The music-lesson of Confucius, And Other Poems

BEL ER OPH ADON,
First of enchanters
In the old moon time,
Lord of the Fire Land,
Plougher of Orcus,
Scarlet-born, Sun-born,
Azure-born, Sea-born,
Purple-born, King-born,
Learned in all magic—
By long endurance,
Penance, and torture
From the abysses
Of Godhood tremendous,
Gained him such power,
Wrenched forth such glory:
Never was mortal
Clad in such beauty,
Forced from the Æons,
From the abysses,

Terrible beauty,
Loveliness fearful,
Splendour of ages;—
Such was his form.

Bel Er Oph Adon
Rose in the evening,
Purple and rose-glown
Light was around him,
Fairer the radiance
Shed from his features;
Back on the sunset,
Back on the purple,
Splendour o'er splendour,
Beauty o'er beauty
Flashes his god-light.
Bel Er Oph Adon
Goes to his bridal;
She, the great Star Queen,
Venus the golden,
Ivory, crimson,
Waits for his coming,
Waits for his beauty,
She, the Immortal,
Seeks his embraces,
In her pavilion
Flashes celestial
Ray forth her raptures.
All through the night time
Quivers the North Light;—
So love the Gods.

Thus spoke the Star Queen:
‘Bel Er Oph Adon,
Thou who of mortals
Only hast mastered

Æons unnumbered,
Tinctures of beauty
Over the earth-born,
E'en to the glories
Which my earth kingdom
Shows not to mortals.
Lord of enchanters,
Say, can thy magic,
Can thy ambition
Picture more honour
Than the sweet rapture
God-given, God-flowing,
Of my embraces?
Know'st thou in Orcus?
Know'st thou aught earthly?
Know'st thou in ocean?
Know'st thou in air life?
Or in the ages
Coming or vanished,
Aught like this pleasure?
Answer my soul.’

Thus to the Star Queen
Answered the Magus:
‘Fairer than thou art
Never was Goddess,
Sweeter or dearer,
And in the ages
Flowing and coming,
All shades of heaven
Onward for ever
Know of no rapture
Like thy embraces.
Yet if thou seekest
Thus I must answer;—
Truth is my power,

By truth I ascended;—
And I am prouder
That each great goddess
In the great kingdoms
Made me her lover.
Deep in the darkness
Far among shadows,
By the pale Empress
Splendid in horror,
Fearful in beauty,
Long time I lingered.
Oft in the Spring-tide
On the green mountain
Came to me, kissed me,
Under dark branches,
Hid from the moonlight,
Dioné the fair.

Baaltis the Ancient,
Queen of the Mountains,
Glowing gold-lustred,
Breathing hot perfumes,
Sparkling in splendour,
Pantherine graceful,
Lost in black tresses
Like a white swan
On the Stygian river,
Wooed me in madness,
Wooed me and won me;
So did Astarté,
Lady of Fire Land,
So did Melitta
Mel Ida, Meldea,
She of the Sun-realm
Queen of the orgy,
Fearful and passionate,

Secret and sacred.
Eastward or Westward,
Heaven-born—earthly,
All the great beauties
Worshipped by mortals,
All have caressed me.
Thee I have best loved;
Yet since thou askest
What makes me proudest,
Truly I answer
All make me proud.’

Thus answered Venus,
Fair Aphrodité,
Rose-tinted sea foam:
‘That which we love best
Should make us proudest.
Never should true love
From pride be dissevered,
And in thy love now
Shall both be united.
Listen to secrets
Awful and charming;
When in the shadows
Deep in the caverns
Lovely Persephoné
Clasped thee with kisses,
I was thy loved one.
When on the mountain
Stately Dioné
In thy embraces
Made the leaves rustle,
I was thy beauty,
Bow-bearing, moon-horned.
I was Baältis,
Morning land-splendoured,

Serpentine twining,
Glowing in glory,
Passionate lovely,
Many and One.

‘I was all others,
All who have loved thee;
White Anaïtis
Loveliness flowing,
Limbs like milk rivers;
Also Melitta.
Goddess of Sweetness,
Honey and perfume,
Terrible pleasures
Are her embraces.
Infinite thrilling
The luscious arcana
Taught in her orgies,
Flashed in her glances:—
Yet was Melitta
The ray of my spirit,
And with the goddess
And in the goddess
Thou wert with me love.
High in the heavens,
On the green mountains,
Deep in hell's palace,
I the One Only
Held thee in rapture,
Ever enjoying
Thy faith in the Many,
Even as thou in
Thy faith wert delighted;
Now thou hast all, love;
Now thou hast learned love,
All is in love.’

2. PART II.

MEDIÆVAL.

BE'T far or near,
Dark tales we hear
How Satan wins the soul
Of those who fain
Would wisdom gain,
Or yield to Love's control;
Yet well I wete
That wisdom great
Ne'er caused a soul to fall,
And those who sin
True love to win
Have never sinned at all.

For wisdom high
Can pierce the sky
To Heaven's brightest bower,
And true love's spell
Send joy through hell,
Where devils sit in dour;
And ye in doubt
Who stay without,
Awhile your minds engage,
While I unfold
The story old
Of Satan and the Sage.

In Italie
Beyond the sea
There lived a man so learned,
All heathen lore
From days of yore
By magic he discerned.
In many a tomb,
In ancient gloom
Unbroke since Jovis sped,
He all day long
With magic song
Held speech with Romans dead.

Each goblin child,
And fairies wild
That in the rivers swim,
And sylphids rare
Who float in air,
Made strange discourse to him.
From antique graves
And hidden caves
Deep murmurings were cast,
And statues white
In dim moonlight
Cried Salve! as he passed.

And for such sin
His soul within
Had Satan power to lay
A dismal curse
To turn to worse
As time should pass away.
And that vile root
Which Satan put
To win him from above,

Was this, that he,
From woman free,
Should ne'er know woman's love.

But oh, what part
Hath devils' art
In those whom Heaven owns?
Though Satan sing
Till Chaos ring,
God chants for deeper tones.
The wittiest wile
And subtlest guile
Ne'er reach the inmost core;
The mouse may know
Shrewd tricks, I trow,
But ever the cat knows more.

And now this sage
In ripening age
Felt Cupid's wondrous power,
And oft would dream,
By hill or stream,
Of love in bed or bower.
Yet all alone
He made his moan,—
Alone he led his life;
No maiden fair
With him would pair,
No woman be his wife.

With every spell
And charm from hell
He tempted girls to guile,
But every May
Still said him Nay,—
No maid on him could smile.

With gems and gold
Right many a fold
He sought to buy their charms,
But ever the curse
Turned bad to worse:
They died within his arms.

Ah God, what is
All wealth I wis
To him who liveth so?
Withouten love
E'en heaven above
I ween were bitter woe
The fairest flower,
In sun or shower,
Is but a laidly weed,
And so this man
To Satan than
Did turn him in his need.

And the Great Lord
Of ill accord
With him did thus agree:
‘A leman fai
Of beauty rare
I straight will give to thee.
But this be known:
To her alone
Shall all thy love be given;
If ever thou change,
And from her range,
Thou ne'er shalt rise to heaven.’

Mark well, O Heart,
What wondrous art
Hath God to guard our youth.

This sage but sought,
By magic taught,
To learn all wisdom's truth.
Great risks they run
Who've thus begun
And walk where shadows reign,
But ever God,
With guiding rod,
Will lead them back again.

Now this fair maid
To him purveyed
Was but a demon fell,
Whom Satan meant
With foul intent
To lure him into hell.
But soon she felt
Her spirit melt,—
Her life with love was sore,
And in her heart
There burned a smart
She never knew before.

From early time
The blackest crime
Had ever been her play;
In blood and filth
She found her health
And passed the time away.
Even Rome's proud Queen,
Great Messaline,
To her was but a child,
Yet all her soul
In sweet control
Was soon by Love beguiled.

The task she had
As Satan bade
Was this—to make her love
In constant range
To beauties strange,
And still to others rove.
Small wish had she
That this should be,
Or he from her should sever
The man whose faith
Thro' life and death
She fain would keep for ever.

With torture turned
In pain she burned,—
No hope was ever there;
For all within
Was death and sin,
And hell was everywhere.
Till love so deep
Made angels weep,
It proved a chastening rod;
Love's suffering
To heaven takes wing:
She dared to think of God.

Then to her mind
By pain refined
A subtle thought came in,
A fancy deep
Her love to keep
And cheat the power of sin.
How this should be
In time you'll see;
Twas all as Heaven bid.

When prayer we bring
Full many a thing
Is oft from Satan hid.

One day her love
Had chanced to rove,
And by the river strayed,
When all away
Mid forests grey
He met a lovelier maid.
Straight trapt and caught,
He gave no thought
Unto his leman fond,
And lesser still
His wanton will
Upon the devil's bond.

In evening breeze,
Beneath the trees,
They wandered long alone.
In greenwood shade
A tender maid
Right easily is won.
As the rushes shook
In the bubbling brook
His heart with passion thrilled,
Each long gold hair
Is subtle snare
When souls with love are filled.

With many a kiss
Of burning bliss
They part, and true love swear;
But when next day
He came that way
He found another there.

A cream-white queen
Of stately mien
With eyes like midnight stars.
For her in turn
His passions burn
And naught his longing bars.

And thus for years,
Withouten fears,
He led a wanton life,
And aye his will
Did he fulfil
With many a lovely wife.
Full many a maid
In greenwood shade,
Full many a bird in bower,
And ladies great
Of high estate
Had he for paramours.

Time fleeth on,
Youth soon is gone,
Naught earthly may abide;
Life seemeth fast,
But may not last,—
It runs as runs the tide.
A shallop bark
Ye oft may mark
Well anchored firm and sound;
But lest it flies
When waters rise
'Tis by the anchor drowned.

Thus to our sage
In later age
There came the broken bowl;

His wasted youth
And broken truth,
And then his forfeit soul.
No joy of wine
Or concubine
Could heal his growing sore;
Cold shadows vast
Around him passed,
And all was hell before.

Thus oft alone
He made his moan
Mid rocks and forests grim,
Till once when there,
He was aware
Of one who came to him,—
A lady bright,
While rosy light
Shone round as she did pass,
Like diamonds on
The thistle down,
And glow-worms in the grass.

‘Sweet heart,’ she cried,
‘Dost know thy bride?
Thy love of early years?
The first whom thou
Did'st kiss, comes now
To drive away thy fears.’
‘Ah, God,’ said he,
‘How can that be,
When I am all forlorn?
My soul is lost,
My fate is crost,
There's none so wretched born.’

As when black clouds,
Like fearful shrouds,
Are blown by reckless wind,
And glad we mark
The fleeting dark
With golden light behind;
Or nightmare grim,
Which froze each limb,
Is driven by loving kiss,
E'en so the word
Which next he heard
Did bring him back to bliss.

‘Thou dream'st,’ she spoke,
‘The bond is broke,
And all thy soul is gone,
Because that thou
Did'st quit thy vow
And leave me all alone.
'Twas Satan's will;
But Heaven still
Hath deeper love than he.
In others' arms,
By other charms,
Thou ever wert with me.

‘As thou did'st range,
So I did change
To bodies young and fair,
Of tawny hue,
Or fresh and new,
To white with golden hair.
Was't Pernel, Joane,
Or Josiane,
Or Blanche, or Marinel,

Or Florens sweet,
Or Marguerite,
I was thy bonnibel.

‘Yes; I, the Elf,
Was still myself,
Though wooed in many a form;
And ever anon
I still came on,
And got thy kisses warm.
Though thou did'st fly
Like bird in sky,
Yet faster still I flew,
And only one
Was thine alone,
And thou wert ever true.

‘The work is done,
Thy soul is won;
I too am saved from thrall,
Since now my yoke
In hell is broke,
For true love conquers all.
We may not rise
To yonder skies
For many an age, I see;
But thou art mine,
And I am thine,
And saved through love of thee.’

Two eagles flew
Through heaven blue,—
May well such wonder be.
Two wild deer strayed
Through greenwood shade,
Two fish swam in the sea.

From life to life,
Sweet dear and wife,
I ween we often rove,
But never part
When once the heart
Has found its own true love.

3. PART III.

MODERN.

I WANDER in a wildering dream.
What meaneth this, what meaneth all?
Lord Arion with his dolphin call?
And steam-boats on old sacred streams?

What is this mystery which I hate?
Are dirt and steam the life to live?
Must I the inner truth up-give
With gold-fire interpenetrate?

I stand beside a mud canal,
I hear six costermongers cry:
The iron road like snake goes by,
Yet the old sun shines over all.

There is primæval loveliness,
And here is nothing of the kind;
New wisdom drives the soul to wind,
And all is one infernal mess.

When Dante sat upon his stone
In Florence, then the world was square.
He knew just how to strike them there,
But now who knows the age's tone?

'Twas better when in Sodom thou
Saw'st God on this side, hell on that
In an arena fair and flat;
But say—where is the devil now?

I know a man whose heart is whole,
In the great city of New York;
He deals in stocks and meal and pork:
May God have mercy on my soul!

Were he but Ser Porcone hight!—
And did he but a ducat owe
To sainted Fra Angelico
For painting San Antonio bright!

How very easy 'twould have been
To tell the legend of my friend,
Illuminated to the end,
As though 'twere drawn from Voragin!

Yet will I tell it as I may,
Although I be a traitor hight,
Gone back on the Pre-Raphael light—
Like the Great Lord of Paint—Millais.

This man I knew, whose name was Smith,
By Fate's sharp scalpel lost his wife,
The oyster of his hard shell life,
And of his plant the very pith.

He mourned her taken up to Heaven
While wandering in his devious ways;
All life a wild and wilful maze,—
And then joined Circle Number Seven.

Thou know'st not what that means? Then list,—
Such circles are the only rings
In which Romance at present springs,
For Smith had turned Spiritualist.

When next I met him, in his eye
There was a sweet and winky light,
His very hat and gloves seemed bright
With adolescent ecstasy.

I gently touched upon his woe,
I took him softly by the hand,
But with a motion like command
He turned upon me and cried, ‘Poh!

‘Condole not with me on the dead;
They never die,—they're always here;
They sip with us the foaming beer,
They're at our table,—and in bed.’

‘'Tis true,’ I said. ‘Invisible,
The dead are round us everywhere,
But thinner than the thinnest air:’—
Here Smith replied, derisible:

‘Such ignorance but makes me laugh,
When yester evening I embraced,
With arms tight locked around her waist,
My dear departed better half.’

‘Great Heaven,’ I cried, ‘how can that be?
Does then the grave return its dead,
And spirits from the portal sped,
Hie backwards from Eternity?’

But Smith replied in calmest tones:
‘This spirit of my darling wife,
Who comes so oft to cheer my life,
Had entered into Mary Jones.

‘You know her—isn't she divine?
God never made a prettier girl,
A real peach—a perfect pearl—
With cheeks which flash with Heaven's wine.

‘I only hope my wife will stay
A long long time in Mary's form;
She says she finds it nice and warm;
Nor change about—as is her way.

‘For since she died, beyond a doubt
She's been in mediums—let me see!
Yes, altogether, twenty-three!
'Tis hard to follow her about.

‘Yet 'tis not all devoid of fun,
If for an instant you reflect,
That I must treat them with respect,
For all the Twenty-Three are One!

‘One spirit, though of different flesh;
But what's the body? Doctors say
It changes atoms every day,—
Only the soul abideth fresh.

And would you make of Earth a Heaven,
Learn that the body is but dust;
Think not of earthly laws or lust,
And join our Circle—Number Seven.’

‘Gone back on’ is an American term for being renegade.

University of Virginia Library

MANY IN ONE.

A POEM IN THREE PARTS. MYTHICAL, MEDIÆVAL, MODERN.

1. PART I.

MYTHICAL.

2. PART II.

MEDIÆVAL.

3. PART III.

MODERN.