 | Prothanasia: and other poems |  |
51
PROTHANASIA.
[_]
The subject of this poem was suggested by the published correspondence of Bettine Brentano with Goethe and others. Several passages from one or two of her remarkable letters have been adopted, in a modified shape, in the second part of the poem: but, for the main portions of that part; for the entire first and third parts; and, consequently, for the general scope and tendency of the work, whatever they may be held to be; the author of the poem is alone responsible.
1. Part the First.
If rivers, between green and fragrant banks
Flowing, thro' scenes which are a paradise
Unto the vision of a soul at peace
With its own state and essence; and calm lakes;
And murmurous fountains, in recesses dim
Far in old forests, where ubiquious life
Inhabiteth, in small and myriad forms
Astir on every leaf—could, human-voiced,
Tell of the human wailings they have heard;
Tell of the human writhings they have seen;
Tell of the human sighs which with their music,
Tell of the human tears which with their waters,
Have mingled sorrowing; and the human life
That hath exhaled within them, and its clay
Left to their liquid keeping; there would sound
A never-ceasing utterance in the air,
Of mortal wo, and make the ear's fine sense
Even a perpetual torture to men's hearts!
Flowing, thro' scenes which are a paradise
Unto the vision of a soul at peace
With its own state and essence; and calm lakes;
And murmurous fountains, in recesses dim
Far in old forests, where ubiquious life
Inhabiteth, in small and myriad forms
Astir on every leaf—could, human-voiced,
Tell of the human wailings they have heard;
Tell of the human writhings they have seen;
Tell of the human sighs which with their music,
Tell of the human tears which with their waters,
Have mingled sorrowing; and the human life
That hath exhaled within them, and its clay
Left to their liquid keeping; there would sound
A never-ceasing utterance in the air,
Of mortal wo, and make the ear's fine sense
Even a perpetual torture to men's hearts!
To know the story of sweet Gunderode,
Is to know much of sadness, and that worm
Still at the core of things: to know it not,
Is to be ignorant of much of grace,
Sweetness and love; and thought as delicate
As the moist breaking of the springtime buds
At Frankfort, in the dwelling of a man
By men since crown'd with immortality,
If memory be immortal; in the midst
Of poets, painters, sculptors and musicians,
Statists, and unsurpass'd philosophers;
Sat, in her beauty and her innocence,
The lady Gunderode. As one in dreams,
Continuance of waking visions fed
From page of Greek or Roman fabulist,
On high Olympus feasteth with the gods;
So revell'd Gunderode amid the throng
Of those mind-deified men. Amongst them came,
Ere it was midnight, one with wine inspired
To pluck the rein from off his mettled talk,
And let it bound along that verge of thought
Which overbrows the dim sea of our dreams:
Young was he; with flush'd cheek and vision'd eye,
Whence look'd at once the eagle and the dove;
His hair o'ertress'd his shoulders; and he wore
A vestment such as clad great painters old,
Girdled and dagger-fasten'd. Artists, sages,
Sat silent as he spake; or were but heard
As flowing streams beside a torrent's fall:
And Gunderode grew pale and tearful-eyed;
And droop'd beneath his beating utterance—
As doth the casual flower upon a cliff
Under the dash of an advanced wave.
Is to know much of sadness, and that worm
Still at the core of things: to know it not,
Is to be ignorant of much of grace,
Sweetness and love; and thought as delicate
As the moist breaking of the springtime buds
52
By men since crown'd with immortality,
If memory be immortal; in the midst
Of poets, painters, sculptors and musicians,
Statists, and unsurpass'd philosophers;
Sat, in her beauty and her innocence,
The lady Gunderode. As one in dreams,
Continuance of waking visions fed
From page of Greek or Roman fabulist,
On high Olympus feasteth with the gods;
So revell'd Gunderode amid the throng
Of those mind-deified men. Amongst them came,
Ere it was midnight, one with wine inspired
To pluck the rein from off his mettled talk,
And let it bound along that verge of thought
Which overbrows the dim sea of our dreams:
Young was he; with flush'd cheek and vision'd eye,
Whence look'd at once the eagle and the dove;
His hair o'ertress'd his shoulders; and he wore
A vestment such as clad great painters old,
Girdled and dagger-fasten'd. Artists, sages,
Sat silent as he spake; or were but heard
As flowing streams beside a torrent's fall:
And Gunderode grew pale and tearful-eyed;
And droop'd beneath his beating utterance—
As doth the casual flower upon a cliff
Under the dash of an advanced wave.
“I could not,” 'mong a thousand wayward things,
Said the intense declaimer eloquent;
“Nor will I, when the ominous autumn-hour
“Plants its first stain upon the green of life,
“Bear the slow withering in agony,
“Down to the dust, of all this pride and grace
“Of form and fresh existence. Into death
“These eyes with all their sphered miracle,
“Orb within orb of lustre, nothing dimm'd;
“This brow unwrinkled, and these cheeks unfurrow'd
“By the flesh-graving hand of iron Time;
“These lips unblanch'd of their love-kindling blood;
“This flowing hair unstreak'd with sickly grey;
“And all this active fabric unimpair'd
“In vigor and in symmetry; shall depart,
“O' the sudden, from the towers of their perfection
“Into the depths of The Invisible;
“And their full glories vanish utterly—
“As at the breaking of a bubble do
“The hues that made it beautiful as heaven.
“And that fair frame of woman I may love
“Beyond the rest of God's developments
“Of that Idea whence Creation flow'd—
“Let her, if love from me be life to her,
“And a possession which she coveteth
“To bear impress'd upon her consciousness,
“At its recession to the Heart of Things;
“O, let her not be visible to sense
“When on her beauty comes the stain of years;
“But glitter from all sight as doth a dewdrop,
“Which now the eye sees on the eglantine,
“And momently inlidded, sees no more!”
Said the intense declaimer eloquent;
“Nor will I, when the ominous autumn-hour
“Plants its first stain upon the green of life,
“Bear the slow withering in agony,
“Down to the dust, of all this pride and grace
53
“These eyes with all their sphered miracle,
“Orb within orb of lustre, nothing dimm'd;
“This brow unwrinkled, and these cheeks unfurrow'd
“By the flesh-graving hand of iron Time;
“These lips unblanch'd of their love-kindling blood;
“This flowing hair unstreak'd with sickly grey;
“And all this active fabric unimpair'd
“In vigor and in symmetry; shall depart,
“O' the sudden, from the towers of their perfection
“Into the depths of The Invisible;
“And their full glories vanish utterly—
“As at the breaking of a bubble do
“The hues that made it beautiful as heaven.
“And that fair frame of woman I may love
“Beyond the rest of God's developments
“Of that Idea whence Creation flow'd—
“Let her, if love from me be life to her,
“And a possession which she coveteth
“To bear impress'd upon her consciousness,
“At its recession to the Heart of Things;
“O, let her not be visible to sense
“When on her beauty comes the stain of years;
“But glitter from all sight as doth a dewdrop,
“Which now the eye sees on the eglantine,
“And momently inlidded, sees no more!”
O, insolence of life-redundant youth!
O, folly of all thought one moment old!
O, vanity and danger of wild words!
This raver unadvised, this slave of impulse,
Died very wrinkled and exceeding grey,
On the last verge of man's extremest hour,
And smiling peacefully: but so it was not
With that pale listener, silent Gunderode.
The artists and the sages, at their heart-depths
Troubled with stirrings of mortality
By that disdainer of man's order'd doom,
Yet or philosophised or jested them,
Even in the speech-space of a greeting-word,
Out of the spiritual presence of their souls:
But Gunderode; whose gentle nature yearn'd,
With infinite veil'd seekings, toward him
Who spake thus idly; as he ceased, arose;
And, with a downcast melancholy air,
To none directing either word or look,
Past from that galaxy of starry minds
Unto her distant chamber; musing there,
Until the spirit of thought within her shrined
Became, like the insect of the lavender,
In a strange self-effusion dimm'd and hidden.
O, folly of all thought one moment old!
O, vanity and danger of wild words!
This raver unadvised, this slave of impulse,
Died very wrinkled and exceeding grey,
On the last verge of man's extremest hour,
And smiling peacefully: but so it was not
With that pale listener, silent Gunderode.
54
Troubled with stirrings of mortality
By that disdainer of man's order'd doom,
Yet or philosophised or jested them,
Even in the speech-space of a greeting-word,
Out of the spiritual presence of their souls:
But Gunderode; whose gentle nature yearn'd,
With infinite veil'd seekings, toward him
Who spake thus idly; as he ceased, arose;
And, with a downcast melancholy air,
To none directing either word or look,
Past from that galaxy of starry minds
Unto her distant chamber; musing there,
Until the spirit of thought within her shrined
Became, like the insect of the lavender,
In a strange self-effusion dimm'd and hidden.
2. Part the Second.
Of Gunderode Bettine was the friend;
The earnest-soul'd and vivid-hearted friend;
Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, mirth-faced and fairy-framed;
With a clear voice, that on the pleasured ear
Rippled a streamlike music; and a step
That kiss'd the ground as lightly as swift wing
Of swallow doth the meadow's placid lake,
Or insect-sever'd leaf its quiet grass.
The earnest-soul'd and vivid-hearted friend;
Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, mirth-faced and fairy-framed;
With a clear voice, that on the pleasured ear
Rippled a streamlike music; and a step
That kiss'd the ground as lightly as swift wing
Of swallow doth the meadow's placid lake,
Or insect-sever'd leaf its quiet grass.
Bettine's youth was yet i' the early bud
When first she knew the lady Gunderode,
Who then for two years had in Frankfort been
A convent's inmate; a lone canoness;
A timid creature, that was wont to tremble
But to ‘say grace’ aloud; and scarcely dared
Greet her prayer-mates with ‘Benedicite!’
Upon the ground her little chamber was;
With casement folding-door'd, that open'd out
Upon a quiet garden, full of flowers
And balmy shrubs and grass-embedded trees—
A miniature of Nature's loveliest scenes!
A silver poplar near the window grew;
And to its pale boughs would Bettine climb,
And from on high read heavenly poesy,
Toned ever to the hour and to the scene,
Unto the garden's tranced inhabitant;
Who sat, or stood, or paced the grass below;
One white hand hidden in her bright brown hair,
And brow down-bent; or glancing fearfully,
As the wind wanton'd where Bettine sat,
Up thro' the quivering poplar-leaves.
When first she knew the lady Gunderode,
Who then for two years had in Frankfort been
A convent's inmate; a lone canoness;
A timid creature, that was wont to tremble
55
Greet her prayer-mates with ‘Benedicite!’
Upon the ground her little chamber was;
With casement folding-door'd, that open'd out
Upon a quiet garden, full of flowers
And balmy shrubs and grass-embedded trees—
A miniature of Nature's loveliest scenes!
A silver poplar near the window grew;
And to its pale boughs would Bettine climb,
And from on high read heavenly poesy,
Toned ever to the hour and to the scene,
Unto the garden's tranced inhabitant;
Who sat, or stood, or paced the grass below;
One white hand hidden in her bright brown hair,
And brow down-bent; or glancing fearfully,
As the wind wanton'd where Bettine sat,
Up thro' the quivering poplar-leaves.
To read
Books with a clear and understanding soul
Bettine learn'd of thoughtful Gunderode;
And from the poesy her genius breathed
In worded music drew that subtle lore
Which teacheth how to call from every lifecloud
A lightning that strikes dead familiar things,
And how to revel in that spiritual wonder
Which teemeth from their ashes, incense-like.
“That temper of our souls in which we die
“Of our Eternity the incipient is!
“Much, much to learn; much with the intellect
“To clasp, and with a passion strong as love's,
“And deeper far and happier; and then, end—
“'Tis all I crave to do; for not an hour
“Would I exist the death's-head of my youth,
“My beauty's posthumous satire!—Ah, Bettine;
“The craving wretch who hungers for the Eternal
“Must seek it in the untracks of the grave!—
“So, let the Unseen Archer, from his hill
“Of awful cloud, select me speedily
“For his unerring arrow. My faint spirit
“Swoons in the blaze of things; and all my being
“Pines in the vacancy of some great want!”
In such wise talk'd soul-shadow'd Gunderode
Oft to her wondering friend; whose startled mind
Trembled with new sensation and new dreams,
Self-picturings strange and wild imaginings,
For ever, as she spake; and every text
Circled with commentation, which at once
Show'd ignorance of its meaning, and a knowledge
That lent it import deeper than itself;
Which still reflective Gunderode enwove
Into the mystic texture of her thoughts,
Calling it ‘revelation.’—This swift play
Of the mind's elemental subtleties
Was to the live blood in Bettine's veins
As that of tempest-airs to floating clouds—
Impelling them from north and south and west,
Until they choke the sunrise; and its tumult
All beat upon her heart, till nigh she drew,
In feverous sickness, to the brink of death.
Books with a clear and understanding soul
Bettine learn'd of thoughtful Gunderode;
And from the poesy her genius breathed
In worded music drew that subtle lore
Which teacheth how to call from every lifecloud
A lightning that strikes dead familiar things,
And how to revel in that spiritual wonder
Which teemeth from their ashes, incense-like.
“That temper of our souls in which we die
“Of our Eternity the incipient is!
“Much, much to learn; much with the intellect
“To clasp, and with a passion strong as love's,
“And deeper far and happier; and then, end—
“'Tis all I crave to do; for not an hour
“Would I exist the death's-head of my youth,
“My beauty's posthumous satire!—Ah, Bettine;
56
“Must seek it in the untracks of the grave!—
“So, let the Unseen Archer, from his hill
“Of awful cloud, select me speedily
“For his unerring arrow. My faint spirit
“Swoons in the blaze of things; and all my being
“Pines in the vacancy of some great want!”
In such wise talk'd soul-shadow'd Gunderode
Oft to her wondering friend; whose startled mind
Trembled with new sensation and new dreams,
Self-picturings strange and wild imaginings,
For ever, as she spake; and every text
Circled with commentation, which at once
Show'd ignorance of its meaning, and a knowledge
That lent it import deeper than itself;
Which still reflective Gunderode enwove
Into the mystic texture of her thoughts,
Calling it ‘revelation.’—This swift play
Of the mind's elemental subtleties
Was to the live blood in Bettine's veins
As that of tempest-airs to floating clouds—
Impelling them from north and south and west,
Until they choke the sunrise; and its tumult
All beat upon her heart, till nigh she drew,
In feverous sickness, to the brink of death.
New motive and more potent argument
For the fulfilment of her calm resolve
Drew Gunderode from the sick couch of Bettine:
And when, with health replenish'd in her limbs,
Blush'd on her cheeks and raying from her eyes,
And toning the voice-music of her lips,
The pupil sought again her academe,
She found its quick preceptress stirr'd and laughing,
And ready to let loose all eager thoughts
That press'd the barr'd gates of her utterance.
“The busy world,” she said, all mockingly;
“The idle world—most idle in its toil,
“And toiling in its happiest idleness!—
“The foolish world; the ignorant suicide,
“That kills itself with care, and knows it not!—
“And shuts from suicides its holy graves,
“And casts them to the highways and the woods,
“To be the fellow dead of helpless creatures
“Which, holding o'er their life no will-throned power,
“Must live, howe'er they suffer!—What, Bettine,
“Is this still ignorantly-censuring world
“To Gunderode?—I have been prating, Dear!
“With a young body-healer; one who deals
“With the grosser parts of man and woman-nature;
“Who bloods and physics; plucks frail teeth from the jaw,
“And yields the eye more after-pain, than present
“Unto the part bereaved; who delicately
“Cuts into human flesh, and human limbs
“Lops with a grace to shame a posture-master;
“Who over a gash'd human carcase revels,
“Gluttoning on knowledge anatomical;
“And, with hands buried near his brother's heart,
“Censures tired people who will kill themselves
“And load his learning with another book!
“And after an ablution, verily,
“Will come to me, the living counterpart
“Of that dire death-mass which still odors him,
“'Spite of pure water and sweet lavender,
“And angel me with epithets!—God! Bettine,
“They stagger me with wonder, do these men.
“I ask'd of this same death-drag, this deferrer—
“(Save on some odd occasions, when he hastens,
“By scientific accident, the plight
“He's palm-plied to prevent)—I ask'd, I say,
“Of this vain wrestler with a doom assured
“And puny putter-off of striding fate,
“Where sharp death, bodkin'd on a dagger's point,
“Could readiest be made inmate of the heart.
“He stared upon me with an ignorant eye,
“And told me—Even here!”—The canoness
Laid bare her beauteous bosom; and one finger
Placed o'er the fountain of its beating life,
And cried—“Here, here, Bettine!”
For the fulfilment of her calm resolve
Drew Gunderode from the sick couch of Bettine:
And when, with health replenish'd in her limbs,
Blush'd on her cheeks and raying from her eyes,
And toning the voice-music of her lips,
The pupil sought again her academe,
She found its quick preceptress stirr'd and laughing,
And ready to let loose all eager thoughts
57
“The busy world,” she said, all mockingly;
“The idle world—most idle in its toil,
“And toiling in its happiest idleness!—
“The foolish world; the ignorant suicide,
“That kills itself with care, and knows it not!—
“And shuts from suicides its holy graves,
“And casts them to the highways and the woods,
“To be the fellow dead of helpless creatures
“Which, holding o'er their life no will-throned power,
“Must live, howe'er they suffer!—What, Bettine,
“Is this still ignorantly-censuring world
“To Gunderode?—I have been prating, Dear!
“With a young body-healer; one who deals
“With the grosser parts of man and woman-nature;
“Who bloods and physics; plucks frail teeth from the jaw,
“And yields the eye more after-pain, than present
“Unto the part bereaved; who delicately
“Cuts into human flesh, and human limbs
“Lops with a grace to shame a posture-master;
“Who over a gash'd human carcase revels,
“Gluttoning on knowledge anatomical;
“And, with hands buried near his brother's heart,
“Censures tired people who will kill themselves
“And load his learning with another book!
“And after an ablution, verily,
“Will come to me, the living counterpart
“Of that dire death-mass which still odors him,
“'Spite of pure water and sweet lavender,
“And angel me with epithets!—God! Bettine,
“They stagger me with wonder, do these men.
“I ask'd of this same death-drag, this deferrer—
“(Save on some odd occasions, when he hastens,
“By scientific accident, the plight
58
“Of this vain wrestler with a doom assured
“And puny putter-off of striding fate,
“Where sharp death, bodkin'd on a dagger's point,
“Could readiest be made inmate of the heart.
“He stared upon me with an ignorant eye,
“And told me—Even here!”—The canoness
Laid bare her beauteous bosom; and one finger
Placed o'er the fountain of its beating life,
And cried—“Here, here, Bettine!”
Silent long,
And looking gently in each other's eyes,
Stood the death-parted friends; till sobb'd aloud,
And fell upon the neck of Gunderode,
Her passionate woman-love; implored and wept,
And press'd her lips, and kiss'd her throbbing breast
Beneath the orbed grace where she had learn'
To let the life out from the pained heart:
And pale, convulsed—even as two gleaming lilies,
That quail i' the wind together spectrally
Far in the faint light of the dying moon—
Thus sway'd they, folded in each other's arms.
And looking gently in each other's eyes,
Stood the death-parted friends; till sobb'd aloud,
And fell upon the neck of Gunderode,
Her passionate woman-love; implored and wept,
And press'd her lips, and kiss'd her throbbing breast
Beneath the orbed grace where she had learn'
To let the life out from the pained heart:
And pale, convulsed—even as two gleaming lilies,
That quail i' the wind together spectrally
Far in the faint light of the dying moon—
Thus sway'd they, folded in each other's arms.
Beside the casement—throng'd as unripe thoughts
I' the brain of poets, ere they color'd be,
And pregnant made, and teeming mightily,
By light and heat o' the passions; crowded thickly
As feelings new i' the heart of maidenhood,
Ere love comes open-eyed and tells it all—
Grew bunches of young grapes, beneath the verdure
Of an old vine. These tore Bettine off,
And dash'd them on the floor, and trampled them
Under her little feet, and cried aloud—
“Thus dost thou, Gunderode, tread on my heart,
“And the fruit crush that swells to ripeness there!”
The canoness bow'd down her graceful head,
And glanced aside; and paler and more pale
Grew momently: when, suddenly, a thought—
As a bright creature from the lowest deep
Of some transparent pool springs rapidly
And flashes a swift splendor into air—
Seem'd to leap wing'd from her profoundest soul
Up to her cheeks, there beaming gloriously
Awhile; then vanishing as it upsprang,
And leaving paleness paler for its coming.
And then she rose; and coldest of cold kisses
Upon Bettine's brow most icily
Imprinted; and a painful silence grew
Between them, till they parted: one in tears;
And one in calmness too self-wrought for tears.
I' the brain of poets, ere they color'd be,
And pregnant made, and teeming mightily,
By light and heat o' the passions; crowded thickly
As feelings new i' the heart of maidenhood,
Ere love comes open-eyed and tells it all—
Grew bunches of young grapes, beneath the verdure
Of an old vine. These tore Bettine off,
And dash'd them on the floor, and trampled them
Under her little feet, and cried aloud—
59
“And the fruit crush that swells to ripeness there!”
The canoness bow'd down her graceful head,
And glanced aside; and paler and more pale
Grew momently: when, suddenly, a thought—
As a bright creature from the lowest deep
Of some transparent pool springs rapidly
And flashes a swift splendor into air—
Seem'd to leap wing'd from her profoundest soul
Up to her cheeks, there beaming gloriously
Awhile; then vanishing as it upsprang,
And leaving paleness paler for its coming.
And then she rose; and coldest of cold kisses
Upon Bettine's brow most icily
Imprinted; and a painful silence grew
Between them, till they parted: one in tears;
And one in calmness too self-wrought for tears.
The air which by a dancer's winged heel,
Or flitting pinion of aroused bird,
Is sunder'd, closeth not again more quickly,
With softer motion, or less visible wound,
Than did the sorrow-cloven atmosphere
Of young Bettine's clear felicity:
And the next day she sought the priory,
With heart as fresh with joy as morn with dews;
And to the chamber of the canoness
Went, singing cheerily. A pale attendant
Stood weeping at the widely-open door:
“The lady Gunderode is gone,” she said,
“Unto the Rheingau; and I pray to God
“That Nature's quiet there may make her spirit
“Part of itself.”—Bettine could not speak:
The nightingale, lone-singing to the stars,
Leaves not such silence in the midnight woods
At each deep pausing of its melody,
As came upon her heart: a solitude,
A sense of desolation, and a fear.
Or flitting pinion of aroused bird,
Is sunder'd, closeth not again more quickly,
With softer motion, or less visible wound,
Than did the sorrow-cloven atmosphere
Of young Bettine's clear felicity:
And the next day she sought the priory,
With heart as fresh with joy as morn with dews;
And to the chamber of the canoness
Went, singing cheerily. A pale attendant
Stood weeping at the widely-open door:
“The lady Gunderode is gone,” she said,
“Unto the Rheingau; and I pray to God
“That Nature's quiet there may make her spirit
“Part of itself.”—Bettine could not speak:
The nightingale, lone-singing to the stars,
60
At each deep pausing of its melody,
As came upon her heart: a solitude,
A sense of desolation, and a fear.
3. Part the Third.
All Nature worshipp'd with divine Pantheism,
As morning o'er the Rheingau smiled, like love
On beauty it hath kiss'd to ecstasy:
The sky shone full of adoration deep
Of the fair river and its willowy banks;
Its bordering vineyards, where rich floods of wine
Slept in ten thousand fountains; and its flowers,
And trees, all vivid in their stainless green,
That kindled in the sunlight: and all these
Were beaming fond religion to the sky,
And to each other: and sweet hymns of birds,
And orisons of waters and of winds,
Spake praise and joy to all things and in all
That shared the bosom of the Universe!
As morning o'er the Rheingau smiled, like love
On beauty it hath kiss'd to ecstasy:
The sky shone full of adoration deep
Of the fair river and its willowy banks;
Its bordering vineyards, where rich floods of wine
Slept in ten thousand fountains; and its flowers,
And trees, all vivid in their stainless green,
That kindled in the sunlight: and all these
Were beaming fond religion to the sky,
And to each other: and sweet hymns of birds,
And orisons of waters and of winds,
Spake praise and joy to all things and in all
That shared the bosom of the Universe!
Seeming most like some spirit that had charm'd
The beauty round her into fairy being,
A woman young and perfect-framed and fair
Stood in the midst thereof, adoring it
With voice and ear and vision; tree and flower,
Birds, waters, winds, and all the fervid sky.
The beauty round her into fairy being,
A woman young and perfect-framed and fair
Stood in the midst thereof, adoring it
With voice and ear and vision; tree and flower,
Birds, waters, winds, and all the fervid sky.
“Beautiful River! could I flow like thee,
“Year after year, thro' this deliciousness
“Ever-renewing; and retain no more
“Of human thought and passion than might yield
“A oving consciousness of grace and joy;
“I could content me to endure, till Time
“Had heap'd such million'd years upon his record,
“As almost in himself to seem and be
“The sole Eternity!—O, trees and flowers;
“Joy-throated birds; and ye, soft airs and hues,
“That nestle in yon skiey radiance!
“Happy ye are, as beauteous: to your life,
“Unrealised, unrealisable,
“Intolerable, infinite desire
“Approacheth never; and ye live and die,
“Your natures all-fulfilling and fulfill'd,
“Self-satiate and perfected.—O, sorrow!
“Unto his vagrant, momentary dream,
“Say that, obedient to my inmost soul,
“Of which his image and his spirit are lords,
“I yielded, thought and substance?—Fearful God!
“At the first wrinkle's scarce-discerned line
“Spanning my brow of youth, from where I stood
“The firm foundations should be cleft away;
“Letting me drearily down that abyss
“To which even death's is but as shallowness!—
“Those words of his were lightning to my life-pride,
“Which then fell blasted. I accuse them not:
“Before myself but charm'd they my own thought
“With mightiest demoncraft; and, being raised,
“To lay it but remains one sorcery.—
“Vainly-impassion'd youth and impotent age
“Are not a boon; and immortality,
“If color'd, is eclipsed not by the hues,
“More or less deepen'd, of the temporal doom.—
“Beautiful River! Verdure and Fragrance sweet!
“Voices of waters, winds and living things!
“And, Skies! whence all this life and light and joy
“Descendeth upon all—I leave ye not;
“But come to ye enfranchised from myself,
“And self-secured from being the jest of time
“And loathsome vessel of my own decay.”
“Year after year, thro' this deliciousness
“Ever-renewing; and retain no more
“Of human thought and passion than might yield
61
“I could content me to endure, till Time
“Had heap'd such million'd years upon his record,
“As almost in himself to seem and be
“The sole Eternity!—O, trees and flowers;
“Joy-throated birds; and ye, soft airs and hues,
“That nestle in yon skiey radiance!
“Happy ye are, as beauteous: to your life,
“Unrealised, unrealisable,
“Intolerable, infinite desire
“Approacheth never; and ye live and die,
“Your natures all-fulfilling and fulfill'd,
“Self-satiate and perfected.—O, sorrow!
“Unto his vagrant, momentary dream,
“Say that, obedient to my inmost soul,
“Of which his image and his spirit are lords,
“I yielded, thought and substance?—Fearful God!
“At the first wrinkle's scarce-discerned line
“Spanning my brow of youth, from where I stood
“The firm foundations should be cleft away;
“Letting me drearily down that abyss
“To which even death's is but as shallowness!—
“Those words of his were lightning to my life-pride,
“Which then fell blasted. I accuse them not:
“Before myself but charm'd they my own thought
“With mightiest demoncraft; and, being raised,
“To lay it but remains one sorcery.—
“Vainly-impassion'd youth and impotent age
“Are not a boon; and immortality,
“If color'd, is eclipsed not by the hues,
“More or less deepen'd, of the temporal doom.—
“Beautiful River! Verdure and Fragrance sweet!
“Voices of waters, winds and living things!
62
“Descendeth upon all—I leave ye not;
“But come to ye enfranchised from myself,
“And self-secured from being the jest of time
“And loathsome vessel of my own decay.”
So spake that woman young and beautiful,
In the Great Presence; and a sigh was all
That again parted her elysian lips.
The waters and the willows and fair flowers,
And even the splendors of the gracious Arch,
Unto the Faculty Divine itself
Had at that moment, for a moment's space,
Seem'd beautiless and dim; and Glorious Truth,
Reveal'd thro' all the Universe—a lie.
In the Great Presence; and a sigh was all
That again parted her elysian lips.
The waters and the willows and fair flowers,
And even the splendors of the gracious Arch,
Unto the Faculty Divine itself
Had at that moment, for a moment's space,
Seem'd beautiless and dim; and Glorious Truth,
Reveal'd thro' all the Universe—a lie.
Sweet Evening brooded on the tranquil Rhine:
The flowers all slept; and in the placid sky
Were shining tremulous its earliest stars;
And in kind Nature's eye no tear was seen,
Nor sigh of sorrow heard in her calm voice:
Tho' stark and cold upon the river's bank,
Under a low-droop'd willow, lay the image
Of angels, as they haunt the human soul;
With wounded bosom and blood-stained limbs,
Strew'd hair, and pallid eyes, and livid cheeks—
A pity, and a withering for the heart!
The flowers all slept; and in the placid sky
Were shining tremulous its earliest stars;
And in kind Nature's eye no tear was seen,
Nor sigh of sorrow heard in her calm voice:
Tho' stark and cold upon the river's bank,
Under a low-droop'd willow, lay the image
Of angels, as they haunt the human soul;
With wounded bosom and blood-stained limbs,
Strew'd hair, and pallid eyes, and livid cheeks—
A pity, and a withering for the heart!
A boat came floating up the quiet Rhine;
And earnestly talk'd they who sat therein—
Save one, a silent and a weeping girl:
The boatman moor'd his bark beside the willow;
She leapt upon the bank; and on the corse
Fell, like another death.
And earnestly talk'd they who sat therein—
Save one, a silent and a weeping girl:
The boatman moor'd his bark beside the willow;
She leapt upon the bank; and on the corse
Fell, like another death.
63
Ah! this Our Life
Is a moth's twilight-flight, discerned dim
In the mysterious air a little while,
And then beheld no more: a dreamy cloud
Of light and gloom, which melts into the wind
Even as we gaze.
Is a moth's twilight-flight, discerned dim
In the mysterious air a little while,
And then beheld no more: a dreamy cloud
Of light and gloom, which melts into the wind
Even as we gaze.
Weep not for Gunderode!
64
THE DISCORD-HARMONY.
She sat with throbbing heart and aching brow,
A Discord making wond'rous Harmony!
And round her seem'd an atmosphere to flow
That made all breathers' eyes melt lovingly—
Like stars by warm airs lull'd i' the summer sky:
And those that listen'd to her glancing fingers
Forgot their common life and destiny;
And grew enrapt as one lone man who lingers
In a dim wood at eve, tranced by its starlight singers.
A Discord making wond'rous Harmony!
And round her seem'd an atmosphere to flow
That made all breathers' eyes melt lovingly—
Like stars by warm airs lull'd i' the summer sky:
And those that listen'd to her glancing fingers
Forgot their common life and destiny;
And grew enrapt as one lone man who lingers
In a dim wood at eve, tranced by its starlight singers.
The inward tumult of her breast and brain
Lent lightning-swiftness and a thunderous might
Unto those gods of music; and the pain
Of her surcharged spirit, in despite
Of ts dull burthen, gave divine delight
With its sublime expression: as are shed
Incessant splendors thro' the sombre night,
O'er hills and seas, and round us where we tread,
From a tempestuous cloud, dense-gather'd overhead.
Lent lightning-swiftness and a thunderous might
Unto those gods of music; and the pain
Of her surcharged spirit, in despite
Of ts dull burthen, gave divine delight
With its sublime expression: as are shed
Incessant splendors thro' the sombre night,
O'er hills and seas, and round us where we tread,
From a tempestuous cloud, dense-gather'd overhead.
65
Her hair seem'd struggling from its golden band,
As fainer by mad love to be dishevell'd—
Scorning the careful work of her fair hand,
Which had in order due its ringlets levell'd;
Her forehead in its own fine frownings revell'd,
As smoothable by none but love-lip pressure;
Her cheeks blush'd at the color that bedevill'd
Their god-loved paleness; and her eyes' displeasure,
Flashing afar, show'd nought of music's order'd measure.
As fainer by mad love to be dishevell'd—
Scorning the careful work of her fair hand,
Which had in order due its ringlets levell'd;
Her forehead in its own fine frownings revell'd,
As smoothable by none but love-lip pressure;
Her cheeks blush'd at the color that bedevill'd
Their god-loved paleness; and her eyes' displeasure,
Flashing afar, show'd nought of music's order'd measure.
Her lips were motionless; yet on them shook
Intensest words fetter'd in silentness—
As on the still page of a burning book,
Whose voiceless oracles than speech express
More infinite meaning: her form-fashion'd dress
Did heave with the rebellion of her heart,
As it would break sweet way for that caress
Which love to love still panteth to impart,
When Love and Nature make triumphant spoil of Art.
Intensest words fetter'd in silentness—
As on the still page of a burning book,
Whose voiceless oracles than speech express
More infinite meaning: her form-fashion'd dress
Did heave with the rebellion of her heart,
As it would break sweet way for that caress
Which love to love still panteth to impart,
When Love and Nature make triumphant spoil of Art.
And e'en her smooth white hands; whose gifted cunning
Made the space vibrate with delicious sound;
As anger'd with the task of their swift running,
Indignant seem'd o'er all the keys to bound,
Reluctant to the spell they wrought around:
But, with their passion made more musical,
Their loathness in its own excitement drown'd,
Their hatred, as their love, gave force to all
That onward storm of notes, rolling majestical!
Made the space vibrate with delicious sound;
As anger'd with the task of their swift running,
Indignant seem'd o'er all the keys to bound,
Reluctant to the spell they wrought around:
But, with their passion made more musical,
Their loathness in its own excitement drown'd,
Their hatred, as their love, gave force to all
That onward storm of notes, rolling majestical!
66
TO THE ENGLISH LAIS.
Thou with rich balm-breathing lips,
Singing us (as weird ones old
Did the white and laboring moon
Out of her constrain'd eclipse)
From that spirit-trancing swoon
In which faint who thee behold!
Thou with mischief-curved brow,
Which who gaze on keep no vow!
Thou with basiliskine eye,
Which to look in is to die!
Thou with hand to tempt a saint;
And a bosom which to paint
Fancy may, but artist never,
Undefeatedly endeavour;
And a form love-limb'd, complete,
From thy forehead to thy feet:
Now reclined, and smoothly still,
As made marble by thy will;
And now stirr'd to restless motion—
As the zephyr'd boughs of willows,
Or the ever-speeding billows
Of the wind-excited ocean!
Singing us (as weird ones old
Did the white and laboring moon
Out of her constrain'd eclipse)
From that spirit-trancing swoon
In which faint who thee behold!
Thou with mischief-curved brow,
Which who gaze on keep no vow!
Thou with basiliskine eye,
Which to look in is to die!
Thou with hand to tempt a saint;
And a bosom which to paint
Fancy may, but artist never,
Undefeatedly endeavour;
And a form love-limb'd, complete,
From thy forehead to thy feet:
Now reclined, and smoothly still,
As made marble by thy will;
And now stirr'd to restless motion—
As the zephyr'd boughs of willows,
Or the ever-speeding billows
Of the wind-excited ocean!
67
Do not tempt me: I retain
An Ideal in my brain
Thought of thee may never pale;
And a Real in my heart
O'er which thy caressing art,
The sweet beauty of thy face
And thy body's perfect grace,
Cannot, for an hour, prevail!
An Ideal in my brain
Thought of thee may never pale;
And a Real in my heart
O'er which thy caressing art,
The sweet beauty of thy face
And thy body's perfect grace,
Cannot, for an hour, prevail!
Lures upon thine eyelids lay;
Pout thy lips; and sing; and play,
Startling the fine shadows there,
With white fingers in thy hair;
Or thy practised hand advance
Nigh my lip, by sembled chance;
Wave thy form along the dance;
And, with boundings of thy feet,
Make design'd revealments fleet!—
These thy daggers strike in vain
At my armour'd heart and brain
Pout thy lips; and sing; and play,
Startling the fine shadows there,
With white fingers in thy hair;
Or thy practised hand advance
Nigh my lip, by sembled chance;
Wave thy form along the dance;
And, with boundings of thy feet,
Make design'd revealments fleet!—
These thy daggers strike in vain
At my armour'd heart and brain
68
SONNETS.
I. THE BURIED BUTTERFLY.
What lovely things are dead within the sky,By our corporeal vision undiscern'd—
Extinguish'd suns, that once in glory burn'd;
And blighted planets, mouldering gloomily
Beyond the girdle of the galaxy;
And faded essences, in light inurn'd,
Of creatures spiritual, to that Deep return'd
From whence they sprang, in far Eternity—
This e'er to know is unto us forbidden;
But much thereto concerning may we deem,
By inference from fact familiar:
Beneath those radiant flowers and bright grass hidden,
Withers a thing once golden as a star
And seeming unsubstantial as a dream.
69
II. MUSIC AND LOVE.
Ah! Music in an atmosphere of LoveA portion of the soul of Love becometh;
The heard deep-blended with the harmony
That is unheard, but to the touch and eye
And innermost spirit of sweet life reveal'd:
But in an atmosphere of Music, Love
Is lost, and wilder'd from the simpleness
Of its most silent bliss—a murmuring dove,
In the dim woods which have its joys conceal'd,
By the loud chant of flocking birds invaded;
A calm wildflower, that in soft fragrance bloometh,
By morn and eve divinely dew'd and shaded,
In art's strong perfumes drench'd. Ah! strangely less
Doth Love sweet Music serve, than Music Love.
III. THE MIST OF FAMILIARITY.
In this Eternal, Universal Wonder;Of which we are part, and should percipient be;
We move, indifferent, God's Blue Arch under—
By that dull mist, Familiarity,
Begirt, and sodden into apathy!
Astonishment, nor dread, nor admiration,
Nor panting love, nor trembling adoration,
Our Life from its lethargic courses waking;
Its little self of all things centre making,
Tho' need and death its sole circumference!—
Even as the Savage Fisherman, when drew
Men from far lands, of speech and aspect new,
And of strange state, within his scope of view,
Fish'd on; nor turn'd his head; nor question'd—What? or, Whence?
70
IV. VOLITION.
“The object of volition is not the cause of volition.”
—Hazlitt.
—Hazlitt.
God will'd Creation; but Creation was not
The cause of that Almighty Will of God,
But that great God's desire of emanation:
Beauty of Human Love the object is;
But Love's sweet cause lives in the Soul's desire
For intellectual, sensual sympathies:
Seeing a plain-plumed bird, in whose deep throat
We know the richest power of music dwells,
We long to hear its linked melodies:
Scenting a far-off flower's most sweet perfume,
That gives its balm of life to every wind,
We crave to mark the beauty of its bloom:
But bird nor flower is that Volition's cause;
But Music and fine Grace, graven on the Soul, like laws.
V. THE “NOLLEKINS.”
Ah! Vision fixed and substantialisedOf the Old Sculptor's youth!—The one thing dream'd,
Which all his waking life antagonised
And from dull Hell his gasping age redeem'd!—
Lord! how she clings unto her lover there!—
As sentiently and indissoluble
As his own veins unto the flesh they wear,
When thro' them pants the hot blood voluble!—
Oh! In such wondrous god-embracing fashion—
When first the Uncreated Soul Intense
Breathed love and life into Primeval Matter,
And melted it to form and grace and passion—
Clung the fond Universe to her Creator,
And taught Him all the powers of his own Effluence.
71
VI. THE WHEEL OF TIME.
The Wheel of Time revolveth restlessly;From morn to night, from night to weary morn:
We kindle in the womb, and then are born,
And look upon the pauseless world, and cry;
And then the ether-light of Infancy
Youth flushes with the purple of its morn;
And then hot Manhood's noon is soon o'erworn,
And Age's eve comes on, and then we die.
The old world changes: valley becomes hill,
And mountain vale; land sea, and ocean land;
And cities deserts, deserts peopled be;
The stars are failing, tho' they twinkle still;
And nothing in all space doth firmly stand—
But round that Mighty Wheel all things whirl ceaselessly.
VII. A THOUGHT IN THE PRESENCE OF A DEAD CHILD.
The aspect of sweet life; and yet, not life!If thou, dear Child! art dead; and yet dost bear
Such vital hues upon thy visage fair;
Showing calm living bliss, without the strife
Of being's pain and passion, and so rife
With sweetness, grace and love, that we not dare
To think that death dwells in corruption there—
How know we, that the clear and gorgeous Vault,
With all the light of its star-studded azure,
Which to the Eternal doth our thought exalt,
Is not, this moment, but one glorious frame
That hath the hue of life without the flame;
Death at the core of all, and dim erasure
Ready to overpall its glory-without-measure?
72
VIII. THE SILENCE.
Hush'd Nature, like a sweet soul slumbering,Seems smiling thro her dreams; smiles of calm glory,
That can but issue from a dream of God,
Her perfect Lover! By that transitory
Here-and-there flitting of a ghost of sound,
Silence remaineth in her peace profound
Inviolate as death; and from the sod
The little stir that still is issuing,
From busy movements of an atom life,
Doth testify of that extreme repose
In which such motion is made audible,
And heard almost the drooping of the rose
Unto its twilight sleep resemblative,
And the soft fall of dews invisible.
IX. THE HALF-ASLEEP.
O, for the mighty 'wakening that arousedThe old-time Prophets to their missions high;
And to blind Homer's inward sunlike eye
Show'd the heart's universe, where he caroused
Radiantly; the Fishers poor unhoused,
And sent them forth to teach divinity;
And made our Milton his great dark defy,
To the light of one immortal theme espoused!
But half asleep are those now most awake;
And, save calm-thoughted Wordsworth, we have none
Who for eternity put time at stake,
And hold a constant course as doth the sun:
We yield but drops, that no deep thirstings slake;
And feebly cease ere we have well begun.
| Prothanasia: and other poems | |