Ranolf and Amohia A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised |
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 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
I.
“The silvery dews on the meadows are blending
Like gauze with the gold of the buttercups' gleam;
The hawthorn is scenting the hollow green ways;
Its masses all snowy with blossom depending
Are sunlit emerging from faintly blue haze
Like a delicate dream!
Like gauze with the gold of the buttercups' gleam;
The hawthorn is scenting the hollow green ways;
Its masses all snowy with blossom depending
Are sunlit emerging from faintly blue haze
Like a delicate dream!
73
O the leaflets—how innocent, frank, their unfolding;
What a sweet hidden twitter—the birds' callow speech!
Two loud muffled notes like a flute's—how they stray!
'Tis the Cuckoo—his weariless plaint still upholding—
Still calling for something still further away—
For a joy out of reach!
What a sweet hidden twitter—the birds' callow speech!
Two loud muffled notes like a flute's—how they stray!
'Tis the Cuckoo—his weariless plaint still upholding—
Still calling for something still further away—
For a joy out of reach!
See the framework of traceried jet overshingled
With emerald scales, jewel-roofing of Spring!
Over canopy canopy brilliantly spread,
Made of gems, the transparent and shadowy mingled!—
—Just the Elm—with new leaves, and the Sun overhead;
'Tis a tent for a King!”
With emerald scales, jewel-roofing of Spring!
Over canopy canopy brilliantly spread,
Made of gems, the transparent and shadowy mingled!—
—Just the Elm—with new leaves, and the Sun overhead;
'Tis a tent for a King!”
So Ranolf; beckoning to a settle rude
His Tutor, as their musings they pursued.
The youngster, drinking into heart and brain
Elastic freshness from the fragrant Morn,
Could not but launch out in a cheery strain,
As on the ‘Soul’ they touched—‘Immortal Life,’
(O noblest themes with direst discords rife!)
Treating Despair almost with joyous scorn.—
Sanguine, say you, his temper!—If his blood
Coloured his reasoning, haply 'twas as good
As props the atrabiliar doctrines dyed
So darkly on the melancholic side.
We ground on those mudbanks of Doubt alone
In the ebb of the world's heart or our own;
Tangled in shallows of Despondence dark
Only when life is at low-water mark.
Not in Man's healthiest, his completest state
Do such misgivings his wise joys abate:
For Confidence is Life—and Hope is health:
And youth's glad trust is worth most mental wealth!
His Tutor, as their musings they pursued.
The youngster, drinking into heart and brain
Elastic freshness from the fragrant Morn,
Could not but launch out in a cheery strain,
As on the ‘Soul’ they touched—‘Immortal Life,’
(O noblest themes with direst discords rife!)
Treating Despair almost with joyous scorn.—
Sanguine, say you, his temper!—If his blood
Coloured his reasoning, haply 'twas as good
As props the atrabiliar doctrines dyed
So darkly on the melancholic side.
We ground on those mudbanks of Doubt alone
In the ebb of the world's heart or our own;
Tangled in shallows of Despondence dark
Only when life is at low-water mark.
Not in Man's healthiest, his completest state
Do such misgivings his wise joys abate:
For Confidence is Life—and Hope is health:
And youth's glad trust is worth most mental wealth!
| Ranolf and Amohia | |