The Two Brothers, and other poems By Edward Henry Bickersteth |
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THE TWO BROTHERS. |
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| II. |
| III. |
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| VII. |
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 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
1
THE TWO BROTHERS.
Ευδουσα γαρ φρην ομμασιν λαμπρυνεται.
Æsch. Eum.
Æsch. Eum.
Are the embers smouldering, brother? Think not to revive their light.
Brother, I've a tale to tell thee I can better tell at night:
And their faint dun glow will glimmer till, perchance, my tale is done.
List!—that dull and heavy sound—it is the church-bell pealing ‘one.’
Strangely through the sere elm forests come the fitful gusts of wind,
Strangely on the casement beats the hollow drifting rain behind;
Night broods round, a wall of darkness, such as moonbeams cannot scale,
And the blessed stars are blunted like a shaft from coat of mail.
Thirteen summers have waved round us, thirteen winters shower'd their snows,
Thirteen springs danced by, and thirteen autumns pass'd like music's close,
Since I witness'd gloom like this, wherein the stoutest heart would melt:
Thick close darkness on our eyelids weighing—darkness that is felt.
Oh, the memory of that midnight, spectre-like, within me sleeps;
If I only gaze, it rises dimly from my spirit's deeps—
Rises with the sere elm forests struck by fitful gusts of wind,
And the hollow drifting raindrops on the casement close behind:
Every wind-moan finds an echo in my moaning heart within,
And the rain is not as dewdrops to a soul once scarr'd with sin.
Brother, I've a tale to tell thee I can better tell at night:
And their faint dun glow will glimmer till, perchance, my tale is done.
List!—that dull and heavy sound—it is the church-bell pealing ‘one.’
Strangely through the sere elm forests come the fitful gusts of wind,
Strangely on the casement beats the hollow drifting rain behind;
Night broods round, a wall of darkness, such as moonbeams cannot scale,
And the blessed stars are blunted like a shaft from coat of mail.
2
Thirteen springs danced by, and thirteen autumns pass'd like music's close,
Since I witness'd gloom like this, wherein the stoutest heart would melt:
Thick close darkness on our eyelids weighing—darkness that is felt.
Oh, the memory of that midnight, spectre-like, within me sleeps;
If I only gaze, it rises dimly from my spirit's deeps—
Rises with the sere elm forests struck by fitful gusts of wind,
And the hollow drifting raindrops on the casement close behind:
Every wind-moan finds an echo in my moaning heart within,
And the rain is not as dewdrops to a soul once scarr'd with sin.
Brother, thou wert ever to me as a young and golden mist
Floating through blue liquid heavens, with the morning sunlight kiss'd;
Which the eye looks up and blesses, lingering on its track above,
With an old familiar fondness and an earnestness of love.
Brother, I to thee was ever as a storm-cloud on the hills,
Lowering o'er the rocks and caverns and the laughter of the rills:
Yet I've thought at times, my brother, from the sunshine of thy life,
Passing rainbow gleams have fallen on my spirit-world of strife:
For when every fount was wormwood, every star had ceased to shine,
It was bliss in dreams to ponder how unlike thy lot to mine.
Yet, in childhood, I remember how our sainted mother said—
Often on bright Sabbath eves, and thrice upon her dying bed—
That far scenes would crowd upon her, when she look'd on me and thee,
In the distance, dream-like dawning, from the glorious dream-countree.
She was kneeling, as she told us, at her Saviour's blessed feet—
Leaning on her harp, which warbled (as she knelt) heaven's music sweet—
But the thrill of that communion, and the smiles that on her fell,
And the melody of worship, words, she said, might never tell.
Still the dream grew clear and clearer, softer still that music's tone,
And she saw she was not kneeling in that glorious light alone:
For beside her were two spirits (well she knew them), I and thou;
Life and light and love, all blended, like soft rainbows, on our brow.
And like us in blest communion kneeling, singing as we sung,
On the hand of each of us a gentler lovelier angel hung.
Floating through blue liquid heavens, with the morning sunlight kiss'd;
3
With an old familiar fondness and an earnestness of love.
Brother, I to thee was ever as a storm-cloud on the hills,
Lowering o'er the rocks and caverns and the laughter of the rills:
Yet I've thought at times, my brother, from the sunshine of thy life,
Passing rainbow gleams have fallen on my spirit-world of strife:
For when every fount was wormwood, every star had ceased to shine,
It was bliss in dreams to ponder how unlike thy lot to mine.
Yet, in childhood, I remember how our sainted mother said—
Often on bright Sabbath eves, and thrice upon her dying bed—
That far scenes would crowd upon her, when she look'd on me and thee,
In the distance, dream-like dawning, from the glorious dream-countree.
4
Leaning on her harp, which warbled (as she knelt) heaven's music sweet—
But the thrill of that communion, and the smiles that on her fell,
And the melody of worship, words, she said, might never tell.
Still the dream grew clear and clearer, softer still that music's tone,
And she saw she was not kneeling in that glorious light alone:
For beside her were two spirits (well she knew them), I and thou;
Life and light and love, all blended, like soft rainbows, on our brow.
And like us in blest communion kneeling, singing as we sung,
On the hand of each of us a gentler lovelier angel hung.
Often since I've mused, my brother, when my heart was rent, if this
Were a heaven-sent dream, prophetic of a far-off home of bliss,
Or a beautiful life-picture by affection's fingers drawn,
But which, like my earthly joys, should fade, fade, fade away at dawn.
Weep not, brother! thou hast found that angel of the far-off land,
Whom our mother saw there kneeling, gently clinging to thy hand.
I, too, have a tale to tell thee (would that it may end in light),
Though a tale of sin and sorrow, I can better tell at night.
Who could speak of sad hearts broken by himself, of teardrown'd eyes,
And of wither'd hopes and feelings, underneath blue laughing skies?
Sorrow clings to sorrow's raiment—grief must have her twilight wan—
Moan, ye winds and woods and waves, and let the embers smoulder on.
Were a heaven-sent dream, prophetic of a far-off home of bliss,
Or a beautiful life-picture by affection's fingers drawn,
But which, like my earthly joys, should fade, fade, fade away at dawn.
5
Whom our mother saw there kneeling, gently clinging to thy hand.
I, too, have a tale to tell thee (would that it may end in light),
Though a tale of sin and sorrow, I can better tell at night.
Who could speak of sad hearts broken by himself, of teardrown'd eyes,
And of wither'd hopes and feelings, underneath blue laughing skies?
Sorrow clings to sorrow's raiment—grief must have her twilight wan—
Moan, ye winds and woods and waves, and let the embers smoulder on.
Gaze with me a moment down the billowy ocean of our life,
Which with tears and fitful radiance seems mysteriously rife:
In the distance, like the earliest flush of morning o'er the hills,
Even here, through cloud and gloom, a dewy mellow light distils.
Still it grows upon my sight intensely beautiful and grand,
From the land of childhood streaming, childhood's golden faery-land:
When Time went on sunshine wheels, on wings of breezy joyaunce by,
Every feeling, like the sky-lark, from the earth and to the sky.
Then, perchance, no human seer that look'd upon our reckless brow,
Could have prophesied the diverse pathway we are travelling now.
But the first black cloud that shadow'd childhood's blue pellucid years,
Gloom'd, rose, cover'd, broke upon us with a sudden dash of tears—
Gloom'd upon the morn, the tidings of our father's victory came,
Earn'd with precious drops of blood—the dew, an' if ye will, of fame;
Broke—the next sad post a letter, edged with black, too surely told
That his heart was still for ever, and his lips for ever cold.
Then our mother—day by day she struggled with her choking grief—
Oh, she could not—but beside us wither'd, like a dying leaf:
And, when leaves should die, in autumn, her the first of all the year,
Laid we down, with sighs and weeping, on her cold sepulchral bier;
And with faltering listless footsteps slowly sought, when all was o'er,
Hand in hand our desolate home; though desolate, ours, alas, no more.
We were parted—each alone, 'mid stranger hearts and faces strange:
Dreary seem'd the waste of lifetime, like a barren shore, to range.
But a gentle eye fell on thee—seem'd it but a sister's love?
Pity's tears, that wept thy sorrows, from one tenderer than the dove?
Oh, ye grew for five brief summers there together, side by side,
Till she stood in beauty by thee, thine own loving lovely bride;
Blushing, trembling, till the vow to love thee—then her face grew bright,
And intense affection o'er her threw a beauty like the light.
Ah! how beautiful life's ocean seem'd that gentle cloudless noon,
Like a moonlight sea that slumbers underneath the summer moon,
When the stars steal hearts responsive to their own wild eloquence,
And a strange sweet music o'er us comes, we know not, heed not, whence,—
From the skies, or from the falling of melodious drops of foam,
Or from deeper spirit-fountains welling in our spirit-home.
Few, methinks, are such blest havens on the shores of time and earth;
Seldom broods there peace so tranquil over life's exuberant mirth.
Which with tears and fitful radiance seems mysteriously rife:
In the distance, like the earliest flush of morning o'er the hills,
Even here, through cloud and gloom, a dewy mellow light distils.
6
From the land of childhood streaming, childhood's golden faery-land:
When Time went on sunshine wheels, on wings of breezy joyaunce by,
Every feeling, like the sky-lark, from the earth and to the sky.
Then, perchance, no human seer that look'd upon our reckless brow,
Could have prophesied the diverse pathway we are travelling now.
But the first black cloud that shadow'd childhood's blue pellucid years,
Gloom'd, rose, cover'd, broke upon us with a sudden dash of tears—
Gloom'd upon the morn, the tidings of our father's victory came,
Earn'd with precious drops of blood—the dew, an' if ye will, of fame;
Broke—the next sad post a letter, edged with black, too surely told
That his heart was still for ever, and his lips for ever cold.
7
Oh, she could not—but beside us wither'd, like a dying leaf:
And, when leaves should die, in autumn, her the first of all the year,
Laid we down, with sighs and weeping, on her cold sepulchral bier;
And with faltering listless footsteps slowly sought, when all was o'er,
Hand in hand our desolate home; though desolate, ours, alas, no more.
We were parted—each alone, 'mid stranger hearts and faces strange:
Dreary seem'd the waste of lifetime, like a barren shore, to range.
But a gentle eye fell on thee—seem'd it but a sister's love?
Pity's tears, that wept thy sorrows, from one tenderer than the dove?
Oh, ye grew for five brief summers there together, side by side,
Till she stood in beauty by thee, thine own loving lovely bride;
8
And intense affection o'er her threw a beauty like the light.
Ah! how beautiful life's ocean seem'd that gentle cloudless noon,
Like a moonlight sea that slumbers underneath the summer moon,
When the stars steal hearts responsive to their own wild eloquence,
And a strange sweet music o'er us comes, we know not, heed not, whence,—
From the skies, or from the falling of melodious drops of foam,
Or from deeper spirit-fountains welling in our spirit-home.
Few, methinks, are such blest havens on the shores of time and earth;
Seldom broods there peace so tranquil over life's exuberant mirth.
But I must not linger, brother, on the brightness of thy track,
When dark spectres round mine own with spells are whispering me back.
List! I do not wish that others should partake my sinful load,
Yet I sometimes think the streamlet from that bitter fountain flow'd:
For when harsh unkindness pruned and stunted all affection's shoots,
Then perhaps the canker enter'd, festering at my being's roots:
For with sickening heart I turn'd from human faces, as from blight,
Since they never lit with love, and never read my feelings right,
To the world of thought and fancy—that, my country—books, my friends;
Fool, fool! deeming heartless things for gushing hearts would make amends.
Yet at first how strangely lovely seem'd that icy crystal air,
To a lonely nestless bird upon its first wild entrance there.
Day by day the spirit finding eagle strength within its wings,
Proudly tracking truth and beauty there 'mid everlasting things;
Never pausing, resting never on its flight intensely keen,
Deeming it would touch the boundary of that dark-blue vault serene.
If I gazed below, the mists were wrapping all in vaporous fold,
Mists of selfishness and meanness, chilling blight, and sordid gold:
All along whose cloudy skirts base ignis-fatuus lights would flame,
Luxury, and ease, and riches, and perhaps some petty fame.
“Let them flame and flare,” I shouted, “round those spirits' prison bars,
“Mine are the free boundless heavens, mine the lightnings, mine the stars:”
And aloft I clapp'd my pinions, soaring on for days and weeks,
After some fresh burning hope still kindling o'er fresh mountain-peaks.
Ah, I knew not that, though earthborn lamps might never mount so high,
There are meteors that deceive, and stars that wander in the sky.
When dark spectres round mine own with spells are whispering me back.
9
Yet I sometimes think the streamlet from that bitter fountain flow'd:
For when harsh unkindness pruned and stunted all affection's shoots,
Then perhaps the canker enter'd, festering at my being's roots:
For with sickening heart I turn'd from human faces, as from blight,
Since they never lit with love, and never read my feelings right,
To the world of thought and fancy—that, my country—books, my friends;
Fool, fool! deeming heartless things for gushing hearts would make amends.
Yet at first how strangely lovely seem'd that icy crystal air,
To a lonely nestless bird upon its first wild entrance there.
Day by day the spirit finding eagle strength within its wings,
Proudly tracking truth and beauty there 'mid everlasting things;
Never pausing, resting never on its flight intensely keen,
Deeming it would touch the boundary of that dark-blue vault serene.
10
Mists of selfishness and meanness, chilling blight, and sordid gold:
All along whose cloudy skirts base ignis-fatuus lights would flame,
Luxury, and ease, and riches, and perhaps some petty fame.
“Let them flame and flare,” I shouted, “round those spirits' prison bars,
“Mine are the free boundless heavens, mine the lightnings, mine the stars:”
And aloft I clapp'd my pinions, soaring on for days and weeks,
After some fresh burning hope still kindling o'er fresh mountain-peaks.
Ah, I knew not that, though earthborn lamps might never mount so high,
There are meteors that deceive, and stars that wander in the sky.
11
Ah, I saw not that the pole-star, Faith, was waning fast and dim,
And of God—fool, fool!—I thought not in my madden'd heart of Him;
But from far I heard a whisper of the fontal light divine,
Reason, human earthly Reason, sheds within the spirit's shrine.
Syren-like that music falling, like a gush of holy tears
On deep waves, flow'd on and whisper'd 'twas the music of the spheres,
Bidding me come up and follow to its own dear home on high,
Maddening while it tranced my soul, and blinding while it lured mine eye;
Till I rear'd my adoration higher than God's eternal throne;—
Reason was the God I worshipp'd—trusting, clinging there alone.
And I follow'd—poor fond climber—leaving faith and trust above
To low grovelling minds of earth, or fond enthusiasts' frantic love,
Till I stood in naked horror on the sceptic's precipice,
All my darling visions staring on me there, like things of ice.
Oh, the solitude that crush'd me! oh, that dreary word ‘alone’!
Not a kindred heart to lean on, not an anchor for mine own—
Without truth and love and beauty, human love or love of God—
Not a gleam to point the pathway of return the way I trode:—
But the meteors, I had follow'd, sicken'd one by one and died,
And the dark of darkness o'er them closed for ever far and wide,
Woe was me! for in that midnight I could neither pray nor weep—
Had I pray'd an Ear was open, and an Eye that could not sleep.
But when all without was desert, and wild desert all within,
Plunged I with a maniac's madness, down the treacherous gulph of sin.
Whilome I had often sneer'd at others from the height of fame,
Finding what they deem'd enjoyment in the haunts of sin and shame;—
Now—but no—I will not drag thee to the gloomy dens of guilt—
List! their spectral voices haunt me—go and ask them if thou wilt:
Broken hearts and gentle bosoms, once serene and pure as thine—
Woe, woe! broken now and withering soon to fall and die like mine—
But I reck'd not, for my spirit seem'd alternate fire and night,
Like a cloud-robed sky at midnight riven and kindled into light.
And of God—fool, fool!—I thought not in my madden'd heart of Him;
But from far I heard a whisper of the fontal light divine,
Reason, human earthly Reason, sheds within the spirit's shrine.
Syren-like that music falling, like a gush of holy tears
On deep waves, flow'd on and whisper'd 'twas the music of the spheres,
Bidding me come up and follow to its own dear home on high,
Maddening while it tranced my soul, and blinding while it lured mine eye;
Till I rear'd my adoration higher than God's eternal throne;—
Reason was the God I worshipp'd—trusting, clinging there alone.
And I follow'd—poor fond climber—leaving faith and trust above
To low grovelling minds of earth, or fond enthusiasts' frantic love,
Till I stood in naked horror on the sceptic's precipice,
All my darling visions staring on me there, like things of ice.
12
Not a kindred heart to lean on, not an anchor for mine own—
Without truth and love and beauty, human love or love of God—
Not a gleam to point the pathway of return the way I trode:—
But the meteors, I had follow'd, sicken'd one by one and died,
And the dark of darkness o'er them closed for ever far and wide,
Woe was me! for in that midnight I could neither pray nor weep—
Had I pray'd an Ear was open, and an Eye that could not sleep.
But when all without was desert, and wild desert all within,
Plunged I with a maniac's madness, down the treacherous gulph of sin.
Whilome I had often sneer'd at others from the height of fame,
Finding what they deem'd enjoyment in the haunts of sin and shame;—
13
List! their spectral voices haunt me—go and ask them if thou wilt:
Broken hearts and gentle bosoms, once serene and pure as thine—
Woe, woe! broken now and withering soon to fall and die like mine—
But I reck'd not, for my spirit seem'd alternate fire and night,
Like a cloud-robed sky at midnight riven and kindled into light.
Hush! speak low: how shall I tell thee after this of innocence?
Thou wilt mock me—brother, brother—I can never tell thee—hence!
See! the embers all have smoulder'd—see their faint light dying wanes:
Brother, look, a star is trembling through the tearful window-panes.
I can tell thee now,—for blessed are to me the thoughts that rise
With those silent pilgrims yonder wending through the silent skies.
Even thus amid the darkness, and the winds, the waves, the storm,
Of my sin-sick soul, I pass'd one evening by an angel form.
She had seen me sadly smile upon some children sporting by,
And her heart was touch'd with pity—and a tear came in her eye:
And she look'd upon me—spell-bound, I stood still and look'd on her,
And a gleam of light fell glancing down the mists of things that were.
Thou wilt mock me—brother, brother—I can never tell thee—hence!
See! the embers all have smoulder'd—see their faint light dying wanes:
Brother, look, a star is trembling through the tearful window-panes.
14
With those silent pilgrims yonder wending through the silent skies.
Even thus amid the darkness, and the winds, the waves, the storm,
Of my sin-sick soul, I pass'd one evening by an angel form.
She had seen me sadly smile upon some children sporting by,
And her heart was touch'd with pity—and a tear came in her eye:
And she look'd upon me—spell-bound, I stood still and look'd on her,
And a gleam of light fell glancing down the mists of things that were.
Surely ne'er o'er human bosom came love in such tempest-kind;
All my spirit's dark foundations heaved like waves beneath the wind.
Often did I wrench the thought from out my bosom's core and cry,
Never should my cloud-tost being cross that blue transparent sky.
But again she pass'd, and sighing—Jesus, it was all she said.
Yet down, down into her heart-depths through bewildering tears I read—
“Thou art weary, way-worn, storm-tost—darker spots are on thy soul:
“Jesus died—fear not, dear wanderer—storms must bend to His control.”
Oh, that word! I scarce had heard it since in music erst it fell
From our sainted mother's lips, who breathed it as her last farewell.
The dark thunder-clouds that long had risen with every rising day,
Heard it, and were troubled—heard it, and began to break away.
Bitter was the shame, and bitter were the first tears that I wept;—
Frequent still wild night-mare visions broke upon the sleep I slept:—
But at length the spring was heal'd, and gentle tears began to flow,
And One whisper'd, “I have suffer'd—I have borne thy load of woe!”
All the fabled lights of Reason seem'd like torch-flames tost and driven—
All its music was as discord to the melody of heaven.
As I knelt and gazed (esteeming all the world beside but loss)
On the one lone star that glimmer'd o'er my Saviour's silent cross.
Brother, brother, canst thou wonder that, when peace began to brood
Over those wild troubled waters of my spirit's solitude,
I should turn and bless the angel who had shown that light divine?
Blessing, see her—seeing, love her—win and bind her heart to mine?
All my spirit's dark foundations heaved like waves beneath the wind.
Often did I wrench the thought from out my bosom's core and cry,
Never should my cloud-tost being cross that blue transparent sky.
15
Yet down, down into her heart-depths through bewildering tears I read—
“Thou art weary, way-worn, storm-tost—darker spots are on thy soul:
“Jesus died—fear not, dear wanderer—storms must bend to His control.”
Oh, that word! I scarce had heard it since in music erst it fell
From our sainted mother's lips, who breathed it as her last farewell.
The dark thunder-clouds that long had risen with every rising day,
Heard it, and were troubled—heard it, and began to break away.
Bitter was the shame, and bitter were the first tears that I wept;—
Frequent still wild night-mare visions broke upon the sleep I slept:—
But at length the spring was heal'd, and gentle tears began to flow,
And One whisper'd, “I have suffer'd—I have borne thy load of woe!”
16
All its music was as discord to the melody of heaven.
As I knelt and gazed (esteeming all the world beside but loss)
On the one lone star that glimmer'd o'er my Saviour's silent cross.
Brother, brother, canst thou wonder that, when peace began to brood
Over those wild troubled waters of my spirit's solitude,
I should turn and bless the angel who had shown that light divine?
Blessing, see her—seeing, love her—win and bind her heart to mine?
Shall I tell thee of the beauty of her sylph-like form and face,
Such as sculptor's hands, entranced all the while, might love to trace?
Of her soft dark tresses shading the swift blushes of her cheek?
Of her clear and thoughtful forehead, sunlit like a cloudland peak?
Of her gentle heaving bosom, heaving o'er her passionate heart?
Of her soft blue eye that bound thee without thinking, without art—
But within whose cool deep fountain slept a thousand sunny rays?—
Tush! the world saw that, and often spoke thereof in heartless praise.
No, I will not tell thee, brother, if I could for grief and tears—
Love is silent as the stars that love us in their voiceless spheres.
Thus far only—she was ever, as she wander'd by my side,
Like a rill of spirit-music flowing with ethereal tide
Through my heart of hearts, and chasing all the discords lingering yet
On the ruffled waves of life that could not in an hour forget.
What, if on my holiest moments burst detested thoughts and vile,
Like a breath the cloud was scatter'd with the magic of her smile.
Soon we parted—but that radiance pass'd not into mist or dreams,
Haunting still deep mystic caverns with the light of moonlight streams:
Yes, we parted—but that music did not die upon mine ears,
For its cycle hath no boundary, and its lordliness no peers.
Thrice we met and thrice were sever'd, this the last sad farewell sound
Ere earth's links should bind, we whisper'd, those Heaven had already bound.
Such as sculptor's hands, entranced all the while, might love to trace?
Of her soft dark tresses shading the swift blushes of her cheek?
Of her clear and thoughtful forehead, sunlit like a cloudland peak?
17
Of her soft blue eye that bound thee without thinking, without art—
But within whose cool deep fountain slept a thousand sunny rays?—
Tush! the world saw that, and often spoke thereof in heartless praise.
No, I will not tell thee, brother, if I could for grief and tears—
Love is silent as the stars that love us in their voiceless spheres.
Thus far only—she was ever, as she wander'd by my side,
Like a rill of spirit-music flowing with ethereal tide
Through my heart of hearts, and chasing all the discords lingering yet
On the ruffled waves of life that could not in an hour forget.
What, if on my holiest moments burst detested thoughts and vile,
Like a breath the cloud was scatter'd with the magic of her smile.
18
Haunting still deep mystic caverns with the light of moonlight streams:
Yes, we parted—but that music did not die upon mine ears,
For its cycle hath no boundary, and its lordliness no peers.
Thrice we met and thrice were sever'd, this the last sad farewell sound
Ere earth's links should bind, we whisper'd, those Heaven had already bound.
'Twas a night of clouds and tempests sweeping through the void of black,
Every sad blast through the forest given in sadder echoes back,
Till they died among the cloisters with a melancholy cry
As of restless moaning waters or dark spectres hurrying by.
And dear thoughts would rise within me with their weeping train of woes,
But I shut my heart upon them, chased them ever as they rose,
Rambled on through fancy labyrinths, dreaming o'er my Adeline,
Threw me on my couch, and sleeping still dreamt on that dream divine.
And I thought she look'd upon me with her own untroubled gaze,
Blushing while my silent rapture praised as language could not praise:
But beneath my eye her beauty grew to deepness more intense,
All that could be earthly melting into heavenlier innocence.
Brother,—Sleep hath eyes—and silence hears strange sounds at midnight hours,
Wonder then unbars the caverns of her phantom-haunted towers,
And we see prophetic visions—but, oh! never till that time
Saw I with my earnest eyes the secrets of night's lonely chime.
At her beauty I was troubled, so unearthly bright, and deep,
And I felt a cold misgiving stealing through my feverish sleep.
Brother, list! my dreams were startled; in my couch I sate upright;
And I wildly gazed around me—not a star was in the night,
But a mild and chasten'd radiance softly streaming fill'd my room,
Centr'ing round her angel figure—even in death my light in gloom.
Yes, she stood there—from her eye the tears fell silently and fast;
If ye will, fond human frailty still victorious to the last:
Tears—aye well she knew the iron soon would rive this quivering heart:
Tears—her home was far away, and I an exile, we must part.
But methinks I could have borne far easier bosom-rending groans
Than that mournful boding silence, and I cried in passionate tones,
“Am I dreaming? oh, beloved, gaze I on thee there awake?
“Wherefore weepest thou? Speak—speak, for soon this bursting heart will break!
“Hast thou left me then for ever, here upon this desolate shore?
“Thou my only fellow-pilgrim—speak, speak, art thou mine no more?”
And she spoke—her voice was music, music over waters heard,
The deep waters of that grief that in her bosom's depths was stirr'd.
“Yes, mine own one, we are parted, such as time and space can part—
“But for ever and for ever we are one in soul and heart:
“This shall seal me thine”—and speaking nearer to my side she press'd,
Till the bright apparel brush'd me flowing o'er her angel breast.
Words may never tell my rapture, blent with awe serenely proud,
As I felt her presence bending o'er me like a golden cloud;
As a moment on my bosom beat responsively her own,
As her lips touch'd mine—and in a moment I was there—alone.
Nothing saw I but the midnight's funeral blackness in my room,
Nothing heard I but the wind and raindrops driving through the gloom:
All my being, that had lately bloom'd with flowers and teem'd with springs,
Seem'd one dreary vast ‘alone,’ a barren wilderness of things.
Aye alone—the spell of sunshine that had fallen on my track,
Now was far beyond the clouds, its native sky had call'd it back:
I was left o'er moor and mountain still to wander wearily,
And the dead leaves round me telling, Autumn had come soon for me.
Every sad blast through the forest given in sadder echoes back,
Till they died among the cloisters with a melancholy cry
As of restless moaning waters or dark spectres hurrying by.
And dear thoughts would rise within me with their weeping train of woes,
But I shut my heart upon them, chased them ever as they rose,
19
Threw me on my couch, and sleeping still dreamt on that dream divine.
And I thought she look'd upon me with her own untroubled gaze,
Blushing while my silent rapture praised as language could not praise:
But beneath my eye her beauty grew to deepness more intense,
All that could be earthly melting into heavenlier innocence.
Brother,—Sleep hath eyes—and silence hears strange sounds at midnight hours,
Wonder then unbars the caverns of her phantom-haunted towers,
And we see prophetic visions—but, oh! never till that time
Saw I with my earnest eyes the secrets of night's lonely chime.
At her beauty I was troubled, so unearthly bright, and deep,
And I felt a cold misgiving stealing through my feverish sleep.
20
And I wildly gazed around me—not a star was in the night,
But a mild and chasten'd radiance softly streaming fill'd my room,
Centr'ing round her angel figure—even in death my light in gloom.
Yes, she stood there—from her eye the tears fell silently and fast;
If ye will, fond human frailty still victorious to the last:
Tears—aye well she knew the iron soon would rive this quivering heart:
Tears—her home was far away, and I an exile, we must part.
But methinks I could have borne far easier bosom-rending groans
Than that mournful boding silence, and I cried in passionate tones,
“Am I dreaming? oh, beloved, gaze I on thee there awake?
“Wherefore weepest thou? Speak—speak, for soon this bursting heart will break!
21
“Thou my only fellow-pilgrim—speak, speak, art thou mine no more?”
And she spoke—her voice was music, music over waters heard,
The deep waters of that grief that in her bosom's depths was stirr'd.
“Yes, mine own one, we are parted, such as time and space can part—
“But for ever and for ever we are one in soul and heart:
“This shall seal me thine”—and speaking nearer to my side she press'd,
Till the bright apparel brush'd me flowing o'er her angel breast.
Words may never tell my rapture, blent with awe serenely proud,
As I felt her presence bending o'er me like a golden cloud;
As a moment on my bosom beat responsively her own,
As her lips touch'd mine—and in a moment I was there—alone.
22
Nothing heard I but the wind and raindrops driving through the gloom:
All my being, that had lately bloom'd with flowers and teem'd with springs,
Seem'd one dreary vast ‘alone,’ a barren wilderness of things.
Aye alone—the spell of sunshine that had fallen on my track,
Now was far beyond the clouds, its native sky had call'd it back:
I was left o'er moor and mountain still to wander wearily,
And the dead leaves round me telling, Autumn had come soon for me.
Endless seem'd the hours of darkness, yet they wore at last away,
And the morning dawn'd, though morning, still to me a midnight day.
She was dead, I knew more surely than if I had seen her die,
But grief clings to fragile anchors when the storms are hurtling by.
So at morning set I forth my heartless hopeless way to wend,
Sorrow clinging round my journey, sorrow brooding at the end.
But one met me, and he wept—I knew his tale ere he begun—
She had died at yester-midnight, dying as the bell peal'd ‘one’!
Heavy-hearted I return'd—I could not bear her corse to see
Whom I just had seen apparell'd like one of the far countree.
Yes, I felt my heart was broken! though for years it did not die,
But it must be with its treasure up in yon eternal sky,
God, my Father, He was there—my blessed Saviour, 'twas His home,
Adeline, and she who bore me harbour'd there, no more to roam.
And my earthly path was clouded, all its lingering gleams had fled,
Save the memories of communion with the living and the dead.
Oh, they sicken'd not, nor faded into fond imaginings,
For true joys, if only true, immortal are 'mid mortal things:
Whilome they were golden lamps that o'er our pilgrim pathway shone,
Whose dear light we fondly bless'd, and wended unrepining on:
And when number'd with the past they sank not in the misty sea
With the foul and base-born glimmer of the world's false-hearted glee,
But majestically rose, an apotheosis of light,
Till they clomb the dark blue heavens, stars for ever 'mid the night:
And thence shining on our pathway from their glorious home afar,
Tell us of the things that have been, that they shall be, and they are.
And the morning dawn'd, though morning, still to me a midnight day.
She was dead, I knew more surely than if I had seen her die,
But grief clings to fragile anchors when the storms are hurtling by.
23
Sorrow clinging round my journey, sorrow brooding at the end.
But one met me, and he wept—I knew his tale ere he begun—
She had died at yester-midnight, dying as the bell peal'd ‘one’!
Heavy-hearted I return'd—I could not bear her corse to see
Whom I just had seen apparell'd like one of the far countree.
Yes, I felt my heart was broken! though for years it did not die,
But it must be with its treasure up in yon eternal sky,
God, my Father, He was there—my blessed Saviour, 'twas His home,
Adeline, and she who bore me harbour'd there, no more to roam.
And my earthly path was clouded, all its lingering gleams had fled,
Save the memories of communion with the living and the dead.
24
For true joys, if only true, immortal are 'mid mortal things:
Whilome they were golden lamps that o'er our pilgrim pathway shone,
Whose dear light we fondly bless'd, and wended unrepining on:
And when number'd with the past they sank not in the misty sea
With the foul and base-born glimmer of the world's false-hearted glee,
But majestically rose, an apotheosis of light,
Till they clomb the dark blue heavens, stars for ever 'mid the night:
And thence shining on our pathway from their glorious home afar,
Tell us of the things that have been, that they shall be, and they are.
Brother, I have told thee all my gloomy tale of fear and sin;
Ah, forgive me, for I could not die and keep it pent within—
Since she went, this heart's beloved, thirteen dreary years have pass'd,
Something tells me in my bosom, this—joy, joy!—shall be my last.
Brother, I have lived and roam'd in tracking those I once beguiled,
To essay with me sin's fearful dark interminable wild;
Days and nights of supplication I have agonized for them,
Till to all, 'mid storm and shipwreck, beam'd the Star of Bethlehem.
Ah, forgive me, for I could not die and keep it pent within—
25
Something tells me in my bosom, this—joy, joy!—shall be my last.
Brother, I have lived and roam'd in tracking those I once beguiled,
To essay with me sin's fearful dark interminable wild;
Days and nights of supplication I have agonized for them,
Till to all, 'mid storm and shipwreck, beam'd the Star of Bethlehem.
Nothing now remains for lifetime—take my last, my fond farewell;
If a heart like mine can bless, Heaven bless thee more than heart can tell!
Grant that all my dark experience may be imaged back in light,
When reflected from the sunny waters of thy spirit bright:
Till thy race on earth is finish'd, and ye hasten to complete
Those our mother's vision saw, a blessed band at Jesus' feet.
And when I am dead, dear brother, lay me by the sacred yew
That o'ershades this heart's beloved. Fare thee well—adieu—adieu.
If a heart like mine can bless, Heaven bless thee more than heart can tell!
Grant that all my dark experience may be imaged back in light,
When reflected from the sunny waters of thy spirit bright:
Till thy race on earth is finish'd, and ye hasten to complete
Those our mother's vision saw, a blessed band at Jesus' feet.
And when I am dead, dear brother, lay me by the sacred yew
That o'ershades this heart's beloved. Fare thee well—adieu—adieu.
Trinity College, 1845.
| The Two Brothers, and other poems | |