 | East and west : the discovery of America and other poems |  |
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SECOND MOVEMENT. Dreams.
O pearly themes that flutter like beams of the moons,
O languid dreams that swoon in the arms of the noons,
Like perfumes of blossoms that toss on the roses of bosoms,
Like spice-winds that pillow their sighs in the tresses of willow!
Like a passionate prayer from the lips, like a star from eclipse
Roll into the peace of the soul as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green lotus leaves to the flame of the budding tips!
As their ruby hearts unfold to the warm noon gold,
Shell within shell unrolled, like a secret told
By a virgin bride without fear in a lover's ear;—
So, themes of his delicate dreams, expand in gleams
Of glorified visions that twine as a garland of vine;
Thought that shall leap from a thought as flame from a name,
Rays that are written on Time as a blaze that came,
As a blinding blast that shot from the womb of the past,
And pierced like a peerless star through the future far;—
Death in the bloom, like a child that shall dance on a tomb;—
Faith that hath kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
O languid dreams that swoon in the arms of the noons,
Like perfumes of blossoms that toss on the roses of bosoms,
Like spice-winds that pillow their sighs in the tresses of willow!
Like a passionate prayer from the lips, like a star from eclipse
Roll into the peace of the soul as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green lotus leaves to the flame of the budding tips!
As their ruby hearts unfold to the warm noon gold,
Shell within shell unrolled, like a secret told
By a virgin bride without fear in a lover's ear;—
So, themes of his delicate dreams, expand in gleams
Of glorified visions that twine as a garland of vine;
Thought that shall leap from a thought as flame from a name,
Rays that are written on Time as a blaze that came,
As a blinding blast that shot from the womb of the past,
And pierced like a peerless star through the future far;—
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Faith that hath kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
But see, he hath plunged in its sphere
As a joyful boy in the cool green floods of a mere.
His soul is light as the wings of a dragon-fly
That leisurely dances by.
As a joyful boy in the cool green floods of a mere.
His soul is light as the wings of a dragon-fly
That leisurely dances by.
He stands by the dark gray gates of a city now;
And over the wreath of smoke that fringes the brow
Where castles cling like an oak to the crumbling crag,
Mid rumble of distant drums and the thunder of guns
He marks with a breathless hope where the sudden lightning runs
Of a Christian flag;—
Flag that hath leaped from its faith, as a flame from a name.
O imperial name that is written in deathless flame!
And over the wreath of smoke that fringes the brow
Where castles cling like an oak to the crumbling crag,
Mid rumble of distant drums and the thunder of guns
He marks with a breathless hope where the sudden lightning runs
Of a Christian flag;—
Flag that hath leaped from its faith, as a flame from a name.
O imperial name that is written in deathless flame!
Hark, 't is the drums! and a dark line comes
With a trumpet peal o'er a wave of steel;
Where the heroes march in a wide blue arch,
And the chargers prance in a stately dance.
Each knight sits light with his thin steel lance
Mid banners in lanes of the ribboned manes;
And strict in time to the martial chime
A loud hymn reigns o'er the proud glad plains.
“I see afar the blaze of the jewelled tents
In circling zones,
And in the midst twin thrones
Like new-born stars on the startled firmaments.”
With a trumpet peal o'er a wave of steel;
Where the heroes march in a wide blue arch,
And the chargers prance in a stately dance.
Each knight sits light with his thin steel lance
Mid banners in lanes of the ribboned manes;
And strict in time to the martial chime
A loud hymn reigns o'er the proud glad plains.
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In circling zones,
And in the midst twin thrones
Like new-born stars on the startled firmaments.”
Hark to the fife, like a thin keen knife
That cuts steel ranks on the Genil's banks
For a queen set light on a charger white.
In a deep black band the turbaned stand,
And bow to the sweep of her lifted hand;
While the stern chiefs come like Titans dumb
To the low sad tap of the Moorish drum,
That her glove may seize on the world's gold keys.
That cuts steel ranks on the Genil's banks
For a queen set light on a charger white.
In a deep black band the turbaned stand,
And bow to the sweep of her lifted hand;
While the stern chiefs come like Titans dumb
To the low sad tap of the Moorish drum,
That her glove may seize on the world's gold keys.
“In this vast camp of Spain
Where plumes of knights are tossing like a crested main,
And coronets of swords shall leap with diamond tip,
And forests of bowed heads shall dip
At curse or smile on royal Isabella's lip,
I come to grasp the silken tangles of the rein.
Ah, not in vain
These years of cold disdain!
I would have choked my pride.
For one sweet smile I would have crouched and died.
But now all glorified
She reigns the mistress of the universes wide;
And I shall kneel, and cry:—
‘O gracious lady who hast bid me die,
The Lord divine
Now consecrates me for His own and thine.’
Where plumes of knights are tossing like a crested main,
And coronets of swords shall leap with diamond tip,
And forests of bowed heads shall dip
At curse or smile on royal Isabella's lip,
I come to grasp the silken tangles of the rein.
Ah, not in vain
These years of cold disdain!
I would have choked my pride.
For one sweet smile I would have crouched and died.
But now all glorified
She reigns the mistress of the universes wide;
And I shall kneel, and cry:—
‘O gracious lady who hast bid me die,
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Now consecrates me for His own and thine.’
“Still cold and dumb?
I hear the heart-beat of a muffled drum,
The wailing of a dirge for heroes dead.
And dust is on my head!
I hear the heart-beat of a muffled drum,
The wailing of a dirge for heroes dead.
And dust is on my head!
“O blinding blast from the open tomb of the past!
Would that again I could rest on my mother's breast!
Would I could lie where the strife of these years should die,
And innocent kneel in the spells of the village bells!
Would that again I could rest on my mother's breast!
Would I could lie where the strife of these years should die,
And innocent kneel in the spells of the village bells!
“And yet I knew; and yet I dimly guessed
When as a guileless boy
I climbed the steep Ligurian cliffs in lusty joy,
And gazed far off upon the dimpled breast
Of blue-eyed seas that slumbered in the West.
For was I not compelled
As by a great hand held
To gaze, and gaze, and gaze
Through tender brooding miles of purple haze,
Till soft-winged isles
Seemed lifting orange bosoms to the sun's last smiles,
And my light will, a feather free,
Was blown like a trembling bird far out to sea
By storm-winds, Alpine-brewed, of passionate prophecy?
When as a guileless boy
I climbed the steep Ligurian cliffs in lusty joy,
And gazed far off upon the dimpled breast
Of blue-eyed seas that slumbered in the West.
For was I not compelled
As by a great hand held
To gaze, and gaze, and gaze
Through tender brooding miles of purple haze,
Till soft-winged isles
Seemed lifting orange bosoms to the sun's last smiles,
And my light will, a feather free,
Was blown like a trembling bird far out to sea
By storm-winds, Alpine-brewed, of passionate prophecy?
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“When calling to the straying goats
That scrape and browse
Where silver-coated olive groves in sunshine drowse,
Or climb in bleating flocks
For verdant vales that smile among the splintered rocks,
I heard strange notes
Whispered in siren tones from distant dancing boats.
At first in fear I hid.
Then, as in trance, not knowing what I did,
I snatched the iron cross from my panting breast;
That cross my mother hung
To keep me ever innocent and young.
It clung to me as if it were a hand that tenderly caressed.
But with one parting, burning kiss
I stood, and flung it to the ether's vast abyss.
Far down I marked it like a circling flame
Sink sunlike in the wave.
‘O God!’ I cried, ‘whose sweet torn martyred frame
Thy Virgin Mother gave
The fierce relentless worlds to pacify and save,
I'll follow Thee,
Thou Master who canst walk upon the sea!
Whether from pole to pole
Thou lead'st my consecrated soul;
Be it to jungle heats of tropic noons that tell
Of the despair of hell,
Or to the caps of Hyperborean ice
That crush a starving world in hardening crests of vice,
Or where vast silent lands like unexpected grace
May glorify the timid ocean's face,
Be it for gain or loss,
I'll follow thee
Into that unknown sea,
My Cross!’
That scrape and browse
Where silver-coated olive groves in sunshine drowse,
Or climb in bleating flocks
For verdant vales that smile among the splintered rocks,
I heard strange notes
Whispered in siren tones from distant dancing boats.
At first in fear I hid.
Then, as in trance, not knowing what I did,
I snatched the iron cross from my panting breast;
That cross my mother hung
To keep me ever innocent and young.
It clung to me as if it were a hand that tenderly caressed.
But with one parting, burning kiss
I stood, and flung it to the ether's vast abyss.
Far down I marked it like a circling flame
Sink sunlike in the wave.
‘O God!’ I cried, ‘whose sweet torn martyred frame
Thy Virgin Mother gave
The fierce relentless worlds to pacify and save,
I'll follow Thee,
Thou Master who canst walk upon the sea!
Whether from pole to pole
Thou lead'st my consecrated soul;
Be it to jungle heats of tropic noons that tell
Of the despair of hell,
Or to the caps of Hyperborean ice
That crush a starving world in hardening crests of vice,
Or where vast silent lands like unexpected grace
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Be it for gain or loss,
I'll follow thee
Into that unknown sea,
My Cross!’
“Ah, then I felt
A darkness like a belt
Drawn close around me as in ecstasy I knelt.
And a slow disappointing chill
Like torture crept to the heart of my yearning will.
And then I knew, as now,
That I must die as Thou
On crumbling naked plains
Outside the city walls where ignorance reigns;
Alone, misunderstood, despised, condemned, in chains.”
A darkness like a belt
Drawn close around me as in ecstasy I knelt.
And a slow disappointing chill
Like torture crept to the heart of my yearning will.
And then I knew, as now,
That I must die as Thou
On crumbling naked plains
Outside the city walls where ignorance reigns;
Alone, misunderstood, despised, condemned, in chains.”
Death in new bloom, like a child that shall dance on a tomb!
Ah, cross of my doom, let me die with my Lord in the gloom!
Yet, Faith, thou hast kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
O, fall like a peerless star that is clear to the last!
[OMITTED]
“But now for the daring of deeds!—Where these desolate piles
Of rat-haunted, moss-planted wharves are complaining for miles;
Where the blanched and decrepit old salt like a ghost lingers still
With his tales of the glory of eld, till he pales at his story of ill;
Where the mighty façades of old Genoa painted like skies
Are but trappings that deck a dead bride on the strand where she lies;—
I can view like a seer, I can feel as a soul with new senses
The East beating in as a spice-laden breeze that condenses,
Where the forests of masts bear the fruit of the opulent marts,
And ships are like girls at a fair, and the world all ablaze with her arts,
And the scar-smitten men are like Argonauts newly returned
With the foam of the sea on their lips, and the blood in their veins as it burned.—
But visages turbaned and dark, and scimetars curved like a moon
Have swept with their Turcoman wrack as a storm on a hidden lagoon.
And the heroes and ships are no more; and the story of yore
Is heard in the streets like the echo of surf on a shore.
Ah, cross of my doom, let me die with my Lord in the gloom!
Yet, Faith, thou hast kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
O, fall like a peerless star that is clear to the last!
[OMITTED]
“But now for the daring of deeds!—Where these desolate piles
Of rat-haunted, moss-planted wharves are complaining for miles;
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With his tales of the glory of eld, till he pales at his story of ill;
Where the mighty façades of old Genoa painted like skies
Are but trappings that deck a dead bride on the strand where she lies;—
I can view like a seer, I can feel as a soul with new senses
The East beating in as a spice-laden breeze that condenses,
Where the forests of masts bear the fruit of the opulent marts,
And ships are like girls at a fair, and the world all ablaze with her arts,
And the scar-smitten men are like Argonauts newly returned
With the foam of the sea on their lips, and the blood in their veins as it burned.—
But visages turbaned and dark, and scimetars curved like a moon
Have swept with their Turcoman wrack as a storm on a hidden lagoon.
And the heroes and ships are no more; and the story of yore
Is heard in the streets like the echo of surf on a shore.
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“But, my Lord!
O my drowning, my crucified Lord!
That this torrent of devils abhorred
Should dishonor the shrine of Thy grave!
What is gold, what is art, what is fame
In the curse of this shame to Thy name?
With Thy summons to save
I could rush through the world like a breath of avenging flame;
I would dare the vile monsters of seas where a ship never strayed;
I would carve me a way through the void with my blood on my blade
In the stress of that blesséd crusade!
O my drowning, my crucified Lord!
That this torrent of devils abhorred
Should dishonor the shrine of Thy grave!
What is gold, what is art, what is fame
In the curse of this shame to Thy name?
With Thy summons to save
I could rush through the world like a breath of avenging flame;
I would dare the vile monsters of seas where a ship never strayed;
I would carve me a way through the void with my blood on my blade
In the stress of that blesséd crusade!
“But, behold!
There is need of the gold
To bid for the charter of kings, and to mellow the hearts of the cold.—
Through the sea! Through the paths of the sea!—
And hath He not beckoned me on to a mission untold?—
Through the sea to the West!—Can it be?—
Through the West to the East!—O my God, through the darkness to Thee!
Where the roofs are ablaze with the wealth Thou hast stored for my fee!
Where even the Khan in his tents shall hail me with bend of the knee!
And the rays of the midnight sun behold like a pageant unrolled
Where the curtains of time are upfurled o'er the stage of a unified world!
There is need of the gold
To bid for the charter of kings, and to mellow the hearts of the cold.—
Through the sea! Through the paths of the sea!—
And hath He not beckoned me on to a mission untold?—
Through the sea to the West!—Can it be?—
Through the West to the East!—O my God, through the darkness to Thee!
Where the roofs are ablaze with the wealth Thou hast stored for my fee!
Where even the Khan in his tents shall hail me with bend of the knee!
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Where the curtains of time are upfurled o'er the stage of a unified world!
“O themes of my passionate dreams, expand in the gleams
Of these glorified visions that whirl like a cloud in a pearl,
Where thought follows thought as a flame that shall swirl from a flame,
As a prophecy written on time, as a burning star for an aim,
Thy Star of the East that hath shot from the tomb of the past,
And pierced like a lance through the bar of the ocean far,
And sent me my faith like a star in the dome of the future vast!—
[OMITTED]
“O, but how slow is time! How cold, how slow
My white-haired tides of effort ebb and flow!
How like a baffled mist I flutter to and fro!
With restless questionings
I chase the mocking phantoms of my kings.
With straining eye
I trace on endless maps the outlines of my misery.
What gain to me
To follow hollow-eyed the shifting contour of the sea?—
Not to the South
Where foam the heated tides from Niger's mouth
I 'd steer these foolish ships.—
My needle dips
Forever to the West where fancy slips
Down endless planetary slopes,
And in the bitter sea of disappointment gropes
The wreckage of my hopes.
Of these glorified visions that whirl like a cloud in a pearl,
Where thought follows thought as a flame that shall swirl from a flame,
As a prophecy written on time, as a burning star for an aim,
Thy Star of the East that hath shot from the tomb of the past,
And pierced like a lance through the bar of the ocean far,
And sent me my faith like a star in the dome of the future vast!—
[OMITTED]
“O, but how slow is time! How cold, how slow
My white-haired tides of effort ebb and flow!
How like a baffled mist I flutter to and fro!
With restless questionings
I chase the mocking phantoms of my kings.
With straining eye
I trace on endless maps the outlines of my misery.
What gain to me
To follow hollow-eyed the shifting contour of the sea?—
Not to the South
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I 'd steer these foolish ships.—
My needle dips
Forever to the West where fancy slips
Down endless planetary slopes,
And in the bitter sea of disappointment gropes
The wreckage of my hopes.
“Yet once, when near the pole,
A strange aurora stole
Over the frosty darkness of my soul.
On Thule's strands
Where Hekla like a priestess lifts gray hands
Out of the crystal tent in which she stands,
A wondrous thing
I heard a poet sing
Of islands in the West where blooms perpetual Spring,
Where suns at midnight shine
O'er vales of golden vine,
And gods and heroes press the nectar of their wine.—
O for that liquid gold!—
But now the juicy body of my will grows old.
The vines and veins of hope run deathly cold.
I think the evening bell of my lost faith hath tolled.
A strange aurora stole
Over the frosty darkness of my soul.
On Thule's strands
Where Hekla like a priestess lifts gray hands
Out of the crystal tent in which she stands,
A wondrous thing
I heard a poet sing
Of islands in the West where blooms perpetual Spring,
Where suns at midnight shine
O'er vales of golden vine,
And gods and heroes press the nectar of their wine.—
O for that liquid gold!—
But now the juicy body of my will grows old.
The vines and veins of hope run deathly cold.
I think the evening bell of my lost faith hath tolled.
“Ah, toll, sweet bell!
Toll, toll
Forever as a balm to some excruciated soul;
Sweet bell, whose surges swell
Like dancing lights upon the waters of a stagnant dell,
Like visions of a saint in penitential cell!
Toll
Well
Where surges roll
In a dirge's knell!
Read as a creed from a scroll
The secrets thy sobbings tell!
Roll
To the uttermost steadfast pole
Of a Christian martyr's goal!
Swell
As the cold white mornings stole,
As the shivering sunlight fell
When the Christ was vainly mocked by the litanies of hell!
Bell
Toll,
Swell,
Roll,
It is well
For the soul!
Now high to the roof fling the spears of thy leaping spell!
Now low at the base of the tomb lay the fears and the years of our dole!—
“But, fierce as a river that scoffs at the bondage of chains,
And proud as the ghost of a cloud that rides over the plains,
I mock at thee, bells; at the shock of your insolent yells.
I crave no relief. Let me quaff to the full of my grief!
Let me clasp her and kiss her, my sorrow, and laugh at her sting!
Like a knife let her cut to my life! Let my parted lips cling
To the darling keen edge of the sword of Despair, and be wrapped in her hair!—
Toll, toll
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Sweet bell, whose surges swell
Like dancing lights upon the waters of a stagnant dell,
Like visions of a saint in penitential cell!
Toll
Well
Where surges roll
In a dirge's knell!
Read as a creed from a scroll
The secrets thy sobbings tell!
Roll
To the uttermost steadfast pole
Of a Christian martyr's goal!
Swell
As the cold white mornings stole,
As the shivering sunlight fell
When the Christ was vainly mocked by the litanies of hell!
Bell
Toll,
Swell,
Roll,
It is well
For the soul!
Now high to the roof fling the spears of thy leaping spell!
Now low at the base of the tomb lay the fears and the years of our dole!—
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And proud as the ghost of a cloud that rides over the plains,
I mock at thee, bells; at the shock of your insolent yells.
I crave no relief. Let me quaff to the full of my grief!
Let me clasp her and kiss her, my sorrow, and laugh at her sting!
Like a knife let her cut to my life! Let my parted lips cling
To the darling keen edge of the sword of Despair, and be wrapped in her hair!—
“O bell, like a passionate prayer, like a star from eclipse,
Like the dancing of lights in the misty white marsh of a dell,
Toll, toll, sweet bell, and roll
O'er the peace of the world, as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green leaves to the blood of these foaming lips!
Read as a screed from a scroll
The secrets thy throbbings tell,
Like a sobbing saint in his cell;
Shell within shell inrolled, like a sin untold
By a penitent maid in the fear of a master's ear!—
Lips for the knife, though it cut to the heart of my life!—
Faith that hath kissed the sweet strife like the tears of a star through the mist!
“O Faith! Faith! Faith! O thou soul which art freed from a wrath!
Though the body lie cold, and the bells of thy dirge be tolled,
Upspringing, outwinging, with a joy like a skylark singing;
Spurning the mourning, the scourge of calamity scorning,
Hearing but wedding-bells ringing, and burning with light of the morning,
Breathing sweet perfumes of blossoms that cross on the meekness of bosoms,
Proud as the prance of a steed that rides over a cloud!
I cling like a waif of the sea to the skirt of thy shroud,
Like a sailor a-sea in the surf to a rock that is browed
By the sad white smile of a dove as she flies to her love;—
Like a dove as she flies to the breast of her God in the skies;
Like a love as it lies in the depths of two beautiful eyes:—
To my Faith let me rise! Let me leap to the star of my prize!—
On this altar of light where the tapers are burning all night,
And the pillars of shades lie about in the dark colonnades,
Where the sense with sweet savor is dim, and the silence lies pure like a hymn,
I shall vow to Thee, bountiful Christ, like a prince of the blood I shall shower
The wealth of the world on Thy tomb, and the bloom of my strength for Thy dower!
Like the dancing of lights in the misty white marsh of a dell,
Toll, toll, sweet bell, and roll
O'er the peace of the world, as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green leaves to the blood of these foaming lips!
Read as a screed from a scroll
The secrets thy throbbings tell,
Like a sobbing saint in his cell;
Shell within shell inrolled, like a sin untold
By a penitent maid in the fear of a master's ear!—
Lips for the knife, though it cut to the heart of my life!—
Faith that hath kissed the sweet strife like the tears of a star through the mist!
163
Though the body lie cold, and the bells of thy dirge be tolled,
Upspringing, outwinging, with a joy like a skylark singing;
Spurning the mourning, the scourge of calamity scorning,
Hearing but wedding-bells ringing, and burning with light of the morning,
Breathing sweet perfumes of blossoms that cross on the meekness of bosoms,
Proud as the prance of a steed that rides over a cloud!
I cling like a waif of the sea to the skirt of thy shroud,
Like a sailor a-sea in the surf to a rock that is browed
By the sad white smile of a dove as she flies to her love;—
Like a dove as she flies to the breast of her God in the skies;
Like a love as it lies in the depths of two beautiful eyes:—
To my Faith let me rise! Let me leap to the star of my prize!—
On this altar of light where the tapers are burning all night,
And the pillars of shades lie about in the dark colonnades,
Where the sense with sweet savor is dim, and the silence lies pure like a hymn,
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The wealth of the world on Thy tomb, and the bloom of my strength for Thy dower!
“O Faith, my soul is swept in thy whirling clasp,
And twined with the spiral flame of a distant bell
Into some vast new plane of pure white thought. I grasp
Earth's crystal secrets, crowns of thorns in many a martyr's cell.
And naked facts, like startled souls at the trump of doom,
Leaving their body of tangled lies in the tomb,
Gaze at me earnestly face to face
In this far cool focus of space.
Suns turn, and spurn, and burn
Like sacred jewels each set in a silver urn.
Stars whirl and swirl
In their pathway of diamond-powdered pearl;
Each planet lifting her dainty aural robes
From the trailing dust of the globes
With the swift wide-skirted swing of a joyful dancing girl.
Across blue oceans of Nothing
Currents of pale magnetic rivers are seething and frothing;
Thought, like a soul-spun gauze
Of cometary laws,
Weaving eternal bands,
As the flush on the cheek of the cold North maid expands,
Without hurry or pause.
And cool, and far,
And still,
Seated like Fate in a fixed gold car,
Somewhere in the nebulous wake of the polar star,
With His little finger that pulls as a primal will
God sweeps the orderly skeins
Of the cobweb reins
That hold the worlds in the netted leash of inexorable chains;—
And every wingéd mote like a needle speeds to those silent lanes.
And twined with the spiral flame of a distant bell
Into some vast new plane of pure white thought. I grasp
Earth's crystal secrets, crowns of thorns in many a martyr's cell.
And naked facts, like startled souls at the trump of doom,
Leaving their body of tangled lies in the tomb,
Gaze at me earnestly face to face
In this far cool focus of space.
Suns turn, and spurn, and burn
Like sacred jewels each set in a silver urn.
Stars whirl and swirl
In their pathway of diamond-powdered pearl;
Each planet lifting her dainty aural robes
From the trailing dust of the globes
With the swift wide-skirted swing of a joyful dancing girl.
Across blue oceans of Nothing
Currents of pale magnetic rivers are seething and frothing;
Thought, like a soul-spun gauze
Of cometary laws,
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As the flush on the cheek of the cold North maid expands,
Without hurry or pause.
And cool, and far,
And still,
Seated like Fate in a fixed gold car,
Somewhere in the nebulous wake of the polar star,
With His little finger that pulls as a primal will
God sweeps the orderly skeins
Of the cobweb reins
That hold the worlds in the netted leash of inexorable chains;—
And every wingéd mote like a needle speeds to those silent lanes.
“And Earth,
Dear, sweet, round, hornéd cup of the waxing Earth,
Blessed as the focal choice of the Christ for birth,
An open book thou art spread;
Each deed of thine a potent prophecy writ large in red;
Each second a seed of infinite fruit or weed that shall spread and spread;
Each soul a trickling dainty theme self-sung on a timid reed,
Until the heart-burst of its melody is freed
Into the wild chromatic rush of a symphony overhead!
And thou, dark slippery slope of a sea unstable
That would, if it could, obliterate
The encausted record-stroke of Fate;
Thou foolish flirt, whom the strong true core of this ball holds firm
To the bed of an endless hymeneal term,
The numbered arcs of thy bond are graven as if on a silver table!
Dear, sweet, round, hornéd cup of the waxing Earth,
Blessed as the focal choice of the Christ for birth,
An open book thou art spread;
Each deed of thine a potent prophecy writ large in red;
Each second a seed of infinite fruit or weed that shall spread and spread;
Each soul a trickling dainty theme self-sung on a timid reed,
Until the heart-burst of its melody is freed
Into the wild chromatic rush of a symphony overhead!
And thou, dark slippery slope of a sea unstable
That would, if it could, obliterate
The encausted record-stroke of Fate;
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To the bed of an endless hymeneal term,
The numbered arcs of thy bond are graven as if on a silver table!
“O Christ, how every dotted island teems
With the potent agonizing bliss of Thy dying dreams!
All far-blown faces, and races, and spaces
Are merged like drops in the omnipresent sea of Thy luminous graces:—
Dwarfed Ethiopians who dare the furnace of sand-choked wind,
And dark soft-spoken ruby-merchants from the templed rivers of Ind,
And moon-bosomed languid Arabian girls that sigh for a kiss as they play
In broken notes like a sob on the zither at close of day,
And yellow fur-clad gentlemen that hawk with the tented Khan,
Or in fish-scale armor covetous scan
The blue of the rifted sea that hides the gold-towered roofs of Japan;—
All these,
And as many more as the shrunken earth may please,
Thine anointed Admiral shall seize,
And lead to the tomb-throned capital of Thy Monarchy of Man!
“O pray, pray, pray,
Thou sobbing cathedral bell with thy tones of earth's sombre gray,
Now shot with the throbbing of bursting stars, now dark with the doom of dismay!
I kneel in the gloom of the flickering wax, and the saints on the altars sway;
And the shadows creep with the promise of sleep.—But thy clarion cries ‘Away!’
I leap to my feet with a sword in thy beat; and the cold white kiss of the day
Slips in through a door like a ghost on the floor.—The friars are coming to pray.
O pray, pray, pray,
Dear peaceful golden souls enwrapped in the hood of earth's sombre gray,
Whose tidal dreams of bridal themes breathe love in a fleshless ray!
My passion blends with God's pure ends,
Where prayer like a folded air ascends.
With the potent agonizing bliss of Thy dying dreams!
All far-blown faces, and races, and spaces
Are merged like drops in the omnipresent sea of Thy luminous graces:—
Dwarfed Ethiopians who dare the furnace of sand-choked wind,
And dark soft-spoken ruby-merchants from the templed rivers of Ind,
And moon-bosomed languid Arabian girls that sigh for a kiss as they play
In broken notes like a sob on the zither at close of day,
And yellow fur-clad gentlemen that hawk with the tented Khan,
Or in fish-scale armor covetous scan
The blue of the rifted sea that hides the gold-towered roofs of Japan;—
All these,
And as many more as the shrunken earth may please,
Thine anointed Admiral shall seize,
And lead to the tomb-throned capital of Thy Monarchy of Man!
167
Thou sobbing cathedral bell with thy tones of earth's sombre gray,
Now shot with the throbbing of bursting stars, now dark with the doom of dismay!
I kneel in the gloom of the flickering wax, and the saints on the altars sway;
And the shadows creep with the promise of sleep.—But thy clarion cries ‘Away!’
I leap to my feet with a sword in thy beat; and the cold white kiss of the day
Slips in through a door like a ghost on the floor.—The friars are coming to pray.
O pray, pray, pray,
Dear peaceful golden souls enwrapped in the hood of earth's sombre gray,
Whose tidal dreams of bridal themes breathe love in a fleshless ray!
My passion blends with God's pure ends,
Where prayer like a folded air ascends.
“Peace, infinite, deep,
Lies in the arms of Resignation, like a babe asleep.
'T is not these earthly prayers alone.
I hear sweet choirs who hymn pure bliss at the foot of the throne.”
O glorious themes of their faith like the crimson of lotus blossoms!
O pure white petals of folded hands on the crystal mirrors of bosoms!
O priceless pearls from their lips! O flames from their finger-tips!
Roll over the face of his soul as a diamond tear-drop slips:—
Prayer within prayer unrolled, as the word God told
Of eternal love in the dear sweet shell of the Virgin's ear!
Roll into the peace of the world, as the soft gray dawn that stole
Round the crucified Saviour's head, and sang as an Easter aureole,
When the faces of angels came, and smiled, and kissed the pang from His soul!
Lies in the arms of Resignation, like a babe asleep.
'T is not these earthly prayers alone.
I hear sweet choirs who hymn pure bliss at the foot of the throne.”
168
O pure white petals of folded hands on the crystal mirrors of bosoms!
O priceless pearls from their lips! O flames from their finger-tips!
Roll over the face of his soul as a diamond tear-drop slips:—
Prayer within prayer unrolled, as the word God told
Of eternal love in the dear sweet shell of the Virgin's ear!
Roll into the peace of the world, as the soft gray dawn that stole
Round the crucified Saviour's head, and sang as an Easter aureole,
When the faces of angels came, and smiled, and kissed the pang from His soul!
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