The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

Again among the Mountains, and again
That same old question on my faltering tongue!
Purged if not purified by fires of pain,
I seek the solitudes I loved when young;
And lo, the prayers I prayed, the songs I sung,
Echo like elfin music in my brain,
While to these lonely regions of the Rain
I come, a Pilgrim worn and serpent-stung.
The bitter wormwood of the creeds hath pass'd
To poison in my blood of dull despair,
I have torn the mask from Death and stood aghast
To find the Phantom's features foul not fair,
I have read the Riddle of the Gods at last
With broken heart, and found no comfort there!

404

II

Unchanged, Coruisk, thou liest!—Time hath made
No mark on thee his empery to attest;
Winter and summer, light and solemn shade,
Break not the eternal darkness of thy breast,
Black Lake of Sorrow, stillest, woefullest
Of all God's Waters,—countless storms have played
O'er thee and round, since on thy shores I prayed
And left thee here untroubled in thy rest. . .
And o'er thee still the sunless Peaks arise
Finding no mirror in thy depths below,
And night by night Heaven with its million eyes
Hath watch'd thy lava-pools of silent woe,—
The same thou art, under the same sad Skies,
As when God's Hand first stilled thee, long ago!

III

Tho' Time which leaves thee whole hath rent and worn
The soul of him who stood and worshipt here,
The weary Waters and the Hills forlorn
Remain the same from silent year to year;—
Despite the sad unrest afar and near,
The cry of Torrents that for ever mourn,
The march of Clouds by winds and lightnings torn,
Here dwells no heritage of human fear!
God keeps His scourge for slaves that pray and cling,
For Clouds and Mists and mortals frail as they,—
The Mountains heed Him not, the Waters fling
His strong Hand back and wave His pride away:
Serene and silent they confront the Thing
Which chills the flesh and blood of men of clay!

IV

Now hearken!—Led, methought, by God's own Hand,
I wander'd in a world of gracious things,
Heaven was above, all round was Fairyland,
Music of singing brooks and crystal springs,—
Each flower that blossoms and each bird that sings
Promised the Paradise which Love had planned,
Spake of the spirits who at his command
Bare peace from star to star on happy wings.
I heard the Promise wheresoe'er I went,
I saw it rainbow'd yonder in the Sky,
Yea, even when the Heavens were lightningrent,
I saw the radiant hosts go shining by,—
I look'd and listen'd, calm and well-content,
And little guess'd that Promise was a Lie!

V

How could I doubt the lark and nightingale
Singing their chaunt of Joy and Love Divine?
How could I dream that golden Light could fail
Which lit the whole green world with bliss like mine?
Where'er I walked I saw the Promise shine
Soft as the dawn-star o'er a leafy dale,
And raising happy hands I cried, ‘All hail!
Father of All, since Life and Light are Thine!’
Nay, even when utter darkness wrapt me round
And bending low I saw pale Death creep near,
Methought I saw an Angel Heavenwardbound
Laden with flowers that bloom'd and faded here,
While far away I heard a happy sound
And saw the Mirage flash from sphere to sphere!

VI

The Mirage! ah, the Mirage! O how fair
And wonderful it seem'd, flashed overhead
From world to world! Bright faces glimmer'd there,
Hands beckon'd, and my grief was comforted!
Wherefore, O God, I did not fear to tread
That darkness, and to breathe that deadly air,
For there was comfort yet in my despair,
And since God lived, I was not wholly dead!

405

Then came the crowning grief, the final fear
That snapt my heart in twain, Unpitying One!
The Hand was drawn away, the path grew drear,
The Mirage faded, and the Dream was done;
And lo, the Heaven that once had seem'd so near
Had fled, to shine no more in moon or sun!

VII

I charge Thee now, O God, if God indeed
Thou art, and not an evil empty Dream!
Now when the Earth is strong and quick with seed,
Redeem Thy promise! with Thy life supreme
Fill those dear eyes, till they unclose and beam!
Think how my heart hath bled and still doth bleed
Beneath Thy wrath, and listen while I plead
In darkness,—send Thy Light, a living stream,
Into the grave where all I love lies low!. . .
Spring comes again, Thy world awakeneth,
May-time is near, the buds begin to blow,
Over all Nature flows a living breath,—
The Hills are loosen'd and the Waters flow,—
Melt then, O God, those icicles of Death!

VIII

Thou wilt not melt them! Never in sun or rain
The gentle heart shall stir, the dear eyes shine!
Silent Thou passest, pitiless, Divine,
Trailing behind Thy footsteps Life's long chain,
Which breaketh link by link with ceaseless pain,
Breaketh and faileth like this life of mine,
And yet is evermore renew'd again
To prove all Time's Eternity is Thine!
Wherefore my soul no more shall pray and cling
To Thee, O God, for succour or for stay;—
The Mountains heed Thee not,—the Waters fling
Thy strong Hand back and wave Thy pride away:—
Serene and cold like those, I front the Thing
Which chills the flesh and blood of men of clay.

See the author's ‘Book of Orm.’