A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 24

There, try once more with effort vain, To mould in one perplexed things; And find the solace yet again Faith in the Father brings.

Or on my horse go wandering round, Mid desert moors and mountains high; While storm-clouds, darkly brooding, found In me another sky.

For so thy Visible grew mine, Though half its power I could not know; And in me wrought a work divine, Which Thou hadst ordered so;

Filling my brain with form and word From thy full utterance unto men; Shapes that might ancient Truth afford, And find it words again.

Till Spring, in after years of youth, Wove its dear form with every form; Now a glad bursting into Truth, Now a low sighing storm.

But in this vision of the Past, Spring-world to summer leading in, Whose joys but not whose sorrows last, I have left out the sin.

I picture but development, Green leaves unfolding to their fruits, Expanding flowers, aspiring scent, But not the writhing roots.

Then follow English sunsets, o'er A warm rich land outspread below; A green sea from a level sh.o.r.e, Bright boats that come and go.

And one beside me in whose eyes Old Nature found a welcome home, A treasury of changeful skies Beneath a changeless dome.

But will it still be thus, O G.o.d?

And shall I always wish to see And trace again the hilly road By which I went to Thee?

We bend above a joy new given, That gives new feelings gladsome birth; A living gift from one in heaven To two upon the earth.

Are no days creeping softly on Which I should tremble to renew?

I thank thee, Lord, for what is gone-- Thine is the future too.

And are we not at home in Thee, And all this world a visioned show; That knowing what _Abroad_ is, we What _Home_ is, too, may know?

FAR AND NEAR.

[The fact to which the following verses refer, is related by Dr. Edward Clarke in his Travels.]

Blue sunny skies above; below, A blue and sunny sea; A world of blue, wherein did blow One soft wind steadily.

In great and solemn heaves, the ma.s.s Of pulsing ocean beat, Unwrinkled as the sea of gla.s.s Beneath the holy feet.

With forward leaning of desire, The s.h.i.+p sped calmly on, A pilgrim strong that would not tire, Nor hasten to be gone.

The mouth of the mysterious Nile, Full thirty leagues away, Breathed in his ear old tales to wile Old Ocean as he lay.

Low on the surface of the sea Faint sounds like whispers glide Of lovers talking tremulously, Close by the vessel's side.

Or as within a sleeping wood A windy sigh awoke, And fluttering all the leafy brood, The summer-silence broke.

A wayward phantasy might say That little ocean-maids Were clapping little hands of play, Deep down in ocean-glades.

The traveller by land and flood, The man of ready mind, Much questioning the reason, stood-- No answer could he find.

That day, on Egypt's distant land, And far from off the sh.o.r.e, Two nations fought with armed hand, With bellowing cannon's roar.

That fluttering whisper, low and near, Was the far battle-blare; An airy rippling motion here, The blasting thunder there.

And so this aching in my breast, Dim, faint, and undefined, May be the sound of far unrest, Borne on the spirit's wind;

The uproar of the battle fought Betwixt the bond and free; The thundering roll in whispers brought From Heaven's artillery.

MY ROOM.

To G.E.M.

'Tis a little room, my friend; A baby-walk from end to end; All the things look sadly real, This hot noontide's Unideal.

Seek not refuge at the cas.e.m.e.nt, There's no pasture for amazement But a house most dim and rusty, And a street most dry and dusty; Seldom here more happy vision Than water-cart's blest apparition, We'll shut out the staring s.p.a.ce, Draw the curtains in its face.

Close the eyelids of the room, Fill it with a scarlet gloom: Lo! the walls on every side Are transformed and glorified; Ceiled as with a rosy cloud Furthest eastward of the crowd, Blus.h.i.+ng faintly at the bliss Of the t.i.tan's good-night kiss, Which her westward sisters share,-- Crimson they from breast to hair.

'Tis the faintest lends its dye To my room--ah, not the sky!

Worthy though to be a room Underneath the wonder-dome: Look around on either hand, Are we not in fairy-land?

In the ruddy atmosphere All familiar things appear Glowing with a mystery In the red light shadowy; Lasting bliss to you and me, Colour only though it be.

Now on the couch, inwrapt in mist Of vapourized amethyst, Lie, as in a rose's heart; Secret things I will impart; Any time you would receive them; Easier though you will believe them In dissolving dreamy red, Self-same radiance that is shed From the summer-heart of Poet, Flus.h.i.+ng those that never know it.

Tell me not the light thou viewest Is a false one; 'tis the truest; 'Tis the light revealing wonder, Filling all above and under; If in light you make a schism, 'Tis the deepest in the prism.

The room looks common; but the fact is 'Tis a cell of magic practice, So disguised by common daylight, By its disenchanting grey light, Only spirit-eyes, mesmeric, See its glories esoteric.

There, that case against the wall, Glowingly purpureal!

A piano to the prosy-- Not to us in twilight rosy: 'Tis a cave where Nereids lie.

Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, Dreaming of the time when they Danced in forest and in bay.

In that chest before your eyes, Nature's self enchanted lies; Awful hills and midnight woods; Sunny rains in solitudes; Deserts of unbounded longing; Blessed visions, gladness thronging;

All this globe of life unfoldeth In phantom forms that coffer holdeth.

True, unseen; for 'tis enchanted-- What is that but kept till wanted?

Do you hear that voice of singing?

'Tis the enchantress that is flinging Spells around her baby's riot, Music's oil the waves to quiet: She at once can disenchant them, To a lover's wish to grant them; She can make the treasure casket Yield its riches, as that basket Yielded up the gathered flowers; Yet its mines, and fields, and bowers, Full remain, as mother Earth Never tired of giving birth.

Do you doubt me? Wait till night Brings black hours and white delight; Then, as now, your limbs outstretching, Yield yourself to her bewitching.

She will bring a book of spells Writ like crabbed oracles; Wherewith necromantic fingers Raise the ghosts of parted singers: Straight your senses will be bound In a net of torrent sound.

For it is a silent fountain, Fed by springs from unseen mountain.

Till with gestures cabalistic, Crossing, lining figures mystic, (Diagram most mathematic, Simple to these signs erratic,) O'er the seals her quick hands going Loose the rills and set them flowing: Pent up music rus.h.i.+ng out Bathes thy spirit all about; Spell-bound nature, freed again, Joyous revels in thy brain.

On a mountain-top you stand, Looking o'er a sunny land; Giant forces marching slow, Rank on rank, the great hills go, On and on without a stay, Melting in the blue away.

Wondrous light, more wondrous shading; High relief in faintness fading; Branching streams, like silver veins, Meet and part in dells and plains.

There a woody hollow lies, Dumb with love, and bright with eyes; Moorland tracks of broken ground Rising o'er, it all around: Traveller climbing from the grove Needs the tender heavens above.