Chapter 2
ORAN.
ORAN.
Not love her! O my God! thou knowest me-- Thou, looking through me as the sun at noon That searches through the being of the world-- Thou setting life against thy glory light, As men hold up a crystal 'gainst the sun, Making its frame as nothing in the blaze!
Lo! my heart was like a chaotic world, Still, silent, 'mid the dreary waste of time. Man there was not in all its desert bounds, But hoary ruins of past wondrous things, Old unbeliefs, fierce doubts, unsightly dreams, That wearing out their wild hot-breathing life, Wearily stretch'd their writhing shapes to die; Then came she moving o'er my awe-hush'd soul, Like God's own Spirit over earth's void waters, And there arose order and life through all. She was my sun, set high to rule the day, And make my world all bright and beautiful; She was my moon, amid the stilly night Subduing darkness with her quiet smiles, And stealing softly through my anxious dreams, A sweet-soul'd hostage for departed day; She was my summer, clothing all my life With fragrant blossoms of delight and joy.
[_A pause_.
Not love her! 'Tis as yesterday the time When first my love stole fainting to her ear, In deep scarce-worded murmurs of desire. 'Twas evening, and above the weary land Silence lay dreaming in a golden hush; The summer's sunset yellow'd in the wheat, And the ripe year, with harvest promise full, Slept on the wavy slopes and verdant leas, Like one who through long hours of toil at last Sees the glad work accomplish'd, and in peace Flings him along the meadows to repose; Below, the bells of even faintly chimed, And sent their hymnal music up the breeze To where I stood, half-praying, by her side. Then all my words and thoughts that came and went, Waving about the secret of my love, Like billows plashing on a silent shore, All at one gush flow'd from me o'er her heart, And broke the banks of silence; then my love Sank through her liquid eyes to read her soul, Like diver that through waving water-floods Seeketh the priceless pearl that lies below, And there found life--found joy for evermore: It is as yesterday that time to me,-- Sweet time, when love entwines the locks of life With fragrant blossoms, like a one-hour's bride, And claspeth summer with soft pleading arms, That she, though ne'er so eager to be gone, Still tarries smiling for a last embrace, And drops her hoarded flowers upon the way: It is as yesterday--my love the same-- The love that led me through all heavy tasks, All lonely watchings by the midnight lamp, To win the fame that still might shine on her; And e'en--how dear the thought!--this wondrous power, This godlike influence which has dawn'd on me, Thus from my love takes colouring and aim! Not love her! Well, well, I'll forget the word-- The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not.
[_A pause_.
It cannot be--this aim so deeply--weigh'd, So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail. O wondrous power! great mystery of life! Reserved for me of all the sons of men; Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven For me to pluck with eager, trembling hands, And press its vintage out for thirsting worlds More blessed still that into her sweet cup First may I pour the clearest of the wine-- For her--for her--ah, yes! for her supreme, I struggle onward through this blinding light, E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand, Pale, trembling, like a terror-smitten soul, Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven. Yet once again let me the plan review, Searching within my soul of souls each part, That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be.--
[_A long pause_.
Yes! it is so--this deep magnetic sleep, That from my being passes upon her, Bindeth the body close in deepest thrall, But setteth free the soul. What real need Hath spirit of these sensuous avenues, Through which the soul looks feebly on the world? This power then opes the prison door awhile, And sends the spirit chainless o'er the earth. This know I--without eyes the spirit sees, Gains instant cognizance of hidden things, And counts all space for nothing; knowledge comes Upon it with the falling of the flesh, So that there is no thing in earth or heaven But to the unhoused spirit native is-- The mantle falls and leaves the Prophet angel! Body, then, is the prison-house of soul, And freedom is its highest happiness, Its heaven, its primal being full of joy. This power that holdeth thus the keys of life, Can then at will give moments of release, Which to the soul are as the water-brooks That scantly rise amid a sun-scorch'd waste: These, oft repeated, must at length destroy The thraldom of the flesh, and give at will A freer issue to the practised soul-- At lowest gladden it with gleams of bliss, Glimpses of heaven amid this exile time. Yes! thus, my Mabel, shall thy prison'd soul Rise to its sister angels heavenward still; And soon the mortal fetters shall hang loose, Scarce clogging aught its motions glad and free. Thus shall thy young fair frame no longer be A prison, but a meetest dwelling-place, Full of all infinite delights, and dear As is its nest to the heaven-soaring lark, That yearns down, singing, to it from the sky. These men, did they not see it in thine eyes, Amazed and fearful at the dazzling sight, As some rude passer gazing up aloft Sees from some casement, unawares, a face That makes his great rough heart on sudden rock With wonder and with worship--in her frame Did they not see the mortal waxing faint, The immortal fusing it with heavenly fire? Ay! the charm works, and thou, my life, my love, Reapest the first-fruits of my long, long toil.