The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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TO MY FRIEND ARTHUR HERVEY
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
1
TO MY FRIEND ARTHUR HERVEY
I strive in verse to render forth the song
Of life, to life's strange message I give heed:
But where my Art is faulty, yours is strong,
And where I fail, you triumph and succeed.
Of life, to life's strange message I give heed:
But where my Art is faulty, yours is strong,
And where I fail, you triumph and succeed.
For you in music render forth the psalm
Of life, aye all its passion, all its power;
Music can reproduce June's heavenliest calm
When no breath stirs the frailest cliff-side flower.
Of life, aye all its passion, all its power;
Music can reproduce June's heavenliest calm
When no breath stirs the frailest cliff-side flower.
And music too can thunder like the seas:
The world's emotion music can express:
The saint's thoughts praying on his bended knees,
The lover's thrill at beauty's first caress.
The world's emotion music can express:
The saint's thoughts praying on his bended knees,
The lover's thrill at beauty's first caress.
Through music the one Spirit who sways the whole,
Creates, pulls down, refashions and destroys,
Speaks—ever music is the world's deep soul
Uttering its giant sorrows, giant joys.
Creates, pulls down, refashions and destroys,
Speaks—ever music is the world's deep soul
Uttering its giant sorrows, giant joys.
2
From the first hour when on our planet-home
Love spake, in depths of moonlit forest heard
Or by some far-off sea's forgotten foam,
Its priceless first unfathomable word,
Love spake, in depths of moonlit forest heard
Or by some far-off sea's forgotten foam,
Its priceless first unfathomable word,
From that first hour hath music reigned supreme,
For music's soul and passion's soul are one;
And music still will reign while young hearts dream
And while sweet darkness follows on the sun.
For music's soul and passion's soul are one;
And music still will reign while young hearts dream
And while sweet darkness follows on the sun.
All dim strange thoughts we struggle, and in vain,
To utter—pangs and joys, and hopes and fears—
In music their impassioned utterance gain;
All human longings sound in human ears.
To utter—pangs and joys, and hopes and fears—
In music their impassioned utterance gain;
All human longings sound in human ears.
The past grows vocal, history speaks once more.
Above dense war-ranks nods Achilles' plume:
Pale Dido weeps upon the loveless shore:
Masked murder dogs love's steps through Venice' gloom.
Above dense war-ranks nods Achilles' plume:
Pale Dido weeps upon the loveless shore:
Masked murder dogs love's steps through Venice' gloom.
At music's touch man's visions all grow real;
We see the matchless face that Bothwell saw:—
We enter too the realms of the ideal,
The mist-clad land where genius' will is law.
We see the matchless face that Bothwell saw:—
We enter too the realms of the ideal,
The mist-clad land where genius' will is law.
3
A thousand fairies throng the wood-glades, white
Beneath the rays of an enchanted moon;
Their elfin cohorts flash upon our sight,
Armoured in gems that mock the glittering noon.
Beneath the rays of an enchanted moon;
Their elfin cohorts flash upon our sight,
Armoured in gems that mock the glittering noon.
At music's summons Oberon's snowy steed
Tramples the clover, jingling silver reins:
When music sounds, an unseen world gives heed;
Its starlight waxes as our sunlight wanes.
Tramples the clover, jingling silver reins:
When music sounds, an unseen world gives heed;
Its starlight waxes as our sunlight wanes.
While music sounds, no barrier to our hope
Looms dark and threatening on the heavenward way,
For music gives the glad soul boundless scope
And points beyond the night to endless day.
Looms dark and threatening on the heavenward way,
For music gives the glad soul boundless scope
And points beyond the night to endless day.
The Christian Church through music scales the skies:
The humblest chapel built where wild waves foam
On Cornish rocks, or where Welsh mountains rise,
Through music conquers, even as mighty Rome.
The humblest chapel built where wild waves foam
On Cornish rocks, or where Welsh mountains rise,
Through music conquers, even as mighty Rome.
And love through music conquers—when we hear
The haunting magic of some wondrous tune,
Lost loves on golden wings come glimmering near
And life's December is as passion's June.
The haunting magic of some wondrous tune,
Lost loves on golden wings come glimmering near
And life's December is as passion's June.
4
Dark eyes we never thought to see again
In life shine forth, and speechless joys are won:
Music can crowd with life death's ghostly plain
And make night's dreams more cogent than the sun.
In life shine forth, and speechless joys are won:
Music can crowd with life death's ghostly plain
And make night's dreams more cogent than the sun.
Words—even Shakespeare's words—must sometimes fail,
But music never fails: where man has trod
It follows, gathering up life's tragic tale,
Blending with man's the language of a god.
But music never fails: where man has trod
It follows, gathering up life's tragic tale,
Blending with man's the language of a god.
And this immortal tongue is yours, O friend!
While I must labour through the straits of rhyme
And on my course a world of thought expend,
Your Art is subject not to space or time.
While I must labour through the straits of rhyme
And on my course a world of thought expend,
Your Art is subject not to space or time.
To you the lover, yearning to express
Fancies that ravish, eager thoughts that thrill,
Must turn; demanding love's own voice, no less,
He finds your music's cadence tenderer still.
Fancies that ravish, eager thoughts that thrill,
Must turn; demanding love's own voice, no less,
He finds your music's cadence tenderer still.
Demanding passion's voice and soul of fire,
He finds your music equal to his theme;
Strong as deep love's illimitable desire,
Sweet as love's truth, and ardent as its dream.
He finds your music equal to his theme;
Strong as deep love's illimitable desire,
Sweet as love's truth, and ardent as its dream.
5
Demanding that love's sadness shall prevail
And that love's temple change into a tomb,
Still can your varying music tell the tale
Of deepening agony and starless gloom.
And that love's temple change into a tomb,
Still can your varying music tell the tale
Of deepening agony and starless gloom.
To you for many a year will poets turn;
Through you their thought that flagged wins timeless wings:
Eyes soften at your strain, and men's hearts burn
To whom in vain the unaided poet sings.
Through you their thought that flagged wins timeless wings:
Eyes soften at your strain, and men's hearts burn
To whom in vain the unaided poet sings.
When pen betrays and silent paper wrongs
The poet, stealing witchery from his strain,
Your touch brings victory; yes, to you belongs
The triumph, and to him the priceless gain.
The poet, stealing witchery from his strain,
Your touch brings victory; yes, to you belongs
The triumph, and to him the priceless gain.
Envious am I, stern fetters we must wear—
What grim restraints the laws of verse impose!
A flower described is only half as fair,
But music adds a fragrance to the rose.
What grim restraints the laws of verse impose!
A flower described is only half as fair,
But music adds a fragrance to the rose.
And when across the heart life's tempest roars
And desolation's trumpet-blast is blown,
Music can catch the clash of echoing shores
And make the night-wind's melody its own.
And desolation's trumpet-blast is blown,
Music can catch the clash of echoing shores
And make the night-wind's melody its own.
6
If I could speak the thoughts that in my brain
Struggle imprisoned, if on music's sea
I once could launch forth, sail that stormy main,
If speech and music wedded once might be,
Struggle imprisoned, if on music's sea
I once could launch forth, sail that stormy main,
If speech and music wedded once might be,
Then, then indeed, I might shake off time's yoke,
Upon my brow the deathless stars might gleam:
Alas, what poet ever fully spoke
The mastering thought that held him like a dream?
Upon my brow the deathless stars might gleam:
Alas, what poet ever fully spoke
The mastering thought that held him like a dream?
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |