A vision of life

by Darrell Figgis

THE GOLDEN MUSICIAN

Melodious Bird, thy winsome word

Falls sweetly on my ear!

Stupendous Song, ’tis borne along,

Mellow and deft and clear,

Till each soul-nook with music shook

Rings back with merry cheer!

What vivid change will it so range!

Swiftly ’twill follow after

A pensive chirp with gay “stoup-stirp”

Ringing with merry laughter,

Until its chime in resonant rime

Echoes from roof and rafter.

The livelong day, come gloom or grey,

Always and ever singing;

Be ’t bliss or ill so singing still,

Cheerily, merrily ringing,

Thou upon us in music thus

Spray of delight art flinging.

Is it a strand, a vagrant hand,

From Love’s exalted treasure,

So bearing us voluptuous

Rare peals of delicate pleasure,

Thrilling the soul, tho’ vast and whole

Its fullness mocks all measure?

’Tis as a word inwardly stirred,

As Memory subtly lingers

O’er Hours fled by the Noon, that lie

Past touch of confident fingers,

Yet that upcall the bowered hall,

The voice of silent singers.

Then say, oh Mage of antique age,

These, are they gifts of olden

And lovelit days whereto in praise

I utter back beholden?—

See, see, thy throat trilling each note

Throbs like a zephyr golden.

There—as I gaze in rapt amaze—

Swollen with rare emotion,

Fervid of joy, scorning alloy,

Spurning a base devotion

To shackled earth, it trips a mirth

All of a heavenly potion.

A murmurous note doth freely float

Like waves of rippling water;

Then a high song doth course along

To Sorrow uttering slaughter,

Commanding forth in merry wrath

Bliss and her jocund daughter.

Attenuate heights in perilous flights,

Soaring in eagle fashion,

Thou seekest out, from whence about

On aching ears there flash on

Rhythms unwrought, delights unthought,

Echoes of ageless passion.

Oh, this divine rare lay of thine

Rings like a heavenly lyric,

Lulling each sense, wafting me hence,

Bidding the World’s Empiric

Fade on my ear awhile, to hear

Thy cadence full and spheric.

Thy splendid boon of glorious Tune

Hath tongues of fire cloven;

Each diverse part with subtle art,

Each period rich and proven,

To touch to one theme till ’tis spun

Of texture interwoven.

Ecstatic Dreams, are these thy themes?

Stung by thy wondrous lyre,

So wilt thou go with quickening glow,

On wings of flameless fire,

From light to light in fearless flight

Of music ever higher?—

Till every cloud in passion proud

Mightily burst asunder,

Display a new translunar view

With its own soul of wonder:—

Be ’t as it may, a wizard lay,

Or ecstasy of thunder?

For every sphere thy song’s career

So bursts upon to capture,

Amply is strewn with rhythmic tune,

Whereunto to adapt your

Melodious Verse and then rehearse

Once more its delicate rapture.

Hardly content with music pent

In melodies once given

Wilt thou again repeat the strain,

Till on by passion driven,

That every clause may peal applause

Of harmony twice striven?

Oh, that the Muse would touch to use

This lyre as thine ’tis using!

Then might I rise with mystical eyes,

Swoll’n with the theme of musing,

Soaring athirst my song to burst

With utterance scarce of choosing.

So Song would scorn corporeal bourne;

Dilated so pursuing

With eager breast its passionate quest,

All transient worth eschewing,

Pausing its lute awhile when, mute,

Life’s towering Vasts reviewing.

How then ’twould wear a rapture rare,

An other-worldly glory;

In rich array each simple lay

Decking Life’s thought or story;

Still dew-impearled were all the world

Sombre and blear and hoary.

On Wonder’s wing ’twould featly bring

Exultant exaltation

To all that foot amid the bruit

Of daily lot and station,

In uttering such clear dreams as touch

Doubt unto Adoration,

So shall the Balm—oh winsome charm!—

Of her rhapsodic madness

Keep blithe and young the World’s wild tongue;

Its trick of gloom and sadness

Banish away from the light of day

With an unquestioning Gladness.

The spiritous reign of Song’s domain

Eternity embowers:

Ere faulty Man his Hour began

’T had rung the heavenly towers

With echoing shaft-peals, that now waft

Earth with ecstatic showers.

With hesitant ruth we ponder Truth,

Thou sing’st as thou dost know it—

Beholding it all wonder-writ,

Then unto us to show it

In sweeping tune, unwrought, pure-hewn,

Dear never-halting Poet!

Yet our frail Song ’twixt Right and Wrong

Ofttimes will pierce unwitting;

As were the gleams of Poet’s dreams

Fair beams of Beauty flitting

Whence Reason ne’er snuffed thro’ the air

Wooing Time’s proud permitting.

No longer with pard, kin or kith,

Stranger, so wilt thou wander

A murky isle, in splendid style

Ecstatic Song to squander

On such as fain would turn again

Thy source of Song to ponder?

Not thine to greet the Sun’s high beat

On Freedom’s pinions soaring!

Nor thine the rich rapt melody which

Thy woody tribes are pouring!

But all apart with tuneful art

Spiritual realms exploring!

Within the gloom o’ a dusky room,

All in a dusky City

Callow and wan, so tun’st thou on

High anthem and soft ditty?

Scarce thine the mood and attitude

Waking a captive’s pity!

What reckest thou if leafy bough

Or plaster palanquin thee!

Howe’er thou yearn for the Noons that burn

Not gloom nor bars may win thee

From the clear Joy pure of alloy

Exquisitely strung within thee.

Then sing thou on, while I upon

The flight of thy pure Vision

Am borne aloft on pinions soft,

Perceiving no elision,

Thither whence Life and Toil and Strife

Are Pity and Derision.

Yet, that I might pursue the flight,

Purer and swifter travel

Past blame or praise, till Life’s Amaze

Shall dwindle and unravel,

Sweetly to shine like this of thine,

Rare Beauty, scarce a cavil.