The Christian Scholar :: :: University of Virginia Library

Stretching unfathomably at boundless thought
Intensest visions were before him brought,
Unreal shadows; yet his spirit stern
Did still unconscious for that Presence yearn,
Which clothes Itself with circum-ambient day,
Swifter than solar beams or lightning ray.
Grasping infinity, he nothing found,
Then shrunk from vacuum that yawn'd around;
Spread like the blind his hands, therein to clasp
Annihilation in his feeble grasp;
As if some fiend that mock'd him in its place
Left but a shadow in his void embrace.
And thus he fail'd that mystery to scan
The greatness and the littleness of man.

Before him Nature's volume was unroll'd
Sublime, unmeasured, strange, and manifold,
Expatiating there with eager view;
The Ocean, and the vast resplendent Blue,
The Elements, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars
Were but the breathing mighty characters

232

Whereby he read vast Nature, to his soul
Presenting visions of th' unbounded Whole.
With awful horror blends delight divine,
Where bodies traverse depth and height, and shine
Wandering like sheep amid the infinite,
And feed on fields of the ethereal light .

The sounds his burning fancy did rehearse
Were but the songs of the vast Universe,
We hear—and listen to the impassion'd theme,
And catch strange truths in his bewilder'd dream.

Flammea per cœlum pascentes corpora passim.”

Lib. v. 525

233

II. VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE.

Φωναντα συνετοισιν.

[_]

B iii. 907-931.

“Thy joyful home shall welcome thee no more,
“Nor wife, nor children sweet as heretofore
“Snatch the fond kiss, and to thy bosom press'd
“With an unutter'd sweetness fill thy breast.
“To aid thyself and thine no more thy power!
“‘Poor man!’ they say, ‘poor man! one evil hour
“Hath all life's blessings swept from thee away.’
“But thus bewailing they omit to say
“That no desires of these with thee remain;
“Which could their hearts perceive, their words attain,
“From anguish and despair would set them free.
“Thou in thy death for all eternity
“From human griefs and sickness art relieved.
“We by thy dismal tomb, of thee bereaved,
“Weep on insatiably, and left forlorn
“For ever think on thee, for ever mourn. . .

“Thus too when men the festive board around,
“Lifting their cups, with flowery chaplets crown'd,

234

“Say from the heart, ‘Short these enjoyments last
“To feeble man; 'tis soon among the past,
“And then for ever and for ever gone!’
“As if the dead hereafter would bemoan
“Such loss, when all such longings have an end,
“Or thirst for wine would after death attend.”

[_]

Ibid. 1058—1098.

“But wilt thou doubt, and think it hard to die
“Whose life is but a death with wakeful eye?
“The greater part of life in sleep to lie,
“And through the day no less, as one asleep,
“In an unreal dream to laugh and weep:
“Thy mind oppress'd with apprehensions vain,
“Unable oft to find what gives thee pain:
“On all sides, like a drunken man , distress'd,
“In vague uncertainty of thine unrest.

“Thus heavily doth on men's spirits dwell
“A weight of which they seem thus sensible;
“But could they once of this the sources find,
“From whence so great a burden weighs the mind,
“And knew the cause of their own misery,
“They could not spend their lives as now we see,
“Each knowing not, yet seeking still to know
“What he would wish,—fast hurrying to and fro,

235

“As if to throw aside some load of pain,
“To change each place, yet no where to remain

“From a great house one issues forth, o'ercome
“And sated with his home,—then back to home
“As suddenly returns; for he can find
“Abroad nought better than he left behind.
“With headlong haste one to his villa drives,
“As if his walls were burning; there arrives,
“And stands upon the threshold, in disdain
“And hesitation;—should he there remain,
“He sleeps and in oblivion settles down,
“Or starts again and hurries to the town.

“Thus each man from himself attempts to flee,
“But bears within him that same enemy
“From which he would escape, that frets the more,
“Nor doth of his disease the cause explore;
“Which did he well discern he soon would cast
“All other things aside, and to the last
“The nature of man's being strive to know:
“For 'tis not one short hour for weal or woe
“That is at stake,—but all eternity,
“All after death—the life that is to be.”

See Job xii. 25; Ps. cvii. 27.

See Dr. Pusey's Advent Sermons, S. VIII. p. 110.—“Where well-nigh all countenances or motions are full of eagerness, anxiety; all bent on something, seeking, but finding not, because they are seeking all things out of God, all but Himself, except when, here and there, they at last become very emptiness, because they know no more what to seek or find, but have lost themselves.”

236

III. EFFECTS OF SIN IRREMEDIABLE.

[_]

B. iii. 1. 991-1036.

“The things they tell of Acheron profound—
“These are but states we see in life around.
“No wretched Tantalus fears o'er his head
“The o'erhanging stone, trembling with empty dread ;
“But fears of wrath Divine hold man in thrall,
“Lest some impending ill should on him fall.

“There are no birds that feed in Acheron
“On Tityus' breast, nor could they find whereon
“For everlasting ages there to prey,
“Though not on acres nine his huge trunk lay
“But on the whole vast world; nor could he so
“Afford them food for his own endless woe.
“But Tityus is seen among mankind,
“When anxious cares, like vultures of the mind,
“Eat out the vitals, and the heart consume,
“That prostrate lies in love or passion's gloom.

“Sisyphus lives reveal'd before our eyes,
“When the ambitious man for Honour plies
“His heavy wearying task, in deep turmoil,
“Seeking State-power with long-enduring toil,

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“Then frustrated falls back, and cannot rest.
“This it is up the mountain's adverse breast
“To heave the stone, which from the height again
“Rolls down all hurriedly, and seeks the plain.

“Again;—man's thankless soul to feed and fill
“With good, yet ne'er to satisfy; while still
“The beauteous Seasons, in their annual round,
“Return, with varied fruits and graces crown'd;
“While we throughout unsatisfied remain.
“'Tis this, methinks, the legend will explain
“Of youthful-blooming Maidens, which in vain
“Into the leaky urn the waters pour,
“Yet can in no way fill it evermore.

“Cerberus, Furies, and Tartarean night
“Vomiting horrid steams and void of light,—
“Such things as these there are not, nor can be;—
“But fear in life of some dread penalty
“Atoning dreadful crimes;—the Dungeon-hold,
“Tarpeian rock, Stocks, Tortures manifold,
“Stripes, Executioners, Pitch, Torch, and Lead;
“And e'en if these were wanting, yet the dread
“Of Conscience, with remorseful bodings stern,
“Applies the secret goad and stripes that burn.
“For she in apprehension sees no end
“Of punishments like these, but doth portend
“That they in death grow deeper, and thereon
“Builds the fond tales of fabled Acheron.”

238

The Voice of God spake in the multitude,
The poet heard it not, nor understood;
For man's divining soul foreboded well
Of an Hereafter and of Heaven and Hell:
Though unreveal'd without, yet from within,
In after-fruits of unatoned sin,
Links and beginnings of a chain they saw,
Iron developments and things of awe,
And thence inferred the adamantine law;—
That guilty sufferings, (should no Power forefend,)
Which here begin, pass on, and without end
Or intermission after death attend.
This they perceived, perceiving represent
In subterranean forms of punishment.
The mighty Truth which lay itself behind
Threw forth those legends for the vulgar mind,
Like giant shapes the Magic Lamp pourtrays
On the white wall, where wondering children gaze;
Those lineaments without but manifest
Reasonings that lay within, though unexpress'd;—
Truths which in secret self the spirit learns,
Where Instinct in the soul celestial burns

“Cassa formidine”. .“metus inanis.” “There were they brought in great fear, even where no fear was.” Ps. xiv. 9; liii. 6.

“For even thereafter as a man feareth, so is Thy displeasure.”Ps. xc. 11.

239

IV. BIRTH AND REARING OF MAN.

[_]

B. v. 1. 223.

“Then, like a mariner by cruel waves
“Cast forth, the new-born babe for pity craves,
“Naked and speechless on the cold ground laid,
“Utterly helpless, needing vital aid.
“Upon the shore of being amidst woes,
“Thrust from its mother's womb with struggling throes,
“He fills the place with melancholy cries,
“As one that's born for so great miseries.
“Then cattle, herds, and beasts that range the wild
“No plaything need, nor nurse, whose accents mild
“And broken prattle moulds the lisping tongue;
“But of themselves grow up the woods among.
“Nor need they varied vests for changeful clime,
“Nor arms of moulded form, nor walls sublime
“Their goods to guard; Nature doth all provide,
“Her varied stores have all their wants supplied.”

Such is the external type of man within,
Into a world of sorrow “born in sin,”

240

And from the nakedness and ills of earth
Lifting his cries for a new better birth,
To be “clothed on from Heaven;” for thus forlorn
Better not born at all unless twice born.
Helpless himself, on others he relies
For saving aid, for without aid he dies.
And if on earth the infant's cry of pain
For food and shelter is not rais'd in vain,
Doubtless in Heaven, beyond our mortal sense,
Those speechless cries have their own eloquence;
Telling alike the greatness of his need,
And such sure aids as shall from God proceed.

The cradle left, man's growing wants no less
Not weakness, but a nobler kind express,—
Powers incomplete, sublimer destinies,—
Symbols without, within him mysteries:
Not rear'd as “beasts that perish,” but he still
Needs the formation of a higher Will,
Needs daily new ablutions, growing powers,
Raiment to clothe, and arms, and sheltering towers,
A tongue train'd to new language, ere 'tis given
To have a place amid the ranks of Heaven.

241

V. DREAD OF ANNIHILATION.

[_]

B. iii. 1. 59—81.

“Then Avarice and Ambition, Passions blind,
“Which beyond bounds of Right urge on mankind,
“Associates and ministers of crime,
“To labour nights and days upward to climb.—
“These rankling wounds that tend on mortal breath
“Are but occasion'd by the dread of Death:
“For Shame, Contempt, and Poverty severe
“Apart from sweet and stable life appear,
“Dwelling beside Death's portals. Hence men fear,
“And far, far off to flee them with false dread
“They strive, as from the dwellings of the dead;—
“Inflame sedition, civil wars, and heap
“Wealth upon wealth, slaughter on slaughter, steep
“Their hands in citizens' and kinsmen's blood,
“And find no safety but in solitude.

“'Tis for like cause, the same unconscious dread,
“That Envy pines away and hangs the head,—
“To see another rise before their sight,
“Be gaz'd upon and walk in honour's light,

242

“Themselves in darkness and in dust to lie.
“Others for statues and a name would die:
“Yea, oft so far proceeds this strange dismay,
“To mortal loathing of the light of day,
“Some rather than that misery abide
“From dread of Death by their own hands have died.”

But why this apprehension not to be,
This fear of non-existence, like a sea
Which secretly beneath our nature dwells,
And by some unseen influence heaves and swells;
Oft-times with this tempestuous fury wakes,
And all our being to its centre shakes?
'Tis that God's Breath within us gives to be
Partakers of His own eternity—
For this the unconscious soul toils day and night,
Turns in and out all things of sense and sight,—
For reconciled reunion with its God,—
For this in paths so alien hath it trod,
And through all phases of tumultuous strife
Annihilation flees, and clings to life.
Therefore we thus recoil, and strive to soar
From those sad shapes which sit beside death's door.
Yet but unreal phantoms are they found,
Mists which the vestibule alone surround.

243

For Shame, Contempt, and Poverty severe
With Christ Himself in death's dark shades appear,
And reconciled with them in Him to die
Is to be clothed with His eternity.

244

VI. OCULAR DECEPTIONS.

[_]

B. iv. 388.

“The Ship in which we sail seems at a stand;
“Another seems to pass tho' fix'd to land;
“And hills and plains seem toward the stern to fly,
“While with wing'd sails ourselves are hurrying by.

“The Stars in their ethereal caves above
“Seem motionless, yet doubtless ever move,
“Since they to distant settings, when they rise,
“Haste, with bright bodies measuring out the skies.
“Thus too the Sun and Moon seem fix'd in Heaven,
“While they are on their courses onward driven.

“Mountains amid the sea in distance seen,
“With space for mighty fleets to pass between,
“Appear all one,—one island of firm land
“Together join'd, though far apart they stand.

“Halls seem to turn and columns round to reel
“With boys, when they themselves have ceased to wheel ;

245

“They scarce believe but o'er their heads the hall
“Totters with all its roofs about to fall.

“Her morning beam, trembling with ruddy blaze,
“When Nature o'er the hills begins to raise,
“The Sun upon those hills appears to stand,
“With fervid fires touching them close at hand,
“Scarce twice ten thousand arrow-shots apart
“From us, or scarce five hundred of the dart:—
“Yet 'tween them and the sun huge spaces lie
“Of Ocean, and vast regions of the sky;
“And many thousand climes may intervene
“With varied tribes and forest kinds between.

“Water—a finger's depth—which at our feet
“Stops 'tween the stones within the pavèd street,
“Gives under ground a prospect, vast and deep
“As 'tween the earth and sky the ethereal sweep;
“Clouds down in earth are seen, Heavens as on high,
“And bodies hidden in a wondrous sky.

“In the mid river should our horse stand still,
“We look down on the rapid waters, till
“Borne down athwart on the still horse we seem,
“Labouring confusedly against the stream,
“And, wheresoe'er we look, all we survey,
“Seems flowing down alike, and borne away.

“In porticoes or long arcades that lean
“On pillars of like size, like space between,
“The lengthening vistas seem from end to end
“Contracting, as in distance they extend,

246

“Pavement and roof, right and left sides draw near,
“And darkly in a point at length appear.

“At sea the Sun seems to uplift his fires
“From out the waves, and in the waves retires;
“For nought but sea and sky are seen from thence;
“Nor think this shakes the evidence of sense.

“Shipping in port all maim'd appears to be,
“With rigging broke, and struggling 'gainst the sea;
“Straight seem the oars which o'er the spray appear,
“And straight the helm which rises in the rear;
“While parts that 'neath the fluid glass decline
“Seem chang'd, refracted, upward turn'd supine,
“And floating on the surface of the brine.

“When winds through heaven bear the thin clouds at night,
“The splendid Constellations seem in flight
“To glide against the clouds, and fleet on high
“To other regions of the untravell'd sky.

“If, placed beneath, the hand should press one eye,
“It so may be that objects we descry,
“Themselves unchang'd, are double to behold;
“Fire-flowering candles seem anon twofold;
“All household sights a doubled form retain,
“Men's faces seem twofold, their bodies twain.

“When Sleep the limbs hath in sweet slumber bound,
“And all the body lies in rest profound,

247

“Yet to ourselves awake we seem, aright
“Our limbs to move, in darkness of the night
“The sun itself to view and light of day;—
“Pent in one place abroad we seem to stray,
“Skies, seas, streams, mountains passing on to change,
“And over mighty plains on foot to range;
“In night's stern stillness sounds we hear around,
“And give reply in slumber's silence bound.”

With visible motion her diurnal round!”

Wordsworth, vol. i. 43.

Thus e'en in seeing do our senses fail,
And knowledge on them built is found thus frail,
Although the unconscious mind is present still,
To guide, correct, or frustrate at her will:
Thus God must still be present at our side,
And with His own mysterious language guide,
E'en in this world wherein we walk by sight.
Then how shall feeble man be thought aright
To judge of things which, vast and manifold,
Surround us, and wherein the human mind,
By use distorted and by nature blind,
Puts forth with sightless orbs her hands to reach,—
Till God Himself shall through our spirits teach?

E'en as the sun which nature's face reveals,
While the celestial mansion it conceals;
Thus Sense may things disclose our path around,
But hides the secret Godhead more profound;—

248

Until remov'd from objects of the sense,
Converse we with the hid Magnificence,
And God gives hearing ear and seeing eye.
Then from “the temple” of Philosophy
Are men beheld all wandering forth abroad,
As those that in the dark have lost their road.
That glorious temple in the height serene
Is Christ our Light, in Whom all things are seen,
E'en as they are, and shall be, and have been;
While with our very eyes He doth converse,
And reads to us the speaking universe.

Errare, atque viam palantes quærere vitæ.”

See b. ii. lin. 1 to 16.

249

VII. TRUE PHILOSOPHY.

[_]

B. v. 8, 12; B. iii. 11.

“For if we speak as suits the majesty
“Of so great knowledge, sure a God was he,
“Renown'd Memmius, 'twas a God indeed,
“Whence this life's law call'd Wisdom did proceed.
“From waves and darkness Who this mortal scene
“Hath placed in light so cloudless and serene.”...

“As bees leave nought untouch'd in flower-fraught mead,
“So we on all thy golden words would feed,—
“Thy golden words with life immortal crown'd;
“Since thence hath issued forth their glorious sound,
“The terrors of the mind away have fled,
“The Universe's walls cleave o'er our head,
“Through the whole mighty void in vision clear
“The place of Gods and quiet seats appear.
“Which the winds cannot shake, nor clouds assail,
“Nor snow white-falling, nor the beating hail
“Can violate; but cloudless skies around,
“And light itself diffus'd smiles without bound.
“Where Nature all supplies, nor aught draws near
“To lessen endless peace or cause a fear.

250

“Abodes of Acheron are no where seen,
“Nor Earth to bound their view doth intervene,—
“Depth 'neath their feet extends from boundless height,
“Which the soul views with a divine delight
“And horror, lost at the o'erwhelming sight .”

“They shall fear and tremble for all the goodness and for all the prosperity that I procure unto it.” Jer. xxxiii. 9.

251

VIII. ATHEISM CORRECTED.

[_]

(In imitation of Lucretius.)

If it be so—then this o'er-arching hall,
And Heaven's deep-thundering temples covering all,
On pillars of blue ether, sown with stars,
Where walks the Sun imprison'd in strange bars,—
And Earth, with trees and streams and mountains crown'd,
And girdle of blue waters girding round,—
This scene, o'er which there hangs the clear profound,
Is but a cavern where the soul is pent;
And the blue roofs of this our firmament
Shall tumble in, by ruin dash'd, or fly
Like a white cloud vanish'd from Summer sky.
Then Death is to the soul the dungeon door,
As Eve lets out the sun on twilight's shore.
It follows—this our poor and fretful talk
Of men, and states, and kingdoms, is to walk
With shadows, with the substance at the gate,
And it may be to waken all too late.

For if, from out the star-encircled tent,
To be with us the golden Sun is sent,
To touch with life-giving ethereal touch
The springs of life, it matters surely much

252

Whether we walk in that serener day,
Or turn'd to darkness work our own decay.

Like cause doth like effect in like produce,
In all but man; the Elements let loose
Range o'er the earth, yet bear a hidden rein;
Each doth his given work in given chain,—
Traceable by eye of reason though unseen.
Two roses nurtured 'neath one canopy,
Together rise and bloom, together die;
Two elms coeval in harmonious strife
Throw round their green arms, and drink equal life;
Two streams together haste to Ocean's hall;
Two upward flames together mount or fall .
Not so in man, himself creates the cause
Of his own acts; he moves by self-framed laws,
Self-framed each hour, while on the verge that lies
'Tween good and evil stern Probation tries;
And all he does is seed to something still
Beyond, more strong in grace or prone to ill.
Two mortals by the water side of life
Spring from one root, yet gradual prove they rife
With different natures, this with healing dight
And gladness, that with deadly aconite;
E'en as the Will within her secret shrines
Gathers the heavenly influence or declines;

253

'Tis not our own, it cometh down from high,
And therefore 'tis that Virtue cannot die,
Since not of birth terrestrial, born of light
That comes beyond the ebon house of night.
To choose or shun the path to good or ill,
Severing each moment, this doth form the Will;
Thus they who 'mid the varied things of sense
Trace out the maze of cause and consequence;—
Nor own 'mid mighty waters calm and deep
His footsteps;—on they dream—till in their sleep
Hearing His Voice they hear not, nor detect
In His own house the glorious Architect.

The golden Sun perchance is on the Sea,
Listening to Hymns of Evening's harmony,
So sweet,—Silence herself is audible
With the Creator's praise,—from hill or dell
Sound birds and lowing herds, till o'er the close
Darkness lets fall her mantle of repose,
And Night adoring climbs with silent urn,
To light the lamps that round His temple burn.
Or when the Morn sends forth her harbinger,
Which with her coming doth all nature stir,
And noisy crow on wing, and thrush on bough,
Give signals of the twilight on Night's brow
Appearing, strains prelusive of the choir,
Which soon shall burst from Nature's morning lyre,
Woke by the Sun unto Creation's King;
All to new life arise and stir and sing.

254

Mean while the Sage, in Wisdom's tower sublime,
Sees the small atom from his unseen clime,
Posting before the Sunbeam—as most fit
Marshal his troops, or in sage council sit,
Life to create and order, into light
Come from beyond the regions of the sight,
And hurry on his mantle, red, blue, green ,
T' invest creation, paint and deck the scene.

As if the Echo to its green retreats
He had pursued, unfolding its wild seats,
Till he, 'mid rocks grotesque, and tangled wood,
Forgot the Voice itself from which it flow'd.
As if the glorious thought and golden strain,
So wondrous bound in the melodious chain
Of some great Pindar, were but sounds that broke
Responsive, by some gale Eolian woke,
Dying upon it; or as if the rays
Of some lov'd countenance on which we gaze,
Were lit up by no unseen light behind;
So dark a cloud the faithless eye doth blind!

This comes of seeing and of tracing on
Cause after cause,—in wondrous union
Concentrating, combining to a whole,—
And owning not the Maker. For the Soul

255

At every step when she around her cell
Sees yet adores not the Adorable,
More faint and faint the gleams, which with Him dwell,
Break out on her, more feebly His dear voice,
That which alone bids nature to rejoice,
More faint and faint she hears; till all alone
From scene to scene of doubt she wanders on
Along a dreary waste, starless and long,
Starless and sad a dreary waste along,
Uncheer'd—unsatisfied—for evermore,
Companionless, and fatherless, and poor.

Enough is given that they who would adore
Might find their Maker; ever more and more
Himself disclosing to the pure in heart,
He leads them in Himself to have a part.
Else it were sad indeed through things of sense,
Or sweet scenes form'd by sportive elements,
To range on sick at heart; for sad and lone
Was Youth in all its freshness, though when gone
So seeming fair; beneath a vernal sky,
'Mid flowers and singing birds it heaved the sigh;
But as it flew, it turn'd, and cast behind
Longing, regretful looks, and seem'd most kind
When lost for ever,—from the things of sight
A bird of golden wing hath ta'en his flight,
And left us desolate: o'er gathering years
Silent and cold Winter her head uprears.

256

Far otherwise when hopes of better Love
Fill all with sacred breath,—rays from above
Light up the cloud—then toilsome nights and days,
To rise, to sleep , to live o'er weary ways
In loneliness, to wed with solitude,
To go out, and return, and find no good ,
These all are by a Holy Presence warm.
In each dark shade there stands a living Form,
By the wayside, by lonely shore, in feast
Else wearisome,—beside the well , nor least
In holy Temples doth that Form abide,
Who ne'er from them that sought Him turn'd aside.
His sheltering mantle rests upon the Earth,
'Neath whose bright folds we have our second birth;
Be we content awhile therein to lie,
Until the storm and whirlwind have past by.

'Tis better that thus dimly we should scan
His steps, disclos'd as meet for sinful man;
For but suppose that Heaven's familiar door
O'erarching, and the star-indented floor
Flew open, and disclos'd the towers afar ;
As fishes ranging 'neath their watery bar
Know nought of tower or city, grove or glen,
Green mantled earth, and singing bird, and men,
So rove we in this vapoury prison pent,—
Emerging in ethereal element

257

We should see that which would our hearts appa.
With wonder, more than all this varied ball,
Yea, more than blind men dream of untried light.
But in th' amazement of th' o'erwhelming sight
How should we love Him? rather for awhile
Let us with prayer this winding cave beguile,
And lowlier thoughts more meet for earthly bond,
For fearfully the Glory shines beyond
This twilight—rapidly 'tis onward borne,
And we have much to do, and much to mourn.

In these I linger not, for thus to dream,
And meditate, and choose the learned theme,
For these we have no leisure—bound for far
We loiter, while we talk the leading star
Is setting, yonder breaks on distant lawn
The skirt of Day—the trees are in the dawn.

See the Christian Year for St. Luke's day, also Aristotle's Ethics b. iii. c. ii.

See Lucretius, b. ii. that the motion of these atoms is more rapid than that of light, that they are of themselves colourless, but assume colour in their combinations.

See p. 234.

See p. 235.

See p. 233.

S. John iv. 6.

See p. 249.