Chapter 15

I woke in the night, and the darkness was heavy and deep: I had known it was dark in my sleep, And I rose and looked out, And the fathomless vault was all sparkling, set thick round about With the ancient inhabiters silent, and wheeling too far For man's heart, like a voyaging frigate, to sail, where remote In the sheen of their glory they float, Or man's soul, like a bird, to fly near, of their beams to partake, And dazed in their wake, Drink day that is born of a star. I murmured, "Remoteness and greatness, how deep you are set, How afar in the rim of the whole; You know nothing of me, nor of man, nor of earth, O, nor yet Of our light-bearer,--drawing the marvellous moons as they roll, Of our regent, the sun." I look on you trembling, and think, in the dark with my soul, "How small is our place 'mid the kingdoms and nations of God: These are greater than we, every one." And there falls a great fear, and a dread cometh over, that cries, "O my hope! Is there any mistake? Did He speak? Did I hear? Did I listen aright, if He spake? Did I answer Him duly? For surely I now am awake, If never I woke until now." And a light, baffling wind, that leads nowhither, plays on my brow. As a sleep, I must think on my day, of my path as untrod, Or trodden in dreams, in a dreamland whose coasts are a doubt; Whose countries recede from my thoughts, as they grope round about, And vanish, and tell me not how. Be kind to our darkness, O Fashioner, dwelling in light, And feeding the lamps of the sky; Look down upon this one, and let it be sweet in Thy sight, I pray Thee, to-night. O watch whom Thou madest to dwell on its soil, Thou Most High! For this is a world full of sorrow (there may be but one); Keep watch o'er its dust, else Thy children for aye are undone, For this is a world where we die.

II.

With that, a still voice in my spirit that moved and that yearned, (There fell a great calm while it spake,) I had heard it erewhile, but the noises of life are so loud, That sometimes it dies in the cry of the street and the crowd: To the simple it cometh,--the child, or asleep, or awake, And they know not from whence; of its nature the wise never learned By his wisdom; its secret the worker ne'er earned By his toil; and the rich among men never bought with his gold; Nor the times of its visiting monarchs controlled, Nor the jester put down with his jeers (For it moves where it will), nor its season the aged discerned By thought, in the ripeness of years.

O elder than reason, and stronger than will! A voice, when the dark world is still: Whence cometh it? Father Immortal, thou knowest! and we,-- We are sure of that witness, that sense which is sent us of Thee; For it moves, and it yearns in its fellowship mighty and dread, And let down to our hearts it is touched by the tears that we shed; It is more than all meanings, and over all strife; On its tongue are the laws of our life, And it counts up the times of the dead.

III.

I will fear you, O stars, never more. I have felt it! Go on, while the world is asleep, Golden islands, fast moored in God's infinite deep. Hark, hark to the words of sweet fashion, the harpings of yore! How they sang to Him, seer and saint, in the far away lands: "The heavens are the work of Thy hands; They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure; Yea, they all shall wax old,-- But Thy throne is established, O God, and Thy years are made sure; They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure,-- They shall pass like a tale that is told."

Doth He answer, the Ancient of Days? Will He speak in the tongue and the fashion of men? (Hist! hist! while the heaven-hung multitudes shine in His praise, His language of old.) Nay, He spoke with them first; it was then They lifted their eyes to His throne; "They shall call on Me, 'Thou art our Father, our God, Thou alone!' For I made them, I led them in deserts and desolate ways; I have found them a Ransom Divine; I have loved them with love everlasting, the children of men; I swear by Myself, they are Mine."

THE MORNING WATCH.

THE COMING IN OF THE "MERMAIDEN."

The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!

I am not satisfied with sleep,-- The night is not ended. But look how the sea-ghost comes, With wan skirts extended, Stealing up in this weird hour, When light and dark are blended.

A vessel! To the old pier end Her happy course she's keeping; I heard them name her yesterday: Some were pale with weeping; Some with their heart-hunger sighed, She's in,--and they are sleeping.

O! now with fancied greetings blest, They comfort their long aching: The sea of sleep hath borne to them What would not come with waking, And the dreams shall most be true In their blissful breaking.

The stars are gone, the rose-bloom comes,-- No blush of maid is sweeter; The red sun, half way out of bed, Shall be the first to greet her. None tell the news, yet sleepers wake, And rise, and run to meet her.

Their lost they have, they hold; from pain A keener bliss they borrow. How natural is joy, my heart! How easy after sorrow! For once, the best is come that hope Promised them "to-morrow."

CONCLUDING SONG OF DAWN.

(_Old English Manner._)

A MORN OF MAY.

All the clouds about the sun lay up in golden creases, (Merry rings the maiden's voice that sings at dawn of day;) Lambkins woke and skipped around to dry their dewy fleeces, So sweetly as she carolled, all on a morn of May.

Quoth the Sergeant, "Here I'll halt; here's wine of joy for drinking; To my heart she sets her hand, and in the strings doth play; All among the daffodils, and fairer to my thinking, And fresh as milk and roses, she sits this morn of May."

Quoth the Sergeant, "Work is work, but any ye might make me, If I worked for you, dear lass, I'd count my holiday. I'm your slave for good and all, an' if ye will but take me, So sweetly as ye carol upon this morn of May."

"Medals count for worth," quoth she, "and scars are worn for honor; But a slave an' if ye be, kind wooer, go your way." All the nodding daffodils woke up and laughed upon her. O! sweetly did she carol, all on that morn of May.

Gladsome leaves upon the bough, they fluttered fast and faster, Fretting brook, till he would speak, did chide the dull delay: "Beauty! when I said a slave, I think I meant a master; So sweetly as ye carol all on this morn of May.

"Lass, I love you! Love is strong, and some men's hearts are tender." Far she sought o'er wood and wold, but found not aught to say; Mounting lark nor mantling cloud would any counsel render, Though sweetly she had carolled upon that morn of May.

Shy, she sought the wooer's face, and deemed the wooing mended; Proper man he was, good sooth, and one would have his way: So the lass was made a wife, and so the song was ended. O! sweetly she did carol all on that morn of May.

CONTRASTED SONGS.

CONTRASTED SONGS.

SAILING BEYOND SEAS.

(_Old Style._)

Methought the stars were blinking bright, And the old brig's sails unfurled; I said, "I will sail to my love this night At the other side of the world." I stepped aboard,--we sailed so fast,-- The sun shot up from the bourne; But a dove that perched upon the mast Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn. O fair dove! O fond dove! And dove with the white breast, Let me alone, the dream is my own, And my heart is full of rest.

My true love fares on this great hill, Feeding his sheep for aye; I looked in his hut, but all was still, My love was gone away. I went to gaze in the forest creek, And the dove mourned on apace; No flame did flash, nor fair blue reek Rose up to show me his place. O last love! O first love! My love with the true heart, To think I have come to this your home, And yet--we are apart!

My love! He stood at my right hand, His eyes were grave and sweet. Methought he said, "In this far land, O, is it thus we meet! Ah, maid most dear, I am not here; I have no place,--no part,-- No dwelling more by sea or shore, But only in thy heart." O fair dove! O fond dove! Till night rose over the bourne, The dove on the mast, as we sailed fast, Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.

REMONSTRANCE.

Daughters of Eve! your mother did not well: She laid the apple in your father's hand, And we have read, O wonder! what befell,-- The man was not deceived, nor yet could stand: He chose to lose, for love of her, his throne,-- With her could die, but could not live alone.

Daughters of Eve! he did not fall so low, Nor fall so far, as that sweet woman fell; For something better, than as gods to know, That husband in that home left off to dwell: For this, till love be reckoned less than lore, Shall man be first and best for evermore.

Daughters of Eve! it was for your dear sake The world's first hero died an uncrowned king; But God's great pity touched the grand mistake, And made his married love a sacred thing: For yet his nobler sons, if aught be true, Find the lost Eden in their love to you.

SONG FOR THE NIGHT OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.

(_A Humble Imitation._)

"And birds of calm sit brooding on the charméd wave."

It is the noon of night, And the world's Great Light Gone out, she widow-like doth carry her: The moon hath veiled her face, Nor looks on that dread place Where He lieth dead in sealéd sepulchre; And heaven and hades, emptied, lend Their flocking multitudes to watch and wait the end.

Tier above tier they rise, Their wings new line the skies, And shed out comforting light among the stars; But they of the other place The heavenly signs deface, The gloomy brand of hell their brightness mars; Yet high they sit in thronéd state,-- It is the hour of darkness to them dedicate.

And first and highest set, Where the black shades are met, The lord of night and hades leans him down; His gleaming eyeballs show More awful than the glow, Which hangeth by the points of his dread crown; And at his feet, where lightnings play, The fatal sisters sit and weep, and curse their day.

Lo! one, with eyes all wide, As she were sight denied, Sits blindly feeling at her distaff old; One, as distraught with woe, Letting the spindle go, Her star y-sprinkled gown doth shivering fold; And one right mournful hangs her head, Complaining, "Woe is me! I may not cut the thread.

"All men of every birth, Yea, great ones of the earth, Kings and their councillors, have I drawn down; But I am held of Thee,-- Why dost Thou trouble me, To bring me up, dead King, that keep'st Thy crown? Yet for all courtiers hast but ten Lowly, unlettered, Galilean fishermen.

"Olympian heights are bare Of whom men worshipped there, Immortal feet their snows may print no more; Their stately powers below Lie desolate, nor know This thirty years Thessalian grove or shore; But I am elder far than they;-- Where is the sentence writ that I must pass away?

"Art thou come up for this, Dark regent, awful Dis? And hast thou moved the deep to mark our ending? And stirred the dens beneath, To see us eat of death, With all the scoffing heavens toward us bending? Help! powers of ill, see not us die!" But neither demon dares, nor angel deigns, reply.

Her sisters, fallen on sleep, Fade in the upper deep, And their grim lord sits on, in doleful trance; Till her black veil she rends, And with her death-shriek bends Downward the terrors of her countenance; Then, whelmed in night and no more seen, They leave the world a doubt if ever such have been.

And the winged armies twain Their awful watch maintain; They mark the earth at rest with her Great Dead. Behold, from antres wide, Green Atlas heave his side; His moving woods their scarlet clusters shed, The swathing coif his front that cools, And tawny lions lapping at his palm-edged pools.

Then like a heap of snow, Lying where grasses grow, See glimmering, while the moony lustres creep, Mild mannered Athens, dight In dewy marbles white, Among her goddesses and gods asleep; And swaying on a purple sea, The many moored galleys clustering at her quay.

Also, 'neath palm-trees' shade, Amid their camels laid, The pastoral tribes with all their flocks at rest; Like to those old-world folk, With whom two angels broke The bread of men at Abram's courteous 'quest, When, listening as they prophesied, His desert princess, being reproved, her laugh denied.

Or from the Morians' land See worshipped Nilus bland, Taking the silver road he gave the world, To wet his ancient shrine With waters held divine, And touch his temple steps with wavelets curled, And list, ere darkness change to gray, Old minstrel-throated Memnon chanting in the day.

Moreover, Indian glades, Where kneel the sun-swart maids, On Gunga's flood their votive flowers to throw, And launch i' the sultry night Their burning cressets bright, Most like a fleet of stars that southing go, Till on her bosom prosperously She floats them shining forth to sail the lulléd sea.

Nor bend they not their eyne Where the watch-fires shine, By shepherds fed, on hills of Bethlehem: They mark, in goodly wise, The city of David rise, The gates and towers of rare Jerusalem; And hear the 'scapéd Kedron fret, And night dews dropping from the leaves of Olivet.

But now the setting moon To curtained lands must soon, In her obedient fashion, minister; She first, as loath to go, Lets her last silver flow Upon her Master's sealéd sepulchre; And trees that in the gardens spread, She kisseth all for sake of His low-lying head,

Then 'neath the rim goes down; And night with darker frown Sinks on the fateful garden watched long; When some despairing eyes, Far in the murky skies, The unwishéd waking by their gloom foretell; And blackness up the welkin swings, And drinks the mild effulgence from celestial wings.

Last, with amazéd cry, The hosts asunder fly, Leaving an empty gulf of blackest hue; Whence straightway shooteth down, By the Great Father thrown, A mighty angel, strong and dread to view; And at his fall the rocks are rent, The waiting world doth quake with mortal tremblement;

The regions far and near Quail with a pause of fear, More terrible than aught since time began; The winds, that dare not fleet, Drop at his awful feet, And in its bed wails the wide oceán; The flower of dawn forbears to blow, And the oldest running river cannot skill to flow.

At stand, by that dread place, He lifts his radiant face, And looks to heaven with reverent love and fear; Then, while the welkin quakes, The muttering thunder breaks, And lightnings shoot and ominous meteors drear, And all the daunted earth doth moan, He from the doors of death rolls back the sealéd stone.--

--In regal quiet deep, Lo, One new waked from sleep! Behold, He standeth in the rock-hewn door! Thy children shall not die,-- Peace, peace, thy Lord is by! He liveth!--they shall live for evermore. Peace! lo, He lifts a priestly hand, And blesseth all the sons of men in every land.

Then, with great dread and wail, Fall down, like storms of hail, The legions of the lost in fearful wise; And they whose blissful race Peoples the better place, Lift up their wings to cover their fair eyes, And through the waxing saffron brede, Till they are lost in light, recede, and yet recede.

So while the fields are dim, And the red sun his rim First heaves, in token of his reign benign, All stars the most admired, Into their blue retired, Lie hid,--the faded moon forgets to shine,-- And, hurrying down the sphery way, Night flies, and sweeps her shadows from the paths of day.

But look! the Saviour blest, Calm after solemn rest, Stands in the garden 'neath His olive boughs; The earliest smile of day Doth on His vesture play, And light the majesty of His still brows; While angels hang with wings outspread, Holding the new-won crown above His saintly head.

SONG OF MARGARET.

Ay, I saw her, we have met,-- Married eyes how sweet they be,-- Are you happier, Margaret, Than you might have been with me? Silence! make no more ado! Did she think I should forget? Matters nothing, though I knew, Margaret, Margaret.

Once those eyes, full sweet, full shy, Told a certain thing to mine; What they told me I put by, O, so careless of the sign. Such an easy thing to take, And I did not want it then; Fool! I wish my heart would break, Scorn is hard on hearts of men.

Scorn of self is bitter work,-- Each of us has felt it now: Bluest skies she counted mirk, Self-betrayed of eyes and brow; As for me, I went my way, And a better man drew nigh, Fain to earn, with long essay, What the winner's hand threw by.

Matters not in deserts old, What was born, and waxed, and yearned, Year to year its meaning told, I am come,--its deeps are learned,-- Come, but there is naught to say,-- Married eyes with mine have met. Silence! O, I had my day, Margaret, Margaret.

SONG OF THE GOING AWAY.

"Old man, upon the green hillside, With yellow flowers besprinkled o'er, How long in silence wilt thou bide At this low stone door?

"I stoop: within 'tis dark and still; But shadowy paths methinks there be, And lead they far into the hill?" "Traveller, come and see."

"'Tis dark, 'tis cold, and hung with gloom; I care not now within to stay; For thee and me is scarcely room, I will hence away."

"Not so, not so, thou youthful guest, Thy foot shall issue forth no more: Behold the chamber of thy rest, And the closing door!"

"O, have I 'scaped the whistling ball, And striven on smoky fields of fight, And scaled the 'leaguered city's wall In the dangerous night;

"And borne my life unharméd still Through foaming gulfs of yeasty spray, To yield it on a grassy hill At the noon of day?"

"Peace! Say thy prayers, and go to sleep, Till _some time_, ONE my seal shall break, And deep shall answer unto deep, When He crieth, 'AWAKE!'"

A LILY AND A LUTE.

(_Song of the uncommunicated Ideal._)

I.

I opened the eyes of my soul. And behold, A white river-lily: a lily awake, and aware,-- For she set her face upward,--aware how in scarlet and gold A long wrinkled cloud, left behind of the wandering air, Lay over with fold upon fold, With fold upon fold.

And the blushing sweet shame of the cloud made her also ashamed, The white river-lily, that suddenly knew she was fair; And over the far-away mountains that no man hath named, And that no foot hath trod, Flung down out of heavenly places, there fell, as it were, A rose-bloom, a token of love, that should make them endure, Withdrawn in snow silence forever, who keep themselves pure, And look up to God. Then I said, "In rosy air, Cradled on thy reaches fair, While the blushing early ray Whitens into perfect day, River-lily, sweetest known, Art thou set for me alone? Nay, but I will bear thee far, Where yon clustering steeples are, And the bells ring out o'erhead, And the stated prayers are said; And the busy farmers pace, Trading in the market-place; And the country lasses sit, By their butter, praising it; And the latest news is told, While the fruit and cream are sold; And the friendly gossips greet, Up and down the sunny street. For," I said, "I have not met, White one, any folk as yet Who would send no blessing up, Looking on a face like thine; For thou art as Joseph's cup, And by thee might they divine.

"Nay! but thou a spirit art; Men shall take thee in the mart For the ghost of their best thought, Raised at noon, and near them brought; Or the prayer they made last night, Set before them all in white."

And I put out my rash hand, For I thought to draw to land The white lily. Was it fit Such a blossom should expand, Fair enough for a world's wonder, And no mortal gather it? No. I strove, and it went under, And I drew, but it went down; And the waterweeds' long tresses, And the overlapping cresses, Sullied its admired crown. Then along the river strand, Trailing, wrecked, it came to land, Of its beauty half despoiled, And its snowy pureness soiled: O! I took it in my hand,-- You will never see it now, White and golden as it grew: No, I cannot show it you, Nor the cheerful town endow With the freshness of its brow.

If a royal painter, great With the colors dedicate To a dove's neck, a sea-bight, And the flickering over white Mountain summits far away,-- One content to give his mind To the enrichment of mankind, And the laying up of light In men's houses,--on that day, Could have passed in kingly mood, Would he ever have endued Canvas with the peerless thing, In the grace that it did bring, And the light that o'er it flowed, With the pureness that it showed, And the pureness that it meant? Could he skill to make it seen As he saw? For this, I ween, He were likewise impotent.

II.

I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music within and a song, And echoes did feed on the sweetness, repeating it long. I opened the doors of my heart: and behold, There was music that played itself out in aeolian notes; Then was heard, as a far-away bell at long intervals tolled, That murmurs and floats, And presently dieth, forgotten of forest and wold, And comes in all passion again, and a tremblement soft, That maketh the listener full oft To whisper, "Ah! would I might hear it for ever and aye, When I toil in the heat of the day, When I walk in the cold."

I opened the door of my heart. And behold, There was music within, and a song. But while I was hearkening, lo, blackness without, thick and strong, Came up and came over, and all that sweet fluting was drowned, I could hear it no more; For the welkin was moaning, the waters were stirred on the shore, And trees in the dark all around Were shaken. It thundered. "Hark, hark! there is thunder to-night! The sullen long wave rears her head, and comes down with a will; The awful white tongues are let loose, and the stars are all dead;-- There is thunder! it thunders! and ladders of light Run up. There is thunder!" I said, "Loud thunder! it thunders! and up in the dark overhead, A down-pouring cloud, (there is thunder!) a down-pouring cloud Hails out her fierce message, and quivers the deep in its bed, And cowers the earth held at bay; and they mutter aloud, And pause with an ominous tremble, till, great in their rage, The heavens and earth come together, and meet with a crash; And the fight is so fell as if Time had come down with the flash, And the story of life was all read, And the Giver had turned the last page.

"Now their bar the pent water-floods lash, And the forest trees give out their language austere with great age; And there flieth o'er moor and o'er hill, And there heaveth at intervals wide, The long sob of nature's great passion as loath to subside, Until quiet drop down on the tide, And mad Echo had moaned herself still."