 | Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson |  |
208
HUGO
To Fernand Ortmans.
I
Silent, who wast so long a voice of fire divine:Down the world's mighty winds, a chaunt oracular!
Vanished, who wast a light and splendour crystalline:
Highest in Heaven, a star beside the Morning Star!
We, glad in grief, salute that glory, which is thine
Among the Thrones of Death, where Death's Undying are!
May 22.
II
Crowned for thy Throne of Death, this thy last lower night,
Master! thou sleepest well: and we, who love thee, yearn
Beyond the walls of flame, that circle all our days,
On wings of music charioted, and song's delight,
To where the Seven Lamps with endless ardour burn
Before the Sapphire Throne, Spirits of perfect praise.
Master! thou sleepest well: and we, who love thee, yearn
Beyond the walls of flame, that circle all our days,
On wings of music charioted, and song's delight,
To where the Seven Lamps with endless ardour burn
Before the Sapphire Throne, Spirits of perfect praise.
Victor and loving Lord, who, seeing this poor world
Wasted and worn with wrongs, wouldest not war, but peace,
And little children's laughter, and the law of love!
Now thou art winds, and waves, and terrible thunders hurled
From out night's battling clouds: and when storm voices cease,
Thou art the calm, whereunder gentler waters move.
Wasted and worn with wrongs, wouldest not war, but peace,
And little children's laughter, and the law of love!
Now thou art winds, and waves, and terrible thunders hurled
From out night's battling clouds: and when storm voices cease,
Thou art the calm, whereunder gentler waters move.
209
Ah, music from thy lips, light from thy lightning eyes,
Death from thine holy scorn: for these thy gifts of gold,
What thanks, what lauds, what faith, what hearts made whole through fire?
Our silence and our tears thou takest: vainly tries
The passion of our pain by song to pierce the cold
Gulphs of the Shadow of Death, winged by our love's desire.
Death from thine holy scorn: for these thy gifts of gold,
What thanks, what lauds, what faith, what hearts made whole through fire?
Our silence and our tears thou takest: vainly tries
The passion of our pain by song to pierce the cold
Gulphs of the Shadow of Death, winged by our love's desire.
May 31.
III
Swept through night, ah Master! alone and royal;
Soared past deeps of night to the heights of morning:
What high rapture rang from thy lips, anointed
Son of the sunrise?
Soared past deeps of night to the heights of morning:
What high rapture rang from thy lips, anointed
Son of the sunrise?
What divinest passion of morning music
Rises round those Fields, where the feet of singers
Go through golden flowers of eternal springtide,
Master! to meet thee?
Rises round those Fields, where the feet of singers
Go through golden flowers of eternal springtide,
Master! to meet thee?
Here love's multitudinous praise of weeping
Hails thee passing home to the heart of earth: nay!
Not in earth, but thou at the heart of Heaven,
Victor! abidest.
Hails thee passing home to the heart of earth: nay!
Not in earth, but thou at the heart of Heaven,
Victor! abidest.
There the eyes of Æschylus glow thee welcome:
Virgil hails thee: ah, for thy consecration,
Shakespeare bids thee sit by his side: and Dante,
Dante salutes thee!
Virgil hails thee: ah, for thy consecration,
Shakespeare bids thee sit by his side: and Dante,
Dante salutes thee!
June 2: 1885.
| Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson | |