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“La faccia sua era faccia d'uom giusto.”
Inferno, xvii. 10.
Inferno, xvii. 10.
[Ill folk I shun, or fight against: what can]
Ill folk I shun, or fight against: what canI do with thee, thou pestilent Good Man?
[The woe of the False Teacher—This]
The woe of the False Teacher—This:The better he is, the worse he is;
His every virtue being a prop
Of the foul tyrant, Dogmatism,
Foe to mankind, that soon would drop
Into his native black abysm
Did merely ill men hold him up.
Through thee, Good Man, through thee, I say,
The Devil rules the world to-day.
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[Shame upon those who poison youth]
Shame upon those who poison youthBy mixing falsehood with every truth.
Shame! shame! whatever their name;
And the deepest curse for the highest claim!
To Certain Persons calling themselves “Christians.”
What's “Primitive Christianity?”
I know not: yours I feel and see,
Which sets good friends and neighbours at strife,
Son with parent, husband with wife;
Which plays the spy upon all my life;
And failing, just now, to burn men quick,
Does what it can by subtler trick.
When I was a boy, sincere and bold,
It plied me with plotters, cunning and cold,
Flung Faith into Superstition's cell,
Dropp'd poison into Learning's well.
When I was a lover, it haunted me
With more than a rival's jealousy.
When fain would I greet my brothers and sisters
It comes with an oil that raises blisters
Between our palms. It lifts its eyes
To Heav'n, and utters calumnies,
In the name of Truth it tells myriad lies,
In the name of Love it hates and curses,
In the name of God repeats sorcerer's verses.
I know not: yours I feel and see,
Which sets good friends and neighbours at strife,
Son with parent, husband with wife;
Which plays the spy upon all my life;
And failing, just now, to burn men quick,
Does what it can by subtler trick.
When I was a boy, sincere and bold,
It plied me with plotters, cunning and cold,
Flung Faith into Superstition's cell,
Dropp'd poison into Learning's well.
When I was a lover, it haunted me
With more than a rival's jealousy.
When fain would I greet my brothers and sisters
It comes with an oil that raises blisters
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To Heav'n, and utters calumnies,
In the name of Truth it tells myriad lies,
In the name of Love it hates and curses,
In the name of God repeats sorcerer's verses.
Now, as I love freedom, and truth, and love,
And my fellows around me, and God above,
So much (consider how much it must be)
I abhor your Christianity.
And my fellows around me, and God above,
So much (consider how much it must be)
I abhor your Christianity.
[If you believed, loud Sir, some decent part]
If you believed, loud Sir, some decent partOf all you argue for with so much art,
You would not more convince that black is white,
But wake some interest and respect you might.
[Would'st argue upon equal terms with me?]
Would'st argue upon equal terms with me?Then first give up your living, or your see:
Else, for good manners, must I silent be.
[“An infidel!” you shout: I have, 'tis true]
“An infidel!” you shout: I have, 'tis true,But very little faith, sweet Sir, in you.
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[Is it right, on a solemn day]
Is it right, on a solemn day,To stand up in public and say
“I believe, before God, this is true
(If my words I may twist and screw)”?
Whom do you thus hoodwink?
Mainly yourself I think;
But increase, too, the mighty mass
Of folly and falsehood, alas!
[O wretched man! who, while his soul is green]
O wretched man! who, while his soul is green,Must talk of GOD, and something seem to mean;
Explain at large what none has ever known,
With folly half by rote and half his own;
Quibble dogmatic nonsense for his bread,
And pound good words until he beats them dead;
In season, out of season, pray and preach;
And never learn, for he must always teach.
[Clergy to guide poor us are given]
Clergy to guide poor us are given;We shall have need of none in Heaven.
A life relieved from clergymen—
O yes, we shall be happy then!
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[In sacred reverie and sublime delight]
In sacred reverie and sublime delightMy soul was rapt. One shouted in my ear
“Remember God!”—alas, I see and hear
A vulgar man, and all my joy takes flight.
[The Wisest Living Mortal—Oh]
The Wisest Living Mortal—OhIf one ten-thousandth part he knew
Of what our Teachers claim to know,
And gave us tidings true,
From east and west and north and south
How we should swarm to his gold mouth!
[As rafter rafter serves to prop]
As rafter rafter serves to prop,One false creed holds another up.
[Every word your Oracle saith]
Every word your Oracle saith,You most reverently receive it;
My weak faculty of faith
Can't ev'n believe that you believe it.
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[Assuredly, God's word is true]
Assuredly, God's word is true:But, my poor brother, what are you?
[Ostrichio's soul's digestion is so good]
Ostrichio's soul's digestion is so goodHe feeds on lies and fattens on the food.
Are such endow'd, of all the human race,
With mental gizzards, by peculiar grace?
[Peter's a madman, John agrees]
Peter's a madman, John agrees,To swear the moon is mere green cheese;
Next moment John will gravely tell ye
The sun's all made of currant-jelly;
Between the which celestial views
There's not, perhaps, a pin to choose.
But if it be an act of faith
To say as John or Peter saith,
Let's eat the sun with Jack's long spoon,
Or taste a slice of Peter's moon,
Provided they let quite alone
This little planet of our own.
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[How mysteries attract!]
How mysteries attract!A mystery, when known,
Is but one other fact;
Mystic is Truth alone.
[What do your dogmas? Mix dispute and doubt]
What do your dogmas? Mix dispute and doubtWith every truth; make worthy folk fall out.
[Great Saint, how we've misused thy fame]
Great Saint, how we've misused thy fame,Sown poison where sweet footsteps trod!
Alas, that thy beloved name
Should live a blasphemy on GOD.
To a Controversialist.
In empty field your sword you flourish. Hold!Look round—the battle far away hath roll'd.
[The modern plea for keeping up a Creed—]
The modern plea for keeping up a Creed—“We don't believe it; no, we don't indeed!”
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[We don't believe it: but let it be.]
We don't believe it: but let it be.It does for others, not you and me.
For usual folk the usual's best:
Of course, we are not like the rest.
['Twere well, in sooth]
'Twere well, in sooth,Could we sift things out;
But we can't find truth,
And we don't want doubt.
So let old things stay,
In whatever jumble;
Touch them, straightway
They crumble and tumble,
Choke us with dust, fall on our toes.
—You that come after us, deal with those!
[Fain would I seek the City of Truth]
Fain would I seek the City of Truth,But know not whither to turn, in sooth;
Therefore, I own, it seemeth wise
Still to abide in the City of Lies.
I was born and have my dwelling there;
Shall I turn outcast and wanderer?
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For a City—in Cloudland for aught I know?
[I believe without bother]
I believe without botherIn This, That, and T'other;
Whatever is current, no matter.
I believe in Success,
And in Comfort no less;
I believe all the rest is but patter.
[We hate thee, solemn Public Liar]
We hate thee, solemn Public Liar,Who all men's reverence dost require.
We know thine ancient mystery
Hath now become a tatter'd lie,
Dishonouring the Power Divine
That in our Human Soul doth shine.
Man's highest thought thou dost withdraw
From building on true natural law
His joy and worship, love and awe,
Training and forcing it to fix
On foolish mental juggling-tricks;
Hoping a tawdry Heav'n to gain
By gambling and by legerdemain.
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[Young Mother, with thy babe at rest]
Young Mother, with thy babe at rest,
Warm-pillow'd on thy happy breast,
Thou leaning tenderly above
With face of deep contented love,
There is not elsewhere any sight
On earth more bright with heavenly light;
The gates of death and hell are shut,
The joyful skies wide open, . . . but—
Warm-pillow'd on thy happy breast,
Thou leaning tenderly above
With face of deep contented love,
There is not elsewhere any sight
On earth more bright with heavenly light;
The gates of death and hell are shut,
The joyful skies wide open, . . . but—
But—“O Raffael of the dear Madonnas!”
Painted well for sumptuous Holy Fathers!
—Better, Painter, with thy Fornarina!
Kisses from thy sweetheart's mouth are purer
Than Saint Peter's ceremonial blessing.
Child and Mother—sweet, pathetic, pious;
Child and Virgin—how familiar usage
Blinds to shame of natural truth dishonour'd!
World of circumstance and old tradition,
How it plots, with gift and threat and flattery,
Men of genius, to ensnare you likewise!
—“O our Raffael”—O our English Robert!
Painted well for sumptuous Holy Fathers!
—Better, Painter, with thy Fornarina!
Kisses from thy sweetheart's mouth are purer
Than Saint Peter's ceremonial blessing.
Child and Mother—sweet, pathetic, pious;
Child and Virgin—how familiar usage
Blinds to shame of natural truth dishonour'd!
World of circumstance and old tradition,
How it plots, with gift and threat and flattery,
Men of genius, to ensnare you likewise!
—“O our Raffael”—O our English Robert!
[Yea, Raffael! Michael Angelo! your hands]
Yea, Raffael! Michael Angelo! your handsHave help'd to build and glorify the height
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Blessing and cursing with a show of might
Whereat the world still trembles. What are ye
But powerful slaves that do his ill commands
And help to bind souls struggling to be free?
Ah, Genius, Child of Heaven, what bitter woe
For all, when thou in golden chains dost go!
A Dream.
I saw, in dream, an aged reverend Man,
Sitting upon a heap of shards and cinders;
Whom when I greeted passing, “Stop!” said he,
“Thou must not that way go!”—“And wherefore not?”
“Because I disallow it. Stay, my son;
O hear me, gentle son! Close, close thine eyes,
That I may teach thy pathway. No? Then burn
For ever, caitiff! who rejectest me
Sitting in place of GOD!”
Sitting upon a heap of shards and cinders;
Whom when I greeted passing, “Stop!” said he,
“Thou must not that way go!”—“And wherefore not?”
“Because I disallow it. Stay, my son;
O hear me, gentle son! Close, close thine eyes,
That I may teach thy pathway. No? Then burn
For ever, caitiff! who rejectest me
Sitting in place of GOD!”
Whereon I smiled
And pass'd. He, frowning, raised his arms aloft
As though to curse, but in that effort split
And fell to pieces, like a lump of sand
Upon the seashore in a rising tide.
And pass'd. He, frowning, raised his arms aloft
As though to curse, but in that effort split
And fell to pieces, like a lump of sand
Upon the seashore in a rising tide.
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Then all the sea-fowl rose and scream'd, and all
The fishes leap'd and gamboll'd in the surf,
A shrill harsh cry, a fluttering turbulence,
Subsiding instantly; and lo, I paced
The broad smooth sand familiar, and the sea
Roll'd calmly shoreward, murmuring round my steps
With music, underneath a sky of light
Purer than azure wild-flow'rs; music finer,
Tenderer than song of birds or children's voices
Floating in hymns of joy on morning breezes.
The fishes leap'd and gamboll'd in the surf,
A shrill harsh cry, a fluttering turbulence,
Subsiding instantly; and lo, I paced
The broad smooth sand familiar, and the sea
Roll'd calmly shoreward, murmuring round my steps
With music, underneath a sky of light
Purer than azure wild-flow'rs; music finer,
Tenderer than song of birds or children's voices
Floating in hymns of joy on morning breezes.
Another Dream.
A palace-temple I beheld.
Through its golden gates impell'd,
And measureless halls, a moving Crowd,
From every land where men may live and die,
Drew to the central dome.
There sat the Prophet-King enthronèd high,
White-robed, serene, in solemn majesty.
Melodious wail of anthems, waxing loud,
Burst in thundering billows of sound;
Incense creeping round
Involved his feet, and clomb
And hung with clouds the mighty dome,
Wreathing the sculptured saints and angels there;
While to the people's prayerful eyes
Angels and saints themselves were dimly congregated
Midway the dome, and in the outside air,
A throng of glorious messengers,—that waited
Eager for errands to the skies,
With wings of strength
To mount the steep of Heav'n and find at length
GOD'S own
Eternal Throne.
Through its golden gates impell'd,
And measureless halls, a moving Crowd,
From every land where men may live and die,
Drew to the central dome.
There sat the Prophet-King enthronèd high,
White-robed, serene, in solemn majesty.
Melodious wail of anthems, waxing loud,
Burst in thundering billows of sound;
Incense creeping round
Involved his feet, and clomb
And hung with clouds the mighty dome,
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While to the people's prayerful eyes
Angels and saints themselves were dimly congregated
Midway the dome, and in the outside air,
A throng of glorious messengers,—that waited
Eager for errands to the skies,
With wings of strength
To mount the steep of Heav'n and find at length
GOD'S own
Eternal Throne.
Then my dream intershifted, and became
Unlike; and yet the things were still the same:
A lonely Hut on a moor;
A white-beard Man and poor;
Wind in the crannies, whistling and sighing;
Embers dying,
Red in the gloom,
Sending a sluggish bleary fume
To eddy around the rotten thatch;
And the beetles and centipedes ran about
From the holes in the floor;
And the rickety door
Stirr'd its latch
At push of savage creatures without.
Unlike; and yet the things were still the same:
A lonely Hut on a moor;
A white-beard Man and poor;
Wind in the crannies, whistling and sighing;
Embers dying,
Red in the gloom,
Sending a sluggish bleary fume
To eddy around the rotten thatch;
And the beetles and centipedes ran about
From the holes in the floor;
And the rickety door
Stirr'd its latch
At push of savage creatures without.
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'Twas near midnight.
The falling flake
Had turn'd the black moor deathly white.
This Old Man mutter'd, half-awake,
“I am supreme over every King!
My talisman's greater than Solomon's Ring!
All wisdom and power to me belong!”
And the fire went out as he croon'd his lingering song.
Ice-cold grew his feet;
All his limbs lost heat;
His eyes ceased to wink;
His brain ceased to think;
His heart ceased to beat.
His jaw fell; but his forehead kept a frown.
Louder the wind began to blow,
And blew the Hovel down,
And hid the Corpse in snow.
The falling flake
Had turn'd the black moor deathly white.
This Old Man mutter'd, half-awake,
“I am supreme over every King!
My talisman's greater than Solomon's Ring!
All wisdom and power to me belong!”
And the fire went out as he croon'd his lingering song.
Ice-cold grew his feet;
All his limbs lost heat;
His eyes ceased to wink;
His brain ceased to think;
His heart ceased to beat.
His jaw fell; but his forehead kept a frown.
Louder the wind began to blow,
And blew the Hovel down,
And hid the Corpse in snow.
[Dogmatic Christians, one and all]
Dogmatic Christians, one and all,High-Church or Evangelical,
Methodist, Independent,—fix
What name upon your creed you will,—
You are but rebel Catholics,
The Pope's your lawful sovereign still.
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[All “Christian virtues” I rejoice to greet.]
All “Christian virtues” I rejoice to greet.By any other name they smell as sweet.
[“Art Faith's Apostle? Can'st thou save us?”—No.]
“Art Faith's Apostle? Can'st thou save us?”—No.But lies proved lies had surely better go.
[A pseudo-religion suits most people best]
A pseudo-religion suits most people best,Claims its toll, and leaves Business and Pleasure the rest.
The true thing claims merely our life, wants the whole,—
Sunday, Monday,—Play, Business too,—Body and Soul.
[This World is made to no man's mind]
This World is made to no man's mind;Nor Next World, we perhaps shall find.
[Remember this, Lover of truth and right]
Remember this, Lover of truth and right,Against the Powers of Darkness sworn to fight,—
If mine, a fellow-soldier's helm you smite.
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[“If you shake these dogmas you shake morality with them.” Yea.]
“If you shake these dogmas you shake morality with them.” Yea.So never tie truth and falsehood together, from this day.
[Religion—what a labyrinthine mesh!]
Religion—what a labyrinthine mesh!Go back you must to GOD, and start afresh.
[The New Religion will include]
The New Religion will includeAll science, and each healthy mood,
Believe in God, and work for good.
[Long time amongst the thorns I dwelt]
Long time amongst the thorns I dwelt;
Sharp and sore the thorns I felt;
Now I quit the tangled brake,
Now a freer path I take.
Many poor wandering souls I see
Amid the maze that tortured me.
Sharp and sore the thorns I felt;
Now I quit the tangled brake,
Now a freer path I take.
Many poor wandering souls I see
Amid the maze that tortured me.
Would that I carried at my belt
A ringing trumpet for their sake!
A ringing trumpet for their sake!
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