Master and Scholar etc. etc. By E. H. Plumptre: Second edition with notes |
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| NOT WITHOUT WITNESS. |
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NOT WITHOUT WITNESS.
I. SCENOPEGIA.
1.
Come, gather boughs of palm,
Down in the groves where Jordan winds his way;
Or, breathing airs of balm,
Pluck the dark myrtle's snowy-blossomed spray;
Down in the groves where Jordan winds his way;
Or, breathing airs of balm,
Pluck the dark myrtle's snowy-blossomed spray;
Pines from the lofty height,
Where roam the wolf and bear on Hermon's hill,
Or willow gleaming white,
Where sleep the moonbeams on the waters still;
Where roam the wolf and bear on Hermon's hill,
Or willow gleaming white,
Where sleep the moonbeams on the waters still;
Yes, bring them one and all,
And on the roof, beneath the autumn sky,
What time the trumpets call,
Wreathe, twist, and twine the leafy canopy.
And on the roof, beneath the autumn sky,
What time the trumpets call,
Wreathe, twist, and twine the leafy canopy.
There, as the sun sinks low,
And purpling glory flashes all the West,
In solemn cadence slow
Chant the old hymn that speaks of peace and rest:
And purpling glory flashes all the West,
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Chant the old hymn that speaks of peace and rest:
There, when the clouds unfold,
Far in the East, the tints of opening dawn,
And Ophir's fiery gold
Is poured from Heaven on each high mountain lawn,
Far in the East, the tints of opening dawn,
And Ophir's fiery gold
Is poured from Heaven on each high mountain lawn,
There raise the anthem clear,
The Hallelujahs by our fathers sung,
And, spreading far and near,
Let the loud chorus pour from every tongue.
The Hallelujahs by our fathers sung,
And, spreading far and near,
Let the loud chorus pour from every tongue.
2.
Up, rise ye, rise, with shouts of joy,
From man and woman, maid and boy;
For lo! the circling autumn sun
His long year's course has all but run.
Right well the teeming womb of earth
Has given to man its wondrous birth;
All now is ours, and nothing lacks,
The first ripe barley, latest flax;
On every wide-spread threshing-floor
The wheat sheaves yield their golden store,
And patient oxen, as they tread,
Leave the clear grain for staff of bread.
From out the olives, as we press,
There flows, our wearied limbs to bless,
The crystal stream of golden oil,
Rich guerdon of the labourer's toil;
And, last and best, from Eshcol's vine
We drain the sweet, soul-quickening wine.
Through all the joyous crowds that throng
Our vineyards float the sounds of song,
And goodliest youths the winepress tread,
Their feet and garments stained with red.
What time the heathen, flushed and wild,
By dreams and fancies foul beguiled,
In frenzied dance or whirling maze,
With pinewood torches' flashing blaze,
Dance to the god, the child of Jove,
And sing of mirth, and joy, and love;
What time the Mænads' sharp, shrill cry
Breaks the calm silence of the sky,
And locks dishevelled, wine-besprent,
Fall down o'er faces passion-spent,
And wearied frames convulsed, possessed,
At last sink, panting, into rest,
Behold our priests in robes of white,
Inwrought with blue and scarlet bright,
From Siloa's well to Zion turn,
Uplifting high their golden urn;
And there before the altar-stairs,
With chants of praise and loud-voiced prayers,
Pour forth, in sight of Israel,
The waters from salvation's well;
And when at eve the darkness falls
O'er street and market, huts and halls,
Behold one lamp, with mightiest blaze,
Shed far and wide its fiery rays,
O'er temple, court, and crowded street,
Where pilgrims haste with busiest feet,
Down Kedron's valley, further yet
O'er yon steep slope of Olivet.
From man and woman, maid and boy;
For lo! the circling autumn sun
His long year's course has all but run.
Right well the teeming womb of earth
Has given to man its wondrous birth;
All now is ours, and nothing lacks,
The first ripe barley, latest flax;
On every wide-spread threshing-floor
The wheat sheaves yield their golden store,
And patient oxen, as they tread,
Leave the clear grain for staff of bread.
From out the olives, as we press,
There flows, our wearied limbs to bless,
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Rich guerdon of the labourer's toil;
And, last and best, from Eshcol's vine
We drain the sweet, soul-quickening wine.
Through all the joyous crowds that throng
Our vineyards float the sounds of song,
And goodliest youths the winepress tread,
Their feet and garments stained with red.
What time the heathen, flushed and wild,
By dreams and fancies foul beguiled,
In frenzied dance or whirling maze,
With pinewood torches' flashing blaze,
Dance to the god, the child of Jove,
And sing of mirth, and joy, and love;
What time the Mænads' sharp, shrill cry
Breaks the calm silence of the sky,
And locks dishevelled, wine-besprent,
Fall down o'er faces passion-spent,
And wearied frames convulsed, possessed,
At last sink, panting, into rest,
Behold our priests in robes of white,
Inwrought with blue and scarlet bright,
From Siloa's well to Zion turn,
Uplifting high their golden urn;
And there before the altar-stairs,
With chants of praise and loud-voiced prayers,
Pour forth, in sight of Israel,
The waters from salvation's well;
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O'er street and market, huts and halls,
Behold one lamp, with mightiest blaze,
Shed far and wide its fiery rays,
O'er temple, court, and crowded street,
Where pilgrims haste with busiest feet,
Down Kedron's valley, further yet
O'er yon steep slope of Olivet.
What soul so hard, and dead, and cold,
So deaf to all our fathers told,
As not to give to sick and poor
Free offering from its plenteous store?
Let friends greet friends with open hand,
Let each the other's purse command,
Let gifts be tokens true and clear
Of loving hearts, and friendship dear,
And anger die, as dies the year.
Each thought unkind, each harboured grudge
In his own heart let each man judge;
Cast out the unripe grapes and wild,
The clusters tainted and defiled:
There in the vineyard given to thee
Let root, branch, tendril cleansèd be;
Tread thou the wine-press till there flow
The fragrant stream with orient glow,
Which, pouring still as first it ran,
Makes glad the heart of God and man.
So deaf to all our fathers told,
As not to give to sick and poor
Free offering from its plenteous store?
Let friends greet friends with open hand,
Let each the other's purse command,
Let gifts be tokens true and clear
Of loving hearts, and friendship dear,
And anger die, as dies the year.
Each thought unkind, each harboured grudge
In his own heart let each man judge;
Cast out the unripe grapes and wild,
The clusters tainted and defiled:
There in the vineyard given to thee
Let root, branch, tendril cleansèd be;
Tread thou the wine-press till there flow
The fragrant stream with orient glow,
Which, pouring still as first it ran,
Makes glad the heart of God and man.
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3.
So kept the feast our fathers long ago,
When first in Canaan's soil
Their hands a harvest reaped they did not sow,
Won without sweat of toil.
When first in Canaan's soil
Their hands a harvest reaped they did not sow,
Won without sweat of toil.
So through long years the kings of David's line,
Who with their fathers sleep,
Revering still the oracle divine,
That feast were wont to keep.
Who with their fathers sleep,
Revering still the oracle divine,
That feast were wont to keep.
Ah! did they dream of secret, mystic truth
Beneath the outer veil;
Or did our sires in manhood as in youth
Live on the thrice-told tale?
Beneath the outer veil;
Or did our sires in manhood as in youth
Live on the thrice-told tale?
Was it with backward look upon the past,
When they from Egypt came,
When tents were spread through all the desert vast
Around the central flame?
When they from Egypt came,
When tents were spread through all the desert vast
Around the central flame?
Or did they dream of all life's little span
As of a traveller's tent,
Of all the joys that crown the life of man
As garlands dew-besprent;
As of a traveller's tent,
Of all the joys that crown the life of man
As garlands dew-besprent;
The journey through the wilderness of years
As theirs who seek a rest,
And take their pilgrim path through vale of tears,
As yet but partly blest?
As theirs who seek a rest,
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As yet but partly blest?
Or looked they forward to a time to come,
In dim, far future seen,
When all, as yet enwrapt in symbols dumb,
Shall shine in light serene;
In dim, far future seen,
When all, as yet enwrapt in symbols dumb,
Shall shine in light serene;
And as, of old, the countless homes were spread
O'er deserts far and wide,
While yet one tent on all its glory shed,
For God did there abide;
O'er deserts far and wide,
While yet one tent on all its glory shed,
For God did there abide;
So shall one form on all the sons of men
Pour brightness from the throne,
The Word Eternal dwelling with us then
Us as his brothers own;
Pour brightness from the throne,
The Word Eternal dwelling with us then
Us as his brothers own;
One chosen tent wherein the presence dwells
Of light and love divine,
While every soul the tale of wonder tells,
Or sprung from Abraham's line,
Of light and love divine,
While every soul the tale of wonder tells,
Or sprung from Abraham's line,
Heir of his name, and child of Israel,
Within the chosen race,
Or seed of heathens under sin's dark spell,
Then sharing God's great grace?
Within the chosen race,
Or seed of heathens under sin's dark spell,
Then sharing God's great grace?
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II. DIONYSIA.
1.
See, over Sunium's height the golden Morn
Gleams, stretching forth her rosy-fingered hand,
And o'er the smiling waves, and vine-clad land,
Sheds the rich lustre of the light new born.
Gleams, stretching forth her rosy-fingered hand,
And o'er the smiling waves, and vine-clad land,
Sheds the rich lustre of the light new born.
At break of day they haste from every deme,
Kolonos, Parnes, or Acharnæ old;
Where shepherds seek the wanderers from their fold,
By fair Ilissos, or Kephisos' stream;
Kolonos, Parnes, or Acharnæ old;
Where shepherds seek the wanderers from their fold,
By fair Ilissos, or Kephisos' stream;
Where slopes Hymettos with its fragrant store,
Or sacred pathway to Eleusis leads,
Where plane-trees whisper to the answering reeds,
Or rich Laureion yields her silvern ore;
Or sacred pathway to Eleusis leads,
Where plane-trees whisper to the answering reeds,
Or rich Laureion yields her silvern ore;
They haste in festive garments through the street,
By Agora, and Pnyx, and Parthenon,
And ere the dew has yielded to the sun,
In the great court of Dionysos meet.
By Agora, and Pnyx, and Parthenon,
And ere the dew has yielded to the sun,
In the great court of Dionysos meet.
For now fair Spring has come with smiles and mirth,
And green the grass on meadow and on hill,
With sweeter music flows each mountain rill,
And showers and zephyrs gladden all the earth.
And green the grass on meadow and on hill,
With sweeter music flows each mountain rill,
And showers and zephyrs gladden all the earth.
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Here where, of old, our fathers met and sang
In rude, wild hymns the mirth and might divine
Of Bacchus, child of Zeus, and lord of wine,
And jest and song through all the clear air rang;—
In rude, wild hymns the mirth and might divine
Of Bacchus, child of Zeus, and lord of wine,
And jest and song through all the clear air rang;—
Here now we own the Lord of life and song,
Giving high thoughts, and kindling poet's fire,
With roseate flush just warming young desire,
The Lord and Master of the Muses' throng.
Giving high thoughts, and kindling poet's fire,
With roseate flush just warming young desire,
The Lord and Master of the Muses' throng.
From every legend of the storied past,
Man's wrath and sorrow, penitence and guilt,
Crime wrought in darkness, blood at random spilt,
The dread Erinnys' vengeance following fast;—
Man's wrath and sorrow, penitence and guilt,
Crime wrought in darkness, blood at random spilt,
The dread Erinnys' vengeance following fast;—
Stories of Thebes, of Argos, and of Troy,
These come before us framed by poet's skill,
From choral lips the songs of homage thrill,
Waking or fear or pity, grief or joy.
These come before us framed by poet's skill,
From choral lips the songs of homage thrill,
Waking or fear or pity, grief or joy.
So wise men's hearts have widened with the years,
And rude, rough revel yields to loftier thought;
We own and praise the gladness all unsought;
But joy is noblest when it blends with tears.
And rude, rough revel yields to loftier thought;
We own and praise the gladness all unsought;
But joy is noblest when it blends with tears.
The Giver of the gladness of the vine,
We own Him Lord of all that stirs and warms,
The song that soothes, the strain that calls to arms,
The choral dance, the hymn before the shrine.
We own Him Lord of all that stirs and warms,
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The choral dance, the hymn before the shrine.
2.
Yes, come, ye Mænads, floating hair
Cast wildly to the midnight air;
With flashing eye, and blazing torch,
Rush wildly on through columned porch;
“Evöe,” shout; “Evöe” still,
In dusky grove, by warbling rill;
Wake up the echoes far and near,
Bid all the fawns and satyrs hear,
Sing ye the song men sang of old
When from the yeanlings of the fold,
They brought the goat to Bacchus' shrine,
Foe of the tendrils of the vine.
Dance ye, dance wildly in your joy,
Mirth that our God gives cannot cloy.
This glow that warms the old man's veins,
With gleams of sunlight after rains,
This flush that mantles youth's fair face
With kindling eye and roseate grace,
And bids the boy cast off his fears,
And know a life beyond his years,
What is all this, with wonder rife,
But nature's magic, life of life,
That works through sun, and moon, and star,
With subtle stirrings near and far,
Sends the fresh sap through budding grove,
Bids every leaf and floweret move,
And perfect grows in youth's first love?
With mightiest touch that wondrous spell
Makes blossoms open, fruitage swell,
Draws forth from nightingale and lark
The songs that charm the light and dark;
On Psyche's fluttering wings outpours
The orient tints of star-paved floors,
And through the veins of nobler forms
Rushes, as rush the sweeping storms,
To find, at last, its noblest prey
When men bow down before its sway,
And fill the throbbing heart and brain
With joy so keen it ends in pain.
Cast wildly to the midnight air;
With flashing eye, and blazing torch,
Rush wildly on through columned porch;
“Evöe,” shout; “Evöe” still,
In dusky grove, by warbling rill;
Wake up the echoes far and near,
Bid all the fawns and satyrs hear,
Sing ye the song men sang of old
When from the yeanlings of the fold,
They brought the goat to Bacchus' shrine,
Foe of the tendrils of the vine.
Dance ye, dance wildly in your joy,
Mirth that our God gives cannot cloy.
This glow that warms the old man's veins,
With gleams of sunlight after rains,
This flush that mantles youth's fair face
With kindling eye and roseate grace,
And bids the boy cast off his fears,
And know a life beyond his years,
What is all this, with wonder rife,
But nature's magic, life of life,
That works through sun, and moon, and star,
With subtle stirrings near and far,
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Bids every leaf and floweret move,
And perfect grows in youth's first love?
With mightiest touch that wondrous spell
Makes blossoms open, fruitage swell,
Draws forth from nightingale and lark
The songs that charm the light and dark;
On Psyche's fluttering wings outpours
The orient tints of star-paved floors,
And through the veins of nobler forms
Rushes, as rush the sweeping storms,
To find, at last, its noblest prey
When men bow down before its sway,
And fill the throbbing heart and brain
With joy so keen it ends in pain.
Right well our festal games to-day
Should all the mystic power display;
The frolic mirth, the frenzy wild,
Mirth of the savage and the child;
Where, strained in rapture, every sense
Seems bursting with the joy intense,
And brute-like stirrings through us thrill,
Unguided by the loftier will;
Let satyrs sport with laughing fawns,
In sheltered groves, on mountain lawns,
Crowned with the ivy and the vine,
Goat-limbed, and faces red with wine.
So let it be, but holier sound
Must in the solemn rite be found;
To Him, the son of Zeus, far-famed,
The God of Nysa, many-named,
Must rise the choral song of praise,
Our heritage from ancient days;
Nor can we spare the mystic art,
Which stirs the throbbings of the heart,
Tells the dark tale of woe sublime,
The havoc of the conqueror, Time;
Or tracks, in sequence dark and strange,
Life's varied course of chance and change.
Should all the mystic power display;
The frolic mirth, the frenzy wild,
Mirth of the savage and the child;
Where, strained in rapture, every sense
Seems bursting with the joy intense,
And brute-like stirrings through us thrill,
Unguided by the loftier will;
Let satyrs sport with laughing fawns,
In sheltered groves, on mountain lawns,
Crowned with the ivy and the vine,
Goat-limbed, and faces red with wine.
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Must in the solemn rite be found;
To Him, the son of Zeus, far-famed,
The God of Nysa, many-named,
Must rise the choral song of praise,
Our heritage from ancient days;
Nor can we spare the mystic art,
Which stirs the throbbings of the heart,
Tells the dark tale of woe sublime,
The havoc of the conqueror, Time;
Or tracks, in sequence dark and strange,
Life's varied course of chance and change.
So, when the crimson sun has set,
And all the vines with dews are wet;
When stars obey their leader's call,
And round the moon keep festival,
The long, long day within its span
Shall hold complete the life of man,
Its instincts, passions, thrilling sense,
Its calm and clear intelligence;
The bands that bind him still to earth,
The hopes that speak a loftier birth.
Alone, of all beneath the sky,
He lives, half brute, half deity;
In him the darkness blends with day,
The gold, thrice cleansed, with mire and clay;
And so from morning unto eve,
The varied web of life we weave;
Hues of the rainbow, gleams of fire,
Joy, sorrow, hope, despair, desire;
And, as the shuttle to and fro
We ply, the strains of music flow,
And speak, now soft as fountain's fall,
Now mighty as the storm-cloud's call,
The life that stirs in infant's breath,
And, all paths traversed, ends in death.
And all the vines with dews are wet;
When stars obey their leader's call,
And round the moon keep festival,
The long, long day within its span
Shall hold complete the life of man,
Its instincts, passions, thrilling sense,
Its calm and clear intelligence;
The bands that bind him still to earth,
The hopes that speak a loftier birth.
Alone, of all beneath the sky,
He lives, half brute, half deity;
In him the darkness blends with day,
The gold, thrice cleansed, with mire and clay;
And so from morning unto eve,
The varied web of life we weave;
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Joy, sorrow, hope, despair, desire;
And, as the shuttle to and fro
We ply, the strains of music flow,
And speak, now soft as fountain's fall,
Now mighty as the storm-cloud's call,
The life that stirs in infant's breath,
And, all paths traversed, ends in death.
2.
It was not all a dream,
That vision of a power to stir and move,
Which sheds its joyous gleam,
And fills the world and man with life and love.
That vision of a power to stir and move,
Which sheds its joyous gleam,
And fills the world and man with life and love.
The purple juice that flows
From cask or skin in goblet wrought with gold,
Whose rich, dark ruby glows,
Like purple sunset on a temple old,
From cask or skin in goblet wrought with gold,
Whose rich, dark ruby glows,
Like purple sunset on a temple old,
Is parable and type
Of holiest things that lie within the veil;
Those clusters full and ripe
Tell of a Spirit mighty to prevail.
Of holiest things that lie within the veil;
Those clusters full and ripe
Tell of a Spirit mighty to prevail.
He once, whom we adore,
Took bread and brake, and to the Twelve He gave,
The Paschal supper o'er,
The wine that told of life from out the grave.
Took bread and brake, and to the Twelve He gave,
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The wine that told of life from out the grave.
Of all God's gifts to man
That only filled the measure of the truth,
Witness of life that ran
Through years and changes with unfailing youth;
That only filled the measure of the truth,
Witness of life that ran
Through years and changes with unfailing youth;
Witness of holier life,
Whose joy bursts out in hymn, and chant, and psalm,
And, through the world's rough strife,
Bids storm-tossed souls take courage and be calm.
Whose joy bursts out in hymn, and chant, and psalm,
And, through the world's rough strife,
Bids storm-tossed souls take courage and be calm.
He, who the winepress trod,
Who poured His blood as wine of sacrifice,
And in His zeal for God,
And love for man, paid their full ransom-price;
Who poured His blood as wine of sacrifice,
And in His zeal for God,
And love for man, paid their full ransom-price;
He gives His life-blood still,
Joy of all joys, and solace of all woe,
Man's heart and soul to fill,
In gushing stream through every vein to flow.
Joy of all joys, and solace of all woe,
Man's heart and soul to fill,
In gushing stream through every vein to flow.
When on the chosen band
There came the sound of rushing, mighty wind,
And flames, on either hand,
Disparted, and strange speech of newest kind;
There came the sound of rushing, mighty wind,
And flames, on either hand,
Disparted, and strange speech of newest kind;
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Men laughed, and mocked, and said:
“Lo! these are drunken, all unfit to teach,
New wine hath filled each head;
See, here the secret of their babbling speech.”
“Lo! these are drunken, all unfit to teach,
New wine hath filled each head;
See, here the secret of their babbling speech.”
And half their words were right,
For then, in that high ecstasy divine,
That flashing of new light,
Their souls grew dizzy, drunk, but not with wine.
For then, in that high ecstasy divine,
That flashing of new light,
Their souls grew dizzy, drunk, but not with wine.
And so through every age,
The life that works through Nature and through man
Here gains its highest stage,
As upward from the old great deeps it ran.
The life that works through Nature and through man
Here gains its highest stage,
As upward from the old great deeps it ran.
Yes, He, the Lord of life,
Who brooded o'er the waste of waters wild,
And calmed their war and strife,
He comes with breath as whispering and as mild
Who brooded o'er the waste of waters wild,
And calmed their war and strife,
He comes with breath as whispering and as mild
As breeze of summer morn;
And wakes new music, pours the floods of song
Through heart and soul new-born,
And all, by that great current swept along,
And wakes new music, pours the floods of song
Through heart and soul new-born,
And all, by that great current swept along,
Know joy ne'er felt before,
A peace unbroken that is not of earth;
While through the sere heart pour
Rivers of gladness, streams of heavenly mirth.
A peace unbroken that is not of earth;
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Rivers of gladness, streams of heavenly mirth.
They own in prayer and vow,
How poor the bliss that thrilled the eager sense;
The good wine kept till now,
Bursting the vessel with the joy intense.
How poor the bliss that thrilled the eager sense;
The good wine kept till now,
Bursting the vessel with the joy intense.
And so when all shall meet
At wedding-feast, in garments white and clean,
And at their Lord's dear feet
Shall see Him as He is, no veil between,
At wedding-feast, in garments white and clean,
And at their Lord's dear feet
Shall see Him as He is, no veil between,
Then they shall drink new wine,
As weary travellers who have ceased to roam,
Yea, taste the joy divine
Of sons who dwell within their Father's home.
As weary travellers who have ceased to roam,
Yea, taste the joy divine
Of sons who dwell within their Father's home.
III. SATURNALIA.
1.
Thick lies the snow upon the Alban height;
The wind sweeps fierce and cold;
And where the summer waters gleaming bright,
Rushed headlong, fold on fold,
The wind sweeps fierce and cold;
And where the summer waters gleaming bright,
Rushed headlong, fold on fold,
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Now on the slopes of Tibur hangs the moss,
All crystal clear with rime,
And spreading elms their vine-clad branches toss
To greet the winter time.
All crystal clear with rime,
And spreading elms their vine-clad branches toss
To greet the winter time.
To Rome they hasten—prætor, poet, sage—
All but the peasant churl,
And wearied sailors, as the storm-blasts rage,
Their vessel's white sails furl.
All but the peasant churl,
And wearied sailors, as the storm-blasts rage,
Their vessel's white sails furl.
Bronzed legions bring their spoils from furthest East,
And joy to rest at home;
From wearied months of toil and march released,
With quickening step they come.
And joy to rest at home;
From wearied months of toil and march released,
With quickening step they come.
'Tis time to pile the pine-log on the fire,
To broach the fragrant cask,
While maid and mother join with son and sire
To finish all their task.
To broach the fragrant cask,
While maid and mother join with son and sire
To finish all their task.
Then come the days our fathers kept of old,
When winter snows lay deep,
To great Saturnus in the age of gold,
Which we will also keep.
When winter snows lay deep,
To great Saturnus in the age of gold,
Which we will also keep.
And slaves, who toil and moil the whole year round,
Now for short space are free;
All hearts are glad, and all good things abound,
And children shout for glee.
Now for short space are free;
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And children shout for glee.
Old jests revive, and ancient songs are sung,
The peasant's homely mirth;
Men claim their rights, nor spares the railing tongue
Pomp, wealth, or pride of birth.
The peasant's homely mirth;
Men claim their rights, nor spares the railing tongue
Pomp, wealth, or pride of birth.
Short gleam of sunshine in the winter cold,
Bright pause in dreary life;
Hailed by the young, more welcome to the old,
Shedding o'er brawls and strife
Bright pause in dreary life;
Hailed by the young, more welcome to the old,
Shedding o'er brawls and strife
The freshness and the joy of boyhood's days,
When skies were bright and clear,
And mirthful voices sang the Gods' high praise,
Rejoicing year by year.
When skies were bright and clear,
And mirthful voices sang the Gods' high praise,
Rejoicing year by year.
2.
Come, then, be merry one and all,
Where shines the blaze on hearth and hall,
And household Gods receive the prayer
That floats on incense-cloud through air,
And homage rises, full and strong,
As when, through all the wondering throng,
The victor climbs the heights above,
The hill of Capitolian Jove.
Spare not the sharp and pointed line,
The license of the Fescennine:
The year is ended—let it go;
We cannot check Time's onward flow.
We watched the earliest spring-tide bloom
Start from the dusk of winter's tomb;
We saw the lily and the rose
Unfold their rubies and their snows;
We saw the green corn in the ear
Give promise of the fruitful year,
The golden grain that Ceres gives
As staff of life for all that lives;
And there, where greenest tendrils clasp
The bridegroom elm with bride-like grasp,
And purple clusters hang like gems,
The spoil of Eastern diadems,
We heard the vintage song of joy,
The full-voiced glee of laughing boy,
The home-born drama, rugged rhyme,
True offspring of that golden time.
Then came the huntsman's woodland toil,
The nets, the chase, the savoury spoil,
Laconian hounds, Gætulian spear,
The foaming boar, the dappled deer,
Where groves of oak, and beech, and pine,
Fling darkness o'er the Apennine.
Then o'er the Adriatic swept
Fierce Auster, and the wild waves leapt;
And Anio, swoln with autumn rains,
Rushed like a torrent on the plains,
And then the days grew short and cold,
The feeble year was waxing old:
At last the death-knell rang, and now,
The fields all bare, and stript each bough,
We bid the old, dead year Good-bye,
Watch the red streaks in western sky,
And wait the fresh-born sun that brings
The New Year's blessing on its wings.
Where shines the blaze on hearth and hall,
And household Gods receive the prayer
That floats on incense-cloud through air,
And homage rises, full and strong,
As when, through all the wondering throng,
The victor climbs the heights above,
The hill of Capitolian Jove.
183
The license of the Fescennine:
The year is ended—let it go;
We cannot check Time's onward flow.
We watched the earliest spring-tide bloom
Start from the dusk of winter's tomb;
We saw the lily and the rose
Unfold their rubies and their snows;
We saw the green corn in the ear
Give promise of the fruitful year,
The golden grain that Ceres gives
As staff of life for all that lives;
And there, where greenest tendrils clasp
The bridegroom elm with bride-like grasp,
And purple clusters hang like gems,
The spoil of Eastern diadems,
We heard the vintage song of joy,
The full-voiced glee of laughing boy,
The home-born drama, rugged rhyme,
True offspring of that golden time.
Then came the huntsman's woodland toil,
The nets, the chase, the savoury spoil,
Laconian hounds, Gætulian spear,
The foaming boar, the dappled deer,
Where groves of oak, and beech, and pine,
Fling darkness o'er the Apennine.
Then o'er the Adriatic swept
Fierce Auster, and the wild waves leapt;
184
Rushed like a torrent on the plains,
And then the days grew short and cold,
The feeble year was waxing old:
At last the death-knell rang, and now,
The fields all bare, and stript each bough,
We bid the old, dead year Good-bye,
Watch the red streaks in western sky,
And wait the fresh-born sun that brings
The New Year's blessing on its wings.
Come now, ye lords of high estate,
On worn-out slave and peasant wait,
Let them your goodliest garments don,
The toga, pileus, one by one;
They sit at table, quaff their wine;
And ye, the lords of Fabian line,
Who boast the high Cornelian name,
Or share with Gods Iulian fame,
Stand by, quick-eyed each look to catch,
Each want supply, each gesture watch,
As is the boy from Thrace or Gaul,
Who hastens at his master's call.
Ah, lords of men, in senate met,
So like to Gods, that ye forget
Ye share each weak and varying mood
Of all mankind's vast brotherhood,
Now comes your turn for biting jest,
For weary toil that longs for rest:
These slaves and aliens ye despise,
Have sharpest tongues, and keenest eyes;
That Syrian notes each secret deed,
Your coward sloth, your lust, your greed;
That Gaul was listening at the door
When ye base words of falsehood swore;
And now from lips by wine set free
Their flouting jests stream out on thee;
Thou too art even found as they,
Thy body of the self-same clay.
On worn-out slave and peasant wait,
Let them your goodliest garments don,
The toga, pileus, one by one;
They sit at table, quaff their wine;
And ye, the lords of Fabian line,
Who boast the high Cornelian name,
Or share with Gods Iulian fame,
Stand by, quick-eyed each look to catch,
Each want supply, each gesture watch,
As is the boy from Thrace or Gaul,
Who hastens at his master's call.
Ah, lords of men, in senate met,
So like to Gods, that ye forget
Ye share each weak and varying mood
Of all mankind's vast brotherhood,
185
For weary toil that longs for rest:
These slaves and aliens ye despise,
Have sharpest tongues, and keenest eyes;
That Syrian notes each secret deed,
Your coward sloth, your lust, your greed;
That Gaul was listening at the door
When ye base words of falsehood swore;
And now from lips by wine set free
Their flouting jests stream out on thee;
Thou too art even found as they,
Thy body of the self-same clay.
Rise from your tables, lo! he lifts
That oldest slave, great Saturn's gifts,
The waxen tapers clean and white;
Come, quickly take them, seize and light;
From hand to hand the tapers pass,
From man to child, and lad to lass.
Good hope for him whose flame keeps clear
Of bright days in the coming year:
Alas! for him whose feeble hand
Is tardiest in that frolic band,
Who lets the flickering light go out
'Mid looks of triumph, mocking shout;
Ill omen, or for work or play,
That quenchèd light on Saturn's day.
The quickest foot, the readiest will,
These still their task-work best fulfil,
These labour more and suffer less,
These know the secret of success.
So as the clear flames come and go,
Some rushing quick, some lingering slow,
That taper race of slave and free
A parable of life may be.
That oldest slave, great Saturn's gifts,
The waxen tapers clean and white;
Come, quickly take them, seize and light;
From hand to hand the tapers pass,
From man to child, and lad to lass.
Good hope for him whose flame keeps clear
Of bright days in the coming year:
Alas! for him whose feeble hand
Is tardiest in that frolic band,
Who lets the flickering light go out
'Mid looks of triumph, mocking shout;
Ill omen, or for work or play,
That quenchèd light on Saturn's day.
186
These still their task-work best fulfil,
These labour more and suffer less,
These know the secret of success.
So as the clear flames come and go,
Some rushing quick, some lingering slow,
That taper race of slave and free
A parable of life may be.
3.
And was it nothing more,
That joy and gladness in the heart of man?
The Lord whom we adore,
Hath He not fashioned out life's little span?
That joy and gladness in the heart of man?
The Lord whom we adore,
Hath He not fashioned out life's little span?
Was it then all of earth,
Brute-pleasure of a soul that mates with brutes,
Or did it draw its birth
From Him who gives the seasons and their fruits?
Brute-pleasure of a soul that mates with brutes,
Or did it draw its birth
From Him who gives the seasons and their fruits?
Saturnus, Lord and King,
With whom the old year enters on its rest,—
The offerings that men bring,
Blest in receiving, more in giving blest,—
With whom the old year enters on its rest,—
The offerings that men bring,
Blest in receiving, more in giving blest,—
Oh, tell not these their tale
Of ONE whom men, not knowing Him, adore,
Of ONE who shall not fail,
When harvest, vintage, spring-tide are no more?
Of ONE whom men, not knowing Him, adore,
187
When harvest, vintage, spring-tide are no more?
This free and open speech
Where man to man speaks out in truest mood,
Does it not wisdom teach,
The gospel of a human brotherhood?
Where man to man speaks out in truest mood,
Does it not wisdom teach,
The gospel of a human brotherhood?
All names and titles gone,
The master and the slave shall one day stand
Before the great white throne,
And there shall gather all from every land.
The master and the slave shall one day stand
Before the great white throne,
And there shall gather all from every land.
That race of taper-lights,
Like stars on earth fast flitting through the dark,
Illuming winter nights,
While each to each hands on the glimmering spark,—
Like stars on earth fast flitting through the dark,
Illuming winter nights,
While each to each hands on the glimmering spark,—
Does it not witness bear
Of that great race which all that live must run,
And through each circling year
Press onward, upward, till the goal is won?
Of that great race which all that live must run,
And through each circling year
Press onward, upward, till the goal is won?
We too in darkness move,
Bearing our light amid surrounding gloom,
The light of truth and love,
Still waxing brighter as we near the tomb.
Bearing our light amid surrounding gloom,
The light of truth and love,
Still waxing brighter as we near the tomb.
188
And then when all is o'er,
The light passed on to other hands than ours,
On that eternal shore
Where groves of peace are bright with amaranth flowers,
The light passed on to other hands than ours,
On that eternal shore
Where groves of peace are bright with amaranth flowers,
We, too, as stars shall shine,
No longer in the darkness of the night,
But round the central shrine,
Where dwells the King Eternal in His might;
And round the throne divine
In order move, a coronal of light.
No longer in the darkness of the night,
But round the central shrine,
Where dwells the King Eternal in His might;
And round the throne divine
In order move, a coronal of light.
January 1866.
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