Nature hath stricken down in that waste world46
All—save the Soul of Arthur! That, sublime,
Hung on the wings of heavenward faith unfurl'd,
O'er the far light of the predicted Time;
Believe thou hast a mission to fulfil,
And human valour grows a Godhead's will!
Calm to that fate above the moment given47
Shall thy strong soul divinely dreaming go,
Unconscious as an eagle, entering heaven,
Where its still shadow skims the rooks below;
High beyond this, its actual world is wrought,
And its true life is in its sphere of thought.
Yet who can 'scape the infection of the heart?48
Who, though himself invulnerably steel'd,
Can boast a breast indifferent to the dart
That threats the life his love in vain would shield?
When some large nature, curious, we behold
How twofold comes it from the glorious mould!
How lone, and yet how living in the All!49
When it imagines how aloof from men!
How like the ancestral Adam ere the fall,
In Eden bowers the painless denizen!
But when it feels—the lonely heaven resign'd—
How social moves the man among mankind!
Forth from the tomblike hamlet strays the King,50
Restless with ills from which himself is free;
In that dun air the only living thing
He skirts the margin of the soundless sea;
No—not alone, the musing Wanderer strays;
For still the Dove smiles on the dismal ways.
Nor can tongue tell, nor thought conceive how far51
Into that storm-beat heart, the gentle bird
Had built the halcyon's nest. How precious are
In desolate hours, the Affections!—How, unheard
Mid Noon's melodious myriads of delight,
Thrills the low note that steals the gloom from night!
And, in return, a human love replying52
To his caress, seem'd in those eyes to dwell,
That mellow murmur, like a human sighing,
Seem'd from those founts that lie i' the heart to swell.
Love wants not speech; from silence speech it builds,
Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds.
That angel guide! His fate while leading on,53
It follow'd each quick movement of his soul.
As the soft shadow from the setting sun
Precedes the splendour passing to its goal,
Before his path the gentle herald glides,
Its life reflected from the life it guides.
Was Arthur sad? how sadden'd seem'd the Dove!54
Did Arthur hope? how gaily soar'd its wings!
Like to that sister spirit left above,
The half of ours, which, torn asunder, springs
Ever through space, yearning to join once more
The earthlier half, its own and Heaven's before;[11]
Like an embodied living Sympathy55
Which hath no voice and yet replies to all
That wakes the lightest smile, the faintest sigh,—
So did the instinct and the mystery thrall
To the earth's son the daughter of the air;
And pierce his soul—to place the sister there.