THE OIL OF MERCY.
Many beauteous spots the earth
Keepeth yet,—but brighter, fairer
Did that long-lost Eden show
Than the loveliest that remaineth:
So what marvel, when our Sire
Was from thence expelled, he waited
Lingering with a fond regret
Round those blessèd happy places
Once his home, while innocence
Was his bright sufficient raiment?
Long he lingered there, and saw
Up from dark abysmal spaces
Four strong rivers rushing ever;
Saw the mighty wall exalted
High as heaven, and on its heights
Glimpses of the fiery Angel.
Long he lingered near, with hope
Which had never quite abated,
That one day the righteous sentence,
Dooming him to stern disgraces,
Should be disannulled, and he
In his first bliss reinstated.
But when mortal pangs surprised him,
By an unseen foe assailèd,
Seth he called, his dearest son,
Called him to his side, and faintly
Him addressed—“My son, thou knowest
Of what sufferings partaker,
Of what weariness and toil,
Of what sickness, pain and danger
I have been, since that sad hour
That from Eden’s precincts drave me.
But thou dost not know that God,
When to exile forth I farèd,
Houseless wanderer through the world,
Thus with gracious speech bespake me:
—‘Though thou mayst not here continue,
In these blessèd happy places,
As before from pain exempt,
Suffering, toil, and mortal ailment,
Think not thou shalt therefore be
Of my loving care forsaken:
Rather shall that tree of life,
In the middle garden planted,
Once a precious balm distil,
Which to thee applied, thine ailments
Shall be all removed, and thou
Made of endless life partaker.’—
With these words he cheered me then,
Words that have remained engraven
On my bosom’s tablets since.
Go then, dear my son, oh hasten
Unto Eden’s guarded gate,
Tell thine errand to the Angel;
And that fiery sentinel
To the tree will guide thee safely,
Where it stands, aloft, alone,
In the garden’s middle spaces:
Thence bring back that oil of mercy,
Ere my lamp of life be wasted.”
When his father’s feeble words
Seth had heard, at once he hastened,
Hoping to bring back that oil,
Ere the light had wholly faded
From his father’s eyes, the lamp
Of his life had wholly wasted.
O’er the plain besprent with flowers,
With ten thousand colours painted
In that spring-time of the year,
By Thelassar on he hastened,
Made no pause, till Eden’s wall
Rose an ever verdant barrier,
High as heaven’s great roof, that shines
With its bright carbuncles paven.
There the son of Adam paused,
For above him hung the Angel
In the middle air suspense,
With his swift sword glancing naked.
Down upon his face he fell
By the sun-bright vision dazèd.
“Child of man”—these words he heard,
“Rise, and say what thing thou cravest?”
All his father’s need he told,
And how now his father waited,
In his mighty agony
For that medicine yearning greatly.
“But thou seekest” (this reply
Then he heard) “thou seekest vainly
For that oil of mercy yet,
Nor will tears nor prayers avail thee.
Go then quickly back, and bring
These my words to him, thy parent,
Parent of the race of men.
He and they in faith and patience
Must abide, long years must be
Ere the precious fruit be gathered,
Ere the oil of mercy flow
From the blessèd tree and sacred
In the Paradise of God:
Nor till then will be obtainèd
The strong medicine of life,
Healing every mortal ailment,
Nor thy sire till then be made
Of immortal life a sharer.
Fear not that his heart will sink
When these tidings back thou bearest,
Rather thou shalt straightway see
All his fears and pangs abated,
And by faith allayed to meekness
Every wish and thought impatient.
Hasten back then—thy return,
Strongly yearning, he awaiteth:
Hasten back then.”—On the word
To his father back he hastened,
Found him waiting his return
In his agony, his latest:
Told him of what grace to come,
Of what sure hope he was bearer—
Saw him, when that word was spoke,
Every fear and pang assuagèd,
And by faith allayed to meekness,
Every wish and thought impatient,
Like a child resign himself
Unto sweet sleep, calm and painless.
THE TREE OF LIFE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT.
I.
When Adam’s latest breath was nearly gone,
To Paradise the Patriarch sent his son,
II.
A branch to fetch him from the tree of life,
Hoping to taste of it ere life was done.
III.
Seth brought the branch, but ere he had arrived,
His father’s spirit was already flown.
IV.
Then planted they the twig on Adam’s grave,
And it was tended still from son to son.
V.
It grew while Joseph in the dungeon lay,
It grew while Israel did in Egypt groan.
VI.
Sweet odours gave the blossoms of the tree,
When David harping sat upon his throne.
VII.
Dry was the tree, when from the ways of God
Went erring in his wisdom Solomon:
VIII.
Yet the world hoped it would revive anew,
When David’s stock should give another Son.
IX.
Faith saw in spirit this, the while she sat
Mourning beside the floods of Babylon.
X.
And when the eternal lightning flashed from heaven,
The tree asunder burst with jubilant tone.
XI.
To the dry trunk this grace from God was given,
The Wòod of Passion should from thence be won.
XII.
The blind world fashioned out of it the cross,
And its Salvation nailed with scorn thereon.
XIII.
Then bore the tree of life ensanguined fruit,
Which whoso tasteth life shall be his loan.
XIV.
Oh look, oh look, how grows the tree of life,
By storms established more, not overthrown.
XV.
May the whole world beneath its shadow rest:
Half has its shelter there already won.
THE TREE OF LIFE
FROM AN OLD LATIN POEM.
I.
There is a spot, by men believed to be
Earth’s centre, and the place of Adam’s grave,
And here a slip that from a barren tree
Was cut, fruit sweet and salutary gave—
Yet not unto the tillers of the land;
That blessèd fruit was culled by other hand.
II.
The shape and fashion of the tree attend:
From undivided stem at first it sprung;
Thence in two arms its branches did outsend,
Like sail-yards whence the flowing sheet is hung,
Or as a yoke that in the furrow stands,
When the tired steers are loosened from their bands.
III.
Three days the slip from which this tree should spring
Appeared as dead—then suddenly it bore
(While earth and heaven stood awed and wondering)
Harvest of vital fruit;—the fortieth more
Beheld it touch heaven’s summit with its height,
And shroud its sacred head in clouds of light.
IV.
Yet the same while it did put forth below
Branches twice six, these too with fruit endued,
Which stretching to all quarters might bestow
Upon all nations medicine and food,
Which mortal men might eat, and eating be
Sharers henceforth of immortality.
V.
But when another fifty days were gone,
A breath divine, a mighty storm of heaven
On all the branches swiftly lighted down,
To which a rich nectareous taste was given,
And all the heavy leaves that on them grew
Distilled henceforth a sweet and heavenly dew.
VI.
Beneath that tree’s great shadow on the plain
A fountain bubbled up, whose lymph serene
Nothing of earthly mixture might distain:
Fountain so pure not anywhere was seen
In all the world, nor on whose marge the earth
Put flowers of such unfading beauty forth.
VII.
And thither did all people, young and old,
Matrons and virgins, rich and poor, a crowd
Stream ever, who, whenas they did behold
Those branches with their golden burden bowed,
Stretched forth their hands, and eager glances threw
Towàrd the fruit distilling that sweet dew.
VIII.
But touch they might not these, much less allay
Their hunger, howsoe’er they might desire,
Till the foul tokens of their former way
They had washed off, the dust and sordid mire,
And cleansed their bodies in that holy wave,
Able from every spot and stain to save.
IX.
But when within their mouths they had received
Of that immortal fruit the gust divine,
Straight of all sickness were their souls relieved,
The weak grew strong;—and tasks they did decline
As overgreat for them, they shunned no more,
And things they deemed they could not bear, they bore.
X.
But woe, alas! some daring to draw near
That sacred stream, did presently retire,
Drew wholly back again, and did not fear
To stain themselves in all their former mire,
That fruit rejecting from their mouths again,
Not any more their medicine, but their bane.
XI.
Oh blessèd they, who not retreating so,
First in that fountain make them pure and fair,
And do from thence unto the branches go,
With power upon the fruitage hanging there:
Thence by the branches of the lofty tree
Ascend to heaven—The Tree of Life oh! see.
PARADISE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT.
I.
Oh! Paradise must show more fair
Than any earthly ground,
And therefore longs my spirit there
Right quickly to be found.
II.
In Paradise a stream must flow
Of everlasting love:
Each tear of longing shed below
Therein a pearl will prove.
III.
In Paradise a breath of balm
All anguish must allay,
Till every anguish growing calm,
Even mine shall flee away.
IV.
And there the tree of stillest peace
In verdant spaces grows:
Beneath it one can never cease
To dream of blest repose.
V.
A cherub at the gate must be,
Far off the world to fray,
That its rude noises reach not me,
To fright my dream away.
VI.
My heart, that weary ship, at last
Safe haven there will gain,
And on the breast will slumber fast
The wakeful infant, Pain.
VII.
For every thorn that pierced me here
The rose will there be found,
With joy, earth’s roses brought not near,
My head will there be crowned.
VIII.
There all delights will blossom forth,
That here in bud expire,
And from all mourning weeds of earth
Be wove a bright attire.
IX.
All here I sought in vain pursuit,
Will freely meet me there,
As from green branches golden fruit,
Fair flowers from gardens fair.
X.
My youth, that by me swept amain,
On swift wing borne away,
And Love that suffered me to drain
Its nectar for a day,—
XI.
These, never wishing to depart,
Will me for ever bless,
Their darling fold unto the heart,
And comfort and caress.
XII.
And there the Loveliness, whose glance
From far did on me gleam,
But whose unveilèd countenance
Was only seen in dream,
XIII.
Will, meeting all my soul’s desires,
Unveil itself to me,
When to the choir of starry lyres
Shall mine united be.
THE LOREY LEY.
FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE.
I.
What makes me so heavy-hearted,
I ask of my heart in vain:
But a tale of the times departed
Haunts ever my heart and brain.
II.
In the cool air it waxes dimmer,
And quietly flows the Rhine:
And the mountain summits glimmer
In the sunny evening shine.
III.
There sits on the rocks a maiden
In marvellous beauty there.
With gold her apparel is laden,
And she combs her golden hair:
IV.
And the comb is of gold and glistens,
And thereto she sings a song,
Which for every soul that listens
Has a potent spell and strong.
V.
The boatman in light boat speeding,
When he hears it, utters a cry,
No longer the rapids heeding,
But only gazing on high.
VI.
The stream is its wild waves flinging
O’er boat and boatman anon,
And ’tis this with her lovely singing
Which the Lorey Ley has done.
I.
Oh thou of dark forebodings drear,
Oh thou of such a faithless heart,
Hast thou forgotten what thou art,
That thou hast ventured so to fear?
II.
No weed on Ocean’s bosom cast,
Borne by its never-resting foam
This way and that, without an home,
Till flung on some bleak shore at last—
III.
But thou the Lotus, which above
Swayed here and there by wind and tide,
Yet still below doth fixed abide
Fast rooted in the eternal Love.