 | A Lost God |  |
47
III. ACHIEVEMENT.
O hills of Palestine! A sadness hangs
On slope and summit, and in plains beneath
Broods as a meadow mist, the chilling ghost
Of lost occasion and long-perished hope.
O Land of Promise, how art thou become,
To hearts that love thee, land of bitterness!
Yet not the measure of thy sins was full
Then when the things I tell of chanced; and still
Some gleams of glory visited the soil,
(Less hard than hearts that crucified the Christ).
Lilies sprang from it, gloriously arrayed,
Whose paler kindred in our bleak north clime
We name Wind-flowers.
On slope and summit, and in plains beneath
Broods as a meadow mist, the chilling ghost
Of lost occasion and long-perished hope.
O Land of Promise, how art thou become,
To hearts that love thee, land of bitterness!
Yet not the measure of thy sins was full
Then when the things I tell of chanced; and still
Some gleams of glory visited the soil,
(Less hard than hearts that crucified the Christ).
Lilies sprang from it, gloriously arrayed,
Whose paler kindred in our bleak north clime
We name Wind-flowers.
The land was rich with them,
The unreaped harvest of the lavish spring,
When Philo and Leander, rumour-led
From place to place, passed southward. The same way
Many were journeying, and they joined the crowd,
Who questioned not, but deemed them Hellene Jews,
Haply from Alexandria or from Crete,
Who crossed the sea to keep the Passover.
At last, a hill-top gained, Jerusalem
Lay, washed with morning, at their feet; and shouts
Rose from the multitude of joy and pride.
But little stirred their Grecian souls the sight
So unlike Greece. The white-walled city blazed
In pearl and topaz 'neath the orient blue;
And like some gorgeous jewel's central gem,
Flashed in the midst the one vast golden shrine.
And little moved them all the spectacle,
The stirring crowds, the eager worshippers.
One man they sought, one question asked of all,
“Where is the Teacher, the new Teacher?” Much
They marvelled that so few had heard his fame,
Nor any knew if he were there or no.
The unreaped harvest of the lavish spring,
When Philo and Leander, rumour-led
From place to place, passed southward. The same way
Many were journeying, and they joined the crowd,
Who questioned not, but deemed them Hellene Jews,
Haply from Alexandria or from Crete,
Who crossed the sea to keep the Passover.
At last, a hill-top gained, Jerusalem
Lay, washed with morning, at their feet; and shouts
Rose from the multitude of joy and pride.
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So unlike Greece. The white-walled city blazed
In pearl and topaz 'neath the orient blue;
And like some gorgeous jewel's central gem,
Flashed in the midst the one vast golden shrine.
And little moved them all the spectacle,
The stirring crowds, the eager worshippers.
One man they sought, one question asked of all,
“Where is the Teacher, the new Teacher?” Much
They marvelled that so few had heard his fame,
Nor any knew if he were there or no.
But one day, wandering from the city-gate,
They met, slow-winding down the dusty hill,
A strange procession. On the gentlest beast
Rode one, the gentlest-seeming of all men.
And as he went, upon the road before
The crowd spread palms in triumph, or flung down
Their garments for the tread of those slow feet.
And with a flash of joy Leander turned
To his companion: “This is he, is he!”
They met, slow-winding down the dusty hill,
A strange procession. On the gentlest beast
Rode one, the gentlest-seeming of all men.
And as he went, upon the road before
The crowd spread palms in triumph, or flung down
Their garments for the tread of those slow feet.
And with a flash of joy Leander turned
To his companion: “This is he, is he!”
Passed the procession, and with wondering joy
They followed to the city-gate, and through
The gate unto the temple precincts. There,
Forbid to enter, they were forced to turn,
And unaccomplished see their golden hopes,
That yet burned brightly; for they said together,
Soon as the festival was passed, and stilled
The unused stir and tumult of the streets,
Then should they find him. So day followed day,
And solitary yet they dwelt, aloof
In life and feeling from the alien folk;
And finding not amid the jealous Jews
The liberal human love of Hellene hearts.
(For the pure souls of Hellas ever seem
Open as their own temples to the light
Of sea and land and sky; made beautiful—
As these with sculpture—by the memories
Of noble days and deeds and heroes dead.)
They followed to the city-gate, and through
The gate unto the temple precincts. There,
Forbid to enter, they were forced to turn,
And unaccomplished see their golden hopes,
That yet burned brightly; for they said together,
Soon as the festival was passed, and stilled
The unused stir and tumult of the streets,
Then should they find him. So day followed day,
And solitary yet they dwelt, aloof
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And finding not amid the jealous Jews
The liberal human love of Hellene hearts.
(For the pure souls of Hellas ever seem
Open as their own temples to the light
Of sea and land and sky; made beautiful—
As these with sculpture—by the memories
Of noble days and deeds and heroes dead.)
Yet once again they saw the man they sought.
Three days had passed or four, and then a day
Came memorable for mysterious awe,
Oppressed with dreadful dreams, and terrible
For thick unnatural night, that at the noon
Hid earth and heaven. And when at length it passed,
And the mild evening, breathing consolation,
Brought calm and lucid the clear light again,
From the hot streets they turned, and sought a hill
Hard by the city. As they gained the brow,
A sudden horror shook again their souls;
For gaunt against the silvery evening light,
Three crosses stretched their ghastly arms in air;
And on them, murdered in the barbarous mode
Of the world's masters, still three corpses hung.
The public footway led beneath, and they,
Spite of repugnance, followed, murmuring low
Words of good omen to avert the ill.
And nearer drawing, round the midmost cross
They marked a little crowd, women and men
Weeping, and one who clasped and kissed the feet,
Pallid and pierced with nails. The gracious Greeks,
Reverent to human sorrow, stepped aside,
And lifted, as they passed, their eyes to see
What criminal was he whose death of shame
Was by such love attended. And the face
They saw, that none who looked on could forget,
Marred now by mortal suffering, yet supreme
Even in the pains of death o'er death and pain.
The face they saw and knew, and like a flood
Surging o'er sunny fields, o'er all their hopes
Dark disappointment swelled, and dull despair.
And like a mocking echo of their thoughts,
Fell from the scornful lips of one who passed,
“He savèd others: himself he could not save.”
Three days had passed or four, and then a day
Came memorable for mysterious awe,
Oppressed with dreadful dreams, and terrible
For thick unnatural night, that at the noon
Hid earth and heaven. And when at length it passed,
And the mild evening, breathing consolation,
Brought calm and lucid the clear light again,
From the hot streets they turned, and sought a hill
Hard by the city. As they gained the brow,
A sudden horror shook again their souls;
For gaunt against the silvery evening light,
Three crosses stretched their ghastly arms in air;
And on them, murdered in the barbarous mode
Of the world's masters, still three corpses hung.
The public footway led beneath, and they,
Spite of repugnance, followed, murmuring low
Words of good omen to avert the ill.
And nearer drawing, round the midmost cross
They marked a little crowd, women and men
Weeping, and one who clasped and kissed the feet,
Pallid and pierced with nails. The gracious Greeks,
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And lifted, as they passed, their eyes to see
What criminal was he whose death of shame
Was by such love attended. And the face
They saw, that none who looked on could forget,
Marred now by mortal suffering, yet supreme
Even in the pains of death o'er death and pain.
The face they saw and knew, and like a flood
Surging o'er sunny fields, o'er all their hopes
Dark disappointment swelled, and dull despair.
And like a mocking echo of their thoughts,
Fell from the scornful lips of one who passed,
“He savèd others: himself he could not save.”
Our years oft take their impress from one hour
Of joy or sorrow. And to these the light
Of many days was in one hour made dark.
Homeward they hasted from that alien land,
The unfamiliar speech, the cruel race,
That slew the Teacher of the blameless tongue—
Homeward across the sea all Hellenes love.
And as they drew near Hellas, their sad hearts
Warmed with the love of home; and hand in hand
They clasped, and vowed to vex their souls no more,
But live such quiet lives as all men live,
And take their daily lot of sun and rain
As others, and like others quietly
Give up the reading of the riddle, Death.
Of joy or sorrow. And to these the light
Of many days was in one hour made dark.
Homeward they hasted from that alien land,
The unfamiliar speech, the cruel race,
That slew the Teacher of the blameless tongue—
Homeward across the sea all Hellenes love.
And as they drew near Hellas, their sad hearts
Warmed with the love of home; and hand in hand
They clasped, and vowed to vex their souls no more,
But live such quiet lives as all men live,
And take their daily lot of sun and rain
As others, and like others quietly
Give up the reading of the riddle, Death.
But to Leander, as they drew near home,
Rose up in starlit sky and sunlit sea
The face of Helen; and if ecstasy,
In some forgetful moment when the breeze
Blew freshly and the sun danced on the sea,
Soared to its natural heaven, then swift and sure
The arrow of remembrance reached it there,
And like a wounded lark it fell to earth
In torment unremediable. At last,
On a calm eventide, when all day long
To them slow-sailing distant hills of Greece
Had lain in shadowy purple on their lee,
When Night, soft-hearted, soothing, motherly,
Had laid her loving hand upon his head,
No longer he forbore, but to his friend
Told of his life what he had left untold,
How Helen had been wedded and was dead.
But that large heart, grown wise with sympathy
More than experience of the ways of men,
Gently as he who probes a sufferer's wound
To know if he may heal it, touch by touch,
By artful questions answered artlessly,
Discerned the world-old tale of woman's guile,
Ruthless in love. And first by meaning words
Dropped lightly, then by plainer hints, and last
By open explanation, lifted high
Leander's heart to long-forgotten hope.
And now to him the wind's swift wings were slow,
And long the flying hours. But the good wind
Neither for hopes blew faster, nor for fears
Faltered, but ever bore them steadily;
Till out of a grey dawn flashed like a star
Far off a pillared temple on a height.
His eyes the earliest hailed it, and his feet
Were first upon the land. But tremblingly
He trod the well-known ways; and sick with doubt
Came to the doorway.
Rose up in starlit sky and sunlit sea
The face of Helen; and if ecstasy,
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Blew freshly and the sun danced on the sea,
Soared to its natural heaven, then swift and sure
The arrow of remembrance reached it there,
And like a wounded lark it fell to earth
In torment unremediable. At last,
On a calm eventide, when all day long
To them slow-sailing distant hills of Greece
Had lain in shadowy purple on their lee,
When Night, soft-hearted, soothing, motherly,
Had laid her loving hand upon his head,
No longer he forbore, but to his friend
Told of his life what he had left untold,
How Helen had been wedded and was dead.
But that large heart, grown wise with sympathy
More than experience of the ways of men,
Gently as he who probes a sufferer's wound
To know if he may heal it, touch by touch,
By artful questions answered artlessly,
Discerned the world-old tale of woman's guile,
Ruthless in love. And first by meaning words
Dropped lightly, then by plainer hints, and last
By open explanation, lifted high
Leander's heart to long-forgotten hope.
And now to him the wind's swift wings were slow,
And long the flying hours. But the good wind
Neither for hopes blew faster, nor for fears
Faltered, but ever bore them steadily;
Till out of a grey dawn flashed like a star
Far off a pillared temple on a height.
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Were first upon the land. But tremblingly
He trod the well-known ways; and sick with doubt
Came to the doorway.
Then—oh joy! joy! joy!
For Helen lived, and with sweet woman's faith
Had waited, and with woman's hope had watched,
And now with woman's love she welcomed him.
For Helen lived, and with sweet woman's faith
Had waited, and with woman's hope had watched,
And now with woman's love she welcomed him.
Nor would those long-tried comrades part again,
But in one tranquil home the three together
Lived peaceful days. Yet upon Philo's heart,
And on Leander's, still a shadow lay,
Light-brooding as the shadow of a cloud,
But unremoving and unchangeable:
The shadow of a life's high enterprise
Failed in, a great achievement unachieved.
But in one tranquil home the three together
Lived peaceful days. Yet upon Philo's heart,
And on Leander's, still a shadow lay,
Light-brooding as the shadow of a cloud,
But unremoving and unchangeable:
The shadow of a life's high enterprise
Failed in, a great achievement unachieved.
But in the slow years' passing came a day
That brought (how little hoped for!) the fulfilment
Of their old dreams.
That brought (how little hoped for!) the fulfilment
Of their old dreams.
It fell upon a day
That Philo, moved by ancient memories,
Grew fain once more to visit his old home
In Athens; and he left his friends awhile,
And once again with unfamiliar feet
Trod the familiar ways, streets, temples, halls,
Amid the olives and the marbles; paced
Poecilè and the groves of Academe;
Saw yet again the shade of Plato rise,
Lived his old life again, and found his soul
Filled with forlorn ghosts of forgotten days,
And softened with most pitying tenderness
To the young life, that hardly seemed his own,
Whose iridescent dreams were grown so grey.
And the days went; and they who watched at home
Wondered at his long tarrying. But at last
He came, upon a golden eventide,
That lit his face and his white locks with gold.
And much they welcomed him, and brought him in
Within the darkening house; and wondered then,
Because the fire was still upon his face,
The sunset glow, or some diviner light.
That Philo, moved by ancient memories,
Grew fain once more to visit his old home
In Athens; and he left his friends awhile,
And once again with unfamiliar feet
Trod the familiar ways, streets, temples, halls,
Amid the olives and the marbles; paced
Poecilè and the groves of Academe;
Saw yet again the shade of Plato rise,
Lived his old life again, and found his soul
Filled with forlorn ghosts of forgotten days,
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To the young life, that hardly seemed his own,
Whose iridescent dreams were grown so grey.
And the days went; and they who watched at home
Wondered at his long tarrying. But at last
He came, upon a golden eventide,
That lit his face and his white locks with gold.
And much they welcomed him, and brought him in
Within the darkening house; and wondered then,
Because the fire was still upon his face,
The sunset glow, or some diviner light.
Master and friend, (Leander cried at last)
What rapture has re-lit your eyes with flame?
They have not burned so brightly since the hour
When hope died in our hearts. What joy is this?
What have you seen, what heard? May we too hear,
And share your joy?
Philo.
What rapture has re-lit your eyes with flame?
They have not burned so brightly since the hour
When hope died in our hearts. What joy is this?
What have you seen, what heard? May we too hear,
And share your joy?
Ay, you and all the world.
Well may a rapture re-illume the eyes
That see the dawning of an age of gold
Fairer than fabled! Mind you him we saw
Dead-hanging on the cross? His death that day
Crowned hope, not crushed it as we thought. He lives
Risen from the dead.
Leander.
What, have you seen him?
Philo.
Nay!
But many saw him; I have spoken with one.
Helen.
O Master, tell us step by step your tale!
We need a stairway to such heights of joy.
Philo.
Climbing to Areopagus one day,
I came upon a crowd who pressed to hear
Some speaker. Drawing nearer, I beheld
One most noteworthy in the midst, of look
Most lofty, but of stature small, and raised
On steps or statue-base for all to see.
When first I caught his words articulate,
He had drawn all eyes, and stopped the smallest stir
By some arrestive power of earnestness,
Or eloquent exordium, and was saying—
“Hath raised him from the dead.” But at that word
Arose light laughter from the careless crowd
Of ritual-serving sceptics; and the most
Turned and departed scornfully. But I—
A certain wild hope springing in my heart—
Lingered, and shouldering through the ebbing throng,
Found some few others gathered round the man,
Eager to question of his wondrous news.
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Some speaker. Drawing nearer, I beheld
One most noteworthy in the midst, of look
Most lofty, but of stature small, and raised
On steps or statue-base for all to see.
When first I caught his words articulate,
He had drawn all eyes, and stopped the smallest stir
By some arrestive power of earnestness,
Or eloquent exordium, and was saying—
“Hath raised him from the dead.” But at that word
Arose light laughter from the careless crowd
Of ritual-serving sceptics; and the most
Turned and departed scornfully. But I—
A certain wild hope springing in my heart—
Lingered, and shouldering through the ebbing throng,
Found some few others gathered round the man,
Eager to question of his wondrous news.
What shall I say? How in few words tell all?
How make you understand what power there was,
Or in the man or in his message, made
To doubt impossible, while in our ears
He told the story of the blameless life
Whose crown was crucifixion? But the sequel
Out-matched the rest in miracle;—the tomb
Found vacant in the glimmering dawn, the vision
Of angels, and the visitant who bore
In living hands and feet the scars of death,
Looked on by human eyes, by human hands
Touched for faith's token.
How make you understand what power there was,
Or in the man or in his message, made
To doubt impossible, while in our ears
He told the story of the blameless life
Whose crown was crucifixion? But the sequel
Out-matched the rest in miracle;—the tomb
Found vacant in the glimmering dawn, the vision
Of angels, and the visitant who bore
In living hands and feet the scars of death,
Looked on by human eyes, by human hands
Touched for faith's token.
