 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
V.
Then Balder lifted up his voice and cried,
Placing his fingers on Death's heavenly hair,
‘Lo, I absolve thee!’ and the Spirit crouch'd
In silence, looking up with wondering gaze
At that immortal brightness blessing him
With holy imposition of white hands.
For beautiful beyond all dream, and bright
Beyond all splendour of the summer Earth,
Divine, with aureole around his head,
God-like, yet fairer far than any god,
Stood Balder, like a thing that could not die!
Upon his face the countless eyes of heaven
Gazed, with their own exceeding lustre dim;
And moonlight hung around him like a veil
Through which his glory trembled paramount;
And dim sheen showering from a thousand worlds,
Mingling with moisture of the nether-air,
Touch'd his soft body with baptismal dews.
Placing his fingers on Death's heavenly hair,
‘Lo, I absolve thee!’ and the Spirit crouch'd
In silence, looking up with wondering gaze
At that immortal brightness blessing him
With holy imposition of white hands.
For beautiful beyond all dream, and bright
Beyond all splendour of the summer Earth,
Divine, with aureole around his head,
God-like, yet fairer far than any god,
Stood Balder, like a thing that could not die!
Upon his face the countless eyes of heaven
Gazed, with their own exceeding lustre dim;
And moonlight hung around him like a veil
Through which his glory trembled paramount;
And dim sheen showering from a thousand worlds,
Mingling with moisture of the nether-air,
Touch'd his soft body with baptismal dews.
Then far away in the remotest north,
Cloud-like and dark and scarce distinguishable,
The clustering faces of the gods look'd down.
And Balder cried, ‘Lo, I have ranged the Earth,
And found it good; yea, hills and vales and streams,
Forests and seas, all good and beautiful;
And I have gazed in eyes of birds and beasts,
And in the gentle orbs of mortal men,
And seen in all the light of that dim dream
Which grew within my soul when I was born.
Only this thing is bitter, O ye gods,
Most dark and bitter: that eternal Death
Sits by his sad and silent sea of graves,
Singing a song that slays the hopes of men.
Yet lo, I gaze into the eyes of Death,
And they are troubled with that self-same dream.
Cloud-like and dark and scarce distinguishable,
The clustering faces of the gods look'd down.
And Balder cried, ‘Lo, I have ranged the Earth,
And found it good; yea, hills and vales and streams,
Forests and seas, all good and beautiful;
And I have gazed in eyes of birds and beasts,
And in the gentle orbs of mortal men,
And seen in all the light of that dim dream
Which grew within my soul when I was born.
Only this thing is bitter, O ye gods,
Most dark and bitter: that eternal Death
Sits by his sad and silent sea of graves,
Singing a song that slays the hopes of men.
Yet lo, I gaze into the eyes of Death,
And they are troubled with that self-same dream.
‘O gods, on you I cry not, but I cry
On him, the Father, who has fashion'd Death
To be the sorrow of created things,
And set this ceaseless hunger in his heart
To wither up and kill. Oh, I have wept
Till all my heart is weary, and no voice
Makes answer. By thy servant Death, O God,
By him whom I have sought and found in pain,
Listen!—Uplift this shadow from the Earth,
And gladly will I die as sacrifice,
And all the gentle things I love shall live.
On him, the Father, who has fashion'd Death
To be the sorrow of created things,
And set this ceaseless hunger in his heart
To wither up and kill. Oh, I have wept
Till all my heart is weary, and no voice
Makes answer. By thy servant Death, O God,
By him whom I have sought and found in pain,
470
And gladly will I die as sacrifice,
And all the gentle things I love shall live.
Far, far away in the remotest north
A white face in the darkness of a cloud
Gleam'd. Thither, crouching low at Balder's feet,
Death pointed with his skeleton finger fix'd,
Silent. Then, even as a snow-white lamb
That on the altar cometh with no fear
But looks around with eager innocent eyes,
God Balder on the stone of sacrifice
Leapt, reaching arms up heavenward!
A white face in the darkness of a cloud
Gleam'd. Thither, crouching low at Balder's feet,
Death pointed with his skeleton finger fix'd,
Silent. Then, even as a snow-white lamb
That on the altar cometh with no fear
But looks around with eager innocent eyes,
God Balder on the stone of sacrifice
Leapt, reaching arms up heavenward!
. . . And he pray'd.
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |