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GENESIS.
“Give me matter,” says Kant, “and I will build the world;” and deducing from simple data a doctrine similar to the well-known “Nebular Hypothesis” of Laplace, he accounts for the relations of the masses and the densities of the planets to their distances from the sun, for the eccentricities of their orbits, for their rotations, for their satellites, for the general agreement in the direction of rotation among the celestial bodies, for Saturn's ring and for the zodiacal light. The nebular hypothesis shows that prior to the earth being in a fluid state it existed, dissolved in a vast nebula, the parent of the solar system; that this nebula gradually contracted and condensed, throwing off the planets one by one; that the central portion of the nebula, condensed perhaps to the fluid state, exists at present as the sun. See Huxley's “Lay Sermons,” p. 241, and Lockyer's “Lessons in Astronomy,” p. 88.
“That far planet.”—Neptune. Mr Adams of the University of Cambridge, a native of Cornwall, and M. Leverrier of Paris, independently and almost simultaneously discovered the theoretical place of this planet, which was found very near the position thus assigned it by Dr Galle, September 23, 1846.
The existence of an unknown planet was inferred by Kant from scientific data. In 1771 Uranus was discovered by Sir William Herschell, justifying the inference of the philosopher.
The “kingly orb” of the poem is Jupiter; the “world of wild romance,” Saturn; the “daughter of the sun,” Venus; the “eldest born of light,” Mercury; the “mysterious radiance” from the sun, the zodiacal light, an appendage of the sun which extends beyond the earth. The stanzas describing the biological evolution have been recently inserted, as the poem when composed, in 1849, dealt only with the idea of planetary evolution. I have endeavoured to give a poetical expression to recent speculations, in particular, to Mr Herbert Spencer's doctrine of transmitted experiences, in the new verses. As regards what is said of the eye, Mr Spencer writes:—
“As soon as there exists a rudimentary eye capable of receiving an impression from a moving object about to strike the organism, and so rendering it possible for the organism to make some adapted movement, there is shown the dawn of actions which we distinguish as intelligent. As soon as the organism, fully sensitive to a jar or vibration propagated through its medium, contracts itself so as to be in less danger from the adjacent source of disturbance, we perceive a nascent form of the life classed as psychical. That is to say, whenever the correspondence exhibits some extension in space or time, some increase of speciality or complexity, we find we have crossed the boundary between physical life and psychical life.” —Principles of Psychology, p. 392.
To the web that we behold;
Ever weaving, ever spinning,
Nature wrought it fold on fold;
Her mysterious shuttle throwing
Thro' the wild and restless loom
Of a chaos, dark or glowing
With old lights or ancient gloom.
Ever fairy form was mated
With the grey old Proteus power,
As, self-sculptured, self-created,
Sleeps in snow the veiled snow-flower.
Worlds would bloom and worlds would fade;
Aweful flowers of growth eternal,
Still they grew and still decayed.
We may dream not of the glory
Of that earlier golden age;
Has inspired no prophet's page.
How through thousand, thousand changes,
Self-compelled, great Nature flees,
How the One through many ranges,
This is all your poet sees.
Such as a clear insight gives,
To a quiet spirit feeding
On the truths that it receives;
Onward, to a later season,
When that golden age has past,
And, revealed by Sense to Reason,
Nature dawns on us at last.
Leave the Universe, the lonely;
Humbler service shall be done,
If we sing, yet sing we only
Of the children of the Sun.
To the East and to the West,
You will see an endless burning,
And a moving without rest.
You shall sit upon the Centre,
You shall have an angel's eyes,
Till your piercing glances enter
That great Burning in the skies.
Room is none for doubt or cavil,
For your vision wanders o'er
In a thousand years or more.
Looking left and looking right,
O'er that mist of silver fire
To direct your aching sight.
Silent is it, burning, breathing,
Like a sea of sun-bright cloud,
Waves in waves are wreathed and wreathing,
A self-convoluted crowd.
See it whirling, calm and steady!
See it surging to and fro!
As the waters gleam and eddy
In some whirlpool chafed to snow.
Denser here and denser there;
Slowly, slowly orbs are growing,
Out of this gross fiery air.
One, that with a sudden motion
Left the old parental fire,
Rolls around this radiant ocean,
Nearer drawn with strange desire.
Others now, with others, sever—
The great Mist itself is one!
You may see them rolling ever,
The bright children of the Sun.
One in Cornwall's rocky clime,
Linked in rivalry sublime,
And the orb that, nearer shining,
The old German sage foresaw,
In the beautiful divining
Of a universal law.
Then a world of wild romances,
With his moons and double ring,
And a lordship that enhances
All the wonders that I sing.
As it travels from the light,
Veiling half its beauty tender,
Through its fifteen years of Night.
Ever, yet, one half is glowing,
Sunward, on its silent way,
And a holy light is flowing
From its fifteen years of Day.
But still nearer and still brighter,
Rolls the kingly orb that bears
The old name that once made lighter
God and goddess of their cares.
Fades and fades for evermore,
Harp and voice alike unable
Jove's Olympus to restore.
Withered lie the Morning's roses,
And the Muses' song is still,
Soft white waists against their will.
Poets' song and prophets' dreaming
Pass, with all that man has done,
But abides the primal gleaming.
Of the children of the Sun.
And with rocks of ruddy stone,
See the star of battles flashing
As he circles near our own.
Earth! my mother, have I won thee?
Clasped thee in my poet-flight?
Oh, a thousand blessings on thee,
Parent of all true delight!
With thy white and purple waters,
Granite rocks and forest trees,
Noble sons and graceful daughters,
And more lovely shapes than these.
Each in all, and all in each,
Tender, lifeless buds, unfolding,
Yearned for life they scarce could reach:
Yearned, and in the blind endeavour,
As the million centuries ranged,
Caught the flame of life, and ever
Changing slowly, surely changed.
Till the germin inorganic,
Fed on sun-mote, cooled by dew,
To a living substance grew:
Feeling, feeling, ever feeling,
Till the feeling grown intense,
From new form new force revealing,
Dawned into a separate sense.
And, with sudden, wondering awe,
Out of ancient darkness lightened,
And became an eye and saw.
So each dainty nervelet quivered
Into music, and the roll
Of the song-waves as they shivered
Raised that music into soul.
That fair Thing which first was man,
Ere man yet had sons and daughters,
Swifter than the breezes ran;
Climbed the palm by lightnings rended,
Snatched the golden-feathered flame,
To his hollow cave descended,
Heir of a Promethean name.
Far-off sounds of mighty winds,
Impresses of rest and motion,
Warmth that soothes and light that blinds,
Dreams of twilight and the moon,
Thoughts of joy and thoughts of wonder,
Fed his brain by night and noon.
Where the world in picture dwells,
Traced in beauty, traced in terror,
In the brain's mysterious cells,
And a million dim impressions,
Secrets strange of time and place,
Are the magical possessions
Of our later happier race.
Sense of brightness not of earth,
Haunts us, with a strange, sweet vision,
As of life before our birth;
'Tis some record, fair and fatal,
Of those old ancestral days,
Some experience, ante-natal,
Of our wild forefathers' ways.
Mother Earth! is set to thine,
Without air and without ocean,
Draws me with her face divine.
Ah! a fairer day approaches!
Out of darkness, out of strife,
Rises a young lovely life!
Soars to meet the golden morning,
Ranges where green meadows lie,
Clothes with glad and bright adorning
The new Eden of the sky.
Wins the daughter of the sun,
For her rainbows and her flowers,
Richer hues than earth hath won.
Drenched in everlasting glory,
Floats the latest-born of light;
Strange and wild must be his story,
Strong must be his children's sight!
From the sun, for ever streaming,
A mysterious radiance flows;
Past the fourth red planet gleaming,
Like a pyramid it shows.
Of the sun and of the spheres;
Such the mystic revelation
Given to the fading years.
With a calm and aweful pleasure,
Look into the lonely sky,
Where the spheres with rhythmic measure
Now approach the sun, now fly.
Never voice is heard, and never
Is their circling journey done;
Silent children of the sun.
Are there friends and lovers there?
Do sweet sisters let their brothers
Braid white roses in their hair?
Have they pains and have they pleasures,
Have they loves and hatreds too?
Have they old poetic measures,
Do they kiss and do they woo?
Have they sped through vale and mountain
Chariots winged with steam and fire?
Does some genius leave the fountain
When their creeds, like ours, expire?
Dwells in secret evermore;
Beauty born of terror only
Lifts to heights unknown before.
Leave the planets to their courses,
The star-children to their fate;
Trust the old majestic forces,
The dread powers of love and hate.
Do you feel that there is terror
In the still, the endless skies?
Are you weary of the error
That within and round you lies?
Noble, doubtless, is the feeling,
But yet nobler to be strong,
To endure and welcome wrong.
Through the spheres and through the ages,
Flows a compensating law;
In the fatal stony pages
Breathes a grace amid the awe.
There is wisdom worth the winning,
There is love that never grieves,
In the web without beginning
That the fair, dread Nature weaves.
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