Life and Phantasy :: :: University of Virginia Library

At me one night the angry moon,
Suspended to a rim of cloud,
Glared through the courses of the wind.
Suddenly then my spirit bow'd
And shrank into a fearful swoon
That made me deaf and blind.

II

We sinn'd—we sin—is that a dream?
We wake—there is no voice nor stir;
Sin and repent from day to day,
As though some reeking murderer
Should dip his hand in a running stream,
And lightly go his way.

III

Embrace me, fiends and wicked men,
For I am of your crew. Draw back,
Pure women, children with clear eyes
Let Scorn confess me on his rack,—
Stretch'd down by force, uplooking then
Into the solemn skies.

IV

Singly we pass the gloomy gate;
Some robed in honour, full of peace,
Who of themselves are not aware,
Being fed with secret wickedness,
And comforted with lies: my fate
Moves fast; I shall come there.

V

With all so usual, hour by hour,
And feeble will so lightly twirl'd
By every little breeze of sense,—
Lay'st thou to heart this common world?
Lay'st thou to heart the Ruling Power,
Just, infinite, intense?

VI

Thou wilt not frown, O God. Yet we
Escape not thy transcendent law;
It reigns within us and without.
What earthly vision never saw
Man's naked soul may suddenly see,
Dreadful, past thought or doubt.

DANGER.

I strove for wicked peace, but might not win;
The bonds would bite afresh, one moment slack.
“Then burst them!” . . . . instantly I felt begin
Damnation. Falling through a chasm of black,
I swiftly sunk thousands of miles therein.
Soul grew incorporate with gross weight of sin,
Death clung about my feet: let none dare track
My journey. But a far Voice called me back.

I breathe this world's infatuating air
And tremble as I walk. Most men are bold,
Perchance through madness. O that I could hold
One path, nor wander to the fen, nor dare
Between the precipice and wild beast's lair!
Penalties are establish'd from of old.

CARTAPHILUS.

Days, hours, and seasons, all are one dull pain,
One heavy drag of soul-sick weariness.
The mocking sunshine I abhor, no less
Night and the stare of stars. My monstrous chain
(How long?) must be unwinded link by link.
Drop after drop thus slowly must I drink
Mine ocean-cup of misery to the lees.
All places are alike, and yet as tho'
I had some hope of finding change I go
Through cities, forests, deserts, mountains, seas.
Everywhere, like a wandering wind, I roam.
Thou Earth! in all thy bounds I only crave
A place of rest,—in all thy lands, one grave.
O Earth, Earth, cruel, cruel, take me home!
But thou, most guilty of my wicked birth,
Hast no remorse, O evil mother Earth!

The unregarded breath of my despair
Thus makes its moans and groans and words of woe,
But I am never mad, ev'n when I tear
This wretched flesh, I never cease to know
Myself, and watch my own external strife
With hideous languor. Hap nor mood can bring
One moment's lull to my disease of Life.
Sleep's dew that falls on every living thing
With comfortable balm leaves only me
Unwetted in the world; my ghastly lamp,
Hung in a mighty charnel, glimmeringly
Burns on and on through the sepulchral damp.
Behold! Cartaphilus the Jew am I,
Who long hath ceased to live, yet may not die.

I have gone round and round about this Earth,
Across the halves of morning and of night,
Urged like the planet's breathing satellite;
Seen, search'd and sifted all that man can know
Of matter, from its inorganic birth
Out of the storm of chaos long ago,
Through all the upward workings of its life
By infusion of the element of strife,
Death ever-moving, save in me, the might
That makes by hurrying to extinction each
Successive atom, as a fire keeps bright.
Fold after fold was drawn within my reach
Of Nature's veil, until I raised the last.
Thenceforth I have despised the present, past,
And future of this world,—where mortals run
In the old ruts, their foolish toys the same
That pleased forgotten children with a game
For ever recommenced, and nothing won;
Where crowds of bustling idiots mount elate
Their fancied palace-stairs to rooms of state,
Whilst underneath their feet the treadmill turns.
So be it. No more scorn or anger burns.

Men tell of me . . . things that I now forget,
Nor can believe. But I remember yet
A former time when I was used to pray,
Implore the deaf, cold Heavens for my release.
And, answerless, I question yet. Is peace
In all the whirling universe, wherein
An atom conscious but of pain I spin?
Or hath it unrest to its very core?
No death?—horrible thought!—away, away!
There must be rest. I shall find out one day
Silence, oblivion, peace for evermore.

CROSS-EXAMINATION.

What knowest thou of this eternal code?
As much as God intended to display.

Wilt thou affirm thou knowest aught of God?
Nor, save His works, that creature ever may.

Is not thy life at times a weary load?
Which aimless on my back he would not lay.

Is it all good thy conscience doth forbode?
The deepest thought doth least my soul affray.

