Part 3

There, clear as night beholds her crowning seven, The sea beheld his likeness set in heaven. The shadow of his spirit full in sight Shone: for the shadow of that soul is light. Nor heaven alone bore witness: earth avowed Him present, and acclaimed of storm aloud. From the arching sky to the ageless hills and sea The whole world, visible, audible, was he: Each part of all that wove that wondrous whole The raiment of the presence of his soul. The sun that smote and kissed the dark to death Spake, smiled, and strove, like song's triumphant breath; The soundless cloud whose thunderous heart was dumb Swelled, lowered, and shrank to feel its conqueror come. Yet high from heaven its empire vast and vain Frowned, and renounced not night's reluctant reign. The serpentine swift sounds and shapes wherein The stainless sea mocks earth and death and sin, Crawls dark as craft, or flashes keen as hate, Subdued and insubmissive, strong like fate And weak like man, bore wrathful witness yet That storms and sins are more than suns that set; That evil everlasting, girt for strife Eternal, wars with hope as death with life. The dark sharp shifting wind that bade the waves Falter, lose heart, bow down like foes made slaves, And waxed within more bitter as they bowed, Baffling the sea, swallowing the sun with cloud, Devouring fast as fire on earth devours And hungering hard as frost that feeds on flowers, Clothed round with fog that reeked as fume from hell, And darkening with its miscreative spell Light, glad and keen and splendid as the sword Whose heft had known Othello's hand its lord, Spake all the soul that hell drew back to greet And felt its fire shrink shuddering from his feet. Far off the darkness darkened, and recoiled, And neared again, and triumphed: and the coiled Colourless cloud and sea discoloured grew Conscious of horror huge as heaven, and knew Where Goneril's soul made chill and foul the mist, And all the leprous life in Regan hissed. Fierce homeless ghosts, rejected of the pit, From hell to hell of storm fear watched them flit. About them and before, the dull grey gloom Shuddered, and heaven seemed hateful as the tomb That shrinks from resurrection; and from out That sullen hell which girt their shades about The nether soul that lurks and lowers within Man, made of dust and fire and shame and sin, Breathed: all the cloud that felt it breathe and blight Was blue as plague or black as thunderous night. Elect of hell, the children of his hate Thronged, as to storm sweet heaven's triumphal gate. The terror of his giving rose and shone Imminent: life had put its likeness on. But higher than all its horrent height of shade Shone sovereign, seen by light itself had made, Above the woes of all the world, above Life, sin, and death, his myriad-minded love. From landward heights whereon the radiance leant Full-fraught from heaven, intense and imminent, To depths wherein the seething strengths of cloud Scarce matched the wrath of waves whereon they bowed, From homeborn pride and kindling love of home To the outer skies and seas of fire and foam, From splendour soft as dew that sundawn thrills To gloom that shudders round the world it fills, From midnights murmuring round Titania's ear To midnights maddening round the rage of Lear, The wonder woven of storm and sun became One with the light that lightens from his name. The music moving on the sea that felt The storm-wind even as snows of springtide melt Was blithe as Ariel's hand or voice might make And bid all grief die gladly for its sake. And there the soul alive in ear and eye That watched the wonders of an hour pass by Saw brighter than all stars that heaven inspheres The silent splendour of Cordelia's tears, Felt in the whispers of the quickening wind The radiance of the laugh of Rosalind, And heard, in sounds that melt the souls of men With love of love, the tune of Imogen.

VII

For the strong north-east is not strong to subdue and to slay the divine south-west, And the darkness is less than the light that it darkens, and dies in reluctant rest. It hovers and hangs on the labouring and trembling ascent of the dawn from the deep, Till the sun's eye quicken the world and the waters, and smite it again into sleep. Night, holy and starry, the fostress of souls, with the fragrance of heaven in her breath, Subdues with the sense of her godhead the forces and mysteries of sorrow and death. Eternal as dawn's is the comfort she gives: but the mist that beleaguers and slays Comes, passes, and is not: the strength of it withers, appalled or assuaged by the day's. Faith, haggard as Fear that had borne her, and dark as the sire that begat her, Despair, Held rule on the soul of the world and the song of it saddening through ages that were; Dim centuries that darkened and brightened and darkened again, and the soul of their song Was great as their grief, and sublime as their suffering, and strong as their sorrows were strong. It knew not, it saw not, but shadows triune, and evoked by the strength of their spell Dark hell, and the mountain of anguish, and heaven that was hollower and harder than hell. These are not: the womb of the darkness that bare them rejects them, and knows them no more: Thought, fettered in misery and iron, revives in the light that it lived in of yore. For the soul that is wisdom and freedom, the spirit of England redeemed from her past, Speaks life through the lips of the master and lord of her children, the first and the last. Thought, touched by his hand and redeemed by his breath, sees, hears, and accepts from above The limitless lightnings of vision and passion, the measureless music of love.

A SWIMMER'S DREAM

NOVEMBER 4, 1889

_Somno mollior unda_

I

Dawn is dim on the dark soft water, Soft and passionate, dark and sweet. Love's own self was the deep sea's daughter, Fair and flawless from face to feet, Hailed of all when the world was golden, Loved of lovers whose names beholden Thrill men's eyes as with light of olden Days more glad than their flight was fleet.

So they sang: but for men that love her, Souls that hear not her word in vain, Earth beside her and heaven above her Seem but shadows that wax and wane. Softer than sleep's are the sea's caresses, Kinder than love's that betrays and blesses, Blither than spring's when her flowerful tresses Shake forth sunlight and shine with rain.

All the strength of the waves that perish Swells beneath me and laughs and sighs, Sighs for love of the life they cherish, Laughs to know that it lives and dies, Dies for joy of its life, and lives Thrilled with joy that its brief death gives-- Death whose laugh or whose breath forgives Change that bids it subside and rise.

II

Hard and heavy, remote but nearing, Sunless hangs the severe sky's weight, Cloud on cloud, though the wind be veering Heaped on high to the sundawn's gate. Dawn and even and noon are one, Veiled with vapour and void of sun; Nought in sight or in fancied hearing Now less mighty than time or fate.

The grey sky gleams and the grey seas glimmer, Pale and sweet as a dream's delight, As a dream's where darkness and light seem dimmer, Touched by dawn or subdued by night. The dark wind, stern and sublime and sad, Swings the rollers to westward, clad With lustrous shadow that lures the swimmer, Lures and lulls him with dreams of light.

Light, and sleep, and delight, and wonder, Change, and rest, and a charm of cloud, Fill the world of the skies whereunder Heaves and quivers and pants aloud All the world of the waters, hoary Now, but clothed with its own live glory, That mates the lightning and mocks the thunder With light more living and word more proud.

III

Far off westward, whither sets the sounding strife, Strife more sweet than peace, of shoreless waves whose glee Scorns the shore and loves the wind that leaves them free, Strange as sleep and pale as death and fair as life, Shifts the moonlight-coloured sunshine on the sea.

Toward the sunset's goal the sunless waters crowd, Fast as autumn days toward winter: yet it seems Here that autumn wanes not, here that woods and streams Lose not heart and change not likeness, chilled and bowed, Warped and wrinkled: here the days are fair as dreams.

IV

O russet-robed November, What ails thee so to smile? Chill August, pale September, Endured a woful while, And fell as falls an ember From forth a flameless pile: But golden-girt November Bids all she looks on smile.

The lustrous foliage, waning As wanes the morning moon, Here falling, here refraining, Outbraves the pride of June With statelier semblance, feigning No fear lest death be soon: As though the woods thus waning Should wax to meet the moon.

As though, when fields lie stricken By grey December's breath, These lordlier growths that sicken And die for fear of death Should feel the sense requicken That hears what springtide saith And thrills for love, spring-stricken And pierced with April's breath.

The keen white-winged north-easter That stings and spurs thy sea Doth yet but feed and feast her With glowing sense of glee: Calm chained her, storm released her, And storm's glad voice was he: South-wester or north-easter, Thy winds rejoice the sea.

V

A dream, a dream is it all--the season, The sky, the water, the wind, the shore? A day-born dream of divine unreason, A marvel moulded of sleep--no more? For the cloudlike wave that my limbs while cleaving Feel as in slumber beneath them heaving Soothes the sense as to slumber, leaving Sense of nought that was known of yore.

A purer passion, a lordlier leisure, A peace more happy than lives on land, Fulfils with pulse of diviner pleasure The dreaming head and the steering hand. I lean my cheek to the cold grey pillow, The deep soft swell of the full broad billow, And close mine eyes for delight past measure, And wish the wheel of the world would stand.

The wild-winged hour that we fain would capture Falls as from heaven that its light feet clomb, So brief, so soft, and so full the rapture Was felt that soothed me with sense of home. To sleep, to swim, and to dream, for ever-- Such joy the vision of man saw never; For here too soon will a dark day sever The sea-bird's wing from the sea-wave's foam.

A dream, and more than a dream, and dimmer At once and brighter than dreams that flee, The moment's joy of the seaward swimmer Abides, remembered as truth may be. Not all the joy and not all the glory Must fade as leaves when the woods wax hoary; For there the downs and the sea-banks glimmer, And here to south of them swells the sea.

GRACE DARLING

Take, O star of all our seas, from not an alien hand, Homage paid of song bowed down before thy glory's face, Thou the living light of all our lovely stormy strand, Thou the brave north-country's very glory of glories, Grace.

Loud and dark about the lighthouse rings and glares the night; Glares with foam-lit gloom and darkling fire of storm and spray, Rings with roar of winds in chase and rage of waves in flight, Howls and hisses as with mouths of snakes and wolves at bay. Scarce the cliffs of the islets, scarce the walls of Joyous Gard, Flash to sight between the deadlier lightnings of the sea: Storm is lord and master of a midnight evil-starred, Nor may sight or fear discern what evil stars may be. Dark as death and white as snow the sea-swell scowls and shines, Heaves and yearns and pants for prey, from ravening lip to lip, Strong in rage of rapturous anguish, lines on hurtling lines, Ranks on charging ranks, that break and rend the battling ship. All the night is mad and murderous: who shall front the night? Not the prow that labours, helpless as a storm-blown leaf, Where the rocks and waters, darkling depth and beetling height, Rage with wave on shattering wave and thundering reef on reef. Death is fallen upon the prisoners there of darkness, bound Like as thralls with links of iron fast in bonds of doom; How shall any way to break the bands of death be found, Any hand avail to pluck them from that raging tomb? All the night is great with child of death: no stars above Show them hope in heaven, no lights from shores ward help on earth. Is there help or hope to seaward, is there help in love, Hope in pity, where the ravening hounds of storm make mirth? Where the light but shows the naked eyeless face of Death Nearer, laughing dumb and grim across the loud live storm? Not in human heart or hand or speech of human breath, Surely, nor in saviours found of mortal face or form. Yet below the light, between the reefs, a skiff shot out Seems a sea-bird fain to breast and brave the strait fierce pass Whence the channelled roar of waters driven in raging rout, Pent and pressed and maddened, speaks their monstrous might and mass. Thunder heaves and howls about them, lightning leaps and flashes, Hard at hand, not high in heaven, but close between the walls Heaped and hollowed of the storms of old, whence reels and crashes All the rage of all the unbaffled wave that breaks and falls. Who shall thwart the madness and the gladness of it, laden Full with heavy fate, and joyous as the birds that whirl? Nought in heaven or earth, if not one mortal-moulded maiden, Nought if not the soul that glorifies a northland girl. Not the rocks that break may baffle, not the reefs that thwart Stay the ravenous rapture of the waves that crowd and leap; Scarce their flashing laughter shows the hunger of their heart, Scarce their lion-throated roar the wrath at heart they keep. Child and man and woman in the grasp of death clenched fast Tremble, clothed with darkness round about, and scarce draw breath, Scarce lift eyes up toward the light that saves not, scarce may cast Thought or prayer up, caught and trammelled in the snare of death. Not as sea-mews cling and laugh or sun their plumes and sleep Cling and cower the wild night's waifs of shipwreck, blind with fear, Where the fierce reef scarce yields foothold that a bird might keep, And the clamorous darkness deadens eye and deafens ear. Yet beyond their helpless hearing, out of hopeless sight, Saviours, armed and girt upon with strength of heart, fare forth, Sire and daughter, hand on oar and face against the night, Maid and man whose names are beacons ever to the North. Nearer now; but all the madness of the storming surf Hounds and roars them back; but roars and hounds them back in vain: As a pleasure-skiff may graze the lake-embanking turf, So the boat that bears them grates the rock where-toward they strain. Dawn as fierce and haggard as the face of night scarce guides Toward the cries that rent and clove the darkness, crying for aid, Hours on hours, across the engorged reluctance of the tides, Sire and daughter, high-souled man and mightier-hearted maid. Not the bravest land that ever breasted war's grim sea, Hurled her foes back harried on the lowlands whence they came, Held her own and smote her smiters down, while such durst be, Shining northward, shining southward, as the aurorean flame, Not our mother, not Northumberland, brought ever forth, Though no southern shore may match the sons that kiss her mouth, Children worthier all the birthright given of the ardent north Where the fire of hearts outburns the suns that fire the south. Even such fire was this that lit them, not from lowering skies Where the darkling dawn flagged, stricken in the sun's own shrine, Down the gulf of storm subsiding, till their earnest eyes Find the relics of the ravening night that spared but nine. Life by life the man redeems them, head by storm-worn head, While the girl's hand stays the boat whereof the waves are fain: Ah, but woe for one, the mother clasping fast her dead! Happier, had the surges slain her with her children slain. Back they bear, and bring between them safe the woful nine, Where above the ravenous Hawkers fixed at watch for prey Storm and calm behold the Longstone's towering signal shine Now as when that labouring night brought forth a shuddering day. Now as then, though like the hounds of storm against her snarling All the clamorous years between us storm down many a fame, As our sires beheld before us we behold Grace Darling Crowned and throned our queen, and as they hailed we hail her name. Nay, not ours alone, her kinsfolk born, though chiefliest ours, East and west and south acclaim her queen of England's maids, Star more sweet than all their stars and flower than all their flowers, Higher in heaven and earth than star that sets or flower that fades. How should land or sea that nurtured her forget, or love Hold not fast her fame for us while aught is borne in mind? Land and sea beneath us, sun and moon and stars above, Bear the bright soul witness, seen of all but souls born blind. Stars and moon and sun may wax and wane, subside and rise, Age on age as flake on flake of showering snows be shed: Not till earth be sunless, not till death strike blind the skies, May the deathless love that waits on deathless deeds be dead.

Years on years have withered since beside the hearth once thine I, too young to have seen thee, touched thy father's hallowed hand: Thee and him shall all men see for ever, stars that shine While the sea that spared thee girds and glorifies the land.

LOCH TORRIDON

TO E. H.

The dawn of night more fair than morning rose, Stars hurrying forth on stars, as snows on snows Haste when the wind and winter bid them speed. Vague miles of moorland road behind us lay Scarce traversed ere the day Sank, and the sun forsook us at our need, Belated. Where we thought to have rested, rest Was none; for soft Maree's dim quivering breast, Bound round with gracious inland girth of green And fearless of the wild wave-wandering West, Shone shelterless for strangers; and unseen The goal before us lay Of all our blithe and strange and strenuous day.

For when the northering road faced westward--when The dark sharp sudden gorge dropped seaward--then, Beneath the stars, between the steeps, the track We followed, lighted not of moon or sun, And plunging whither none Might guess, while heaven and earth were hoar and black, Seemed even the dim still pass whence none turns back: And through the twilight leftward of the way, And down the dark, with many a laugh and leap, The light blithe hill-streams shone from scaur to steep In glittering pride of play; And ever while the night grew great and deep We felt but saw not what the hills would keep Sacred awhile from sense of moon or star; And full and far Beneath us, sweet and strange as heaven may be, The sea.

The very sea: no mountain-moulded lake Whose fluctuant shapeliness is fain to take Shape from the steadfast shore that rules it round, And only from the storms a casual sound: The sea, that harbours in her heart sublime The supreme heart of music deep as time, And in her spirit strong The spirit of all imaginable song.

Not a whisper or lisp from the waters: the skies were not silenter. Peace Was between them; a passionless rapture of respite as soft as release. Not a sound, but a sense that possessed and pervaded with patient delight The soul and the body, clothed round with the comfort of limitless night. Night infinite, living, adorable, loved of the land and the sea: Night, mother of mercies, who saith to the spirits in prison, Be free. And softer than dewfall, and kindlier than starlight, and keener than wine, Came round us the fragrance of waters, the life of the breath of the brine. We saw not, we heard not, the face or the voice of the waters: we knew By the darkling delight of the wind as the sense of the sea in it grew, By the pulse of the darkness about us enkindled and quickened, that here, Unseen and unheard of us, surely the goal we had faith in was near. A silence diviner than music, a darkness diviner than light, Fulfilled as from heaven with a measureless comfort the measure of night.

But never a roof for shelter And never a sign for guide Rose doubtful or visible: only And hardly and gladly we heard The soft waves whisper and welter, Subdued, and allured to subside, By the mild night's magic: the lonely Sweet silence was soothed, not stirred, By the noiseless noise of the gleaming Glad ripples, that played and sighed, Kissed, laughed, recoiled, and relented, Whispered, flickered, and fled. No season was this for dreaming How oft, with a stormier tide, Had the wrath of the winds been vented On sons of the tribes long dead: The tribes whom time, and the changes Of things, and the stress of doom, Have erased and effaced; forgotten As wrecks or weeds of the shore In sight of the stern hill-ranges That hardly may change their gloom When the fruits of the years wax rotten And the seed of them springs no more. For the dim strait footway dividing The waters that breathed below Led safe to the kindliest of shelters That ever awoke into light: And still in remembrance abiding Broods over the stars that glow And the water that eddies and welters The passionate peace of the night.