Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | VI. | PART VI MISCELLANEOUS VERSIONS |
| VII. |
 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
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VI. PART VI
MISCELLANEOUS VERSIONS
293
LIFE, DEATH, ETERNITY.
Arise, my soul! awake! arise!
Shake off thine idle earthly dreams,
And think how soon
The longest human lifetime flies—
How soon the Hand which gave, redeems
Its mystic boon!—
How swiftly Pleasure's gorgeous cheats
And Power's colossal pomps and lures
Are lost in gloom,
Till even their faintest memory fleets,
And Man first finds that nought endures
But God and Doom!
Shake off thine idle earthly dreams,
And think how soon
The longest human lifetime flies—
How soon the Hand which gave, redeems
Its mystic boon!—
How swiftly Pleasure's gorgeous cheats
And Power's colossal pomps and lures
Are lost in gloom,
Till even their faintest memory fleets,
And Man first finds that nought endures
But God and Doom!
Time summons, and our nights and days,
With all their hollow hopes and joys,
Their tears and mirth,
Go home by dark and trackless ways,
And join the years that rolled ere Troy's
Renown had birth.
Forth flow the moments, dusk or bright,
And, as their unresounding stream
Departs away,
With each successive wavelet's flight
Some fragment of Life's glittering dream
Grows dim for aye!
With all their hollow hopes and joys,
Their tears and mirth,
Go home by dark and trackless ways,
And join the years that rolled ere Troy's
Renown had birth.
Forth flow the moments, dusk or bright,
And, as their unresounding stream
Departs away,
With each successive wavelet's flight
Some fragment of Life's glittering dream
Grows dim for aye!
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Like silent rivers hurrying on
Through storm and calm, through ebb and flow,
To Ocean's breast,
Illusions leave us one by one,
Long ere the heart itself lies low
In dreamless rest.
Youth, Pleasure, Glory, Genius, Love,
Burn bright awhile, then wane and die,
Like those long trains
Of meteor lights that flash above,
And starless blackness, as on high,
Alone remains!
Through storm and calm, through ebb and flow,
To Ocean's breast,
Illusions leave us one by one,
Long ere the heart itself lies low
In dreamless rest.
Youth, Pleasure, Glory, Genius, Love,
Burn bright awhile, then wane and die,
Like those long trains
Of meteor lights that flash above,
And starless blackness, as on high,
Alone remains!
This world is but a thoroughfare,
A road by which we all must go
To reach our Home;
Some dance along, some droop in care,
But All wend on, both high and low,
Both sage and mome.
Our pilgrimage begins in tears,
And sorrows throng our thorny way
Even from our birth,
Till, having reached the Vale of Years,
We bow to Death, who blends our clay
With that of Earth.
A road by which we all must go
To reach our Home;
Some dance along, some droop in care,
But All wend on, both high and low,
Both sage and mome.
Our pilgrimage begins in tears,
And sorrows throng our thorny way
Even from our birth,
Till, having reached the Vale of Years,
We bow to Death, who blends our clay
With that of Earth.
Yet this vain world, which so controls
And fills the hearts of Adam's race,
If used aright
Might serve to sanctify our souls,
And prove a fruitful means of Grace,
And source of Might.
As boundless love to wretched Man
Brought down the Son of God from Heaven,
Winged by that love
Our souls might spurn Life's prisoning span,
And, purified from earthly leaven,
Ascend above.
And fills the hearts of Adam's race,
If used aright
Might serve to sanctify our souls,
And prove a fruitful means of Grace,
And source of Might.
As boundless love to wretched Man
Brought down the Son of God from Heaven,
Winged by that love
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And, purified from earthly leaven,
Ascend above.
The bright cerulean Gothic blood,
The royal names, the lords of old,
Are gone and past;
So all that breathe of Base and Good,
Of Strong and Frail, of Mean and Bold,
Sink, too, at last.
Some fall by Craft, more yield to Strength,
Disease, Want, War, and broken hearts
Sweep off the mass,
But All meet in that House at length,
To which, despite of arms and arts,
Even kings must pass.
The royal names, the lords of old,
Are gone and past;
So all that breathe of Base and Good,
Of Strong and Frail, of Mean and Bold,
Sink, too, at last.
Some fall by Craft, more yield to Strength,
Disease, Want, War, and broken hearts
Sweep off the mass,
But All meet in that House at length,
To which, despite of arms and arts,
Even kings must pass.
The social joys, the hallowed loves,
That gird Life's twilight pathway round,
Are cloister walls.
Woe then to him who madly roves
Beyond!—he treads forbidden ground,
Where Virtue falls!
And oh! if even the Just would flee
That last dread hour for human dust
Too oft forgot,
What must the sinner's death-bed be?
Yet, saints or sinners, die we must,
Absolved or not.
That gird Life's twilight pathway round,
Are cloister walls.
Woe then to him who madly roves
Beyond!—he treads forbidden ground,
Where Virtue falls!
And oh! if even the Just would flee
That last dread hour for human dust
Too oft forgot,
What must the sinner's death-bed be?
Yet, saints or sinners, die we must,
Absolved or not.
O, Man, thou self-deluder! canst
Thou dupe thy soul in Youth with hope
Of golden years?
Alas! ere more than half advanced
On Life's rough road, thou hast to grope
Thy way in tears!
A faint light glimmers now and then
Through Manhood's hour perchance, to cheer
Thy pilgrimage,
But Darkness clouds the scene agen,
And tenfold night anon draws near
In palsied Age!
Thou dupe thy soul in Youth with hope
Of golden years?
Alas! ere more than half advanced
On Life's rough road, thou hast to grope
Thy way in tears!
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Through Manhood's hour perchance, to cheer
Thy pilgrimage,
But Darkness clouds the scene agen,
And tenfold night anon draws near
In palsied Age!
How shalt thou, then, find best escape
From all the ills that so beset
Life's drear exile?
Gold, Glory, even the tempting grape,
At most but aid thee to forget
Thy state awhile—
Where, when the warring world's alarms
Ring loud around thee, shalt thou find
True peace of soul?
Oh, where, but in Religion's arms?
Where, but with Faith, which wings the mind
To Heaven, its goal?
From all the ills that so beset
Life's drear exile?
Gold, Glory, even the tempting grape,
At most but aid thee to forget
Thy state awhile—
Where, when the warring world's alarms
Ring loud around thee, shalt thou find
True peace of soul?
Oh, where, but in Religion's arms?
Where, but with Faith, which wings the mind
To Heaven, its goal?
For me, no formal tome I cite,
No grave, elaborate moralist,
No poet-lays.
For he who turns to such for light
Meets but at best a dazzling mist
That mocks his gaze.
I raise my thoughts in prayer to God,
I look for help to Him alone
Who shared our lot,
The Mighty One of Heaven, who trod
Life's path as Man, though Earth, His own,
Received Him not!
No grave, elaborate moralist,
No poet-lays.
For he who turns to such for light
Meets but at best a dazzling mist
That mocks his gaze.
I raise my thoughts in prayer to God,
I look for help to Him alone
Who shared our lot,
The Mighty One of Heaven, who trod
Life's path as Man, though Earth, His own,
Received Him not!
I turn to Him, and ask for nought
Save knowledge of His heavenly will,
Whate'er it be:
I seek no doubtful blessings, fraught
With present good, but final ill
And agony.
Come Death or Life, come Woe or Weal,
Whate'er my God elects to send
I here embrace;
Blest while, though tortured on the wheel,
I forfeit not, or worse, misspend
His holy grace.
Save knowledge of His heavenly will,
Whate'er it be:
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With present good, but final ill
And agony.
Come Death or Life, come Woe or Weal,
Whate'er my God elects to send
I here embrace;
Blest while, though tortured on the wheel,
I forfeit not, or worse, misspend
His holy grace.
THE MARINER'S BRIDE.
Look, Mother! the Mariner's rowing
His galley a-down the tide;
I'll go where the mariner's going,
And be the mariner's bride!
His galley a-down the tide;
I'll go where the mariner's going,
And be the mariner's bride!
I saw him one day through the wicket,
I opened the gate and we met—
As a bird in the fowler's net
Was I caught in my own green thicket.
O mother, my tears are flowing,
I've lost my maidenly pride—
I'll go if the mariner's going,
And be the mariner's bride!
I opened the gate and we met—
As a bird in the fowler's net
Was I caught in my own green thicket.
O mother, my tears are flowing,
I've lost my maidenly pride—
I'll go if the mariner's going,
And be the mariner's bride!
This Love the tyrant evinces,
Alas! an omnipotent might,
He darkens the mind like night,
He treads on the necks of Princes!
O mother, my bosom is glowing,
I'll go whatever betide;
I'll go where the mariner's going,
And be the mariner's bride!
Alas! an omnipotent might,
He darkens the mind like night,
He treads on the necks of Princes!
O mother, my bosom is glowing,
I'll go whatever betide;
I'll go where the mariner's going,
And be the mariner's bride!
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Yes! mother, the spoiler has reft me
Of reason and self-control;
Gone, gone is my wretched soul,
And only my body is left me!
The winds, O mother, are blowing,
The ocean is bright and wide;
I'll go where the mariner's going;
And be the mariner's bride.
Of reason and self-control;
Gone, gone is my wretched soul,
And only my body is left me!
The winds, O mother, are blowing,
The ocean is bright and wide;
I'll go where the mariner's going;
And be the mariner's bride.
THE MASS OF THE BIRDS.
This morning, lying couched amid the grassIn the deep deep dingle south of Llangwyth's Pass,
While it was yet neither quite bright nor dark,
I heard a new and wonderful High Mass.
The Chief Priest was the nightingale: the Lark
And Thrush assisted him; and some small bird
(I do not weet his name) acted as Clerk.
My spirit was lapt in ecstasy: each word,
Word after word, thrilled through me like the deep
Rich music of a dream: not wholly asleep
Nor all awake was I, but, as it were,
Tranced somewhere between one state and the other.
All heavy thoughts that through the long day smother
Man's heart and soul with weariness and care
Were gone, and in their place reigned pure delight.
The nightingale, sent from a far and bright
Land by my golden sister, prophesied
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And the small Bird responding, sang, “Rejoice! Rejoice!”
I heard his little bell tinkle and jingle
With a clear silver sound that filled the dingle.
Heaven is a state wherein Bliss and Devotion mingle,
And such was mine this morn: I could have died
Of rapture! Never knelt upon his hassock
Bishop or deacon with a holier feeling.
How beautifully shone the Thrush's cassock,
Covered all over with a thousand strange
And lovely flowers, like those upon an Arabesque ceiling!
The altar seemed of such resplendent gold
As no man, even a miser, would exchange
For all the jewels in the East of old.
Two hours I lay admiring all I saw,
Yet those two hours appeared to me no more
Than as a moment: I look back with awe
And wonder at what then I thought and felt,
And would give all my fame, and all my lore,
Yea, even almost my life, but to restore
The rapturous emotions that then dwelt
Within my bosom! Ah! this may not be—
But glory unto God, who in His infinite love
Created Man to enjoy to eternity
Even greater happiness in His own Heaven above!
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |