The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
V.
They passed into the temple, and with soft
Brow-kisses parted, as if all had been
Past and dispelled, a transient influence
From twilight and the depths of wolfish woods.
But he looked out again upon the sea
Sounding alone. A life like that in sleep
Flowed throughout all: a change had fallen on him!
He pondered,—thought upon his thoughts! Alas,
He saw not where the waves of this new sea
Pursued their unseen tides: if onward still
Wave followed wave beyond the sea bird's flight,
Or where from its cave loosed, the salt-weed floats,
Darkling for ever: or if some high land
Might slope its pearly strand unto his keel,
Where rainbow-hued, like our retreating storms,
Beautiful things might live, beside the courts
Of Vesper's slumber and the Moon's repose.
What place in this new world will her smile cheer?
Sweet Sister Mneme! shall she be with him
Wherever he may be? so thought he, with
A fond remorse that he had ever willed
To leave her. Thou wilt be a spirit throughout
The air he breathes: thou wilt sit on the prow
And smile on him while his hand guides the helm
Through the revulsion of the cloven waves.
Thy song will blend with his, if happily
He finds a paradise, a sheltered nook
From that new pain, that glimpse of knowledge now
Streaking his silvery happiness with blood.
Brow-kisses parted, as if all had been
Past and dispelled, a transient influence
18
But he looked out again upon the sea
Sounding alone. A life like that in sleep
Flowed throughout all: a change had fallen on him!
He pondered,—thought upon his thoughts! Alas,
He saw not where the waves of this new sea
Pursued their unseen tides: if onward still
Wave followed wave beyond the sea bird's flight,
Or where from its cave loosed, the salt-weed floats,
Darkling for ever: or if some high land
Might slope its pearly strand unto his keel,
Where rainbow-hued, like our retreating storms,
Beautiful things might live, beside the courts
Of Vesper's slumber and the Moon's repose.
What place in this new world will her smile cheer?
Sweet Sister Mneme! shall she be with him
Wherever he may be? so thought he, with
A fond remorse that he had ever willed
To leave her. Thou wilt be a spirit throughout
The air he breathes: thou wilt sit on the prow
And smile on him while his hand guides the helm
Through the revulsion of the cloven waves.
Thy song will blend with his, if happily
He finds a paradise, a sheltered nook
19
Streaking his silvery happiness with blood.
No sound of feet was on the awful floor
Of the interior of the shrine, all dark
That shrine which cannot be described or known.
A tripod-lamp stood there: behold a light,—
An arrow head of flame, sprang up from thence,
Scarce strong enough to make the slim shaft seen,
And a fair hand that hovered over it
With animating oil. The fair hand bears
The tripod through the darkness. Mneme bends
Upon the curtained steps, and with her hands
On the flower-hidden feet beseechingly
Up to the mighty Goodness smiles, and speaks.
Of the interior of the shrine, all dark
That shrine which cannot be described or known.
A tripod-lamp stood there: behold a light,—
An arrow head of flame, sprang up from thence,
Scarce strong enough to make the slim shaft seen,
And a fair hand that hovered over it
With animating oil. The fair hand bears
The tripod through the darkness. Mneme bends
Upon the curtained steps, and with her hands
On the flower-hidden feet beseechingly
Up to the mighty Goodness smiles, and speaks.
“Spirit supreme of all!
To whom all turn with re-inspired acclaim
And eyes refreshed; apart from whom our life
Wanes into the inane, thou who art here
Sheltered among the darknesses of birth,
Yet vivid now before me with white light
Looking into my wishes. Thou whose breath
Made vital all the air of this wide world,
From thenceforth musical with bird in spring,
And beast, and insect in the drowse of even,
And the young gods who guide the change of days,
And lover's songs with stringed art less rich,
Wandering in child-like beauty of their own.
Before whose advent there were none of these,
But moanings passed along the yeast of waves,
Where cumberous death rolled sightless through the dense
And slimy waste. Ideal power! whose form
Is here before mine eyes in living truth,—
Evermore varying with infinite changes
As hopes or fears prevail in this poor heart;
Thou who inspiredst the creative hand
Of nature, (may I not irreverently
Speak such great verity?)—whom I have served
From everlasting, and thereby have lived
Here where Uranus' children come, all clothed
With the ineffable light of trusting worship,
And wonderful voices that declare all things,
Without articulate words of hymn or prayer:
Round whom they circling dance mysteriously,
With chaplets on their arms, and ministering doves,
That enter white-winged through thy shrine at will,—
Light on thine altars—or with thirsting bills
Break the clear waters that refresh thy flowers,—
Spirit! oh, fold him in thy starry robe
Again, and make him thine and mine unchanged,
(Although he cannot understand me now,)
As he hath been! hide from him the new shore
He longs for; hide the hopes, the fears, of which
I nothing know but that they are not thine.”
She ceased: her brother knelt upon the step
Beneath: he held her hand with both his own,
And won her earnest gaze to his own face
Which by his gloomy hair was almost hidden.
“Weave me a tunic, sister, through black storm,
If need be, I may wear; a sandal firm
Fashion for me, that may keep whole these feet
For many a stadium of travel; yea,
Through burning soil or shell-strewn deeps. Alas!
Mneme, my sister, henceforth wilt thou be
A memory alone, for thou can'st not.—
And this deep shrine, doth it not blind me now,
I have grown callous to the power thou feel'st—
The perfectness of silence, the profound—
Those beautiful great limbs, are they not stone—
Marble, and fire, and gold—I see them not—
They are withdrawn, sister! where art thou! still,
I see the dark trees, and the stars, the sea,
All things without the porch—but nought within—
The winds arise, the shadows of lions pass,
A voice is in the air, and from beneath
A sound of thunder comes. I am alone.”
To whom all turn with re-inspired acclaim
And eyes refreshed; apart from whom our life
Wanes into the inane, thou who art here
Sheltered among the darknesses of birth,
Yet vivid now before me with white light
20
Made vital all the air of this wide world,
From thenceforth musical with bird in spring,
And beast, and insect in the drowse of even,
And the young gods who guide the change of days,
And lover's songs with stringed art less rich,
Wandering in child-like beauty of their own.
Before whose advent there were none of these,
But moanings passed along the yeast of waves,
Where cumberous death rolled sightless through the dense
And slimy waste. Ideal power! whose form
Is here before mine eyes in living truth,—
Evermore varying with infinite changes
As hopes or fears prevail in this poor heart;
Thou who inspiredst the creative hand
Of nature, (may I not irreverently
Speak such great verity?)—whom I have served
From everlasting, and thereby have lived
Here where Uranus' children come, all clothed
With the ineffable light of trusting worship,
And wonderful voices that declare all things,
Without articulate words of hymn or prayer:
Round whom they circling dance mysteriously,
21
That enter white-winged through thy shrine at will,—
Light on thine altars—or with thirsting bills
Break the clear waters that refresh thy flowers,—
Spirit! oh, fold him in thy starry robe
Again, and make him thine and mine unchanged,
(Although he cannot understand me now,)
As he hath been! hide from him the new shore
He longs for; hide the hopes, the fears, of which
I nothing know but that they are not thine.”
She ceased: her brother knelt upon the step
Beneath: he held her hand with both his own,
And won her earnest gaze to his own face
Which by his gloomy hair was almost hidden.
“Weave me a tunic, sister, through black storm,
If need be, I may wear; a sandal firm
Fashion for me, that may keep whole these feet
For many a stadium of travel; yea,
Through burning soil or shell-strewn deeps. Alas!
Mneme, my sister, henceforth wilt thou be
A memory alone, for thou can'st not.—
And this deep shrine, doth it not blind me now,
I have grown callous to the power thou feel'st—
The perfectness of silence, the profound—
22
Marble, and fire, and gold—I see them not—
They are withdrawn, sister! where art thou! still,
I see the dark trees, and the stars, the sea,
All things without the porch—but nought within—
The winds arise, the shadows of lions pass,
A voice is in the air, and from beneath
A sound of thunder comes. I am alone.”
| The Year of the World | |