University of Virginia Library

If to the long mysterious trance of death
There be immortal waking, he who lifts
His head from the clay pillow, and doth stretch
Eternal life thro' all his quickening limbs,
And conscious on his opening orbs receives
Remembered light, and rises to be sure
He hath revived indeed, tastes in that first
Best moment what the infinite beyond
Can never give again.

I should awake
On some such resurrection, having lived
Thro' what I feared was mortal, and endured
That most malignant hour which must or close
The perilous adventure, or, being forced,
Admit to happier times.

The ground grows firm
Beneath; the elfin atmosphere of spells
That smit these limbs with palsy, has given place
To vital air. I smell the native world.
The fortress of the last enchanter yields;
My life is free before me. I am strong;
I shall survive, subdue, surmount, attain!
Thou mystery, which dost attend my voice
Like a tame beast, and goest in and out
Whene'er I will, and liest at my feet,
Come let me paint the picture I have bought
So dearly, but, being painted, will hold cheap,
Ay, tho' I rent it at the yearly cost
Of such an annual tribute! Here! Be here!
He comes. Even now this black environment
Grows cold with his approach; and as on one
Benighted in the forest dreadful eyes
Shine thro' the dark, and Somewhat unbeheld
Draws nigh, thro' the thick darkness of my night
I see thine eyes, oh Death!

That I might die and be at rest, oh God!
That I might die and sleep the sleep of peace;
That I might die and close these eyes within
That shut not when the outer lids are sealed;
That I might die and know the balm of death
Cool thro' my loosened limbs; that I might die,
That I might die and stretch me out unracked,
And feel but as I died what is not pain.
It is dead midnight, and the time to sleep.—
My light has gone out in the dead midnight;
All things are equal in the utter dark;
I cannot see my way upon the world.

All in the dark a tempest beateth me,
Black waves out of the north and of the south,
Black waves out of the east and of the west,
Black falling waves that drench me from the sky!

On every side the waters lash me round,
And lift me till I know not where I stood,
And wist not where is earth or where is heaven!

Little babe,
Who wentest out from us two days ago
Not to return, what has become of thee
In this great universe? That thou art changed
I know; for whereas thou hadst lain since birth
On the warm breast that fed thee in a dream
Of peace, and, like a flower, wert given and ta'en
Unconscious, on a morn thou didst awake,
And while we weeping strove to keep thee, thou,
As at some awful voice that called thee hence
On high behest, becamest a man in will,
And ceasing thy babe's cry didst go in haste!
We also went a little way with thee,
As they whose best-beloved doth cross the seas
Attend him to the shore—even to the brink
Of the great deep, and stretch along the sands
Wringing vain hands of sorrow; yet none saith
‘Why goest thou?’ nor with naked sword of love
Denies; and none doth leap into his fate,
Crying ‘I also,’ and with desperate clasp
Hang on his neck till breakers far behind
Forbid return. Spell-bound they stand and dry
On the sea-line, and not a quivering lip
Murmureth ‘To-morrow;’ but his sire doth seize
The prow that would recede, and with stern will
Holds it, rebellious, to the task, and she
Who bore him, with her tears and trembling hands
Constrains and hastes him lest he lose the tide.

So also in a dream as one who walks
Asleep, and with her sunk eye on a star,
Rising doth take her slumbering babe, and o'er
The snows of midnight to the precipice
Paceth with silent purpose, doubting nought,
And turneth on the brink, with empty hands,
And to her bed unconscious, nor till morn
Beholds the vacant pillow—and, well-known,
Her foot-prints,—passionate; we went with thee,
And did return alone. My babe, my babe,
What have we done? At whose sufficient pledge,
Upon whose testimony, and well-sworn
Assurance have we left thee, and believed?
Did I go down before thee? Did I try
The unventured way? With which hand did I smooth
Thy pillow? Or with what nice care explore
The grave which in my trance I called thy bed?
Thy bed? wert thou so cradled? Doth the boor
Upon the hungry common save his hide
By such a lodging as thou in thy pomp
Didst enter, while the sable priest gave thanks,
And praised the long home where he would not chain
His dog? Thy home, poor babe? Bah! the stone den
Of murder is more human; the dank keep
Of felon anguish built to house despair
Hath not a cell so rude!

Was it a door
From this most ordered world into the waste
Of all things? Have we shut thee forth, poor child,
And wist not of thy journey, nor the end
And exit of that gloomy subterrene
Which thou didst enter, and whose unknown mouth
May be in Chaos? This, the upper gate,
Was fair, and, hanging o'er, the flowers looked down
After thee going, shedding many dews
That went as falling stars into the gulph,
A moment bright like thee. But, oh thou babe,
What of the nether port, which thou hast reached
Who wert so swift to go? We shut thee in
As to a chamber of rest, and did confirm
The outer bars, and on the adit set
The seal of Hermes, and o'er all dispread
The cheerful turf, and sowed it round with spring.
Mad faith!—false father!—customary fool!—
Tool of low instinct and obsequious use!—
Curse thee, blind slave! why didst thou leave her thus
In her worst need? Who, who shall certify
Her rest? And thou, oh mother, that didst plunge
So boldly into the vexed flood of life,
Holding thy babe aloft, with thy right hand,
Braving the billows; what unseen sea-scourge
Had struck thee, that thou too didst bow thine head
A-sudden succourless, and hast gone down
As others? Doth no voice out of the ground,
Up thro' the music of the grasshoppers
Smite thee? Whence, mother, had thy nursling child
This gift to sleep alone? Whence knowest thou,
O mother, who in its long dying swoon
Didst warm it in thy bosom, and forfend
The summer wind, and kiss the tenderness
Of years upon its momentary brow,
And with the wild haste of thy maddened eyes
Course heaven and earth, as to glean anywhere
One help forgotten; and at the last breath
Distraught and bending over it didst break
Thy life upon it, if perchance that balm
Might heal; and ere it died wert as one dead
With dread of ill, whence knowest thou what change
Absolves thy care? What thunder or what bush
Of burning spake to thee when thou didst rise
And veil thy face, and, unresisting, feel
The child go from thee out into the rains
And dews, and didst kneel silent while we threw
Cold earth upon it, and piled up that wall
Which late compunction and awakening throes,
Pangs of reproach and passion of despair,
And starting eyes mocked by the empty world,
And famished breasts convulsed when nights are chill,
And stretched-forth arms that waste with vacancy,
And all the tumult of the desperate heart
That leaps to the impossible desire
And unsurrendered bliss, can pass no more.