The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan In Two Volumes. With a Portrait |
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 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
I. ‘Storm in the Night.’
Storm in the Night, Buchanan! a Voice the night still crying,
‘They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where He is lying!’
‘They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where He is lying!’
Thou, too, singer of songs and dreamer of dreams, art weeping
For the form that lay in the tomb, the Face so peacefully sleeping;
For the form that lay in the tomb, the Face so peacefully sleeping;
And now He hath gone indeed, and His worshippers roam bereaven,
Thou, by the Magdalen's side, art standing and looking at Heaven!
Thou, by the Magdalen's side, art standing and looking at Heaven!
Woe unto thee, Buchanan; and woe to thy generation!
The harp of the heart He strung, the Soul He set in vibration,
The harp of the heart He strung, the Soul He set in vibration,
Are lost since He is lost, the beautiful Elder Brother;
For the harp of the heart was His, the song could gladden no other!
For the harp of the heart was His, the song could gladden no other!
'Twas something,—nay, 'twas much!—to know, though His life was over,
That the fair, bright Form was there, with the wool-white shroud for a cover!
That the fair, bright Form was there, with the wool-white shroud for a cover!
He did not speak or stir, He did not hark to our weeping,
But His grave grew wide as the World, and the stars smiled down on His sleeping.
But His grave grew wide as the World, and the stars smiled down on His sleeping.
He made no speech, no sign, for Death has disrobed and discrown'd Him,—
But the scent of spikenard and myrrh was sweet in the air around Him!
But the scent of spikenard and myrrh was sweet in the air around Him!
So we kept our Brother, tho' dead! The Lily Flower of Creation!
And to touch His dear dead hands was joy in our desolation.
And to touch His dear dead hands was joy in our desolation.
But now, the Tomb is void, and the rain beats over the portal:
Thieves like wolves in the night have stolen the dead Immortal!
Thieves like wolves in the night have stolen the dead Immortal!
So peacefully He slept, the Lily Flower of Creation,
That we said to ourselves, ‘He dreams! and His Dream is the World's salvation!’
That we said to ourselves, ‘He dreams! and His Dream is the World's salvation!’
But now by the Tomb we stand, despairing and heavy-hearted;
The stars look silently down, but the Light of the World hath departed.
The stars look silently down, but the Light of the World hath departed.
And yet, should He be risen? Should He have waken'd, to wander
Out 'mid the winds of the night, out 'mid the Tempest yonder,
Out 'mid the winds of the night, out 'mid the Tempest yonder,
Holding His Lamp wind-blown, while the rain-cloud darkens and gathers,
Feeling His way thro' the gloom, naming our names, and our Father's?
Feeling His way thro' the gloom, naming our names, and our Father's?
Nay, for the World would know the face of the fair New Comer,
The graves would open wide, like buds at the breath of the summer,—
The graves would open wide, like buds at the breath of the summer,—
The graves would open, the Dead within them quicken and blossom,
And over the World would rain the flowers that had grown in His bosom!
And over the World would rain the flowers that had grown in His bosom!
Nay, then, He hath fled, not risen! in vain we seek and implore Him!
Deeper than Death He hath fall'n, and the waves of the World roll o'er Him!
Deeper than Death He hath fall'n, and the waves of the World roll o'er Him!
Storm in the night, Buchanan! A Voice in the night still crying,
‘They have taken away our Lord! and we know not where he is lying!’
‘They have taken away our Lord! and we know not where he is lying!’
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |