Carol and Cadence New poems: MDCCCCII-MDCCCCVII: By John Payne |
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RISUS SOLAMEN. |
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 | Carol and Cadence |  |
RISUS SOLAMEN.
Laughter the lodge is in the wilderness,
Whereto the hermit soul
Withdraws for shelter from Life's labouring stress,
The island-refuge, midmost seas of dole
Standing, wherefrom, poor seaman in distress,
Saved from the wrack, it marks the surges roar and roll.
Whereto the hermit soul
Withdraws for shelter from Life's labouring stress,
The island-refuge, midmost seas of dole
Standing, wherefrom, poor seaman in distress,
Saved from the wrack, it marks the surges roar and roll.
It is the wicket in the wall of doubt,
The open dungeon-grate,
Wherethrough the imprisoned soul the worlds without
Surveys and by its providential gate,
Lets Heaven's air in upon Life's rabble-rout,
Content to laugh to scorn what else it needs must hate.
The open dungeon-grate,
265
Surveys and by its providential gate,
Lets Heaven's air in upon Life's rabble-rout,
Content to laugh to scorn what else it needs must hate.
It is the buckler that the sage employs
Against the fiery shower
Of ills and pains that mar the thinker's joys,
The mail, wherein encased, as in a tower,
He fares, unscathed, through Life's abhorrent noise,
Wroughten of unspiteful scorn and humour's tragic power.
Against the fiery shower
Of ills and pains that mar the thinker's joys,
The mail, wherein encased, as in a tower,
He fares, unscathed, through Life's abhorrent noise,
Wroughten of unspiteful scorn and humour's tragic power.
It is the sword wherewith the wise are fain
To encounter and repel
The insults of the vulgar, the profane,
That else would make the thinker's way a hell,
Might he with scorn not fend Life's ceaseless rain
Of “insults unavenged and unavengeable.”
To encounter and repel
The insults of the vulgar, the profane,
That else would make the thinker's way a hell,
Might he with scorn not fend Life's ceaseless rain
Of “insults unavenged and unavengeable.”
The Ithuriel-spear it is, wherewith he slays
The noisome things which creep,
Toad-like, among Life's blossom-broidered ways,
The spell wherewith he charms his cares to sleep;
Since the high soul, Life's tragic farce that plays,
Must laugh perforce, if tears of blood it will not weep.
The noisome things which creep,
Toad-like, among Life's blossom-broidered ways,
The spell wherewith he charms his cares to sleep;
Since the high soul, Life's tragic farce that plays,
Must laugh perforce, if tears of blood it will not weep.
| Carol and Cadence | |