Ranolf and Amohia A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised |
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 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
X.
But why prolong the sanguine strain?
When even to Ranolf's self 'twas plain,
The coolest, soberest argument,
With or without his own intent
(Nor made thereby, perhaps, less true)
Although no kindling orb firenew
Whirled freshly off some teeming train
Of heated vapours of the brain;
Say but a cinder of dead thought
From smashed-up creed or theory brought;
Soon by the heart's attraction caught,
By feeling's friction set aflame,
Straightway a shooting-star became—
A mildly-flashing Meteorite
That haply shed a shadowy light
O'er nooks which Doubt had steeped in night!
When even to Ranolf's self 'twas plain,
The coolest, soberest argument,
With or without his own intent
(Nor made thereby, perhaps, less true)
Although no kindling orb firenew
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Of heated vapours of the brain;
Say but a cinder of dead thought
From smashed-up creed or theory brought;
Soon by the heart's attraction caught,
By feeling's friction set aflame,
Straightway a shooting-star became—
A mildly-flashing Meteorite
That haply shed a shadowy light
O'er nooks which Doubt had steeped in night!
His glad conclusions this, we said,
From Truth not more aberrant made.
For will not, in all likelihood,
The Future's final faith (or growth
In faith—if faith be understood
A thing of no finality)
Some joint result and compound both
Of Intellect and Feeling be—
Outcome of Heart as well as Mind
Of universal Humankind?—
From Truth not more aberrant made.
For will not, in all likelihood,
The Future's final faith (or growth
In faith—if faith be understood
A thing of no finality)
Some joint result and compound both
Of Intellect and Feeling be—
Outcome of Heart as well as Mind
Of universal Humankind?—
But these will never loose their hold
Or lessen their august demands
On Hope! or from her Angel hands
Take brass for all her promised gold!
Or lessen their august demands
On Hope! or from her Angel hands
Take brass for all her promised gold!
Small wonder then, and less reproach
To Ranolf, if the soothing hour—
That silvery-crimson crystal bower
Of bliss—and all the bloom and pride
Of Love and beauty by his side—
Lapping his soul in such excess
And luxury of loveliness—
On Reason's sphere might so encroach
With subtler, more persuasive power
And rosy light their radiance lent,—
Soon to a close his musings drew
In hardihood of rich content
That half to careless rapture grew!
To Ranolf, if the soothing hour—
That silvery-crimson crystal bower
Of bliss—and all the bloom and pride
Of Love and beauty by his side—
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And luxury of loveliness—
On Reason's sphere might so encroach
With subtler, more persuasive power
And rosy light their radiance lent,—
Soon to a close his musings drew
In hardihood of rich content
That half to careless rapture grew!
“Enough—enough! I know—I knew
To sense and reason's widest view,
The cheerful still must be the true!
Look up, my love! nor longer keep
That sweet pretence of trustful sleep;
I know beneath each full-orbed lid
The coiled-up living lustre hid
Lurks ready for an innocent dart—
Not aimed at—sure to hit—the heart;
And round the placid lips the while
Dawns the faint twilight of a smile!
Then listen, sweet! and let me try
To queries wide what seems to me
In this our great obscurity
A true—albeit a trite reply?”
To sense and reason's widest view,
The cheerful still must be the true!
Look up, my love! nor longer keep
That sweet pretence of trustful sleep;
I know beneath each full-orbed lid
The coiled-up living lustre hid
Lurks ready for an innocent dart—
Not aimed at—sure to hit—the heart;
And round the placid lips the while
Dawns the faint twilight of a smile!
Then listen, sweet! and let me try
To queries wide what seems to me
In this our great obscurity
A true—albeit a trite reply?”
| Ranolf and Amohia | |