Thus was taught the world
That Immortality is not the dream
Of poets, but the real life of man.
The light we thought a spangle proves a star;
The toy we lightly played with, or threw by,
Proves treasure trusted till a reckoning-day.
Infinity to climb—Eternity
To spend in climbing! See you how this world,
Pleasure and pain, loss, gain, in such a view
Sink into nothing? Good and Evil mean
To mortals little, to immortals all.
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Of poets, but the real life of man.
The light we thought a spangle proves a star;
The toy we lightly played with, or threw by,
Proves treasure trusted till a reckoning-day.
Infinity to climb—Eternity
To spend in climbing! See you how this world,
Pleasure and pain, loss, gain, in such a view
Sink into nothing? Good and Evil mean
To mortals little, to immortals all.
Thus that foiled painful life, looked back upon,
Orbed into star-like glory, radiating
A brightening revelation, as they saw—
They His disciples who had been with Him—
How every word and act in Him had set
To that one central Truth, mysterious then,
Now manifest past doubt, since He that died
Was seen re-risen.
Orbed into star-like glory, radiating
A brightening revelation, as they saw—
They His disciples who had been with Him—
How every word and act in Him had set
To that one central Truth, mysterious then,
Now manifest past doubt, since He that died
Was seen re-risen.
Leander.
O Master, as the light
Of sunset after a long day of rain
Are your assuring words. Yet bear with me!
Is all that I have worshipped in the world—
Beauty, the æther of the panting soul,
Art, that half soothes, half quickens the soul's thirst—
Are these not worship-worthy? And the gods,
Whom we have reverenced, are they gods no more?
Philo.
Rather, I think that they were never gods,
But lovely idols of the mind of man,
As are their images his handiwork.
Not the inhuman Moloch and his like:
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But of our Hellene gods, not all are base,
Adulterous, criminal. Consider them
Evil and good together! Are they not
The likeness of the natural mind of man,
Each human attribute idealized?
The best of them but earthly—and earthly things
Now dwindle in the expanse of opening Heaven.
Yet with all fair things they may take fit place;
With stars and flowers and statues let them be,
Unmeet for worship, not unmeet for love.
But we, as men upon a mist-girt isle,
Have long enough been fooled with petty hills
And mimic rivers; long enough have played
In earnestness with toys of flower and shell.
What, when the mist is rent, and full revealed
Lies the vast ocean, shall we turn our backs,
And shut our eyes, and make believe again?
What madman so deluded! When this life,—
Whose vanity our own philosophers
Have tired our ears with teaching,—this brief life
Subject to death, this body thrall to pain,
Are but for trial trusted us, to prove
If we be worthy an immortal life,
A body passionless.
Leander.
But those rare moods
Of exaltation, and my dreams of Pan,
Are they illusions only?
Philo.
Nay, not so!
This Christ accomplishes your dreams of Pan
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His immortality to dwell with men;
He laboured with the labourer; he wept
With those that mourned. For him the wild field flower
Shone fairer than the splendours of a king.
And in all nature, earth and sky and sea,
He taught how near beneath the surface lies
The golden ore of Truth, which shining through
Awakens such wild yearnings as to me
You, Poet, have confessed.—Poet, take heart!
All that makes nature fuller-voiced to man,
Poem or picture, is of God, and lends
Its tittle of help to His untiring work
Of lifting man above the mists of self
To see the vision of the Eternal.—Christ
Has once for all done that tremendous thing
Whose awful need had pressed for ages past
On souls clear-sighted, like a cloud of doom,
And made of poets prophets menacing.
Henceforth may they look forth with lighter heart,
Fulfil their natural order, and become
Nature's interpreters in all her ways
Of herb or beast or star or human kind;
So they give God the glory, and the first
Of aspiration, gladness, love to Him
From whom all good gifts come.
He ceased; and now,
Scarce heeded in their converse, night had fallen.
So after some brief silence Helen rose
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The soft light stole through all the darkened room;
One breath of summer night just stirred the flame,
And through the window one bright star looked in.
Then looking each on other, with one thought
Moving them, on the glimmering marble floor
They knelt together, and prayed the prayer of Christ.
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