AFTER SCENETHE OVERWORLD[Enter the Spirit and Chorus of the Years, the Spirit and Chorusof the Pities, the Shade of the Earth, the Spirits Sinister andIronic with their Choruses, Rumours, Spirit-messengers andRecording Angels.Europe has now sunk netherward to its far-off position as in theFore Scene, and it is beheld again as a prone and emaciated figureof which the Alps form the vertebrae, and the branching mountain-chains the ribs, the Spanish Peninsula shaping the head of theecorche. The lowlands look like a grey-green garment half-thrownoff, and the sea around like a disturbed bed on which the figurelies.]SPIRIT OF THE YEARSThus doth the Great Foresightless mechanizeIn blank entrancement now as evermoreIts ceaseless artistries in CircumstanceOf curious stuff and braid, as just forthshown.Yet but one flimsy riband of Its webHave we here watched in weaving—web Enorm,Whose furthest hem and selvage may extendTo where the roars and plashings of the flamesOf earth-invisible suns swell noisily,And onwards into ghastly gulfs of sky,Where hideous presences churn through the dark—Monsters of magnitude without a shape,Hanging amid deep wells of nothingness.Yet seems this vast and singular confectionWherein our scenery glints of scantest size,Inutile all—so far as reasonings tell.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThou arguest still the Inadvertent Mind.—But, even so, shall blankness be for aye?Men gained cognition with the flux of time,And wherefore not the Force informing them,When far-ranged aions past all fathomingShall have swung by, and stand as backward years?SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhat wouldst have hoped and had the Will to be?—How wouldst have paeaned It, if what hadst dreamedThereof were truth, and all my showings dream?SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThe Will that fed my hope was far from thine,One I would thus have hymned eternally:—SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES [aerial music]To Thee whose eye all Nature owns,Who hurlest Dynasts from their thrones,26And liftest those of low estateWe sing, with Her men consecrate!SEMICHORUS IIYea, Great and Good, Thee, Thee we hail,Who shak’st the strong, Who shield’st the frail,Who hadst not shaped such souls as weIf tendermercy lacked in Thee!SEMICHORUS IThough times be when the mortal moanSeems unascending to Thy throne,Though seers do not as yet explainWhy Suffering sobs to Thee in vain;SEMICHORUS IIWe hold that Thy unscanted scopeAffords a food for final Hope,That mild-eyed Prescience ponders nighLife’s loom, to lull it by-and-by.SEMICHORUS ITherefore we quire to highest heightThe Wellwiller, the kindly MightThat balances the Vast for weal,That purges as by wounds to heal.SEMICHORUS IIThe systemed suns the skies enscrollObey Thee in their rhythmic roll,Ride radiantly at Thy command,Are darkened by Thy Masterhand!SEMICHORUS IAnd these pale panting multitudesSeen surging here, their moils, their moods,All shall “fulfil their joy” in TheeIn Thee abide eternally!SEMICHORUS IIExultant adoration giveThe Alone, through Whom all living live,The Alone, in Whom all dying die,Whose means the End shall justify! Amen.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESSo did we evermore, sublimely sing;So would we now, despise thy forthshowing!SPIRIT OF THE YEARSSomething of difference animates your quiring,O half-convinced Compassionates and fond,From chords consistent with our spectacle!You almost charm my long philosophyOut of my strong-built thought, and bear me backTo when I thanksgave thus.... Ay, start not, Shades;In the Foregone I knew what dreaming was,And could let raptures rule! But not so now.Yea, I psalmed thus and thus.... But not so now.SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]O Immanence, That reasonest notIn putting forth all things begot,Thou build’st Thy house in space—for what?SEMICHORUS IIO loveless, Hateless!—past the senseOf kindly eyed benevolence,To what tune danceth this Immense?SPIRIT IRONICFor one I cannot answer. But I know’Tis handsome of our Pities so to singThe praises of the dreaming, dark, dumb ThingThat turns the handle of this idle show!As once a Greek asked I would fain ask too,Who knows if all the Spectacle be true,Or an illusion of the gods [the Will,To wit] some hocus-pocus to fulfil?SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]Last as first the question ringsOf the Will’s long travailings;Why the All-mover,Why the All-proverEver urges on and measure out the chordless chime of Things.27SEMICHORUS IIHeaving dumblyAs we deem,Moulding numblyAs in dreamApprehending not how fare the sentient subjects of Its scheme.SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIESNay;—shall not Its blindness break?Yea, must not Its heart awake,Promptly tendingTo Its mendingIn a genial germing purpose, and for loving-kindness sake?SEMICHORUS IIShould it neverCurb or careAught whateverThose endureWhom It quickens, let them darkle to extinction swift and sure.CHORUSBut—a stirring thrills the airLike to sounds of joyance thereThat the ragesOf the agesShall be cancelled, and deliverance offered from the darts that were,Consciousness the Will informing, till It fashion all things fair!THE END OF “THE DYNASTS”September 25, 1907
THE OVERWORLD
[Enter the Spirit and Chorus of the Years, the Spirit and Chorusof the Pities, the Shade of the Earth, the Spirits Sinister andIronic with their Choruses, Rumours, Spirit-messengers andRecording Angels.Europe has now sunk netherward to its far-off position as in theFore Scene, and it is beheld again as a prone and emaciated figureof which the Alps form the vertebrae, and the branching mountain-chains the ribs, the Spanish Peninsula shaping the head of theecorche. The lowlands look like a grey-green garment half-thrownoff, and the sea around like a disturbed bed on which the figurelies.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSThus doth the Great Foresightless mechanizeIn blank entrancement now as evermoreIts ceaseless artistries in CircumstanceOf curious stuff and braid, as just forthshown.Yet but one flimsy riband of Its webHave we here watched in weaving—web Enorm,Whose furthest hem and selvage may extendTo where the roars and plashings of the flamesOf earth-invisible suns swell noisily,And onwards into ghastly gulfs of sky,Where hideous presences churn through the dark—Monsters of magnitude without a shape,Hanging amid deep wells of nothingness.Yet seems this vast and singular confectionWherein our scenery glints of scantest size,Inutile all—so far as reasonings tell.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThou arguest still the Inadvertent Mind.—But, even so, shall blankness be for aye?Men gained cognition with the flux of time,And wherefore not the Force informing them,When far-ranged aions past all fathomingShall have swung by, and stand as backward years?
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhat wouldst have hoped and had the Will to be?—How wouldst have paeaned It, if what hadst dreamedThereof were truth, and all my showings dream?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThe Will that fed my hope was far from thine,One I would thus have hymned eternally:—
SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES [aerial music]To Thee whose eye all Nature owns,Who hurlest Dynasts from their thrones,26And liftest those of low estateWe sing, with Her men consecrate!
SEMICHORUS IIYea, Great and Good, Thee, Thee we hail,Who shak’st the strong, Who shield’st the frail,Who hadst not shaped such souls as weIf tendermercy lacked in Thee!
SEMICHORUS IThough times be when the mortal moanSeems unascending to Thy throne,Though seers do not as yet explainWhy Suffering sobs to Thee in vain;
SEMICHORUS IIWe hold that Thy unscanted scopeAffords a food for final Hope,That mild-eyed Prescience ponders nighLife’s loom, to lull it by-and-by.
SEMICHORUS ITherefore we quire to highest heightThe Wellwiller, the kindly MightThat balances the Vast for weal,That purges as by wounds to heal.
SEMICHORUS IIThe systemed suns the skies enscrollObey Thee in their rhythmic roll,Ride radiantly at Thy command,Are darkened by Thy Masterhand!
SEMICHORUS IAnd these pale panting multitudesSeen surging here, their moils, their moods,All shall “fulfil their joy” in TheeIn Thee abide eternally!
SEMICHORUS IIExultant adoration giveThe Alone, through Whom all living live,The Alone, in Whom all dying die,Whose means the End shall justify! Amen.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESSo did we evermore, sublimely sing;So would we now, despise thy forthshowing!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSSomething of difference animates your quiring,O half-convinced Compassionates and fond,From chords consistent with our spectacle!You almost charm my long philosophyOut of my strong-built thought, and bear me backTo when I thanksgave thus.... Ay, start not, Shades;In the Foregone I knew what dreaming was,And could let raptures rule! But not so now.Yea, I psalmed thus and thus.... But not so now.
SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]O Immanence, That reasonest notIn putting forth all things begot,Thou build’st Thy house in space—for what?
SEMICHORUS IIO loveless, Hateless!—past the senseOf kindly eyed benevolence,To what tune danceth this Immense?
SPIRIT IRONICFor one I cannot answer. But I know’Tis handsome of our Pities so to singThe praises of the dreaming, dark, dumb ThingThat turns the handle of this idle show!As once a Greek asked I would fain ask too,Who knows if all the Spectacle be true,Or an illusion of the gods [the Will,To wit] some hocus-pocus to fulfil?
SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]Last as first the question ringsOf the Will’s long travailings;Why the All-mover,Why the All-proverEver urges on and measure out the chordless chime of Things.27
SEMICHORUS IIHeaving dumblyAs we deem,Moulding numblyAs in dreamApprehending not how fare the sentient subjects of Its scheme.
SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIESNay;—shall not Its blindness break?Yea, must not Its heart awake,Promptly tendingTo Its mendingIn a genial germing purpose, and for loving-kindness sake?
SEMICHORUS IIShould it neverCurb or careAught whateverThose endureWhom It quickens, let them darkle to extinction swift and sure.
CHORUSBut—a stirring thrills the airLike to sounds of joyance thereThat the ragesOf the agesShall be cancelled, and deliverance offered from the darts that were,Consciousness the Will informing, till It fashion all things fair!
THE END OF “THE DYNASTS”September 25, 1907