 | Carol and Cadence |  |
ANIMA CUM ANIMO.
I.
SOUL, (to my soul said I,) what of my stress shall the ending be?
Still shall life lapse for me thus without love, without light?
Shall there no ease for me, shall there no cease from contending be,
Till day go down with me into the graves of the night?
Still shall life lapse for me thus without love, without light?
Shall there no ease for me, shall there no cease from contending be,
Till day go down with me into the graves of the night?
Still from my youth for the things of the spirit I've striven;
All in their stead that Life proffered me scorned have I still:
Still to the quest of the highest myself have I given,
Turned a deaf ear to the whispers of Wish and of Will.
All in their stead that Life proffered me scorned have I still:
Still to the quest of the highest myself have I given,
Turned a deaf ear to the whispers of Wish and of Will.
Set was my face, from the first of my course, to the living
The life as in death that they lead who would better than life:
Love and its sweets, for my dream's sake, I grudged not th'upgiving,
Life's flowerpaths forsook for the sandwastes whose flower-age is strife.
The life as in death that they lead who would better than life:
Love and its sweets, for my dream's sake, I grudged not th'upgiving,
Life's flowerpaths forsook for the sandwastes whose flower-age is strife.
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Pleasantness present, Life's Spring, in the lush and the sweet of it,
Erst in my bloomtide I banished and exiled from me;
Youth and the harvest of joyance it yields, in the heat of it,
Gave up and girt me for battle and travail to be.
Erst in my bloomtide I banished and exiled from me;
Youth and the harvest of joyance it yields, in the heat of it,
Gave up and girt me for battle and travail to be.
Drunk was my soul with a dream of desire for the gaining
That which no man in the world 'neath the moon ever won;
Fevered with phantasms of hope was my heart of attaining
Countries uncompassed by courses of star or of sun,
That which no man in the world 'neath the moon ever won;
Fevered with phantasms of hope was my heart of attaining
Countries uncompassed by courses of star or of sun,
Realms such as redden in regions beyond the sun's setting,
Homes such as harbour for fancy in dimness of dreams,
Kingdoms of cloudland, that lapse and are gone in the getting,
Blisses that waxen and wane with the westering beams.
Homes such as harbour for fancy in dimness of dreams,
Kingdoms of cloudland, that lapse and are gone in the getting,
Blisses that waxen and wane with the westering beams.
My hopes and my dreams to the heedless I pledged for derisions,
Men's praises forswore and the gauds that they follow for goal,
Content on Life's bitters to batten, so only the visions
Might flower in my verse for the folk, that were sown in my soul.
Men's praises forswore and the gauds that they follow for goal,
Content on Life's bitters to batten, so only the visions
Might flower in my verse for the folk, that were sown in my soul.
I flung off the bondage of folly, opinion's fetter,
Disdaining to deal with the brethren of barter and sale,
And went mine own desolate way, never doubting but better,
Far better than basely to win it were nobly to fail.
Disdaining to deal with the brethren of barter and sale,
And went mine own desolate way, never doubting but better,
Far better than basely to win it were nobly to fail.
The trader in honours cried out upon me to the schemer;
Against me the rancours arose of the huckstering crew;
And all cast their gibes and their jeers at the dunce and the dreamer,
Who scorned to compound with the slave and the cheat for his due.
Against me the rancours arose of the huckstering crew;
And all cast their gibes and their jeers at the dunce and the dreamer,
Who scorned to compound with the slave and the cheat for his due.
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The world, with its wont-blunted vision, its senses that ween not
Of aught that departs from the feet-furrowed highways of will,
The world my achievement passed over, as if it had been not,
And left it unguerdoned, unnoted for good or for ill.
Of aught that departs from the feet-furrowed highways of will,
The world my achievement passed over, as if it had been not,
And left it unguerdoned, unnoted for good or for ill.
Yet still have I followed, unfrustred, the quest, never quailing,
Life's lures still disdaining, its pleasures and passions put by,
Still wrought with my might, feet unfaltering and faith never failing,
Still duty my polestar, my landmark to live for and die.
Life's lures still disdaining, its pleasures and passions put by,
Still wrought with my might, feet unfaltering and faith never failing,
Still duty my polestar, my landmark to live for and die.
Well wist I who seeketh the crown of the soul's consecration
Must pay down the price, give the gold of the goal at the start,
That the Gods hearken not unto any, except for oblation
He bring them his blood, for waive-offering the wish of his heart.
Must pay down the price, give the gold of the goal at the start,
That the Gods hearken not unto any, except for oblation
He bring them his blood, for waive-offering the wish of his heart.
Well wist I strong dulness still brandeth the dreamers who brave it,
Still doometh them dwell without pleasance and perish alone;
I knew that my kind might not measure the gifts which I gave it,
Yet thought not to fare all unfriended, no hand in mine own.
Still doometh them dwell without pleasance and perish alone;
I knew that my kind might not measure the gifts which I gave it,
Yet thought not to fare all unfriended, no hand in mine own.
Some faces, methought, I shall find, that will glow, when they greet me,
Some hearts that will throb, at the sound of my songs, with delight,
Some hands that will stretch over mountain and seascape to meet me,
Some eyes at the sight of my name that will sudden wax bright.
Some hearts that will throb, at the sound of my songs, with delight,
Some hands that will stretch over mountain and seascape to meet me,
Some eyes at the sight of my name that will sudden wax bright.
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Alas, without Death and the Fates that forerule him I reckoned,
The Fates that first bring to the harvest the highest and best,
The fiat the first still that taketh and leaveth the second;
For whom the Gods love unto sleep they call early and rest.
The Fates that first bring to the harvest the highest and best,
The fiat the first still that taketh and leaveth the second;
For whom the Gods love unto sleep they call early and rest.
And now all my lovers have left me; no light is that cheereth;
The world is a waste and but phantoms its folk to me seem:
My labour achieved, but its guerdon ungotten, night neareth,
Life lost in the quicksands, and still is my hope but a dream.
The world is a waste and but phantoms its folk to me seem:
My labour achieved, but its guerdon ungotten, night neareth,
Life lost in the quicksands, and still is my hope but a dream.
II.
SOUL, (my soul answered and said to me,) wherefore complainest thou?
Was not the bargain thine own which thou mad'st with the Fates?
Why for the lack thus lament thee of what thou disdainest, thou
That for thy thought's sake hast sundered thyself from thy mates?
Was not the bargain thine own which thou mad'st with the Fates?
Why for the lack thus lament thee of what thou disdainest, thou
That for thy thought's sake hast sundered thyself from thy mates?
Stands not in story the record of prophet and poet?
Burns not in chronicle still the unchangeable word?
Writ is it not that they reap not Truth's harvest who sow it?
When of the giver who throve by his gift was it heard?
Burns not in chronicle still the unchangeable word?
Writ is it not that they reap not Truth's harvest who sow it?
When of the giver who throve by his gift was it heard?
Solace of love and world's ease and approof of the many,
When did these fall to his portion who strove for the light?
One is the choice; for the twain the Gods grant not to any:
Peace never mortal knew, wrong who would sunder from right.
When did these fall to his portion who strove for the light?
One is the choice; for the twain the Gods grant not to any:
Peace never mortal knew, wrong who would sunder from right.
Nay, hunger and thirst must he hail who would fill at Truth's fountains,
Would win to the cliffs in the clouds, where deep calleth to deep;
For pleasance and peace are the guests of the glens, not the mountains:
Void, void are the heights; 'tis the valleys where huddle the sheep.
Would win to the cliffs in the clouds, where deep calleth to deep;
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Void, void are the heights; 'tis the valleys where huddle the sheep.
Rail not at the stepmother age, at the world-dam that bore thee,
The she-wolf on bitters and briars that willed thee subsist.
No better entreated of her were Life's great ones before thee:
What guerdon had Gautier? what bay-leaves had Berlioz and Liszt?
The she-wolf on bitters and briars that willed thee subsist.
No better entreated of her were Life's great ones before thee:
What guerdon had Gautier? what bay-leaves had Berlioz and Liszt?
Who, think you, of yore, in the cripple, the slave Epictetus,
In Socrates' self the soul's lawgivers noted and knew?
Who, think you, was ware of the Sun-God, when he for Admetus,
Heav'n-banished, went herding his kine with the earth-gotten crew?
In Socrates' self the soul's lawgivers noted and knew?
Who, think you, was ware of the Sun-God, when he for Admetus,
Heav'n-banished, went herding his kine with the earth-gotten crew?
What comrade in Shakspeare the glory conjectured, that graven
For highest (save one) should once be on the Tables of Praise?
Who guessed, in the law-biding burgess of Stratford-on-Avon,
The bard, who, approof overvaulting, should beggar the bays?
For highest (save one) should once be on the Tables of Praise?
Who guessed, in the law-biding burgess of Stratford-on-Avon,
The bard, who, approof overvaulting, should beggar the bays?
Nay, how did He fare in Whose name we invoke benediction,
The Man above men Whom we know by the name of the Christ?
The wage He deserved of His worldmates they deemed crucifixion;
His Godhead at thirty poor pieces of silver they priced.
The Man above men Whom we know by the name of the Christ?
The wage He deserved of His worldmates they deemed crucifixion;
His Godhead at thirty poor pieces of silver they priced.
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For seldom in life due appraisement the saint or the sage hath;
For seldom the bays are bestowed but by chance or by fraud:
It is well if the true man bare bread for his hire and his wage hath:
Too oft for the trickster reserved are the meed and the laud.
For seldom the bays are bestowed but by chance or by fraud:
It is well if the true man bare bread for his hire and his wage hath:
Too oft for the trickster reserved are the meed and the laud.
But seldom the sheaves doth he share whose back beareth the burden;
The huckster still reaps and is rich by the husbandman's sweat;
But high labour and holy endeavour are still their own guerdon
And duty accomplished its own compensation is yet.
The huckster still reaps and is rich by the husbandman's sweat;
But high labour and holy endeavour are still their own guerdon
And duty accomplished its own compensation is yet.
Nay, rest thee contented, my soul; for accomplished thy labour,
Achieved for thy task is, 'spite envy and hatred and ail,
And Life draweth near to the realms of its rest-bringing neighbour,
Friend Death not far distant; and Death is the end of the tale.
Achieved for thy task is, 'spite envy and hatred and ail,
And Life draweth near to the realms of its rest-bringing neighbour,
Friend Death not far distant; and Death is the end of the tale.
Bethink thee that life, at the least, thine intendment full measure
To fill hath been lent thee; and more, in the Future, thy dearth,
Thy stress to thine end and thy pain, than world's wealth and world's pleasure,
Thy loss than its gain, to the world-weighing wit will show worth.
To fill hath been lent thee; and more, in the Future, thy dearth,
Thy stress to thine end and thy pain, than world's wealth and world's pleasure,
Thy loss than its gain, to the world-weighing wit will show worth.
The work thou hast wrought to an end, with the life that was lent thee,
Shall stand as a cliff, in Time's clamorous tides unadread,
Shall live, when their names are forgotten that hate thee, (Content thee!)
Shall hold thy name green, when the grasses are over thy head.
Shall stand as a cliff, in Time's clamorous tides unadread,
Shall live, when their names are forgotten that hate thee, (Content thee!)
Shall hold thy name green, when the grasses are over thy head.
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And now, if Death take thee to-day or to-morrow, what matters it?
Fulfilled is thy labour and forth of its leaf is thy flower:
What recketh the rose, to the waste when the wind of scaith scatters it?
Hath it not bloomed out its holy, its high-blossomed hour?
Fulfilled is thy labour and forth of its leaf is thy flower:
What recketh the rose, to the waste when the wind of scaith scatters it?
Hath it not bloomed out its holy, its high-blossomed hour?
So rest thou content in thy deed. If thy fellows have spurned it,
Content thee to think that unfoiled thou hast finished the fight.
If guerdon's ungranted, content thee to know thou hast earned it,
That peace is thy portion, the peace of the doer of right.
Content thee to think that unfoiled thou hast finished the fight.
If guerdon's ungranted, content thee to know thou hast earned it,
That peace is thy portion, the peace of the doer of right.
For the day draweth near when Life's night shall for ever be ended;
The hour is at hand when a term shall be set to thy strife:
Work wrought, duty done, honour safe, heart unfeared, head unbended,
What comes, unadread, thou canst wait it, be't sleep, be it life.
The hour is at hand when a term shall be set to thy strife:
Work wrought, duty done, honour safe, heart unfeared, head unbended,
What comes, unadread, thou canst wait it, be't sleep, be it life.
And if rest be the term of our striving, what better than rest is?
Where rest is for ever, no question of right is or wrong.
If sleep be eternal, content thee with sleep, for sleep best is:
What æons of sleep for thy wake-wearied brain were too long?
Where rest is for ever, no question of right is or wrong.
If sleep be eternal, content thee with sleep, for sleep best is:
What æons of sleep for thy wake-wearied brain were too long?
But if, in new worlds, past the ultimate darkness, unsought-for,
Unwaited, new earths and new heavens for thy harbour abide,
Rejoice, for the just Gods shall grant thee the wreath thou hast wrought for,
The crown thou hast conquered, the wage which the world hath denied.
Unwaited, new earths and new heavens for thy harbour abide,
Rejoice, for the just Gods shall grant thee the wreath thou hast wrought for,
The crown thou hast conquered, the wage which the world hath denied.
| Carol and Cadence | |