The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
27
I.
How like to ours the ancient tale of Psyche!
Happy in her enrichéd palace, stored
With pleasant sights, and sounds, and dainty fare,
By day; and Love himself her guest by night;
Until she longed to know him, and the lamp
Held to his sleeping face,—from thence no more
Her guest; and she an outcast from that hour.
Alike yet different. For the feminine
Was not then sanctioned by the great advent
Which Gabriel announced with bended knee
And sceptre of white lilies unto Mary:
She the appointed medium between God
Descending and the man redeemed. Nor then
The sufferer had been deemed divine—the Moral
Come into light! the Moral which will lead us
Out of the realm of pain. Such change again
May be, and future fables hold the man
More perfect; when the Strong and Just shall be
One Will, as force was virtue in old times.
Meanwhile I make the Energy the error,
Masculine power, a birth and death power only.
Happy in her enrichéd palace, stored
With pleasant sights, and sounds, and dainty fare,
By day; and Love himself her guest by night;
Until she longed to know him, and the lamp
Held to his sleeping face,—from thence no more
Her guest; and she an outcast from that hour.
Alike yet different. For the feminine
Was not then sanctioned by the great advent
Which Gabriel announced with bended knee
And sceptre of white lilies unto Mary:
She the appointed medium between God
Descending and the man redeemed. Nor then
The sufferer had been deemed divine—the Moral
Come into light! the Moral which will lead us
Out of the realm of pain. Such change again
May be, and future fables hold the man
More perfect; when the Strong and Just shall be
28
Meanwhile I make the Energy the error,
Masculine power, a birth and death power only.
Upon the sand strewn with sea-baubles, she,
Mneme, the sister of the wanderer, stands.
The chill breeze beats upon her sorrowing breast
And bares her lustrous limbs: the alternate wave
Enamoured of her trembling feet heaps up
The snowy foam around them.
Mneme, the sister of the wanderer, stands.
The chill breeze beats upon her sorrowing breast
And bares her lustrous limbs: the alternate wave
Enamoured of her trembling feet heaps up
The snowy foam around them.
Thus she stood,
Nor ever turned she from that cheerless sea
Her eye so placid, yet so earnest-sad:
She follows him upon the nether shore,
Among opposing boughs of swarthy forests,
And broken bones of a degraded world,
Stony ravines and rocks, and obscure life.
“Would that he could have understood me! would
That he had read upon my yearning face
Those things which must be felt, or be unknown;
Which words articulate may not convey!
Alas! new wonders are before him, all
The changes of the sea's green countenance,
The solitude of winds and hills, the moaning
Of waves in hollow caves and deep dank lairs
Between the jaws and gorges of the dark.
With these he strives—and walled by those obstructions
Doth he forget this heart that beats for him,
And these soft arms that cradled him so oft,
And these lips fading now that kissed his sleep
In the dove-shelter of our living groves.
Lave me, my handmaids! from your pebbly home
Come up, with freshening salutation come;
Ye sparkle round my feet, while I am faint,
And all my immortality decays
Into a fleeting breath, while demon forms
Stand in the path of the adventurous child
Of fire from heaven, and fabricated mortals—
Dædaléan things with life but seeming—
Invite him to be one of them—to rush
Downwards into the seething toils of change.
Ye spirits who delight
In crowded sisterhood beneath the stir
Of the great waves, upon your ambient hair
Reclined, in close embracement of curved limbs:
Ye who delight to gather shells and pearls,
And cast them on the sands with gleaming heads
Through the white tide-foam. Ye whom I behold
By the red peak or morning mountain sides,
Flying aslant with feet to feet among
The sun-fringed clouds, upon whose dance the rainbow
Its azure and its violet doth shed.
And ye who ever sit i' the boles of woods
Deafened with moss;—where even the aspen-boughs
Waver not in the still air:—couched in leaves,
With eyes fixed all day on some sapling stem
Strengthening in spring time. Ye whose lucid limbs
Sleep in the quiet fountain undisturbed,
Save by a veering leaf from shadowy tree
Alighting with faint circle by the reeds.
Minister to me that I wane away
Not altogether:—be around Him still,
To bear his memory back to this warm breast.
Nor ever turned she from that cheerless sea
Her eye so placid, yet so earnest-sad:
She follows him upon the nether shore,
Among opposing boughs of swarthy forests,
And broken bones of a degraded world,
Stony ravines and rocks, and obscure life.
“Would that he could have understood me! would
That he had read upon my yearning face
Those things which must be felt, or be unknown;
Which words articulate may not convey!
29
The changes of the sea's green countenance,
The solitude of winds and hills, the moaning
Of waves in hollow caves and deep dank lairs
Between the jaws and gorges of the dark.
With these he strives—and walled by those obstructions
Doth he forget this heart that beats for him,
And these soft arms that cradled him so oft,
And these lips fading now that kissed his sleep
In the dove-shelter of our living groves.
Lave me, my handmaids! from your pebbly home
Come up, with freshening salutation come;
Ye sparkle round my feet, while I am faint,
And all my immortality decays
Into a fleeting breath, while demon forms
Stand in the path of the adventurous child
Of fire from heaven, and fabricated mortals—
Dædaléan things with life but seeming—
Invite him to be one of them—to rush
Downwards into the seething toils of change.
Ye spirits who delight
In crowded sisterhood beneath the stir
Of the great waves, upon your ambient hair
Reclined, in close embracement of curved limbs:
30
And cast them on the sands with gleaming heads
Through the white tide-foam. Ye whom I behold
By the red peak or morning mountain sides,
Flying aslant with feet to feet among
The sun-fringed clouds, upon whose dance the rainbow
Its azure and its violet doth shed.
And ye who ever sit i' the boles of woods
Deafened with moss;—where even the aspen-boughs
Waver not in the still air:—couched in leaves,
With eyes fixed all day on some sapling stem
Strengthening in spring time. Ye whose lucid limbs
Sleep in the quiet fountain undisturbed,
Save by a veering leaf from shadowy tree
Alighting with faint circle by the reeds.
Minister to me that I wane away
Not altogether:—be around Him still,
To bear his memory back to this warm breast.
“Wonderful that he left this land of light
And peace to be a ruler in a world
Whose happiness is pain, whose beauty and joy
Are tears and wounds; my eye-lids droop in fear
Before the passing vision that reveals
A constant interchange of sentient death.
And peace to be a ruler in a world
Whose happiness is pain, whose beauty and joy
Are tears and wounds; my eye-lids droop in fear
31
A constant interchange of sentient death.
“Lonely I turn, oh spirits meek, to you
All our great mother's ministers of love:
As a thin shade evanishing away,
As music hovering o'er a drowsy ear
I lean on your immortal breasts!”
All our great mother's ministers of love:
As a thin shade evanishing away,
As music hovering o'er a drowsy ear
I lean on your immortal breasts!”
They heard,—
The beautiful things of nature heard her moan,
And buoyed her up reclining on their arms.
The countless spirits from the shrine she served
Flocked down upon the sward without a sound;
The blue flowers shone like children's trusting eyes
From the green turf, and undulating snakes
With glistening skins come round her; while the waves
Whose constant alternations fill the shells
As if in sport, a silver moaning made,
That sank with infinite quiet to her heart:
And the gay breeze thoughout the thornless groves
Seeking to win its way to every nook,
Whispered such music as the Dryads love,
When the strong sun upon their heavy hair
Sheds gold, and deep repose, and indolent dreams.
“Fear not, fair priestess, whose kind wonderment
Hath followed far the wanderer grievingly,
Fear not but yet this Eden breeze will lift
His mantle hurrying towards his natal home.
Fear not that Storm and Strife have power so strong
That he may never disentwine their woof,
Or that the lank lips and the muffled brow
Of Meditation gloomily bowed down
In starless funeral crypt, can fascinate
His heart: or that she may his willing hands
Clasp in her own for ever: he will stoop
And gaze into her face, and disenchant
The evil power, and she will die away,
And her home open to his franchised steps
That has no bourne but here. Fear not that he
Who tasted the cool berries of these trees
Will ever lose his immortality.
Enter—we are around thee, perfect one,
The sisters of the waves their emerald cells
Strew with strange beauty that thou mays't repose
Among them: the brown daughters of the woods
Smooth their mazed brakes that thy fine foot may fall
Pleasantly: and the oozing fountain drops,—
Drops placidly from its cold cave, where oft
The lizard venomless with guiding tail
Crosses from rim to rim, and lilies float
With snowy cup full spread. Thou shalt live on
Amidst the endless trance of day and night;—
The evening star will pass into the morn,
And the sun's chariot verge towards the south
And back due eastward; trees shall shed their leaves,
The birds their feathers, and the prancing deer
His antlers: but no other change shall press
Upon thy peace. No Dædaléan seeming
Of Life and Good; no ruling men in mail,
Or burden bearing, or loud-tongued complaint,
Or love spasmodic, or desires forbidden,
Or dying murmurs of regretful pains,
Shall penetrate into thy hidden home.”
The beautiful things of nature heard her moan,
And buoyed her up reclining on their arms.
The countless spirits from the shrine she served
Flocked down upon the sward without a sound;
The blue flowers shone like children's trusting eyes
From the green turf, and undulating snakes
With glistening skins come round her; while the waves
Whose constant alternations fill the shells
As if in sport, a silver moaning made,
That sank with infinite quiet to her heart:
And the gay breeze thoughout the thornless groves
Seeking to win its way to every nook,
32
When the strong sun upon their heavy hair
Sheds gold, and deep repose, and indolent dreams.
“Fear not, fair priestess, whose kind wonderment
Hath followed far the wanderer grievingly,
Fear not but yet this Eden breeze will lift
His mantle hurrying towards his natal home.
Fear not that Storm and Strife have power so strong
That he may never disentwine their woof,
Or that the lank lips and the muffled brow
Of Meditation gloomily bowed down
In starless funeral crypt, can fascinate
His heart: or that she may his willing hands
Clasp in her own for ever: he will stoop
And gaze into her face, and disenchant
The evil power, and she will die away,
And her home open to his franchised steps
That has no bourne but here. Fear not that he
Who tasted the cool berries of these trees
Will ever lose his immortality.
Enter—we are around thee, perfect one,
The sisters of the waves their emerald cells
Strew with strange beauty that thou mays't repose
Among them: the brown daughters of the woods
33
Pleasantly: and the oozing fountain drops,—
Drops placidly from its cold cave, where oft
The lizard venomless with guiding tail
Crosses from rim to rim, and lilies float
With snowy cup full spread. Thou shalt live on
Amidst the endless trance of day and night;—
The evening star will pass into the morn,
And the sun's chariot verge towards the south
And back due eastward; trees shall shed their leaves,
The birds their feathers, and the prancing deer
His antlers: but no other change shall press
Upon thy peace. No Dædaléan seeming
Of Life and Good; no ruling men in mail,
Or burden bearing, or loud-tongued complaint,
Or love spasmodic, or desires forbidden,
Or dying murmurs of regretful pains,
Shall penetrate into thy hidden home.”
| The Year of the World | |