II.
The Rainbow.
THE OLD MAN SPEAKS.
Mine eyes are dim. Where am I? Is this Snow
Falling in the cold air? All darkeneth,—
As if between me and the light there stood
Some shape that lived. My God, is this the end?
ORM.
Not yet! not yet! Look up! Thou livest yet!
'Tis but a little faintness, and will pass.
OLD MAN.
Pass? All things pass. The light, the morning dew,
The power that plotted and the foot that clomb;
And delicate bloom of life upon the flesh
Fading like peach-bloom 'neath a finger-press.
O God, to blossom like a flower in a day,
Then wear a winter in slow withering. . . .
Why not with sun-flash, Lord, or bolt of fire? . . .
Where am I?
ORM.
On the lonely heights of Earth;
Beneath thee lies the Ocean, and above thee
The Hills stand silent in the setting Sun.
OLD MAN.
What forms are these that come and change and go?
ORM.
Desolate Shadows of the gathering Rain.
OLD MAN.
What sound is that I hear?
ORM.
The homeless Wind
Shivering behind the Shadows as they glide,
And moaning.
OLD MAN.
Ah!
ORM.
Some phantom of the brain
Appalleth thee! Cling to me! Courage!
OLD MAN.
Hark!
Dost thou not hear?
ORM.
What?
OLD MAN.
Voices of the shapes
That yonder, with their silvern robes windblown,
All faint and shadowless against the light,
Beckon me. Hush! They sing a lullaby!
They are the spirits that so long ago
Sung round my cradle,—and they sing the same,—
Though I am grown the ghosts of that fair time.
No! faces! These are faces I remember!
A fair face that, sweet in its golden hair—
And lower, see! a little pale-faced child's,
Sad as a star. ‘Father!’ A voice cried ‘Father!’
Lift me up! Look! How they are gathering!
All sing! All beckon!
ORM.
. . . 'Tis the end indeed.
Within his breast the life-blood of the heart
Swells like a breaking wave, as, clinging round me,
He yearneth, fascinated yet afraid,
With wild dim eyes that look on vacancy!
OLD MAN.
What gleameth yonder in the brightening air?
ORM.
The Spirit of the Rainbow hovering faint
Amid the wind-blown shadows of the Rain.
OLD MAN.
Shadows! I see them—all the Shadows— see!
Uprising from the wild green sea of graves
That beats forlorn about the shores of earth.
Shadows—behold them!—how they gather and gather,
More and yet more, darker and darker yet;
Drifting with a low moan of mystery
Upward, still upward, till they almost touch
The bright dim edge of the Bow, but there they pause,
Struggling in vain against a breath from heaven,
And blacken. Hark! their sound is like a Sea!
Above them, with how dim a light divine,
Burneth the Bow,—and lo! it is a Bridge,
Dim, many-colour'd, strangely brightening,
Whereon, all faint and fair and shadowless,
Spirits like those, with faces I remember,
With a low sound like the soft rain in spring,
With a faint echo of the cradle song,
Coming and going, beckon me! I come!
Who holds me? Touch me not. O help! I am called!
Ah!
[Dies.
ORM.
Gone! Dead! Something very cold past by
And touched my cheek like breath; even then, O God,
My comrade heard Thy summons, and behold!
Here lieth, void and cold and tenantless,
His feeble habitation. Poor gray hairs,
Thin with long blowing in the windy cold,
At last ye sadden ruin! poor sweet lips,
Ye are dewless, ye are silent! poor worn heart,
No more shalt thou, like to a worn-out watch,
Tick feebly out the time!
O Shadow sad,
Monitor, haunter, waiter till the end,
Brother of that which darkeneth at my feet,
Hast thou too fled, and dost thou follow still
The Spirit's quest divine? Nay, thou dark Ghost!
Thy work is done for ever—thou art doom'd—
A breath from heaven holds thee to the ground;
And here unto the ruin thou art chained,
Moveless, and dark, no more the ghost of life,
But dead, the Shadow of a thing of stone.
Thus far, no further, Shadow!—but, O brother,
O Spirit, where art thou? From what far height
Up yonder, pausing for a moment's space,
Lookest thou back thy blessing? Art thou free?
Dost thou still hunger upward seeking rest,
Because some new horizon, strange as ours,
Shuts out the prospect of the place of peace?
Art thou a wave that, having broken once,
Gatherest up a glorious crest once more,
And glimmerest onward,—but to break again;
Or dost thou smooth thyself to perfect peace
In tranquil sight of some Eternal Shore?
From the still region whither thou hast fled,
No answer cometh; but with dewy wings
Brightening before it dieth, how divine
Burneth the Rainbow, at its earthliest edge
Now fading like a flower! Is it indeed
A Bridge whereon fair Spirits come and go?
O Brother, didst thou glide to peace that way?
Silent—all silent—dimmer, dimmer yet,
Hue by hue dying, creeping back to heaven—
O let me too pass by it up to God!
Too late—it fadeth, faint and far away!
The Shadows gather round me—from the ground
My dark familiar looketh silently.
O Shadows, be at peace, for ye shall rest,
Yea, surely ye shall cease; for now, as ever,
Out of your cloudy being springs serene
The Bow of Mystery that spans the globe!
The beautiful Bow of thoughts ineffable,
Last consequence of this fair cloud of flesh!
The dim miraculous Iris of sweet Dream!
Rainbow of promise! Colour, Light, and Soul!
That comes, dies, comes again, and ever draws
Its strangest source from tears—that lives, that dies—
That is, is not—now here, now faded wholly—
Ever assuring, ever blessing us,
Ever eluding, ever beckoning;
Born of our essence, yet more strange than we,
As human, yet more beautiful tenfold,—
Rising in earth out of our cloudy being,
Touching forlornest places with its tints,
Strewing the Sea with opal, scattering roses
Across the hollow pathways of the Wind,
Fringing the clouds with flowers of crimson fire,
And melting, melting (whither our wild eyes
Follow imploring, whither our weak feet
Totter for ever), melting far away,
Yonder! upon the dimmest peak of Heaven!
