 | Songs of Consolation |  |
5
PARCE PRECOR.
1
ON the upland breezes flowing, comes the flouting old refrain,With its mocking cadence calling from the Infinite Inane;
“Hearts that sever
“Time may never,
“Never set at one again!”
And old passion overfloods me, as the torrent floods the plain.
Why remind me of the suff'rance that the years would else assain?
Why the smouldering embers quicken of remembrance on the wane?
Why for ever
My endeavour
Thwart to heal me of my pain?
Will ye never, never loose me from the Past's unholy chain?
2
If your thought, o mocking memories, is to fan the ancient fireOr to stir the lusts of boyhood in the world-awearied sire,
All in vain is;
For my pain is
Other now, if yet as dire;
Fain my spirit's feet deliver would I from the wish's mire.
All the Past-time have I offered up on Passion's funeral pyre;
In the furnaces of sorrow have I purged me of desire.
6
Pure my brain is
And my heart a living lyre:
To the snow-clad heights of duty all my thoughts and hopes aspire.
3
Yet but mortal is my mettle and my wit but that of manAnd my feet must needs, unparleying, follow on the fated plan:
Heavens under,
None may sunder
From the common earthly clan;
All of woman born must bow them to the immemorial ban.
Ever since, with light and darkness, cold and heat, the world began,
In the hand of Fate the Former is the world-all's winnowing fan;
Hail and thunder,
Woe and wonder,
Sift the corn out from the bran;
None the storm of sin and sorrow but must weather, how he can.
4
Nay, have pity, mocking memories! Stir no more the ancient dole;Leave me yet in peace the remnant rescued from the ship-wrecked whole.
With your chiding,
Still abiding,
Long ye poisoned have Life's bowl.
Threescore years and more, unheeding lightning-flash and thunder-roll,
7
With mine eyes, for steering, constant ever to the constant pole.
From its guiding,
Hopes deriding,
Prithee, startle not my soul;
Lure me not to stray and perish in the sight of land and goal!
5
Pine and pain, your task is ended; rest you silent nor fulfilAll the windwafts of Life's evening with your voices wild and shrill.
All prevailing
Your assailing
For the breaking of the will
Was, the seeds of life and lusting in the chastened soul to kill.
Now that fought and won the fight is, call a truce with strife and ill:
If the day of life was stormy, let the evening hours be still.
Leave your railing!
Light is failing
And night nigheth dark and chill;
Yet a streak of gold there lingers yonder on the Westward hill;
With the glories of the setting hallowed be Life's postern-sill!
| Songs of Consolation | |