Nor when his instinct of the life afar
Soar'd from the soil and task'd the unanswering star,
Came more than Hope—that reflex-beam of Faith—
That fitful moonlight on the unknown path;
And not the glory of the joyous sun,
That fills with light whate'er it shines upon;
From which the smiles of God as brightly fall
On the lone charnel as the festive hall!
Now Autumn closes on the fading year,
The chill wind moaneth through the woodlands sere;
At morn the mists lie mournful on the hill,—
The hum of summer's populace is still!
Hush'd the rife herbage, mute the choral tree,
The blithe cicala, and the murmuring bee;
The plashing reed, the furrow on the glass
Of the calm wave, as by the bank you pass
Scaring the lazy trout,—delight no more;
The god of fields is dead—Pan's lusty reign is o'er!
Solemn and earnest—yet to holier eyes
Not void of glory, arch the sober'd skies
Above the serious earth!—The changes wrought
Type our own change from passion into thought.
What though our path at every step is strewn
With leaves that shadow'd in the summer noon;
Through the clear space more vigorous comes the air,
And the star pierces where the branch is bare.
What though the birds desert the chiller light;
To brighter climes the wiser speed their flight.
So happy Souls at will expand the wing,
And, trusting Heaven, re-settle into Spring.
An old man sat beneath the yellowing beech,
Vow'd to the Cross, and wise the Word to teach.
A patriarch priest, from earth's worst tempters pure,
Gold and Ambition!—sainted and obscure!
Before his knee (the Gospel in his hands,
And sunshine at his heart), a youthful listener stands!
The old man spoke of Christ—of Him who bore }
Our form, our woes;—that man might evermore }
In succouring woe-worn man, the God, made Man, adore! }
"My child," he said, "in the far-heathen days,
Hope was a dream, Belief an endless maze;
The wise perplex'd, yet still with glimpse sublime
Of ports dim-looming o'er the seas of Time
Guess'd Him unworshipp'd yet—the Power above
Or Dorian Phœbus, or Pelasgic Jove!
Guess'd the far realm, not won by Charon's oar
Not the pale joys the brave who gain abhor;
No cold Elysium where the very Blest
Envy the living and deplore the rest;[W]
Where ev'n the spirit, as the form, a ghost,
Dreams back life's conflicts on the shadowy coast,
Hears but the clashing steel, the armëd train,
And waves the airy spear, and murders hosts again!
More just the prescience of the eternal goal,
Which gleam'd 'mid Cyprian shades, on Zeno's soul,
Or shone to Plato in the lonely cave;
God in all space, and life in every grave!
Wise lore and high,—but for the few conceived;
By schools discuss'd, but not by crowds believed.
The angel-ladder touch'd the heavenly steep,
But at its foot the patriarchs did but sleep;
They did not preach to nations 'Lo your God;'
No thousands follow'd where their footsteps trod;
Not to the fisherman they said 'Arise!'
Not to the lowly they reveal'd the skies;—
Aloof and lone their shining course they ran
Like stars too high to gild the world of man:[X]
Then, not for schools—but for the human kind—
The uncultured reason, the unletter'd mind;
The poor, the oppress'd, the labourer, and the slave,
God said, 'Be light!'—And light was on the Grave!
No more alone to sage and hero given,
Ope for all life the impartial Gates of Heaven!
Enough hath Wisdom dream'd, and Reason err'd,
All they would seek is found!—O'er Nature sleeps the Word!
"Thou ask'st why Christ, so lenient to the deed,
So sternly claims the faith which founds the creed;
Because, reposed in faith the soul has calm;
The hope a haven, and the wound a balm;
Because the light, dim seen in Reason's Dream,
On all alike, through faith alone, could stream.
God will'd support to Weakness, joy to Grief,
And so descended from his throne—Belief!
Nor this alone—Have faith in things above,
The unseen Beautiful of Heavenly Love;
And from that faith what virtues have their birth,
What spiritual meanings gird, like air, the Earth!
A deeper thought inspires the musing sage!
To youth what visions—what delights to age!
A loftier genius wakens in the world,
To starrier heights more vigorous wings unfurl'd.
No more the outward senses reign alone,
The soul of Nature glides into our own.
To reason less is to imagine more;
They most aspire who meekly most adore!
"Therefore the God-like Comforter's decree—
'His sins be loosen'd who hath faith in me.'
Therefore he shunn'd the cavils of the wise,
And made no schools the threshold of the skies:
Therefore he taught no Pharisee to preach
His Word—the simple let the simple teach.
Upon the infant on his knee he smiled,
And said to Wisdom, 'Be once more a child!'"
The boughs behind the old man gently stirr'd,
By one unseen those Gospel accents heard;
Before the preacher bow'd the pilgrim's head:
"Heaven to this bourne my rescued steps hath led,
Grieving, perplex'd—benighted, yet with dim
Hopes in God's justice,—be my guide to Him!
In vain made man, I mourn and err!—restore
Childhood's pure soul, and ready trust, once more!"
The old man on the stranger gazed;—unto
The stranger's side the young disciple drew,
And gently clasp'd his hand;—and on the three
The western sun shone still and smilingly;
But, round—behind them—dark and lengthening lay
The massive shadow of the closing day.
"See," said the preacher, "Darkness hurries on,
But Man, toil-wearied, grieves not for the Sun;
He knows the light that leaves him shall return,
And hails the night because he trusts the morn!
Believe in God as in the Sun,—and, lo!
Along thy soul, morn's youth restored shall glow!
As rests the earth, so rest, O troubled heart,
Rest, till the burthen of the cloud depart;
Rest, till the gradual veil, from Heaven withdrawn,
Renews thy freshness as it yields the dawn!"
Behold the storm-beat wanderer in repose!
He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose,
Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings,
And floats the music borne from seraph-strings.
Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives,
Proclaiming God where'er Creation lives;
But there the doubt will come!—the clear design
Attests the Maker and suggests the Shrine;
But in that visible harmonious plan,
What present shows the future world to man?
What lore detects, beneath our crumbling clay,
A soul exiled, and journeying back to day;
What knowledge, in the bones of charnel urns,
The etherial spark, the undying thought, discerns?
How from the universal war, the prey
Of life on life, can love explore the way?
Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air,
And the fierce Self that strives and slays is there.
What but that Self to Man doth Nature teach?
Where the charm'd link that binds the all to each?
Where the sweet Law—(doth Nature boast its birth)—
"Good will to man, and charity to earth?"
Not in the world without, but that within,
Reveal'd, not instinct—soul from sense can win!
And where the Natural halts, where cramp'd, confined,
The seen horizon bounds the baffled mind,
The Inspired begins—the onward march is given;
Bridging all space, nor ending ev'n in Heaven!
There, veil'd on earth, we mark divinely clear,
Duty and end—the There explains the Here!
We see the link that binds the future band,
Foeman with foeman gliding hand in hand;
And feel that Hate is but an hour's—the son
Of earth, to perish when the earth is done—
But Love eternal; and we turn below,
To hail the brother where we loathed the foe;
There, in the soft and beautiful Belief,
Flows the true Lethé for the lips of Grief;
There, Penury, Hunger, Misery, cast their eyes,
How soon the bright Republic of the Skies!
There, Love, heart-broken, sees prepared the bower,
And hears the bridal step, and waits the nuptial hour!
There, smiles the mother we have wept! there bloom
Again the buds asleep within the tomb;
There, souls regain what hearts had lost before
In that fix'd moment call'd the—Evermore!
Refresh'd in that soft baptism, and reborn,
The Indian woke, and on the world was morn!
All things seem'd new—rose-colour'd in the skies
Shone the hoar peaks of the old memories;
No more enshrouded with unbroken gloom
Calantha's injured name and early tomb—
No more with woe (how ill-suppress'd by pride!)
Thought sounds the gulf that parts the promised bride!
Faithful no less to Death, and true to Love,
This blooms again—that shall rejoin, above!
The Stoic courage had the wound conceal'd;
The Christian hope the wound's sharp torture heal'd.
As rude the waste, but now before him shone }
The star;—he rose, and cheerful journey'd on, }
Full of the God most with us when alone! }
III.