 | Carol and Cadence |  |
219
THE POET'S LOT.
He who from Heaven, by grace
Of the Supernal Powers, his ancestry doth trace,
Who in Life's Babel speaks the language of the Gods
And in our woeful world of cant and commonplace,
Treads, with uplifted front, with thought-transfigured face
And eyes withinward turned, Earth's fallow fruitless clods,
His breast with triple brass
Must mail, if he would pass,
Unshaken in his faith, athwart this battle-space
Of greed and dullness, one against unnumbered odds.
Of the Supernal Powers, his ancestry doth trace,
Who in Life's Babel speaks the language of the Gods
And in our woeful world of cant and commonplace,
Treads, with uplifted front, with thought-transfigured face
And eyes withinward turned, Earth's fallow fruitless clods,
His breast with triple brass
Must mail, if he would pass,
Unshaken in his faith, athwart this battle-space
Of greed and dullness, one against unnumbered odds.
Unsparing is the scorn
Wherewith the rogue, the fool regard the heaven-born.
In this our sorry scheme of dull humanity,
Our madhouse of mankind, of love and faith forlorn,
The darkness hates the day, the night reviles the morn,
The weed disdains the rose, the bramble flouts the tree;
And they, by light Divine
Their fellows who outshine,
No crown can hope but one that's tressed with many a thorn
And persecuted still of men must look to be.
Wherewith the rogue, the fool regard the heaven-born.
In this our sorry scheme of dull humanity,
Our madhouse of mankind, of love and faith forlorn,
The darkness hates the day, the night reviles the morn,
The weed disdains the rose, the bramble flouts the tree;
And they, by light Divine
Their fellows who outshine,
No crown can hope but one that's tressed with many a thorn
And persecuted still of men must look to be.
“Do as thy fellows do,”
The voice of humankind proclaims; “or thou shalt rue:”
And he who sets his face toward another goal,
Following the beacon-light shed by the Fair, the True,
Than that which all folk else, like silly sheep, pursue,
Shall find himself outcast from fellowship and sole.
No friend's, no lover's smile
His travail shall beguile,
No comrade clasp his hand: but he, till death ensue,
Shall walk the world alone, a solitary soul.
The voice of humankind proclaims; “or thou shalt rue:”
And he who sets his face toward another goal,
Following the beacon-light shed by the Fair, the True,
Than that which all folk else, like silly sheep, pursue,
Shall find himself outcast from fellowship and sole.
No friend's, no lover's smile
His travail shall beguile,
No comrade clasp his hand: but he, till death ensue,
Shall walk the world alone, a solitary soul.
220
Nor solitude alone
Enough shall holden be his trespass to atone.
No common vengeance may the raging rancour sate,
The spite of the mean soul, to whom perforce his own
Dark by the shining beams of other's light is shown.
Needs th'unconfessed despair in his own breast to abate,
To appease the gnawing smart
Of envy in his heart,
Seek must he him who shames his dulness to dethrone
And crucify his name upon the cross of hate.
Enough shall holden be his trespass to atone.
No common vengeance may the raging rancour sate,
The spite of the mean soul, to whom perforce his own
Dark by the shining beams of other's light is shown.
Needs th'unconfessed despair in his own breast to abate,
To appease the gnawing smart
Of envy in his heart,
Seek must he him who shames his dulness to dethrone
And crucify his name upon the cross of hate.
Yet, though to mortal pain
The poet, mortal born, to bow the head must deign,
Nay, by the gift his soul that opens to the Fair,
The True, far deeplier feels the Foul than the profane,
One solace still he hath, that never was in vain.
Nature is on his side; her things his secret share:
The flowers with him are one,
The shadows and the sun;
He communes with the rills, the sunlight and the rain,
And his heart's language hears in all the winds of air.
The poet, mortal born, to bow the head must deign,
Nay, by the gift his soul that opens to the Fair,
The True, far deeplier feels the Foul than the profane,
One solace still he hath, that never was in vain.
Nature is on his side; her things his secret share:
The flowers with him are one,
The shadows and the sun;
He communes with the rills, the sunlight and the rain,
And his heart's language hears in all the winds of air.
So, with unbended head,
As one a desert fares, that's peopled by the dead,
With his own heaven's clear air encompassed, passeth he.
If to his songs the folk, by lies and hate misled,
List not, he knows that these will live, when those are sped,
Being with the voices one of earth and sky and sea;
And ended when Life's night,
He goes back to the Light,
As who returneth home to his ancestral stead,
One with the One Great Soul content again to be.
As one a desert fares, that's peopled by the dead,
With his own heaven's clear air encompassed, passeth he.
If to his songs the folk, by lies and hate misled,
List not, he knows that these will live, when those are sped,
Being with the voices one of earth and sky and sea;
And ended when Life's night,
He goes back to the Light,
As who returneth home to his ancestral stead,
One with the One Great Soul content again to be.
| Carol and Cadence | |