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 gulf, 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!
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 hideous 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 "Great master, we are here indeed; dragged forth "To light this hast thou done; be glad! now, seek "The strength to use which thou has 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 gray 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
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