A VISION OF LIFE

A VISION OF LIFE
POEMS. BY DARRELL FIGGIS
WITH AN INTRODUCTION

BY GILBERT K. CHESTERTON

LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMIX

WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH

TO
MY WIFE

For nigh four years now have these poems sought to snuff the open breeze, returning ever to me broken and disappointed. What bitterness was in this—how deep you alone know!—was yours also; but I alone knew that rarer bounty of your instant and unfailing comfort. Therefore, dear, these poems are dedicate to you beyond my power to alter or avert; and it lies for me now but to confirm the finding of the years.

INTRODUCTION
BY G. K. CHESTERTON

There are signs of a certain stirring in English poetry, a minor Renaissance of which Francis Thompson may be regarded as the chief ensign and example. It is partly the Elizabethan spirit, that permanent English thing working its way again to the surface; but, of course, like every Renaissance, it is in many ways unlike its origin and model. It is as true in art as it is in religion, that when a man is born again, he is born different. And the latest Elizabethanism has differed not only from the actual Elizabethan work, but from other revivals of it. The great romantic movement which was at its height about the beginning of the nineteenth century, the movement of which Coleridge is perhaps the most typical product, this movement was and even claimed to be a return to the Elizabethan inspiration. This, of course, it was in its revolt against the rhymed rationalism of Pope, in its claim that poetry was a sort of super-sense which Pope would have called nonsense. But there were two elements in the Coleridge and Wordsworth movement which prevented it, splendid as it was, from being perfectly Elizabethan.

The first was a certain craze for simplicity, even for a somewhat barbaric simplicity; a craze which was much connected with the growing influence of Germany and the purely Northern theory of our national origin. People were trying to be Anglo-Saxon instead of English. In style and diction this produced an almost pedantic plainness and love of Teutonic roots which, whatever else it was, was utterly antagonistic to the spirit of the Elizabethans. This business of the plain Saxon speech is entirely appropriate as eulogy on certain suitable things, such as the translation of the Bible; it is permissible as eulogy, but it is intolerable as condemnation. It is certainly part of the beauty of Bunyan’s work that it is built out of plain words, just as it is part of the beauty of Westminster Cathedral that it is built out of plain bricks. But as for saying that no building shall be built out of stone or marble or timber, that is quite another matter, and quite an unreasonable one. Coleridge, in the Ancient Mariner, did frequently manage strange and fine effects with the bald words of a ballad. But because I will not go without—

“They fixed on me their stony eyes

That in the moon did glitter,”

is no reason at all why I should go without—

“Re-visits thus the glimpses of the moon.”

The richness and variegation of the old Elizabethan style permitted peculiar and poignant effects which the Wordsworthian ballad, and even the Tennysonian lyric, did not attempt to revive. The principal objection to writing Anglo-Saxon instead of English is, after all, a very simple one: it is that the Anglo-Saxon vocabulary is one of the smallest in the world, while the English vocabulary is one of the largest.

Mr. Darrell Figgis is one of those who give this impression of a latter-day return to the Elizabethan spirit; that is, to the real Elizabethan spirit which the romantic movement omitted—the spirit of Elizabethan enrichment and involution. The element to which I refer is already sufficiently well known in the work of Francis Thompson, in whom it could be, and indeed has been, called, not only Elizabethan complexity, but even Elizabethan affectation. The work of Mr. Darrell Figgis is less elaborate than that extreme though triumphant example; but it has the same essential qualities of sustained and systematic metrical style, of line linked with line in a process requiring the reader’s attention, and remote in its very nature from the startling simplicity of the old romantic ballad. If this kind of poetry prevails, people will have to listen to it rather as they listen to good and rather difficult music, not as they listen to scattered brilliancies in a speech by Mr. Bernard Shaw. Mr. Figgis is even Elizabethan (as was Francis Thompson also) in attempts at abrupt lyric metres, not always easy to achieve. But there was, indeed, another respect in which the early nineteenth century failed to be fully renaissant of the Renaissance. I mean that taste of sickness and aimless revolt which dominated Byron and even Shelley, and discoloured the moods of Coleridge. I am well aware of how much of strong art, of mercy, and egalitarian justice there was in the revolt, and those men in England who were its essential and spiritual enemies (such as Gifford in literature and Castlereagh in politics) are now covered with a contempt which can never be wiped away. Yet, when all is said, the weakness of the indispensable Revolution was in its artistic voices, in their notes of negation, of license, and of despair. When all is said, the Revolution succeeded in France, because it was chiefly an affair of soldiers; the Revolution failed in England, because it was chiefly an affair of poets. If any twopenny placeman could call it mere anarchy, if any tenth-rate Tory can say that it hated God and man, the blame does not lie with the stoical religion of Robespierre or the enormous common sense of Danton; it lies with Byron or Shelley or their belated brother Swinburne.

In this connection it is pleasant to feel that the new stirrings of the old influence are without any recurrence to the mere sentiment of ruin. In this respect the rising men rather follow Browning, who had the hope and heartiness of the Elizabethans, as well as their mystification and elaborate wit; indeed, he had everything of the Elizabethans, except their ease. Francis Thompson spoke from a secure tower of faith. Mr. Darrell Figgis is on the side of the angels. Nothing is more satisfying in his poetry, apart from its many incidental beauties, than the evidence it offers of a certain return to right feeling and faith in life, not as an early dream of transcendentalism, but as an ultimate result of experience. The thing which tired people call optimism is growing in many as a matter of mere fair-mindedness, and the fact is that at last a man of the world may be permitted to admire the world. I will not deny that much of my pleasure in Mr. Figgis’ work arises from a sympathy with his serious and sincere enjoyment of beauty and the great things that life begets. I should like to have quoted more than one line from his Vision of Life. But, after all, the ground of my gratitude and mental kinship is mostly in this: that it really is a vision of life, and not merely a vision of destruction.

G. K. CHESTERTON.

CONTENTS

A VISION OF LIFE

A VISION OF LIFE

I sat brewing awhile, one even’s close,

Life’s Destiny and Purpose. In the grate

A flickering fire shone,

Withered and wan,

Dishevelled as a hectic Autumn rose.

So, as I sate,

With elfish toe leaping the shrinking embers

A spiritous Presence passed, and on my thought

Visions of faded days, paled friendships, dreams

Of rapturous Mays smitten to drear Decembers,

In evanescent postures wrought

From forth the flickering gleams.

So death-still ranged the Night athwart the gloom

Icy and cavernous, that the embers’ tune

Spake sharp and sudden, chasing the shade and flame

In elfish gambol round the sombre room.

So stepped the Night’s high noon;

While Time, steady of sinew and of brow

Implacable, upwound upon its spool

The fitful hours of innocence and shame.

Nor solitary, Night in its high rule,

Reigned, for from forth the frosty bowers

Deft messengers of airy fashion came

The rude Earth to endow

With heavenly mysteries of flowers.

So sat I, and my mood grew calm and still:

Irk fretted away; care, soilure, and distress,

The smutch of strife, at the gaunt Night’s caress

Unruffled into lofty peace. A will

Ineffable, previsionary, swelled

My thought to something of a twilit mood.

Earth faded awhile; the frame of sensible things

Obliviously smote my sensitive touch;

The populous warm walls, the grate that held

Ashes and smoulderings,

The frore behoof, and all of fashion such,

Transmuted were unto the larger scope

Of visionary aspect. Thus on wings

Of guideless flight, and thought I fain would cope,

A Vision fared on me whate’er I would.

Then seemed the twilight heavy with filmy glows:

Forth from before my sight two several ways

In opposite invitation rose,

Oweing no kith, diverse of hue as aim.

Darkling the Right ran, thro’ a drear amaze

Craggy and barren, fulfilled of sloughs and mire;

Most straitly was it limned, and oft each side

Fell sheer to plumbless horror steep, that swept

Spaceless, in ebon vastiness awide.

Surmounted it thus dizzily; o’erleapt

Fell chasms perilously athwart; abysms gaunt,

Remorseless bracken tarns, the desert’s haunt,

Each slippery spiss and slough, it overcame,

Winding and wending ever higher and higher

Tortuous yet steady-sure.

Even so, despite I could not see

Aught goal, withal its callow brow to daunt

The hazardous soul, it bore a subtle lure

Touching the deepest founts of high desire.

Stretched on my Left, thus did it seem to me,

Broadly a rich demesne lay, liberal

And affluent, in spacious festival

Arrayed. Mirth and the wealth of song

Swelled thro’ its gaily caparisoned cope,

Whose portals swung wide ope—

Falling upon my ears in ribaldry

And merry laughter lewd:

Nowhither led it seemingly; soft and strong

Giddily sprang its mirth and ultimate hope.

Yet scarce could I resolve it, for its air

Quivered and scintillated glamours dense,

A palpable mist of golden vapour, whence,

On my amazing sight, there flitted nude

The flash of forms voluptuous and rare,

Whose ruby lips soft ruddy juices woo’d.

Pondering I hovered; each the several ways

Touched its responsive motion: this, that wound

Whither I knew not, travail amid and stain,

Awoke the fount of thought; that, the sheer gain

Of liberal ecstasy, of flowing days

And nightless hours forgetful, bound around

Of irkless ease: this spake Olympus found,

Endeavour’s glowing thew, Achievement high;

That struck all blood to fever, till I fain

Had slipped the leash. Perplexedly sat I.

Then from the mirth and ribaldry outstept

Beauty her very self: Of motion free,

In grace voluptuous she swam on me,

Her pursed lips murmurous of a mellow strain.

Soft as the stars at evenfall

Smiled her rare eyes from forth the shimmering air

Hanging about her yet—her veriest pall,

Save that an all-exuberant tide of hair

Entwound her soft and sensuous flesh. So swept

She, gracious; I her other-heedless thane.

Rare love, mellow voluptuous love,

Shone from her wondrous eyes, fell from her tongue

Melodious, dwelt on the delicate bloom

Of her seductive limbs: munificence

Of love rioted in her wayward hair

Falling heedlessly, and clung

Ecstatic in the tremulous air’s perfume.

Visionary I gazed; my mutinous blood,

Each drop particularly fraught with so

Complete an ecstasy, coursed thro’ my sense

With populous colloquy, pouring a vast flood

Of dizzy whispers on my ears awhile.

Invitingly oped she her arms; a smile

Broke her soft lips; then, rapturously and low,

Fluted this murmurous music thro’ the air,

In woven assonances, liquid measures,

Her blissful syllables spelling the pleasures

Her wares that were.

“Sweet, come with me; learn out my rare requite!

Sweet, come to me, so shall I be to thee

A passionate delight!

Let us enwrap us in the robes of Pleasure;

Owe no confining marge, but full and free

Hold Love’s exultant measure.

Claim lordship on these lips; make this embrace

Of strenuous limbs thine to the tilth of days;

The exquisitry of this face,

If so to thee, scan with thine eager eyes:

Flash linking flash, all in a wondering gaze,

Twin in our ecstasies.

The fragrant largess of this liberal hair

Shall twine us twain about as we shall twine

Hid in Love’s secret lair;

Or mantle down thy shoulder as I lay

This peach-soft bloom of loveliness on thine

And Love’s low message say.

Then come to me; yea, let me be to thee

Love’s veriest scope of all; in these soft eyes

Spell thine Eternity.

Ah, wherefore hesitant hang? These plenteous halls

Hunger for thee, as I, with full surmise:

Lords be we all, not thralls!”

So ceased she: flashing from her challenging eyes

Arch invitations, boldly coy. The air,

Loth to let slip such bliss,

Clung to its echoing whispers, murmurous-wise,

In passionate ecstasy. And yet, howe’er

Each swollen vein of mine with knotted strain

Stood high, content for one celestial kiss

To cheapen Life and Thought, a distant pain

Fettered me with disturbed uncertainty.

Hesitant I glanced away; held of a doubt;

Tost ’twixt passion and fear: tentatively

My eye shot roundabout,

Each freighting all my venture on a thought.

Then from the silvery glooms, a wizardry, fraught

With an imperative touch, fell on my soul,

Drawing all my thought thither with harsh control.

So, as I glowered upon its portals, wan,

Gaunt, lofty, lifting up a parlous height

Of shadowy phantasy, before its brink

Palely the air shivered, and its atoms shone

Pregnant with waking light.

Unknowing what its purport, what to think

Scarce dared I hazard—gazing, smote to trance,

Riveted there with every thought and glance.

The pallid atoms, hither-thither mazed,

Smitten with iridescent rigours, shaped

As to an outline—gaunt and leanly draped

With flowing vesture, bony arms upraised

Talon-befingered. Its Visage all was wan,

Harrowed and sexless, like some skeleton

Draped o’er with lifeless skin. Its Brow, or what

Seemed like to Brow, hungered the heavy skies.

Its glittering eyes

Gleamed coldly in great orbs. ’Twas steely-lipped.

Its Trunk, Its ruinous Midst—oh, tell it not!

Most like ’twas to a livid dream forgot,

And waked to horror at fell Memory’s whims!

A sweaty Terror sat upon my limbs;

My natural Fell awoke to life, and stood

Erect with palpable horror; and all my blood

Crowded its mart of motion, fear-begot,

Thither to escape. Then from the Phantom chill

Upon the palpitant air these measures dripped

In numbers ill.

“Mortal, be not deceived!

Despise these cloying measures, they are false!

Withhold imagination from the calls

Of sensuous privilege. Straightway be cleaved

Thence, and away! And hearken now to me.

Heed these rare strictures! Prize not thy frail self:

Strive for a larger Weal; Felicity

Foots only thus. Perplex thy brain for Man,

And his complacent peace: eschew the pelf

Of isolate happiness; so shall thy span

Compound the highest achievement. Manacles

Spell subtler bliss than liberty; in sooth

Are veriest liberty; yet if not so,

Thine the dear joy of conning out the cells

Of worthier constraint. Scan virtuous Truth;

Search out her compeers with a quickening throe

Of ecstasied thought. Love Justice. Knowledge sue

And track, following on tho’ dark disruth

Dog all thy painful way. Think nobly true;

Compassionately soothe the sick of soul,

Life’s troubled children. Learn a high control,

And abdicate thyself, Love’s grace to woo.

Let Equity thine equal fingers turn

On low and lofty, sleek and lean alike,

Achievement’s sons and whoso hungering yearn:

Discriminate not ’twixt, for all are one

And indivisible. Base passions shun

And flee: strike not at all; yet if thou strike,

Strike for the high and meritorious claim,

As thou may’st judge: let not thy wrath

Abide the twilight fall; nor let thy shame

Of liverous passions issue forth

On days that step not yet, sullying thy thought

And others’ peace—weightier these than thine!

Be kind, be true, be sweet, to all and aught.

Ponder these principles; deep at thy soul

Will commendation leap in greeting; lo,

Even now bestirs thy thought. Arise, divine

Life as a loftier scroll

To trace thy character on, come weal or woe.

Passion is soon be-charred; but elevate thought

Strews an increasing largess. Turn aside

Yon ruddy Whore mellisonant; malign

She and her subtle craft are, howsoe’er

Deceit encompasses her feverous lair.

This thy true lot of life, withal ’tis fraught

With hardihood and hazard so: abide

Its mandate to thee, tread it dauntlessly.

’Tis its abundant recompense; and a court

All-continent. As is my tongue allied

With thy quick thought, so hearken thou to me,

Fearful of nought!”

Joint with its utterance so,

Twisting, It thrust Its talon fingers thro’

The misty portals, spare and gaunt. Below

Fearfully sat I then, tho’ less of fear

Shook o’er my limbs; for thought had spurned the soil,

Touched by the words, and broken on my ear

A callow incongruity betwixt

The lips that uttered what the words did woo.

The pale air drank the silence, as the coil

Of tortuous precepts ceased. Then, intermixt,

Dizzy, as was each thought and riotous sense,

There unwound thence

Vivid upon my soul this nucleus clear:

So forth I uttered:—

“Tell, tell me thy Name!

Who art thou that so bidd’st me? Whence thy claim:

Wherefrom derives it? Whither its purport high?

Art thou thine own? If so, declare me now

What rare enfranchisement shall bondage ply

At thy behest? Else, forth produce thy script;

Unwind thy high commission, whereto bow

Perforce I need, heedless of pleasures clipt,

Or purple rapture, on yon path awry

To attempt a hazardous snare!”

Toward me then turned It; and with baneful stare

Struck chill my mood defiant. Irked with thought,

Fear, and the lees of passion, sat I thus;

While the dim Spectre touched Its answer, wrought

Icily dolorous.

“I am Duty: I

Sway all the lot of man. His tentative life

Steps subtly to my measures; in fine deed

Is my attenuate speech:—at very strife

His tongue invokes mine arm. I ratify

His hesitant counsels, troublous thoughts, with thrall

And edict; or annul his querulous creed.

Evanishment were very loss of all:

It would evacuate the World of what

Coheres its several elements; social peace,

Concord and Amity, the common lot

Of neighbourly calm, would rot and palter. Cease

Rebellious queries; heed my formulate call:

Strip to it, and proceed!”

Then borne upon a breath

Melodious, swept a wonder-wealth of song

Vivifying all the air. Again my blood

It wrought to populous utterance, hot as strong

In riotous desire. Were it to Death,

My passion mouthed no bit, but in a flood

Tumultuous had swept me on its wide

Revelry high, out to the perilous Main

Lawless as limnless, save that the Spectral Bane

Fettered me helpless. So once more

My tongue uprose: “Show me thy script!” I cried,

Poised ’twixt the blushing ecstasy, and the frore

Spectre of ruinous side.

“What is’t to me, this social affluence,

The agglomerate frame of peace, when ecstasy

Raps loudly at my soul? What gain hast thou?

Yon dismal gloom, barren and dim and chill,

Say, what felicity

Commensurate with this Lady’s exquisite sense

Bestows it? Utter thy delightful fill

Alternate for my choice; hereafter, now,

Or how thou wilt! Yet if not so, declare

Thy dread commission, bounden upon my soul!

Expound me aught for iridescent goal

Whereto this region stretches! Do I fall,

Pale Ogre, how shall large omnipotence

Brace thy lean thew? Oh, speak! I conjure thee, speak!

If on a bleak

Perilous pivot swung; if in the abyss

Of Failure clutched, while subtle whispers hiss

Sinuous about me—say, what benison fair

Awakes to comfort from thy callow thrall?

If Ill and Sorrow rear

Spectral athwart my eyes, and this hued cheek

Fall ashen like thine own, what then thy cheer,

Grim Apparition? what thy comfort then,

Dim Spectre? Hold tho’; have enough of this!

Fearless I ask again,

Art uttered of another; or art weak,

Continent in thyself? Comest thou with bliss

For largess? Else, declare thy peerless script,

Disclose thy high commission, Ogre blear,

Thou talon-fingered Horror, steely-lipped!”

Doubtfully ceased I: wound amid my frame

Raged complicated elements. Aerial thought

On metaphysic pinion soared aloft;

While tremulous passion struck my blood, and wrought

Sensual within me, fell and subtly soft.

Fear, anger, scorn and doubt, in complex claim

Tost all disorderly. Yet most to cleave

Decision knew I then, whate’er might be,

Out from the tangled elements. So I turned

Whither the Shape let fall Its jaw to weave

Its chill articulation passionlessly.

Ill-eeriely fell Its speech, as tho’ It spurned

Life’s various intonation, to answer me

What in high mien I sought.

“Mortal, not mine

Scripts to declare; neither attorneys high

To sate thy heart wherewith. My voice proceeds

Swift to thy nobler self. Didst thou apply

Reason thereto, or thought deliberative,

What hesitancy were there? Loftier than creeds

Is my transcendent Word; that yet doth twine

Rooted amid thy need. They that supine

Wallow in fell lasciviousness, are brutes

Trivial, corporeal; their weary bliss,

Blinding their very selves, I say, despise:

Esteem not that they misesteem. Rare fruits,

Self-generative, of elevate thought, and mind

Delicately poised, I proffer thee. Be wise;

Set up on high thy pleasure: so to live

Were to be quit of chance.—That thou amiss

Shouldst cast thy fluttering days were piteous-blind,

Seeing they are all, and veriest all: fulfil

Thy days, then, with a high felicity.

Too soon shall Death sweep up thy militant will;

And bind thee in the dark. Yet heed thou this:

Tho’ thou snuff out; a thing that was; yet still,

The texture of thy thought, the workmanship

Of hand or utterant lip,

Thy heart’s aroma, personality

In sooth, shall flourish yet, for good or ill,

Upon the broad Earth’s face. So take my voice,

And, knowing it true, utterly cast thy choice!

I am thine Ultimate Good, Supreme, and Free,

Nothing above me in the wide Universe.”

Then from my lips broke there a bitter curse.

Glib the words struck with subtle irony

Traverse athwart my hope. Vivid and strong

My thought had stood dilate, passionately

Grappling amid the eternal verities,

Touched to it by the conflict; and seemed now

Clutching the air. A whelming sense of wrong

Flushed all my mood. As one who sees

All things, and nothing clearly, fearless of brow

I shook my answer free.

“My nobler Self!

Mine ultimate Good! Trickster with subtle speech!

What nobler self have I, what high, what low,

Contradistinguished, save what thou wouldst teach

Arbitrary of choice? What ultimate good,

But as my heart dictates, throbbing to know

The exquisite peak of pleasure, if the deep

Swallow me utterly up? But what I would

That should I, if thou art the ultimate All,

And I no more than this! Thou Thing unkempt,

Pallid of tongue and hue, so wouldst thou tempt

My feet from blushful sweets aside? So charm

My hazardous soul to climb

Yon dizzy pinnacle, that hath no prime

Nor cause of being, with this riotous balm,—

To sweat, to stint, to travail, and to fall

Sheer out of time in night. Begone, thou Gloom!

Away, thou Shape of ill! Come when the tomb,

’Twixt this and that omnipotent time

Each tottering moment shall be packed with twice

Its fraught of pleasures; or come surfeit, to illume

The shadow of joy, shall every rare device

Rivet the transient hour. Tread yon dread way?

Nay, that I will not! Unto thee I turn,

Vision ecstatic, tangible withal,

From thee to learn

All the soft wonders of thy disarray.”

So, fearless, turned I: yet ere thought to deed

Quickened my members, swift upon the air

Luxuriously this song sped, deft and rare,

Beckoning me to speed.

“Come, my love, to love me; come!

Life is but the tangled sum

Of thy being’s bitter hum.

Tarry not, the days flit by;

Soon thy bloom shall wither: I

Proffer fruits that never fly.

Never; for thy brief decree

Folds in all eternity:

Nought survives thee; so to me

Come, to taste the liberal treasure

I bestrew whose name is Pleasure;

Share mine overflowing measure.

Ah! come to me; then will I show

All that thine utmost heart would know:

Laughter loud, and whispers low,

Ruddy joy, soft lips and kisses,

Opening out Life’s raptest blisses.

This thy Heaven; yea, whoso misses

This, shall slip the rarest worth

Possible to his strenuous girth,

In the delicious garden of Earth.

So come to me, dear love, my sweet,

Time and the Hours are all too fleet;

Quaff my goblet, rarely meet

For superb humanity.

Confines spurn; be large, be free;

’Tis thy true Felicity!

What is Duty’s blatant call?

I am Duty, I am All;

I am Beauty: none may fall

On aught supremer arm than mine;

I am God, I am divine;

Life’s uttermost largess is my shrine.

Wouldst thou live to wander wan?

Dearest, never! freedom con,

And share my fearless halcyon.

Life is all thy tangled sum,

Then hold not so, fearful and numb,

But come to me, dear husband, come,

Come!”

Wildered I hearkened; held my tremulous limbs

Awhile, and heard, impassioned. From her eyes

Soft messages flashed o’er their lidded brims

Coyly upon me. Throwing forth her arms

She yearned on me, her hair’s luxuriant guise

Falling carelessly and free, while she her charms

Spun, threading in her woof of thought. The air,

Murmuring her music yet, hung over me

As heaving breast to breast we stood, surmise

Holding me feeble and faint, ecstatically.

Then did I burst away

Restraint; tossing off wrinkled Care

I strode toward the dear Angel of my Dream.

Nigh had I touched her palm; when, swift and clear,

Loud with the trumpet’s tongue, imperative,

Dulcent to hear,

A Voice of awful import thundered—

“Stay!”

Sudden I reared. As doth revulsion give

Thought interwound with thought, so did it seem

I hung halting. Furtively, distractedly,

I cast my gaze about, so to divine

Whence the high edict sprang. The Ogre blear

Was gone: fled with its eye malign

As it had never been. Far up the course

Precipitous and steep I seemed to see,

Anew upon my eyes, a burning dome

Scintillating, radiating from its source

A hesitant gleam adown the path. Entranced

I hung upon the sight.

Then fear fell on me; for from thence did come,

Stately, magnificent, tenfold more bright

Than the sun’s vivid noontide, crystal-clear,

A Shape surpassing loveliness. On my thought

Paled all things else save that transcendent Fear.

Steadily it advanced:

From small to great, from great unreckonable,

Stately, deliberative, supreme, of port

Serene and lofty, steadily so it came

Sweeping the callow path. Struck with its spell

I burned with aching eyes. Subtly a Flame

Encircled it, of silver and of gold,

Sardine and jasper iridescent, blue,

Purple and exquisite scarlet, all inwrought

To one pure hue too vivid to behold.

So as it nearer swept I threw

My face upon the dust, and thrust my eyes

Upon my veiling palms, dizzy to death,

Sick with amaze; when a most mellow breath

Softly outspake,

“Frail child of Man, arise!

For I would speak with thee!”

No choice had I

Save to obey that voice imperative;

However it seemed to me to look and live

Crost opposite elements. Dazedly I cast

Upward a timorous glance, encountered by

So mellow a gaze; wherein which very beam

I touched sustaining succour. Towering vast

He stood dilate with wonder; and did seem

To crowd the heavens with majesty, tho’ within

My wandering vision. Neath his snowy hair,

Lit with intrinsic brilliance, shone his eyes,

Where loomed long mysteries of eternity.

His misty brow domed firmamental-wise,

Swelling beneath its locks. ’Twas wondrous fair:

Fair unto tottering thought! His very robes,

Like the unblemished snow, thrice-purged, wherein

Flowed his proportions spacious, moved and shone

Instinct with sinuous life. Hesitantly

I stammered—

“Stranger fair, thy Name! Forgive

My curious temper! Yield me strength to live!”

He bent on me twin eyes: and spake.

Then did the whirling stars and heavenly globes,

The ravenous winds, awake,

And hang in poise ecstatic. Sweet upon

My aching ears, incontinent of such bliss

Celestial, there awoke a halcyon

Of various, high, mellifluous harmony:

In measures like to this:

“Wouldst thou my Name,

Mortal immortal; wouldst acquaint thy thought

With my Renown? How shall I tell it thee?

Speech may not utter it, for words are wrought

Empirical, in the stout smithy of life.

Couldst thou envisage its supremacy

Then were toil done; and the pure spirit’s strife,

Tempering the thew withal, wrought purposeless

And cheap. Considerest thou not Man’s Aim,

The Ages down, to utter Loveliness,

Or to plumb Truth, to measure Equity,

Or Justice poise; affixing phrases so

Unto what trailing robes he sees. These all

Am I, one and complete. When he shall know

Freedom, deck on a larger life, each thrall

Corporeal shudder off, standing superb,

Munificent, then shall he see me face

To spiritous face: till then must I disturb

His manifold sense, to win him worthy of me.

Before his soul awoke was I: nay, more,

I touched his thought to life. From forth of nought

I bad him issue, setting my seal thereon:—

So doth the veriest hind of all his race

Grope tentative after me. Then when he bore

Manhood erect, unparagoned, upon

Earth’s lucent air I woke the soul of song

Choired by the sons of morning. All the court

Of glittering Heaven, in the dread womb of Night;

The stately march celestial; throng on throng

Wheeling from gloom to gloom, in perilous flight

Over the unsearched deeps; the air; the seas;

The bountiful Earth;—my handiwork were these

In the wide crucibles of steady Time.

Withal, tho’ such I seem to be,

Yet am I not at all: the voiceless clod

Owns substance more than I. Spaceless, sublime,

I am the Breath Divine; the Voice of God;

His concentrate Radiation: thence wend I,

Thither to trend again, dependently;

Aerial, effulgent, winging the formless deeps.

Ecstatic Wisdom called they me awhile

Who touched my billowy robes. Yet, tho’ I ply

Authoritative edict, bidding thee

Heed, as my fount is high, my voice o’erleaps

Articular creed, swift to thy resonant soul

Brooding deliberative. Well knowest thou

That evanescent languors do beguile

The soul’s high bent. Wherefore,—save that thine eye

Hath glimpsed a billowy Vision, subtly spun,

Floating upon thy thought, of high control

Fashioning a peerless state, noble and pure,

Whose stately essence not the clammy brow

Of Death shall dissipate? Thou dreamest this:

And this I utter now. That thou wouldst not

Forego the Tempter’s vivid lure,

Most truly tell I, Pleasure is not one

But twain, nor think licentious libertine bliss

Befits the splendour of thy soul, begot

Divine, bred for eternal pride. Above

Each fell delight, debased upon the soil,

Soars a pure counterpart, winging the air:

Thou canst but lust upon the one; but Love

Impassioned doth the other wake. ’Tis toil;

I cloak it not; yet ’tis a joy that bides,

Swelling the more the hoarier, till Day dawn

And shadows flit away. Decide thee then!

Cast thy free choice! These portals lead thee where,

Soul-plumed, new realms upon thy flight are borne.

Brace up thy thew! Tread out this path, that guides

Whither pure bliss shall rock thy dizzy ken,

And end thy weary coil!”

Wondering the Angel bound me; scarce a glance

Turned I away upon yon Harlot nude,

Chasteless and brazen, touching my coarser sense

Distastefully; not wholly impotent.

In visionary mood

Hung I, swoll’n on the flow of eloquence

To thought on thought. Nor less did ravishment,

Exhaling music on its wing, uplift my soul,

Gazing upon that beauteous Eminence.

Enthralled so was I held. Then as my trance

Bated awhile, I searched my tongue’s control.

“Ecstatic Flame!” I broke, “yet would I know

Further one thing. Truly I bow before thee!

I yield my due of homage; I adore thee,

Eternal Radiance from on high! Thou bright

Image immortal! Yet, do I tempt the throe

Of yon steep way, what strength shall flush my thew

Sinking amid its steeps? Yea, as I woo

Its delicate largess, if my feeble might

Fail of its scintillant goal, what then? What deed,

What earnest, decks my quest, so to exchange

For problematical bliss the vivid range

Of present sweets. Fool I to chance the meed

Of dusk futurity for the portion sprung

Flashing upon my sight! Forgive this tongue

Imperious, recalcitrant; yet sure,

I utter freely, speaking as I read

Diverse each several lure.”

Tranquil, immovable, in a mien that won

Me wholly out, respondent it begun:—

“The choice thine own; cast as thou wilt: ’tis mine

But to declare the Truth. Who shall assign

Aright his lot, him shall I flush with strength,

Leaping from might to might. Each vision true

Opens to wider bliss: each vanquished thrall

Touches to larger freedom; lea on lea

Bounding to vision to Life’s uttermost length.

I woo not, but am woo’d; and yet withal

Woo I; imperative my lineaments woo

For sheer vitality. Thus shall I thee.

Think’st thou the end shall fail? Who perseveres

Assuredly shall clasp the ultimate goal;

If ultimate goal there be, for bliss shall roll

Boundless before thy view. I say not fears

Shall cease, that strife shall vanish, or that all

Conjured rhapsodical, dispassionately

Shall swim in peace. Nay, all thy passionate days

Shall reach from peak to peak, trial amid,

Gainsayers athwart, waking Life’s deepest zest.

Yet shall the goal gleam rare before thy gaze;

And if upon thy quest,

Sinking dispirited, the goal be hid

Wrapt in a gloomy mist, ’twill pass awhile,

And thou be all thy strenuous self again. Ally

Thyself to me, nor seek thee to beguile

Idly the transient hours, and all that I

Have shown before thy sight fulfilled shall be.

I say ’t; and am its earnest eternally.”

And then methought I stood on quaking limb,

Forth to proceed upon that wizard way.

Heaven-high the portals towered above me; dim

Stretched the precipitous path, tortuous and grey,

Leaping from crag to crag. Then all the gloom

Seized fast about me, as with hesitant stride

I took its edge initiative. Yet on

Went I, holding a dauntless pride

Steady within me; on and on, upon

The slippery crags, amid the dunes and meres,

Poised oft o’er bottomless pits, turning beside

Pitiless tarns, brackish with mortal tears.

As forth I strode, fairer and yet more fair

Shone the horizon; rarer did illume

Its scintillant goal my passage lofty and strait.

And my high Mentor, steady before my eye,

Shone so exceeding beauteous, more and more,

Increasing so in clarity, scope, and air,

That a wild ecstasy possessed my thought,

Riotous and fervid in me. Steadily

So followed I, with resolute thew where’er

It led me forth, casting no glance away:

Thus on, yet on; waning and waxing on.

Yet, as I sped, methought a dizzy shore

Beguiled my feet aside, so to descry

What depths the abysm held. Pallid and wan

Shrank my Instructor on my curious eye.

Treading its perilous edge I did essay

To plumb the gulf, with darkness doubly fraught;

When, gazing with profound intent, a wind

Broke with an awful triumph up its steep

Embankments jagged forth on me.

All terror-strick’n upstarted I, to find

’Twas but the embers crumbling in the grate,

Loud on the icy Night. Awakened so

Musing I stood to recollect, and lo!

My lips had formed to prayer.—

Then thro’ the gloom I gat me to my sleep.

TO A THRUSH

Singing one Spring morn ’mid deepest fog

Throstle-bird!

I have heard

This thy voice of cheer,

As I lay

In the sway

Of a waking fear;

And its message dropt me peace,

From its rapt career.

Yet, say how

Thou may’st now

Every note prolong!

Doth the fog

Never clog

Never still thy song?

Doth thy music ever rise

Mellow, sweet, and strong?

Ho! when Morn

Doth adorn

Shuddering Mother Earth,

Jocund Day

Swelling gay,

Kingly in his girth,

I may something understand

This so mellow mirth.

But when morn

Rises worn,

As on gloomy wing;

When in murk

Light doth lurk

Like some callow thing,

Tell me, throstle, how thou then

Cheerily canst sing?

Oftentime

Peace sublime,

’Mid the fairest day,

Flickers wan

And is gone

Phantom on its way,

Then a sudden gloom enshrouds

Hearts within its sway.

Then the smile

Fades awhile,

Then the laugh is still,

Then the tune

Falters, hewn

By the touch of Ill,

Then Life’s music flutters low

Sorrow to fulfil.

Ill-content

To be pent

Out of aught, griefs come

All unbid

Right amid

Spirits frolicsome:

Ah! then lips attuned to praise

Press each other dumb!

Yet, sweet bird,

Nought has blurred

These most wondrous throes:

Melody

Rapt and free

Out the midst of woes;

May I turn to thee to learn

What thy spirit knows!

That when gloom

Like a doom

Blots the azure sky,

I may learn

Blight to spurn,

And the Day descry,

Howsoe’er the Word of Ill

Spells the Earth awry.

Smirk and smutch

May I touch

To a loftier scheme,

Irk and Doubt

Ravelling out

In a song supreme;

As, rare bird, thy spirits turn

Sturdily thy theme.

MULTUM IN PARVO

Baby-child,

Mystery of mysteries,

Com’st thou from the starry skies

Pleased to don Life’s motley guise

Dark and wild?

Frail and slight,

Hardly uttered of the Womb,

Lov’st thou Sorrow, Want and Gloom

So to exchange for song and bloom

Sin and blight?

Swaddled thus,

What a Wonder may’st thou be

Touched by mystic Destiny,

Oh, trite Possibility

Marvellous!

Drowsy so,

Doth a mighty Spirit brace

Earthy thews anew; to trace

Deeds that mock at Time and Place,

Bond and throe?

Baby-fists,

Shall they clutch the flashing blade,

Touch the use of politic aid,

Tilt with sinew undismayed

In Life’s lists?

Chubby things,

Shall they stretch a loving hand

Unto such on Life’s rough strand

As may never understand

Sheltering wings?

Baby-feet,

Scarce distinguishable forms,

Must they foot amid Life’s storms

Lonely; none to soothe its qualms,

None to weet?

Wearied, sore,

Hardly shall they seek to run

Up the passes where begun

All is strife till strife is done

Evermore?

Baby-face,

Shall it wear the print of Time,

Woven o’er with hoary rime:

Or shall Death in sunnier clime

Pallor trace?

As years wend,

Shall its lineaments tell the sage

Scarred with honourable age,

Ere Life turn its latest page

For the End?

Liquid eyes,

Whence outpeers the wizard soul,

Shall its lustre spell control

Calm, impregnable and whole,

Firm and wise?

Flame and flash

Only when a careless foot

Tramples thro’ Life’s cruel bruit

Heedless, heartless, then to shoot

Hates that slash!

Be it so!

Shall they wizard wonders see

In the wrapt Futurity,

Whither, swathing shackles free,

Time must go?

Aerial ships,

Searching out the vasty blue,

Darting whither to endue

Peace with beauty, Warfare’s new

Scathing whips?

Brotherhood:

Twining men of every race,

Knowing neither high nor base,

Spurning pomp and pride of place,

One of brood?

Howe’er ’tis,

Baby, shun no Duty’s call,

Fear thy God, love peoples all,

Then whatever shall befall,

Thine is bliss!

Lovely child,

Smiling with such heedless eyes,

Com’st thou from the starry skies

So to search Life’s enterprise

Dark and wild?

“FRIENDS VANISH AT MY FACE”

Friends vanish at my face; yet, as they fly,

Swoll’n with the sombre mood of conjured schism,

I hear thee say thou whom the holy chrism

Has sealed as mine eternal—“Dear, do I

Outweigh the scales; if this one form be nigh,

Shall that suffice thee in this dark abysm?”

Ah, think, Belov’d! did some great cataclysm

Fierce-swoop upon to enshroud the midnight sky,

Did gulf the multitudinous stars but one,

Some Betelgeuse, in beauty-flame of love

Gleaming and twinkling in the lowly mart

Of tremulous darkness, how ’twould swell upon

The vaults of Heaven; how rare so poised above!

Even so in lone magnificence thou art!

“A FANCY FAIR COMES FLOATING ON MY THOUGHT”

A Fancy fair comes floating on my thought

When on the wildering trammels I am caught

Of pensive studies; as the surrounding scheme

Fades and dissolves, and coming Hours gleam

Visionary the musing realms athwart:

That thou and I, all our keen battles fought,

Serene and hoar, past touch of withering aught,

Shall yet enkindle love, and kiss, and dream

A Fancy fair.

My Dearest, be this so! Let us be wrought

So to a unity as the Hours, full-fraught

With Blight and Bloom, slip by; let us esteem

The other in our loves so high-supreme,

That thus, Dear Heart, this Vision may be not

A Fancy fair.

“AS IS THE SILVER NIGHT”

As is the silver night

Upon the sombre sea,

In ecstasy of might

Art thou to me.

As are the stars beyond

Aught compass or control,

As glittering diamond,

So thy pure soul.

As doth the throstle tell

His mystery complete,

Such is thy subtle spell,

Yet oh! how sweet!

So cam’st thou unto me

Love’s mystic wand to wield;

Then I, who would be free,

Did gladly yield.

“BELOVED, HAST PERCEIVED A THROSTLE TUNE”

Belovëd, hast perceived a throstle tune

His liberal wealth of song,

’Mid the leafy coverts, all a lucent noon,

Where Audience none had he, yet, desolate,

He fluted keen and strong

Appreciated only by his mate?

Even so sing I, sequestered and alone.

No World’s large ear to woo

My measures all upon thy feet are thrown.

My Mate thou art, my single Audience thou,

Thence never do I sue

Vainly for plaudit: is not this enow?

Ah, if that throstle glimpsed a Vision clear,

A Vision seeming Truth;

If unto him, from Life’s encrusting sphere,

An iridescent Beauty had out-twirled,

In yon sequestered booth

How would he chafe his soul to reach the World!

EXILE

I awake from dreams of thee,

From the unquiet realms of sleep;

I awake from Felicity,

I awake to thoughts that keep

Their bitterness hid and deep.

I awake from dreams of love

Ecstatic, so pure, so sweet;

I awake—’tis only to prove

That the midday sun shall beat

On my lonely lips and feet.

“OH, I HAVE THEE, ASTHORE”

Oh, I have thee, Asthore: deep at this heart

Thy presence is a fragrance subtly-rare,

As blooms exhale the midnight hour. Whate’er

I do, will, dream, aspire, achieve, thou art

My Aim, my End. Nay, more, the absolute part

Of my Soul’s life! Should hollow-eyed Despair

Clutch on me it is only that I fare

Forth thro’ the day, and barter at Life’s mart,

Yet fail to win thee home. When Truth to woo me

Comes, she arrays her in thy form; and those

Assimilate twins, Beauty and Duty, to me

Are thee and thy soft word. In toil, repose,

Asleep, awake, thy spirit whispers thro’ me;

Nor boast I hours thou dost not ope and close.

“EACH HATH THE TYPE OF BLISS WITHIN HIS THOUGHT”

Each hath the Type of bliss within his thought

That utters for him all his Life would be:

The summit of his soul’s felicity,

The consummation wherein should be wrought

In deft attainment all his spirit bought

Awhile in fervent hope—whose roundest fee

’Twas good to pay. ’Tis so: enough! For me,

Be it amiss or be it fitly sought,

This would I crave—that mine and thy full soul

May touch their mutual deep content, howe’er

Life twists its tortuous course; may still control

Their Individuality, yet fare

So subtly each on each, that as one whole

They might stretch to their goal in God’s pure air.

A WORD TO THE CZAR

(Penned on “Vladimir’s Day” January 22, 1905.)

Thou great Usurper of the Liberty

Of hapless Men and Maids, this gory shame

Shall wrap thee in a livid Cloak of Flame

Ere days have swoll’n to years. We who are free,

Who owe no fouling bond of Tyranny,

We look at Thee, and execrate thy Name:

Nor in our Vision art thou quit of blame

That by the hand of him who stood for thee

This bloody deed was done. Across the Years,

And from the lips of peoples one and all,

A mighty curse rolls on, to reach His ears

Who silently surveys thy hastening fall:—

Soon may His Might pluck from thy reeking Hand

Thy Batôn of a self-usurped command!

VIKING-THROES

Life’s a Battle, full of stress,

Full of Change,

Struggle, Combat, Weariness,

Circling range—

Be limbs and heart sore heavy, yet

Foe on foe is set.

Give me fingers for the Fight

Keen and strong;

Give a Mind that swerves no mite

’Mid the Throng;

Beget me Valour, stiffly-grown,

Hewn to stand alone.

Grant such Virtue so to be

So to dare,

That tho’ all may faint or flee

—Howsoe’er

The Fight may turn—I yet shall stand

Firm in Eye and Hand.

Let some Purpose thro’ my tears

Gleam and glow,

Ah! let not the ruining Years,

Full of woe,

Engulf then in their dim embrace

That high spectral Grace.

Yet, all Boon of boons above,

This I crave,

Let a tender ample Love

My Spirit save

Forth from the harsh ungentle chains

Fight so oft attains.

“SENTENTIOUS”

Heard I a Preacher loud and high,

With speech mellifluous,

Who deftly wove before mine eye

Doctrines circuitous.

I heard him, ay, I gladly heard,

Heard all he had to tell—

Thinking full many a prettier bird

Warbled a tithe as well.

Then thought I: Friend, full sweet to hear,

Yet say, were I in need,

Were all about dim and drear,

What then might be your deed?

Full glibly do the lips relate

Expressions that the heart

Never hath gripped, whose pomp and state

Of utterance dwell apart.

And what their Worth? Barren and bald

If it be that the Hand

Wakes not so ready, whene’er called,

To make request command!

To speak, to speech, to vaunt and preach,

How passing easy ’tis!

But to stretch forth a loving hand

To souls in Ill’s abyss,—

Such is the noblest part of Life;

Ay, well to know it deep!

For Speech, ’mid daily Stress and Strife

Oft rocks the Deed asleep!

AN IDYLL OF THE BROADS

As on a river fair I sped,—

My boat beneath mine oars nigh flew,—

Amazed I saw a Scotsman’s head

Whose form and visage well I knew.

He hailed me by my name, and I,

Astonied thus to see him near,

My scudding craft did thither hie

With gladness, mixt withal with fear.

For with immense accoutrement

He fished for fishes merrily:

Elaborate, magnificent,

A very king of fishers he!

His line was of the best, his rod

Superb, as likewise was his float;

And, scorning by his mother sod,

He stood upon a varnished boat.

His mien was mighty, seriousness

Lit o’er his stedfast countenance;

He grasped his rod with firm caress,

Anxiety in every glance.

His son lay by to render aid

When salmon carried off his bait,

Or whales, maybe, who nought afraid

Cared nothing for his sombre state.

With reverence and thrilling throe

I drew anear with slow approach;—

Yet need I not have quivered so,

For all that river held was roach!

TO A “CANTERBURY BELL”!

Rare lovely Bloom! dear sweet simplicity,

Nodding beneath the Heavens thy delicate lure!

Thine exquisite sculpture doth upcall on me

The realms of wonder, visionary and pure!

I gaze on thee, thou waxen delicate,

Until the World and all its strutting pelf

Fade wanly hence, and an ecstatic scene

Of fauns and goblins, decked in legend state,

Steps faintly forth, to bear my dizzy self

Within their tripping circles, nought between.

There, ’mid the hedgerow’s tortuous garlands, fair

And blithe thou droop’st thy lovely brow; and thence

Thy zephyry fragrance, delicate and rare,

Steals with a dewy breath upon my sense.

Eager I seek thee out then, to behold

Thy bell upon the vesper breezes toll

Pomp’s knelling requiem with solemn nod,

Thou purest Joy, ’mid teeming fold on fold

Of prodigal waywardness, is this thy dole,

Simplicity that boasts no touch save God?

The Honeysuckle’s heavily-laden breath

Floats on the balmy winds in languid fumes;

The Nightshade breathes its careless boon of death

To lips that tamper lightly with its blooms;

The Meadow-sweet with carved tiaras deft;

The Poppy-petal’s crumpled charactery;

The tangly ramified Convolvulus;—

All of their several virtues are bereft

At the soft touch of thy Simplicity,

Simplicity of peace voluptuous.

Oh, exquisite marvel, whither shall I turn

To sate the thirstings thou hast spoken up?

My soul with vast inquietude doth burn.

Rare drafts are there within thy luscious cup

That I may put my lips upon its brim,

And, sloughing off Earth’s smutch and soilure, quaff

Deeply the secrets of eternal ease?

Or sway’st thou merely as a transient whim,

Idle, capricious, windward-driven chaff?

Yet surely, surely thou art more than these!

Or very All, or very Nothing: why

Hast thou upspoken thirst for what is not

If thou and I shall clutch the gloom, and die,

Life but a tangled boon, a vicious blot,

Spun by the sightless Powers? Nay, shalt not thou,

Elate, clad in eternal Vestiture,

Greet me upon the eternal Marge? Yea, then,

Shall not I, ageless Wisdom on my brow,

Spell out thy charm occult? Sweet Mystery pure,

So shall I search thy secrets yet again!

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.

TO ——

A Stranger, and thou took’st me in. Great Heart!

It fits not well my temper to high-trape

My woes before a listless world, or drape

With melancholy habit each grim part

Life bad me to, for with a sovereign art

She did it so, my stubborn thought to shape.

Yet, tho’ I lightly scorn wide mouths agape,

’Twere worthy of high record, in this mart

Of barter and exchange, how I to thee

Came, all my prospect waste and spilt,

A Stranger, and with what unquestioning air

Thou took me in, and sought to succour me:

Forget it thou may’st; likeliest is thou wilt;

But not so I who found a heart so rare.

Transcriber’s Notes

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

The following corrections have been applied to the text: