Through a career or friendly or opposed
To its existence: life, death, light and shade
The shows of the world, were bare receptacles
Or indices of truth to be wrung thence,
Not instruments of sorrow or delight:
For some one truth would dimly beacon me
From mountains rough with pines, and flit and wink
O'er dazzling wastes of frozen snow, and tremble
Into assured light in some branching mine,
Where ripens, swathed in fire, the liquid gold-
And all the beauty, all the wonder fell
On either side the truth, as its mere robe;
Men saw the robe-I saw the august form.
So far, then, I have voyaged with success,
So much is good, then, in this working sea
Which parts me from that happy strip of land—
But o'er that happy strip a sun shone too!
And fainter gleams it as the waves grow rough,
And still more faint as the sea widens; last
I sicken on a dead gulph, streaked with light
From its own putrefying depths alone!
Then-God was pledged to take me by the hand;
Now any miserable juggler bends
My pride to him. All seems alike at length;
Who knows which are the wise and which the fools ?
God may take pleasure in confounding pride
By hiding secrets with the scorned and base-
He who stoops lowest may find most-in short,
I am here; and all seems natural; I start not:
And never having glanced behind to know
If I had kept my primal light from wane,
Am thus insensibly grown-what I am!
And more bitter,
To fear a deeper curse, an inner ruin—
Plague beneath plague-the last turning the first
To light beside its darkness. Better weep
My youth and its brave hopes, all dead and gone,
In tears which burn! Would I were sure to win
Some startling secret in their stead!—a tincture
Of force to flush old age with youth, or breed
Gold, or imprison moonbeams till they change
To opal shafts!-only that, hurling it
Indignant back, I might convince myself
My aims remained as ever supreme and pure!
Even now, why not desire, for mankind's sake,
That if I fail, some fault may be the cause,―
That, though I sink, another may succeed?
O God, the despicable heart of us!
Shut out this hiedous mockery from my heart!
'Twas politic in you, Aureole, to reject
Single rewards, and ask them in the lump;
At all events, once launched, to hold straight on:
For now 'tis all or nothing. Mighty profit
Your gains will bring if they stop short of such
Full consummation! As a man, you had
A certain share of strength, and that is gone
Already in the getting these you boast.
Do not they seem to laugh, as who should say
"Great master, we are here indeed; dragged forth
"To light this hast thou done; be glad! now, seek
"The strength to use which thou hast spent in getting."
And yet 'tis surely much, 'tis very much,
Thus to have emptied youth of all its gifts,
To feed a fire meant to hold out till morn
Arrive with inexhaustible light; and lo,
I have heaped up my last, and day dawns not!
While I am left with grey hair, faded hands,
And furrowed brow. Ha, have I, after all,
Mistaken the wild nursling of my breast?
Knowledge it seemed, and Power, and Recompense!
Was she who glided through my room of nights,-
Who laid my head on her soft knees, and smoothed
The damp locks,-whose sly soothings just began
When my sick spirit craved repose awhile-
God! was I fighting Sleep off for Death's sake?
God! Thou art Mind! Unto the Master-Mind.
Mind should be precious. Spare my mind alone!
All else I will endure: if, as I stand
Here, with my gains, thy thunder smite me down,
I bow me; 'tis thy will, thy righteous will;
I o'erpass life's restrictions, and I die :
And if no trace of my career remain,
Save a thin corpse at pleasure of the wind
In these bright chambers, level with the air,
See thou to it! But if my spirit fail,
My once proud spirit forsake me at the last,
Hast thou done well by me? So do not thou!
Crush not my mind, dear God, though I be crushed!
Hold me before the frequence of thy seraphs,
And say "I crushed him, lest he should disturb
My law. Men must not know their strength: behold, "Weak and alone, how near he raised himself!"
But if delusions trouble me-and Thou,
Not seldom felt with rapture in thy help
Throughout my toil and wanderings, dost intend
To work man's welfare through my weak endeavour-
To crown my mortal forehead with a beam
From thine own blinding crown-to smile, and guide
This puny hand, and let the work so framed
Be styled my work,-hear me! I covet not
An influx of new power, an angel's soul:
It were no marvel then-but I have reached
Thus far, a man; let me conclude, a man!
Give but one hour of my first energy
Of that invincible faith- -one only hour!
That I may cover with an eagle-glance
The truths I have, and spy some certain way
To mould them, and completing them, possess !
Yet God is good: I started sure of that,
And why dispute it now? I'll not believe
But some undoubted warning long ere this
Had reached me: stars would write his will in heaven,
As once when a labarum was not deemed
Too much for the old founder of these walls.
Then, if my life has not been natural,
It has been monstrous: yet, till late, my course
So ardently engrossed me, that delight,
A pausing and reflecting joy, 'tis plain,
Though such were meant to follow as its fruit,
Could find no place in it. True, I am worn;
But who clothes summer, who is Life itself?
God, that created all things, can renew !
And then, though after-life to please me now
Must have no likeness to the past, what hinders
Reward from springing out of toil, as changed
As bursts the flower from earth, and root, and stalk?
What use were punishment, unless some sin
Be first detected? let me know that first!
(Aprile, from within)
I hear a voice, perchance I heard
Long ago, but all too low,
So that scarce a thought was stirred
If really spoke the voice or no:
I heard it in my youth, when first
The waters of my life outburst:
But now their stream ebbs faint, I hear
The voice, still low, but fatal-clear-
As if all Poets, that God meant
Should save the world, and therefore lent
Great gifts to, but who, proud, refused
To do his work, or lightly used
Those gifts, or failed through weak endeavour,
And mourn, cast off by him forever,—
As if these leaned in airy ring
To call me; this the song they sing.
"Lost, lost! yet come,
With our wan troop make thy home:
Come, come! for we
Will not breathe, so much as breathe
Reproach to thee!
Knowing what thou sink'st beneath :
So we sank in those old years,
We who bid thee, come ! thou last
Who, a living man, hast life o'erpas
And all together we, thy peers,
Will pardon ask for thee, the last
Whose trial is done, whose lot is cast
With those who watch, but work no more-
Who gaze on life, but live no more:
And yet we trusted thou shouldst speak
God's message which our lips, too weak,
Refused to utter,-shouldst redeem
Our fault such trust, and all, a dream!
So we chose thee a bright birth-place
Where the richness ran to flowers-
Couldst not sing one song for grace?
Nor make one blossom man's and ours?
Must one more recreant to his race
Die with unexerted powers,
And join us, leaving as he found
The world, he was to loosen, bound?
Anguish ever and for ever;
Still beginning, ending never!
Yet, lost and last one, come!
How couldst understand, alas,
What our pale ghosts strove to say,
As their shades did glance and pass
Before thee, night and day?
Thou wert blind, as we were dumb:
Once more, therefore, come, O come!
How shall we better arm the spirit
Who next shall thy post of life inherit—
How guard him from thy ruin?
Tell us of thy sad undoing
Here, where we sit, ever pursuing
Our weary task, ever renewing
Sharp sorrow, far from God who gave
Our powers, and man they could not save!"
A spirit better armed, succeeding me ?
Ha, ha! our king that wouldst be, here at last?
Art thou the Poet who shall save the world?
Thy hand to mine. Stay, fix thine eyes on mine.
Thou wouldst be king? Still fix thine eyes on mine!
Par. Ha, ha! why crouchest not? Am I not king?
So torture is not wholly unavailing!
Have my fierce spasms compelled thee from thy lair?
Art thou the Sage I only seemed to be,
Myself of after-time, my very self
With sight a little clearer, strength more firm,
Who robs me of my prize and takes my place
For just a fault, a weakness, a neglect?
I scarcely trusted God with the surmise
That such might come, and thou didst hear the while!
Apr. Thine eyes are lustreless to mine; my hair
Is soft, nay silken soft; to talk with thee
Flushes my cheek, and thou art ashy-pale,
True, thou hast laboured, hast withstood her lips,
The siren's! Yes, 'tis like thou hast attained!
Tell me, dear master, wherefore now thou comest?
I thought thy solemn songs would have their meed
In after-time; that I should hear the earth
Exult in thee, and echo with thy praise,
While I was laid forgotten in my grave.
Par. Not so! I know thee, I am not thy dupe!
Thou art ordained to follow in my track,
Even as thou sayest, succeeding to my place,
Reaping my sowing-as I scorned to reap
The harvest sown by sages passed away.
Thou art the sober searcher, cautious striver,
As if, except through me, thou hadst searched or striven!
Ay, tell the world! Degrade me, after all,
To an aspirant after fame, not truth
To all but envy of thy fate, be sure !
Apr. Nay, sing them to me; I shall envy not:
Thou shalt be king! Sing thou, and I will stand
Beside, and call deep silence for thy songs,
And worship thee, as I had ne'er been meant
To fill thy throne-but none shall ever know!
Sing to me for already thy wild eyes
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