Chapter 15

If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed, Thou hast thy joy, but thou hast more of pain. Others will live in peace, and thou be fain To bargain with despair, and in thy need To make thy meal upon the scantiest weed. These palaces, for thee they stand in vain; Thine is a ruinous hut, and oft the rain Shall drench thee in the midnight; yea, the speed Of earth outstrip thee, pilgrim, while thy feet Move slowly up the heights. Yet will there come Through the time-rents about thy moving cell, _Shot from the Truth's own bow, and flaming sweet,_ An arrow for despair, and oft the hum Of far-off populous realms where spirits dwell.

_THE PROPHET_.

Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We may not start To find thee with us in thine ancient dress, Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness, Empty of all save God and thy loud heart, Nor with like rugged message quick to dart Into the hideous fiction mean and base; But yet, O prophet man, we need not less But more of earnest, though it is thy part To deal in other words, if thou wouldst smite The living Mammon, seated, not as then In bestial quiescence grimly dight, But _robed as priest, and honoured of good men Yet_ thrice as much an idol-god as when He stared at his own feet from morn to night.

_THE WATCHER_.

From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro Upon the people's tumult, for below The nations smite each other: no amaze Troubles their liquid rolling, or affrays Their deep-set contemplation; steadily glow Those ever holier eyeballs, for they grow Liker unto the eyes of one that prays. And if those clasped hands tremble, comes a power As of the might of worlds, and they are holden Blessing above us in the sunrise golden; And they will be uplifted till that hour Of terrible rolling which shall rise and shake This conscious nightmare from us, and we wake.

_THE BELOVED DISCIPLE_.

I.

One do I see and twelve; but second there Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; Not from thy nobler port, for there are none More quiet-featured: some there are who bear Their message on their brows, while others wear A look of large commission, nor will shun The fiery trial, so their work is done; But thou hast parted with thine eyes in prayer-- Unearthly are they both; and so thy lips Seem like the porches of the spirit land; For thou hast laid a mighty treasure by Unlocked by Him in Nature, and thine eye Burns with a vision and apocalypse Thy own sweet soul can hardly understand.

II.

A Boanerges too! Upon my heart It lay a heavy hour: features like thine Should glow with other message than the shine Of the earth-burrowing levin, and the start That cleaveth horrid gulfs! Awful and swart A moment stoodest thou, but less divine-- Brawny and clad in ruin--till with mine Thy heart made answering signals, and apart Beamed forth thy two rapt eyeballs doubly clear And twice as strong because thou didst thy duty, And, though affianced to immortal Beauty, Hiddest not weakly underneath her veil The pest of Sin and Death which maketh pale: Henceforward be thy spirit doubly dear!

_THE LILY OF THE VALLEY_.

There is not any weed but hath its shower, There is not any pool but hath its star; And black and muddy though the waters are We may not miss the glory of a flower, And winter moons will give them magic power To spin in cylinders of diamond spar; And everything hath beauty near and far, And keepeth close and waiteth on its hour! And I, when I encounter on my road A human soul that looketh black and grim, Shall I more ceremonious be than God? Shall I refuse to watch one hour with him Who once beside our deepest woe did bud A patient watching flower about the brim?

_EVIL INFLUENCE_.

'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom, Although to these full oft the yawning tomb Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting, A more immortal agony will cling To the half fashioned sin which would assume Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom With quiet seeds of Death henceforth to spring What time the sun of passion burning fierce Breaks through the kindly cloud of circumstance; The bitter word, and the unkindly glance, The crust and canker coming with the years, Are liker Death than arrows and the lance Which through the living heart at once doth pierce.

_SPOKEN OF SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS_.

I pray you, all ye men who put your trust In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear, Holding that Nature lives from year to year In one continual round because she must-- Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer-- A pewter-pot disconsolately clear, Which holds a potful, as is right and just! I will grow clamorous--by the rood, I will, If thus ye use me like a pewter pot! Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot-- will not be the lead to hold thy swill, Nor any lead: I will arise and spill Thy silly beverage--spill it piping hot!

_NATURE A MORAL POWER_.

Nature, to him no message dost thou bear Who in thy beauty findeth not the power To gird himself more strongly for the hour Of night and darkness. Oh, what colours rare The woods, the valleys, and the mountains wear To him who knows thy secret, and, in shower, And fog, and ice-cloud, hath a secret bower Where he may rest until the heavens are fair! Not with the rest of slumber, but the trance Of onward movement steady and serene, Where oft, in struggle and in contest keen, His eyes will opened be, and all the dance Of life break on him, and a wide expanse Roll upward through the void, sunny and green.

_TO JUNE_.

Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! For in a season of such wretched weather I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, Although I could not choose but fancy thee Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether Thou shouldst be seen in such a company Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps. But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books-- Fall to immediately without complaint-- There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks.

_SUMMER_.

Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer! We hold thee very dear, as well we may: It is the kernel of the year to-day-- All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer! If every insect were a fairy drummer, And I a fifer that could deftly play, We'd give the old Earth such a roundelay That she would cast all thought of labour from her.-- Ah! what is this upon my window-pane? Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up, Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!-- Well, I will let that idle fancy drop! Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain! And all the earth shines like a silver cup!

_ON A MIDGE_.

Whence do ye come, ye creatures? Each of you Is perfect as an angel! wings and eyes Stupendous in their beauty--gorgeous dyes In feathery fields of purple and of blue! Would God I saw a moment as ye do! I would become a molecule in size, Rest with you, hum with you, or slanting rise Along your one dear sunbeam, could I view The pearly secret which each tiny fly-- Each tiny fly that hums and bobs and stirs Hides in its little breast eternally From you, ye prickly, grim philosophers With all your theories that sound so high: Hark to the buz a moment, my good sirs!

_STEADFAST_.

Here stands a giant stone from whose far top Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze Till every sense of man and human ways Is wrecked and quenched for ever, and I drop Into the whirl of time, and without stop Pass downward thus! Again my eyes I raise To thee, dark rock; and through the mist and haze My strength returns when I behold thy prop Gleam stern and steady through the wavering wrack. Surely thy strength is human, and like me Thou bearest loads of thunder on thy back! And, lo, a smile upon thy visage black-- A breezy tuft of grass which I can see Waving serenely from a sunlit crack!

_PROVISION_.

Above my head the great pine-branches tower; Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends Like a slow-laboured thought, heavy with power: Hark to the patter of the coming shower! Let me be silent while the Almighty sends His thunder-word along--but when it ends I will arise and fashion from the hour Words of stupendous import, fit to guard High thoughts and purposes, which I may wave, When the temptation cometh close and hard, Like fiery brands betwixt me and the grave Of meaner things--to which I am a slave, If evermore I keep not watch and ward.

_FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA_.

I do remember how, when very young, I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell As I drew nearer, caught within the spell Of its vast size and its mysterious tongue. How the floor trembled, and the dark boat swung With a man in it, and a great wave fell Within a stone's cast! Words may never tell The passion of the moment, when I flung All childish records by, and felt arise A thing that died no more! An awful power I claimed with trembling hands and eager eyes, Mine, mine for ever, an immortal dower.-- The noise of waters soundeth to this hour When I look seaward through the quiet skies.

_ON THE SOURCE OF THE ARVE_.

Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse, With its perpetual tidings upward climb, Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime! For not in vain from its portentous source Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearned for its full force, But from thine ice-toothed caverns, dark as time, At last thou issuest, dancing to the rime Of thy outvolleying freedom! Lo, thy course Lies straight before thee as the arrow flies! Right to the ocean-plains away, away! Thy parent waits thee, and her sunset dyes Are ruffled for thy coming, and the gray Of all her glittering borders flashes high Against the glittering rocks!--oh, haste, and fly!

_CONFIDENCE_.

Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek Of voices utterless, which rave and run Through all the star-penumbra, craving light And tidings of the dawn from East and West. Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast.

_FATE_.

Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven Black passages which have not any sky: The scourge is on me now, with all the cry Of ancient life that hath with murder striven. How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven, How many a hand in prayer been lifted high When the black fate came onward with the rush Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume! Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush As if we were all huddled in one doom!

_UNREST_.

Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee, No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? Now resting on my bed with listless hands I mourn thee resting not. Continually Hear I the plashing borders of the sea Answer each other from the rocks and sands! Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands, But with strange noises hasteth terribly! Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by; Howls to each other all the bloody crew Of Afric's tigers! but, O men, from you Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high Than aught that vexes air! I hear the cry Of infant generations rising too!

_ONE WITH NATURE_.

I have a fellowship with every shade Of changing nature: with the tempest hour My soul goes forth to claim her early dower Of living princedom; and her wings have staid Amidst the wildest uproar undismayed! Yet she hath often owned a better power, And blessed the gentle coming of the shower, The speechless majesty of love arrayed In lowly virtue, under which disguise Full many a princely thing hath passed her by; And she from homely intercourse of eyes Hath gathered visions wider than the sky, And seen the withered heart of man arise Peaceful as God, and full of majesty.

_MY TWO GENIUSES_.

I.

One is a slow and melancholy maid; I know riot if she cometh from the skies Or from the sleepy gulfs, but she will rise Often before me in the twilight shade, Holding a bunch of poppies and a blade Of springing wheat: prostrate my body lies Before her on the turf, the while she ties A fillet of the weed about my head; And in the gaps of sleep I seem to hear A gentle rustle like the stir of corn, And words like odours thronging to my ear: "Lie still, beloved--still until the morn; Lie still with me upon this rolling sphere-- Still till the judgment; thou art faint and worn."

II.

The other meets me in the public throng; Her hair streams backward from her loose attire; She hath a trumpet and an eye of fire; She points me downward, steadily and long:-- "There is thy grave--arise, my son, be strong! Hands are upon thy crown--awake, aspire To immortality; heed not the lyre Of the Enchantress, nor her poppy-song, But in the stillness of the summer calm Tremble for what is Godlike in thy being. Listen a while, and thou shall hear the psalm Of victory sung by creatures past thy seeing; And from far battle-fields there comes the neighing Of dreadful onset, though the air is balm."

III.

Maid with the poppies, must I let thee go? Alas, I may not; thou art likewise dear! I am but human, and thou hast a tear When she hath nought but splendour, and the glow Of a wild energy that mocks the flow Of the poor sympathies which keep us here: Lay past thy poppies, and come twice as near, And I will teach thee, and thou too shalt grow; And thou shalt walk with me in open day Through the rough thoroughfares with quiet grace; And the wild-visaged maid shall lead the way, Timing her footsteps to a gentler pace As her great orbs turn ever on thy face, Drinking in draughts of loving help alway.

_SUDDEN CALM_.

There is a bellowing in me, as of might Unfleshed and visionless, mangling the air With horrible convulse, as if it bare The cruel weight of worlds, but could not fight With the thick-dropping clods, and could but bite A vapour-cloud! Oh, I will climb the stair Of the great universe, and lay me there Even at the threshold of his gate, despite The tempest, and the weakness, and the rush Of this quick crowding on me!--Oh, I dream! Now I am sailing swiftly, as we seem To do in sleep! and I can hear the gush Of a melodious wave that carries me On, on for ever to eternity!

_THOU ALSO_.

Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track The bloody secret; let the welkin crack Reverberating, while ye dance and skip About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip, More secretly, for the avenging rack, Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip, And all the knotted limbs lie quivering! Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting, With wide and tearless eyes go staring through The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees Bow not to holiness, then even in you Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these.

_THE AURORA BOREALIS_.

Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge Unto my future nights, and I will cut Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut On every set of day; or as a sledge Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven Right home into the fastness of the north! Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven! And I with it have clomb and spreaded forth Upon the crisp and cooling atmosphere! My soul is all abroad: I cannot find it here!

_THE HUMAN._

Within each living man there doth reside, In some unrifled chamber of the heart, A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side! By that sweet act I purify my pride And hasten onward--willing even to part With pleasant graces: though thy hue is swart, I bear thee company, thou art my guide! Even in thy sinning wise beyond thy ken To thee a subtle debt my soul is owing! I take an impulse from the worst of men That lends a wing unto my onward going; Then let me pay them gladly back again With prayer and love from Faith and Duty flowing!

_WRITTEN ON A STORMY NIGHT._

O wild and dark! a night hath found me now Wherein I mingle with that element Sent madly loose through the wide staring rent In yon tormented branches! I will bow A while unto the storm, and thenceforth grow Into a mighty patience strongly bent Before the unconquering Power which hither sent These winds to fight their battles on my brow!-- Again the loud boughs thunder! and the din Licks up my footfall from the hissing earth! But I have found a mighty peace within, And I have risen into a home of mirth! Wildly I climb above the shaking spires, Above the sobbing clouds, up through the steady fires!

_REVERENCE WAKING HOPE_.

A power is on me, and my soul must speak To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold With those white-headed children. I am bold To commune with thy setting, and to wreak My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek Thee in that other world, but I am told Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, Weak even to despair, could I forego The tender vision which will give somehow Thee standing brightly one day even as now! Thou art a very grey old man, and so I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow.

_BORN OF WATER_.

Methought I stood among the stars alone, Watching a grey parched orb which onward flew Half blinded by the dusty winds that blew, Empty as Death and barren as a stone, The pleasant sound of water all unknown! When, as I looked in wonderment, there grew, High in the air above, a drop of dew, Which, gathering slowly through long cycles, shone Like a great tear; and then at last it fell Clasping the orb, which drank it greedily, With a delicious noise and upward swell Of sweet cool joy that tossed me like a sea; And then the thick life sprang as from a grave, With trees, flowers, boats upon the bounding wave!

_TO A THUNDER-CLOUD._

Oh, melancholy fragment of the night Drawing thy lazy web against the sun, Thou shouldst have waited till the day was done With kindred glooms to build thy fane aright, Sublime amid the ruins of the light! But thus to shape our glories one by one With fearful hands, ere we had well begun To look for shadows--even in the bright! Yet may we charm a lesson from thy breast, A secret wisdom from thy folds of thunder: There is a wind that cometh from the west Will rend thy tottering piles of gloom asunder, And fling thee ruinous along the grass, To sparkle on us as our footsteps pass!

_SUN AND MOON._

First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; He smote me on the temples and I rose, Casting the night aside and all its woes; And I would spurn my idleness, and take My own wild journey even like him, and shake The pillars of all doubt with lusty blows, Even like himself when his rich glory goes Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break. But ere my soul was ready for the fight, His solemn setting mocked me in the west; And as I trembled in the lifting night, The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd A mellow wisdom in her silent youth, Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth.

_DOUBT HERALDING VISION._

An angel saw me sitting by a brook, Pleased with the silence, and the melodies Of wind and water which did fall and rise: He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies, Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes An inextinguishable wish to look; When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came, Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky, A host of splendours watching silently, With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame, And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame, And signalled things I hope to hold although I die!

_LIFE OR DEATH?_

Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, For every flower that ends its little span, For every child that groweth up to man, For every captive bird a cage doth keep, For every aching eye that went to sleep Long ages back, when other eyes began To see and know and love as now they can, Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap? Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity In charnel dens that rot and reek alway, A dismal light for those that go astray, A pit of foul deformity--to be, Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day?

_LOST AND FOUND._

I missed him when the sun began to bend; I found him not when I had lost his rim; With many tears I went in search of him, Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, And gave me echoes when I called my friend; Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, And high cathedrals where the light was dim, Through books and arts and works without an end, But found him not--the friend whom I had lost. And yet I found him--as I found the lark, A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; I found him nearest when I missed him most; I found him in my heart, a life in frost, A light I knew not till my soul was dark.

_THE MOON._

She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon! Under a ragged cloud I found her out, Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt! That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon, And he hath found and he will hide her soon! Come, all ye little winds that sit without, And blow the shining leaves her edge about, And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune! She will forget us in her walks at night Among the other worlds that are so fair! She will forget to look on our despair! She will forget to be so young and bright! Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light-- I saw them hanging by thy girdle there!

_TRUTH, NOT FORM!_

I came upon a fountain on my way When it was hot, and sat me down to drink Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink I spied full many vessels made of clay, Whereon were written, not without display, In deep engraving or with merely ink, The blessings which each owner seemed to think Would light on him who drank with each alway. I looked so hard my eyes were looking double Into them all, but when I came to see That they were filthy, each in his degree, I bent my head, though not without some trouble, To where the little waves did leap and bubble, And so I journeyed on most pleasantly.

_GOD IN GROWTH._

I said, I will arise and work some thing, Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow A life around me, clear as yes from no, That to my restless hand some rest may bring, And give a vital power to Action's spring: Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo! An angel stood beside me on the snow, With folded wings that came of pondering. "God's glory flashes on the silence here Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue, "Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer To bear his message to the hidden year Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new."

_IN A CHURCHYARD._