University of Virginia Library

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.