 | A Lost Epic and Other Poems |  |
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MENA THE LIBYAN.
“The boy so long delighteth in his play;
The youth so long pursues his maid; so long
The old man broods upon uneasiness,
That none can find the time—not even one—
In all the regions of the level world
To meditate upon the very God!”
The youth so long pursues his maid; so long
The old man broods upon uneasiness,
That none can find the time—not even one—
In all the regions of the level world
To meditate upon the very God!”
And Mena, rising, fled the babbling streets;
And climbing through the shadow of the woods,
Gained one great ledge which shelved above the mass
Of billowy foliage, and beheld beneath
The Libyan city on this hand, and on that
The plain of western waters. From below
No murmur save the woodland's reached his ear:
And resting on the rocky ledge, he crossed
His arms upon his bosom and withdrew
His spirit from all things living, fixed it fast
Upon the Life, and grew entranced in God.
And climbing through the shadow of the woods,
Gained one great ledge which shelved above the mass
Of billowy foliage, and beheld beneath
The Libyan city on this hand, and on that
The plain of western waters. From below
No murmur save the woodland's reached his ear:
And resting on the rocky ledge, he crossed
His arms upon his bosom and withdrew
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Upon the Life, and grew entranced in God.
And God upheld him, and he leaned on God
And knew no fleshly need, no touch of time.
And knew no fleshly need, no touch of time.
In the long summers—for the varying year,
Even as the sylvan waters of a brook
Divide against a boulder in the brook,
And now the sunny current carries down
Blue gleams of sky and leaves and flowers, and now
Grey shadows, but through all the changeful day
The boulder feels no change, even so the year
Brought lapse of seasons, even so the man
Of seasons and of years was unaware—
In the long summers moss and tendrils grew
About his limbs; the spider wove her web
Around his head. In wintry moons the trees
Were shattered by the tempest in the woods;
But Mena heard not. Neither felt he rain
Nor hoar-frost blanching tangled hair and beard
Within his beard the small birds built in spring
And, later, trills and chirps and gladdened wings
Made happy music to the early sun
Upon his bosom; but he heard no sound.
Even as the sylvan waters of a brook
Divide against a boulder in the brook,
And now the sunny current carries down
Blue gleams of sky and leaves and flowers, and now
Grey shadows, but through all the changeful day
The boulder feels no change, even so the year
Brought lapse of seasons, even so the man
Of seasons and of years was unaware—
In the long summers moss and tendrils grew
About his limbs; the spider wove her web
Around his head. In wintry moons the trees
Were shattered by the tempest in the woods;
But Mena heard not. Neither felt he rain
Nor hoar-frost blanching tangled hair and beard
Within his beard the small birds built in spring
And, later, trills and chirps and gladdened wings
Made happy music to the early sun
Upon his bosom; but he heard no sound.
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And Mena waxed—like all things mortal—old,
A haggard frame! But still despite the years
His spirit drooped nor withered—wrapt in God!
The woodlands fell and rotted in their place;
The Libyan city crumbled, thundered down
Like snow in April, drifted wide in dust
Along the four great winds which purge the world;
And lo! the waters of the western sea
Drew ever further westward, sank and shrank,
And left but sand and salt and thirst and fire,
Mirage and dumb tremendous solitude.
A haggard frame! But still despite the years
His spirit drooped nor withered—wrapt in God!
The woodlands fell and rotted in their place;
The Libyan city crumbled, thundered down
Like snow in April, drifted wide in dust
Along the four great winds which purge the world;
And lo! the waters of the western sea
Drew ever further westward, sank and shrank,
And left but sand and salt and thirst and fire,
Mirage and dumb tremendous solitude.
And Mena, with a hopeless sigh, awoke:
“O Thou unknowable and holy God,
How shall I hope to know Thee as Thou art?
Long hours I seek Thee, till my weary soul
Sinks back to rest her weakness on the earth.
O God, will ever thought be more than babe
Which stretches to the moon its simple hands?—
The Lord be my protector, what is this?”
“O Thou unknowable and holy God,
How shall I hope to know Thee as Thou art?
Long hours I seek Thee, till my weary soul
Sinks back to rest her weakness on the earth.
O God, will ever thought be more than babe
Which stretches to the moon its simple hands?—
The Lord be my protector, what is this?”
He rubbed his eyes and gazed, amazed, and shook
With awe and speechless wonder; for behold!
The desert flared before him, and he stood
Near trunks of forest changed to stumps of stone,
And saw the solitude of salt and sand
Where no man in the living world had trod.
With awe and speechless wonder; for behold!
The desert flared before him, and he stood
Near trunks of forest changed to stumps of stone,
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Where no man in the living world had trod.
And Mena, while he gazed, became aware
Of hoariest age and utter nakedness.
He turned his face against the rock and wept.
Of hoariest age and utter nakedness.
He turned his face against the rock and wept.
Then lo! upon the east the desert changed,
As in a dream, to fields and homely trees
And glittering waters; and the weeping man
Beheld them and his heart was lifted up;
And hastening on with feeble steps, he strove
To reach that blessed isle of living land.
He travelled all that day through sand and salt,
Through valleys where in long-forgotten time
Water had rolled the boulder, worn the cliff,
But now from eye to eye 'twas stone and stone;
Then fell, outworn, and slumbered where he fell,
But rose ere dawn and journeyed, wild with hope,
Saying: “Those waters and delightsome trees
Were surely a gracious vision sent of God
To lead me onward.” Then at length he marked
Where limestone in a dark sierra jagged
The scarlet of the morning. Here he climbed
And saw beyond the ridge—oh, joy of joys!
The broad Nile flowing through a fruitful land,
And sphinx and temple and pyramid and palm,
Green fields, and men and women. And he lay
And wept for gladness.
As in a dream, to fields and homely trees
And glittering waters; and the weeping man
Beheld them and his heart was lifted up;
And hastening on with feeble steps, he strove
To reach that blessed isle of living land.
He travelled all that day through sand and salt,
Through valleys where in long-forgotten time
Water had rolled the boulder, worn the cliff,
But now from eye to eye 'twas stone and stone;
Then fell, outworn, and slumbered where he fell,
But rose ere dawn and journeyed, wild with hope,
Saying: “Those waters and delightsome trees
Were surely a gracious vision sent of God
To lead me onward.” Then at length he marked
Where limestone in a dark sierra jagged
The scarlet of the morning. Here he climbed
And saw beyond the ridge—oh, joy of joys!
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And sphinx and temple and pyramid and palm,
Green fields, and men and women. And he lay
And wept for gladness.
After he had reached
That marvellous city of a later race,
He rested many days—a shadow of man—
And watched with awe the new old life, the same
Old joys and sorrows of the ancient world;
And while he watched, the ancient thought recurred
In language no man spoke, and “Ah!” he sighed,
“The boy so long delighteth in his play;
The youth so long pursues his maid; so long
The old man broods upon uneasiness,
That none can find the time—not even one—
To meditate upon the very God!”
That marvellous city of a later race,
He rested many days—a shadow of man—
And watched with awe the new old life, the same
Old joys and sorrows of the ancient world;
And while he watched, the ancient thought recurred
In language no man spoke, and “Ah!” he sighed,
“The boy so long delighteth in his play;
The youth so long pursues his maid; so long
The old man broods upon uneasiness,
That none can find the time—not even one—
To meditate upon the very God!”
And even as he thought, another thought
Broke slowly on him, like a tardy dawn
Which colours weed and stone and common earth,
And makes the homeliest seem divine and strange:
“Perchance—it may be, though it seems so strange,—
Perchance the truest and the holiest life
Is his who acts in God, not his who stands
Enmarbled in a many-centuried dream
Of who but God knows what he thinks is God!”
Broke slowly on him, like a tardy dawn
Which colours weed and stone and common earth,
And makes the homeliest seem divine and strange:
“Perchance—it may be, though it seems so strange,—
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Is his who acts in God, not his who stands
Enmarbled in a many-centuried dream
Of who but God knows what he thinks is God!”
And Mena sighed but spoke not, only mused—
“I am but a babe delighted with Thy light,
That hath stretched out to Thee its simple hands—
A babe, O God, that now must die a babe
And trust for growth in Thine eternal years!”
“I am but a babe delighted with Thy light,
That hath stretched out to Thee its simple hands—
A babe, O God, that now must die a babe
And trust for growth in Thine eternal years!”
'Twas in these later days the man was named
By those who knew him “Mena,” for that he
Through all that wind of change and whirl of waste
Had stood the one man constant in the world.
By those who knew him “Mena,” for that he
Through all that wind of change and whirl of waste
Had stood the one man constant in the world.
| A Lost Epic and Other Poems | |