University of Virginia Library


320

A HAPPY POET

Driven by mysterious care and restless pain
The World rolls round me full of noise and strife,
Racking what is not loss to dubious gain:
I live apart my self-fulfilling life
Serenely happy, breathing golden air
Unvext by these dark storms of pain and care.
The tumult whirls for ever to and fro:
I see it all in vision; strangely wild
And incoherent, yet by some rich glow
Of vigour, thought and passion reconciled;
Its mystery also, wherein dreams Delight,
Brings dear old friends, tho' dimly, back to sight.
O happy-dowered Soul! whom God doth call
To life's imperial Banquet as a guest
Greeted with gladness in its lofty Hall;
Bathed clean and cool, sprinkled with odours, drest
In fair white folds of free and flowing grace,
The festal raiment of the splendid place;

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Who then is couched 'midst wise and valiant friends,
In place of honour near the glorious Throne
Wherefrom the Host such kingly welcome sends
That all may feel His treasures all their own;
And who is further gifted to divine
The subtlest savours of the fruit and wine.
Is it not strange? I could more amply tell
Such woes of men as I discern or dream,
Than this great happiness I know so well,
Which is in truth profounder than they seem;
And which abides for ever pure and deep,
Beneath all dreams of wakefulness or sleep.
For this whole world so vast and complicate,
With every being nourished on its breast,
With all its mighty workings-out of Fate,
With that one Soul in all its life exprest,
Must surely all be mine, and mine alone;
Its power and joy are so indeed my own.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, float for aye,
Weaving continually their wondrous robe,
Of purple Night inwrought with golden Day
About our earth, whose calm and mighty globe
Through all the World-strown æther crystalline
Floats ever circling round the sun divine.

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The faint voluptuous trance of summer noon,
Young spring's blithe tenderness so green and fair,
The golden wealth of quiet autumn boon,
The star-keen life of winter glittering bare,
Carol harmonious beauty and delight,
And proffer all their treasures as my right.
The birds rejoice in singing for my joy,
And shaking sunshine thro' the clustered leaves:
A brain that never plotteth them annoy,
A heart that loves them and their injury grieves
Swift bird and beast and jewelled insect free
Full well can trust; one brotherhood are we.
The flowers all love me, and the trees befriend;
Lily and rose are eager to impart
By fragrance, colour, or some perfect bend,
Delicious secrets that surprise my heart;
I muse beneath the forests, and they are
With all their countless tongues oracular.
Snow-vested mountains mighty and austere
Persuade me: Climb us from thy lowly home,
And we will be thine Altars; offer here
From our pure silence to yon naked dome
Thy sacrificial thoughts, in breathless awe
And adoration of Eternal Law.

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And evermore old Ocean murmurs me:
Come forth, and love our heritage, my Child;
Safe-cherished on my bosom shalt thou be
In death-sweet calms, in tempests dark and wild;
Cadence of moonlit waves and mid-sea moan
Shall dower thy Voice with many a mystic tone.
O vaulted sky, O bounteous land and sea,
O perfect World, the Palace and the Shrine
Of infinite beauty, truth and mystery,
That flood the soul with yearning bliss divine
Till it dissolves in their exuberant might,
As some frail cloud surcharged with noon's full light.
The banquet-hall is noble, and its wine
A nectar worthy of Olympian lyres;
Solemn and sacred is the infinite shrine,
With stars immortal for its altar-fires;
Yet shrine and palace are scarce noticed things
When all the guests and worshippers are kings:
Imperial all; each freer than the sun
Doth live and move, supreme, self-centred, sole;
And yet they are my people, every one;
My life of heart and brain is in the whole;
Their hopes, fears, woes, joys, virtues, sins, despairs,
Their full-orbed lives are mine no less than theirs.

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The stern exultance of the thoughtful youth
Enrolled against the tyrants of his land;
The noblest victor's self-contemning ruth
When fireless eye must gaze on bloody hand;
The greed of power, the sateless lust of pride,
Whence kingly robes in blood are purple-dyed;
The deep complacency of subtle skill
In ravelled games, though winning wins a loss;
The drear perversity with which one's will
With wretched consciousness persists to cross
His own best good, his dearest friends' best prayers,
Devouring sullenly their generous cares;
The fogs of fear in which their fellows loom
Like threatening monsters, and the firm earth yields;
The mists of hope and love-joy which illume
With golden strangeness their poor homes and fields;
The sophistries of passion-moulded thought
By which they use to make “I would,” “I ought:”
Free childhood's life, so rich it need not ask
Poor thought to justify its flower-fresh grace;
Youth's yearning tumult when the constant mask
Seems falling first from Nature's glorious face,
The infinite joy and sadness of its strife
To probe the awful secrets of our life;

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The firm deliberate strength of manhood's prime,
Appraising well the World, its smiles and frowns,—
Yet for the spoils and triumphs of this Time
Ceding the heirship of eternal crowns;
Old age with Heaven's first rays upon its brow,
Yet clinging feebly to the worn-out Now:
His nature who from action will refrain
In plenitude of spiritual thought,
And his who keepeth every nerve a-strain
In constant labour, hope and fear distraught;
(In thought's pure æther float all worlds of life;
The cold eye sees, warm being lives through strife):
Those eagle spirits native to the skies
Who drink the Sun's bare splendour, and contemn
Such painted screens as unanointed eyes
Must interpose between His shine and them,—
The veils and imageries through which their sense
Alone can bear the formless light intense;
(But Suns shine spheric to the eagle-eye,
Though formless to the owlet-sight, when bare):
The soul opprest with its humanity,
Which must have God's most personal love and care;
The self-ruled souls, that need not supplicate,
Feeling themselves divine and peers of Fate:

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All, all are mine, are Me. How vast the Stage!
Imperious Doom, unvanquishable Will,
Throughout the Drama constant battle wage;
The Plot evolves with tangled good and ill;
The passions overflood the shores of Time;
With God the full Solution waits sublime.
If I so much contemplate all the scene
As if to pleasure me the whole were wrought,
I gaze upon the actors great and mean
With reverent love, with unaccusing thought;
Their wails and curses are mine own no less
Than their most tranquil strains of nobleness.
And yet, how ever-gracious is my dower,
Whose noon-tide bliss consumes its first alloy
Whose midnight woe by some celestial power
Enkindles purest stars of solemn joy:
My lover glows, the world is all-June bowers;
My widower weeps, the tears rain April-showers.
For I must sing of all I feel and know;
Waiting with Memnon passive near the palms,
Until the heavenly light doth dawn and grow
And thrill my silence into mystic psalms;
From unknown realms the wind streams sad or gay,
The trees give voice responsive to its sway.

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For I must sing; of mountains, deserts, seas,
Of rivers ever flowing, ever flowing;
Of beasts and birds, of grass and flowers and trees
For ever fading and for ever growing;
Of calm and storm, of night and eve and noon,
Of boundless space, and sun and stars and moon:
And of the secret sympathies that bind
All beings to their wondrous dwelling-place;
And of the perfect Unity enshrined
In omnipresence throughout time and space,
Alike informing with its full control
The dust, the stars, the worm, the human soul:
And most supremely of my human kin;
Their thoughts and deeds, their valours and their fears,
Their griefs and joys, their virtue and their sin,
Their feasts and wars, their cradles and their biers,
Their temples, prisons, homes and ships and marts,
The subtlest windings of their brains and hearts.
In all their faiths and sacraments I see
Celestial features through the earthly veil,
In all their dreams some deep reality,
In all their structures beams that cannot fail,
In all their thoughts some truth which doth inspire,
In all their passions sparks of quenchless fire.

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For singing, in all thoughts I glimpse the law
Ineffable, eternal, veiled behind,
And robe it in full verse-folds dark with awe;
And singing, in all passions I must find
New secrets more impassioned, crowning them
With golden words, a fulgent diadem.
So heartless gibes of infidel mistrust,
And quibblings spun by some poor wretch to snare
His conscience into sanction of his lust,
Or bind it into cowardly despair,
Come forth from me the universal Nay
That limits all our life's triumphant Yea.
So softest sighings of a maiden's heart
When first Love's fingers touch the trembling chords,
Thrill through my soul with their delicious smart,
And fly abroad from me new-winged with words
So bright and beautiful and swift to soar
That all must love them now and evermore.
I sing, I sing, rejoicing in the singing,
And men all love me for my songs so sweet,
Even as they love the rapturous lark upspringing
And singing loud his joy the sun to greet;
O happiest lot, to win all love and blessing
For that whose own delight is past expressing!

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Are men in truth not joyous strong and whole,
But lofty strains thro' broken lyres expressed?
My frame is all attunèd to my soul,
My limbs are glad to do my mind's behest;
To wander through the wide realm many a day
As free as thoughts that wander every way:
To climb the mountain brow thro' moonlit gloom,
With vigorous breathing of its lonely air,
And watch the trancèd dawn from out her tomb
To perfect resurrection waking there:
To revel through the storm when fire and rain
And thunder make a man all heart and brain:
To pierce the inmost heart of solemn woods,
Where our great Mother coucheth grand and dim,
And baring her full breast in solitudes,
Suckles each child as if she had but him,
With that same milk magnificent and bold
Whence Gods and Titans drew their strength of old;
To plunge away from earth on lonely shores
And breast the green sea-surges foaming strong,
Free as an eagle when it sways and soars
The billows of the tempest-sea among;
To sail alone the deep, past rocks and caves,
From isle to isle upon the heaving waves:

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To row adown great rivers from their rills,
Gliding thro' dawn and eve and noon and night,
Winding between the patient woods and hills,
The broad green meadows, fields and gardens bright;
Past homesteads each sole-sacred as a star
Gleaming thro' clustered foliage near and far;
Past peaceful hamlets loosely gathered round
Their spires still pointing from the graves to God;—
Past rich and mighty cities far-renowned,
So overcharged with life the soul is awed
To think but of such massed intensity;
And so into the earth-surrounding sea.
How the rich days of life and joy and light,
The unregretful, unforeboding days,
Usher me softly into solemn night;
Then sleep her spell divine upon me lays,
And I am tranced and fed with perfect rest,
Or wander far through dreamland, fancy-blest.
Then, when the night's dusk curtains are withdrawn,
And sleep dissolves her spell of mysteries,
With what eternal freshness each new dawn
Greets me with fair and golden promises!
While born anew and young with day's new birth
I hear the lark out-trill my infinite mirth.

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So rich and sweet is Life. And what is death?
The tranquil slumbers dear and strange and boon
That feed at whiles our waking being's breath;
The solemn midnight of this glorious noon,
With countless distant stars, and each a sun,
Revealed harmonious with our daily one.
1857: 1859.