I. THE VICTORIES

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Mastersof the known and foundSingers of a world completed,All to a time and end ordained,Powers foredestined to their boundAnd truth immutably contained,A dominion mapped and meted,—Like as in Egyptian noonGods of granite throned augustGaze on old realms round them strewnFar as the horizon dust,—All beneath that searching skyGathered into wisdom’s eye!Prophets of the found and known,Chanters of the Laws unchanging,Comes not an hour that undoes allWith a whispered homelessness,With a sudden touch estranging?Certainties you deemed your own,Housing with a friendly wall,Glide into a doubt and guessSwift as when, the low light going,Darkness on the wind comes flowingOut of nothing; and surmise,Dream, desire, are frontierless;And the unroofed mind has skiesTo breathe of, where a rumour singsOf other mind and vaster thingsWooed to wilder destinies.Thought throbs: there a power entices(Like, on a wonder-night, all JuneIn a draught of stolen spices)Not to stay, not to stay,But to embark for the outer dark.Only charms the untrodden way,Only the unspelt secret rune.Conqueror with foot superbPlanted on the last step won,Whom the trumpet-mouths proclaimDestiny’s accepted son,Robed in a resounding name,What profounder pangs disturbSomething that’s unquarried yetIn the deep soul? All the gainWeighs but as an ashy grainIn the world those pangs beget.Fierce fruitions but betrayAnd deliver to the hardHope of things unhazarded.Where that world is, who shall say?Under western evening starredBlack waves tempt to far-awayVisioned walls of a wide shore,Lands the only-coveted,Gleaming as they gleamed beforeAlexander’s dying eyesIn the tent at Babylon.Dumb his soldiers streamed beside him,Dumb’d with grief that only sawThe pillar of the world undone,Nor guessed what potent visions gnawThe unsated mind with cruelties,—Ramparts where Time’s jealous spies,Sentinelled afar, deride him,Mocking all that passion willedWith the frustrate and the unfulfilled.O the inexorable LureSpur to the demon hearts of men!Ravening Genghis, hot Timour,And the empire-storming Saracen,Fate’s infuriate charioteers,Fly from a whisper in their ears(Earth before them, Time behind)Whispering, ‘Haste, ere blood be chill,Storm and scatter, work your will!’Hunters hunted in the mind,Hunting what they cannot name,Thunder over earth, to findNothing. Though the harvest blackBe reaped in rue and curse and wrong,There’s a thing they cannot tame.Still they keep their torrent-track,Maddened by a shadowy songSung beyond the reach of sense.What song is this which wastes the worthOf human things, and distastes earth,And fevers with magnificenceOf swiftness trampling, ruin-crowned,Toward a goal that none has found?Is it the song the Adventurer stoleBody-bound upon the mastFor the enchantment of his soul?Over farthest foam of wavesThat are sailors’ restless graves,He heard exulting as he passedPerilous voices challengingThe mortal heart of him, and fearBecame a glory, so to hearSecure as an immortal, singThe Sirens.

Mastersof the known and found

Singers of a world completed,

All to a time and end ordained,

Powers foredestined to their bound

And truth immutably contained,

A dominion mapped and meted,—

Like as in Egyptian noon

Gods of granite throned august

Gaze on old realms round them strewn

Far as the horizon dust,—

All beneath that searching sky

Gathered into wisdom’s eye!

Prophets of the found and known,

Chanters of the Laws unchanging,

Comes not an hour that undoes all

With a whispered homelessness,

With a sudden touch estranging?

Certainties you deemed your own,

Housing with a friendly wall,

Glide into a doubt and guess

Swift as when, the low light going,

Darkness on the wind comes flowing

Out of nothing; and surmise,

Dream, desire, are frontierless;

And the unroofed mind has skies

To breathe of, where a rumour sings

Of other mind and vaster things

Wooed to wilder destinies.

Thought throbs: there a power entices

(Like, on a wonder-night, all June

In a draught of stolen spices)

Not to stay, not to stay,

But to embark for the outer dark.

Only charms the untrodden way,

Only the unspelt secret rune.

Conqueror with foot superbPlanted on the last step won,Whom the trumpet-mouths proclaimDestiny’s accepted son,Robed in a resounding name,What profounder pangs disturbSomething that’s unquarried yetIn the deep soul? All the gainWeighs but as an ashy grainIn the world those pangs beget.Fierce fruitions but betrayAnd deliver to the hardHope of things unhazarded.Where that world is, who shall say?Under western evening starredBlack waves tempt to far-awayVisioned walls of a wide shore,Lands the only-coveted,Gleaming as they gleamed beforeAlexander’s dying eyesIn the tent at Babylon.Dumb his soldiers streamed beside him,Dumb’d with grief that only sawThe pillar of the world undone,Nor guessed what potent visions gnawThe unsated mind with cruelties,—Ramparts where Time’s jealous spies,Sentinelled afar, deride him,Mocking all that passion willedWith the frustrate and the unfulfilled.O the inexorable LureSpur to the demon hearts of men!Ravening Genghis, hot Timour,And the empire-storming Saracen,Fate’s infuriate charioteers,Fly from a whisper in their ears(Earth before them, Time behind)Whispering, ‘Haste, ere blood be chill,Storm and scatter, work your will!’Hunters hunted in the mind,Hunting what they cannot name,Thunder over earth, to findNothing. Though the harvest blackBe reaped in rue and curse and wrong,There’s a thing they cannot tame.Still they keep their torrent-track,Maddened by a shadowy songSung beyond the reach of sense.What song is this which wastes the worthOf human things, and distastes earth,And fevers with magnificenceOf swiftness trampling, ruin-crowned,Toward a goal that none has found?Is it the song the Adventurer stoleBody-bound upon the mastFor the enchantment of his soul?Over farthest foam of wavesThat are sailors’ restless graves,He heard exulting as he passedPerilous voices challengingThe mortal heart of him, and fearBecame a glory, so to hearSecure as an immortal, singThe Sirens.

Conqueror with foot superb

Planted on the last step won,

Whom the trumpet-mouths proclaim

Destiny’s accepted son,

Robed in a resounding name,

What profounder pangs disturb

Something that’s unquarried yet

In the deep soul? All the gain

Weighs but as an ashy grain

In the world those pangs beget.

Fierce fruitions but betray

And deliver to the hard

Hope of things unhazarded.

Where that world is, who shall say?

Under western evening starred

Black waves tempt to far-away

Visioned walls of a wide shore,

Lands the only-coveted,

Gleaming as they gleamed before

Alexander’s dying eyes

In the tent at Babylon.

Dumb his soldiers streamed beside him,

Dumb’d with grief that only saw

The pillar of the world undone,

Nor guessed what potent visions gnaw

The unsated mind with cruelties,—

Ramparts where Time’s jealous spies,

Sentinelled afar, deride him,

Mocking all that passion willed

With the frustrate and the unfulfilled.

O the inexorable Lure

Spur to the demon hearts of men!

Ravening Genghis, hot Timour,

And the empire-storming Saracen,

Fate’s infuriate charioteers,

Fly from a whisper in their ears

(Earth before them, Time behind)

Whispering, ‘Haste, ere blood be chill,

Storm and scatter, work your will!’

Hunters hunted in the mind,

Hunting what they cannot name,

Thunder over earth, to find

Nothing. Though the harvest black

Be reaped in rue and curse and wrong,

There’s a thing they cannot tame.

Still they keep their torrent-track,

Maddened by a shadowy song

Sung beyond the reach of sense.

What song is this which wastes the worth

Of human things, and distastes earth,

And fevers with magnificence

Of swiftness trampling, ruin-crowned,

Toward a goal that none has found?

Is it the song the Adventurer stole

Body-bound upon the mast

For the enchantment of his soul?

Over farthest foam of waves

That are sailors’ restless graves,

He heard exulting as he passed

Perilous voices challenging

The mortal heart of him, and fear

Became a glory, so to hear

Secure as an immortal, sing

The Sirens.

I. 2

Whither is she gone, wing’d by the evening airs,Yon sail that draws the last of light afar,On the sea-verge alone, despising other caresThan her own errand and her guiding star?She leaves the safe land, leaves the roofs, and the long roadsTravelling the hills to end for each at his own hearth.She leaves the silence under slowly-darkening elms,The friendly human voices, smell of dew and dust,And generations of men asleep in the old earth.Between two solitudes she glides and fades,And round us falls the darkness she invades.Waters empty and outcast, O barren waters!What have your wastes to doWith the earth-treader, the earth-tiller; this frailBody of man; the sower, whom the green shoot gladdens;Hewer of trees; the builder, who houses him from the bleak winds,And whom awaits at last long peace beneath the grassIn soil his fathers knew?What shall he hope for from your careless desolation,Lion-indolence, or cold roar of your risen wrath?What sows he in your furrows, or what fruit gathersBut hazard, loss, and his own hard courage?...Yon sail goes like a spirit seeking you.I heard a trumpet from beyond the moon,Piercing ice-blue gulfs of air,Cry down the secret waters of the world,Under the far sea-streams, to summon thereThe foundered ships, the splendid ships, the lost ships.In their ribb’d ruin and age-long sleep they heard,Where each had found her shadowy burial-bed,Clutched in blind reef, shoal-choked or shingle-bound;Heard from betraying isles and capes of dreadIn corners of all oceans, where the lightGropes faltering over their spilt merchandize:And shapes at last were stirredOn glimmerless abysses’ oozy floorsKnown to the dark fins only and drowned eyes;—Sunk out of memory, they that glided forthBound from cold rivers to the tropic shores,Or questing up the white gloom of the North,Or shattered in the glory of old wars,The laden ships, the gallant ships, the lost ships!I saw them clouding up over the verge,Ghosts that arose out of an unknown grave,Strange to the buoyant seas that young they rode uponAnd strange to the idle glitter of the wave.Magically re-builded, rigged and manned,They stole in their slow beauty toward the land.Mariners, O mariners!I heard a voice cry; Home, come home!Here is the rain-fresh earth; leaf-changing seasons; hereSpring the flowers; and here, older than memory, peaceTastes on the air sweet as honey in the honey-comb.Smells not the hearth-smoke better than spices of India?Are not children’s kisses dearer than ivory and pearls?And sleep in the hill kinder than nameless waterAnd the cold, wandering foam?Dear are the names of home, I heard a far voice answer,Pleasant the tilled valley, the flocks and farms; and sweetThe hum in cities of men, and words of our own kin.But we have tasted wild fruit, listened to strange music;And all shores of the earth are but as doors of an inn;We knocked at the doors, and slept; to arise at dawn and go.We spilt blood for gold, trafficked in costly cargoes,But knew in the end it was not these we sailed to win;Only a wider sea; room for the winds to blow,And a world to wander in.

Whither is she gone, wing’d by the evening airs,

Yon sail that draws the last of light afar,

On the sea-verge alone, despising other cares

Than her own errand and her guiding star?

She leaves the safe land, leaves the roofs, and the long roads

Travelling the hills to end for each at his own hearth.

She leaves the silence under slowly-darkening elms,

The friendly human voices, smell of dew and dust,

And generations of men asleep in the old earth.

Between two solitudes she glides and fades,

And round us falls the darkness she invades.

Waters empty and outcast, O barren waters!What have your wastes to doWith the earth-treader, the earth-tiller; this frailBody of man; the sower, whom the green shoot gladdens;Hewer of trees; the builder, who houses him from the bleak winds,And whom awaits at last long peace beneath the grassIn soil his fathers knew?What shall he hope for from your careless desolation,Lion-indolence, or cold roar of your risen wrath?What sows he in your furrows, or what fruit gathersBut hazard, loss, and his own hard courage?...Yon sail goes like a spirit seeking you.

Waters empty and outcast, O barren waters!

What have your wastes to do

With the earth-treader, the earth-tiller; this frail

Body of man; the sower, whom the green shoot gladdens;

Hewer of trees; the builder, who houses him from the bleak winds,

And whom awaits at last long peace beneath the grass

In soil his fathers knew?

What shall he hope for from your careless desolation,

Lion-indolence, or cold roar of your risen wrath?

What sows he in your furrows, or what fruit gathers

But hazard, loss, and his own hard courage?...

Yon sail goes like a spirit seeking you.

I heard a trumpet from beyond the moon,Piercing ice-blue gulfs of air,Cry down the secret waters of the world,Under the far sea-streams, to summon thereThe foundered ships, the splendid ships, the lost ships.In their ribb’d ruin and age-long sleep they heard,Where each had found her shadowy burial-bed,Clutched in blind reef, shoal-choked or shingle-bound;Heard from betraying isles and capes of dreadIn corners of all oceans, where the lightGropes faltering over their spilt merchandize:And shapes at last were stirredOn glimmerless abysses’ oozy floorsKnown to the dark fins only and drowned eyes;—Sunk out of memory, they that glided forthBound from cold rivers to the tropic shores,Or questing up the white gloom of the North,Or shattered in the glory of old wars,The laden ships, the gallant ships, the lost ships!

I heard a trumpet from beyond the moon,

Piercing ice-blue gulfs of air,

Cry down the secret waters of the world,

Under the far sea-streams, to summon there

The foundered ships, the splendid ships, the lost ships.

In their ribb’d ruin and age-long sleep they heard,

Where each had found her shadowy burial-bed,

Clutched in blind reef, shoal-choked or shingle-bound;

Heard from betraying isles and capes of dread

In corners of all oceans, where the light

Gropes faltering over their spilt merchandize:

And shapes at last were stirred

On glimmerless abysses’ oozy floors

Known to the dark fins only and drowned eyes;—

Sunk out of memory, they that glided forth

Bound from cold rivers to the tropic shores,

Or questing up the white gloom of the North,

Or shattered in the glory of old wars,

The laden ships, the gallant ships, the lost ships!

I saw them clouding up over the verge,Ghosts that arose out of an unknown grave,Strange to the buoyant seas that young they rode uponAnd strange to the idle glitter of the wave.Magically re-builded, rigged and manned,They stole in their slow beauty toward the land.Mariners, O mariners!I heard a voice cry; Home, come home!Here is the rain-fresh earth; leaf-changing seasons; hereSpring the flowers; and here, older than memory, peaceTastes on the air sweet as honey in the honey-comb.Smells not the hearth-smoke better than spices of India?Are not children’s kisses dearer than ivory and pearls?And sleep in the hill kinder than nameless waterAnd the cold, wandering foam?Dear are the names of home, I heard a far voice answer,Pleasant the tilled valley, the flocks and farms; and sweetThe hum in cities of men, and words of our own kin.But we have tasted wild fruit, listened to strange music;And all shores of the earth are but as doors of an inn;We knocked at the doors, and slept; to arise at dawn and go.We spilt blood for gold, trafficked in costly cargoes,But knew in the end it was not these we sailed to win;Only a wider sea; room for the winds to blow,And a world to wander in.

I saw them clouding up over the verge,

Ghosts that arose out of an unknown grave,

Strange to the buoyant seas that young they rode upon

And strange to the idle glitter of the wave.

Magically re-builded, rigged and manned,

They stole in their slow beauty toward the land.

Mariners, O mariners!

I heard a voice cry; Home, come home!

Here is the rain-fresh earth; leaf-changing seasons; here

Spring the flowers; and here, older than memory, peace

Tastes on the air sweet as honey in the honey-comb.

Smells not the hearth-smoke better than spices of India?

Are not children’s kisses dearer than ivory and pearls?

And sleep in the hill kinder than nameless water

And the cold, wandering foam?

Dear are the names of home, I heard a far voice answer,

Pleasant the tilled valley, the flocks and farms; and sweet

The hum in cities of men, and words of our own kin.

But we have tasted wild fruit, listened to strange music;

And all shores of the earth are but as doors of an inn;

We knocked at the doors, and slept; to arise at dawn and go.

We spilt blood for gold, trafficked in costly cargoes,

But knew in the end it was not these we sailed to win;

Only a wider sea; room for the winds to blow,

And a world to wander in.

I. 3

O divine summits and O unascended solitudes!O alone soaring over care and stain!Who without wing shall set foot upon your pinnacles?Or who your spaciousness of light attain?Flames in the dawn-cold, towering incredible,When else the earth is shadow-drowned and prone,Veiled and unveiled by the misty-footed winds that guardBright chasm and black gulf round a thunder-throne,Realmed with a vision beyond reaches of mortality,—Thither some splendour in the mind aspires,Sharing the terror of your dark, tumultuous sisterhood,Silent in glory as of chanting quires.Changing and changeless, O far-illumined PresencesIn apparition from some world august,Up from this flesh have you drawn us, as in ecstasyThat thirsts to elude this forfeiture of dust.Even on your last heights man has set his perilous foot,And mid the void as on some dazzling shoreStands in the vast air, stricken and insatiate,Wingless, a spirit craving wings to soar.Now at last voyaging a fabulous dominionSurpassing all the measures of his kind,He, a free rider of the undulating silences,Has in himself begotten a new mind;Made him a companion of the winds of Heaven, travellingUnpaven streets of cloudy golden snows,Piercing forlorn mist, cold though it encompass himLike a dead mind that nothing sees or knows,Vacant, a cavern fleecy and immaterial,A soundless vapour that he pulses through,Suddenly emerging, and swims into the sun againAnd steers his path up toward the topless blue;—Towers in the frosty flame-apparelled mysteryOf brain-intoxicating sharp sapphireRound him and above him, throbbing in the midst of it,A daring, a defiance, a desire!Mote in the hollow vast, drowned amid the vivid light,Invading far and far the virgin sky,Charioting with beats of fire the fiery-beating heart of man(O heart of flesh, O force of dread!) on high!Careless of death is he, riding in the eagle’s waysAbove the peak and storm, so dear a stingDrives him unresting to strive beyond the boundariesOf his condition, being so brief a thing,Being a creature perishable and passionate,To drink the bright wine, danger, and to wooLife on the invisible edge of airy precipices,A lover, else to his own faith untrue,Giving the glory of youth for flower of sacrificeUpon the untried way that he must tread,So that he savour the breath of life to the uttermost,Breath only sweet when all is hazarded.Is it that, moving in a rapture of deliveranceFrom chains of time and paths of dust and stone,Serving a spirit of swiftness irresistible,He makes his pilgrimage, alone, alone,Seeking a privacy of boundlessness, abandoningA self surpassed, yet other worlds to dare?Nay, in that element hailing his predestinateWorld, and exulting to be native there?

O divine summits and O unascended solitudes!

O alone soaring over care and stain!

Who without wing shall set foot upon your pinnacles?

Or who your spaciousness of light attain?

Flames in the dawn-cold, towering incredible,

When else the earth is shadow-drowned and prone,

Veiled and unveiled by the misty-footed winds that guard

Bright chasm and black gulf round a thunder-throne,

Realmed with a vision beyond reaches of mortality,—

Thither some splendour in the mind aspires,

Sharing the terror of your dark, tumultuous sisterhood,

Silent in glory as of chanting quires.

Changing and changeless, O far-illumined Presences

In apparition from some world august,

Up from this flesh have you drawn us, as in ecstasy

That thirsts to elude this forfeiture of dust.

Even on your last heights man has set his perilous foot,

And mid the void as on some dazzling shore

Stands in the vast air, stricken and insatiate,

Wingless, a spirit craving wings to soar.

Now at last voyaging a fabulous dominionSurpassing all the measures of his kind,He, a free rider of the undulating silences,Has in himself begotten a new mind;Made him a companion of the winds of Heaven, travellingUnpaven streets of cloudy golden snows,Piercing forlorn mist, cold though it encompass himLike a dead mind that nothing sees or knows,Vacant, a cavern fleecy and immaterial,A soundless vapour that he pulses through,Suddenly emerging, and swims into the sun againAnd steers his path up toward the topless blue;—Towers in the frosty flame-apparelled mysteryOf brain-intoxicating sharp sapphireRound him and above him, throbbing in the midst of it,A daring, a defiance, a desire!

Now at last voyaging a fabulous dominion

Surpassing all the measures of his kind,

He, a free rider of the undulating silences,

Has in himself begotten a new mind;

Made him a companion of the winds of Heaven, travelling

Unpaven streets of cloudy golden snows,

Piercing forlorn mist, cold though it encompass him

Like a dead mind that nothing sees or knows,

Vacant, a cavern fleecy and immaterial,

A soundless vapour that he pulses through,

Suddenly emerging, and swims into the sun again

And steers his path up toward the topless blue;—

Towers in the frosty flame-apparelled mystery

Of brain-intoxicating sharp sapphire

Round him and above him, throbbing in the midst of it,

A daring, a defiance, a desire!

Mote in the hollow vast, drowned amid the vivid light,Invading far and far the virgin sky,Charioting with beats of fire the fiery-beating heart of man(O heart of flesh, O force of dread!) on high!Careless of death is he, riding in the eagle’s waysAbove the peak and storm, so dear a stingDrives him unresting to strive beyond the boundariesOf his condition, being so brief a thing,Being a creature perishable and passionate,To drink the bright wine, danger, and to wooLife on the invisible edge of airy precipices,A lover, else to his own faith untrue,Giving the glory of youth for flower of sacrificeUpon the untried way that he must tread,So that he savour the breath of life to the uttermost,Breath only sweet when all is hazarded.Is it that, moving in a rapture of deliveranceFrom chains of time and paths of dust and stone,Serving a spirit of swiftness irresistible,He makes his pilgrimage, alone, alone,Seeking a privacy of boundlessness, abandoningA self surpassed, yet other worlds to dare?Nay, in that element hailing his predestinateWorld, and exulting to be native there?

Mote in the hollow vast, drowned amid the vivid light,

Invading far and far the virgin sky,

Charioting with beats of fire the fiery-beating heart of man

(O heart of flesh, O force of dread!) on high!

Careless of death is he, riding in the eagle’s ways

Above the peak and storm, so dear a sting

Drives him unresting to strive beyond the boundaries

Of his condition, being so brief a thing,

Being a creature perishable and passionate,

To drink the bright wine, danger, and to woo

Life on the invisible edge of airy precipices,

A lover, else to his own faith untrue,

Giving the glory of youth for flower of sacrifice

Upon the untried way that he must tread,

So that he savour the breath of life to the uttermost,

Breath only sweet when all is hazarded.

Is it that, moving in a rapture of deliverance

From chains of time and paths of dust and stone,

Serving a spirit of swiftness irresistible,

He makes his pilgrimage, alone, alone,

Seeking a privacy of boundlessness, abandoning

A self surpassed, yet other worlds to dare?

Nay, in that element hailing his predestinate

World, and exulting to be native there?

I. 4

Hymn the Finders! Hymn the boldTrusters of Earth, those patient ones,That listen to the subtle wordsOf Silence in the streams and stones;Ponderers of the secret-souledBodies quick with ignorant being;Followers of the clues that threadDifferences and accords;Wooers of what powers agreeingMay the hands of man bestead;Seers who have turned asideFrom the greeds that ask and acheBlinded to all else beside,—Letting the clear spirit takeTruth from vision open-eyed.Breaks the bud for him that seesIn a world of promises.Hymn the breaker of the dark,Hymn the finder of the flame,Troubler of the essential sparkLurking in the withered pithOr from stony prison freed,Friend and fury, holy needAnd fierce destroyer, hard to tame,Risen, a God to wrestle with!Hymn the bender of the wheel,Mother of the shapes of speed!Hymn the launcher of the keelCarrying thought’s arrow-aimBeyond the sundown,—sowing seedOf man on coasts untrod before,To widen memory’s haunted shoreAnd add the nearness of a name.Far-descended old desire!That stirred in swarming forest-ages,Prowled by fear whose stealthy eyeWatched from glooms, where hunger-ragesRavened; see at last the HandEmerging human, stretched to tryShapes of things with wondering pleasure,When its strength forgets to kill;Tempted on to understand,Serving ways of secret will,—Fit and fashion, poise and measure.Hymn the hand that builds the wallAnd spans the river, and arches overMan the worshipper and loverSong-like stone; the hand so strongTo strike, yet in whose touch is allLife’s mystery that wooes from thingsTheir strength, as music from the strings,—Touch of the mind that seeks behindThe world for the befriending Mind.Hymn the openers of the gates,Hymn the changers of the fates!Hymn the seekers! them that saw,Past the seeming starry roofOf human earth, in mazy planBright eternities of law;Them that neared those orbs to man,Unafraid, and put to proofDivination’s ancient scheme;Stept into the timeless stream,Star-like spirits among the stars!Hymn the seekers! Chosen souls,Grapnel’d in the very marrowBy a thought that night and dayDraws them whither their unknownMighty lover far awayBeckons them to the frore PolesOr new meridians; like to himWho climbed in Panama the tree,And splendour of untravelled seaSmote him like a glorious arrow:Never shall he rest againTill he sail that virgin main!Or like him who quietlySitting in his Polar tentFound so great a way to die;Hope-forsaken, famine-spent,Wrote his words of faith and cheerTill the pen dropt from the handThat wrote them.Hymn the lost, who neverFound, but kept high heart to steerOnward toward the mark they meant,Sailing out of sight of land.Wail not them, nor lost endeavour,For they heard what tranced the ear,Filled the exulting soul, the songPale and prudent mortals fear,Song of those who, out of Time,Sing the heights the immortals climb,The Sirens.

Hymn the Finders! Hymn the bold

Trusters of Earth, those patient ones,

That listen to the subtle words

Of Silence in the streams and stones;

Ponderers of the secret-souled

Bodies quick with ignorant being;

Followers of the clues that thread

Differences and accords;

Wooers of what powers agreeing

May the hands of man bestead;

Seers who have turned aside

From the greeds that ask and ache

Blinded to all else beside,—

Letting the clear spirit take

Truth from vision open-eyed.

Breaks the bud for him that sees

In a world of promises.

Hymn the breaker of the dark,Hymn the finder of the flame,Troubler of the essential sparkLurking in the withered pithOr from stony prison freed,Friend and fury, holy needAnd fierce destroyer, hard to tame,Risen, a God to wrestle with!Hymn the bender of the wheel,Mother of the shapes of speed!Hymn the launcher of the keelCarrying thought’s arrow-aimBeyond the sundown,—sowing seedOf man on coasts untrod before,To widen memory’s haunted shoreAnd add the nearness of a name.

Hymn the breaker of the dark,

Hymn the finder of the flame,

Troubler of the essential spark

Lurking in the withered pith

Or from stony prison freed,

Friend and fury, holy need

And fierce destroyer, hard to tame,

Risen, a God to wrestle with!

Hymn the bender of the wheel,

Mother of the shapes of speed!

Hymn the launcher of the keel

Carrying thought’s arrow-aim

Beyond the sundown,—sowing seed

Of man on coasts untrod before,

To widen memory’s haunted shore

And add the nearness of a name.

Far-descended old desire!That stirred in swarming forest-ages,Prowled by fear whose stealthy eyeWatched from glooms, where hunger-ragesRavened; see at last the HandEmerging human, stretched to tryShapes of things with wondering pleasure,When its strength forgets to kill;Tempted on to understand,Serving ways of secret will,—Fit and fashion, poise and measure.Hymn the hand that builds the wallAnd spans the river, and arches overMan the worshipper and loverSong-like stone; the hand so strongTo strike, yet in whose touch is allLife’s mystery that wooes from thingsTheir strength, as music from the strings,—Touch of the mind that seeks behindThe world for the befriending Mind.

Far-descended old desire!

That stirred in swarming forest-ages,

Prowled by fear whose stealthy eye

Watched from glooms, where hunger-rages

Ravened; see at last the Hand

Emerging human, stretched to try

Shapes of things with wondering pleasure,

When its strength forgets to kill;

Tempted on to understand,

Serving ways of secret will,—

Fit and fashion, poise and measure.

Hymn the hand that builds the wall

And spans the river, and arches over

Man the worshipper and lover

Song-like stone; the hand so strong

To strike, yet in whose touch is all

Life’s mystery that wooes from things

Their strength, as music from the strings,—

Touch of the mind that seeks behind

The world for the befriending Mind.

Hymn the openers of the gates,Hymn the changers of the fates!Hymn the seekers! them that saw,Past the seeming starry roofOf human earth, in mazy planBright eternities of law;Them that neared those orbs to man,Unafraid, and put to proofDivination’s ancient scheme;Stept into the timeless stream,Star-like spirits among the stars!Hymn the seekers! Chosen souls,Grapnel’d in the very marrowBy a thought that night and dayDraws them whither their unknownMighty lover far awayBeckons them to the frore PolesOr new meridians; like to himWho climbed in Panama the tree,And splendour of untravelled seaSmote him like a glorious arrow:Never shall he rest againTill he sail that virgin main!Or like him who quietlySitting in his Polar tentFound so great a way to die;Hope-forsaken, famine-spent,Wrote his words of faith and cheerTill the pen dropt from the handThat wrote them.Hymn the lost, who neverFound, but kept high heart to steerOnward toward the mark they meant,Sailing out of sight of land.Wail not them, nor lost endeavour,For they heard what tranced the ear,Filled the exulting soul, the songPale and prudent mortals fear,Song of those who, out of Time,Sing the heights the immortals climb,The Sirens.

Hymn the openers of the gates,

Hymn the changers of the fates!

Hymn the seekers! them that saw,

Past the seeming starry roof

Of human earth, in mazy plan

Bright eternities of law;

Them that neared those orbs to man,

Unafraid, and put to proof

Divination’s ancient scheme;

Stept into the timeless stream,

Star-like spirits among the stars!

Hymn the seekers! Chosen souls,

Grapnel’d in the very marrow

By a thought that night and day

Draws them whither their unknown

Mighty lover far away

Beckons them to the frore Poles

Or new meridians; like to him

Who climbed in Panama the tree,

And splendour of untravelled sea

Smote him like a glorious arrow:

Never shall he rest again

Till he sail that virgin main!

Or like him who quietly

Sitting in his Polar tent

Found so great a way to die;

Hope-forsaken, famine-spent,

Wrote his words of faith and cheer

Till the pen dropt from the hand

That wrote them.

Hymn the lost, who never

Found, but kept high heart to steer

Onward toward the mark they meant,

Sailing out of sight of land.

Wail not them, nor lost endeavour,

For they heard what tranced the ear,

Filled the exulting soul, the song

Pale and prudent mortals fear,

Song of those who, out of Time,

Sing the heights the immortals climb,

The Sirens.

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