 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
101
HOURS OF LIFE.
103
MORNING.
“Temp' era dal principio del matino
E'l sol montava in su con quelle stelle
Ch'eran con lui quando l'Amor divino
Mosse da prima quelle cose belle;
Si cha bene sperir mera cagione
L'ora del tempo e la dolce stagione.”
Dante.
E'l sol montava in su con quelle stelle
Ch'eran con lui quando l'Amor divino
Mosse da prima quelle cose belle;
Si cha bene sperir mera cagione
L'ora del tempo e la dolce stagione.”
Dante.
Ere youth with its auroral blooms
Dispels the tender twilight glooms
Of Infancy, while yet it lies
Close to the gates of Paradise,
No fears the guileless bosom thrill;
The little stranger slumbers still,
O'ershadowed by the silent wings
Of angels, till the morning brings
Music and perfume, and around him flings
Her rosy mist-wreaths, drooping warm and low,
And prints her fragrant kisses on his brow.
Startled from out that dreamless rest,
Through mist-wreaths, drooping warm and low,
I saw her faint smile in the east,
I felt her kisses on my brow.
Dispels the tender twilight glooms
Of Infancy, while yet it lies
Close to the gates of Paradise,
No fears the guileless bosom thrill;
The little stranger slumbers still,
O'ershadowed by the silent wings
Of angels, till the morning brings
Music and perfume, and around him flings
Her rosy mist-wreaths, drooping warm and low,
And prints her fragrant kisses on his brow.
104
Through mist-wreaths, drooping warm and low,
I saw her faint smile in the east,
I felt her kisses on my brow.
From the high meadows, dewy-sweet,
Fair Eos with her silver feet
Chased the shadows as they crept
Under woodland boughs away,
Or down the airy uplands swept
Into hollows cool and gray,
Till her full refulgence, bright
As a perfect chrysolite,
Filled the solemn dome of Night!
Fair Eos with her silver feet
Chased the shadows as they crept
Under woodland boughs away,
Or down the airy uplands swept
Into hollows cool and gray,
Till her full refulgence, bright
As a perfect chrysolite,
Filled the solemn dome of Night!
With a sweet, indolent surprise,
Undimmed by haunting memories,
I saw the gradual glory rise.
Undimmed by haunting memories,
I saw the gradual glory rise.
Divinely calm and fancy-free
Were those morning hours to me;
I recked not of the bitter root
That bears the paradisal fruit;
I knew not that the serpent brood
Lurked in that Aidenn solitude;
For childhood kept inviolate
The tenure of its fair estate,
Lulled in a murmurous monotone,
As when bees in violets drone.
Were those morning hours to me;
I recked not of the bitter root
That bears the paradisal fruit;
I knew not that the serpent brood
Lurked in that Aidenn solitude;
105
The tenure of its fair estate,
Lulled in a murmurous monotone,
As when bees in violets drone.
Till gently as the spring-time showers
Wake the rose-buds into flowers,
Nature wrought her spells to lure
The child-heart from its clear-obscure,
Dazzling the bewildered sense
With dædalian opulence,
Protéan visions, sweet and strange,
And swift and subtle interchange
Of light with shadow, too intense
For the sweet calm of innocence:
Soon like the pure and priceless pearl
In Egypt's festal goblet tossed,
It vanished in the dizzy whirl
Of life's bewildering pleasures lost.
Wake the rose-buds into flowers,
Nature wrought her spells to lure
The child-heart from its clear-obscure,
Dazzling the bewildered sense
With dædalian opulence,
Protéan visions, sweet and strange,
And swift and subtle interchange
Of light with shadow, too intense
For the sweet calm of innocence:
Soon like the pure and priceless pearl
In Egypt's festal goblet tossed,
It vanished in the dizzy whirl
Of life's bewildering pleasures lost.
Wild hopes came fluttering round my heart
And swept its folded leaves apart,
As underneath those cloudless skies
I wandered with my Destinies,
Nor sought to read their silent eyes.
And swept its folded leaves apart,
As underneath those cloudless skies
I wandered with my Destinies,
Nor sought to read their silent eyes.
Thoughts for pain too dear—too deep
For pleasure—caused the heart to weep
Tears that, steeped in fragrance, fell
Like dew-drops from the lily's bell.
For pleasure—caused the heart to weep
106
Like dew-drops from the lily's bell.
Dream followed dream: and still the day
Floated on golden wings away.
Floated on golden wings away.
Then, while each little woodland bird
One sweet note forever sung,
My heart on one bewildering word
Its wealth of morning music flung:
All the glory and the gloom—
All the passion and the power—
All the mystic bale and bloom
Of its high imperial dower.
One sweet note forever sung,
My heart on one bewildering word
Its wealth of morning music flung:
All the glory and the gloom—
All the passion and the power—
All the mystic bale and bloom
Of its high imperial dower.
Like the sole phœnix in his perfumed nest,
Love reigned within my heart a sovran guest,—
Reigned in my heart of hearts—the thronèd lord
Of its young life, unquestioned and adored;
Folding its fragrant altar-gifts in flame
That made the summer heavens look wan and pale,
Forestalling life's fair heritage and claim
On earthly hope till hope waxed cold and stale,
Bankrupt and blighted with the fond excess
Of a too rare and costly happiness,
A flame that earth's calm joys too proudly spurned,
And left but ashes where its altars burned.
Love reigned within my heart a sovran guest,—
Reigned in my heart of hearts—the thronèd lord
Of its young life, unquestioned and adored;
Folding its fragrant altar-gifts in flame
That made the summer heavens look wan and pale,
Forestalling life's fair heritage and claim
On earthly hope till hope waxed cold and stale,
Bankrupt and blighted with the fond excess
Of a too rare and costly happiness,
107
And left but ashes where its altars burned.
Yet, like the fabled Greek, superbly bold,
Who on Jove's awful countenance would gaze,
Pining immortal beauty to behold,
Consumed beneath the lightning of its rays,
My conscious heart a willing fate had sought,
Undaunted by the pangs its triumphs bought;
Content love's mortal penalties to share,
And, for a dream so sweet, a dreadless doom to dare.
Who on Jove's awful countenance would gaze,
Pining immortal beauty to behold,
Consumed beneath the lightning of its rays,
My conscious heart a willing fate had sought,
Undaunted by the pangs its triumphs bought;
Content love's mortal penalties to share,
And, for a dream so sweet, a dreadless doom to dare.
I trod o'er meads of asphodel,
I walked the hall of dreams,
And gathered sweeter flowers than fell
By Enna's fabled streams.
I walked the hall of dreams,
And gathered sweeter flowers than fell
By Enna's fabled streams.
Every wind of morning bore
Music from some haunted shore,
Some fairy island o'er the seas,
Insphered in Orient fantasies.
Music from some haunted shore,
Some fairy island o'er the seas,
Insphered in Orient fantasies.
Every cloud that floated by
Veiled beneath its silver wing
Missives from a world more fair
Than the Poet's dream of spring.
Veiled beneath its silver wing
Missives from a world more fair
Than the Poet's dream of spring.
108
I sought the holy wells of song
Love's wild enchantments to prolong,
And walked as in a waking trance
The wonder-land of old romance.
Love's wild enchantments to prolong,
And walked as in a waking trance
The wonder-land of old romance.
Sometimes to a triumph march
Throbbed the life-pulse, warm and high;
Sometimes tolled in silver time
To a haunting melody,
Like a holy matin bell
Chiming in a far chapelle:
Now trembling to a cadence sweet
As the clear and silver beat
Of fairy footsteps, or the fall
Of fountains in a marble hall;
Now as to an echoing horn,
Far through moonlit forests borne,
Sad and rhythmically slow,
Moved to grand adagio.
Throbbed the life-pulse, warm and high;
Sometimes tolled in silver time
To a haunting melody,
Like a holy matin bell
Chiming in a far chapelle:
Now trembling to a cadence sweet
As the clear and silver beat
Of fairy footsteps, or the fall
Of fountains in a marble hall;
Now as to an echoing horn,
Far through moonlit forests borne,
Sad and rhythmically slow,
Moved to grand adagio.
Dream followed dream: the horizon lay
A line of silver far away;
The trees soared far into the blue,
The rose-cups dripped with morning dew,
And still the level life-path wound
Away, away, o'er flowery ground.
A line of silver far away;
The trees soared far into the blue,
The rose-cups dripped with morning dew,
And still the level life-path wound
Away, away, o'er flowery ground.
109
NOON.
“The mysterious silence of full noon.”
Bailey. Festus.
Bailey. Festus.
“Combien de fois dans le silence de minuit, et dans cet autre silence de midi, si accablant, si inquiet, si dévorant, n'ai-je pas senti mon cœur se précipiter vers un but inconnu, vers un onhbeur sans forme et sans nom, qui est au ciel, qui est dans l'air, qui est partout, comme l'amour! C'est l'aspiration sainte de la partie la plus éthérée de notre ame vers l'inconnu.”
George Sand
Dream followed dream; and still the day
Floated on golden wings away;
But in the hush of the high noon,
Touched by a sorrow without name,
Consumed by a slow fever-flame,
I loathed my life's mysterious boon,
Unconscious of its end or aim;
Floated on golden wings away;
But in the hush of the high noon,
Touched by a sorrow without name,
Consumed by a slow fever-flame,
I loathed my life's mysterious boon,
Unconscious of its end or aim;
Lost in a languor of repose,—
A luxury of gloom,—
As when the curved, voluptuous rose
Droops with its wealth of bloom.
A luxury of gloom,—
As when the curved, voluptuous rose
Droops with its wealth of bloom.
Decked as for a festival
Seemed the wide and lonely hall
Of Nature, but a mute despair
Filled the universal air;—
A sense of loneliness and void,—
A wealth of beauty unenjoyed,—
A sadness born mid the excess
Of life's unvalued loveliness.
Seemed the wide and lonely hall
110
Filled the universal air;—
A sense of loneliness and void,—
A wealth of beauty unenjoyed,—
A sadness born mid the excess
Of life's unvalued loveliness.
Every pulse of being panting
With a bliss it fain would share,
Still there seemed a presence wanting,
Still some lost ideal haunting
All the lone and lustrous air.
With a bliss it fain would share,
Still there seemed a presence wanting,
Still some lost ideal haunting
All the lone and lustrous air.
Far off I heard the solemn chimes
Of life and Death,—
The rhythm of ancestral rhymes
Above,—beneath!
Of life and Death,—
The rhythm of ancestral rhymes
Above,—beneath!
“Light in shadow ever fading,—
Death on Life's bright realm invading,—
Pain with pleasure keeping measure,—
Wasting care with golden treasure.
So the ancient burden rang,
So the choral voices sang.
Death on Life's bright realm invading,—
Pain with pleasure keeping measure,—
Wasting care with golden treasure.
So the ancient burden rang,
So the choral voices sang.
Though beautiful on all the hills
The summer noonlight lay,
Far in the west a single cloud
Lay folded like a fleecy shroud,
Ready to veil its ray.
And over all a purple pall
Seemed waiting for the day.
The summer noonlight lay,
111
Lay folded like a fleecy shroud,
Ready to veil its ray.
And over all a purple pall
Seemed waiting for the day.
I heard far, phantom voices calling
Over all the flowery wold,—
O'er the westering meadows falling
Into slopes of gleamy gold;—
Over all the flowery wold,—
O'er the westering meadows falling
Into slopes of gleamy gold;—
Still I heard them calling,—calling,—
Through the dim, entangled glooms,—
Far through sunless valleys falling
Downward to a place of tombs.
Through the dim, entangled glooms,—
Far through sunless valleys falling
Downward to a place of tombs.
Near me pressed a vassal throng,
Slaves to custom, serfs to wrong—
Hollow-hearted, vain and cold,
Minions of the earthly mold;
Holding in supreme derision
Memories of the life Elysian,
Reckless of the birthright lost,
Heedless of the heavenly host,
Traitors to the Holy Ghost!
Slaves to custom, serfs to wrong—
Hollow-hearted, vain and cold,
Minions of the earthly mold;
Holding in supreme derision
Memories of the life Elysian,
Reckless of the birthright lost,
Heedless of the heavenly host,
Traitors to the Holy Ghost!
112
Haunted by a nameless terror,—
Thrilled by a foreboding breath,
As the aspen wildly trembles
When the winds are still as death,—
I sought amid the sadness drear
Some loved familiar face to cheer
The solitude,—some lingering tone
Of love ére love and hope had flown.
Thrilled by a foreboding breath,
As the aspen wildly trembles
When the winds are still as death,—
I sought amid the sadness drear
Some loved familiar face to cheer
The solitude,—some lingering tone
Of love ére love and hope had flown.
I heard a low voice breathe my name:
Was it the echo of my own,—
That weird and melancholy tone,—
That voice whose subtle sweetness came
Keen as the serpent's tongue of flame?
So near, its music seemed to me
The music of my heart to be.
Was it the echo of my own,—
That weird and melancholy tone,—
That voice whose subtle sweetness came
Keen as the serpent's tongue of flame?
So near, its music seemed to me
The music of my heart to be.
Still I heard it, nearer, clearer,
When all other songs had flown,
Floating round me till it bound me
In a wild world of its own.
When all other songs had flown,
Floating round me till it bound me
In a wild world of its own.
Suddenly a chill wind leapt
Through its woven harmonies;
All its silver chords were snapt
As a wind-harp's by the breeze.
A shudder through the silence crept
And death athwart the noonlight swept.
Through its woven harmonies;
All its silver chords were snapt
As a wind-harp's by the breeze.
113
And death athwart the noonlight swept.
Then came the pall, the dirge, the knell,
As, dust to dust, the earth-clods fell,
Down crumbling on a coffin lid,
Within whose narrow casket hid,—
Shut from the cheerful light of day,—
Buried, yet quick, my own heart lay.
As, dust to dust, the earth-clods fell,
Down crumbling on a coffin lid,
Within whose narrow casket hid,—
Shut from the cheerful light of day,—
Buried, yet quick, my own heart lay.
Graves closed round my path of life,
The beautiful had fled;
Pale shadows wandered by my side,
And whispered of the dead.
The far off hollow of the sky
Seemed like an idle mockery.—
The vaulted hollow of the sky,
With its blue depths of mystery
But rounded Death's vast empery.
The beautiful had fled;
Pale shadows wandered by my side,
And whispered of the dead.
The far off hollow of the sky
Seemed like an idle mockery.—
The vaulted hollow of the sky,
With its blue depths of mystery
But rounded Death's vast empery.
O'erwearied with life's restless change
From ecstacy to agony,
Its fleeting pleasures born to die,
The mirage of its fantasy,
Its worn and melancholy range
Of hopes that could no more estrange
The married heart of memory,
Doomed, while we drain life's perfumed wine,
For the dull Lethean wave to pine,
And, for each thrill of joy, to know
Despair's slow pulse or sorrow's throe,—
I sought some central truth to span
These wide extremes of good and ill,—
I longed with one bold glance to scan
Life's perfect sphere, to rend at will
The gloom of Erebus,—dread zone,
Coiled like a serpent round the throne
Of Heaven,—the realm where Justice veils
Her heart and holds her even scales,—
Where awful Nemesis awaits
The doomed, by Pluto's iron gates.
From ecstacy to agony,
Its fleeting pleasures born to die,
The mirage of its fantasy,
Its worn and melancholy range
Of hopes that could no more estrange
The married heart of memory,
114
For the dull Lethean wave to pine,
And, for each thrill of joy, to know
Despair's slow pulse or sorrow's throe,—
I sought some central truth to span
These wide extremes of good and ill,—
I longed with one bold glance to scan
Life's perfect sphere, to rend at will
The gloom of Erebus,—dread zone,
Coiled like a serpent round the throne
Of Heaven,—the realm where Justice veils
Her heart and holds her even scales,—
Where awful Nemesis awaits
The doomed, by Pluto's iron gates.
In the long noon-tide of my sorrow,
I questioned of the eternal morrow;
I gazed in sullen awe
Far through the illimitable gloom
Down-deepening like the swift maelstrom,
The doubting soul to draw
Into eternal solitudes,
Where unrelenting silence broods
Around the throne of Law.
I questioned of the eternal morrow;
I gazed in sullen awe
Far through the illimitable gloom
Down-deepening like the swift maelstrom,
The doubting soul to draw
Into eternal solitudes,
Where unrelenting silence broods
Around the throne of Law.
I questioned the dim chronicle
Of ages gone before,—
I listened for the triumph songs
That rang from shore to shore,
Where the heroes and the conquerors wrought
The mighty deeds of yore,—
Where the foot-prints of the martyrs
Had bathed the earth in gore,
And the war-horns of the warriors
Where heard from shore to shore.
Of ages gone before,—
115
That rang from shore to shore,
Where the heroes and the conquerors wrought
The mighty deeds of yore,—
Where the foot-prints of the martyrs
Had bathed the earth in gore,
And the war-horns of the warriors
Where heard from shore to shore.
Their blood on desert plains was shed,—
Their voices on the wind had fled,—
They were the drear and shadowy Dead!
Their voices on the wind had fled,—
They were the drear and shadowy Dead!
Still, through the storied past, I sought
An answer to my sleepless thought;
In the cloisters old and hoary
Of the mediæval time—
In the rude ancestral story
Of the ancient Runic rhyme.
An answer to my sleepless thought;
In the cloisters old and hoary
Of the mediæval time—
In the rude ancestral story
Of the ancient Runic rhyme.
I paused on Grecian plains, to trace
Some remnant of a mightier race,
Serene in sorrow and in strife,
Calm conquerors of Death and Life,
Types of the god-like forms that shone
Upon the sculptured Parthenon.
Some remnant of a mightier race,
Serene in sorrow and in strife,
Calm conquerors of Death and Life,
Types of the god-like forms that shone
Upon the sculptured Parthenon.
116
But still, as when Prometheus bare
From heaven the fiery dart,
I saw the “vulture passions” tear
The proud Caucasian heart, —
The war of destiny with will
Still conquered, yet conflicting still.
From heaven the fiery dart,
I saw the “vulture passions” tear
The proud Caucasian heart, —
The war of destiny with will
Still conquered, yet conflicting still.
I heard loud Hallelujahs
From Israel's golden lyre,
And I sought their great Jehovah
In the cloud and in the fire.
I lingered by the stream that flowed
“Fast by the oracle of God,”—
I bowed, its sacred wave to sip;—
Its waters fled my thirsting lip.
The serpent trail was over all
Its borders,—and its palms that threw
Aloft their waving coronal,
Were blistered by a poison dew.
From Israel's golden lyre,
And I sought their great Jehovah
In the cloud and in the fire.
I lingered by the stream that flowed
“Fast by the oracle of God,”—
I bowed, its sacred wave to sip;—
Its waters fled my thirsting lip.
The serpent trail was over all
Its borders,—and its palms that threw
Aloft their waving coronal,
Were blistered by a poison dew.
Serener elements I sought,
Sublimer altitudes of thought,
The truth Saint John and Plato saw,
The mystic light, the inward law;
The Logos ever found and lost,
The aureola of the Ghost.
Sublimer altitudes of thought,
117
The mystic light, the inward law;
The Logos ever found and lost,
The aureola of the Ghost.
I hailed its faint auroral beam
In many a Poet's Delphic dream,—
On many a shrine where faith's pure flame
Through fable's gorgeous oriel came.
In many a Poet's Delphic dream,—
On many a shrine where faith's pure flame
Through fable's gorgeous oriel came.
Around the altars of the god,
In holy passion hushed, I trod,
Where once the mighty voice of Jove
Rang through Dodona's haunted grove.
No more the dove with sable plumes
Swept through the forest's gorgeous glooms;
The shrines were desolate and cold,
Their pæans hushed, their story told,
In long, inglorious silence lost,
Like fiery tongues of Pentecost.
In holy passion hushed, I trod,
Where once the mighty voice of Jove
Rang through Dodona's haunted grove.
No more the dove with sable plumes
Swept through the forest's gorgeous glooms;
The shrines were desolate and cold,
Their pæans hushed, their story told,
In long, inglorious silence lost,
Like fiery tongues of Pentecost.
No more did music's golden surge
The mortal in immortal merge:
High canticles of joy and praise
Died with the dream of other days;
I only heard the Mænad's wail,—
That shriek that made the orient pale:
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
The mystic burden of a woe
Whose dark enigma none may know;
The primal curse,—the primal throe.
The mortal in immortal merge:
118
Died with the dream of other days;
I only heard the Mænad's wail,—
That shriek that made the orient pale:
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
The mystic burden of a woe
Whose dark enigma none may know;
The primal curse,—the primal throe.
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
Nature shuddered at the cry
Of that ancient agony!
Nature shuddered at the cry
Of that ancient agony!
Still the fabled Python bound me,—
Still the serpent coil inwound me,—
Still I heard the Mænad's cry,
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
Where the Nile pours his sullen wave
Through tombs and empires of the grave,
I sought, 'mid cenotaphs, to find
The earlier miracles of mind:
Alas, beside the funeral urn
How drearily the death-lights burn;
On dim Denderah's sculptured lore
How sad the noonlight falls,
How mournfully the west wind sighs
Through Karnak's moldering halls!
No tongue shall tell their wondrous tale,
No hand shall lift the Isis veil;
The mighty pyramids that rise
So drear along the morning skies,
Guard well the secrets of the dead,
Nor break the sleep of ages fled.
Still the serpent coil inwound me,—
Still I heard the Mænad's cry,
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
119
Through tombs and empires of the grave,
I sought, 'mid cenotaphs, to find
The earlier miracles of mind:
Alas, beside the funeral urn
How drearily the death-lights burn;
On dim Denderah's sculptured lore
How sad the noonlight falls,
How mournfully the west wind sighs
Through Karnak's moldering halls!
No tongue shall tell their wondrous tale,
No hand shall lift the Isis veil;
The mighty pyramids that rise
So drear along the morning skies,
Guard well the secrets of the dead,
Nor break the sleep of ages fled.
Their awful shadow passed, I stood
On India's burning solitude;
Where, in the misty morning of the world,
Life lay as in a dream of beauty furled.
On India's burning solitude;
Where, in the misty morning of the world,
Life lay as in a dream of beauty furled.
I saw the mighty altars of the Sun,—
Before whose fires the star-gods, one by one,
Paled like thin ghosts,—in lurid splendors rife;
I heard the Persian hail him Lord of Life!
I saw his altar-flames rise wild and high,
Veiling the glory of the noon-day sky,
Hiding the holy heavens with their ensanguined dye.
Before whose fires the star-gods, one by one,
Paled like thin ghosts,—in lurid splendors rife;
I heard the Persian hail him Lord of Life!
120
Veiling the glory of the noon-day sky,
Hiding the holy heavens with their ensanguined dye.
I turned, and from the Brahmin's milder law
I sought truth's mystic element to draw,
Pure as it sparkled in the cup of Heaven,—
The bright Amreeta to the immortals given,—
To bathe my soul in fontal springs, that lie
Veiled from the careless and incurious eye.
I sought truth's mystic element to draw,
Pure as it sparkled in the cup of Heaven,—
The bright Amreeta to the immortals given,—
To bathe my soul in fontal springs, that lie
Veiled from the careless and incurious eye.
Half wakened from the brooding sleep
Of Nature ere she felt the leap
Of sentient life, the Hindoo seemed
Sad as the faith his fathers dreamed;
Like his own rock-hewn temples, wrought
From some obscure and shadowy thought
Of ancient days,—some formless dread,
In the gray dawn of ages bred,—
Prone on his native earth reclined,
To endless reveries resigned,
His dull soul lapsing on the Lethean stream,
Lost in the dim world of a lotus dream.
Of Nature ere she felt the leap
Of sentient life, the Hindoo seemed
Sad as the faith his fathers dreamed;
Like his own rock-hewn temples, wrought
From some obscure and shadowy thought
Of ancient days,—some formless dread,
In the gray dawn of ages bred,—
Prone on his native earth reclined,
To endless reveries resigned,
His dull soul lapsing on the Lethean stream,
Lost in the dim world of a lotus dream.
Still, still the eternal mystery,
The shadow of the poison-tree
Of Good and Evil haunted me.
In Religion's holy name,
Furies fed her altar-flame,
Sophists gloried in her shame.
Still the ancient mythus bound me,
Still the serpent coil inwound me,
Still I heard the Mænad's cry,
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
The shadow of the poison-tree
121
In Religion's holy name,
Furies fed her altar-flame,
Sophists gloried in her shame.
Still the ancient mythus bound me,
Still the serpent coil inwound me,
Still I heard the Mænad's cry,
Evohe!—ah—Evohe!
Wearied with man's discordant creed,
I sought on Nature's page to read
Life's history, ere yet she shrined
Her essence in the incarnate mind;
Intent her secret laws to trace
In primal solitudes of space,
From her first, faint atomic throes,
To where her orbèd splendor glows
In the vast, silent spheres that roll
Forever towards their unknown goal.
I sought on Nature's page to read
Life's history, ere yet she shrined
Her essence in the incarnate mind;
Intent her secret laws to trace
In primal solitudes of space,
From her first, faint atomic throes,
To where her orbèd splendor glows
In the vast, silent spheres that roll
Forever towards their unknown goal.
I turned from dull alchemic lore
With starry Chaldeans to soar,
And sought, on fancy's wing, to roam
That glorious galaxy of light
Where mingling stars, like drifting foam,
Melt on the solemn shores of night;
But still the surging glory chased
The dark through night's chaotic waste;
And still, within its deepening voids,
Crumbled the burning asteroids.
With starry Chaldeans to soar,
And sought, on fancy's wing, to roam
That glorious galaxy of light
Where mingling stars, like drifting foam,
Melt on the solemn shores of night;
122
The dark through night's chaotic waste;
And still, within its deepening voids,
Crumbled the burning asteroids.
Long gloating on that hollow gloom,
Methought that in some vast maelstrom,
The stars were hurrying to their doom,—
Bubbles upon life's boundless sea,
Swift meteors of eternity,
Pale sparks of mystic fire, that fall
From God's unwaning coronal.
Methought that in some vast maelstrom,
The stars were hurrying to their doom,—
Bubbles upon life's boundless sea,
Swift meteors of eternity,
Pale sparks of mystic fire, that fall
From God's unwaning coronal.
Is there, I asked, a living woe
In all those burning orbs that glow
Through the blue ether?—do they share
Our dim world's anguish and despair?
In their vast orbits do they fly
From some avenging destiny,—
And shall their wild eyes pale beneath
The dread anathema of Death?—
Our own fair Earth,—shall she too drift,
Forever shrouded in a weft
Of stormy clouds, that surge and swirl
Around her in her dizzy whirl:—
Forever shall a shadow fall
Backward from her golden wall,
Its dark cone stretching, ghast and gray,
Into outer glooms away?—
In all those burning orbs that glow
Through the blue ether?—do they share
Our dim world's anguish and despair?
In their vast orbits do they fly
From some avenging destiny,—
And shall their wild eyes pale beneath
The dread anathema of Death?—
Our own fair Earth,—shall she too drift,
Forever shrouded in a weft
Of stormy clouds, that surge and swirl
Around her in her dizzy whirl:—
Forever shall a shadow fall
Backward from her golden wall,
123
Into outer glooms away?—
From the sad, unsated quest
Of knowledge, how I longed to rest
On her green and silent breast!
Of knowledge, how I longed to rest
On her green and silent breast!
I languished for the dews of death
My fevered heart to steep,—
The heavy, honey-dews of death,
The calm and dreamless sleep.
My fevered heart to steep,—
The heavy, honey-dews of death,
The calm and dreamless sleep.
I left my fruitless lore apart,
And leaned my ear on Nature's heart,
To hear, far from life's busy throng,
The chime of her sweet undersong.
And leaned my ear on Nature's heart,
To hear, far from life's busy throng,
The chime of her sweet undersong.
She pressed her balmy lips to mine,
She bathed me in her sylvan springs;
And still, by many a rural shrine,
She taught me sweet and holy things.
I felt her breath my temples fan,
I learned her temperate laws to scan,
My soul, of hers, became a conscious part;
Her beauty melted through my inmost heart.
Still I languished for the word
Her sweet lips had never spoken,
Still, from the pale shadow-land,
There came nor voice nor token;
No accent of the Holy Ghost
Whispered of the loved and lost;
No bright wanderer came to tell
If, in worlds beyond the grave,
Life, love, and beauty dwell.
She bathed me in her sylvan springs;
And still, by many a rural shrine,
She taught me sweet and holy things.
I felt her breath my temples fan,
I learned her temperate laws to scan,
My soul, of hers, became a conscious part;
Her beauty melted through my inmost heart.
124
Her sweet lips had never spoken,
Still, from the pale shadow-land,
There came nor voice nor token;
No accent of the Holy Ghost
Whispered of the loved and lost;
No bright wanderer came to tell
If, in worlds beyond the grave,
Life, love, and beauty dwell.
Gustav Klemm, in a work entitled Allgemeine Culturgeschichte der Menschheit, divides the human races into the active and passive: the former (embracing only the so-called Caucasian race) marked by restless activity and aspiration, progress and the spirit of doubt and inquiry; the latter (comprising all the remaining races), by an absence or inferiority of these characteristics.
“The priestesses of Dodona assert that two black pigeons flew from Thebes in Egypt; one of which settled in Lybia, the other among themselves: which latter, resting on a beech-tree, declared with a human voice that here was to be the oracle of Jove.”—
Herodotus, Book II. ch. 55.“The Mænads, in their wild incantations, carried serpents in their hands, and with frantic gestures cried out Eva! Eva! Epiphanius thinks that this invocation related to the mother of mankind; but I am inclined to believe that it was the word Epha or Opha, rendered by the Greeks, Ophis, a serpent. I take Abaddon to have been the name of the same ophite God whose worship has so long infected the world. The learned Heinsius makes Abaddon the same as the serpent Python.”—
Jacob Brayant's Analysis of Ancient Mythology. “While Mænads cry aloud Evoe, Evoe!That voice that is contagion to the world.”
Shelley's Prometheus.
125
EVENING.
“And, it shall come to pass, that at evening time it shall be light.”
Zechariah xiv. 7.
Zechariah xiv. 7.
“All the dawn promised shall the day fulfill,
The glory and the grandeur of each dream;
And every prophecy shall be achieved,
And every joy conceded, prove a pledge
Of some new joy to come.”
Robert Browning.
The glory and the grandeur of each dream;
And every prophecy shall be achieved,
And every joy conceded, prove a pledge
Of some new joy to come.”
Robert Browning.
Wilder and lonelier grew the day:
The vault of heaven once so high,—
Fading to infinity,—
Now bowed by its own weight of gloom,
Seemed dark and low-browed as a tomb.
Cold, sculptured hills, forlorn and gray,
Like sun-forsaken Memnons, lay
Around my drear and pathless way.
The thunder rolled; and loud and shrill
The storm-blast shrieked from hill to hill.
The vault of heaven once so high,—
Fading to infinity,—
Now bowed by its own weight of gloom,
Seemed dark and low-browed as a tomb.
Cold, sculptured hills, forlorn and gray,
Like sun-forsaken Memnons, lay
Around my drear and pathless way.
The thunder rolled; and loud and shrill
The storm-blast shrieked from hill to hill.
Beside the lamp within the veil
Of the soul's temple burning pale,
I sought, in self-renouncing prayer,
Truth's guarded secrets to forbear,
Till lowly trust the right should earn
Life's golden meanings to discern.
I sought in ministries of love
The purchase of the Cross to prove,—
The mysteries of the Holy Rood
In sorrow's pale beatitude.
Content, through lowering clouds, to greet
The glory of the Paraclete;
I sought, within the inner shrine,
The Father-God of Palestine.
Of the soul's temple burning pale,
126
Truth's guarded secrets to forbear,
Till lowly trust the right should earn
Life's golden meanings to discern.
I sought in ministries of love
The purchase of the Cross to prove,—
The mysteries of the Holy Rood
In sorrow's pale beatitude.
Content, through lowering clouds, to greet
The glory of the Paraclete;
I sought, within the inner shrine,
The Father-God of Palestine.
A holy light began to stream
Athwart the cloud-rifts, like a dream
Of Heaven; and lo! a pale, sweet face,
Of mournful grandeur and imperial grace,—
A face whose mystic sadness seemed to borrow
Immortal beauty from that mortal sorrow
Looked on me; and a voice of solemn cheer
Uttered its sweet evangels on my ear;
The open secrets of that eldest lore
That seems less to reveal than to restore.
Athwart the cloud-rifts, like a dream
Of Heaven; and lo! a pale, sweet face,
Of mournful grandeur and imperial grace,—
A face whose mystic sadness seemed to borrow
Immortal beauty from that mortal sorrow
Looked on me; and a voice of solemn cheer
Uttered its sweet evangels on my ear;
The open secrets of that eldest lore
That seems less to reveal than to restore.
“Pluck thou the Life-tree's golden fruit,
Nor seek to bare its sacred root:
Live, and in life's perennial faith
Renounce the heresy of death:
Believe, and every sweet accord
Of being, to thine ear restored,
Shall sound articulate and clear;
Perfected love shall banish fear,
Knowledge and wisdom shall approve
The divine synthesis of love.”
Nor seek to bare its sacred root:
Live, and in life's perennial faith
Renounce the heresy of death:
127
Of being, to thine ear restored,
Shall sound articulate and clear;
Perfected love shall banish fear,
Knowledge and wisdom shall approve
The divine synthesis of love.”
“Royally the lilies grow
On the grassy leas,
Basking in the sun and dew,
Swinging in the breeze.
Doth the wild-fowl need a chart
Through the illimitable air?
Heaven lies folded in thy heart;
Seek the truth that slumbers there;
Thou art Truth's eternal heir.”
On the grassy leas,
Basking in the sun and dew,
Swinging in the breeze.
Doth the wild-fowl need a chart
Through the illimitable air?
Heaven lies folded in thy heart;
Seek the truth that slumbers there;
Thou art Truth's eternal heir.”
“Let the shadows come and go;
Let the stormy north wind blow:
Death's dark valley cannot bind thee
In its dread abode;
There the Morning Star shall find thee,
There the living God.
Sin and sorrow cannot hide thee,—
Death and hell cannot divide thee
From the love of God.”
In the mystic agony
On the Mount of Calvary,
The Saviour with his dying eyes
Beheld the groves of Paradise.
Let the stormy north wind blow:
Death's dark valley cannot bind thee
In its dread abode;
There the Morning Star shall find thee,
There the living God.
Sin and sorrow cannot hide thee,—
Death and hell cannot divide thee
From the love of God.”
128
On the Mount of Calvary,
The Saviour with his dying eyes
Beheld the groves of Paradise.
“Then weep not by the charnel stone,
Nor veil thine eyelids from the sun.
Upward, through the death-dark glides
The spirit on resurgent tides
Of light and glory on its way:
Wilt thou by the cerements stay?—
Thou the risen Christ shalt see
In redeemed Humanity.
Though mourners at the portal wept,
And angels lingered where it slept,
The soul but tarried for a night,
Then plumed its wings for loftier flight.”
Nor veil thine eyelids from the sun.
Upward, through the death-dark glides
The spirit on resurgent tides
Of light and glory on its way:
Wilt thou by the cerements stay?—
Thou the risen Christ shalt see
In redeemed Humanity.
Though mourners at the portal wept,
And angels lingered where it slept,
The soul but tarried for a night,
Then plumed its wings for loftier flight.”
“Is thy heart so lonely?—Lo,
Ready to share thy joy and woe,
Poor wanderers tarry at thy gate,
The way-worn and the desolate;
And angels at thy threshold wait:
Wouldst thou love's holiest guerdon win?
Arise, and let the stranger in.”
“The friend whom not thy fickle will,
But the deep heart within thee, still
Yearneth to fold to its embrace,
Shall seek thee through the realms of space.
Keep the image Nature sealed
On thy heart, by love annealed,
Keep thy faith serene and pure;
Her royal promises are sure,
Her sweet betrothals shall endure.”
Ready to share thy joy and woe,
Poor wanderers tarry at thy gate,
The way-worn and the desolate;
And angels at thy threshold wait:
Wouldst thou love's holiest guerdon win?
Arise, and let the stranger in.”
129
But the deep heart within thee, still
Yearneth to fold to its embrace,
Shall seek thee through the realms of space.
Keep the image Nature sealed
On thy heart, by love annealed,
Keep thy faith serene and pure;
Her royal promises are sure,
Her sweet betrothals shall endure.”
“Hope thou all things, and believe;
And, in child-like trust, achieve
The simplest mandates of the soul,
The simplest good, the nearest goal;
Move but the waters, and their pulse
The broad ocean shall convulse.”
And, in child-like trust, achieve
The simplest mandates of the soul,
The simplest good, the nearest goal;
Move but the waters, and their pulse
The broad ocean shall convulse.”
“When love shall reconcile the will
Love's mystic sorrow to fulfill,
Its fiery baptism to share,—
The burden of its cross to bear,—
Earth shall to equilibrium tend,
Ellipses shall to circles bend,
And life's long agony shall end.”
Love's mystic sorrow to fulfill,
Its fiery baptism to share,—
The burden of its cross to bear,—
Earth shall to equilibrium tend,
Ellipses shall to circles bend,
And life's long agony shall end.”
“Then pluck the Life-tree's golden fruit;
No blight can reach its sacred root.
E'en though every blossom fell
Into Hades, one by one,
Love is deeper far than Hades,—
Shadows cannot quench the sun.”
No blight can reach its sacred root.
130
Into Hades, one by one,
Love is deeper far than Hades,—
Shadows cannot quench the sun.”
“Can the child-heart promise more
Than the Father hath in store?—
The blind shall see,—the dead shall live;
Can the man-child forfeit more
Than the Father can forgive?
The Dragon, from his empire driven,
No more shall find his place in Heaven,
Till e'en the Serpent power approve
The divine potency of love.”
Than the Father hath in store?—
The blind shall see,—the dead shall live;
Can the man-child forfeit more
Than the Father can forgive?
The Dragon, from his empire driven,
No more shall find his place in Heaven,
Till e'en the Serpent power approve
The divine potency of love.”
“Guard thy faith with holy care,—
Mystic virtues slumber there;
'T is the lamp within the soul
Holding genii in control:
Faith shall walk the stormy water,—
In the unequal strife prevail,—
Nor, when comes the dread avatar,
From its fiery splendors quail.
Faith shall triumph o'er the grave,
Love shall bless the life it gave.”
Mystic virtues slumber there;
'T is the lamp within the soul
Holding genii in control:
Faith shall walk the stormy water,—
In the unequal strife prevail,—
Nor, when comes the dread avatar,
From its fiery splendors quail.
Faith shall triumph o'er the grave,
Love shall bless the life it gave.”
I heard; and in my heart the incarnate Word
Uttered, serene and clear, its sweet accord,—
To Him that sitteth on the eternal throne,
All power and grace earth's discord to atone,—
To the great Soul that foldeth all in one,
Father in Heaven, I cried, thy will be done!
Uttered, serene and clear, its sweet accord,—
131
All power and grace earth's discord to atone,—
To the great Soul that foldeth all in one,
Father in Heaven, I cried, thy will be done!
Then faintly, with my heart's low music blending,
I heard a sound of silver wings descending:
The Holy Dove of Peace, the promised guest,
Folded its fragrant pinions on my breast.
I heard a sound of silver wings descending:
The Holy Dove of Peace, the promised guest,
Folded its fragrant pinions on my breast.
Life into lines of beauty flowed
Around me, flexuous and free;
The passive face of Nature showed
A sweet, responsive sympathy;
And dimly, through the Human, glowed
The lineaments of Deity.
Around me, flexuous and free;
The passive face of Nature showed
A sweet, responsive sympathy;
And dimly, through the Human, glowed
The lineaments of Deity.
I saw the frowning orbs of Fate
Into a regent calm dilate—
A sovran and superb disdain
Of earth's fast-fleeting joy and pain;
While patience budding into peace,
And knowledge ripening into power,
And thought with its pale alchemy,
Made beautiful the passing hour;
Till morn and noonlight seemed to fuse
Their glory with its fading hues,
As the fair outline of my day,
From dawn to twilight's golden gray,
Rose grandly on the prescient soul,
Crowned with the sunset's aureole.
Into a regent calm dilate—
A sovran and superb disdain
Of earth's fast-fleeting joy and pain;
While patience budding into peace,
And knowledge ripening into power,
And thought with its pale alchemy,
Made beautiful the passing hour;
132
Their glory with its fading hues,
As the fair outline of my day,
From dawn to twilight's golden gray,
Rose grandly on the prescient soul,
Crowned with the sunset's aureole.
Far off, among the Norland hills,
The distant thunders rolled;
Soft rain-clouds dipped their fringes down
Across the evening gold.
Heaven's stormy dome was rent, and high
Above me shone the summer sky;
Ever more serene it grew,
Fading off into the blue,
Till the boundless hyaline
Seemed melting into depths divine,
And the angels came and went
Through the opening firmament.
In all the glooming hollows lay
A light more beautiful than day;
All the blossom bells waved slowly
In the evening's golden calm,
And the hum of distant voices
Sounded like a vesper psalm.
Till dimly seen, through day's departing bloom,
The far-off lamps of heaven began to fling
Their trembling beams athwart the dewy gloom,
As Evening, on the horizon's airy ring,
Winnowing the darkness with her silver wing,
Descended like an angel, calm and still.
The distant thunders rolled;
Soft rain-clouds dipped their fringes down
Across the evening gold.
Heaven's stormy dome was rent, and high
Above me shone the summer sky;
Ever more serene it grew,
Fading off into the blue,
Till the boundless hyaline
Seemed melting into depths divine,
And the angels came and went
Through the opening firmament.
In all the glooming hollows lay
A light more beautiful than day;
All the blossom bells waved slowly
In the evening's golden calm,
And the hum of distant voices
Sounded like a vesper psalm.
133
The far-off lamps of heaven began to fling
Their trembling beams athwart the dewy gloom,
As Evening, on the horizon's airy ring,
Winnowing the darkness with her silver wing,
Descended like an angel, calm and still.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |