 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
DEDICATION: TO THE SAINTED SPIRIT OF JOHN BUNYAN.
O Teller of the Fairy Tale Divine,
How bright a dream was thine,—
Wherein God's City shining as a star
Gleam'd silently from far
O'er haunted wastes, where Pilgrims pale as death
Toil'd slow, with bated breath!
How bright a dream was thine,—
Wherein God's City shining as a star
Gleam'd silently from far
O'er haunted wastes, where Pilgrims pale as death
Toil'd slow, with bated breath!
Like children at thy knees we gather'd all,
Man, maiden, great and small;
Tho' death was nigh and snow was on our hair,
Yet still we gather'd there,
Feeling upon our cheeks blow sweet and bland
A breath from Fairyland!
Man, maiden, great and small;
Tho' death was nigh and snow was on our hair,
Yet still we gather'd there,
Feeling upon our cheeks blow sweet and bland
A breath from Fairyland!
The sunless Book, held ever on thy knee,
Grew magical thro' thee;
Touch'd by thy wand the fountain of our fear
Sprang bright and crystal clear;
Thy right hand held a lily flower most fair,
And holly deck'd thy hair.
Grew magical thro' thee;
Touch'd by thy wand the fountain of our fear
Sprang bright and crystal clear;
Thy right hand held a lily flower most fair,
And holly deck'd thy hair.
Of Giants and of Monsters thou didst tell,
Fiends, and the Pit of Hell;
Of Angels that like swallows manifold
Fly round God's eaves of gold;
Of God Himself, the Spirit those adore,
Throned in the City's core!
Fiends, and the Pit of Hell;
Of Angels that like swallows manifold
Fly round God's eaves of gold;
Of God Himself, the Spirit those adore,
Throned in the City's core!
O fairy Tale Divine! O gentle quest
Of Christian and the rest!
What wonder if we love it to the last,
Tho' childish faith be past,
What marvel if it changes not, but seems
The pleasantest of dreams?
Of Christian and the rest!
What wonder if we love it to the last,
Tho' childish faith be past,
What marvel if it changes not, but seems
The pleasantest of dreams?
Far other paths we follow—colder creeds
Answer our spirits' needs—
The gentle dream is done;—'neath life's sad shades,
The fabled City fades:—
The God within it, shooting from his throne,
Falls, like a meteor stone!
Answer our spirits' needs—
The gentle dream is done;—'neath life's sad shades,
The fabled City fades:—
The God within it, shooting from his throne,
Falls, like a meteor stone!
So much is lost, yet still we mortals sad
Despair not or grow mad,
But still search on, in hope to find full blest
The City of our quest;—
New guides to lead; below, new lights of love,
And grander Gods, above.
Despair not or grow mad,
But still search on, in hope to find full blest
The City of our quest;—
New guides to lead; below, new lights of love,
And grander Gods, above.
And while of this strange latter quest I sing,
First to thy skirts I cling
Like to a child, and in thy face I look
As in a gentle book,
And all thy happy lore and fancies wise
I gather from thine eyes.
First to thy skirts I cling
Like to a child, and in thy face I look
As in a gentle book,
And all thy happy lore and fancies wise
I gather from thine eyes.
Tho' that first faith in Fairyland hath fled,
Its glory is not dead;
And tho' the lesser truth exists no more,
Yet in thy sweet Tale's core
The higher truth of poesy divine
For evermore shall shine.
Its glory is not dead;
And tho' the lesser truth exists no more,
Yet in thy sweet Tale's core
The higher truth of poesy divine
For evermore shall shine.
There dwells within all creeds of mortal birth,
That die and fall to earth,
A higher element, a spark most bright
Of primal truth and light;—
No creed is wholly false, old creed or new,
Since none is wholly true.
That die and fall to earth,
A higher element, a spark most bright
Of primal truth and light;—
No creed is wholly false, old creed or new,
Since none is wholly true.
Wherefore we Pilgrims bless thee as we go
With feeble feet and slow;
Light of forgotten Fairyland still lies
Upon our cheeks and eyes;
And somewhere in the starry waste doth gleam
The City of our Dream!
With feeble feet and slow;
Light of forgotten Fairyland still lies
Upon our cheeks and eyes;
And somewhere in the starry waste doth gleam
The City of our Dream!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |