Before the fount, with thought-o'ershadow'd brow,18
The prophet stood, and bent a wistful eye
Along its starlit shimmer;—"Ev'n as now,"
He murmur'd, "didst thou lift thyself on high,
O symbol of my soul, and make thy course
One upward struggle to thy mountain source—
"When first, a musing boy, I stood beside19
Thy sparkling showers, and ask'd my restless heart
What secrets Nature to the herd denied,
But might to earnest hierophant impart;
Then, in the boundless space around and o'er,
Thought whisper'd—'Rise, O seeker, and explore;
"'Can every leaf a teeming world contain,20
In the least drop can race succeed to race,
Yet one death-slumber in its dreamless reign
Clasp all the illumed magnificence of space—
Life crowd the drop—from air's vast seas effaced—
The leaf a world—the firmament a waste?'—
"And while Thought whisper'd, from thy shining spring21
The glorious answer murmur'd—'Soul of Man,
Let the fount teach thee, and its struggle bring
Truth to thy yearnings!—whither I began,
Thither I tend; my law is to aspire:
Spirit thy source, be spirit thy desire.'
"And I have made the life of spirit mine;22
And, on the margin of my mortal grave,
My soul, already in an air divine
Ev'n in its terrors,—starlit, seeks to cleave
Up to the height on which its source must be—
And falls again, in earthward showers, like thee.
"System on system climbing, sphere on sphere,23
Upward for ever, ever, evermore,
Can all eternity not bring more near?
Is it in vain that I have sought to soar?
Vain as the Has been, is the long To be?
Type of my soul, O fountain, answer me!"
And while he spoke, behold the night's soft flowers,24
Scentless to day, awoke, and bloom'd, and breathed;
Fed by the falling of the fountain's showers,
Round its green marge the grateful garland wreathed;
The fount might fail its source on high to gain—
But ask the blossom if it soared in vain!
The prophet mark'd, and, on his mighty brow,25
Thought grew resign'd, serene, though mournful still.
Now ceased the vesper, and the branches now
Stirr'd on the margin of the forest hill—
And Gawaine came into the starlit space—
Slow was his step, and sullen was his face.
"What didst thou see?"—"The green-wood and the sky."26
"What hear?"—"The light leaf dropping on the sward."
And now, with front elate and hopeful eye,
Stood, in the starlight, Caradoc the bard;
The prophet smiled on that fair face (akin
Poet and prophet), "Child of Song, begin."
"I saw a glow-worm light his fairy lamp,27
Close where a little torrent forced its way
Through broad-leaved water-sedge, and alder damp;
Above the glow-worm, from some lower spray
Of the near mountain-ash, the silver song
Of night's sweet chorister came clear and strong;