Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

In all this wide World, not a Thing the Eye
Dwells on, but taketh Sweetness from the Heart
And giveth, 'till 'tis brimmed with Ecstasy,
Like a rich Beehive, stored from every Part
Of the Twinrealms of Nature and of Art,
Wherein, as in a twofold Mirror, we
Behold all Beauty multiplied, and start
Back at the Outline, which we therein see,
Of the Eternal's Form reflected visibly.

2

Thus to the Grecian Poet's raptured Sight,
Each Part of that romantic Landscape, where
His Breath he drew, grew redolent and bright,
And fairylifed, and thence his Thoughts so clear,
And Fancies, like his blue Skies clouded near,
(In sculptured Verse, and Marbles calm and chaste,
Hived up), were drawn. Passions that fret or sear,
Nor false Refinement, had as yet effaced
The Freshness of the Heart, nor with vain Forms replaced

3

And secondhand Impressions, the first deep,
Fresh Movements of the Soul: the natural Eye
Interprets Nature best, not taught to sleep
O'er Pedant's Page, stuffed Specimens, and dry,
Dull Terms of Art, that Chaff threshed so oft by
The Flail of sweating Logic, while the Grain
Is ripening free and strong'neath Rain and Sky,
And Nature's vigorous Sons, with Might and Main,
Are reaping the good Field, which none e'ersow in vain.

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4

The Heart interprets Nature, not the Head:
Its Yearnings and Affections are the Key
To many Secrets; thus the Poet, fed
On Nature's freshest Milk, could clearest see
The Link 'twixt Things which ever kindred be;
The Spirit must in spiritual Forms
Embody its own Essence: to be free
Still striving, it blends with, and all Things, warms,
Like Element thro' all it passes, and informs

5

With its own Consciousness: in this like Him,
The mighty Spirit who informs the Whole.
Unconsciously, and only in a dim
Instinctive Way at first, the yearning Soul
Takes after him who made it, as the Mole
Works upward towards the Light: but Man is no
Vain Hieroglyphick, from which Time has stole
All Meaning, an obscure Inscription, to
Which no Solution lies, of some old Tongue laid low!

6

Like that on an Etruscan Urn, e'en by
Tradition's self forgot, to mock the Lore
Of proud Philosophy, with filmy Eye!
He is a Part, fresh, living as before,
Of Nature's living Language: nay, is more:
Man is the Alphabet by which to know
The Rest thereof, and he in vain will pore,
Who learns not this, on Nature's Volume; no
True meaning will it have, nor as a Mirror show

7

The Invisible Things of God—this felt the Greek,
The Poet, he whose viewless Wings by more
Than mortal Airs were borne above the Reek
Of Mammon's Dwellings. He on Rock and Flower,
O'er bubblebeaded Fount, and fabulous Moor,
On Bud and Bell, bright Dewdrops shed around
Of his fresh Fancy, 'neath whose spellful Power
A thousand sweet Shapes rose, whose Voices sound
In the soft Lapse of Streams, or from the Grove profound.

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8

Then first the gentle Dryad saw the Day,
The leafhid Guardian of Wood and Bower,
Chaunting 'mid choral Shade and Bough her Lay,
But if upon her still and chosen Hour
Unholy Footing broke, or aught that bore
Less Sanction than a Poet's Step, sworn to
Her Rites, then Echo conned her Song no more.
Then with her Oak the Hamadryad grew,
And died: coborn, cofading, as true Love should do.

9

Then first the Nymphs above the moonlit Fount
Passed with their printless Feet, and sweetened o'er
The gurgling Waters: or from Dale and Mount
Responsive Voices rose with gentle Power,
By Echo syllabled thro' Glade and Bower,
To charm the willing and quick Ears of those,
The chosen few, to whose high Faith far more
Than mortal Music's given, such as rose
On our first Parents, at the first sweet Evening's Close!

10

Earth wore a charmëd Life in each fair Part,
And Spirits sought her Bosom holily:
The fond Creations of some dreamnursed Heart,
That drew them from their bright Abodes on high
To haunt old Wood or Stream, and cherish, by
Such Commune, those pure Thoughts which ever shun
The Fret and Fever of Man's Life, and die
Allhomelessly, like Flowers denied the Sun,
If tied to this dull Earth's so dusty Track alone.

11

But are these Fancies wild or waking Bliss?
And where between them may the Difference lie?
What we believe is real, and all else is
As if it were not: so, so bounteously
Joy's Seeds are sown in our own Heart, that by
Itself unto itself it may be thence
Sufficient: and thus quick and easily,
Denied the grosser Joys and Goods of Sense,
Draw still a selfderived and lasting Bliss from hence!

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12

Is there no Wisdom save that of the Head?
Has then the Heart no Wisdom? when with Eye
Dilating o'er the Feast by Nature spread
For her sweet, artless Guest, so lavishly,
Thou seest the Child, whose Thoughts are Imagery
Of Bud, and Leaf, and Bird, is he not wise?
The truly Wise some Touch of Infancy,
E'en when the Frost of Age upon them lies,
Would still retain, and view the World with Childhood's Eyes!

13

They have no Time in Autumn's withered Leaf
To mark the Emblem of Decay: far too,
Too busy with Existence sweet and brief,
To count them as they fall: or if they do
Observe them, 'tis with sober Pleasure to
Remark each brighten as it fades away:
Drawing a Likeness, solacing as true,
'Twixt Man and Nature, who e'en in Decay,
Prepares the coming Spring, calm and serene for aye!

14

Alas! the Poet's Visions seldom bless
Our laggart Age, whose dull, dim, earthward Sight
Can ne er attain such airy Happiness:
For we are selfish Men: 'tis this foul Blight
Has nipped the Buds of Promise, dimmed the Light,
The better Light, which in Man's Heart doth feed,
With its impulsive Warmth, all holy, bright,
And upward Thoughts: this is the deadly Weed,
Worse than the Brambles far, to choke up all good Seed!

15

The Dryads too, like frighted Nightingales,
Are flown from all Earth's Groves, back to their Sky:
Their Trees are all forsook, and the Wind wails
'Mid Leaves that now no more responsively
Murmur their gentle Undersong: and dry,
Their Founts make Music now no more among
The vocal Pebbles, but with feeble Sigh
Weep their last Drops away: the Nymphs are long,
Long fled, nor mortal Ear now listens to their Song!

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16

And ye, ye too, with them are flown away,
Love, Faith, and Poesy: your Temples now
Are desecrate, and Men no longer lay
High Offerings on your Altars: on the Brow
Of Saint and Prophet ye no longer throw
Of Immortality the Reflex clear,
Your Angelhands no more are seen below,
Uplifting the dark Pall which wraps us here,
To give us Glimpses bright from Realms beyond the Bier!

17

Aye, ye are flown away, and gone with ye
Is that bright Ladder, by which Man could rise
From Truth to Truth, stepwise, to God on high.
That Ladder which appeared to Jacob's Eyes,
With radiant Angels, 'twixt the Earth and Skies,
Ascending and descending: but no more
They come to commune with us here: Man dies
Like the vile Worm: when Life's dull Farce is o'er,
He's shovelled into Earth, and Time rubs out the Score!

18

Oh! ye that of all human Wisdom are
The Perfume to the Flower, as the Seed
Within the Fruit: who in yourselves do bear
The Life of Life, without which we were dead,
Unquickened, all Things else serve but to feed
Time's fleeting Ends and Purposes, but ye
Supply that Lore whereof the Soul has Need,
Which wanting, we have Ears and Eyes, yet see
And hear not, and still worse, know not our Misery'!

19

Alas! the Flowers on your Altars laid
Breathe no celestial Perfumes: planted here
For no eternal Blossoming, they fade,
Scarce durable enough to grace the Bier,
By Heavensdews unmoistened, therefore sere
Emblems of quick Decay: touched by the Breath
Of one wide Desolation, all that's dear
Unto Man's Heart, is by the Scythe of Death
Mowed down, like Summergrass, and as a barren Heath

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20

The Earth is left, alljoyless, unendeared,
O'er which with sad and weary Steps we go,
Our Restingplace the Grave: and that too feared
As the dark, drear Abyss, where we can know
No Visitations of blithe Sunlight, no
Glad Beatings of the Heart, no Thrill of Hope,
The Tenement of Bones and Darkness! so
Imagination (loving still to grope
'Mid Emblems of Decay, within the Coffin's Scope,

21

When she should soar into the bright blue Sky,
Beyond the fleshless sculls and worms, which here
Preach better far than both the tongue and eye
Which filled those hollow Gaps,) hath stationed near
The Tomb's dark Gates, the very shape of Fear,
To scare us from our own dear Home: when none
But a bright Spirit's form should hover there,
The blessed Angel of Repose alone,
To whom all secrets of eternal Life are known!

22

Why should we shudder on the dark Grave's Brink?
One Step! and we are in Eternity,
Beyond Earth's idle Uproar: and we drink
With our whole Hearing the Sphereharmony,
Which oft in Snatches, interrupted by
The Jar of Passion and discordant Thought,
Had reached us here below: we close the Eye,
But for a Moment, and then back is brought,
More beautiful, the Beautiful which we had sought

23

On Earth so long, and haply sought invain:
More lovely than the Dream which hovered on
The eyelids of our Youth: for all again
Shall be restored to us, which, 'neath the Sun,
Has brought the soft Tear to the Eye, or won
A Recognition from the throbbing Breast:
Yea! in the Darkness of the Grave not one
Sole Truth is lost: that Darkness is at best
The Veil which hides the Glory of our place of Rest,

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24

Lest being suddenly revealed, to sight
Unfit for such high Glories, it should make
Us blind and desolate: to read aright
The mighty Mystery, Faith's hand must break
The seal, and in the unquenched embers wake
Their wonted and primeval fires: the Grave
Is not a bottomless Abyss: we quake
Like children on its brink, because we have
No Faith, no steady Light to guide us on, none save

25

That vain Worldwisdom, which, acquired here,
Has served its turn, unfit to be applied
Beyond the Limits of its narrow sphere:
From which the glorious Stars in Heaven hide
Their radiance: who circling in their wide
And ample orbits, discourse to the eye
And ear wherein high faculties reside
Music most eloquent: unheeded by
The herd, whose souls within them allunconscious lie!

26

The grave alone reknits the holy ties
Which it hath severed, therefore is it dear
To Love as unto Faith: no Spectres rise
From out the fancied gloom, no shapes of Fear:
To their calm, steady glance, the veil grows clear,
And they can trace the shapes of coming Bliss,
The foil of Nature's mighty Glass, which here,
Like Echo, gives back merely that which is,
Falls off, and all the Spiritworld, unseen from this,

27

Grows visible: like some fair Landscape shown
At sunny Distance, from a Mountainsbrow:
At sight whereof, deep yearnings, which had grown
More absencestrengthened, gushing sweet, o'erflow
The wayworn Pilgrim's soul: as far below
He sees his quiet Home, embosomed deep
'Mid tufted trees: and all that he is now,
And has been, rises on him, past Thoughts leap
From Memory's Hidingplaces, as from Wintersleep

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28

The flowers in Spring, and breathe upon the air
The freshness and the bloom of early days,
When young as they, he sported with them there
In Peace and Innocence: the Grave betrays
No trusts, no secrets: all that we may place
Therein, if not corruptible, again
Becomes our heritage: by Faith's calm rays
The darkness is dispelled, the sting of Pain
Plucked out, and scared all Phantoms of the coward Brain!

29

E'en Death himself assumes another form,
In the void sockets shine an Angel's eyes,
And for vile fleshless bones where crawls the worm,
Imperishable plumage of the skies;
No shaking hand its fearful office plies,
Dartarmed and lank, but beckoning sweetly on
He welcomes us: more like to Victory's
Triumphant shape, than that Scarecrow of bone,
That Skeleton, the sensual eye of Doubt beholds alone!

30

But ye are gone, Faith, Love, and Poesy:
And the dark clouds beneath your skyward flight
Have closed, and shut all Heaven from our eye;
No glimpses of pure Ether cheer our sight,
No Angle bearing your celestial Light
Upon his Wings, descends in Poet's dream:
No Glories burst the Pall of solemn Night,
Shedding on Prophet's upraised brow a beam
From God's own face; no more from out the Rock the stream

31

Of Truth, in this Life's Desert, springs. oh Woe!
Oh Desolation! hark! the Veil is rent
Intwain, as by th' indignant Godhead; lo!
The Altarfire by viewless hands is spent,
And with the ashes each bright spark is blent,
Lost irrecoverably; from the Shrine
Th' indwelling Spirit, which from thence had sent
Forth Oracles, is fled, and that divine
And beauteous Temple of high Art must now resign.

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32

Its Sanctity, and be as common Stone,
Its Pavement trodden by unblessed Feet,
And by unholy hands its Statues thrown
Down from their Pedestals; the Musesseat,
Instead of that full Chorus, strong and sweet,
Which like an Incense rose, from Voices blent
In solemn Harmony, that well might greet
Immortal Hearing, to the merriment
Of Mammon's obscene votaries, (thither sent

33

To place their Idol in the very Shrine
Where stood the Form of Beauty), echoes now:
None comprehend the glorious design
Of that vast Temple, for our souls are so
Cramped in vain forms, so shackled to these low
And passing hopes of Earth, that when we see
The Perfect and Eterne, we no more know
Or feel their Charm, we have no Sympathy
Now with the True; and what is Beauty, if it be

34

Not Truth? or how can that man recognize
The forms in which its Presence is made known,
If to its high Proportions he applies
The measure of his senses? can the Crown,
That baubles a king's temples, sit well on
Imagination's ample brow? can Thought
Fashion a fitting home in crumbling stone?
Or can eterne materials be wrought
With fire by Inspiration not from Heaven brought?

35

Alas! for us; the divine Truth has drawn
The veil o'er her bright face, lest we should see
Her beauty, and, not knowing it, should scorn
And mock Her; Falsehood is our Deity,
And for our Gospel do we take a lie:
E'en with our Mothersmilk into our veins
We such the poison, and our Infancy,
Like a distorted member, ne'er regains
Its strength, and all that to our Afterdays remains

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36

Of those fresh Years, so full of Love and Life,
Of Sap and Promise of all blessed Things,
Is but a Heritage of Sorrow, rife
With Evil, but a Leprosy which clings
To the sick Soul, and of its sublime Wings
The Sinews gnawing, rots them to the Core;
Then no more its immortal Chaunt it sings,
No longer up the brightblue Sky can soar,
But tumbling back to Earth, there grovels evermore!

37

Therefore no Highpriest for the Temple now
Is to be found, no Soul that in God's Sight
Is worthy on his broad and sublime Brow,
The Seal of the Divinity, in bright,
Unfading Characters, with divine Light
Engraven, to receive — therefore no more
The Choir with its long, fair Robes of White,
Sweeping the Templespavement, as of yore,
Is to be seen; no Lips that utter divine Lore,

38

With firetonguëd Eloquence, like those
Of Milton, are now heard: no Raphael now
The Hues of Heaven o'er the Canvass throws,
Calling the fair Skychildren down, to show
The Glories of the divine Mansions; no
Cathedralpiles embody in their vast
Proportions an whole People's Faith, no Glow
Lingers on Heart or Lip; the Days are past,
When Faith and Genius, like Twins, abroad would cast

39

Their Wonderworks, impressing upon all
They touched the Seal of Immortality!
Upon each other they no longer call
For Help and Consolation: to the Sky
Genius no longer lifts his raptured Eye,
No longer with the Chisel doth he wake
The Marble into Life, Faith standing by,
And whispering what Form the Stone should take!
No longer from his Pen flow forth the Thoughts that make

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40

The Universal Heart to beat more strong
In all its thousand Pulses; on his Ear
No longer steals the far off Angelssong,
No longer to his Eye there starts a Tear
Of Rapture, for both Love and Faith are sere,
Sere as a withered Leaf: thus from the Tree
Of Life all Verdure falls, the Sap which ere-
While nourished it is dead, and sad to see,
E'en as the blighted Fig Christ cursed, will it soon be!

41

Our Faith is as our Churches, dwarf'd into
Chapels of Ease, mean, little, paltry, low,
Embodying the Feeling whence they grew:
Matters of Pounds and Pence, patched up as tho',
In this enlightened Age, Men did not know
How long God might be needed—as it were
Mere Form and mere Convention: 'twas not so
The old Cathedrals towered into Air,
Men then had Souls to plan and Handsinspired to dare!

42

Faith and Imagination held the Line,
And not the Bricklayer looking for his Hire!
The Call they answered was a Call divine:
The least felt something of that sacred Fire
Which urged the Hand of Milton to the Lyre,
E'en the Daylabourer! and as he wrought
The brute Stone, still he toiled for something higher,
The Hand responding conscious to the Thought,
Which better than all Rules inspired him and taught!

43

But Faith is dead, Religion a mere Form:
In Trifles oft great Changes best are shown,
Our Curches must be comfortable, warm
And matted, and our wordly Pride will own,
E'en in God's Sight and kneeling at his Throne
For Pardon, no Community with those
Who're poorer than ourselves! we pray alone,
Each in his Pew, which as an Emblem shows,
By this its outward Separation, how Wealth throws

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44

Like Barriers 'twixt Heart and Hear! not so
Of old when by the Lord the Poorman took
His Seat, and as in Fact, so there was no
Distinction made! then haply from one Book
(For genuine Nobleness will ever brook
Such Contact, nor lose aught of Grace,) they read,
As on one Bench they sat: but now we look
At outward Things, we must not do as Head
And Heart sublimely prompt, that were, forsooth, illbred!

45

The Hand must not be stretched out to a poor
And illclad Friend, e'en tho' his Bosom were
The very Shrine of Truth! we must make sure
That he is dress'd in Fashion, that his Air
Be modish, else he is unfit to bear
The Name of Friend! the warm Words must not start
Unto the Lip, nor holy Fire dare
To light the Eye, we must take nanght to Heart,
As if naught godlike in Life had or could have Part!

46

We must not even be supposed to know
A poor Man, tho' he were a Milton, by
A World not fit to lick the Dust below
His Feet neglected: who still in God's Eye,
Eating the Bread of Immortality
In calm and sublime Confidence, toils on,
One of his Prophets on some Mission high,
Whom, like Elijah, ere his Race be done,
He in a Firecar might fetch back to his Throne!

47

The Body must be cared for first, and then
The Soul! we cannot kneel on the cold Stone
As did our Forefathers, good, simple Men!
They needed no soft Cushions, thought alone
Of God, and therefore He too as his own
Thought of them: for who feels and thinks of naught
But God, he to whom this one Thought has grown
Habitual, he for himself has wrought
Out God! God then is near, yea! near as his own Thought!

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48

Then let all have Him near, yea! near as their
Own Hearts, by thinking ever on Him! so
Will they avoid all Ill as if they were
Led by His own Righthand, but there is no
«As if», it is so really, as all know
Who ever felt Him: for until the Thought
Of Him enforces godlike what we owe
To Him, 'tis not the Thought of Him, 'tis naught,
For by that Thought the Godlike must be surely wrought!

49

They are as closeconnected as the Rose
With its own Perfume; and what can, if this
Cannot, produce the Godlike, or whence flows
It then? and if this does not do so, 'tis
Not the true Thought of God, for that is His
Own Spirit, His ownself in us! and He
Must work the Godlike to be what He is,
In Himself, Man, the Flower, and the Tree,
Tho' the Mode differ 'tis the Godlike equally!

50

What boots it that we mouthe from Day to Day
Our Faithprofessions, if we still remain
Thus hard of Heart? he who believes must lay
His Sins aside, else his Belief is vain,
It is not felt, and Feeling can constrain
Alone to Action, godlike Feeling to
Pure, godlike Action; now, I say again,
He who believes the Godlike, he must too
Feel it, and he who feels it must the Godlike do!

51

What saving Health can be in God's own Word
When we so mince and lisp it, that thus by
The fashionable Ear it may be heard
Without a Yawn? when Vice, if decently
Concealed, must be respected, and if high
In Station, strong in Purse, may show his Face
Where Virtue with an illmade Coat would try
In vain to pass! when e'en God's Worshipplace
Draws stronger still the Line which it should first efface!

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52

But God is just; in vain the Rich make their
Vicarious Offerings, who scarcely know
The Name of Sorrow: the unmeaning Prayer
Scarce reaches the cold Roof, for it has no,
No divine Influence, nor draws below
As by sublime Constraint God's listening Ear!
But the poor Man whom Wrong, and Want, and Woe,
Have left naught but a broken Heart, a Tear
To offer, his Prayer, yea! ere uttered, God will hear!

53

And what is our Religion? she is now
The Handmaid of the World, she fears it, to
It is obsequious and bends her Brow;
Not so of old with sublime Call she drew
The Nations in her Train, for God spoke thro'
Her Mouth, and as one with Authority
She urged on and rebuked: then Men were true
To her, for she was true to them, thus by
The sublime Interchange they gained reciprocally!

54

Churches are not Religion, nor Police
Morality, nor Vote by Ballot the
True Freedom, if Men still to Prejudice
Do Homage: they must first be good, then free!
Mortar and Stone make not a Church, else we
Should have enough, nor Bills of Rights free Men,
Nor many Laws good Men! much, much must be
Still added to all these, as to the Pen
The Inspiration, without which 'tis nothing, then

55

Words kindle into Poesy, and dead
Forms into Life, and Life to Harmony
Divine! where one or two are gatherëd
Together in God's Name, tho' 'neath the Sky,
There is a Church, yea! and a Church raised by
The living God, himself its Priest! there where
A Man has cast off Sin is Liberty,
And where is one sole Law, the godlike, there
Is a good Man and free, for more then needless are!

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56

The Temple is before ye, there baptize
Your Child in the first Stream, for God has bless'd
The Water, and no holier Font supplies:
There let him eat at that sublimest, best
Communiontable, spread from East to West,
Of universal Love the ungrudg'd Bread!
Let him by holy Nature be impressed,
Not with the outward Sign upon his Head,
But with the inward, spiritual, in its Stead,

57

Deep in the living Heart! and from her so
Grand Volume, where the Lord with His own Hand
Has wrote in such clear Characters, that no,
No Eye which reads, can fail to understand
What 'tis he would forbid and what command,
Let him be taught his Creed, and with each Day
Turn over a new Leaf in that so grand
And sublime Breviary, whence all may
Draw golden Rules of Life, alike for Priest or Lay!

58

Thence let him learn, in its true Spirit, the
So pure Religion of his Master, there
Revealed so grandly, simply! let him be
Taught it in all the Forms of this so fair
And faultless World, where all Things, all, all bear
A Testimony not to be mistook!
Better is this than mumbling over Prayer,
And conning Words by Rote from out a Book,
Be ye yourselves the Hymn, as is the Bird and Brook!

59

Not that I disapprove of Churches and
Of Prayerbooks, God forbid! I deprecate
That Selfishness which paralyses Hand
And Heart, and which, ere yet it be too late,
I would see rooted out— I reprobate
Its Introduction e'en, alas! into
The Holy of all Holies! at the Gate
Of the eternal Temple therefore do
I sit, and warn the Nations, to my Mission true!

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60

My Tongue is not my own, and I am naught,
'Tis not my Voice that calls, oh God! 'tis thine!
Jerusalem was freed by Blood, but Thought
Is what I work with, and as more divine
The Means, so higher is this Cause of mine!
That was to win the outward Temple to
The Cross, but mine the spiritual Shrine,
The inward, in Man's Soul! and from a too
Far worse Defilement than Mahometan or Jew

61

Inflicted on the palpable Shrine of Stone,
Even from that of Mammon, who has there
Cast down the Altars, thus to reign alone!
Then sublime Thought! Thought subtler far than Air,
Against whom is no Armour, who wilt dare
To pass the guarded Gates of Kings, and smite
Those who of God and Mercy have no Care,
Be thou my Weapon, forged from Heaven's Light,
'Tis the Lord wields it, if I but direct it right!

62

Of old't was in the Firebush that to
His People God appeared, but now shall He
Reveal Himself more grandly! yea! e'en thro'
Mankind's own godlike Heart, ye Nations, ye
Shall feel Him, and as one Man moulded be
In Christ, into one mystic Body, one
Great Heart! and how should it not then be free;
For who can bind it? and, whence it begun,
Back to God's Heart 'twill go, when here its Race is run!

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THE SIBERIAN EXILE'S TALE.

FIRST PART.

1

Oh! Love, if I should venture now to tell
Of one who did thee honor, grant to me
A Portion of thyself, a gentle Spell,
That, like the Theme, my song may sweeter be.
Nor, if heartreaching Faith be deemed fit plea,
Wilt thou deny my prayer: for noble Deeds
To those who cherish their pure memory
Impart a portion of their Worth, which breeds
Moods of high thought, and of like actions sows the seeds.

2

A deed of virtue is a thing of Beauty,
And should be as a Householdword upon
All lips, a Watchword for all Hearts, to high
And noble Imitation — 'neath the sun
There is no beauty like it; we may run
The manyacted page of History o'er,
And while Time's noisy Nothings do but stun,
We linger on a Gooddeed evermore,
And from it catch a spark of true soulquickening power.

3

A Gooddeed is a life of life, it shall
Not perish — it has a Vitality
Within itself: shall the Straybird let fall
The Chanceseed, that had withered, on some high
And manunclimbëd Mountain, which thereby
Grows verdureclothed? and shall not, with like care,
Just Providence forbid a truth to die?
Shall not some chancewinged words the good seeds bear
Unto some human heart, and bid them take Root there?

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4

It cannot, cannot pass to Nothingness!
No, it shall be a Joy eterne to those,
Whose souls have bowed not to the Littleness
Of earthly things: who, 'mid these changeful Shows,
Have kept their spirit's Oneness, which still flows,
Like the songfabled River, thro' the Sea
Of the World's Troubles, pure as when it rose
From the deep fount of Truth, unmixedly
Regushing 'neath a faroff Land's unclouded Sky.

5

And thou, thou Puredeed prompter, holy Love,
To whom my Lip shall ever offer praise,
Thou Source of all that raises man above
His paltry self, and this vain World: our days,
If thou wert not, were dark and thornstrewn ways,
Leading athwart a Desert, where alone
At thy sweet Bidding some Joyfountain lays
Its freshness at our feet: to win thy crown frown!
Martyrs have braved the flame, and tyrants' selfawed

6

And if the deeds, which do but shadow thee,
Be thus allbright and holy, what art thou
In thy own Essence, beautiful, and free
From all Impediments, Conditions low,
Changes of time and place, which here below
Oft mingle with our Love, as smoke with flame,
Dimming its brightness: thou, whose least Breath so shame.
Sublimes the soul, that feeble woman's aim
At times atchieves such deeds as put mail'd Warriors to

7

Thy deeds, thine perish not, for most of all
They are the Heart's inheritance, a Lore
Knit with its highest Instincts, and in small
Space of sweet Selfcontent accomplish more
(Spreading like circles everwidening o'er
The charmëd waters of a happy Life)
Than mad Ambition's Rainbowscope of power,
With means so infinite, if unto strife
It were permitted aught of inward bliss to hive!

282

8

Thine is no thankless service, for therein
Who loses, still has won a mighty gain,
The conquest of himself, redeemed from sin
And selfishness: a cure for his own pain
In others' bliss he finds; not his the vain
And unshared Joys of self, which barren die
In our own breasts, blighted to weeds of bane.
For Bliss from Heart to Heart, and Eye to Eye,
Must be imparted, the fair Child of Simpathy!

9

There is a power in Love, which from life's woes
Can fashion blessings, making itself wings
From that which with dull leaden grievance bows
A meaner passion down to earth; in things
Of noble Natures and high Aspirings,
It burns on like a pure, strong Altarflame,
And all Impediments, all Hinderings,
Herein consumed, give fuel to the same.
Thus Love our weaker parts to uses high can tame!

10

Oh Love, thou burnest bright amid the snows
Of bleak Siberia, as 'neath the skies
Of sunloved Climes: thy holy Essence knows
No diminution from Contingencies
Of heat and cold: the Body's sympathies
Affect thy Workings not: from these apart
In th' human soul thou dwell'st, which never dies,
Which place and time can change not: every part
Of the wide world still offers thee a home, a heart!

11

Why should we limit thee to Time and Space?
Are we not cooped within the boundaries
Of this frail flesh enough, but must debase
Thee to the dim perceptions of our Eyes
And these dull Senses, making that which dies
Measure of that which lives unchanged for aye,
Finite of Infinite: of Harmonies
How do we take the measure, of their Sway
How judge? with th'outer ear or Soul's? let Memory say.

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12

Can the ear keep them? does the passing wind
Not bear them on its wings in mockery,
To teach us that we have no power to bind
Such Joys to outward sense? yet long passed by,
Make they not far, far sweeter melody
To th 'inner Ear in Afterdays, and bring
Forgotten music, with all fancies high?
Hence is it that old songs have power to fling
Us back into the Past, cheating Time's baffled wing!

13

And Love? shall lesser priviledge be thine?
Thou that art not a portion of the soul,
But as the spirit of its inmost shrine,
Each Being's Highest, and at once the Whole,
From whence and whither, as to their one Goal,
All Rays of Truth and Beauty tend: all things
That, with or without Shape, have ever stole
Bright Fancy's hues, all soulheard murmurings
Of sweetest note, all Flutterings of yet unfledg'd wings!

14

Thou Love, thou art the Centre-harmony,
From whence all lesser strings of Being take
Their true Accord: from hence the outer Eye
Receives its worth, and for the inner's sake
Stores full the mind with Beauty-shapes: hence wake
Old Songs such thrilling Echos on the ear,
Which else were allinert: hence too we make
Our hearts a portion of the changing year,
And sympathize with Nature still in Joy and Fear.

15

Thou Love, hast ever been, and aye shall be,
Best matter of high argument: fit theme
For mightiest bards to show their Mastery;
Soulstrengthening task, wherein, like some strong stream,
That, as it flows, runs pure, they learn to deem
Rightly of truths which thou alone canst teach:
The Heart that works or writes thee wrong must teem
With feelings to be pitied, nor can reach
Its Best, as e'en the Rose! most punished in the breach

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16

Against thy Majesty, oh Love!— for he
Who has not loved has never lived: far more
Unblest, tho' kingly Pomp around he see,
And want for Nothing, yea! than the most poor,
Doordriven, houseless beggar, if but sure
That one eye looks on him with Love, that one
Heart beats for him! oh! he who has been sore-
Tried by the Loss of all he loves, has won
A Bliss beyond him who has lost, and yet loved, none!

17

For unto him at least the boon of life
Is not all Barrenness: he, like the flower
Which to the fleeting winds its scent doth give,
For other Hearts has hived his Being's store,
Caring not when or how the passing hour
Might rob him of his all, and leave him there,
Withered and lone, of Joy to taste no more:
Tho' Time might from his Soul its fond ones tear,
Still must he love, to live, for without no Life were!

18

Oh Woman's heart, how beautiful art thou
In thy deep, calm Intensity of Love!
What is there on this Earth like thee? we bow
Selfawed to deeds heroic, for, above
The sphere of common spirits, they do move
The soul to adoration: but, oh thou!
So sole, that in the bosom of the Dove
Bearest the Lion's strength, to thee we owe
Heartworship, beyond all of Fair and Good below!

19

How different from Man's cold Love is thine,
Which gives with Joy all for the loved one's sake!
E'en Sacrifice itself grows Bliss divine:
Denial is no more so, it doth take,
(For Love's transfiguring Power well can make
Things most opposed exchange their Qualities,)
The Form of full Enjoyment: thus from Ache,
Pain, Toil, can he bid rich Possessions rise,
And where all wanting seems, the whole of Heaven comprize!

285

20

For is not Heaven Love? to live then by
Love only, is to be in Heaven, is
To live as do the Angels up on high,
To live as God himself, for is not this
His highest Priviledge, that Love is his
Existence, his Godhead? yea! there is naught
Without Love, neither Life, nor Heaven, nor Bliss!
Then be your Hearts, like His, with Love but fraught,
And ye will have at once the Heaven which ye sought!

21

But Man lives not by Love alone, therefore
It is not Heaven unto him, as to
Diviner Woman! she bows down before
No other God, to this one ever true;
But he has many Idols, changing thro'
His Life: now from the Clarion would he hear
His Name blown forth, now on his proud Brow strew
War's or Thought's Laurels, now the kind Heart sear
For some vain Helen of the Brain, to him more dear

22

Than her who sits beside him, who oft on
Her faithful Breast has pillowed his sick Head:
That Pillow heavenly Love might rest upon,
And sleep as chastely as if Angels spread
Their Plumage for his Rest! alas! instead
Of seeking for his Poetry in his
Own Life, like Woman, Man by Fancy's led
Astray, oft leaves, sick of such divine Bliss,
The Helen of his Dreams for some vile Harlot's Kiss!

23

Thus Extremes meet again: and there he lies,
Grovelling amid the Dust, 'till, sick once more,
He shakes it off his Wings, and to the Skies,
E'en to God's Throne itself, anew would soar!
Strange Contrast! now with Angels to adore
The God of Love, and now profane him by
Coarse, prurient Lusts, degrading in a Whore!
Alas! that earthly Films should dim the Eye,
And Passion fire the chaste, pure Lips of Poesy!

286

24

Happy he, who has that sublimest Skill
Within the Framework of the Picture by
Imagination wrought, thro' steady Will,
And sober Keeping open of the Eye,
Broad, broad awake, alike to laugh or cry,
The living Forms around him to comprize:
To see things as they are! that is the high-
Est Way, it is God's Way: and to God's Eyes,
Methinks, far fairer than the Poet's Dreams must rise!

25

For God falls not asleep and dreams not: he
Is broad awake: what Dreams could e'er supply
To Him that which His waking Eye can see,
His waking Heart can feel? then let us try
To do like Him: to see all Things as by
Him they are seen, as godlike! and then where
Is he who needs to dream? then Fancy, thy
Fastidious Hand may crown with Flowers the Hair
E'en of our mortal Love, and find the true Muse there!

26

And if from Love, deep, lasting, and sincere,
We draw our Inspiration, can there be
A higher? comes it not direct and clear
From God himself? and who then, if not He,
Is the one Source of Life, Love, Poesy?
Then cleave unto thy human Partner's Side,
In her Form shall the Muse appear to thee,
Urania, not she whom erst the Pride
Of Poet feigned, a higher far shall be thy Bride!

27

Yea! one of God's own Spirits, in whom He
Himself dwells with thee: in thy House! so near!
Keep her as such then, let her never be
Aught in thine Eyes but godlike: never hear
Her Voice but as if God himself in clear,
Intelligible Wise, spoke to thee, by
Her Lips: then really He'll speak to thee here,
And treating her as godlike, she thro' thy
Treatment will grow so, and make thee so equally!

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28

Love is of all her Children justified,
And God accords to perfect Purity,
A perfect Strength: a Strength which doth reside
In its own Innocence: a Mystery
Was, in the birth of Him whose mission high
Redeemed the World, unveiled to man's dim sight:
A truth illknown, yet one that could not die.
From a pure Virgin's loins came forth the Might,
That flamelike withered Falsehood, and put Hell to flight!

29

God's ways and means are many, and by those
Which oft to man's blind, erring Judgment seem
The most unfit, he in his Wisdom knows
To perfect that he wills: one divine Beam
Of Truth dispelled, as daylight does a dream,
The monstrous Pile of Superstitions: made
The Sword's of twenty Legions idly gleam,
Like brittle Reeds: and in its Meekness bade
The proud Schoolwisdom of the stubborn Stoa fade!

30

With that which is not he can bring to naught
The Things that are, and put to utter Shame
The Glories of this World: nor wills he aught
That men deem needful to work out his aim!
Nor strength of Nerve or Sinew, Sword or Flame!
Not such brute Agents his— all these are weak,
For o'er the Soul no inward Sway they claim;
The chains they forge an Infant's hand can break,
Things only like themselves of dust their slaves they make!

31

With Wisdom meek as Childhood, nourished by
The Milk of Innocence, doth he delight
To prove the Wisdom of the Flesh a Lie!
For Truth is one: but the Worldsteachers fight
Together, seeking her celestial Light
In dim, earthkindled Lamps: nor doth he deign
With mortal Weapons to assert his Right!
'Gainst the skytempered Armour these are vain,
Which shields Truth's divine Breast, from whence they fall again,

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32

Shivered to thousand fragments: while the arm,
That dealt the blow, is paralyzed, as by
The sudden Working of a mighty Charm;
Nor seeks he his Apostles 'mong Earth's high
And favored Sons: these to a barren Lie
Would turn his Word, and make it a mere Screen
For Creeds, Forms, Priestcraft, and Statejugglery!
Therefore on Poverty fair Faith did lean,
And Hand in Hand they went, in Courts full seldom seen!

33

Therefore God chose the lowly and despised
To do him Service, and above the Throne
Of Kings he raised them, He etherealized
Their Natures, gave their Lips that mighty Tone,
By which, on the four Winds, his Word was blown
Abroad unto the Ends of Earth; He sent
Them forth to teach that Innocence alone
Is Strength: that to her Nakedness is lent
Skypanoply, not forged by mortal Instrument!

34

Why did He not stretch forth his mighty arm,
And, reedlike, snap intwain the fullblown pride
Of those that mocked him? why not with the Charm
Of one sole word lay prostrate far and wide
The Hosts who in their Nothingness denied
His wise Omnipotence? or why, ye say,
Ye moleeyed Seekers, who cannot abide
Truth's radiant brow, who find your only day
In doubto'er clouded night, by false pride led astray,

35

Why with swift Thundervengeance did he not
Work out his Ends, and force the stubborn Will
Of Sinners to his Faith? ye Fools! ye Blot
On the fair page of Wisdom's book, to Ill
Who turn the gifts she gave ye, ye are still
The same old Serpentbrood, that with the Slime
Of its Fooldoubts has toiled the Truth to kill!
God has for all his Ends his own good time
And means, tho' ye do turn his Wisdom to a Crime!

289

36

Yea verily, I say, such Miracles
He could have worked, if Need were, or if Good
Had come thereof; and his own History tells
Of even-such, that yield a sensual food
To vulgar Faith, which, to support its Mood,
Asks for these palpable signs: but the wise Mind,
Whose Faith on such frail basis has not stood,
Will seek its best proofs, not in Shows that bind
The outward sense, but fuller Revelations find

37

In the deepworking, sensehid Agencies,
Which to rightthinking minds do yield most high
And sweet Astonishment. Allgood and wise,
By simplest and most despis 'd Ministry,
By humblest Means, he perfects noiselessly
Mightiest results, that bring man 's pride to naught.
He is no Wonderworker for the eye!
Hearthomage asks He by brute Fear not bought,
And Freewillofferings by Love, not Wonder wrought!

38

Yea! verily, the Thunders are his own,
The Winds, and Lightnings, and the mighty Sea
Are at his Bidding, and with these, 'tis known,
He can work Miracles! yet still there be,
Far greater, marvellous exceedingly,
Where Strength and Force are not, save such as lies
In Truth and Wisdom's selfdrawn Mastery.
With these he can o'erthrow the Mockeries
Of steelclad Hosts, and put to Shame his Enemies!

39

Yea! with a simple Truth he can put down
The mighty from their seats, and humble Kings
By the despisëd means themselves disown:
Thro' the Babesmouth refute the Questionings
Of the Worldwisest: and with meanest things
Confound the Mightiest! yea, He alone
With weakness can bind strength; to the Dove's wings
Impart the Eagle's Might, and make Pride own
Himselfby Lowliness subdued, by Worth despis'd, unknown!

290

40

There is a Strength, which dwells not where the Worms
Are called to banquet, which far deeper lies
Than in these perishable outward Forms
Of nerve and sinew: nor by aught that dies
Does it reveal to man its mysteries,
Tho' over these it has a godlike sway!
Its Shrine is in the Soul, and from the skies
Thither descending with its pure Liferay,
It keeps the Spirit young, tho' Grief the head make gray!

41

When these frail Limbs, on which disease and pain
Have done their worst, fall one by one away,
Like faithless Servants: when Earth's weight again
Lies heaviest on us, still this hidden ray
Maintains its priviledge: e'en in the clay
Remingling with the dust, its Birthright lives,
Still gaining strength by meaner things' decay:
Allconquering Death of his worst Fears deprives,
And o'er the Grave a sober Victory reaps— and gives!

42

This is true Strength: too deep for outward Show:
Too vast in perishable forms to be
Made manifest to sense: no Emblem low
Of Earth can grasp its bright Immensity,
As little Thought can grasp Eternity!
It is the Soul of things, and felt, not seen.
Therefore those basest Thralls, those Thralls of Eye
And Sense believe it not: had Christ but been
A Giant, he had gained more Votaries far, I ween!

43

Had he, cloudthroned and thunderarmed, among
Earth's senseled sons appeared, or sent before
Wonder and Fear his Messengers, the throng
Had bent beneath him in the dust, with more
Than slavish baseness: but a higher power,
In its own simple Majesty, that made
Conquest of Will alone, left to persuade
Itself, not forced, and by no Proofs, no Lore,
But those which to itself, without Parade,
The soul supplies, on brute Force leaning not for aid,

291

44

But working soft as dew within the flower,
And fecundating by Love's warmth alone
The seeds of high Belief, to them such Power
Was allincomprehensible, unknown,
Unfelt, unrecognized, a Glory thrown
On the unconscious Clay, which still remains
Brute and unvivified: the Strength they own
And worship, is mechanic, that which strains
Sinew and Nerve, and by brute Means brute Ends attains!

45

But ye, ye blessed few, ye Innereyed,
Who see into the Life of things, whose Gaze,
Quiet and calm, looks thro' the forms that hide
The mighty Workings of the Eternal's Ways
From grosser sense, ye find best cause to praise
And glorify His name, whose Ministrings
Are felt thro' all, where others cannot trace
His wondrous Hand: the smallest Flower betrays
To ye that Wisdom, which so gently brings
In its vast Grasp the Issues of all earthly things!

46

Ye see it not alone, when forced upon
The dullest Mind, in grand Events, that shake
Realms to their Centre, and eclipse the Sun;
Ye would not stare when Paralytics take
Their Beds up, or when buried Men awake,
So much as ye do at what every Day
Ye look on! greater Wonders far, which make
No Noise, but still as Thought, wrought ever; yea,
The Thought which from God works on in Man's Heart for Aye!

47

Controlling, punishing, correcting still,
Like to a viewless Arm laid lightly on
The Necks of Kings, and to a higher Will
Bending their haughty Schemes, of which not one
Works out that which 'twas destined for alone.
Thine are the Wonders, God! thou thrself, by
And in Us', work'st them as if not thine own;
Withdrawn from View, in sublime Modesty,
Thou mov'st all, yet still as thy least Star in yon Sky!

292

48

Ye trace him always, everywhere, in all,
Because most in yourselves, ye chosen few;
In most familiar Things, however small,
Ye feel him grandly, there Allmighty too,
In the least Sandgrain and the Drop of Dew,
As in this whole, vast World! Ye see him draw
From warring Falsehoods the eternal True,
Make Discord serve the selfsame End as Law,
And Peace and Love spring like Twins from the Womb of War!

49

This World his vast Laboràtory, where
Experiments are ever going on
Upon the grandest Scale! now to a Hair
To regulate a Comet or a Sun,
And now unerringly to solve some one
Of Life's grand Problems! while, as Ages fly,
In Time's vast Crucible remains alone
The one eternal Truth to test all by,
Good, Good alone endures, like God, unchangeably!

50

Ye know what Strength is: by the running Brook,
And Faith was Sampson fillëd with the Might
Of Hosts, to smite God's Enemies; a Book,
With a few worlddespisëd Truths — the Light
Of high Experience, gathering strength by Right,
And its own inborn Majesty of Worth:
A feeble oldman's Words, who at the sight
Of axe and fire swerves not, can give birth
To mightier Issues far than all the powers of Earth!

51

This is true Strength, whose chosen home is still
The Soul of man, when with himself at one,
His Being's End he strives but to fulfill
In meck Lowheartedness: which dwells alone
In that which Chance and Change have never thrown
Low in the dust: which Time assails in vain!
In an old Song its Essence oft is shown,
In which the eldtime Spirit lives again,
And in all Forms kept pure by Soul from earthly Stain!

293

52

Thinking on such things, need we wonder still,
That Love, tho' in a feeble Woman's breast,
Can draw from pure resolve and fixëd will,
The strength to execute the high Behest
Of the Soul's Oracle? all times attest
That there be Wonders, tho' no more the dead
Rise up to prove them from their tombëd Rest.
Faith still can work them as of old, when need
May be, and Love, twinborn with her, has equal Meed!

53

Oh that my Lips might with the Altarflame
Of Truth be purified, thus, with all good
And fitting Utterance, to sing thy Name,
Thou Worth of Worths: thou that deriv'st thy food
From noblest sacrifice of each low mood,
Each selfish feeling: 'till the soul, left clear
From sensual stain, the Image of its God
Full, mirrorlike, gives back! Oh be thou here,
Prompting my feeble Song, descend from thy calm Sphere.

54

Ye Elements, that wage eternal Strife
With man's frail Handyworks, and seek your prey
In his Highplaces: that which draws its life
From what yourselves are made of, ye may lay
Low in the dust, and after its brief day
Of brute-existence to Oblivion
Consign for ever: strewing thus your way
With aweinspiring Ruins, which Truth's sun
Gilds for a Moment's Space, like Motes, and lo! they' regone!

55

Nor will the wiser mind mourn o'er the fall
Of Tower and Temple: nay, draws thence a Kind
Of holy Solace: Spiritvoices call
From out the eldtime ruin, and the mind
In the Past's Echos stronger proof doth find
Of its own infelt Immortality!
Faith dwells with us, an Eye among the blind,
Looking before and after! Centuries fly,
The outward form may change, the spirit still is nigh!

294

56

Itself it is the Form: the Form is naught
Without it — and where it is not, there is
No Form, for by the Spirit that is wrought.
It moulds, etherealizes, now in this
And now in that Shape, Man still after his
Great Archetype— it glows, and casts away
The Dust of Ages— and tho' we may miss
It for awhile: lo! with diviner Ray,
In Book, Thought, Deed, and Word, it shines, godlike for Aye!

57

Its home is the cloudpillared Firmament,
From God it comes, to God returns: below
'Tis man's best Heritage: that spark unspent,
From whence her Torch Faith kindles, which can throw
Light thro' the darkness of the Grave: on woe,
And human suffering: and has a power
O'er Nature's lifeless forms, until they glow
As with a Soul. Winds, Flowers, Ruins hoar,
Bring haunted Memories, and dreams of days of yore!

58

'Gainst this, ye Elements, in vain ye strive,
Nay, rather ye subserve thereto, and make
High Memories holier still: for ye do give
Tradition unto Truth: and for the sake
Of our Forefathers' deeds, we love to wake
The voice of eldtime songs, that in the heart
Of Nations have their home: ye may downshake
Freedom's Strongholds, but'tis not in your art,
To dim the Truths, that from her Wrecks, like Spirits, start!

59

Above the timeworn Ruin hangs the Power
And Beauty of departed Years: it seems
Like Something taken from the passing Hour,
And having naught to do therewith: strange Gleams
From Suns long set shine on it, and the Streams
Rustle, tho' real, as in a Fairytale!
It looks like something visioned in our Dreams,
Standing apart: ghostlike seems Hill and Dale,
And as Ghosts we glide on, 'till Comprehension fail!

295

60

Ye fleetdestroying, conquestspurning Waves,
Strew the foamcradled Cities of proud Kings,
Like Autumnleaves: let the Winds o'er their Graves
Leave less Trace, than man's Memory to things
Of meanest note accords: ye Tempestwings
Scatter the Conqueror's Boasts unto the Dust,
From whence they rose, to which their nature clings
With downward Baseness: thou, steelgnawing Rust,
Feed on his vain Warspoils: ye Snails, deface his Bust!

61

Thou Time, Destruction's Playmate! thou Headfoe
Of earthencumbering Records of dark Deeds,
Built up with human Blood, and human Woe!
Reaper of Ages' harvests, o'er the seeds
Of high Truths watching, Rooterout of Weeds
Which Crime and Folly nourish: Critic sure!
Tester of Systems, Sects, Religions, Creeds!
Winnowing the vile Chaff of the passing Hour power!
From the good grain, which springs, sureripened by thy

62

Haste to the widespread Feast which Man prepares
For ye, ye Harvestreapers of the grain,
The everspringing crop of foolish Cares
And fruitless Toils, of Ignorance bred: the vain
And outward pomps, wherein high Truths disdain
To linger, seeking still a fitter home,
In the few chosen hearts: outliving Pain
Hate, Persecution, Change, and Error's Gloom,
Like Torches handed down, 'till happier days may come!

63

Hurl to the dust the topless Citytowers,
Skypointing Columns, and all mockeries
Of clay and stone. Worth has far other powers
Than these: far more enduring Testimonies!
Ye cannot wrong the Truth; her Enemies
Are but as clouds unto the sun, which tho
'Tis hid awhile from man's dimsighted Eyes,
Shines not less bright tho' hid: yea, even so,
Doth Virtue free her from all Contact base and low!

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64

But to my tale: far 'mid the snowclad plains
Of bleak Siberia, where Tyranny,
Who wages Warfare with his dungeonchains,
With fire and sword, against Truth's majesty
And Freedom, sends his foes to pine and die:
Breathing the breath of shame and banishment,
Far from all Homeendearments, where the Eye
Shrinks at the joyless scene, to which is lent
The heart's own Hopelessness, from which no smileissent,

65

There dwelt a banished family, whose fate
Was less heartsearing than is oft assigned
By the lynxeyëd Monster, who by hate
And fear metes all offences: for the Mind,
When it has that it loves, will solace find:
And they were severed not, but in their woe
Heart beat on kindred Heart: and thus entwined,
Like Ivytendrils, could support a blow,
Which, striking singly, must have laid each torn Branch low.

66

The sorrows which we share with those we love,
Which prove how they do love us, these, these have
A power beyond e'en Fortune's smiles to move
A deep, sweet Selfcontent: for as the wave
Will surfacefoam and break, when tempests rave,
While Ocean's heart beneath sleeps calm and still,
So in man's soul, what outward Ills it brave,
There is a Centrepeace which naught can kill,
A Joyfount which from Love and Faith itself doth fill.

67

Husband, and wife, and daughter, they did live
Soullinked together in Adversity,
As in their former Joys: and still life's hive
Might have been honeyfilled: for to the high,
Selfcentred spirit, in its unity,
Changes of Time and Place, of outward things
And Bodycomforts, are but mockery:
'Tis selfsufficient, and the soul has wings,
Whereon it soars away, and far off pleasures brings.

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68

Spirits there be, that with the sober Eye
Of truediscerning Wisdom, glancing o'er
This pleasureteeming World, can yet deny
Themselves, and without pain all other store
Save what they bear within them: ask no more
Than that small sum, which frugal Nature needs,
Of food and raiment: and like some sweet flower
That blooms unto itself, where no foot treads,
They live to their own hearts, spurning the World's false creeds!

69

With allunsparing hand they cut away
The prurient Wishes, the rank Growth of vain
And whimborn fancies, which so thick o'erlay
And clog the Soul's free movements: drawing Gain
From that which unto feebler minds is bane
And selfconfusion: like the o'ergrown vine,
Whose wild Leafwantonness does but restrain
The precious Fruit, 'till needful Wounds incline
Waste strength to knit in clusters for the generous Wine.

70

The wiser heart still gathers inwardly
The lifesap of its being: ripening
To selffruition, selfdependency.
And as the bird on evenmotioned wing,
So it from all the downward bents, that cling
To this low Earth, can free itself, and rise
To higher aims: nor from its Eagle-swing
E'er stoops unto the Carrionprey that lies
In mad Ambition's path, whereon he gluts, and dies.

71

Our Joys are likest halfsunn'd fruits, which grow
On one side harsh, illflavored, sourhued,
On th' other overripe: alas! we know
Not when to pluck the little that we could!
We will not when we can, and when we would,
Time is beforehand, lets us not twice chuse;
But once he offers, then takes leave for good.
Thus Nature's gifts Foolwisdom doth abuse,
And misses all, by grasping more than he can use!

298

72

But he, the Father, he was nursed elsewhere
Than in that sober School, Selfmastery;
He had not learnt its Wisdom, nor could bear
To be worldsevered: tho' he still had nigh,
Truehearted, those to whom the soul may fly
For solace 'gainst the cold World's bitter hate,
'Gainst fickle friends, and outward misery;
He would not seek the bliss his present state
Might yield, nor learn what Time all teaches, but too late!

73

Warcradled and strifenurs'd, his school had been
One where the soul, selfstolen, is left bare
In worse than nakedness. Oh who can glean
A Peacesheaf from the bloodsown field of War
To store Life's Wintergranary? what are
The Battletriomphs, the eyedazzling Sheen
Of banners and sunglancing spears, that mar
God's holy Image: what the Afterscene,
The Deathpause, and the deathstrewn Earth whereStrife has been?

74

What are all these (save that reality
Makes them more dreadfull) but a feverish dream
Of some sick, nightmared couch, which, when passed by,
Leaves the soul without Power to redeem
Those Feelings which the wise alone esteem
Aright, of all good Growths the Root and Sap.
Its Peacetastes are destroyed, it will not deem
Itself its Wealth; longnursed in Strife's rude Lap,
Wisdom's low Voice charms not who loves War's Thunderclap!

75

The Clarion has untuned his Ear for sounds
Of gentler note, discharmed the Homefireside
With its few chosen hearts, within whose Bounds,
However scant they seem to largeeyed Pride,
Most ample realms of Happiness reside;
And harvests, golden harvests, of that Grain,
One little Sheaf whereof, in all his wide
And barren fields, Ambition reaps not: Gain
Like this is not for him, he sows War's field in vain!

299

76

But Woman's heart within itself lives more,
And in her Homeworld she can happy be,
Loving and lov'd: from Nature's founts her Lore
Instinctive flows, she drinks it fresh and free
From those deep wells of pure Humanity,
The early Loveexchanges, which endear
Cottage and fireside: as round the tree
The weak grape twines, so woman's heart will bear
Its Joyfruits still, if some supporting heart be near.

77

And if she have Ambition, it is still
To rule the Heart, which she so well doth know
In all its weekday movements; nobler skill
Than that, which seeks in greatness still to grow
By Sacrifice of all that here below
Is best and dearest, to the World's turmoil
And hollow vanities; from whence can flow
Heartaches, Heartbarrenness alone, the Coil
Offretting hopes and fears, which each high Impulse spoil.

78

But man 's thoughts are elsewhere, and home to him
Is but the Cage 'gainst which he wounds his wing
With fretful Effort, 'till his heart grow dim
In fancied Thralldom. Pride, Ambition, fling
Their Darkness on his mind, and vain dreams bring.
He, like the Oak, must cast his arms abroad
Into life's tempest, 'mid its deafening,
Heartsickening Uproar take his Part, with Word
And Hand still strive to make himself obeyed and heard.

79

So it befell this man: shorn were his beams
By the first cloud of passing misery,
And his soul darkened by Despair's vain dreams
Of Pleasures past and Sorrows yet to be.
In his own heart he bore the fount of free
And joyous thought, but knew not his own power
To strike the Rock and bid it gush, for he
Walked in no selfdrawn Light: the passing Hour
Shone on, and left him as it found, all Clay once more!

300

80

His wife and daughter, they lived in the heart
And by the heart, careless of outward things,
Which they missed not: in Love they breathed apart
From vain regrets; and he who loves has wings
Of Eaglescope, fit for high Aspirings
To that calm Atmosphere, where earthly fears
And cares vex not: in all his Wanderings,
Love has one Centrepoint to which he steers,
One Haven sure whence Angelwelcomings he hears.

SECOND PART.

1

And now, my own Soul's Sister, Prascovy,
Let us wend on our Way in steadfast Wise,
For the Lord's Hand is on thy Purity,
And in thy Weakness is He strong: arise
And doubt not, for the holy Mysteries
Of God to Faith's calm, steadfast Glance are clear,
An high Astonishment, a blest Surprise,
Shall ope his Heart who lends thy Tale an Ear,
And Rays of Heaven's pure Light oft cross his dull Path here!

2

And I would fain believe, tho' all divine,
Thou, in whom Love thus ripened into high
And perfect Faith, (for of Religion's Shrine
Love is the Cornerstone,) that even I
Possess that Faith whose Hand of Purity
Still touches into Glory common Clay,
And on the Brow of poor Mortality
The Stamp of true Divinity doth lay,
By Time and Sorrow uneffaced, the same for aye!

301

3

Tho' Art should fail, unable to renew
The Forms of eldtime Poets, forced to take
Casts from the antique Statues, Nature, true
To her creative Priviledge, can make
In her eternal Mould (tho' Time should break
Her Masterworks to Pieces one by one)
Fresh Beautyshapes, which unto Being wake
Perfect as Eve, by Sin not yet undone,
Her Mould remains the same, tho' endless Forms be gone!

4

And on thee has she tried her mighty Hand,
Her choicest Craft, thou new Antigone!
Tho' no blind Father, treading Grecian Land,
Leans on thee, not less beautiful than she:
Tho' one with all the Sheen of Poesy,
The Atmosphere of Beauty, the Goldlight
By Inspiration breathed, o'er mantled be,
And thon in Nature's simplest Garb art dight,
Yet fairer than all Pomp, for Truth is thy Birthright!

5

Thou tread'st no Poetground, no Legends hoar
Hover around thy Head, nor do 'st thou seem
Fit Subject for the Bard's fastidious Lore:
No Oracle, (save that celestial Beam
Within thy Heart,) no goldenwinged Dream,
By high Jove sent, sheds Glory upon thee,
But on Life's common Path, where ill Sights teem,
That shock the nice Regards of those who see
With Fancy's Eyes, an Angel in thy Purity,

6

By Faith upheld and meek Lowheartedness,
Thou trod'st, on Misery's scant and bitter Bread
Oftnourished, and the salt Tears of Distress!
Oft without Pillow for thy weary Head,
Or Friend, save one above, tho' He instead
Of every earthly Aid might well suffice,
Yea! the good God by whom the Raven's fed,
Altho' he has no Voice to ask, who tries
The Heart of Man, and by high Suffering purifies,

302

7

Entering into the Temple when 'tis made
Holy by Expiation! even He
Who in his Mercy and his Love hath said,
«Blessed are they that suffer, they shall be
Inheritors of Immortality»!
Who gives most e'en when most He takes away:
Who takes the good Things of the Earth that we,
Thus wean 'd from them, may not be led astray,
But Faith's good Things receive instead, and live for aye!

8

Thou trod'st Life's thorniest Paths, yet murmuredst not,
And 'mid its Fret and Fever thou wast still
Calm and content, and envied'st no Man's Lot,
O'ercoming Evil by an ardent Will,
And a fixed Soul of Good, which can instill
Into opposëd Natures its own Worth:
Rousing Men's inert Sympathies to fill
Their wonted Channels, and by very Dearth
Of earthly Means, prolific in those not of Earth!

9

The more of Mammon's Means the less of God's!
The more of outward Things the less we here
Use spiritual: on the Reed that nods
With the least Breath Man in his Hour of Fear
And Doubt will rather lean, on palpable, near,
And present Aids, how frail soe'er, than on
Faith's viewless Arm, which more than Sword or Spear
Can bear a Nation up! this Strength alone
Endures, for being Spirit Change in it is none!

10

But Mammon scarcely can relieve Wants to
Which this frail Flesh is subject: he may pillow
The Head on Down, yet Conscience still can strew
Unquiet Thorns! he can but feed the low
And sensual Propensities, but no
Inspiring Breath to aught Godlike supply;
Hr cannot stir Mens' Hearts, or bid Kings bow
As to God's Voice, when inlymoved as by
Some heavenly Presence, which their Souls dare not belie,

303

11

They hear a friendless Girl ask Mercy on
A Father, in the Name of him whose Grace
Hes led and visibly before her gone!
This is Faith's Priviledge: he who will place
His whole Trust in her, by no Fears debase
Her Impulse, or by brute Mistrust undo
Her Triomphs, he all Ills unmoved shall face,
By her and in her shall he conquer too,
For ne'er breaks she her Pledge to those that love her true!

12

But he who leans on her, as on a Reed,
And trusts her not, 'neath his Weight will she break,
For she will not support the earthly, dead,
Unquickened Pressure of brute Doubts, that make
The Soul distrust itself, and from it take
The Sceptre of its spiritual Sway:
And he who seeks her not for her sole sake,
But thinks by Mammon's aid to smooth the Way,
His Toil is lost, in Mammon's Service must he stay!

13

But to thy steady Worship Faith could naught
Refuse, she tried thee, and then led thee on
To thy far Journey's End, smoothing, like Thought,
The Difficulties which Earth's Power alone
Could not o'ercome; thy lofty Goal was won
By that same Spirit which has Strength to move
The Mountains, and which stayed the Middaysun
Over Jehosaphat, for from above
With Might of Hosts it comes, yet meeker than the Dove!

14

And Actions full of Beauty, like to thine,
Are far beyond all Meed of mortal Praise
And mortal Guerdon: being alldivine
Their Worth Earth's vulgar Wages would debase,
Tarnish and sully their celestial Grace,
In their uncomprehended Beauty therefore,
Like Angels with a Veil drawn o'er their Face,
They pass unguerdoned 'till their Toils are o'er,
Unrecognized, save by the few, to reap the Store

304

15

And Fullness of all Bliss at God's Righthand!
Celestial Things are measurëd alone
By that which is celestial, who has spanned
With an Ellwand the Rainbow or the Sun?
And Virtue were not Virtue if unknown
And unrewarded she were not the same,
If toiling not for Love, but Wages won
Like Mammon's Hire, if Obloquy and Shame
Could make her once forget from whence her Glory came!

16

If like the Sons of Earth she needs must have
Base Compensation and Indemnity
For Loss of earthly Goods, ere she will brave
The Perils of her Mission: verily
There be some who of Immortality
Would make a Bargain between God and Man,
Turn Virtue into a deformëd Lie,
And with brute, worldly Cunning dare to span
That Wisdom which composed the allembracing Plan!

17

But verily they have their own Reward,
Their Light is Darkness, and by it they're led
To Selfconfusion: ever on their Guard
'Gainst Trick and Guile, by Trick and Guile they're fed,
'Till to all nobler Food their Taste be dead,
Foxes 'mong Foxes, Fools among the Wise!
And as, when by Man's Hand the Net is spread,
The Brute's low Cunning ill with Reason vies,
So too the Toils of these are Folly in God's Eyes!

18

And now, my Prascovy, wouldst thou but aid
My feeble Lip to tell thy simple Tale
In calm Simplicity, with no Parade
Of dazzling Metaphor, whose Arrows fail
Full oft to hit the Mark, tho' flowery Dale,
Groveshaded Streams, and Voice of Summerwind,
Be wanting to my Song, with Stroke of Flail
And merry Vintageshout, still may it find
Impulse and Utterance to please a kindred Mind.

305

19

Do not the Hills give back the Voice of Man
When flung abroad at Random, tho' they be
Of brute, insensate Earth? Heaven's wise Plan
Binds all Things with the Chain of Sympathy,
Heart answers unto Heart, tho' they may be
Severed by Seas and Mountains, Thought with Thought
Still communes, Soul with Soul, they mingle free
As Sounds in Air, and from all Things is caught
The Voice of one, sole Truth, if rightly it be sought!

20

Behold her! this young Angel! where and how?
Pride look thou on her, yea! look down and see
Her who finds Favor in God's Sight: tho' low
Her Dress and Gait, bespeaking Poverty,
Yet no mean Being be assured is she,
God's Eye is on her, tho' she knows it not,
A Saint, tho' Crown and Jewels wanting be!
On her poor Head a Wheatsheaf has she got,
Contented with the Gleanings of a Beggar's Lot!

21

Yet not less beautiful, methinks, is she
In this mean Garb, by Patience triomphing
And calm, pure Faith o'er mortal Misery,
Nay, lovelier, for 'tis 'mid Suffering
That to Religion's Altar Faith doth bring
Celestial Fire, to kindle thereupon
The grosser Elements that bow her Wing
To Earth; behold! her coarse Daytasks are done,
And homeward she returns with yon' slowsinking Sun!

22

She has ne'er known another Fatherland,
Or if she has, in earliest Infancy,
It is an unremembered Being, and
E'en the bleak Iceplains to her joyous Eye
Are beautiful: she throws o'er all the Dye
Of her own happy Heart, her only Woe
To see her Father's Tears, and not know why
He weeps; unseen, herself had seen them flow,
And hers, because she could not bid his cease, gushed too!

306

23

And often, when the soft, dreamwingëd Sleep
Stole from her Eyes Life's passing Scene, arose
Her Father's Form, within her Breast so deep
Had sunk the Wish to heal his secret Woes,
So strong her Love; for she was one of those
Whose Forms to beautify Humanity
Nature unto Man 's wondering Vision shows
From Time to Time, like Rainbows in Life's Sky,
Or Angels 'mid its Storm and Darkness passing by!

24

Behold her! on the Threshold now she stands,
Full of her Thought, but as she lifts her Eyes,
She starts, her Gleanings fall from her young Hands,
For lo! with mingled Terror and Surprise,
Her Father, pale and gloomy, she descries,
Her Mother bathed in Tears, and knows not why.
Sudden her Father's Grief bursts forth, he cries,
«Behold my Child (so spake Impiety)
Given by Heaven's Wrath to fill its Measure high!»

25

«Wasted by servile Toils I see her pine
Away before me, and a Father's Name,
To me a Synonym of Wrath divine,
Is as a Curse, a Heritage of Shame!»
Thus spake he in his Bitterness, with Frame
By Passion shook! illjudging Man! for she,
Who like the Rainbow mid the Tempest came,
Mingling her Tears with his, was sent to be
His Guardianangel here, from Bondage to set free!

26

And thus it is, when Heaven 's Hand is nigh,
We push it back, unknowing what we do,
When God is nearest to our Misery,
Our Souls are most estranged! yea! even so,
Poor Worms that lift their petty Stings, and throw
Their Vemon up to Heaven, charging on
The Giver of all Good each Wrong and Woe
Which our own Folly or Man's Hate upon
Our Heads hath brought, as tho' God bade the Ill be done!

307

27

And from that Day the Soul of Prascovy
Was stirred with one high Thought, and as the Wind
Drives all the Waves with one same Tendency
Before its Breath, so in her deepstirred Mind
An Inspiration rose: each Impulse blind,
Each Thought and Feeling, with a sudden Light,
And a fixed Bent of high Resolve refined,
Gathered to one same Point their scattered Might,
And like concentred Rays upon her Path shone bright!

28

Then by calm Faith unfilmëd were her Eyes,
And from the Bosom of Futurity
She saw the Vision in its Glory rise,
Not faint and dim as to the doubting Eye,
Seen thro' the Mists of frail Mortality,
And suddenly withdrawn, but firm and clear
As when before the Throne, her Mission high
Accomplished, she knelt down in Awe and Fear,
And felt she had no more to do or ask for here!

29

One Day her Prayer was over, and awhile
With Soul o'ersteeped in Blessedness, e'en there
Where Heaven had opened in a radiant Smile,
Revealing the calm Realms of upper Air,
The Mansions of the blest, still in her Prayer
Absorbed she knelt: her Lips moved not, her Brow
Calm as a Summersea, for all Words were
Vain Sounds for what she felt, all Utterance low,
God was in her and from God did her Being flow!

30

Then, like a Lightningflash, a Hope came o'er
Her Spirit, with a sudden, dazzling Gleam
Of Blessedness: awhile it troubled sore
Her inmost Soul, as when from some glad Dream,
Too lovely for Reality, where teem
Celestial Sights, we wake, but soon it drew
Her into its blest Sphere, and like a Beam
Melting in Sunlight, so did she renew
Herself in that deep Joy, a Being calm and true!

308

31

And in it did she live for evermore,
And by it did she live: Thought, Feeling, Deed,
Sprang out of it, as Perfume from the Flower,
Refined and purified, from all Soil freed,
And fit to mix with Ether! Self was dead,
One Thought was Present and Futurity,
She had no Life but in it, asked no Meed
But once to see it realized, then die,
That Thought! to free her Parents from Captivity!

32

Like to a Revelation of God's Will
This Thought flashed on her, like a heavenly Ray
Which all her inmost being did o'erfill
With Light, and soon she knelt again to pray,
But Words came not, she knew not what to say,
For Bliss o'erpowered her! her Soul alone
Existed, but her Body was away,
The one to Earth, the other to Heaven was gone,
And for a while it seemed that this brute Life was done!

33

And when she found her Voice, amid the Press
Of mighty Thoughts, she pray'd God fervently
Not to deprive her of the Blessedness
Which then she felt, so indefinably
Filling her Veins with liquid Ecstacy:
All other Things she left (herein most wise,)
To his good Time and Place, with mortal Eye
Not daring to peruse Fate's Mysteries,
With mortal Reason fearing to direct the Skies!

34

And often, when around her houseless Head
The Clouds of Sorrow gathered, that same Thought
Upon her Path its eldtime Radiance shed,
Dispelling Mists of Doubt and Fear, still fraught
With Blessedness, as then when first she caught
Its Inspiration: like the dawning Ray,
It grew and grew in spite of all that wrought
'Gainst its Omnipotence, 'till in Broadday
All Things o'ersteeped in its celestìal Radiance lay!

309

35

It seemed as if the Heaven's Glory still
Mantled her Form, an Angel from the Sky,
Whose Beauty Earth's dull Contact could not kill!
Great Nature too inspired her, and by
All natural Forms she schooled the Ear and Eye
To teach the Soul: to those who learn to see
In her the Shadow of the Deity,
She makes high Revelations: they are free
To hear God's Voice upon the Winds that past them flee!

36

And oft amid a silencehaunted Wood
Of antique Growth, beneath the chequered Shade
Falling in dappled Flakes, in holy Mood
Of solitary Musings, had she made
Her Sodjourn, 'till allconscious Nature bade
The Earth lift up its Voice in Awe and Fear
And speak of God: listening the while she stayed,
'Till forth unconsciously she broke in Prayer,
Feeling one God within, around, and everywhere!

37

Thus (her own Soul her Oracle,) she grew
Unto the Bloom of fifteen sunny Years,
Like an halfopen Flower which the Dew
Of Heaven, working silently, uprears,
'Till this one Thought the Source of all her Fears
And Hopes was grown, the very Breath whereby
She lived! 'twas this which e'en to Suffering's Tears
Imparted Rapture worthy of the Sky,
For Love can turn e'en Pain to purest Ecstacy!

38

Where Selflove rules, there of all Good is Dearth!
For lofty Things are born of Sacrifice,
Yea! 'tis the Sacrifice that gives them Worth,
And makes them what they are! then if thou'rt wise,
When that which of all Things thou most dost prize
Is at thy Hands required, thou will there-
At be rejoiced, wellknowing that the Skies
Will thro' thy Heart tenfold the Loss repair,
By making God more truly thy one Good! and where

310

39

He has become so there is little more
To wish or seek for! and this Good is one
Which thou canst not be robbed of: but, before
This greatest of all Blessings can be won,
Thou must have brought thyself to think of none
As comparable with it, to feel this
Worth every other Good beneath the Sun,
And if thou really feel'st that so it is,
Then 'twill be really so, and none of these thou'lt miss!

40

But mere Word-faith, without the living Deed,
Is worth far less in the Allgiver's Eyes
Than is the future Fruit within the Seed:
The perfect Man in every Creature lies
As Growth in that, and what the changeful Skies
And Elements accomplish for the one,
Faith works out for the other: she supplies
Thro' the Belief therein that Power which none
But they who live by Faith from Faith have ever won!

41

And Truth if we sincerely seek her, to
Her divine self ourselves assimilate,
Will herself be our Recompense, the true-
Est, best, for she will perfect us, create
The godlike Heart, by being made too great
To think of Pay best pay'd! but doubtingly
Received, (as simple Food spoilt Stomachs hate,)
Her Nature changes then avengingly,
And the Soul draws from her the Poison of a Lie!

42

Oft had she visited the chosen Wood,
A natural Temple, framed by Nature's Hand
For simple Worship, and that selftaught Mood
Which in her Forms adores the Love that planned
This goodly World, in its least Parts so grand!
A great Artificer is Nature! she
Builds in true Taste, her Works in Beauty stand
Simply sublime, from those vain Changes free,
Which in all finite Wisdom 's ever needfull be!

311

43

Here would she pray within the simple Aisle,
Pillared by Treestems branching up on high
Into a shady Leafroof, whence the pale
And greenish Light fell on her upraised Eye:
The Wind lowwhispering, as it murmured by,
A natural Music suited to the Place,
No proud Display of Man 's vain Melody,
Tickling the Ear when he should bow for Grace,
With haply some Bird's Note, to break, but not efface,

44

The holy Quiet of the stilly Air,
So soothing to the Soul, when allalone
It would hold Commune with itself, and bare
Its inmost Wishes, kneeling at the Throne
Of Mercy, and in Meekness calling on
The Heavens for Aid. for she had formed a Plan,
(And what we trust we can do is half done.)
By Love inspired with that Faith which can
Impart prophetic Powers, and make the Will of Man

45

Rockfirm and fixed! for when the Anchor of
His Hope is cast into Futurity,
No passing Tempest of Time's Sea can move
The Lifebark riding calm and quietly
Amid its Uproar! thus Man's Will, which by
Frail Passion's every Wave and Breath is blown,
When it has bent its Energies to high
And holy Ends, is not upheld alone
By mortal Powers, when pure God makes the Cause his own!

46

And what so pure as hers? can Angels feel
A purer Love than that whose deep Roots grow
In a Child's Breast, which for a Father's Weal
Would sacrifice each cherished Hope below,
Refusing thro' all Grief and Pain to know
A single Joy save that of Sacrifice?
Whose Love thro' Life's cold selfish Sea could flow
Fresh as the Fountain when its Waters rise,
Without one bitter Drop, one Stain in its pure Dyes!

312

47

Love is the Well of Blessedness, not sweet
Itself alone, but making too the Taste
Of each Bliss doubly so; unlike Earth's fleet-
Ing Joys, which, when the first Sweet is effaced,
Like Poisongoblets honeysmear'd, and placed
To lure us on, behind them leave for aye
The Bitterness of Death and Sin! then haste
To this Elysian Fount, of which all may
Drink largely, then let all do so, for far more, yea!

48

Than Pegasean Fount, can it inspire
To all high Thoughts and Deeds! now to the Wood
Her Path she traced, full of that one Desire,
And after praying for due Fortitude
To Him whose Grace imparts all that is Good,
All holy Thoughts and Inspirations clear,
That He would please uphold in her the Mood
Of calm, unswerving Faith, that doubteth ne'er,
When all seems Doubt, nor fears when all gives cause for Fear,

49

Homeward she turn'd, with firm Will to address
The first of her dear Parents she should meet,
But as she neared the House her Heart, did press
Its Prisonbars, for on the Doorsideseat,
Placed opportune to catch the Middayheat,
In such a Clime no Idler's Luxury,
Her Father sat: tho' overhead no sweet
And beeloved Sycamore rose shady by
It. as in sunnier Lands, with fanlike Majesty,

50

Where Age may sun himself, and blithe Youth sport
Life's sweet, brief Holyday away in Peace;
Selfmastering her Fears, and cutting short
All Doubts by timely Action, she did ease
Her Heart in Words, and ever by Degrees
Her Speech grew warm with that sweet Eloquence
Which pleases without studying how to please:
For what the Heart prompts ever is good Sense,
And oft a godlike Call, for God's Voice speaks from thence!

313

51

She pray'd her Father's Leave that she might go
And ask his Pardon of the Emperor,
Where, In his Pride and Pomp, by Neva's Flow
Of icy Waves he sits, upon whose Shore,
(Almost dreamswift), a barren Waste before,
Th' Imperial City rose: a helpless Maid,
Worldignorant, and, save in Faith, most poor!
Yet oft the weakest Vessel Heaven hath made
The Medium of its Revelations, and arrayed

52

Its own invisible Powers on the Side
Of Innocence and feeble Womanhood!
Not with the Warrior's Arm, nor with the Pride
Of Sword and Spear, doth Heaven work out the Good
It has in View, nor wills one drop of Blood
Be shed in aught to which its Agency
May be vouchsafed! but oft in gentlest Mood,
Like the Springsbreath, we feel its Power nigh,
Filling all Things with Life, Peace, Love, and Harmony!

53

Oft has the Majesty of Innocence
Atchieved what Nerve and Muscle could not do,
Oft worked a Miracle upon the Sense
Of hardened Guilt, 'till Consciousness would flow
Of something before which all Strength must bow,
On the crimedarkened Soul: a Babe's weak Cry,
As 'twere God's Voice, has stayed the Murderer's Blow,
Yea! it is God's own Voice, for he speaks by
The Babe's Lip, and in perfect Innocence is nigh!

54

There is a Weakness far above all Strength!
Its Power in calm, enduring Faith doth lie,
Tho' baffled oft, its Triomphs come at length,
E'en as the Ice is soonest melted by
The gentlest Breath, not by the Storms which ply
Destruction's Task, allpowerless to create!
This Weakness has no Pride nor Vanity,
'Tis meek and fearful, tho' of high Estate,
But Pride is frail, for he his Strength doth overrate,

314

55

Selfconfident where Wisdom takes most Heed!
Therefore the Lord delights exceedingly
To make a Pillar of Strength of the frail Reed,
By Weakness to put down the Proud and High,
And turn to naught by meek Simplicity
The Wiles of Craft! there is no Thing so low,
So despicable in Ambition's Eye,
But he can hallow it to Good, and show
By it that Hosts are needless to him here below!

56

Yea! thus He works his Miracles, by Means
Worthy of that He is, the God of Love,
Of Truth, and Mercy, while we Men, by Scenes
Of Strife, Destruction, and brute Uproar, prove
That Nerve and Sinew cannot lift above
The Beasts that perish! wonder not then ye,
(For not the Eagle but the gentle Dove
Was missioned for the Olive) when ye see
God's Wisdom working by this Maid's Simplicity!

57

Older her Father far in reckoned Years,
Yet but a Child, the merest Child indeed,
Compared with her: for not by Days or Years
Faith measures Man's Perfection! Flesh may need
Seasons and Times to ripen, like the Seed,
In its brute Fashion, but the Soul is free
At one bold Bound, by perfect Will selffreed,
To leap at once into Eternity,
And to anticipate what shall hereafter be!

58

She was beyond all Years, all Age, all Time,
As old as Love and Truth, and they were born
Before this Earth, and in a happier Clime!
Her Father's Date was but as he had worn
This fleshy Husk, 'twas young, now old, and shorn
By Time of its first Bloom: but she, oh she
Had lived the Life that dyeth not, had torn
The Veil from off the Future, and could see
The Shape she was to live in everlastingly!

315

59

A greater than Medea thro' her Veins
The true Lifeessence had infused, the high,
Calm Pulses of eternal Life, from Pains,
And Doubts, and Fears, set free, allequably
Beat in her Bosom, and she could not die!
Time could not bring her Wisdom who had learned
The Lore already of Eternity!
Nor perfect where no Flaw could be discerned,
Nor yet reward whose Wages were already earned!

60

That godlike Selfcontedness had she
Which of all other Blessings here below
Is the Beginning and Epitome,
In which they all are centered, even so
As the Rose into its ripe Bud doth throw
The Essence of its purest Energies!
Naught had she, yet had all Things! asked for no
Increase, yet had that Wealth which multiplies
The more the more'tis used, and which all Wantssupplies!

61

Oh blessed Thought! to think that in our own
Soleselves we have all that which we require!
Thus nourished on Faith 's daily Bread alone,
The Goods of Earth to her were but as Mire!
Ether unconsciously did she respire,
She was an Angel to herself unknown,
Rich beyond Wealth, and blest beyond Desire!
Thus without Search and Effort had she won
The perfect Treasure, which is every Good in one!

62

Such was the Being who now prayed in vain
Her Father for Permission, but he made
Light of her fond Request, and she in Pain
And Shame burst into Tears: not that afraid
She felt herself, tho' no Voice spoke to aid
Her Prayer: for all their Anger she had come
Prepared to meet, but Ridicule betrayed
That Weakness which still finds a secret Home,
When for its other Shapes the Heart will make no Room.

316

63

And now the Roses of three Summers more
Had mantled on her Cheek, and Womanhood
Gave to her Purpose Strength unfelt before:
It had grown with her Growth, and was the Food
Of all her daily Thoughts, and oft she would
Repeat her former Prayer more earnestly;
Chidings and Ridicule she had withstood,
For ever a still Voice within was nigh,
Which cheered her, whispering that her Hope was not a Lie!

THIRD PART.

1

She was not skilled in Learning as 'tis taught
In Colledges and Universities,
In all the idle Nicknames with which Thought
Is labelled by those Bookapothecaries,
Logic and Metaphysics, Husks where lies
No Soul of Good; true Wisdom still will thrive
Without these, Love more than their Place supplies!
And «he who made the Lips and Heart can give
Wisdom and Eloquence», that noblest, how to live!

2

She had no Booklore, and was little wise
Save to Salvation, yet the Soul can make
Itself an Education from what lies
Around it, keep its Faculties awake
By Things at which the Bookworm scarce would take
A passing Glance: Life has a living Lore
Not like that of dead Books, and they who rake
The Ashes of the Past may pore and pore,
Yet learn not half so much as from one acted Hour

317

3

Of what Stuff they are made, what capable
Or not to do: true Wisdom does not lie
In the much Knowledge, but in knowing well:
Oft in much Knowledge is much Vanity,
'Tis but an inert Mass, unquickened by
That Love which puts it into Act and Use
For God's high Praise; there is too frequently
A Pride of Knowledge leading to Abuse,
And to Hearthardness Faith all Grace doth still refuse.

4

That she had Wisdom in the truest Sense,
They who know what the Gospelpreachers taught
Will doubt not, Wisdom free from all Pretence,
Childlike in its Simplicity, and fraught
With that Meekheartedness so vainly sought
In the proud Schools of Earth's Philosophy.
He who, according to his Means, in aught
Relieves a Fellowcreature's Misery,
Is wise not unto Time but to Eternity!

5

Fulloft the Words of Life seem meaningless
In the broad Glare of Earth's Prosperity,
But in the Darkness of our sore Distress
The Soul is forced to seek internally
A Strength not yet put forth, obscured oft by
The Pomp and Glitter of the World: then on
Our Sight the Lifewords shine exceedingly,
With a celestial Radiance, unknown
Before, like Phosphorwriting when Daylight is gone!

6

The Wisdom of the Earth is as the Earth,
After the Flesh, and filmy is her Eye,
It looketh not beyond her Place of Birth;
The Earth is very cunning carnally,
And he whose Wisdom cometh from on high
Would be a Jest and Mock to the worldwise,
His Wisdom Foolishness! how can Earth by
The Earth embrace the Spirit's Mysteries?
God's Truths to carnal Comprehensions turn to Lies!

318

7

And Wisdom to be Wisdom must be sought
And loved for her own Sake, else of her Lore
The Spirit will evaporate, and naught
But Dregs remain; one sole Seed from the Core
Of her Hesperian Apple is worth more
Than all the Fruit beside, for in it dwells
The pure Lifeessence: like the genuine Ore,
When made a Traffic of, her Principles
Are mixed with baser Stuff and earthly Particles.

8

Unto the World the Gospel was and is
A Stumblingblook: the carnalminded seek
Wordwisdom, vain Display, and so they miss
That pure Illumination which the meek,
Being fit, receive, and the World's Strength is weak
To strive with Foolishness: for strong Desire
And Wish to comprehend alone can break
The Seal of God's high Truth, which, like the Fire,
Cleanses true Gold, but burns the drossy in its Ire!

9

Three Years had flown, and Time, who severs oft,
Had twined the Tendrils of their Hearts more close,
And Love, whose sweet Breath can make sweet and soft
E'en Bondage's bleak Air, had soothed the Throes
He could not heal, and thus the Thought to lose
Their only Daughter, when Oldage drew on
With his accumulating Load of Woes,
Sickness, and Pain at being left alone,
Wassnapping the last Thread Life's frail Hope hungupon!

10

And oft, when in their Sor row they would pray
Her not to go, she answered but with Tears,
For her Heart coul not find to say them nay,
Yet her firm Purpose bent not to their Fears:
As Water Drop by Drop the hard Rock wears,
So did the Minutes one by one remove,
(And with their paltry Space Time builds his Years,
And makes and mars) all Obstacles that wove
The Net of Difficulties, rent intwain by Love.

319

11

Yea! for Love's gentle Touch is mightier far
Than that of strongest Giant, and can make
A Host recoil, if such her Course should bar!
The Gordian Knot of Hindrances, which shake
The Warrior's Will, which brute Strength cannot break
Asunder, she undoes in gentlest Guise,
Naught can resist, all Things for her sweet Sake
Lose their worse Natures, of her holy Eyes
One Glance can conquer him who all brute Force defies!

12

Behold her by the Streamside, she has done
Her hard Daystask of Washing at the Brook,
And she is stooping down to place upon
Her Shoulder its moist Load. Pride do not look
So scornfully, as tho' thou couldst not brook
Such Things, illsuited to fastidious Ear:
Of human Life, not in a giltedged Book
Of fanciful Romance, thou readest here,
The Trappings are cast off, that clearer may appear

13

The godlike Outline in its sublime Truth!
Nor can, I trust, Time quench entirely
The holy Fire that warmed the Breast of Youth:
And Form and Custom tho' they dull the Eye
And Ear to Life's real Scenes that 'round us lie,
And shut us in a hothouse Atmosphere
Of sickly Prejudice and Vanity,
Yet cannot conquer Nature, still the Tear
Of Pity Chance calls forth, tho' dull, cold Hearts will sneer!

14

After some Cross-signs and a mental Prayer,
She was about to take her Load, when lo,
One, whom she knew, stopped short, and with an Air
Of Mockery accosting her, said, «so
Now of itself your Linen Home would yo,
Had you but made a few such Trifles more:»
Thereat, for tho' a Fool he was kind too,
He placed on his own Back her Load, and bore
It to the House, not thinking on his Speech before.

320

15

Arrived, he boasted in his Pleasantry
Of having saved the Girl a Miracle,
For being half a Sceptic, he must try
His Wit on sacred Things, which Fools love well
To turn to Jest, tho' why they cannot tell;
Poor Wretches! they are to be pitied more
Than else, for, like the Clapper of a Bell,
They but repeat what Fools have said before,
'Tis the Beast's Nature, Bell or Fool, so pass it o'er!

16

They are but as the Child by the Seaside,
Who digs his little Trench, nor doubts that he
Can compass in its paltry Space the Tide;
So these Men, who before their dim Eyes see
The mighty Ocean of Eternity,
Can comprehend it not: all that they view
Is some small Fraction of Infinity,
Some Sandgrains which they weigh, and yet these too
To Wisdom prove as much as Suns and Worlds can do!

17

The vast, capacious Intellect looks on
This goodly World, and being itself wise
Can trace the Wisdom in its Workings shown:
The Heart that looks abroad with Love's quick Eyes
Can trace the Love that framed the Earth, and plies
Its daily Tasks in sublime Confidence!
But here nor Head nor Heart we recognize,
They mock their Maker with the vain Pretence
To hide from others and themselves their Want of Sense!

18

And such was this Man, yet rebuked he stood
By Wisdom speaking thro' the Lips of one
Whose Mind was simple as her Heart was good:
Who by her Piety would fain atone
For Evil, tho' 'twere by another done;
And thus she spake, «could I do otherwise
Than place my Trust and Hope in God alone,
Seeing that He in thee hath made arise
A Servant to his Will, whose Will thou do'st despise?»

321

19

Thereat abashed the Sceptic quick withdrew,
All his gay Rhetoric and Fence of Thought
Foiled by an artless Girl, whose Lip ne'er knew
A single Witstroke save what Truth had taught;
And many an Example, if 'twere sought,
Would History afford, to teach us how
E'en with the Fool and Sceptic God hath wrought
The Glory of his Name, turning the Blow
Aimed by Impiety to lay the Smiter low!

20

Catching within the Net himself had spread
Th' Ensnarer's Foot, and thro' the Mockery
Of Scoffers raising up a Cause nigh dead;
For in the moral World's Machinery
(Whose Movingimpulse comes but from on high,
That regulates vast Spheres, least Atomies)
A counteracting Principle doth lie,
And Foeattempts, as 'round the Circle flies,
Prepare the Way for Truth's most glorious Victories!

21

E'en as the Earth transforms the Filth we throw
Upon her Bosom into goldeared Grain,
So from Man's Crimes and Vices there doth grow
The perfect Growth of Good; he toils in vain,
To Selfconfusion, selfinflicted Pain
And Misery, save when he works with God,
A mightier Power his Efforts doth constrain,
And Men and Nation's Sufferings surely goad
Back to stern Duty's Path, when they forsake her Road!

22

Oh mark his Wisdom, yea, observe it well,
Working vast Change by simplest Agency,
Selfregulated: in Man's Heart doth dwell
A comprehensive Principle, an high,
Corrective Spirit of Humanity
And Justice, oft obscured, extinguished ne'er:
Thus Man by Man, and Nation ever by
Nation is judged, thus are we forced to bear
Selfwitness, to selfpunish every Crime done here

322

23

Acknowledging it just by our own Deed
And proper Act! nor can we inculpate
Our Maker, for ourselves have sowed the Seed
Whose Crop we reap in Bloodshed, Guilt, and Hate,
'Till Humannature, roused, doth reprobate
Its own Misdeeds, and on itself doth call
For and inflict due Sentence, every State
Is subject still, how greatsoe'er or small,
To universal Conscience overlooking all!

24

All Men condemn in others Sins which they
Themselves are guilty of, thus each is by
His own Lips sentenced when he goes astray;
And this pure Spirit of Humanity
Speaks as invested with Authority,
It summons Nations to its Bar, and there
Foredates the Judgment too of the Mosthigh,
Nay, it is his own Voice, for if it were
Not, it could not do so, nor that high Office bear!

25

God does not punish us as we believe:
Evil and Good are at Man's Choice, his own
Will makes them, his own Hands the Threads still weave
Into the fatal Lifewoof, he alone
Dyes them, with his own Deeds! black, blue, or brown,
Or bloodred, as may happen, as they leave
Fate's Distaff one by one, for all at first
Are white as Innocence! tho' he may groan,
And rail at Fate, and call himself accurst,
Yet by himself and no one else the Seed:“are nursed!

26

Evil is like the Earthquake, calm and still,
In the Earth's Bosom cradled, lo! it lies,
As a Babe on its Mother's Breast, untill
The Elements supply it Force to rise
In Action, then at Havoc's Call it flies
Forth to lay waste, and level Tower and Town!
So in Man's Breast, 'till he himself supplies
The Fuel, and the Breath by which 'tis blown,
His Deeds the Fuel, and his Will the Breath alone!

323

27

Or this Illprinciple within Man's Breast
Is like the Tigercub from Infancy
Handfed, and reared up as a tame Housebeast,
The Babe may play with or beside it lie:
But if Blood wet its Lip, with sudden Cry
Instincts that slept awake, and terrible
The Wildbeast glares with furyflashing Eye!
The first bad Thought to this Illprinciple
Is as the first Bloodtaste, and breaks the fatal Spell!

28

Then take ye Heed to think no ill, for Thought
Is the first Germ, and without this is none:
No Finger can be lifted up, nor aught
Said or but looked, unless a Thought has gone
Before: the ripened Fruit that hangs upon
The Bough, the Bough itself, the fullgrown Tree,
All are but an Unfolding of the one
Small Seed, then tame thy Thoughts, or they will thee,
Still as the Seed was first the Fruit's Taste too must be!

29

Thus of all Ill is Man himself sole Cause,
But yet 'tis passing, Good alone can be
Eternal, coming from God: for still his Laws
Uphold and give it a sure Victory;
But he who with the fearful Ministry
Of Crime and Guilt would make ill Things to thrive,
Calls a dread Spirit from the Abyss, where lie
The dormant Elements for Mischief rife,
To work with his own Will'gainst his own Peace and Life!

30

But if he labour for God's Wages here,
Not in the frail Works of Man's foolish Pride
And vain Imaginings, he need not fear:
A mighty Champion is at his Side
Who for his Fellowcreatures has denied
Himself: the Spirit of Humanity
Avenges and upholds, his Works abide,
For not in Time but in Eternity
Their Base is cast, and they the Elements defy!

324

31

And ye, ye filmyeyed, whose dull Moleken
Cannot embrace the wide Horizon of
Eternal Truth and Wisdom, ye, who when
Ye see a Steammachine almost selfmove
By the brute Aid of Springs, extol above
The Skies this wonderful Invention, by
Which Man's creative Powers ye would prove,
Yet cannot trace the vast Machinery
Of moral Causes to a Source beyond the Eye!

32

Ye Fools! when ye behold a Steammachine,
Ye trace it to its Maker, and with high
And sounding Names pronounce him half divine!
And what is this fair World to Faith's clear Eye
But a like Piece of vast Machinery,
Only incomparably grander and
More perfect? where not one least Spring is by
Time worn away, nor aught demands the Hand
That made it to improve the least, least Thing it planned!

33

Where, from the Glowworm to the Stars, all is
As when he first created it, where tru-
Ly all selfmoves, not needing even his
So sublime Hand to alter or renew!
The Clouds float onward thro' th' eternal Blue,
No one knows whence or wither, and in the
Vast Workshop, from the Framing of a Dew-
Drop to the Darkening of Suns, does he
Prepare and foresee all, yet Himself none can see!

34

And yet all feel him, all, down even to
The least, least Heart that beats! all, all save ye,
Who feeling Him not, therefore feel naught tru-
Ly or sublimely, for since in each he
Its Highest constitutes, how can it be
Save thro' Him known or estimated right?
Therefore in all this lovely World ye see
Him not, nor trace Him in the Stars by Night,
Too vast the Characters, too dazzling for your Sight!

325

35

Yet there his Name is writ more legibly
Than the Word «God» is in the Prayerbook! yea!
So much more so that e'en the Infant's Eye,
Who from his Mother's Lip has learnt to pray,
Ere he can spell the Words he is too say,
Can read it there as nowhere else! in no,
No Book, however eloquent it may
Show forth his Praise! but ye cannot spell so
Well as the Child that Name, tho' much ye' ve read and know!

36

Ye very Fools! what is your Ignorance
But Impotence of Heart and Mind to see
And feel what is so clear? all is but Chance
And blind Result to your dull Sight, for ye,
Being reasonless yourselves, think it must be
More reasonable that the World should know
No Ruler, than that, harmonised and free
From Contradiction, all Things should be so,
So grandly made one supreme Being's Power to show!

37

But e'en of ye is Wisdom justified,
As of her better Children, ye do show
That Ignorance is still the Root of Pride,
If for no higher End ye live below:
The Wiseman points ye out, as by ye go,
Like the poor drunken Helot, to deter
From such brute Imbecility, and so
Wisdom is even with ye, tho' to her
Sweet Voice the Driveller's Bray your Assesears prefer!

38

And now I leave you to the scornful Sneer,
The Jabber, and the insane Mockery,
With which ye would assail me, could ye hear
This most deserved Rebuke: tho' ill can I
With my weak Voice uphold the Majesty
Of oftinsulted Truth: she does not need
A Weapon from my scanty Armoury,
One Glance of her calm, sunbright Eyes can breed
Dismay and nerveless Fear, and like a windshook Reed

326

39

Her base Foes quail when retribùtive Light
She flashes on them, and like Chaff they're blown
By her calm Breath into Oblivion's Night!
From ye I turn to one whom she doth own,
The purest Jewel in her starset Crown,
If not the brightest: others there may be
More dazzling, to the vulgar Eye made known
By Gloss and idle Splendor, yet is she
The calm, clearlustred Gem, from Earth's least Flaw quite free!

40

Which will support the microscopic View
Of those who put no Faith in the proud Claims
Of human Virtue, for the Heart is true,
And thence a steady Brilliance (not the Flames
In sudden Snatches, with which Passion aims
At dazzling the Beholder) but calm Light,
Pure Centralfire, is thrown: Virtue which shames
Those showy Efforts, a vain World's Delight,
Which on its wide Stage love to strut in all Men's Sight!

41

Six Months had taken Wing, since, happy Day!
She saw the Messenger depart, who bore
Her Father's Prayer to Tobolsk: who shall say
How her Heart beat? the Summertide passed o'er,
The Peasant gathered in his Winterstore,
And Time, who ripens all Things, saw again
Their deepest Sundyes on the Corn, before
The Messenger returned: oft would she strain
Her Eyes along the Road, and watch, and watch in vain!

42

Oh Bitterness of Hope delay'd, that takes
All Charm from Ear and Eye, she could not see
How the green Wheat grew gold, or how the Brakes
And Flowerbanks reechoed to the Glee
Of Bird and Insect, with the Ministrelsy
Of the Hedgecricket rang. Spring, Summer sped,
Setting Bud, frozen Grass, and Flower free,
Kissing the Apple's Cheek to rosy Red,
And strewing in the Path where Winter's Step must tread

327

43

The Year's ripe Glories! but she saw all this
Like one who to its Joy is not awake:
She marked not how the Summer's quickening Kiss
Worked on the young May, saw not the lean Snake,
Long unsunn'd, creep from out the ferny Brake,
Nor counted by the Cornear's deepening Dye
The Hours, nor heard the Breeze the Wheatsheaf shake:
On Hope's unrëal Breath she lived, not by
The present Atmosphere, but in Futurity!

44

At length, oh joyous Thought! the Answer came:
Hope longsince chilled within her Father's Breast,
Nighspent 'mid its own Ashes, with faint Flame
Burnt up, tho' but enough just to attest
That still it lived, then sank again, opprest
By Certainty: for tho' the Letter said
That Tyranny's strong Hand dared not arrest
The Daughter being free, yet well he read
In its fixed Silence that all Hope to him was dead.

45

The bitter Drop was poured into the Cup,
And it ran over: Hope is sweet, altho'
More baseless than a Dream, for Flowers spring up
Wheree'er his Summerbreath has leave to blow,
And none without that Breath on Earth will grow:
Still in Reality's harsh Atmosphere
They fade: the Future with Hope's Seed we sow,
And hoping for the Fruit, e'en tho' it ne'er
Should ripen, by that Hope enjoy it Year by Year!

46

Her Father took the Passport, and he said
She should not go: but the Heart's Augury
The inmost Thought writ in the Face can read,
And there she saw that, selfunconsciously,
He cherished still a Hope that would not die.
Therefore she Solace took with her own Thought,
Not questioning God's Will too curiously,
Since to its Consummation he had brought
Thus far her Hope, and for her visiby had wrought.

328

47

And she did well to trust to him who reads
The Hearts of Men, and shapes as they arise
The inmost Thoughts, and quickens all the Seeds
Of Good within the Soul that still relies
Upon his Mercy, who unfilms the Eyes,
That Good and Evil unto them may be
Made clear; for he who doubts alone descries
Clouds and thick Darkness, and then laugheth he
In his own Heart at those whom Faith has taught to see.

48

He says, «all is but Darkness», even so
To him it is: but from the Point of View
Whence we should look, all Things to Order grow,
We see Link joining Link in Union true,
And God's allpresent Wisdom reaching to
The smallest Fibre of the Web; the Eye
Of Faith alone the dread Handwriting knew,
And carnal Wisdom stood abashed, when by
The Voice of Daniel spake the Wisdom of the Sky!

49

One Evening as the Twilightshadows threw
Their lengthening Forms along the Earth, these three,
Father, and Child, and Mother, sought to woo
Oblivion to their present Misery,
Cheating their Thought to seem awhile to be
That which it was not, and therein most wise:
For after all Man in his Thought is free
To be that which he will, with Fancy's Eyes
We may transform Life's Waste into a Paradise!

50

Thought itself is Eternity, for thro'
What Means save this can we be so? its Scope
Is boundless, Thought alone is us, thus tru-
Ly we are what we think! and sublime Hope
(Not like the earthborn Antic, wont to grope
Amid its Dust, and laugh at us when we
Hape clasped a Shadow) to our Sight can ope
Glimpses into a calm Futurity,
And taste the Joys to come from all Mutation free!

329

51

That sublime Hope which changes not with Things
Of Earth, but down from Heaven, like the Sun,
On Man's else guideless Path its calm Light flings,
By Mists undimmed; all else is Dust alone,
The Victory soon or late by Time is won:
He dulls the Edge of earthly Joys, and takes
The Bloom from our young Years, strews Thorns upon
The Pillow of our Rest, and like the Snake's
Envenomed Tooth, when cherish'd at our Hearts, he makes

52

The deadlier Wound, with treacherous Injury
Repaying our Foollove of Things so base!
He takes Delight to give our Hopes the Lie:
Each apish Morrow wears a double Face,
One wrinkled sere, the other full of Grace
And winning Smiles; thus still he lures us on,
Till Hope with his swift Step no more keeps Pace,
Then leaves us in our Misery alone,
To count and comment the last Sandgrains as they run!

53

The Moon had risen, o'er the sickled Corn
Her soft, calm Radiance fell, where here and there
The goldeared Sheaves lay piled against the Morn,
When the blithe Reaper should return to bear
The Residue away; the scarcestirred Air
Seemed to bring with it Summer's dying Breath,
Barely uplifting in his leafhid Lair
The Owl's Breastfeathers, or the Grass beneath,
Where o'er the Glowworm's Lamp it wove its Fairywreath!

54

The Dewdrops, sparkling, on the Branches hung,
Or fell scarcemarked, shook by the passing Wing
Of nestreturning Bird: the Squirrel clung
To the Beechboughs, most joyoushearted Thing,
Blithe Tumbler! for his own Sport wantoning,
Careless what Eye looked on him, while below,
Along the Ground, would run a Twittering
Of some E arthdweller, overhappy to
Consign his Heart to Sleep ere Joy had had full Flow!

330

55

Oh blessed Calm of Nature, could we tune
The passionjarrëd Strings of Life by thee!
If we were made Partakers of that Boon
Of Blessedness and Peace, which all we see,
By sweet Compulsion led insensibly,
Inherits at thy Hands! the Bird his Song
Carols at Will, the Squirrel in his Glee
Neither with Surfeit nor Defect doth wrong
Thy wise Indulgence, and his Life thro' Joy is long!

56

All Things that breathe, in their own silent Wise,
Approve their Maker's Goodness, all but we,
We Men, who dare to scan his Mysteries,
To doubt and question, when we'd better be,
Like the blithe Bird, from Selfannoyance free,
Enjoying his good Gifts; when Reason wakes
As Children we no longer feel and see
Life's Blessedness, by us his stand he takes,
And disenchants, and where he finds no Evil makes!

57

These three were gathered, striving to beguile
Themselves of their own Thoughts, in that poor Cot
Which was their Dwelling, Silence a brief While
Followed the Biblereading, which had not
Soothed to Forgetfulness of their sad Lot
These sorrowstricken Hearts: hopesick were they,
For when the Body's tied to one dull Spot,
And goes its Tetherslength from Day to Day,
At Times the Soul will flag, and suffer with its Clay!

58

But she, the Daughter, knew nor Doubt nor Fear,
Hope smiling beckoned ever at her Side,
And tho' the Autumnwinds came, whistling sere,
To disenchant the Woods, and strip their Pride
Of gold and purple Leafage, strewing wide,
Like Winter's chill Forerunners, Earth's green Breast
With all her withered Offspring, yet she eyed
The saddened Scene with joyous Fancies blest,
For in the Brightness of a coming Bliss 'twas drest!

331

59

And as they sorrowsilent sat, she said,
Wishing to change the Channel of their Thought,
Open the Bible, Mother dear, and read
The Line I mention: so her Mother sought,
For Hope and Fancy take Delight in aught
That brings the Future more within the Sphere
Of bright Conjecture: and from Omens wrought
By seeming Chance our Guardianspirit here
Draws sweet Convictions, and we feel the Presence near

60

Of Powers ever watchful unto Good,
E'en in the merest Chance, the commonest Thing,
Which Minds by Scepticdoubts disabled would
Not comprehend, no Faith interpreting
The else dead Forms, in which, e'en as a Spring
Deepbosomed in the Rock, unknown, unsought,
The high Truth lies, 'till heavenly Ministring,
Enlarging our Capacity, have wrought
So that, by Tokens meaningless to others taught,

61

The Soul, where all seemed dark and blank, has bright
Glimpses and Openings up, and groping tries
By these to feel its Way towards the Light!
Upliftings of the aweful Veil that lies
Over the Life of Things, the Mysteries
Of the Soul's Bourne, whence ever and anon
Some Recognition to our fond Enquiries
Is echolike sent back, as half were won
Of Death's great Secret e'en ere yet the Race be run!

62

Faith has her Pisgahs, whence we catch afar
Clear Glimpses of a Life not realized,
But where, in Spirit, we already are,
For the Soul in these Bounds is not comprized;
Tho' the Grave be a Barrier devised
To mark its seeming Limits, yet it has
High Priviledge, and, as it sympathized
Still with its Source, mysteriously doth pass
From these Fleshshackles to the Life that is, and was,

332

63

And ever will be: e'en as from the String
The Music starts away, and then anon
Is there again, true to its Ministering,
Still hovering with airy Presence on
The palpable Instrument, which is alone
Its earthly Tenement, when from the Spheres
Its Spirit, to the Poet's Fingering won,
Springs 'neath his glowing Touch to charm Men's Ears
And Hearts unto his own immortal Hopes and Fears!

64

And now the Bible's blessed Page displayed
The following Words, with Characters of Light
As in Faith's own Handwriting there arrayed,
As tho' an Angel's Finger to her Sight
Had pointed out the Passage, so, so bright-
Impressed with divine Love, and bade her by
A firm Belief interpret them aright,
«God's Angel called to Agar from the Sky,
And said, what dost thou there, fearnot,» thy Lord is nigh».

65

Thereat o'erjoyed the Maiden kissed the Book
With her whole Soul upon her Lips, for she
Felt at those Words as if empowered to look
Into the Future's Womb, and there to see
Th' Event not yet conceived, mysteriously
Revealed beforehand; yea! for God makes known
At Times his Presence unto those whom He
Has not found wanting, by a Sign will own
Their Faith, and send his Star to lead them duly on!

66

What matters it tho' to the outward Eye
No seraphwinged and radiant Form appear,
Firetongued to speak the Will of the Mosthigh?
These are but palpable Means, and needless where
A high Conviction gives the Mind a clear
And perfect Vision for God's Mysteries;
The virtuous Soul is ever in and near
The Presence of its Maker, here still plies
Its former Tasks, and communes with its native Skies!

333

67

By our own Thoughts he works his Miracles
The best, informs the Mind with inward Light,
And gives that Faith which its own End foretells
And realizes! school then these aright,
Think always upon God, then will His Might
Guard thee, yea! Himself in that Thought draws nigh,
Still at our Side He is, tho' palpable Sight
Behold Him not: the Light within our Eye,
The Soul itself whene'er it thinks aught grand or high!-

68

But soon her Father's Voice from this sweet Dream
Recalled her, and he spake in Irony,
As one of little Faith, «do ye then deem
That God will send an Angel from the Sky
To give ye Food and Raiment, or reply,
Like to a Fortuneteller's juggling Tongue,
To all that Man's vain Curiosity
May prompt him to demand?» but he was wrong,
For when with Faith we ask, the Lord delays not long.

69

And at his Bidding all Things find a Voice,
Even the very Stones: it is the Ear,
The Sense, earthdull'd, that (when we should rejoice
At the bright Visitations scattered here,
Like Sunbeams, allaround, with Radiance clear
From Heaven falling upon commonest Things)
Will not perceive: the Heart Doubt renders sere
And dead to all celestial Visitings,
Still should we distrust tho' an Angel's sunbright Wings

70

Flashed o'er our Brows, for all is from within,
And outwardly can come no Proof, no high
And calm Conviction: from ourselves we win
The Power to read the Language of the Sky,
Th' Eternal to the Eternal must reply:
But he who questions Sense on divine Things,
Heaven's Oracles to him are as a Lie;
For still to Earth his downward Spirit clings,
And recognizes that alone which from Earth springs!

334

71

All this knew Prascovy, and therefore she
Replied, «I have no Hope, my Father dear,
That God will send his Angel down to me,
Yet have I firm Belief that everywhere
My Guardianspirit will be by to cheer
Me in my Hour of Need, and that tho' I
Myself opposed this Impulse, Heaven's clear.
And inward Prompting, 'twould be uselessly,
For with a mightier Bidding I do but comply!

72

And she was right, for be assured if to
Ourselves we be but true, that Heaven ne'er
Will fail us, yea! to be so is our true-
Est, surest Guardianangel, ever near,
There where he most should be, in that one Sphere
Where he can most effectually aid
And counsel us, in our own Hearts! 'tis here
The Angel must be sought, and we have made
Him for ourselves if we his Voice have but obeyed!

73

Yea, she was right: for in our Hour of Need
If God send not his Angel visibly
With Heavenmanna the forlorn to feed,
Yet He himself still as we call is nigh,
Working his Wonders so, so secretly
With weekday Instruments, which Fools despise
As being too familiar to the Eye!
For what were God if He could not devise
Fit Means, without disturbing Nature's Harmonies?

74

If everytime he would work out some Aim
He were compelled to use strange Agencies,
To stop the Course of Things, disjoint the Frame
Of firmfixed Custon, and affright the Eyes
Of old Experience by Juggleries
Of Sense, Interpositions palpable,
And vain display of vulgar Ministries?
These are but Proofs of Impotence, as well
As Want of Wisdom: when He works a Miracle

335

75

'Tis not by disjoint Change, or palebrowed Fear,
Or the eyedazzling Lightning, that he makes
His Purpose known, his Will obeyëd here!
'Neath Life's habitual Forms his Power wakes
The Elements it works by, yet ne'er breaks
Asunder the least Link in Nature's Chain
Of daily Operations, Wisdom takes
Things as they are, the Forms unchanged remain,
But a new Spirit works within, nor works in vain!

76

There is a gentle Strength, whose Symbol may
Be oft a Child's weak Voice, a Woman's Prayer,
A whispered Word, which yet none dare gainsay,
For 'tis of God himself, and ever where
This Strength is felt, it conquers, God is there,
And the Soul bows before its Maker, whose
High Presence fills it like a Breath of Air!
Such Strength was Prascovy's, and few could chuse
But feel its Sway, when hallowed to such holy Use.

77

Another Month had flown, yet still her Heart
Beat with its unaccomplished Wish, in vain
She hoped that Time, with his own silent Art,
Would smooth the Way: deceived, she hoped again,
For Hope in her was Faith, naught could restrain
Or check its Growth: yet of her Father she
At Times unto herself would half complain
For thwarting thus the high Divinity
Which oracled her Breast, and Thought soon stole the Glee

78

From her young Voice, and threw a Cloud of Care
O'er her onceopen Brow, and oft away
She would steal from her Home, to wander where
The Branches, with the Autumnwinds at Play,
Made sadden'd Music, in that Wood where lay
Her summerfavored Haunt: to her young Thought
Made holy by sweet Fancies since that Day,
When Faith's first Miracle for her was wrought,
And to her inward Ear an answering Voice was brought.

336

79

There would she listen, while the sightless Wind
Whistled in fitful Snatches thro' the Trees,
With other Meanings far than those which find
Fit Utterance in the flowerscented Breeze
From Summer's ripe Lip blown; there would she teaze
Her Heart with Fretting, while, before her Feet,
Time counted with sere Leaves the Year's Decrease,
Warning her how all earthly Pleasures fleet,
Like the Spring's withered Glories, once so fresh and sweet!

80

Prime Moralizer! pointing still a Tale
Of quiet Wisdom for a sober Eye
With any casual Object, trite and stale,
That Fools with heedless Step and Glance pass by:
Employing Nature's sublime Imagery
To teach the Lesson ever on his Tongue,
Stamping the fallen Leaf with Meanings high,
And mingling his deep Warnings with the Song
Of Winds, and with all Things that to the Year belong!

81

He bids the Flowers spring up on the Grave,
The careless Moss o'er Earth's proud Names, for so,
In his own quiet Way, he loves to have
A harmless Triomph, teaching Fools to know
The Difference He makes 'twixt high and low!
He loves a Jest, and practical ones too,
And where the Monarch's Palace stood bids grow
The Dayseye, that Mankind may learn the True
And During, which resume their Placeas they should do!

82

Truth is his Fosterchild: neglected by
The World, since from her starry Home she came
To bless this thankless Earth, with Contumely
Oft treated, oft unrecognized, to Shame
Abandoned, oft robbed of her very Name,
'Till Time, her firmest Friend, secures her high,
Calm Triumphs, touching with her living Flame,
One after one, Men's Hearts, until thereby
They Glow with divine Warmth, and clearer secs the Eye!

337

83

Here communed she with Nature, 'till the Soul
And Spirit of the Universe into
Her Heart had sent that Impulse which the Whole
Imparts to all with it in Union true;
'Till every Thought and Fancy that she knew
Was but an Echo of that holy Lore,
That Poetry, which, by Degrees, will hue
The Hearts of all who're fitted to adore
And feel God present in his Love in Earth's least Flower!

84

For 'twixt the outward World and our own Hearts
There is a secret Intercourse, whereby,
Like Echo to the Voice, the one imparts
A Consciousness of answered Sympathy
Unto the other; all that Ear and Eye
Can furnish us, are Symbols of our Thought,
'Tis one same Truth conveying diversely
Its high Convictions, and the Earth has naught
But to a Type of inward Feeling may be wrought.

85

Here, in deep Selfforgetfulness, would she
Oft tarry, 'till the thickening Shadows made
A pleasant Twilight for the Bat, here, free
From all Intrusion, oft the first Star bade
Her think with Selfreproach how much afraid
At her long Absence must her Mother be,
Her Fears still growing as the Sunbeams play'd
Feebler along the Leaves of some far Tree,
Or on the Cottagedoor, 'till she no more could see!

86

Then would she hurry homeward, counting by
Her beating Heart each Step, the while she thought
Upon the Hours of quickpulsed Agony,
Which to her Mother's Bosom she thus brought
By her Unkindness; then, with her untaught
And simple Eloquence, she'd win their Ears
To her Request, and beg, if they felt aught
Of Love for her, or Pity for her Tears,
That they would let her go, nor listen to their Fears.

338

87

And once, when more than was her Wont she stay'd,
Her Mother thought that she was really gone,
Like nestflown Bird, for aye, and all dismay'd
Embracing her, with Eyes where faint Smiles shone
Thro' gushing Teardrops, with reproachful Tone,
«We feared that you were gone, my Child,» she said,
«Gone, gone, and we were left to mourn alone,
Life were but as a Flower whence has fled
All Perfume and all Bloom, soon waste and witherëdl»

88

To which her Daughter, with sad Voice, replied,
A Tone so melancholy, deep, and low,
Like that of one who can no longer hide
The whole Amount of some longcherished Woe,
Which allunconsciously itself must show
In each least Word and Look, so deep the Well
From whence it springs to Life, so far below
The Surface its full Source, «alas! too well
My Mother knows what she would force my Lips to tell!»

89

If you do fear to lose me, you will know
That Pain too soon, for I can no more stay,
And with or without Passport must I go,
For 'tis a divine Finger points the Way;
And if you should refuse, oh then some Day
You will repent thereof, when I am far,
Far, far away from you: yet whate'er may
Betide, it is as vain with God to war,
As think with idle Prayers to stay yon' sphereborns Star!

90

By these sad Words her Mother was so moved
She sought by soothing Speech to tranquillize
Her agitated Daughter, whom she loved
The dearer for Life's many Miseries,
Which had but rivetted more closely Ties
Prosperity's warm Sun oft melts intwain,
As tho' they were as cold and frail as Ice!
She promised her Consent, if she could gain
Her Father's Approbation, or from him obtain

339

91

The Passport, without which she could not go;
For there, where she was born, Man is not free
To move as he may please, like Winds that blow
Unshackled where they list, there Tyranny
Is hundredhanded, Arguseyed to see,
Its Spidermeshes far and wide are thrown
In all Directions; soulless Slavery
Has there no Voice to make his Insults known,
And Life's brute Breath is all that Man dares call his own!

92

At length the sweetest Word that mortal Ear
Had ever listened to her Father spake;
One Morming in the Garden she drew near
Him and embraced his Knees, thereby to make
Her Prayer more moving, and his Heart to shake
With that sweet Language of the Face and Eyes,
More eloquent than Words, Looks which can take
Prisoner the Soul, its inmost Sympathies
Reach with electric Shock, when in vain Echos dies

93

The lagging Speech upon the unmoved Ear.
She prayed him to believe she was urged on
By divine Impulse, begged that he would hear
God's Voice appealing to him in her own:
Besought him not to thwart this only one,
This only Prayer that she had ever made,
Nor force her by, what he had never shown,
Undue Severity, to trust for Aid
In God, and Pardon for thus having disobeyed

94

A Father's Wishes, most unwillingly,
Because her Love could chuse no other Way;
To these her Supplications, aided by
A half Conviction of some heavenly Sway
Making its Presence felt, some latent Ray
Of unextinguished Hope, and his Wife's Tears,
The Father could no longer say her nay.
Then as when suddenly the swift Wind clears
A Space of azure Blue, and smiling forth appears

340

95

The mistdispelling Sun, so was the Face
Of Prascovy, when with her joyous Ear
She drank those Words, to her so full of Grace
And all sweet Meanings; then around her dear
And halfrepentant Father, with the Tear
Which Sorrow lent to Joy still in her Eye,
By one Thought's magic Light transformed, she, ere
He could find Words, her Arms flung lovingly,
An unrestrained poured forth her Heartin Utterance high:

96

Coined into sweet Caresses, Looks of Love,
And rapturebreathing Words; «oh Father dear,»
Thus spake she, do you think that He above,
Who thus has touched thy Heart, and bade thee hear
Thy Daughter's Prayer, cannot incline the Ear
And Heart likewise of him to whom I go,
Our Emperor, tho' not one Friend be near
To aid my Voice, from his own Heart he'll know
I come not of myself, that Kings themselves must bow

97

To Him whom I obey;» thus spoke the Maid,
Already in the Future; naught knew she
Of all the Circumstance and vain Parade,
Eyedazzling Pomp, and hollow Pageantry,
That hem in Power, lest it seem to be
That which it is, all Nothingness and Show;
For having in itself no Majesty
Of native Worth, to which the Soul can bow,
It wraps itself in Silk and Ermine, decks its Brow

98

With that same gilded Bauble called a Crown,
And hides its Vices from the vulgar Eye
In outward Splendor: she saw not the Frown
Of liveried Office, ready to deny
The Sufferer's Prayer ere asked, the Mockery
Of multitudinous Forms that hedge a Throne,
Thorny and hard to pass, the Guards that by
The Palacegate keep Watch: she saw alone
The Emperor, and grasped the Prize she deem 'd her own!

341

99

These Obstacles her Father, who well knew
The World and its dark Ways, to her young Thought
Painted in Hues to sad Experience true;
He knew that Justìce by the Ounce is bought,
As any other Merchandise, that naught
Is such a Luxury, or costs so dear,
Had learnt that Truth far less than Gold is sought,
That Innocence from Guile has all to fear,
And that few Pilots know on Life's dark Tide to steer!

100

But she replied, «that Providence, which reads
The Hearts of Men, will aid me even there,
Place on my Lip the moving Words it needs,
And keep my Steps from falling in the Snare,
Breathe into other Minds the Hopes I bear
In mine own Heart: a Father's Liberty
The Lord will Grant unto a Daughter's Prayer!»
Seeing her thus resolved, reluctantly
He fixed the Day, and left the Issue to the Sky.

FOURTH PART.

1

Spirit of olden Times! that on the Brow
Of Saint and Prophet with thy starry Wings
Of Glory wouldst descend, be with me now,
Uphold and cherish, and from earthly Things
Free thou my Thoughts, with heavenly Ministrings
Create in me the Temper which I need,
Give me that Faith which ever with it brings
A Boon of Glory when 'tis felt indeed,
Wisdom unto the Heart, and Eloquence to feed

342

2

The Lips with all high Utterance, that I,
Tho' undeserving of such special Grace,
May, with the Breath of Inspiration high,
Scatter the Clouds that hide thy radiant Face,
And give clear Glimpses of his Dwellingplace
To Man's earthdarkened Soul: bright Paths of Light
E'en to God's Throne, to which his Eye may trace
The Radiance oft bursting on his Sight
'Mid Mists of Earthliness, whose Majesty and Might

3

He bows before unconsciously, yet knows
Not well from whence it comes, 'till he be taught
To recognize the Fount from which it flows
In his own Soul: for from one Source is brought
The Spirit with which his own Breast is fraught,
And that same Majesty to which he bows,
A kindred Essence, differing in naught,
Save as its Mode of Operation shows
Forth more or less His Praise to whom all Worth it owes!

4

Spirit that bor'st Elijah up to Heaven,
In Firecar whose Path burned thro' the Skies,
By whom to Sampson's Victorarm was given
The Might of Hosts to smite God's Enemies:
Who in a later Day unto the Eyes
Of Socrates reveal' dst thy radiant Form,
And gave to Milton's Pen high Victories,
Oh with thy Presence deign thou to inform
My Heart, and with Faith's purest Altarfire warm!

5

Glory to thee, bright Spirit! onceagain
I Sing thy Triomphs of a later Day,
Divine as in past Ages! not in vain
We call on thee, and 'mid our Sufferings pray
For inward Light to cheer us on our Way,
Still canst thou work thy Miracles as in
The olden Time, not palpable it may
Be, yet most clear to Eyes undimmed by Sin,
And still thy low, calm Voice we hear 'mid Earth's harsh Din!

343

6

Glory and Gratitude! for still bright Gleams
Of Light celestial across our Eyes,
Our dim Eyes, pass, when all around us seems
Wrapp'd in the Mists of Earthliness: in Skies
Lowering and sad bright Openings-up arise,
Some Angelswings divide the dark Midspace,
And Glimpses of pure Ether, as he flies
Down from God's Throne, we view, the Realms of Grace,
And turn contented back to this brief Sojournplace!

7

The Partingday was fixed: who does not know
Those Moments, doubly dear, that intervene,
On which we lavish our whole Hearts, as tho'
Our All was summed in them: her Father mean-
While sought the few who seemed, or there had been,
His Friends and Fellowexiles, asked for Aid,
But these Lipfriends, as is their Wont, I ween,
Gave readytongued Advice, Excuses made,
And, when their Curiosity was quite allayed,

8

Took Leave, muchgrieved, no Doubt, that they could do
So dear a Friend no Service in his Need,
At any other Time they would have so,
So much Delight to help him, but indeed
Just now they could give naught! such Fruit the Seed
Of daily Intercourse brings forth in those
Who wear the Yoke of Mammon, in whom Greed
Is the foul Source whence every Action flows,
Selfpunished, for the sordid Heart no real Bliss knows!

9

Men who would not stretch forth their Hand to save
A starving Fellowcreature, or deny
To their own Mouths one Drop of all they have,
One smallest, most superfluous Luxury,
To moisten the parched Lip of Misery!
Two Friends alone he found, who with them brought
Not empty Words, but heartfelt Sympathy,
Pursepoor, loverich, and tho' possessing naught,
Yet willing to give all they had, unasked, unsought!

344

10

They brought the precious Balm of Sympathy
Unto the wounded Heart, they gave away
What all the Gold of Misers cannot buy
One Grain of: Wealth does hold a mighty Sway
O'er earthly Goods, but there are some Things, yea!
Some Things there are, of which ye wot not, ye
Who revel in proud Pomp and vain Display,
That all the Gold that ever Eye might see
Can purchase not, yet unto which the Beggar's free

11

As is the proudest Monarch, and of which,
By Right divine, he claims as large a Share!
They are his Heritage! in these still rich,
Tho' scarce a Rag his naked Back may bear!
Love, Wisdom, Truth, Religion, Faith, these are
Still free as Light to all Men, yea! I say,
So long as this glad Sun shall shine, this Air
Be breathed by Rich and Poor, these things for aye
Shall be the Soul's high Dower, and own no earthlier Sway!

12

Then fill your Coffers to the Brim, ye who
Bow down to Mammon as your Idol here,
Be your Prayers heard, and let him heap on you
The yellow Dust ye covet, but no Tear
Of Love or Sympathy, quickstarting clear,
Like a sweet Messenger of holy News,
Shall tell that ye have Hearts, no Joy or Fear
For others' Good shall change the cold Cheek's Hues,
Nor from your Hoards shall ye e'er draw one genial Use!

13

Then grovel in the Dust, and take your Fill
Of earthly Goods, celestial Things to ye
Are Pearl to Swine: I wish ye no more Ill
Than in Truth's Glass to know yourselves, and see
The perfect Shape of your Deformity!
For who could envy you, that in his Breast
Feels an Heart beat? still proud to think that he,
Tho' to him e'en the Crumbs would be a Feast
Which from your Table fall, is not like ye at least!

345

41

Ye cannot rob us of our Heritage,
Your desecrating Touch ye cannot place
On our Soul's Treasure: God for us doth wage
A holy Warfare, and with Love and Grace
Sweetens the Toils of this our earthly Race:
The Goal decides the Winner; let Earth be
Unto the Rich and Strong, let Power's Face
Frown at Truth's fearless Voice, still are we free,
And Lords of all the Earth can yield far more than ye!

15

What tho' ye be her Favorites! what tho',
Spoilt Children, in her Lap she pampers ye,
'Till every Pleasure to a Surfeit grow!
'Till, in the very 'midst of Luxury,
Ye envy each poor Toiler that ye see,
Who in the daily Sweat of his own Brow
Eats his coarse, scanty Bread! think ye that we,
Nature's uncared for Children, never know
One Joy, because your Eyes and Hearts are dull and slow?

16

Poor Fools! the Lark sings for the Peasant's Ear
As to the King's, the Mountains and the Streams,
The Woods and Waters, unto all are dear!
The Clouds build up their Palaces, with Beams
And purple Hues of Evening, bright as Dreams,
Not for the sated Eye of Wealth alone,
But for the Poet, who in Rapture deems
That to this dull Existence may be won
The glorious Colors of a Life not yet begun!

17

Aye! and pure Feelings, Aspirations high,
And Fellowcreaturelove, and starry Lore,
May oft be found 'mid Rags and Poverty!
There where Fools least expect to find the Power
And Majesty of Worth, it loves the more,
In modest Privacy, to hide its Head,
For it gives forth its Sweetness like the Flower,
That allunseen by heavenly Dews is fed,
Looking not for Reward, by this repaid instead!

346

18

And such were these two Friends: tho' poorer far
Than all the rest, and Beggars but in Will,
Tho' small of this Life's Goods their hardearn'd Share,
Wrung from the niggard Grasp of Want, who, still
Their stern Taskmaster, hardened them to Ill
And Suffering, yet left their Hearts at least
Unchilled and kind, and ready to fulfill
Each holy Prompting, and each high Behest,
Of that pure Soul of Love still reigning o'er their Breast.

19

'Twas a Septembermorn: the Month was now
But eightdaysold, yet waxing strong apace,
Like to a lusty Child in Youth's first Glow,
And these two Friends had come to see the Face
Of her they loved, to take Farewell, and place
The scanty Sum that bought their daily Food,
(A few poor Pence, yet still a Gift to grace
A King) at her Disposal; but she would
Not take it, no, tho' sore in Need herself she stood!

20

Reader, the Godlike enters into this
Coarse weekday Life — «a few poor Pence», to thee
Sounds ill no Doubt, but unto me it is
Full, full of Poesy, and just thro' the
So seeming Vileness of the Means we see
Employ'd! the Godlike, of which those poor Pence
Are but the Bearers, hallows them to me:
Is perfect Love not perfect Recompense?
Then with them God himself might be payedin this Sense!

21

The Dawn, the bright Dawn, glows in the far East,
And the Sunsteeds are flashing forth the Day
From their lightbearing Orbs: with ample Chest,
And firemanëd Necks, curved haughtily,
They blow the Darkness from Earth's Face away,
With prouddistended Nostrils! and e'en now
Upon that parting Group hath stole a Ray,
Celestial Messenger! the Hour to show,
Sent by her God himself to bid the Wanderer go!

347

22

The Time is come, she said, and we must part;
So saying, she sat down a while, and stay'd
'Till she had checked the Beatings of her Heart,
Then thanked she those good Friends for their kind Aid,
And promised that if Heaven should persuade
The Emperor to set at Liberty
Her Father, she would think of them: this said,
As if to cheat the Sense of Misery,
And steala Moment's Joy from Time's Wings as they fly,

23

They talked of casual Subjects, a brief Space,
The Weather, with forced Carelessness, as tho'
Each could not read the Secret in each Face,
The illfeigned Calm, the hollow Mask of Woe,
That makes the Lip to quiver, pale to grow
The Cheek, which strives to look itself in vain,
For Nature, tho' subdued awhile, will show
In some poor twitching Nerve the inward Pain,
The Stoic's Mask must drop, and Men grow Men again!

24

But such the Russian Usage: wise, 'tmight be,
If we could conquer Nature; but, alas!
The big Tear, and the beating Heartpulse we
Cannot command! it is an idle Farce,
A vain Attempt, Pride's Effort to o'erpass
The Frailty of our mortal State, to seem
That which he is not; each big Moment has
A double Weight, with twofold Grief doth teem,
A stern Reality within a painful Dream!—

25

Imagination! paint thou what my vain
And feeble Words are allunequal to;
Reader, let thy Heart speak, live o'er again
The bitter Time, if such be known to you,
When first, from thy dear Home, from kind, and true,
And loving Hearts, at stern Necessity's
Inexorable Call, removed, on new,
Strange, loveless Faces thou didst turn thine Eyes,
And the World's harsh Voice chill'd the Soul's warm Sympathies!

348

26

Still will the Heart beat quick, still to the Eye
In Afterlife th' unbidden Tear will rise,
When on those Moments of deep Agony,
Thro' the dim Veil which Time, still as he flies.
Throws o'er the Past, we look! then sympathize
With what this godlike Spirit felt, the Throes
By Duty claimed, a stern, high Sacrifice,
Yea! more than to her Altar Virtue owes,
When friendless, pennyless, her noble Part she chose!

27

Behold her kneeling at her Father's Feet
For his last Blessing! and if ever on
A mortal Head a Blessing fell, with sweet
And benign Influence, oh! then upon
Her Virginbrow there surely hovered one,
Brought by some viewless Angel from the Sky!
We ourselves make the Blessing, we alone!
It falls upon the Ear, a Sound passed by,
Or by Belief becomes a living Agency!

28

The last Embrace is o'er, that Heart to Heart,
And Lip to Lip, had bound them: the big Tear
Still trickles down unchecked, yet must they part,
Unknowing when again they may meet here,
On this cold, selfish Earth, so dull and drear!
Which thrusts its icy Hand in Mockery
'Twixt Heart and Heart, and with its Breath so sere
Breathes on our young Affections, and they die,
Withered up in the Bud, ere yet Hope's Dew be dry!

29

And she is gone, nor turns back once her Head
To look at her dear Parents, fixed, like Stone,
Upon the Threshold, waiting, while she sped
In Distance from their Sight, to give her one,
One more Farewell, one Handwave, or one Tone
Of the unconscious Voice, that murmurs still
A vain Adieu! alas! their Child is gone,
She dares not trust herself to look if still
They watch her, lest her Heart should rise against her Will!

349

30

And there they stood, with straining Glance, until
Their Daughter's Form, receding from their Eyes,
In the far Distance disappeared: yet still
They gazed and gazed, as tho' the Boundaries
Of Space retired, and they saw arise
Object on Object to the Journeysend;
Then waked they from their Dream, with Tears and Sighs
Turning to their sad Chamber, there to spend
The childless, desolate Hours, 'till Heaven Relief should send.

31

No more that sweet Voice broke upon their Ear
With the glad Music of its harmless Glee,
Blithe as the Lark's, no more, like Sunbeam clear,
The Loveglance from her young Eye did they see;
Nature's Interpreter to them was she,
The Voice of all its Joys, from her the Light
That brightened all Things came, and there could be
No Joy when they saw not with her glad Sight,
For Grief on their own Senses had diffused a Blight!

32

And now those falselipped Friends accused him sore
Of having urged his Child to go: they made
A Laughingstock of him, and sneered the more
Because they had refused him every Aid!
As if, forsooth, from Love to him they stay'd
The ready Hand, lest of a foolish Thing
He should repent, or to their Charge be laid
The Blame of Illsuccess! thus did they bring
Upon the griefbowed Head Shame's heavier Visiting.

33

But let us leave them to his Mercy, who
Hath Cosolation for the broken Heart,
When human Aid is vain, and turn to view
The Wanderer whom we have seen depart,
With whom we shared the bitter Pang, the Smart
Of that Homeseparation; let us deem
That we behold her, half in Terror, start
To find how strange all Things around her seem,
On waking the next Morn, how like a painful Dream

350

34

To be thus allalone: to feel no more
The loving Handgrasp, that electrical
Communicates its Message sweet, before
The Words have from the dear Lips Time to fall:
To want henceforth, and feel the Worth of, all
Those little, daily kindnesses, which are
Poured in Life's Cup like Honeydrops, which small
As they may seem, viewed singly, sweeten far,
Far more than prouder Joys, that dazzle with vain Glare!

35

Come now, Imagination, thou wouldst spread
Haply thy Wings, and soar up to the Sky,
But this once with me in the Footsteps tread
Of poor and suffering Humanity:
Yet are they holy, yea! as tho' they by
An Angel walking on this common Earth,
For the Fulfillment of some Mission high,
Had been imprinted! thou art nothing worth,
Savethou canst make this Scene bright as thy Place of Birth!

36

Fold then thy Wings, thy rainbowplumëd Wings,
For in an Angel's Steps thou walkest now:
Think not thou lowerest thyself, tho' Things
Of earthly Import seem to thee but low,
For in Reality they are not so!
Tho' boundless be thy Ether, and thus dear
To thee, yet haply 'tmay be found below,
Yea! e'en four narrow Walls embrace that Sphere,
To which thou lov'st to soar, as vast, as bright, and clear!

37

I talk no Riddles, tho' of Miracles!
Yet Miracles which everyday are wrought:
Familiar, as Householdwords, the Spells
By which we work them, yea! the Spells are taught
Not in dark Forms such as Medea sought
To sway the Stars with, but in Language clear,
The clearest Nature speaks! in Actions fraught
With human Feeling, and the Voice of dear,
Domestic Love, still sounding sweetest in God's Ear!

351

38

A little Child, that on his Mother's Breast
Lisps forth his Prayer, and smiles up in her Face,
Ere softly she hath laid him down to Rest,
Who, tho' unconscious of all Sin, for Grace
Prays unto God, yet pure, and without Trace
Of human Frailty, can work Wonders too:
Can call down Angels to his Dwellingplace,
To watch o'er it, and is the Medium thro'
Which Love eternal works to quicken us anew!

39

Then come with me, yet, ever and anon,
Thou shalt have free Use of thy restless Wings,
To soar wheree'er thou list'st, to gaze upon
The Archangel's Face, when by God's Throne he sings,
To tune thy Harp to his, and fit its Strings
For holiest Themes! and when thou comest back
Refreshed with thy ethereal Wanderings,
To aid and to support, oh! be not slack,
Speak with my Voice, nor let thine Inspiration lack!

40

Away vain Forms of glozing Poesy!
Upon no fabled Muse I call for Aid,
But on thee, Father, nor wilt thou deny
My Prayer, for thine own Spirit still has made
Itself felt in me, it alone has prayed!
And tho' it be by these frail Lips of Clay,
Yet in thy boundless Mercy thou hast bade
Us call thee «Father,» raise thou then my Lay
Into a Hymn of Praise: hear! 'tis thy Child doth pray!

41

Come then, Imagination, we will pass
Lightly the Ground her slow Feet measured o'er,
With easy Wing shalt thou observe what was
To her a weary Way and Travail sore:
Yet must thou pause, and wonder how she bore
Such sharp Discomfort without e'en a Sigh,
And, to a noble Mind, that Wound far more
Hard to be borne, the Insult, and the Eye
Of Scorn, the threatening Lip, the grudged Humanity!

352

42

But God is merciful, He tempers to
Our Bearing what were else so hard to bear,
To the shorn Lamb the Wind! and the Soul too
Doth something of His Infiniteness share:
Things are but as we view them, foul or fair,
Aids or Impediments: in all Things lies
A genuine Treasure for those who know where
And how to seek it, and from worst Things rise
Their Contraries, as Joy brings Tears into the Eyes!

43

How hard th' Apprenticeship of th' human Heart,
The Entrance into actual Life, for one
Who only in her Dreams has taken Part
Therein: brought up in Love's own School, with none
But Laws which to obey is Heaven, for
Is Heaven not Love? yea! Love is the true Law-
Enforcer and Lawgiver, he alone,
And light as Gossamer his Chains are thrown
Around us, yet so strong no Jailor ever saw!

44

'Tis hard to school the Heart, and teach the Tongue
Another Utterance than that which by
The Feelings, gushing fresh, unchecked, and strong,
Is prompted! yet this Lesson Prascovy
Must learn, soon taught that human Sympathy
Is slow towards that which first would claim Esteem;
In Pity is Superiority
Implied, and all Men willingly would deem
That those who ask their Aid are 'neath them as they seem.

45

How often must she turn in Tears away
From the shut Door, and season bitter Bread
With that still bitterer Salt! oft make Assay
Of Humannature in its variëd
Conditions, now from Luxury half dead
To Pity, which in poorest Soils most grows,
Now by the Hand of Fellowsuffering fed,
For such is Humannature: our own Woes
The true Extent of others' Sufferings disclose!

353

46

How godlike is that Mind which e'en in Ill
Sees only Good, and makes the Evil so
By bearing it as none! which Suffering still
Ennobles but the more, not renders low,
Stamping the God more clearly on the Brow!
Which in its Fellowcreatures sees alone,
With Thankfulness the Godlike only know,
The little Acts of Kindness to it done,
Forgetting all the Ill, which thus forgot is none!

47

Then learn by Littles and by Littles to
Forget and to forgive the Injuries
And Insults which thy Fellowmen may do
Unto thee! view them as the Stone which lies
By mere Chance in thy Way, and which, if wise,
Thou kick'st not, not to stumble! do but so,
'Till thou on Earth hast no more Enemies,
Till none can injure thee! 'till e'en the Blow,
Forgiven, wounds not thee, but works the Smiter Woe!

48

This is the godlike Lore, the Lore of Life,
The Lore of Love, which, seeing Good alone,
Lives as if nothing Evil could arrive,
And Good were only! 'till all Things have grown
To Good or Good, partaking of its own
Inherent Goodness! proud Philosophy,
Is this Art in thy Schools so little known,
While a poor Girl, with but a loving Eye,
Can see beyond thee, yea! for Love's Infinity!

49

The Eye of God Himself! and he who sees
Without Love, nothing sees, but is as blind,
Tho' he can trace the Planets' Course with Ease,
And analyze the Motions of the Mind!
While he who sees with Love, will all Things find
Godlike, for sees he not with God's own Eye?
Then even on the lowest of Mankind
Look thou with Love, then will he seem as high
As Monarchs on their Thrones, for God in Him is nigh!

354

50

The Shades of Night are gathering, the Forms
Of Things grow indistinct, the Owlet gray,
And Bat flit 'round her, and her Fancy warms
At Thought of that dear Home so far away,
The Kiss of Wellcome at the Close of Day,
Pressed by a Mother's Lips, the Fireside
So homesome, but she starts, for lo! a Ray
Breaks from yon' Cottagewindow, and the wide,
Wide Distance 'twixt that Home, by Fancy halfdescried.

51

Comes chilling on her Soul! 'tis not the Door
From loug Familiarity grown dear,
The Threshhold pressed by Feet now heard no more!
It is a Stranger's Dwelling, and, in Fear
Of Insult or Refusal, she draws near
And knocks — it opens — and with trembling Tongue
She begs for Shelter: 'tis denied or e'er
Her Prayer is uttered, Insult joined to Wrong,
And spoken by a Voice harsh as the Raven's Song.

52

Oh! ye in Plenty cradled, and fed by
The Bread which in your Mouths drops as a Thing
Of Course, picked up like Manna from the Sky,
Without one single Effort, can ye bring
Home to yourselves the Sense of Suffering
Felt then by one whose Heart was not as those
Of Beggars, deadened by long Buffeting,
Coarse Natures, hardened, like their Skins, to Blows
Of Fortune, and touched only by the Body's Woes!

53

Oh if ye can, be merciful, break not
The bruisëd Reed, but bind it up — away
She turns, but hark! a Voice from the same Spot
Recalls her, the same Voice that said her nay;
It was a Man with Hair already gray,
Who offered her the Shelter just denied,
And half loth, yet not daring to gainsay,
She followed, like an Angel at the Side
Of some dark Spirit, moved by Thoughts the Soul would hide

355

54

E'en from itself; a dim and dusky Light
Halfbroke the Chambersgloom, which flickered on
The bare Walls, cold and comfortless to Sight,
As the hard Features of the aged Crone,
Who, like a Witch, sat muttering all alone
With fixëd Eyes, of cold and glassy Stare,
Bent on poor Prascovy, and with a Tone
Fitted but Words of harsher Sense to bear,
Sheasked her whence she came and what her Purpose were?

55

When answered, she rejoined, with ghastly Grin
That showed her gummy Jaws, «then you must have
Much Gold, so long a Journey to begin»;
In vain poor Prascovy said no, she gave
But more Cause for Suspicion, and to save
Herself would willingly have given all
She had, or slept in some coldroofëd Cave,
Where Wolves and Foxes to each other call,
And Dropstones slowly count the Minutes as they fall!

56

They bade her then go rest, and when they thought
Her wellasleep, with eager Hands and Eyes,
Long for her fancied Wealth they vainly sought,
Then fearful Whispers heard she, and Replies,
«None saw her enter, none will make Surmize»!
Terror, with frayëd Eyes, watched by her Bed
Instead of Sleep! she saw the old Hag rise,
And felt her loosen from her Neck, halfdead
With Fear, the Bag where she her Passport carriëd!

57

Then they gave o'er their Search, and fell asleep,
And wearied Nature mastering her Fears,
She felt the poppied Slumber o'er her creep
Likewise: but who knows in her Dreams what Leers
The old Hag's sleepsealed Eyes still cast, what Tears
She shed, or what mysterious Warnings were
By unseen Powers whispered in the Ears
Of those two guilty Souls, what Visions rare,
What vital Beatings of the Heart, thus touched to spare!

356

58

Perhaps they dreamt an Angel had that Night
Crossed in Disguise their Threshhold, from the Sky
Descended, hiding his celestial Might
In a poor Mortal's Semblance, thus to try
Their Hearts: and that without Humanity
Received, he at his Parting sudden grew
Into his primal Shape, with Language high
Warned them of Punishment, if they should do
The Purpose of their Hearts, and back to Heaven flew!

59

Thus these three lay asleep, the guilty and
The guiltless, of eachother's Presence no
More conscious than so far as Dreams demand
Matter of Memory, or some sharp Throe
Of Conscience sting the Sleeper — Dreams are so,
So wonderful, and often they may be
The Vehicles, tho' how we scarcely know,
Of Revelations, changing that which we
Had purposed, for change but a Thought, and we must see

60

Things in another Light; and tho' a Dream
Be unreal as a Fact, it is not so
Unto the Soul: enough if we but deem
It real, and real Effects will from it flow,
'Tis then a Motive to us, because tho'
A Dream, it still has close Analogy
With all we think and feel, do, hope, or know,
Past Elements are moulded in and by
Our Sleep, and vital Gleams imparted from the Sky!

61

Thus slept she, like a Flower, folded sweet
In its own Fragrance, tho' the Sun now shone
High up in Heaven, 'till the Sound of Feet
Awoke her, and the Hag, with softer Tone,
Invited her to eat: her Breakfast done,
She took her Leave, and to her great Surprize,
On opening her Purse, found not alone
The Coins she had, but more! thus in strange Wise
Their Hearts were touched that Night to human Simpathies!

357

62

And truly too the Angel had that Night
Crossed o'er their Threshhold, as their Dream had shown,
And at departing in a Form more bright
Appeared unto them; not that it had grown
Unto another Stature, but their own
Hearts being touched, their Vision was more clear
Than when, from Want of Love, they saw alone
An Outcast to be robbed: and to their Ear
Her Farewellvoice was as the Angel's, yet no Fear

63

Its sweet Tones caused, but rather seemed to leave
A Blessing on them for the Ill undone,
And sounding as a Message of Reprieve
From threatened Punishment! Oh! there are none
To whom such Angels are not also shown
From Time to Time; then drive them not away,
But open wide your Doors, for tho' unknown
Angels as Beggars now appear, some Day
Beggars will Angels be, and able to repay

64

A hundredfold your Kindness! nay, e'en now
They leave you richer than they found you! yea!
For you give them but earthly Goods, and how
Can spiritual Goods be better, pray,
Bought than with perishable, which one Day
May rob thee of? then open wide thy Door,
But most of all thy Heart, that thus it may
Receive in its Embrace the misnamed Poor,
Who give more than they take, and make their Gifts more sure!

65

September now was tottering to his Grave,
And Aguefits possessed him quite, for lo!
Winter has smit him; bark! the Frostwinds rave
In gusty Snatches, and thick falls the Snow,
Burying Man's busy Track so deep that no
Foottraveller dare venture on his Way;
And Prascovy, tho' eager still to go,
Must view the Snow heaped by the Winds at Play,
And by their Flakes count out the dull Course of each Day!

358

66

But lo! the Snowdust is whirled up amain,
And o'er the whitened Track comes gliding on,
With Sound of Bell and Voice, a long Sledgetrain,
Glad Sight for hopesick Eyes to look upon;
A Place is straight procured from Hearts soon won
To Pity, and she now resumes her Way:
But bittercold it blew, and Sun was none,
The Bear had Need of all his Fur that Day,
And she of all her Patience, not the vain Display

67

Which some make of it in Life's fancied Ills,
But the stern Virtue taught by actual Throes,
Which in the Breast a godlike Calm instills,
The Calm of that blessed Place to which it owes
Its Origin, and which it brings to those
Who feel it truly. Fancy, speed them on,
Let Catharinestown its wished for Towers disclose,
Touched faintly by a setting Wintersun,
And briefly tell the Love her Piety there won;

68

Real Friendship in one who had Means to make
Her Wishes Deeds, a Lady, and far more,
A Christian, who did for Doing's Sake
Alone all Acts of Kindness in her Power.
She heard the Exile's Tale, and with her bore
The Wanderess, instructed, sheltered, taught
To read and write, and gave her of her Store:
Not the mere sensual Goods which are as naught,
But the refinëd Feelings and the lofty Thought!

69

And yet, alas! it was a dangerous Gift
For one whose Mission was like Prascovy's!
The Feelings which refine, the Thoughts which lift,
The keen Sense of Life's sweet Proprieties,
Raised above Want and coarse Necessities,
Whose galling Pressure leaves the Mind no Thought
For nobler Things, tho' making us despise
What is so low in itself, profit naught
To better Bearing: nay, unfit our Minds when brought

359

70

To the stern Trial, and we shrink away,
Not so much from the Suffering and Pain,
As from the coarser Accidents, which lay
The inmost Nerves bare, quivering again;
And thus this precious Boon is rendered vain!
Our Feelings are the Test of Suffering:
Thus Ills at Sight of which some scarce contain
Their Laughter may the Heart's deep Fibres wring,
To which, longintertwined, our dearest Habits cling!

71

But that Increase of Suffering had made
No Difference in her still unwearied Love,
Tho' henceforth she felt oftentimes afraid
To enter some poor Inn's low Door, does prove
That it could only be from up above:
Else had the Triomph not been so complete,
That never one least Thought of Self could move
The sublime Purpose, or the sacred Heat
Diminish which within her Breast had ta'en its Seat!

72

Here learnt she from her Friends to read and write,
To multiply her Being and to grow
Many in One: the Wisdom and the Light
Of Mankind, what they think, and feel, and know,
Becomes the Heritage of one Mind, so
All Form the one, and without all the one
Advances little: thus all to all owe
Their Weal reciprocally, and yet none
But receives far more Good than he has ever done!

73

How much Cause have we then for Gratitude!
How zealous should we toil to pay, as best
We can, our Fellowcreatures for the Good
Which we thro' them enjoy, as tho' one Breast
Were that of all Mankind and had the Zest
Of many thousand Lives! here learnt she too
To pray in studied Phrase, as Men do, lest
They should forget, unless reminded thro'
Set Forms, that God exists, as they too often do!

360

74

How sweet it seemed to her so simple Mind
The Feelings of her Heart, in ready Phrase,
Thus in the Prayerbook all expressed to find:
How happy they, she thought, who thus might praise
Their Maker: but still Piety decays,
Churches are not Religion, nor loud Prayers
Real Worship! tho' the choral Voices raise
The sounding Hymn, and Music breathe soft Airs,
Yet God delights in other Melody than theirs!

75

Tho' Words be needful between Man and Man,
They are not so 'twixt Man and God, for he
The unuttered Thought within the Soul can scan:
And if there such a Thing too really be
As the Unutterable, how can we
Express it? and he who has not felt this,
Has not felt God, nor therefore fittingly
Adored Him, for the highest Worship is
The still Communion of our own Soul with His!

76

Come Fancy, turn the Hourglass, and let
The Moments fly, as if they ne'er had brought
A Sorrow, as if Heart had known no Fret,
And Eye no Tear, meanwhile! now be there wrought
A gentle Wonder, sudden as a Thought,
And lo! 'tis done! green Leaves are on each Tree,
And Flowers scent the Air, and Sounds are caught
As of the Streams from icy Thrall set free!
So sudden that it scarce could swifter be

77

Worked out by Fancy's self! a Threedaysspace
Parts Spring and Winter: look! thick lies the Snow:
Now close thine Eye, and fold thy Arms, and place
Thee like some old Stonestatue, and wait so
As for a Resurrection! meanwhile, lo!
The Earth has changed, as sudden as the Dream
Which passes thro' thy Mind: awake, and go
Thou forth, and haply, wondering, thou 'lt deem
Thyself in some new World, so strange the Change doth seem!

361

78

And now as from this second Home must she
Depart: stern Duty's Voice alone she hears,
And, bitter as the Sacrifice must be,
There is a Rapture even in the Tears
Shed at such Times, and Memory endears
Beyond all Joy the Hour of Agony!
For looking back at it, the Pangs and Fears
Are gone, we see ourselves as 'twere thereby
Transfigured, and past Pain grows present Ecstacy!

79

Behold her then take Leave of her kind Friends,
Left once more to that Providence which wise-
Ly in Life's weekday Forms works out its Ends,
Subliming into divine Agencies
Familiar Events: to Faith's clear Eyes
The greatest Miracles are those worked by
Such Means as Nature everyday supplies,
And not those which disturb her Course, for why
Should God not thro' Men's Thoughts work Wonders still more high

80

Than those which with the Elements are wrought!
Where is He more than in Man's Soul? and where
Should Wonders be more naturally sought
Than there where He is most? and yet we stare
At Seas rolled back, and Portents in the Air!
The Springheaddepths of Wonder are alone
In us! the Wonder of all Wonders there
Exists, we are ourselves it, 'tis our own
Highest Existence, and without it we have none,

81

For then we are not e'en ourselves! but he
Who lives the Spirit which he is, lives by
That Principle which is the Soul of the
Great Whole, he lives in its Infinity,
Therefore his Faith is infinite! his Eye
Steady and calm, for his Belief is no
Mere Creed or Dogma, something outwardly
Professed, it is his Being, and doth flow
From Nature's self, the Sum of all that he can know,

362

82

And be, and do, for without it he's naught!
Without it Wisdom, Action, Life, is none!
Now as by Nature this Belief is wrought
Out in him, nay, as she herself alone
Lives in him, as the Groundtruth of her own
Existence it must be regarded, thro'
Him in its highest, purest Aspect shown!
And he in this full Feeling calm and true
Of the great Whole, regards but as a few Grains to

83

The Seasands added, all the Wonders by
The Pen of History recorded! for
He feels God's Presence in him evernigh,
The greatest Wonder, such as Eye ne'er saw,
Nor Thought conceived! now Wonders 'gainst the Law
Of Nature God worked out in Pity to
Man's Frailty, but he claims far higher Awe
For those wrought quietly by it, the tru-
Est, suitablest, and which He most delights to do!

84

The most conformable also to his
Own Nature: being Spirit he loves by
The Spirit to reveal that which he is!
Therefore be Spirit! thus most casily
Thou'lt comprehend Him, for is he not thy
Own Soul? then understanding it aright,
Thou understandest Him! then too thine Eye
Will need no fiery Bush to show his Might,
For the whole World reveals him clearer to thy Sight

85

Than did that Bush to Moses! And what need
Wilt thou have then of Tables, with thereon
The ten Commandments graved, when thou canst read,
And that too written by God's self alone,
His Law eterne in thy own Heart? the one
And allembracing Law, the godlike, the
First Duty! which fulfilled, then there are none,
All being summed in this, which is, to be
A Law unto ourselves, like God, sublimely free!

363

86

Behold! the snowcapt Ural-mountains rise
In the far Distance: Clouds hang lazy on
Their Summits, purpled with the Eveningsky's
Last Glory, and in Violettints upon
Th' Horizon, barred and streaked with Gold, are thrown
The craggy Outlines, sharp, distinct, and clear!
Soft, golden Vapors, from the sinking Sun,
Mantle their Summits, and as if quite near
Seem Crag and Torrent in the aerial Atmosphere!

87

Now Fancy steep thy Wings in Rainbowtints,
Bathe in the purple Light, and with thine Eye,
Which no dull Film of human Weakness stints
Or dims, behold the Vision! momently
The Clouds into new Shapes are moulded by
The sightless Winds, and, more intensely bright,
Burn unconsuming, steeped so goldenly,
Like to the Angelsplumage in the Sight
Of God, when standing in his full, transfiguring Light!

88

The Landscape fades, but gaze on, for it is
The Smile of the great Father, with which he
Bids Goodnight to His Children! in its Bliss
All Nature's steeped, breathless with Ecstacy!
Now, Fancy, let the Past and Future be
As two vast Wings to bear thee to yon' Height,
And thence, as in that Smile transfigured, see,
From its ideal Summit, (such as might
Have been that whence the promis'd Land rose on the Sight

89

Of the great Prophet, in the far-off Beam
Of Suns as yet not risen on the Eye
Of Man!) of bygone Ages the long Stream
Unrolled, the mighty Waters swelling high
Between the Banks long Centuries left dry,
And where, more pure and deep, they sweep on to
The dimseen Ocean of Eternity!
All this behold, for is not thine Eye too
The Eye of God, then see godlike, and thou 'lt see true!

364

90

Yea, as a Seer! for the most Godlike is
The most True, most Enduring, it is the
Basis and Ground of all Things, e'en of this
Coarse Being, not is only, but must be:
For is not God the Ground of all, is he
Not in each what is most enduring, true,
Essential? then the Godlike whence would ye
Save from Him draw? if then the Godlike you
Make the Ground of your Life, God must be its Ground too!

91

And this Ground will not fail thee, it is thy
Own self, if thou art godlike: then be so!
And as it is the Ground of all Things, by
Death it cannot be altered, undergo
Change, save in Form, and that can be of no
Importance, so long as the Ground in thee
Is godlike: and as Form alone can flow
From Spirit, that must also godlike be,
E'en the Ungodlike thou mayst godlike feel and see!

92

So Fancy from that spectral Height look on
Mankind, and what ungodlike there may be,
Shall at that sublime Distance seem as none!
And thou, thou too, the promised Land shalt see,
For nobler is that Height, the View more free!
The Real shall mingle too with that bright Dream,
And clear Rays from a far Futurity
To those, which now on Moscow's Towers gleam,
Prophetic Brightness add! for even as the Stream

93

It stands on will flow still the same, when all
That Pomp has crumbled into Dust, so too
The Heart of Man shall Nature's sublime Call
Bring back unto the Godlike and the True,
Its only lasting Elements, and thro'
Which only can its sublime Destiny
Be wrought out: yea! these are the Portals to
That promis'd Land of Freedom, whither by
Greater than Prophet they are led, yea, the Mosthigh!

365

94

'Tis gone, 'tis gone! resolved once more into
The Elements! that Day so long pass'd by,
But which is present still to God's Allview,
As Today or the farthest Morrow, thy
Eye too, which shares in His Infinity,
Divinest Fancy, still beholds! each Ray
Has fled, Night's ebon Sceptre rules the Sky,
And from the Womb of Darkness on their Way
The newborn Torrents rush, tracked by their thundering Spray!

95

With these wild Truants let us to the Plain
Descend, to where the Khama hurries to
The Volga's Embrace, with whose Stream again
Our Journey we must follow; but, still true
To thy high Priviledge, thou shalt have due
Use of thy Wings to help thee on the Way,
Imagination! and, lo! full in View,
The Towers of Nijeni, on which the Ray
Of Sunset gleams, so swift the Elements obey!

96

Behold the Bridge where Prascovy must land;
Thus far th' eternal Stream of Volga to
The Consummation which her Love had plann'd
Has helped her on: the Lasting and the True
The True and Godlike, as it still should do,
Assisting: lo! where two Streams blend in one,
A fair, large City rises on her View,
From whose thronged Streets each Soul long since is gone,
As their own Shadows will be now, when sinks yon' Sun!

97

Near to the Bridge a Church and Convent stood,
And thither Prascovy her Steps has bent:
And, as she enters, hears in solemn Mood
Sweet choral Bursts of female Voices, blent
In Eveningworship, like an Omen sent
From Heaven to her; then first in her grew
To take the Veil the strong Wish and Intent,

366

Her Heart, already cloistered and dead to
The World, looked on it as Nuns thro' their Grate might do!

98

And, as she left the Church, she stopped to gaze
Upon the Scene before her: gleaming lay
The Volga's Waters in the Sunset's Blaze,
And breathless Silence on the closing Day,
As upon one about to cast away
The garish Pleasures of the World, and take
The Veil, like Nun, in Twilight's sober Gray,
Attended: not a single Leaf did shake,
Nor, save the rippling Stream, a Sound that Stillness break!

99

A wide Plain stretched before her, far and near,
And Solitude lay on it like a Dream,
Or Calm upon the Ocean, still as Fear!
She gazed. and gazed, and watched each sinking Beam,
The rosy Twilight fading from the Stream,
Nature's eternal Smile! and softly o'er
Her own Face stole its Blessedness, its Gleam
Divine, as tho', when elsewhere seen no more,
On Man's so godlike Face, diviner than before,

100

It reappeared, as it would ever do,
Were Man, like Nature, pure and innocent!
Sublime Reflection, like that which unto
The Moon, when perfect and at Full, is sent,
Tho' long before the Fires of Day are spent
In Ocean, and the Orb to which she owes
That Light has sunk; like the Omnipotent,
Whom no Eye sees, tho' in all Things He shows
Himself, whom none can grasp, and yet each feels and knows!

101

And where or what He is, none, none can tell,
Save that He is all, and is everywhere!
Who in each proves by such a Miracle
His Being, that no Heart can ever dare
To doubt Him, yet lays not that Being bare!
Thus the first Miracle and greatest is
Proved by almost as great a one! yet are
Your Hearts but godlike, then too will ye His

367

Being best comprehend, for ye yourselves are this!

102

Thus gazed she! but as yet she'd had to do
With Nature only, and her Sympathies
Were by that Intercourse kept sound and true,
For there its godlike Nature naught belies,
Each Flower of the Field, each Bird that flies,
Is what God meant it to be, and it shows
His Glory forth thus in most godlike Wise!
The Rose has never ceased to be a Rose,
And the Bird's Heart is as the Song which from it flows!

103

But now she had to do with Man, vain Man!
The crooked Paths of human Policy,
And not the sublime Ways of Nature's Plan,
Where he who follows but his Heart and Eye,
Need go to no School for Theology!
He learns it from the Master, and that too
From His best Work, and therefore thoroughly!
And finds its Practice illustrated thro'
Examples such as Poet's Fancy never drew!

104

Clear as the Stars, sweet as the Perfume of
The Rose, and so, so easy to put too
In Act and Use, that we have but to love
To fulfill all its Precepts, make as true
A Comment on it as the Sage could do!
She turned her Head, and, lo! before her lay
The peopled Solitude, not like that thro'
Which she had lately passed upon her Way,
The sublime Solitude of Nature, where Faith may

105

Draw nearer to her God, for there is naught
To intercept; but like the Scene, so He
Is by its Boundlessness more grandly brought
Home to the Heart in all we feel and see!
Sense fails, and Thought their Substitute must be
This was the Solitude of Heart, where 'round
Us thousands stand, and yet among them we
Are lonely as a solitary Sound
Voiced in a Desert, without Answer or Rebound!

368

106

This is the worst of Solitudes, where no
Heart beats for us, when for its Sympathy
Our own is yearning, where our Fellows throw
Upon our passing Form a careless Eye,
Which, like our Shadow, is as momently
Forgot; where 'mid Abundance we must pine,
And where the Ice of Form and Ceremony
Chills all high Thoughts and Impulses divine,
Where God himself is but a Sunday and a Sign!

107

All this, for the first Time, felt Prascovy,
With a sad Sinking of the Heart, as she
Beheld that City, with its thousands, lie
Before her, 'mong whom not one Heart would be
Glad at her Coming, not one sole Eye see
Her with a Smile of Wellcome! then there came
The Thought of her dear Parents bitterly
Upon her Mind, with Doubts and Fears, and Shame
At those same Doubts, 'till she herself began to blame

108

For slack Faith in her God; therefore into
The Church she once more entered, half afraid,
Lest God that Spirit should deny her, thro'
Which He so oft had lent Advice and Aid;
For if He sends no Spirit, we are made
Ourselves the Spirit thro' firm Faith, which is
Far better! and if this Faith be displayed
In Word and Deed, that Spirit then is His
Own Presence, and what Spirit need we beside this?

109

Here prayed she with such Fervour, that she drew
The Notice of a Nun, to whose kind Ear
She told her strong Disinclination to
Seek Shelter at an Inn, related clear-
Ly, simply, with that Eloquence which ne'er
O'ersteps the Modesty of Nature, all
Her Story, and thus gained new Friendships here,
Thus God reveals Himself in Things so small,
Yet far from small if felt to be from Him a Call!

[_]

No third volume of this work was published.

TO BE CONCLUDED IN THE THIRD VOLUME.

The Khama is a River which flows from the Ural-Mountains into the Volga.