thou could'st not
tame,
This god hath ta'en Thy heritage,
And stolen Thy sweet and stainless
Name!
To him we crawl and bend the knee,
Naming Thy Name, but scorning Thee !
THE AUGURS.
DARKEN the Temple from the light,
Shut out the sun and sky,
In Darkness deep as Death and Ni<
Lead forth the Lamb to die !
We hold the golden knife aloft, andlo !
prophesy.
Augurs and priests in crimson stoled,
We ring the Altar round :
Above us, gaunt and grey and cold,
The Man-god hangs, thorn-crown'd-
Ragged and wretched waits the crowd,
watching, without a sound.
THE AUGURS.
319
With blood their hunger we appease
(Else all our task were vain) ;
Trembling they watch on bended knees
The Man-god's sculptured pain ;
Then wait in wonder while we search the
entrails of the Slain !
THE JEW PASSES.
WITH slow monotonous tread,
A Phantom hoary and grey,
While Heaven was shining overhead,
He wandered on His way :
And still His thin feet bled,
And His eyes were dim with tears
1 Surely at last,' He said,
' My father in Heaven hears ?
1 Surely now at last
My Cross is a blossoming tree,
Evil and sorrow are past,
My Throne is ready for me ? '
Worn and wan and white,
He gazed to Heaven and smiled,
And the restless wind of the night
Slept, like a sleeping child.
Slowly along the dark
Unseen by Men crept He,
But the Earth lay silently down to mark
In the soft still arms of the Sea !
He came to a City great,
Silent under the sky,
And the watchmen at the gate
Beheld Him not go by.
Passing the empty mart,
Creeping from shade to shade,
He found at last in the City's heart
A Temple that men had made.
Dark at the Temple door
The ragged and outcast lay,
And Lazarus wail'd once more,
Weary and gaunt and grey.
And an altar-light burn'd there,
And a litany sounded thence
1 Rejoice ! rejoice ! for all gods that were
Are banish'd and vanish'd hence !
' And the only god we know
Is the ghost of our own despair ;
Gaze in the glass, and lo !
Is he not mirror'd there ?
' Strong as when time began,
Creature of dust and breath,
God our Lord, the Spirit of Man,
Crown'd with the crown of Death I
And lo ! from earth and sea,
And the skies now overcast,
A voice wail'd, ' Woe is me !
Death is the first and last ! '
He went with silent feet
Thro' loathsome alley and den ;
He heard around Him from every street
The moan of the Magdalen.
1 How long, O Lord, how long,"
He heard the lone voice cry,
1 Shall they who wrought the wrong,
While we lie lost, go by ?
' Reach down thy hand,' it moaned,
' To help the lost, and me,
Rabbi, the Woman still is stoned,
The Man still wanders free ! '
Still and unseen crept He
Into the prison-square,
And He saw the Upas Tree
Of Man's Invention there . . .
High as the Cross it stood,
Cross-wise its shadows fell,
And the sap of the tree was tears and blood
And its roots sank deep as Hell.
' Rabbi ! ' again that cry
Came from a lonely place
And she who waited to die
Had a Woman's form and face.
' Reach down thy hand,' she moaned,
1 To help the lost, and me,
Rabbi, the Woman still is stoned,
The Man still wanders free !
' The lie, the blight, and the ban,
That doom me, men have cast
By Man I fell, and my Judge, a man,
Threw the first stone, and last.
320
SONGS OF EMPIRE.
' Master, master ! ' she said,
' Hither, come hither to me ! '
He left His blessing upon her head,
His curse on the Upas Tree !
And all His soul was stirr'd,
His tears like red blood ran,
While the light of the woeful Word
Flamed on the City of Man !
And the heavens grew black as night,
And the voice cried : ' Wander on ! '
And the cold Moon's arms clung wild and
white
Round a World all woe-begone !
He walked upon the Sea,
And the lamb-like waves lay still,
And He came to Calvary
And the Crosses high on the hill.
Beneath His Cross He stood,
Between the thief and the thief ;
And lo, the Cross dript blood, dript blood,
And never put forth a leaf !
With slow monotonous tread
He passed from sea to sea.
' So long, so long ! ' He said,
' And still no sleep for me ! '
A SONG OF JUBILEE.
Ho, heirs of Saxon Alfred
And Coeur de Lion bold !
Mix'd breed of churls and belted earls
Who worshipped God of old ;
Who harried East and harried West
And gather'd land and gold,
While from the lips of white-wing'd ships
Our battle-thunder rolled !
With a hey ! and a ho !
And a British three times three !
At the will of the Lord of the Cross and
Sword
We swept from sea to sea !
And lo, our mighty Empire
Rises like ROME of yore
Another Rome, that feasts at home
And hugs its golden store ;
Another and a mightier Rome !
That, growing more and more,
Now reaches from Saint Paul's great dome
To far Tasmania's shore !
With a hey ! and a ho !
And a British three times three !
True strain and seed of the Ocean-breed,
We keep this Jubilee !
Liegemen of Bess the Virgin,
Heirs of the harlot Nell !
Oi r once bright blood hath mix'd with mud
More oft than song need tell ;
But through each hour of pride and power,
When free we fought and fell,
What gave us might to face the Fight
Was faith in Heaven and Hell !
With a hey ! and a ho !
And a British three times three !
Though the faith hath fled and our Lord
lies dead,
We keep this Jubilee !
Stay ! By the Soul of Milton !
By Cromwell's battle-cry !
The voice of the Lord of the Cross and
Sword
Still rings beneath our sky !
Our faith lives still in the stubborn Will
No Priest or Pope could buy
Ours is the creed of the doughty Deed,
The strength to do and die !
With a hey ! and a ho !
And a British three times three !
Still sword in hand 'neath the Cross 