When hath a glimpse of Heav'n been ever show'd
Whilst walking straight, I never miss its ray.

Why should such destiny to thee be owed
Easy alike to Him are yea and nay.

Why shouldst thou reach it by so mean a road?
Ask that of Him who set us in the way.

Art thou more living than a finch or toad?
Is soul sheer waste, if we be such as they?

Thou never wilt prevail to loose the node.
If so, 'twere loss of labour to essay.

Nor to uproot these doubts so thickly sow'd.
Nor thou these deeplier-rooted hopes to slay.

RECOVERY.

For many a day, like one whose limbs are stiff,
Whose head is heavy with some grievous ail,
I felt, from wicked thoughts, the whole world drag
As millstone round my neck, all my force fail,
Dry up, and ravel into dust and rag.
But lo, I slept, and waking glad as if
I had been hearing music in my sleep,
Went forth, and look'd upon the watery deep.

By stretch (O King Unseen!) of some great hand
My sad, confus'd and fearful soul was shriv'n;
I knew the tranquil mind restored to me
To enjoy the colour of that pure blue heav'n,
Violet cloud shadows on the greenish sea,
And rippling white foam up the yellow sand.

A REBUKE.

I

Poet, why dost weep and groan?
(Nature thus rebuked her son)
Never child do I disown,
But thou art a favour'd one.
Strong and apt attendants run
Swiftly to thy call;
Best of every service done
To thy share doth fall.

II

Greener tree I give to thee,
Rosier rose, of richer scent,
Brighter river, grander sea,
Bluer sky above thee bent;
Dreams on others never spent,
Waking or asleep,
Love and varying wonderment
Almost angel-deep.

III

Know, my child, I've sent thee down
To instruct and cheer the rest.
On thy mountain brow a frown
Chills and darkens east and west.
Deep within a lordly breast
Hide thy skill in grief,—
Only in a power express'd
For thy friends' relief.

A SINGER.

That which he did not feel, he would not sing;
What most he felt, religion 'twas to hide
In a dumb darkling grotto, where the spring
Of tremulous tears, arising unespied,
Became a holy well that durst not glide
Into the day with moil or murmuring;
Whereto, as if to some unlawful thing,
He stole, musing or praying at its side.

But in the sun he sang with cheerful heart,
Of colour'd season and the whirling sphere,
Warm household habitude and human mirth,
The whole faith-blooded mystery of earth;
And I, who had his secret, still could hear
The grotto's whisper low through every part.

TO A BLIND FRIEND.

Beggar'd of thine inheritance of light,
The glorious eye-possession of the earth,—
Be thankful still: how few of those with sight
Can feel or use their privilege aright!
A soul undimm'd is of far greater worth,
Outweighs a million times the deepest dearth
Of flower-frail sense; and when from this short night
It shall emerge, how wonderful the Birth!

Emerge, as one who whilst he slowly strains
Up a dark narrow tower with sigh on sigh,
The fresh and brilliant air suddenly gains:
And lo! created instantaneously,
A sunbright world far stretching to the sky;
Woods, Lakes, and Rivers; Valleys, Hills, and Plains.

BONA DEA.

I.

Waking after dawn of day,
Warm and full of smiles I lay,
Safe, come good or evil hap,
In a queenly mother's lap.

II.

Her waving skirts of flowing wind
Rustled the grass and swept behind
On hanging boughs of pathside trees,
But shook no bud nor leaf from these;
Her misty robe was rich and fair,
As a mountain's clad in soft blue air;
Her breath was like the green smells of Spring
Blowing round birds to make them sing;
Her tresses' tinge faint cloudlets hold
Where sets the sun in a flame of gold,
The while her pure face stood serene
And glowing, as the sky between;
Brooks and flow'rs her feet to grace,
All the shoreless Sea of Space
Round her and above her spread,
Doming her imperial head,
Landscapes on her garment's hem,
The jewell'd night for diadem.

III.

Ever she sung a wondrous song,
Many-toned and full and strong,
Yet drawn to whisper in my ear
As though for mine alone to hear.
The dash of floods and the chime of rills
Were in it; far on misty hills
I heard the footsteps of the thunder,
And bleating sheep in pastures under.
The lark in airy glitterings
Sparkling song from his quivering wings,
The jolly thrush-notes gay and bold,
The blackbird's vesper in thicket-fold,
The rail craik-craiking through starry shadows
Over dim lawn and darkling meadows,
The carolling redbreast from roadside spray
Or garden-wall, on an Autumn day,
And the waving, rustling sea of wheat,
Foamed at its marge with meadow-sweet,
And the whispering harebell on the leas,
And the forest-harp of the playing breeze
With strings of subtly varied tone,
Came in that music, every one:
And the roar and burst of the ocean waves,
And the water-chimes in heavy caves,
And the outcast wind condemn'd to grieve
Through casement-chinks on a winter eve,
And a strange-familiar melody
Of cradle-rock and lullaby,
And purring flame on a shadowy hearth,
And hum of frost to the dreaming Earth.

IV.

I was lapt in full content
When her mouth my mother bent
Down to my cheek,—and soon I knew
Where the primrose treasures grew;

And roll'd in richer garden-mines,
Tasting scents like fairy wines;
Centred in the heavens that lie
Round Childhood's short eternity.

V.

Were they moments, were they years,
Measured out the sliding spheres—
The growing, changing, longing, dreaming,
In Me, the centre of all the seeming,
Till the hour, the hour of hours,
When she called me from my flow'rs,
When she kiss'd me on the lips,
And reveal'd from long eclipse
Fateful eyes of infinite blue
Where the living soul shone through
Like watching stars that lie soft and bright
In the violet depths of the midsummer night,
And ever still in measure sung,
While a softer spirit-tongue,
Thrilling, mystical, remote,
Echo'd every falling note,
With a ringing crystalline,
A monotony divine?

VI.

Then a strong and joyous madness,
Then a dark and heavy sadness,
Swept across my struggling brain;—
Deep the rapture, fierce the pain,
Ere I found myself again!
And the weak departing fever
Took away from me for ever
Much that memory can deplore,
Much, besides, that grieves me more,
Because my mind in vain is tost
To recollect what I have lost.

VII.

But now, to keep me from despair,
Gifts she brought, of mirrors rare,
Reflecting sea and earth and air;
Mingling with these in magic scope
Phantoms of Memory and of Hope;
Catching her ample robe of blue,
And lighting the sapphire through and through
With inner blazes that came and went
Like angels flushing the firmament;
Showing a blossom at her feet
Orbed into a sphere complete,
Full of beauty and life and power—
The careless birth of a sunny hour;
Painting one face in colour'd flame,
With the universe for frame.
Spiritual-strange did forms appear,
And the stars and the depths of heaven drew near,
And blended mystic lights and songs
With glance and voice of earthly throngs.

VIII.

What was that which lurk'd behind
To draw a fresh cloud on my mind?
For I was tempted to despise
And look upon all with unholy eyes.
My mother's pure look and royal clothing
Fill'd me with weariness and loathing;
In gentle words I began to hear
Pining, and discontent, and fear;
In louder tones a continual uttering
Of hate, and rage, and rebellious muttering
I saw an omnipotent darkness lurk
To swallow all light, all life, all work;
All growing, changing, feeling, dreaming;
And Me, the centre of all the seeming,
Lying encrusted with painful fate,
A leper at the palace-gate.

IX.

But again she stoop'd,—I feel it now,
That heavenly kiss on my scalded brow.
There were awful thunders rolling round me;
Harshest tearings of bands that bound me;
Stretchings of crampt, retorted limbs;
Agony of life, as when it brims
On the wrung-out brain of a rescued man,—
And I was saved from the crushing ban.

X.

Now I am master in my house;
Granted power to bind and loose;
In noble heirdom set at one
With princely earth and kingly sun.
And ever doth my mother keep
Steady watch the while I sleep;
In hours of sickness still she tends me,
In hours of danger still befriends me;
And with voice that rises clearly,
Sings the hymn I love so dearly,
Hymn that seems unfolding slowly
To a sense profound and holy,
Etherizing loss and gain,
And forgetting its own strain.

XI.

She hath kiss'd my cheek, my lips, my brow.
One other kiss awaits me now,
One which I shall scarcely feel,
To close mine eyes with loving seal.
Bona Dea! live or die,
Take me, keep me, thy son am I.

THE MESSENGER.

A messenger, that stood beside my bed,
In words of clear and cruel import said
(And yet methought the tone was less unkind),
“I bring thee pain of body and of mind.

“Each gift of each must pay a toll to me;
Nor flight, nor force, nor suit can set thee free;
Until my brother come, I say not when:
Affliction is my name, unloved of men.”

I swoon'd, then, bursting up in talk deranged,
Shatter'd to tears; while he stood by unchanged.
I held my peace, my heart with courage burn'd,
And to his cold touch one faint sigh return'd.

Undreamt-of wings he lifted: “For a while
I vanish. Never be afraid to smile
Lest I waylay thee: curse me not; nay, love;
That I may bring thee tidings from above.”

And often since, by day or night, descends
The face obdurate; now almost a friend's.
O! quite to Faith; but Frailty's lips not dare
The word. To both this angel taught a pray'r.

“Lord God, thy servant, wounded and bereft,
Feels Thee upon his right hand and his left;
Hath joy in grief, and still by losing gains;—
All this is gone, yet all myself remains.”