University of Virginia Library

Dearest, thou whose lightest breath
Sweetens Life and conquers Death,
Fair as pure, and purer far
Than the dreams of poets are,
Unto thee, and only thee,
I upon my bended knee
Give my birthright—Poesy!

Ishmael of the singing race,
Born where sky and mountain meet,
Standing in a lonely place
With the world below my feet,
Wrapt about with mist and cloud,
Songs of joy I sang aloud!
Then the Muses of the North,
Like Valkyries heavenly-eyed,
From the storm-cloud trooping forth,
Found me on the mountain-side,
Buckled on my mail of steel,
Arm'd me nobly head to heel,
Placed a sword within my hand,
Made me warrior of the Right,
Crying, ‘Go and take thy stand
In the vanward of the fight!
Hasten forth, made strong and free,
Through thy birthright—Poesy!’

Then I gazed, and far below
Saw the fires of battle glow,
Saw the banners of the world
Kindle, to the winds unfurl'd,—
Saw the pomp of priests and kings
Girt about by underlings,
Hunting down with sword and spear
Liberty, the fleet red-deer,—
Saw the Cities vast and loud,
Foul as Sodom and as proud,
Each a Monster in its mire
Crouching low with eyes of fire;
Heard the cruel trumpet's blare,
Mix'd with plagal-hymns of prayer,
Saw the world from sea to sea
Blind to Death and Deity!

Singing loud with savage joy
Down the glens I sprang, a boy—
Downward as the torrent swept,
On from rock to rock I leapt,
Reach'd the valleys where the fight
Flash'd in flame from morn to night,
Plunged into the thickest strife,
Scarcely knowing friend from foe,
Knew the bloody stress of life,
Till a sword-thrust laid me low.

Slowly on the moonlit plain,
Where the dead lay dark and dumb,
I, unclosing mine eyes again,
Saw my fair Valkyries come.
Bending over me they crooned
Loving runes and heal'd my wound,—
Then they cried, ‘Uprise once more,
Seek the City's inmost core,
Find the wretched and opprest,
Sing them mountain-songs of cheer;
Help the basest, brand the best,
We shall watch and hover near—
Face the King upon his throne,
Face the Priest within the shrine,
Fear no voice save God's alone
(Thou hast heard it oft intone
Through the cloud-wrapt woods of pine)—
Take thy place, but close to thee
Clasp thy birthright—Poesy!’

Through the City's gates I crept
Silent, while the watchmen slept—
Pass'd from shade to shade wherein
Crowded monstrous shapes of sin,
Peer'd against the panes to see
Lamplit rooms of revelry,
Where the warrior's head did rest
On the harlot's wine-stain'd breast;
Linger'd on the bridges great,
Melancholy, desolate;
Watch'd the river roll beneath,
Shimmering in the moonbeam's breath;
Met the fluttering forms that pass
Painted underneath the gas,
Mark'd the murderer's fearful face
Looming in a lonely place,
Knew the things that wake, and those
Lost in rapture of repose;
Saw the gradual Dawn flash red
On the housetops overhead,
Till the morning glory broke,
And the sleeping Monster woke!
Singing loud in savage joy,
In the streets I stood, a boy!
Round me flocked the citizens,
Thronging from their homes and dens,
While I spake of signs and dreams
Learn'd among the hills and streams,
Of the God with veilèd head
Passing by with thunder-tread
On the mountains red with morn
In whose bosom I was born.
In a tongue uncouth I sang,
While the air with laughter rang,
Loudest, merriest, when I told
Of strange visions in the night—
God and angels manifold
Shining on the mountain-height;
Then a voice cried, ‘Come away,
He is mad, this mountaineer!’—
Lonely in the morning gray
Soon I sang, with none to hear,
Save a few sad outcast men,
And a weeping Magdalen.
Then with loud prophetic song
To the public marts I came,
Strode amidst the busy throng,
Curst the avarice and the shame,
Call'd the wrath of God upon
Cæsar sitting on his throne,
By the lights of Heaven and Hell
Shamed the tinsel'd priests of Bel.
Then around me ere I knew
Clamour of the factions grew,
Thronging, shrieking, multiplying,
Came the legions of the lying,
Cast me down and stript me bare;
Yet I struggled in despair,
Till a poison'd dagger's thrust
Laid me dying in the dust.

Then the night came, and the skies
With innumerable eyes
Saw me lying there alone,
Bleeding on the streets of stone;
While my voice before I died
On my wild Valkyries cried.
Closing eyelids with a sigh,
Into night I seem'd to pass,
Seem'd to fade away and fly
As the breath upon a glass.

Presently I woke again,
Thinking ‘All is o'er and done,
This is chilly Death's domain,
Far away from moon and sun!’
Even then methought I heard
Something moving, breathing near;
Struggling with the sense I stirred,
Open'd eyes in fluttering fear,
And before my dazzled sight
Shone a Vision heavenly bright!
Ah, the Vision! ah, the blest
Rapture, smiling manifest!
O'er me bending stood and smiled
Love in likeness of a Child,—
Holding in her gentle hand
Lilies of the Heavenly Land!
Azure eyes and golden hair,
Gazing on me unafraid,
Sweetly, marvellously fair,
Stood the little Angel-Maid!

Shall I tell how that same hour
Little hands my wound did dress,
How I woke to life and power
Through that Maiden's tenderness?
Shall I tell (ah, wherefore tell
Unto her who knows so well?)
Of the strength that came to me,
Not from my Valkyries wild,
Who in need abandon'd me,
But from that celestial Child?
Though my sword was broken, though
Helm and mail were lying low,
Though my savage strength was shed,
I was quick who late was dead,
All my mountain blood again
Rush'd electric to my brain,
All grew fair where'er I trod
With that messenger of God.

Need I tell (ah, wherefore tell
Unto her who wrought the spell?)
How I seem'd from that strange hour
Arm'd in nakedness of power?—
Yet the dagger's thrust again,
Poison'd, treacherous, as before,
Sought me out and would have slain,
While we passed from door to door,
Curst, rejected, and denied,
Ishmael, I, and thou, my Guide!
Child of Light, thy loving look
Brighten'd at each step we took,
Kindled into love more strong
At each cruel slight and wrong,
While thy presence heavenly bright
Grew from child's to woman's height,
And within thy pensive eyes
Rose the lore that makes us wise,—
Woman's love, without whose gleam
Life is like a drunkard's dream!

Need I tell (ah, wherefore tell,
When thy soul remembers well?)
How smooth Jacob and his race,
Hounding me from place to place,
Hating truth and cursing me,
Stole my birthright—Poesy?
How the sources of my song,
Darken'd o'er and frozen numb,
Cold and silent lay for long
Like a fountain seal'd and dumb,
Till thy finger touch'd at last
Springs the world deem'd frozen fast?
High in sunlight, sparkling o er,
Leaps my fount of song once more,
While thy blessing back to me
Brings my birthright—Poesy!

Child of Light, whose softest breath
Sweetens Life and conquers Death,
Fair as pure, and purer far
Than the dreams of poets are,
Never tongue of man can tell
All thy gifts to Ishmaèl!—
Side by side and hand in hand,—
Facing yonder mountain-land
Whence I came and whereupon
God the Lord has set His throne,—
Through the shadowy vales below
Climbing sunward, let us go.
If I sing, I sing through thee!
Wherefore, Sweet, still share with me
What I bring on bended knee—
This my birthright,—Poesy!—