Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI. THE HORROR OF THE HILLS. |
| VII. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
VI. THE HORROR OF THE HILLS.
ABOVE the climbing pines,
Framed in the mountain's cleft, the far-off glacier shines.
Dropped like a dream from Heaven,
It glances in the glittering Alpine air,
A cloud of silver clear, seven times and seven times seven
Purged and made pure, refined in superstellar fire,
As 'twere.
The hills from out their rugged roots of duty,
It seems,
Have scions upward thrust of thrice-sublimed desires
And long-imprisoned dreams,
That blossom out in Heaven with blooms unearthly rare
Of radiance and beauty.
Framed in the mountain's cleft, the far-off glacier shines.
Dropped like a dream from Heaven,
It glances in the glittering Alpine air,
A cloud of silver clear, seven times and seven times seven
Purged and made pure, refined in superstellar fire,
As 'twere.
The hills from out their rugged roots of duty,
It seems,
Have scions upward thrust of thrice-sublimed desires
And long-imprisoned dreams,
That blossom out in Heaven with blooms unearthly rare
Of radiance and beauty.
Throned on those argent piles,
Down on the smiling world below boon Nature smiles,
As placidly and cheerly
As if no storm her brows had ever blurred,
As if she ne'er had frowned nor ever looked austerely.
With blandness by the thought of wind or winter wild
Unstirred,
Her benison she pours on man's existence:
But yet
There that is in her look, her eye serene and mild,
Which bids him ne'er forget,
If he her favour fain with tree and beast and bird
Would share, to keep his distance.
Down on the smiling world below boon Nature smiles,
As placidly and cheerly
As if no storm her brows had ever blurred,
As if she ne'er had frowned nor ever looked austerely.
119
Unstirred,
Her benison she pours on man's existence:
But yet
There that is in her look, her eye serene and mild,
Which bids him ne'er forget,
If he her favour fain with tree and beast and bird
Would share, to keep his distance.
Beware lest thou ensue
The Goddess to the nooks where she of old makes new,
Where furbishing and mending
She plies upon this worn old earth of ours,
The haunts where she the world's beginning hides and ending,
Where, when some joint or screw gives way beneath storms, snows
And showers,
She sets herself in silence to renew it.
Beware,
I say, lest thou invade the place where in the throes
Of birth and death fore'er
Successive she abides: shun these her secret bowers;
Or by the Gods thou'lt rue it.
The Goddess to the nooks where she of old makes new,
Where furbishing and mending
She plies upon this worn old earth of ours,
The haunts where she the world's beginning hides and ending,
Where, when some joint or screw gives way beneath storms, snows
And showers,
She sets herself in silence to renew it.
Beware,
I say, lest thou invade the place where in the throes
Of birth and death fore'er
Successive she abides: shun these her secret bowers;
Or by the Gods thou'lt rue it.
Yon glacier, which from far
Shines as the hills of Heaven beneath the midday star,
So white and smooth and candid
That from the valley showed, when viewed anear,
Is all with rocks and stones and gravel over-sanded:
Its smiling visage lowers, clay-coloured, harsh, misshaped,
Austere:
Each step you go, the way grows rougher, ruder,
And all
The slope with crannies huge and grim is over-gaped,
That from the frowning wall
Of overhanging ice, like monstrous mouths, appear
To yawn for the intruder.
Shines as the hills of Heaven beneath the midday star,
So white and smooth and candid
That from the valley showed, when viewed anear,
Is all with rocks and stones and gravel over-sanded:
Its smiling visage lowers, clay-coloured, harsh, misshaped,
Austere:
Each step you go, the way grows rougher, ruder,
And all
The slope with crannies huge and grim is over-gaped,
120
Of overhanging ice, like monstrous mouths, appear
To yawn for the intruder.
Forth of its clefts a breath
There overcometh thee, that is as ambient Death,
The night that hath no morning
Recalling to the sick and shuddering sense.
The marrow in the bones it numbs; 'tis Nature's warning
Unto the intruder rash that she his presence here
Resents,
Where she rough-hews the mountains' rugged faces
Of stone,
That in her workshop, where the worlds for joy or fear
She shapes, she would alone
Be nor have man invade with his irreverence
Her secret sacred places.
There overcometh thee, that is as ambient Death,
The night that hath no morning
Recalling to the sick and shuddering sense.
The marrow in the bones it numbs; 'tis Nature's warning
Unto the intruder rash that she his presence here
Resents,
Where she rough-hews the mountains' rugged faces
Of stone,
That in her workshop, where the worlds for joy or fear
She shapes, she would alone
Be nor have man invade with his irreverence
Her secret sacred places.
Nay, woman-like, her spleen
It rouses still to be in workday raiment seen;
It likes her not, a Goddess,
To be, with broom and brush and clout and pail
Awork, caught unawares in petticoat and bodice:
And if her warnings, ice, snow, cold, wind, rain and mist
All fail
Th'intruder to rebut and to imbue him
With heed
And reverence for her whim and he withal persist
In spying on her need,
The ruffled beldam sure, for ending of the tale,
A mischief is to do him.
It rouses still to be in workday raiment seen;
It likes her not, a Goddess,
To be, with broom and brush and clout and pail
Awork, caught unawares in petticoat and bodice:
And if her warnings, ice, snow, cold, wind, rain and mist
All fail
Th'intruder to rebut and to imbue him
With heed
And reverence for her whim and he withal persist
In spying on her need,
The ruffled beldam sure, for ending of the tale,
A mischief is to do him.
Wherefore contented be
The mountains from the vale to view and bend the knee
Submiss to Nature's ruling:
For she of the old Gods is, not the new,
And little patience hath, like them, with mortal fooling.
She, like the high Latonian twins, like Bacchus, Isis, Cybele,
Her due
From man exacts and suffers no denying:
Her rites
When she would secret hold, in vain it is that he
With her would bandy mights;
And woe to you and me if she catch me or you
Upon her mysteries spying!
The mountains from the vale to view and bend the knee
121
For she of the old Gods is, not the new,
And little patience hath, like them, with mortal fooling.
She, like the high Latonian twins, like Bacchus, Isis, Cybele,
Her due
From man exacts and suffers no denying:
Her rites
When she would secret hold, in vain it is that he
With her would bandy mights;
And woe to you and me if she catch me or you
Upon her mysteries spying!
| Flower o' the thorn | |