SAVING LOVE.
Would we but love what will not pass away!The sun that on each morning shines as clearAs when it rose first on the world's first year;The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray.The sun will shine, the leaves will be as gayWhen graves are full of all our hearts held dear,When not a soul of those who loved us here,Not one, is left us—creatures of decay.Yea, love the Abiding in the UniverseWhich was before, and will be after us.Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cryFor human love—the beings that change or die;Die—change—forget: to care so is a curse,Yet cursed we'll be rather than not care thus.
Would we but love what will not pass away!The sun that on each morning shines as clearAs when it rose first on the world's first year;The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray.The sun will shine, the leaves will be as gayWhen graves are full of all our hearts held dear,When not a soul of those who loved us here,Not one, is left us—creatures of decay.
Yea, love the Abiding in the UniverseWhich was before, and will be after us.Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cryFor human love—the beings that change or die;Die—change—forget: to care so is a curse,Yet cursed we'll be rather than not care thus.
NIRVANA.
Divest thyself, O Soul, of vain desire!Bid hope farewell, dismiss all coward fears;Take leave of empty laughter, emptier tears,And quench, for ever quench, the wasting fireWherein this heart, as in a funeral pyre,Aye burns, yet is consumed not. Years on yearsMoaning with memories in thy maddened ears—Let at thy word, like refluent waves, retire.Enter thy soul's vast realm as Sovereign Lord,And, like that angel with the flaming sword,Wave off life's clinging hands. Then chains will fallFrom the poor slave of self's hard tyranny—And Thou, a ripple rounded by the sea,In rapture lost be lapped within the All.
Divest thyself, O Soul, of vain desire!Bid hope farewell, dismiss all coward fears;Take leave of empty laughter, emptier tears,And quench, for ever quench, the wasting fireWherein this heart, as in a funeral pyre,Aye burns, yet is consumed not. Years on yearsMoaning with memories in thy maddened ears—Let at thy word, like refluent waves, retire.
Enter thy soul's vast realm as Sovereign Lord,And, like that angel with the flaming sword,Wave off life's clinging hands. Then chains will fallFrom the poor slave of self's hard tyranny—And Thou, a ripple rounded by the sea,In rapture lost be lapped within the All.
MOTHERHOOD.
From out the font of being, undefiled,A life hath been upheaved with struggle and pain;Safe in her arms a mother holds againThat dearest miracle—a new-born child.To moans of anguish terrible and wild—As shrieks the night-wind through an ill-shut pane—Pure heaven succeeds; and after fiery strainVictorious woman smiles serenely mild.Yea, shall she not rejoice, shall not her frameThrill with a mystic rapture! At this birth,The soul now kindled by her vital flameMay it not prove a gift of priceless worth?Some saviour of his kind whose starry fameShall bring a brightness to the darkened earth.
From out the font of being, undefiled,A life hath been upheaved with struggle and pain;Safe in her arms a mother holds againThat dearest miracle—a new-born child.To moans of anguish terrible and wild—As shrieks the night-wind through an ill-shut pane—Pure heaven succeeds; and after fiery strainVictorious woman smiles serenely mild.
Yea, shall she not rejoice, shall not her frameThrill with a mystic rapture! At this birth,The soul now kindled by her vital flameMay it not prove a gift of priceless worth?Some saviour of his kind whose starry fameShall bring a brightness to the darkened earth.
"Our spirits have climbed highBy reason of the passion of our grief,—And from the top of sense, looked over senseTo the significance and heart of thingsRather than things themselves."
"Our spirits have climbed highBy reason of the passion of our grief,—And from the top of sense, looked over senseTo the significance and heart of thingsRather than things themselves."
E. B. BROWNING.
THE LEADING OF SORROW.
Through a twilight land, a moaning region,Thick with sighs that shook the trembling air,Land of shadows whose dim crew was legion,Lost I hurried, hunted by despair.Quailed my heart like an expiring splendour,Fitful flicker of a faltering fire,Smitten chords which tempest-stricken renderRhythms of anguish from a breaking lyre.Love had left me in a land of shadows,Lonely on the ruins of delight,And I grieved with tearless grief of widows,Moaned as orphans homeless in the night.Love had left me knocking at Death's portal—Shone his star and vanished from my sky—And I cried: "Since Love, even Love, is mortal,Take, unmake, and break me; let me die."Then, the twilight's grisly veils dividing,Phantom-like there stole one o'er the plain,Wavering mists for ever round it glidingHid the face I strove to scan in vain.Spake the veiled one: "Solitary weeper,'Mid the myriad mourners thou'rt but one:Come, and thou shalt see the awful reaper,Evil, reaping all beneath the sun."On my hand the clay-cold hand did fastenAs it murmured—"Up and follow me;O'er the thickly peopled earth we'll hasten,Yet more thickly packed with misery."And I followed: ever in the shadowOf that looming form I fared along;Now o'er mountains, now through wood and meadow,Or through cities with their surging throng.With none other for a friend or fellowThose relentless footsteps were my guideTo the sea-caves echoing with the hollowImmemorial moaning of the tide.Laughed the sunlight on the living ocean,Danced and rocked itself upon the spray,And its shivered beams in twinkling motionGleamed like star-motes in the Milky Way.Lo, beneath those waters surging, flowing,I beheld the Deep's fantastic bowers;Shapes which seemed alive and yet were growingOn their stalks like animated flowers.Sentient flowers which seemed to glow and glimmerSoft as ocean blush of Indian shells,White as foam-drift in the moony shimmerOf those sea-lit, wave-pavilioned dells.Yet even here, as in the fire-eyed panther,In disguise the eternal hunger lay,For each feathery, velvet-tufted antherLay in ambush waiting for its prey.Tiniest jewelled fish that flashed like lightning,Blindly drawn, came darting through the wave,When, a stifling sack above them tightening,Closed the ocean-blossom's living grave.Now we fared through forest glooms primevalThrough whose leaves the light but rarely shone,Where the buttressed tree-trunks looked coevalWith the time-worn, ocean-fretted stone;Where, from stem to stem their tendrils looping,Coiled the lithe lianas fold on fold,Or, in cataracts of verdure drooping,From on high their billowy leafage rolled.Where beneath the dusky woodland cover,While the noon-hush holds all living things,Butterflies of tropic splendour hoverIn a maze of rainbow-coloured wings:Some like stars light up their own green heavenSome are spangled like a golden toy,Or like flowers from their foliage drivenIn the fiery ecstasy of joy.But, the forest slumber rudely breaking,Through the silence rings a piercing yell;At the cry unnumbered beasts, awaking,With their howls the loud confusion swell.'Tis the cry of some frail creature pantingIn the tiger's lacerating grip;In its flesh carnivorous teeth implanting,While the blood smokes round his wrinkled lip.'Tis the scream some bird in terror utters,With its wings weighed down by leaden fears,As from bough to downward bough it fluttersWhere the snake its glistening crest uprears:Eyes of sluggish greed through rank weeds stealing,Breath whose venomous fumes mount through the air,Till benumbed the helpless victim, reeling,Drops convulsed into the reptile snare.Now we fared o'er sweltering wastes whose steamingClouds of tawny sand the wanderer blind.Herds of horses with their long manes streamingSnorted thirstily against the wind;O'er the waste they scoured in shadowy numbers,Gasped for springs their raging thirst to cool,And, like sick men mocked in fevered slumbers,Stoop to drink—and find a phantom pool.What of antelopes crunched by the leopard?What if hounds run down the timid hare?What though sheep, strayed from the faithful shepherd,Perish helpless in the lion's lair?The all-seeing sun shines on unheeding,In the night shines the unruffled moon,Though on earth brute myriads, preying, bleeding,Put creation harshly out of tune.Cried I, turning to the shrouded figure—"Oh, in mercy veil this cruel strife!Sanguinary orgies which disfigureThe green ways of labyrinthine life.From the needs and greeds of primal passion,From the serpent's track and lion's den,To the world our human hands did fashion,Lead me to the kindly haunts of men."And through fields of corn we passed together,Orange golden in the brooding heat,Where brown reapers in the harvest weatherCut ripe swathes of downward rustling wheat.In the orchards dangling red and yellow,Clustered fruit weighed down the bending sprays;On a hundred hills the vines grew mellowIn the warmth of fostering autumn days.Through the air the shrilly twittering swallowsFlashed their nimble shadows on the leas;Red-flecked cows were glassed in golden shallows,Purple clover hummed with restless bees.Herdsmen drove the cattle from the mountain,To the fold the shepherd drove his flocks,Village girls drew water from the fountain,Village yokels piled the full-eared shocks.From the white town dozing in the valley,Round its vast Cathedral's solemn shade,Citizens strolled down the walnut alleyWhere youth courted and glad childhood played."Peace on earth," I murmured; "let us linger—Here the wage of life seems good at least:"As I spake the veiled One raised a fingerWhere the moon broke flowering in the east.Faintly muttering from deep mountain ranges,Muffled sounds rose hoarsely on the night,As the crash of foundering avalanchesWakes hoarse echoes in each Alpine height.Near and nearer sounds the roaring—thunder,Mortal thunder, crashes through the vale;Lightning flash of muskets breaks from underGroves once haunted by the nightingale.Men clutch madly at each weapon—women,Children crouch in cellars, under roofs,For the town is circled by their foemen—Shakes the ground with clang of trampling hoofs.Shot on shot the volleys hiss and rattle,Shrilly whistling fly the murderous balls,Fiercely roars the tumult of the battleRound the hard-contested, dear-bought walls.Horror, horror! The fair town is burning,Flames burst forth, wild sparks and ashes fly;With her children's blood the green earth's turningBlood-red—blood-red, too, the cloud-winged sky.Crackling flare the streets: from the lone steepleThe great clock booms forth its ancient chime,And its dolorous quarters warn the peopleOf the conquering troops that march with time.Fallen lies the fair old town, its housesCharred and ruined gape in smoking heaps;Here with shouts a ruffian band carouses,There an outraged woman vainly weeps.In the fields where the ripe corn lies mangled,Where the wounded groan beneath the dead,Friend and foe, now helplessly entangled,Stain red poppies with a guiltier red.There the dog howls o'er his perished master,There the crow comes circling from afar;All vile things that batten on disasterFollow feasting in the wake of war.Famine follows—what they ploughed and plantedThe unhappy peasants shall not reap;Sickening of strange meats and fever haunted,To their graves they prematurely creep."Hence"—I cried in unavailing pity—"Let us flee these scenes of monstrous strife,Seek the pale of some imperial cityWhere the law rules starlike o'er man's life."Straightway floating o'er blue sea and river,We were plunged into a roaring cloud,Wherethrough lamps in ague fits did shiverO'er the surging multitudinous crowd.Piles of stone, their cliff-like walls uprearing,Flashed in luminous lines along the night;Jets of flame, spasmodically flaring,Splashed black pavements with a sickly light;Fabulous gems shone here, and glowing coral,Shimmering stuffs from many an Eastern loom,And vast piles of tropic fruits and floralMarvels seemed to mock November's gloom.But what prowls near princely mart and dwelling,Whence through many a thundering thoroughfareRich folk roll on cushions softly swellingTo the week-day feast and Sunday prayer?Yea, who prowl there, hunger-nipped and pallid,Breathing nightmares limned upon the gloom?'Tis but human rubbish, gaunt and squalid,Whom their country spurns for lack of room.In their devious track we mutely follow,Mutely climb dim flights of oozy stairs,Where through gap-toothed, mizzling roof the yellowPestilent fog blends with the fetid air.Through the unhinged door's discordant slammingRing the gruesome sounds of savage strife—Howls of babes, the drunken father's damning,Counter-cursing of the shrill-tongued wife.Children feebly crying on their motherIn a wailful chorus—"Give us food!"Man and woman glaring at each otherLike two gaunt wolves with a famished brood.Till he snatched a stick, and, madly staring,Struck her blow on blow upon the head;And she, reeling back, gasped, hardly caring—"Ah, you've done it now, Jim"—and was dead.Dead—dead—dead—the miserable creature—Never to feel hunger's cruel fangWring the bowels of rebellious natureThat her infants might be spared the pang."Dead! Good luck to her!" The man's teeth chattered,Stone-still stared he with blank eyes and hard,Then, his frame with one big sob nigh shattered,Fled—and cut his throat down in the yard.Dark the night—the children wail forsaken,Crane their wrinkled necks and cry for food,Drop off into fitful sleep, or wakenTrembling like a sparrow's ravished brood.Dark the night—the rain falls on the ashes,Feebly hissing on the feeble heat,Filters through the ceiling, drops in splashesOn the little children's naked feet.Dark the night—the children wail forsaken—Is there none, ah, none, to heed their moan?Yea, at dawn one little one is taken,Four poor souls are left, but one is gone.Gone—escaped—flown from the shame and sorrowWaiting for them at life's sombre gate,But the hand of merciless to-morrowDrags the others shuddering to their fate.But one came—a girlish thing—a creatureFlung by wanton hands 'mid lust and crime—A poor outcast, yet by right of natureSweet as odour of the upland thyme.Scapegoat of a people's sins, and hunted,Howled at, hooted to the wilderness,To that wilderness of deaf hearts, bluntedTo the depths of woman's dumb distress.Jetsam, flotsam of the monster city,Spurned, defiled, reviled, that outcast cameTo those babes that whined for love and pity,Gave them bread bought with the wage of shame.Gave them bread, and gave them warm, maternalKisses not on sale for any price:Yea, a spark, a flash of some eternalSympathy shone through those haunted eyes.Ah, perchance through her dark life's confusion,Through the haste and taste of fevered hours,Gusts of memory on her youth's pollutionBlew forgotten scents of faded flowers.And she saw the cottage near the wild wood,With its lichened roof and latticed panes,Strayed once more through golden fields of childhood,Hyacinth dells and hawthorn-scented lanes.Heard once more the song of nesting thrushesAnd the blackbird's long mellifluous note,Felt once more the glow of maiden blushesBurn through rosy cheek and milkwhite throatIn that orchard where the apple blossomLightly shaken fluttered on her hair,As the heart was fluttering in her bosomWhen her sweetheart came and kissed her there.Often came he in the lilac-ladenMoonlit twilight, often pledged his word;But she was a simple country-maiden,He the offspring of a noble lord.Fading lilacs May's farewell betoken,Fledglings fly and soon forget the nest;Lightly may a young man's vows be broken,And the heart break in a woman's breast.Gathered like a sprig of summer rosesIn the dewy morn and flung away,To the girl the father's door now closes,Let her shelter henceforth how she may.Who will house the miserable motherWith her child, a helpless castaway!"I, am I the keeper of my brother?"Asks smug virtue as it turns to pray!Lovely are the earliest Lenten lilies,Primrose pleiads, hyacinthine sheets;Stripped and rifled from their pastoral valleys,See them sold now in the public streets!Other flowers are sold there besides posies—Eyes may have the hyacinth's glowing blue,Rounded cheeks the velvet bloom of roses,Taper necks the rain-washed lily's hue.But a rustic blossom! Love and dutyBound up in a child whom hunger slays!Ah! but one thing still is left her—beautyFresh, untarnished yet—and beauty pays.Beauty keeps her child alive a little,Then it dies—her woman's love with it—Beauty's brilliant sceptre, ah, how brittle,Drags her daily deeper down the pit.Ruin closes o'er her—hideous, nameless;Each fresh morning marks a deeper fall;Till at twenty—callous, cankered, shameless,She lies dying at the hospital.Drink, more drink, she calls for—her harsh laughterGrates upon the meekly praying nurse,Eloquent about her soul's hereafter:"Souls be blowed!" she sings out with a curse.And so dies, an unrepenting sinner—Pitched into her pauper's grave what timeThat most noble lord rides by to dinnerWho had wooed her in her innocent prime.And in after-dinner talk he preachesResignation—o'er his burgundy—Till a grateful public dubs his speechesOracles of true philanthropy.Peace ye call this? Call this justice, metedEqually to rich and poor alike?Better than this peace the battle's heatedCannon-balls that ask not whom they strike!Better than this masquerade of cultureHiding strange hyæna appetites,The frank ravening of the raw-necked vultureAs its beak the senseless carrion smites.What of men in bondage, toiling bluntedIn the roaring factory's lurid gloom?What of cradled infants starved and stunted?What of woman's nameless martyrdom?The all-seeing sun shines on unheeding,Shines by night the calm, unruffled moon,Though the human myriads, preying, bleeding,Put creation harshly out of tune."Hence, ah, hence"—I sobbed in quivering passion—"From these fearful haunts of fiendish men!Better far the plain, carnivorous fashionWhich is practised in the lion's den."And I fled—yet staggering still did followIn the footprints of my shrouded guide—To the sea-caves echoing with the hollowImmemorial moaning of the tide.Sinking, swelling roared the wintry ocean,Pitch-black chasms struck with flying blaze,As the cloud-winged storm-sky's sheer commotionShowed the blank Moon's mute Medusa faceWhite o'er wastes of water—surges crashingOver surges in the formless gloom,And a mastless hulk, with great seas washingHer scourged flanks, pitched toppling to her doom.Through the crash of wave on wave gigantic,Through the thunder of the hurricane,My wild heart in breaking shrilled with franticExultation—"Chaos come again!Yea, let earth be split and cloven asunderWith man's still accumulating curse—Life is but a momentary blunderIn the cycle of the Universe."Yea, let earth with forest-belted mountains,Hills and valleys, cataracts and plains,With her clouds and storms and fires and fountains,Pass with all her rolling sphere contains,Melt, dissolve again into the ocean,Ocean fade into a nebulous haze!"And I sank back without sense or motion'Neath the blank Moon's mute Medusa face.Moments, years, or ages passed, when, liftingFreezing lids, I felt the heavens on high,And, innumerable as the sea-sands drifting,Stars unnumbered drifted through the sky.Rhythmical in luminous rotation,In dædalian maze they reel and fly,And their rushing light is Time's pulsationIn his passage through Eternity.Constellated suns, fresh lit, declining,Were ignited now, now quenched in space,Rolling round each other, or incliningOrb to orb in multi-coloured rays.Ever showering from their flaming fountainsLight more light on each far-circling earth,Till life stirred crepuscular seas, and mountainsHeaved convulsive with the throes of birth.And the noble brotherhood of planets,Knitted each to each by links of light,Circled round their suns, nor knew a minute'sLapse or languor in their ceaseless flight.And pale moons and rings and burning splintersOf wrecked worlds swept round their parent spheres,Clothed with spring or sunk in polar wintersAs their sun draws nigh or disappears.Still new vistas of new stars—far dwindling—Through the firmament like dewdrops roll,Torches of the Cosmos which enkindlingFlash their revelation on the soul.Yea, One spake there—though nor form nor featureShown—a Voice came from the peaks of time:—"Wilt thou judge me, wilt thou curse me, CreatureWhom I raised up from the Ocean slime?"Long I waited—ages rolled o'er ages—As I crystallized in granite rocks,Struggling dumb through immemorial stages,Glacial æons, fiery earthquake shocks.In fierce throbs of flame or slow upheaval,Speck by tiny speck, I topped the seas,Leaped from earth's dark womb, and in primevalForests shot up shafts of mammoth trees."Through a myriad forms I yearned and panted,Putting forth quick shoots in endless swarms—Giant-hoofed, sharp-tusked, or finned or plantedWrithing on the reef with pinioned arms.I have climbed from reek of sanguine revelsIn Cimmerian wood and thorny wild,Slowly upwards to the dawnlit levelsWhere I bore thee, oh my youngest Child!"Oh, my heir and hope of my to-morrow,I—I draw thee on through fume and fret,Croon to thee in pain and call through sorrow,Flowers and stars take for thy alphabet.Through the eyes of animals appealing,Feel my fettered spirit yearn to thine,Who, in storm of will and clash of feeling,Shape the life that shall be—the divine."Oh, redeem me from my tiger rages,Reptile greed, and foul hyæna lust;With the hero's deeds, the thoughts of sages,Sow and fructify this passive dust;Drop in dew and healing love of womanOn the bloodstained hands of hungry strife,Till there break from passion of the HumanMorning-glory of transfigured life."I have cast my burden on thy shoulder;Unimagined potencies have givenThat from formless Chaos thou shalt mould herAnd translate gross earth to luminous heaven.Bear, oh, bear the terrible compulsion,Flinch not from the path thy fathers trod,From Man's martyrdom in slow convulsionWill be born the infinite goodness—God."Ceased the Voice: and as it ceased it driftedLike the seashell's inarticulate moan;From the Deep, on wings of flame uplifted,Rose the sun rejoicing and alone.Laughed in light upon the living ocean,Danced and rocked itself upon the spray,And its shivered beams in twinkling motionGleamed like star-motes of the Milky Way.And beside me in the golden morningI beheld my shrouded phantom-guide;But no longer sorrow-veiled and mourning—It became transfigured by my side.And I knew—as one escaped from prisonSees old things again with fresh surprise—It was Love himself, Love re-arisenWith the Eternal shining through his eyes.
Through a twilight land, a moaning region,Thick with sighs that shook the trembling air,Land of shadows whose dim crew was legion,Lost I hurried, hunted by despair.Quailed my heart like an expiring splendour,Fitful flicker of a faltering fire,Smitten chords which tempest-stricken renderRhythms of anguish from a breaking lyre.
Love had left me in a land of shadows,Lonely on the ruins of delight,And I grieved with tearless grief of widows,Moaned as orphans homeless in the night.Love had left me knocking at Death's portal—Shone his star and vanished from my sky—And I cried: "Since Love, even Love, is mortal,Take, unmake, and break me; let me die."
Then, the twilight's grisly veils dividing,Phantom-like there stole one o'er the plain,Wavering mists for ever round it glidingHid the face I strove to scan in vain.Spake the veiled one: "Solitary weeper,'Mid the myriad mourners thou'rt but one:Come, and thou shalt see the awful reaper,Evil, reaping all beneath the sun."
On my hand the clay-cold hand did fastenAs it murmured—"Up and follow me;O'er the thickly peopled earth we'll hasten,Yet more thickly packed with misery."And I followed: ever in the shadowOf that looming form I fared along;Now o'er mountains, now through wood and meadow,Or through cities with their surging throng.
With none other for a friend or fellowThose relentless footsteps were my guideTo the sea-caves echoing with the hollowImmemorial moaning of the tide.Laughed the sunlight on the living ocean,Danced and rocked itself upon the spray,And its shivered beams in twinkling motionGleamed like star-motes in the Milky Way.
Lo, beneath those waters surging, flowing,I beheld the Deep's fantastic bowers;Shapes which seemed alive and yet were growingOn their stalks like animated flowers.Sentient flowers which seemed to glow and glimmerSoft as ocean blush of Indian shells,White as foam-drift in the moony shimmerOf those sea-lit, wave-pavilioned dells.
Yet even here, as in the fire-eyed panther,In disguise the eternal hunger lay,For each feathery, velvet-tufted antherLay in ambush waiting for its prey.Tiniest jewelled fish that flashed like lightning,Blindly drawn, came darting through the wave,When, a stifling sack above them tightening,Closed the ocean-blossom's living grave.
Now we fared through forest glooms primevalThrough whose leaves the light but rarely shone,Where the buttressed tree-trunks looked coevalWith the time-worn, ocean-fretted stone;Where, from stem to stem their tendrils looping,Coiled the lithe lianas fold on fold,Or, in cataracts of verdure drooping,From on high their billowy leafage rolled.
Where beneath the dusky woodland cover,While the noon-hush holds all living things,Butterflies of tropic splendour hoverIn a maze of rainbow-coloured wings:Some like stars light up their own green heavenSome are spangled like a golden toy,Or like flowers from their foliage drivenIn the fiery ecstasy of joy.
But, the forest slumber rudely breaking,Through the silence rings a piercing yell;At the cry unnumbered beasts, awaking,With their howls the loud confusion swell.'Tis the cry of some frail creature pantingIn the tiger's lacerating grip;In its flesh carnivorous teeth implanting,While the blood smokes round his wrinkled lip.
'Tis the scream some bird in terror utters,With its wings weighed down by leaden fears,As from bough to downward bough it fluttersWhere the snake its glistening crest uprears:Eyes of sluggish greed through rank weeds stealing,Breath whose venomous fumes mount through the air,Till benumbed the helpless victim, reeling,Drops convulsed into the reptile snare.
Now we fared o'er sweltering wastes whose steamingClouds of tawny sand the wanderer blind.Herds of horses with their long manes streamingSnorted thirstily against the wind;O'er the waste they scoured in shadowy numbers,Gasped for springs their raging thirst to cool,And, like sick men mocked in fevered slumbers,Stoop to drink—and find a phantom pool.
What of antelopes crunched by the leopard?What if hounds run down the timid hare?What though sheep, strayed from the faithful shepherd,Perish helpless in the lion's lair?The all-seeing sun shines on unheeding,In the night shines the unruffled moon,Though on earth brute myriads, preying, bleeding,Put creation harshly out of tune.
Cried I, turning to the shrouded figure—"Oh, in mercy veil this cruel strife!Sanguinary orgies which disfigureThe green ways of labyrinthine life.From the needs and greeds of primal passion,From the serpent's track and lion's den,To the world our human hands did fashion,Lead me to the kindly haunts of men."
And through fields of corn we passed together,Orange golden in the brooding heat,Where brown reapers in the harvest weatherCut ripe swathes of downward rustling wheat.In the orchards dangling red and yellow,Clustered fruit weighed down the bending sprays;On a hundred hills the vines grew mellowIn the warmth of fostering autumn days.
Through the air the shrilly twittering swallowsFlashed their nimble shadows on the leas;Red-flecked cows were glassed in golden shallows,Purple clover hummed with restless bees.Herdsmen drove the cattle from the mountain,To the fold the shepherd drove his flocks,Village girls drew water from the fountain,Village yokels piled the full-eared shocks.
From the white town dozing in the valley,Round its vast Cathedral's solemn shade,Citizens strolled down the walnut alleyWhere youth courted and glad childhood played."Peace on earth," I murmured; "let us linger—Here the wage of life seems good at least:"As I spake the veiled One raised a fingerWhere the moon broke flowering in the east.
Faintly muttering from deep mountain ranges,Muffled sounds rose hoarsely on the night,As the crash of foundering avalanchesWakes hoarse echoes in each Alpine height.Near and nearer sounds the roaring—thunder,Mortal thunder, crashes through the vale;Lightning flash of muskets breaks from underGroves once haunted by the nightingale.
Men clutch madly at each weapon—women,Children crouch in cellars, under roofs,For the town is circled by their foemen—Shakes the ground with clang of trampling hoofs.Shot on shot the volleys hiss and rattle,Shrilly whistling fly the murderous balls,Fiercely roars the tumult of the battleRound the hard-contested, dear-bought walls.
Horror, horror! The fair town is burning,Flames burst forth, wild sparks and ashes fly;With her children's blood the green earth's turningBlood-red—blood-red, too, the cloud-winged sky.Crackling flare the streets: from the lone steepleThe great clock booms forth its ancient chime,And its dolorous quarters warn the peopleOf the conquering troops that march with time.
Fallen lies the fair old town, its housesCharred and ruined gape in smoking heaps;Here with shouts a ruffian band carouses,There an outraged woman vainly weeps.In the fields where the ripe corn lies mangled,Where the wounded groan beneath the dead,Friend and foe, now helplessly entangled,Stain red poppies with a guiltier red.
There the dog howls o'er his perished master,There the crow comes circling from afar;All vile things that batten on disasterFollow feasting in the wake of war.Famine follows—what they ploughed and plantedThe unhappy peasants shall not reap;Sickening of strange meats and fever haunted,To their graves they prematurely creep.
"Hence"—I cried in unavailing pity—"Let us flee these scenes of monstrous strife,Seek the pale of some imperial cityWhere the law rules starlike o'er man's life."Straightway floating o'er blue sea and river,We were plunged into a roaring cloud,Wherethrough lamps in ague fits did shiverO'er the surging multitudinous crowd.
Piles of stone, their cliff-like walls uprearing,Flashed in luminous lines along the night;Jets of flame, spasmodically flaring,Splashed black pavements with a sickly light;Fabulous gems shone here, and glowing coral,Shimmering stuffs from many an Eastern loom,And vast piles of tropic fruits and floralMarvels seemed to mock November's gloom.
But what prowls near princely mart and dwelling,Whence through many a thundering thoroughfareRich folk roll on cushions softly swellingTo the week-day feast and Sunday prayer?Yea, who prowl there, hunger-nipped and pallid,Breathing nightmares limned upon the gloom?'Tis but human rubbish, gaunt and squalid,Whom their country spurns for lack of room.
In their devious track we mutely follow,Mutely climb dim flights of oozy stairs,Where through gap-toothed, mizzling roof the yellowPestilent fog blends with the fetid air.Through the unhinged door's discordant slammingRing the gruesome sounds of savage strife—Howls of babes, the drunken father's damning,Counter-cursing of the shrill-tongued wife.
Children feebly crying on their motherIn a wailful chorus—"Give us food!"Man and woman glaring at each otherLike two gaunt wolves with a famished brood.Till he snatched a stick, and, madly staring,Struck her blow on blow upon the head;And she, reeling back, gasped, hardly caring—"Ah, you've done it now, Jim"—and was dead.
Dead—dead—dead—the miserable creature—Never to feel hunger's cruel fangWring the bowels of rebellious natureThat her infants might be spared the pang."Dead! Good luck to her!" The man's teeth chattered,Stone-still stared he with blank eyes and hard,Then, his frame with one big sob nigh shattered,Fled—and cut his throat down in the yard.
Dark the night—the children wail forsaken,Crane their wrinkled necks and cry for food,Drop off into fitful sleep, or wakenTrembling like a sparrow's ravished brood.Dark the night—the rain falls on the ashes,Feebly hissing on the feeble heat,Filters through the ceiling, drops in splashesOn the little children's naked feet.
Dark the night—the children wail forsaken—Is there none, ah, none, to heed their moan?Yea, at dawn one little one is taken,Four poor souls are left, but one is gone.Gone—escaped—flown from the shame and sorrowWaiting for them at life's sombre gate,But the hand of merciless to-morrowDrags the others shuddering to their fate.
But one came—a girlish thing—a creatureFlung by wanton hands 'mid lust and crime—A poor outcast, yet by right of natureSweet as odour of the upland thyme.Scapegoat of a people's sins, and hunted,Howled at, hooted to the wilderness,To that wilderness of deaf hearts, bluntedTo the depths of woman's dumb distress.
Jetsam, flotsam of the monster city,Spurned, defiled, reviled, that outcast cameTo those babes that whined for love and pity,Gave them bread bought with the wage of shame.Gave them bread, and gave them warm, maternalKisses not on sale for any price:Yea, a spark, a flash of some eternalSympathy shone through those haunted eyes.
Ah, perchance through her dark life's confusion,Through the haste and taste of fevered hours,Gusts of memory on her youth's pollutionBlew forgotten scents of faded flowers.And she saw the cottage near the wild wood,With its lichened roof and latticed panes,Strayed once more through golden fields of childhood,Hyacinth dells and hawthorn-scented lanes.
Heard once more the song of nesting thrushesAnd the blackbird's long mellifluous note,Felt once more the glow of maiden blushesBurn through rosy cheek and milkwhite throatIn that orchard where the apple blossomLightly shaken fluttered on her hair,As the heart was fluttering in her bosomWhen her sweetheart came and kissed her there.
Often came he in the lilac-ladenMoonlit twilight, often pledged his word;But she was a simple country-maiden,He the offspring of a noble lord.Fading lilacs May's farewell betoken,Fledglings fly and soon forget the nest;Lightly may a young man's vows be broken,And the heart break in a woman's breast.
Gathered like a sprig of summer rosesIn the dewy morn and flung away,To the girl the father's door now closes,Let her shelter henceforth how she may.Who will house the miserable motherWith her child, a helpless castaway!"I, am I the keeper of my brother?"Asks smug virtue as it turns to pray!
Lovely are the earliest Lenten lilies,Primrose pleiads, hyacinthine sheets;Stripped and rifled from their pastoral valleys,See them sold now in the public streets!Other flowers are sold there besides posies—Eyes may have the hyacinth's glowing blue,Rounded cheeks the velvet bloom of roses,Taper necks the rain-washed lily's hue.
But a rustic blossom! Love and dutyBound up in a child whom hunger slays!Ah! but one thing still is left her—beautyFresh, untarnished yet—and beauty pays.Beauty keeps her child alive a little,Then it dies—her woman's love with it—Beauty's brilliant sceptre, ah, how brittle,Drags her daily deeper down the pit.
Ruin closes o'er her—hideous, nameless;Each fresh morning marks a deeper fall;Till at twenty—callous, cankered, shameless,She lies dying at the hospital.Drink, more drink, she calls for—her harsh laughterGrates upon the meekly praying nurse,Eloquent about her soul's hereafter:"Souls be blowed!" she sings out with a curse.
And so dies, an unrepenting sinner—Pitched into her pauper's grave what timeThat most noble lord rides by to dinnerWho had wooed her in her innocent prime.And in after-dinner talk he preachesResignation—o'er his burgundy—Till a grateful public dubs his speechesOracles of true philanthropy.
Peace ye call this? Call this justice, metedEqually to rich and poor alike?Better than this peace the battle's heatedCannon-balls that ask not whom they strike!Better than this masquerade of cultureHiding strange hyæna appetites,The frank ravening of the raw-necked vultureAs its beak the senseless carrion smites.
What of men in bondage, toiling bluntedIn the roaring factory's lurid gloom?What of cradled infants starved and stunted?What of woman's nameless martyrdom?The all-seeing sun shines on unheeding,Shines by night the calm, unruffled moon,Though the human myriads, preying, bleeding,Put creation harshly out of tune.
"Hence, ah, hence"—I sobbed in quivering passion—"From these fearful haunts of fiendish men!Better far the plain, carnivorous fashionWhich is practised in the lion's den."And I fled—yet staggering still did followIn the footprints of my shrouded guide—To the sea-caves echoing with the hollowImmemorial moaning of the tide.
Sinking, swelling roared the wintry ocean,Pitch-black chasms struck with flying blaze,As the cloud-winged storm-sky's sheer commotionShowed the blank Moon's mute Medusa faceWhite o'er wastes of water—surges crashingOver surges in the formless gloom,And a mastless hulk, with great seas washingHer scourged flanks, pitched toppling to her doom.
Through the crash of wave on wave gigantic,Through the thunder of the hurricane,My wild heart in breaking shrilled with franticExultation—"Chaos come again!Yea, let earth be split and cloven asunderWith man's still accumulating curse—Life is but a momentary blunderIn the cycle of the Universe.
"Yea, let earth with forest-belted mountains,Hills and valleys, cataracts and plains,With her clouds and storms and fires and fountains,Pass with all her rolling sphere contains,Melt, dissolve again into the ocean,Ocean fade into a nebulous haze!"And I sank back without sense or motion'Neath the blank Moon's mute Medusa face.
Moments, years, or ages passed, when, liftingFreezing lids, I felt the heavens on high,And, innumerable as the sea-sands drifting,Stars unnumbered drifted through the sky.Rhythmical in luminous rotation,In dædalian maze they reel and fly,And their rushing light is Time's pulsationIn his passage through Eternity.
Constellated suns, fresh lit, declining,Were ignited now, now quenched in space,Rolling round each other, or incliningOrb to orb in multi-coloured rays.Ever showering from their flaming fountainsLight more light on each far-circling earth,Till life stirred crepuscular seas, and mountainsHeaved convulsive with the throes of birth.
And the noble brotherhood of planets,Knitted each to each by links of light,Circled round their suns, nor knew a minute'sLapse or languor in their ceaseless flight.And pale moons and rings and burning splintersOf wrecked worlds swept round their parent spheres,Clothed with spring or sunk in polar wintersAs their sun draws nigh or disappears.
Still new vistas of new stars—far dwindling—Through the firmament like dewdrops roll,Torches of the Cosmos which enkindlingFlash their revelation on the soul.Yea, One spake there—though nor form nor featureShown—a Voice came from the peaks of time:—"Wilt thou judge me, wilt thou curse me, CreatureWhom I raised up from the Ocean slime?
"Long I waited—ages rolled o'er ages—As I crystallized in granite rocks,Struggling dumb through immemorial stages,Glacial æons, fiery earthquake shocks.In fierce throbs of flame or slow upheaval,Speck by tiny speck, I topped the seas,Leaped from earth's dark womb, and in primevalForests shot up shafts of mammoth trees.
"Through a myriad forms I yearned and panted,Putting forth quick shoots in endless swarms—Giant-hoofed, sharp-tusked, or finned or plantedWrithing on the reef with pinioned arms.I have climbed from reek of sanguine revelsIn Cimmerian wood and thorny wild,Slowly upwards to the dawnlit levelsWhere I bore thee, oh my youngest Child!
"Oh, my heir and hope of my to-morrow,I—I draw thee on through fume and fret,Croon to thee in pain and call through sorrow,Flowers and stars take for thy alphabet.Through the eyes of animals appealing,Feel my fettered spirit yearn to thine,Who, in storm of will and clash of feeling,Shape the life that shall be—the divine.
"Oh, redeem me from my tiger rages,Reptile greed, and foul hyæna lust;With the hero's deeds, the thoughts of sages,Sow and fructify this passive dust;Drop in dew and healing love of womanOn the bloodstained hands of hungry strife,Till there break from passion of the HumanMorning-glory of transfigured life.
"I have cast my burden on thy shoulder;Unimagined potencies have givenThat from formless Chaos thou shalt mould herAnd translate gross earth to luminous heaven.Bear, oh, bear the terrible compulsion,Flinch not from the path thy fathers trod,From Man's martyrdom in slow convulsionWill be born the infinite goodness—God."
Ceased the Voice: and as it ceased it driftedLike the seashell's inarticulate moan;From the Deep, on wings of flame uplifted,Rose the sun rejoicing and alone.Laughed in light upon the living ocean,Danced and rocked itself upon the spray,And its shivered beams in twinkling motionGleamed like star-motes of the Milky Way.
And beside me in the golden morningI beheld my shrouded phantom-guide;But no longer sorrow-veiled and mourning—It became transfigured by my side.And I knew—as one escaped from prisonSees old things again with fresh surprise—It was Love himself, Love re-arisenWith the Eternal shining through his eyes.
"Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,Whether the summer clothe the general earthWith greenness, or the redbreast sit and singBetwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch."
"Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,Whether the summer clothe the general earthWith greenness, or the redbreast sit and singBetwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch."
S. T. Coleridge.
THE SOWER.
The winds had hushed at last as by command;The quiet sky above,With its grey clouds spread o'er the fallow land,Sat brooding like a doveThere was no motion in the air, no soundWithin the tree-tops stirred,Save when some last leaf, fluttering to the ground,Dropped like a wounded bird:Or when the swart rooks in a gathering crowdWith clamorous noises wheeled,Hovering awhile, then swooped with wranglings loudDown on the stubbly field.For now the big-thewed horses, toiling slowIn straining couples yoked,Patiently dragged the ploughshare to and froTill their wet haunches smoked.Till the stiff acre, broken into clods,Bruised by the harrow's tooth,Lay lightly shaken, with its humid sodsRanged into furrows smooth.There looming lone, from rise to set of sun,Without or pause or speed,Solemnly striding by the furrows dun,The sower sows the seed.The sower sows the seed, which mouldering,Deep coffined in the earth,Is buried now, but with the future springWill quicken into birth.Oh, poles of birth and death! Controlling PowersOf human toil and need!On this fair earth all men are surely sowers,Surely all life is seed!All life is seed, dropped in Time's yawning furrow,Which with slow sprout and shoot,In the revolving world's unfathomed morrow,Will blossom and bear fruit.
The winds had hushed at last as by command;The quiet sky above,With its grey clouds spread o'er the fallow land,Sat brooding like a dove
There was no motion in the air, no soundWithin the tree-tops stirred,Save when some last leaf, fluttering to the ground,Dropped like a wounded bird:
Or when the swart rooks in a gathering crowdWith clamorous noises wheeled,Hovering awhile, then swooped with wranglings loudDown on the stubbly field.
For now the big-thewed horses, toiling slowIn straining couples yoked,Patiently dragged the ploughshare to and froTill their wet haunches smoked.
Till the stiff acre, broken into clods,Bruised by the harrow's tooth,Lay lightly shaken, with its humid sodsRanged into furrows smooth.
There looming lone, from rise to set of sun,Without or pause or speed,Solemnly striding by the furrows dun,The sower sows the seed.
The sower sows the seed, which mouldering,Deep coffined in the earth,Is buried now, but with the future springWill quicken into birth.
Oh, poles of birth and death! Controlling PowersOf human toil and need!On this fair earth all men are surely sowers,Surely all life is seed!
All life is seed, dropped in Time's yawning furrow,Which with slow sprout and shoot,In the revolving world's unfathomed morrow,Will blossom and bear fruit.
A SPRING SONG.
Dark sod pierced by flames of flowers,Dead wood freshly quickening,Bright skies dusked with sudden showers,Lit by rainbows on the wing.Cuckoo calls and young lambs' bleatingNimble airs which coyly bringLittle gusts of tender greetingFrom shy nooks where violets cling.Half-fledged buds and birds and vernalFields of grass dew-glistening;Evanescent life's eternalResurrection, bridal Spring!
Dark sod pierced by flames of flowers,Dead wood freshly quickening,Bright skies dusked with sudden showers,Lit by rainbows on the wing.
Cuckoo calls and young lambs' bleatingNimble airs which coyly bringLittle gusts of tender greetingFrom shy nooks where violets cling.
Half-fledged buds and birds and vernalFields of grass dew-glistening;Evanescent life's eternalResurrection, bridal Spring!
APRIL RAIN.
The April rain, the April rain,Comes slanting down in fitful showers,Then from the furrow shoots the grain,And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;And in grey shaw and woodland bowersThe cuckoo through the April rainCalls once again.The April sun, the April sun,Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,And in grey shaw and woodland dunThe little leaves spring forth and tenderTheir infant hands, yet weak and slender,For warmth towards the April sun,One after one.And between shower and shine hath birthThe rainbow's evanescent glory;Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!Frail symbol of our human story,It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,Like Life on earth.
The April rain, the April rain,Comes slanting down in fitful showers,Then from the furrow shoots the grain,And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;And in grey shaw and woodland bowersThe cuckoo through the April rainCalls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,And in grey shaw and woodland dunThe little leaves spring forth and tenderTheir infant hands, yet weak and slender,For warmth towards the April sun,One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birthThe rainbow's evanescent glory;Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!Frail symbol of our human story,It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,Like Life on earth.
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.
There was intoxication in the air;The wind, keen blowing from across the seas,O'er leagues of new-ploughed land and heathery leas,Smelt of wild gorse whose gold flamed everywhere.An undertone of song pulsed far and near,The soaring larks filled heaven with ecstasies,And, like a living clock among the trees,The shouting cuckoo struck the time of year.For now the Sun had found the earth once more,And woke the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss;Who thrilled with light of love in every pore,Opened her flower-blue eyes, and looked in his.Then all things felt life fluttering at their core—The world shook mystical in lambent bliss.
There was intoxication in the air;The wind, keen blowing from across the seas,O'er leagues of new-ploughed land and heathery leas,Smelt of wild gorse whose gold flamed everywhere.An undertone of song pulsed far and near,The soaring larks filled heaven with ecstasies,And, like a living clock among the trees,The shouting cuckoo struck the time of year.
For now the Sun had found the earth once more,And woke the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss;Who thrilled with light of love in every pore,Opened her flower-blue eyes, and looked in his.Then all things felt life fluttering at their core—The world shook mystical in lambent bliss.
APPLE-BLOSSOM.
Blossom of the apple trees!Mossy trunks all gnarled and hoary,Grey boughs tipped with rose-veined glory,Clustered petals soft as fleeceGarlanding old apple trees!How you gleam at break of day!When the coy sun, glancing rarely,Pouts and sparkles in the pearlyPendulous dewdrops, twinkling gayOn each dancing leaf and spray.Through your latticed boughs on high,Framed in rosy wreaths, one catchesBrief kaleidoscopic snatchesOf deep lapis-lazuliIn the April-coloured sky.When the sundown's dying brandLeaves your beauty to the tenderMagic spells of moonlight splendour,Glimmering clouds of bloom you stand,Turning earth to fairyland.Cease, wild winds, O, cease to blow!Apple-blossom, fluttering, flying,Palely on the green turf lying,Vanishing like winter snow;Swift as joy to come and go.
Blossom of the apple trees!Mossy trunks all gnarled and hoary,Grey boughs tipped with rose-veined glory,Clustered petals soft as fleeceGarlanding old apple trees!
How you gleam at break of day!When the coy sun, glancing rarely,Pouts and sparkles in the pearlyPendulous dewdrops, twinkling gayOn each dancing leaf and spray.
Through your latticed boughs on high,Framed in rosy wreaths, one catchesBrief kaleidoscopic snatchesOf deep lapis-lazuliIn the April-coloured sky.
When the sundown's dying brandLeaves your beauty to the tenderMagic spells of moonlight splendour,Glimmering clouds of bloom you stand,Turning earth to fairyland.
Cease, wild winds, O, cease to blow!Apple-blossom, fluttering, flying,Palely on the green turf lying,Vanishing like winter snow;Swift as joy to come and go.