Chapter 10

As eager homebound traveller to the goal, Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main, Or martyr panting for an aureole, My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain That hidden mansion of perpetual peace Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain: That gate stands open of perennial ease; I view the glory till I partly long, Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these. O passing Angel, speed me with a song, 10 A melody of heaven to reach my heart And rouse me to the race and make me strong; Till in such music I take up my part Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest, One, tenfold, hundredfold, with heavenly art, Fulfilling north and south and east and west, Thousand, ten thousandfold, innumerable, All blent in one yet each one manifest; Each one distinguished and beloved as well As if no second voice in earth or heaven 20 Were lifted up the Love of God to tell. Ah, Love of God, which Thine own Self hast given To me most poor, and made me rich in love, Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven, Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above, My treasure ad my heart store Thou in Thee, Brood over me with yearnings of a dove; Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me; Love me as very mother loves her son, Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee: 30 Yea, more than mother loves her little one; For, earthly, even a mother may forget And feel no pity for its piteous moan; But thou, O Love of God, remember yet, Through the dry desert, through the waterflood (Life, death) until the Great White Throne is set. If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood, How shall I then stand up before Thy face 40 When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place: When every sin I thought or spoke or did Shall meet me at the inexorable bar, And there be no man standing in the mid To plead for me; while star fallen after star With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock, And all time's mighty works and wonders are Consumed as in a moment; when no rock Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide, 50 But I stand all creation's gazing-stock Exposed and comfortless on every side, Placed trembling in the final balances Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?-- Ah Love of God, if greater love than this Hath no man, that a man die for his friend, And if such love of love Thine Own Love is, Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end; Redeem me from the irrevocable past; Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend; 60 Yea seek with piercèd feet, yea hold me fast With piercèd hands whose wounds were made by love; Not what I am, remember what Thou wast When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above, And sin Thy Father's Face, while thou didst drink The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink Beneath the intense intolerable rod, Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God. 70

GOOD FRIDAY

Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss, And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, 10 A horror of great darkness at broad noon-- I, only I.

Yet give not o'er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock.

THE LOWEST PLACE

Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died That I might live and share Thy glory by Thy side.

Give me the lowest place: or if for me That lowest place too high, make one more low Where I may sit and see My God and love Thee so.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 1848-69

DEATH'S CHILL BETWEEN

(_Athenaeum_, October 14, 1848)

Chide not; let me breathe a little, For I shall not mourn him long; Though the life-cord was so brittle, The love-cord was very strong. I would wake a little space Till I find a sleeping-place.

You can go,--I shall not weep; You can go unto your rest. My heart-ache is all too deep, And too sore my throbbing breast. 10 Can sobs be, or angry tears, Where are neither hopes nor fears?

Though with you I am alone And must be so everywhere, I will make no useless moan,-- None shall say 'She could not bear:' While life lasts I will be strong,-- But I shall not struggle long.

Listen, listen! Everywhere A low voice is calling me, 20 And a step is on the stair, And one comes ye do not see, Listen, listen! Evermore A dim hand knocks at the door.

Hear me; he is come again,-- My own dearest is come back. Bring him in from the cold rain; Bring wine, and let nothing lack. Thou and I will rest together, Love, until the sunny weather. 30

I will shelter thee from harm,-- Hide thee from all heaviness. Come to me, and keep thee warm By my side in quietness. I will lull thee to thy sleep With sweet songs:--we will not weep.

Who hath talked of weeping?--Yet There is something at my heart, Gnawing, I would fain forget, And an aching and a smart. 40 --Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain, For he is _not_ come again.

HEART'S CHILL BETWEEN

(_Athenaeum_, October 21, 1848)

I did not chide him, though I knew That he was false to me. Chide the exhaling of the dew, The ebbing of the sea, The fading of a rosy hue,-- But not inconstancy.

Why strive for love when love is o'er? Why bind a restive heart?-- He never knew the pain I bore In saying: 'We must part; 10 Let us be friends and nothing more.' --Oh, woman's shallow art!

But it is over, it is done,-- I hardly heed it now; So many weary years have run Since then, I think not how Things might have been,--but greet each one With an unruffled brow.

What time I am where others be, My heart seems very calm-- 20 Stone calm; but if all go from me, There comes a vague alarm, A shrinking in the memory From some forgotten harm.

And often through the long, long night, Waking when none are near, I feel my heart beat fast with fright, Yet know not what I fear. Oh how I long to see the light, And the sweet birds to hear! 30

To have the sun upon my face, To look up through the trees, To walk forth in the open space And listen to the breeze,-- And not to dream the burial-place Is clogging my weak knees.

Sometimes I can nor weep nor pray, But am half stupefied: And then all those who see me say Mine eyes are opened wide 40 And that my wits seem gone away-- Ah, would that I had died!

Would I could die and be at peace, Or living could forget! My grief nor grows nor doth decrease, But ever is:--and yet Methinks, now, that all this shall cease Before the sun shall set.

REPINING

(_Art and Poetry_ [_The Germ_, No. 3], March 1850)

She sat alway thro' the long day Spinning the weary thread away; And ever said in undertone: 'Come, that I be no more alone.'

From early dawn to set of sun Working, her task was still undone; And the long thread seemed to increase Even while she spun and did not cease. She heard the gentle turtle-dove Tell to its mate a tale of love; 10 She saw the glancing swallows fly, Ever a social company; She knew each bird upon its nest Had cheering songs to bring it rest; None lived alone save only she;-- The wheel went round more wearily; She wept and said in undertone: 'Come, that I be no more alone.'

Day followed day, and still she sighed For love, and was not satisfied; 20 Until one night, when the moonlight Turned all the trees to silver white, She heard, what ne'er she heard before, A steady hand undo the door. The nightingale since set of sun Her throbbing music had not done, And she had listened silently; But now the wind had changed, and she Heard the sweet song no more, but heard Beside her bed a whispered word: 30 'Damsel, rise up; be not afraid; For I am come at last,' it said.

She trembled, tho' the voice was mild; She trembled like a frightened child;-- Till she looked up, and then she saw The unknown speaker without awe. He seemed a fair young man, his eyes Beaming with serious charities; His cheek was white but hardly pale; And a dim glory like a veil 40 Hovered about his head, and shone Thro' the whole room till night was gone.

So her fear fled; and then she said, Leaning upon her quiet bed: 'Now thou art come, I prithee stay, That I may see thee in the day, And learn to know thy voice, and hear It evermore calling me near.'

He answered: 'Rise, and follow me.' But she looked upwards wonderingly: 50 'And whither would'st thou go, friend? stay Until the dawning of the day.' But he said: 'The wind ceaseth, Maid; Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.'

She bound her hair up from the floor, And passed in silence from the door.

So they went forth together, he Helping her forward tenderly. The hedges bowed beneath his hand; Forth from the streams came the dry land 60 As they passed over; evermore The pallid moonbeams shone before; And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred; Not even a solitary bird, Scared by their footsteps, fluttered by Where aspen-trees stood steadily.

As they went on, at length a sound Came trembling on the air around; The undistinguishable hum Of life, voices that go and come 70 Of busy men, and the child's sweet High laugh, and noise of trampling feet.

Then he said: 'Wilt thou go and see?' And she made answer joyfully: 'The noise of life, of human life, Of dear communion without strife, Of converse held 'twixt friend and friend; Is it not here our path shall end?' He led her on a little way Until they reached a hillock: 'Stay.' 80

It was a village in a plain. High mountains screened it from the rain And stormy wind; and nigh at hand A bubbling streamlet flowed, o'er sand Pebbly and fine, and sent life up Green succous stalk and flower-cup.

Gradually, day's harbinger, A chilly wind began to stir. It seemed a gentle powerless breeze That scarcely rustled thro' the trees; 90 And yet it touched the mountain's head And the paths man might never tread. But hearken: in the quiet weather Do all the streams flow down together?--

No, 'tis a sound more terrible Than tho' a thousand rivers fell. The everlasting ice and snow Were loosened then, but not to flow;-- With a loud crash like solid thunder The avalanche came, burying under 100 The village; turning life and breath And rest and joy and plans to death.

'Oh! let us fly, for pity fly; Let us go hence, friend, thou and I. There must be many regions yet Where these things make not desolate.' He looked upon her seriously; Then said: 'Arise and follow me.' The path that lay before them was Nigh covered over with long grass; 110 And many slimy things and slow Trailed on between the roots below. The moon looked dimmer than before; And shadowy cloudlets floating o'er Its face sometimes quite hid its light, And filled the skies with deeper night.

At last, as they went on, the noise Was heard of the sea's mighty voice; And soon the ocean could be seen In its long restlessness serene. 120 Upon its breast a vessel rode That drowsily appeared to nod As the great billows rose and fell, And swelled to sink, and sank to swell.

Meanwhile the strong wind had come forth From the chill regions of the North, The mighty wind invisible. And the low waves began to swell; And the sky darkened overhead; And the moon once looked forth, then fled 130 Behind dark clouds; while here and there The lightning shone out in the air; And the approaching thunder rolled With angry pealings manifold. How many vows were made, and prayers That in safe times were cold and scarce. Still all availed not; and at length The waves arose in all their strength, And fought against the ship, and filled The ship. Then were the clouds unsealed, 140 And the rain hurried forth, and beat On every side and over it.

Some clung together, and some kept A long stern silence, and some wept. Many half-crazed looked on in wonder As the strong timbers rent asunder; Friends forgot friends, foes fled to foes;-- And still the water rose and rose.

'Ah woe is me! Whom I have seen Are now as tho' they had not been. 150 In the earth there is room for birth, And there are graves enough in earth; Why should the cold sea, tempest-torn, Bury those whom it hath not borne?'

He answered not, and they went on. The glory of the heavens was gone; The moon gleamed not nor any star; Cold winds were rustling near and far, And from the trees the dry leaves fell With a sad sound unspeakable. 160 The air was cold; till from the South A gust blew hot, like sudden drouth, Into their faces; and a light Glowing and red, shone thro' the night.

A mighty city full of flame And death and sounds without a name. Amid the black and blinding smoke, The people, as one man, awoke. Oh! happy they who yesterday On the long journey went away; 170 Whose pallid lips, smiling and chill, While the flames scorch them smile on still; Who murmur not; who tremble not When the bier crackles fiery hot; Who, dying, said in love's increase: 'Lord, let thy servant part in peace.'

Those in the town could see and hear A shaded river flowing near; The broad deep bed could hardly hold Its plenteous waters calm and cold. 180 Was flame-wrapped all the city wall, The city gates were flame-wrapped all.

What was man's strength, what puissance then? Women were mighty as strong men. Some knelt in prayer, believing still, Resigned unto a righteous will, Bowing beneath the chastening rod, Lost to the world, but found of God. Some prayed for friend, for child, for wife; Some prayed for faith; some prayed for life; 190 While some, proud even in death, hope gone, Steadfast and still, stood looking on.

'Death--death--oh! let us fly from death; Where'er we go it followeth; All these are dead; and we alone Remain to weep for what is gone. What is this thing? thus hurriedly To pass into eternity; To leave the earth so full of mirth; To lose the profit of our birth; 200 To die and be no more; to cease, Having numbness that is not peace. Let us go hence; and, even if thus Death everywhere must go with us, Let us not see the change, but see Those who have been or still shall be.'

He sighed and they went on together; Beneath their feet did the grass wither; Across the heaven high overhead Dark misty clouds floated and fled; 210 And in their bosom was the thunder, And angry lightnings flashed out under, Forked and red and menacing; Far off the wind was muttering; It seemed to tell, not understood, Strange secrets to the listening wood.

Upon its wings it bore the scent Of blood of a great armament: Then saw they how on either side Fields were down-trodden far and wide. 220 That morning at the break of day Two nations had gone forth to slay.

As a man soweth so he reaps. The field was full of bleeding heaps; Ghastly corpses of men and horses That met death at a thousand sources; Cold limbs and putrifying flesh; Long love-locks clotted to a mesh That stifled; stiffened mouths beneath Staring eyes that had looked on death. 230

But these were dead: these felt no more The anguish of the wounds they bore. Behold, they shall not sigh again, Nor justly fear, nor hope in vain. What if none wept above them?--is The sleeper less at rest for this? Is not the young child's slumber sweet When no man watcheth over it? These had deep calm; but all around There was a deadly smothered sound, 240 The choking cry of agony From wounded men who could not die; Who watched the black wing of the raven Rise like a cloud 'twixt them and heaven, And in the distance flying fast Beheld the eagle come at last.

She knelt down in her agony: 'O Lord, it is enough,' said she: 'My heart's prayer putteth me to shame; Let me return to whence I came. 250 Thou for who love's sake didst reprove, Forgive me for the sake of love.'

SIT DOWN IN THE LOWEST ROOM

(_Macmillan's Magazine_, March 1864.)

Like flowers sequestered from the sun And wind of summer, day by day I dwindled paler, whilst my hair Showed the first tinge of grey.

'Oh what is life, that we should live? Or what is death, that we must die? A bursting bubble is our life: I also, what am I?'

'What is your grief? now tell me, sweet, That I may grieve,' my sister said; 10 And stayed a white embroidering hand And raised a golden head:

Her tresses showed a richer mass, Her eyes looked softer than my own, Her figure had a statelier height, Her voice a tenderer tone.

'Some must be second and not first; All cannot be the first of all: Is not this, too, but vanity? I stumble like to fall. 20

'So yesterday I read the acts Of Hector and each clangorous king With wrathful great Aeacides:-- Old Homer leaves a sting.'

The comely face looked up again, The deft hand lingered on the thread: 'Sweet, tell me what is Homer's sting, Old Homer's sting?' she said.

'He stirs my sluggish pulse like wine, He melts me like the wind of spice, 30 Strong as strong Ajax' red right hand, And grand like Juno's eyes.

'I cannot melt the sons of men, I cannot fire and tempest-toss:-- Besides, those days were golden days, Whilst these are days of dross.'

She laughed a feminine low laugh, Yet did not stay her dexterous hand: 'Now tell me of those days,' she said, 'When time ran golden sand.' 40

'Then men were men of might and right, Sheer might, at least, and weighty swords; Then men in open blood and fire, Bore witness to their words,

'Crest-rearing kings with whistling spears; But if these shivered in the shock They wrenched up hundred-rooted trees, Or hurled the effacing rock.

'Then hand to hand, then foot to foot, Stern to the death-grip grappling then, 50 Who ever thought of gunpowder Amongst these men of men?

'They knew whose hand struck home the death, They knew who broke but would not bend, Could venerate an equal foe And scorn a laggard friend.

'Calm in the utmost stress of doom, Devout toward adverse powers above, They hated with intenser hate And loved with fuller love. 60

'Then heavenly beauty could allay As heavenly beauty stirred the strife: By them a slave was worshipped more Than is by us a wife.'

She laughed again, my sister laughed, Made answer o'er the laboured cloth: 'I would rather be one of us Than wife, or slave, or both.'

'Oh better then be slave or wife Than fritter now blank life away: 70 Then night had holiness of night, And day was sacred day.

'The princess laboured at her loom, Mistress and handmaiden alike; Beneath their needles grew the field With warriors armed to strike.

'Or, look again, dim Dian's face Gleamed perfect through the attendant night; Were such not better than those holes Amid that waste of white? 80

'A shame it is, our aimless life: I rather from my heart would feed From silver dish in gilded stall With wheat and wine the steed--

'The faithful steed that bore my lord In safety through the hostile land, The faithful steed that arched his neck To fondle with my hand.'

Her needle erred; a moment's pause, A moment's patience, all was well. 90 Then she: 'But just suppose the horse, Suppose the rider fell?

'Then captive in an alien house, Hungering on exile's bitter bread,-- They happy, they who won the lot Of sacrifice,' she said.

Speaking she faltered, while her look Showed forth her passion like a glass: With hand suspended, kindling eye, Flushed cheek, how fair she was! 100

'Ah well, be those the days of dross; This, if you will, the age of gold: Yet had those days a spark of warmth, While these are somewhat cold--

'Are somewhat mean and cold and slow, Are stunted from heroic growth: We gain but little when we prove The worthlessness of both.'

'But life is in our hands,' she said: 'In our own hands for gain or loss: 110 Shall not the Sevenfold Sacred Fire Suffice to purge our dross?

'Too short a century of dreams, One day of work sufficient length: Why should not you, why should not I Attain heroic strength?

'Our life is given us as a blank; Ourselves must make it blest or curst: Who dooms me I shall only be The second, not the first? 120

'Learn from old Homer, if you will, Such wisdom as his books have said: In one the acts of Ajax shine, In one of Diomed.

'Honoured all heroes whose high deeds Thro' life, till death, enlarge their span: Only Achilles in his rage And sloth is less than man.'

'Achilles only less than man? He less than man who, half a god, 130 Discomfited all Greece with rest, Cowed Ilion with a nod?

'He offered vengeance, lifelong grief To one dear ghost, uncounted price: Beasts, Trojans, adverse gods, himself, Heaped up the sacrifice.

'Self-immolated to his friend, Shrined in world's wonder, Homer's page, Is this the man, the less than men, Of this degenerate age?' 140

'Gross from his acorns, tusky boar Does memorable acts like his; So for her snared offended young Bleeds the swart lioness.'

But here she paused; our eyes had met, And I was whitening with the jeer; She rose: 'I went too far,' she said; Spoke low: 'Forgive me, dear.

'To me our days seem pleasant days, Our home a haven of pure content; 150 Forgive me if I said too much, So much more than I meant.

'Homer, tho' greater than his gods, With rough-hewn virtues was sufficed And rough-hewn men: but what are such To us who learn of Christ?'

The much-moved pathos of her voice, Her almost tearful eyes, her cheek Grown pale, confessed the strength of love Which only made her speak: 160

For mild she was, of few soft words, Most gentle, easy to be led, Content to listen when I spoke And reverence what I said;

I elder sister by six years; Not half so glad, or wise, or good: Her words rebuked my secret self And shamed me where I stood.

She never guessed her words reproved A silent envy nursed within, 170 A selfish, souring discontent Pride-born, the devil's sin.