 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
The Muse.
Thy Land this is: rouse! Waken Minimus!
Minimus.
Is this not a Dream-Music in mine ears?
Mine Albans goddess-Muse, me succoureth.
It is Her voice!
The Muse.
Minimus.
Meseems none other this, than brow of Earth;
Where yet is little light. A field yet wet
With cold night drops. Stars shining in their courses,
Part veiled with mist; and daisies under-foot.
Or is it mine eyes' dull uncertain seeing;
Returned from ghostly voyage, in Realms beneath.
Thy Land this is: rouse! Waken Minimus!
139
Is this not a Dream-Music in mine ears?
Mine Albans goddess-Muse, me succoureth.
It is Her voice!
The Muse.
And know, not far from hence;
Were, for thy homeward hasting weary steps,
To thine own hearth. Nathless, thou, hearken Minimus!
Ere to thy threshold, may thy feet arrive,
Ended this voyage; and thereo'er pass to rest;
For thine instruction, must erst view, thine eyes;
Mansouls Dream-city, builded high and wide.
Were, for thy homeward hasting weary steps,
To thine own hearth. Nathless, thou, hearken Minimus!
Ere to thy threshold, may thy feet arrive,
Ended this voyage; and thereo'er pass to rest;
For thine instruction, must erst view, thine eyes;
Mansouls Dream-city, builded high and wide.
Betwixt All-father Sky and Mother Earth,
Is that suspent: whither ascend dream-spirits,
In slumber of their flesh; which recreates,
Both men and Gods. Moreo'er, when time is ripe;
I shall thee teach, a deathless chant thereof.
Is that suspent: whither ascend dream-spirits,
In slumber of their flesh; which recreates,
Both men and Gods. Moreo'er, when time is ripe;
I shall thee teach, a deathless chant thereof.
Enter therein a thousand blameless spirits,
Each moment; that frequent Her market-place,
And cónverse in Her streets; from all Worlds parts.
Seeking, were them revealed, before their deaths;
Some token sure, touching souls' last dark Hope:
Which hidden is, fróm foundation óf the Earth.
Each moment; that frequent Her market-place,
And cónverse in Her streets; from all Worlds parts.
Seeking, were them revealed, before their deaths;
Some token sure, touching souls' last dark Hope:
Which hidden is, fróm foundation óf the Earth.
140
Meseems none other this, than brow of Earth;
Where yet is little light. A field yet wet
With cold night drops. Stars shining in their courses,
Part veiled with mist; and daisies under-foot.
Or is it mine eyes' dull uncertain seeing;
Returned from ghostly voyage, in Realms beneath.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |