University of Virginia Library

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THE THREE TRANCES.

(ANOTHER READING OF THE VISIONS OF THE NORTHERN SEER.)

I was a glad and sunny child,
And in the fount of life
Which, gushing from its hidden cave
In many a clear and sparkling wave,
Each with sweet music rife,
Wells in the morning sunlight up
E'en to its stony brim,
Dropping into each flowery cup
That trembles on the rim,
Thence trickling through the long soft grass
That springs up green where'er it pass,
(E'en from the stones it lives among
Ringing a clear and hearty song,
Each joyous chime and merry burst
As fresh and glad as 'twere the first),
I bathed, and quenched my healthy thirst,
Until my heart grew wild.

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I bounded o'er the bounding turf,
I shouted to the shouting surf,
I laughed with the merry streams;
My playmates were the birds and bees,
The noisy wind, the whispering breeze,
And changeful summer gleams.

And in the still and sultry hours,
When Nature drooped and was sad,
Weary with thirst and heat,
The tread of my light feet
Was cool and musical,
As when, at evening, fall
Drop by drop in lonely pools the summer showers,
And the desert looked up and was glad.
I strove with the maddened storm,
I leapt the crag with the waterfall;
For the blood in my veins was warm,
And storms, and streams, and gleams, and all
The mighty creatures of the wild,
In their fierce exulting play,
They welcomed me
To their company,
And they laughed to see a little child
As strong and as glad as they.

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Then a shadow came before my eyes,
And a weight upon my heart,
And my breath came slow,
Laden with heavy sighs;
And one I did not know
Ever to me
Clung wearily,
And whispered that we never more should part.

And on the crags where I was wont to stand
He dragged me downward with a heavy hand;
And on the mountains, where I used to be
As mountain breezes free,
He came, and then my steps fell heavily.
And in the forest glad and lone,
Where winds and ancient trees,
And the torrent and the breeze,
Had talked to me as to a fellow of their own,
His heavy breath my voice would choke,
His wings would cloud my spirit o'er,
I could not answer when they spoke,
And I was of their fellowship no more.
The waters laughed—I could not laugh;
In their ancient dwelling
Nature's founts were welling,
Life-giving as of old, but not for me to quaff.

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For ever he would bide
By my side,
And 'neath his heavy tread the springs were dried.

And when in noontide hours of weariness
Nature had laid her down to sleep
In the solitude,
My step no more awoke the wilderness,
My voice no more her parchëd heart could steep
With life and good,
Like fountains gushing in a thirsty place;
Nature no more was glad to see my face,
For I was faint and sad as she,

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And wheresoe'er my steps I bent,
Ever with me that Dark One went
With heavy footsteps wearily.
He drank my cup of life till it was dry,
He weighed upon my heart till it grew cold;
He touched my eyelids hot and heavily,
And nothing smiled as it had smiled of old.

I laid me down upon a woodland bank,
Where the breath of spring came slow in languid sighs,
And smiles on me
Beamed tearfully
From out the tender depths of violet eyes;
My heart within me sank.
I laid me down upon the bank and wept;
A sleep, which was not sleep, came o'er my soul:
Men mourned to see my light of life thus fade;
They knew not that the Ancient One
That shadow o'er my soul had thrown,
That He might commune with me in the shade.
That cloud of sleep around my sense did roll,
That He might come to me in visions as I slept.
They knew not that my sleep had dreams—
Dreams to which all that seem most real beside

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Are but as lights in restless waves that glide,
The changeful image of most changeful gleams.

I talked with the Ancient One
In that mysterious seeming slumber;
Nor yet with Him alone,
But blessed spirits without number,
Who crowd around His throne,
And loud and clear the tide of praises swell;—
Nor only in that lofty sphere they dwell,
But round His children throng,
Invisibly ever,
And pour their glorious song,
Though audible never,

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Save when at evening, in the solitude,
When not a breeze has stirred,
A quiver thrills through all the silent wood;
Can it have heard?
O what a drunkenness of joy my soul doth steep
With thought of the unuttered visions of that sleep!

And when that awful slumber broke,
He who so long of late
Was my associate
No longer closely in my pathway stood,
But in the sky,
Heavily,

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Like a thunder-cloud with dusky wings did brood,
And to something of my former life I woke.

Yet on my pathway evermore
That heavy cloud doth darkly lower,
Like thunder-laden air,

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Damping each transient thought of mirth,
Weighing my energies to earth,
A burden hard to bear.

And twice again that wondrous guest
Hath come close to my side as of old;
Hath laid his heavy hand upon my breast,
Until my blood ran cold;

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Hath hid with stifling breath again
The light of life from me;
Hath bound me with a threefold chain
That draggeth heavily,—
All my raptured soul to steep
In the sleep which is not sleep.
To me he is no more unknown,
His face has all familiar grown,
And dearer than the blessed sun,
For with him comes the Ancient One.

O, come to me once more!
Shadow my spirit o'er.
Three times thy hand hath been on me
Heavily;
Come with yet heavier grasp, and crush
This frame to dust.
Three times thy breath hath dimmed my light
Into night;
Come and breathe on it mightily,
Till it die.
Three times the cloud of sleep o'er my soul
Thou didst roll;
Come now, and fix the shadow there,
Let me sleep e'er,

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That I may dream those visions o'er
Evermore.
Nay; with loud voice this slumber break,
That I may wake,
And be with the Ancient One
By His throne.
Come now, and with no feeble hand,
Strain thy band,
Until this heavy veil be riven,
Which shuts my spirit from the light;
Come, Strong One, bear my soul to heaven,
And crush this lid which shrouds my sight;
I care not what the anguish be,
So I be free;
Come, choke this slow and labouring breath,
And I will bless thee, Death.