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, has life o'erpast, 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 birthplace 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 forever;
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 had'st 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 Unlock my heart-springs, as some crystal-shaft Reveals by some chance blaze its parent fount After long time-so thou reveal'st my soul! All will flash forth at last, with thee to hear Par. (His secret! my successor's secret-fool!) I am he that aspired to KNOW-and thou? Apr. I would LOVE infinitely, and be loved! Par. Poor slave! I am thy king indeed. Apr. That-born a spirit, dowered even as thou, Born for thy fate-because I could not curb My yearnings to possess at once the full Enjoyment; yet neglected all the means Of realizing even the frailest joy;
Gathering no fragments to appease my want, Yet nursing up that want till thus I die- Thou deem'st I cannot trace thy safe, sure march, O'er perils that o'erwhelm me, triumphing, Neglecting nought below for aught above, Despising nothing and insuring all- Nor that I could (my time to come again) Lead thus my spirit securely as thine own: Listen, and thou shalt see I know thee well.
I would love infinitely . . . Ah, lost! lost!
who armed me at such cost,
Your faces shall I bear to see
With your gifts even yet on me?—
Par. (Ah, 'tis some moonstruck creature after all! Such fond fools as are like to haunt this den:
They spread contagion, doubtless: yet he seemed To echo one foreboding of my heart
So truly, that . . . no matter! How he stands With eve's last sunbeam staying on his hair Which turns to it, as if they were akin : And those clear smiling eyes of saddest blue Nearly set free, so far they rise above The painful fruitless striving of that brow
And enforced knowledge of those lips, firm-set
In slow despondency's eternal sigh!
Has he, too, missed life's end, and learned the cause?)
Be calm, I charge thee, by thy fealty!
Tell me what thou wouldst be, and what I am.
Apr. I would love infinitely, and be loved. First: I would carve in stone, or cast in brass, The forms of earth. No ancient hunter, raised Up to the gods by his renown; no nymph Supposed the sweet soul of a woodland tree, Or sapphirine spirit of a twilight star, Should be too hard for me; no shepherd-king, Regal with his white locks; no youth who stands Silent and very calm amid the throng,
His right hand ever hid beneath his robe
« AnteriorContinuar » |