Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and Other Poems Part 11

Then, gazing up 'mid the dim pillars high, The foliaged marble forest where ye lie, 39 _Hush_, ye will say, _it is eternity!_ 40 _This is the glimmering verge of Heaven, and these The columns of the heavenly palaces!_ And, in the sweeping of the wind, your ear The pa.s.sage of the Angels' wings will hear, And on the lichen-crusted leads above 45 The rustle of the eternal rain of love.

REQUIESCAT

Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew!

In quiet she reposes; Ah, would that I did too!

Her mirth the world required; 5 She bathed it in smiles of glee.

But her heart was tired, tired, And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning, In mazes of heat and sound. 10 But for peace her soul was yearning, And now peace laps her round.

Her cabin'd, ample spirit, 13 It flutter'd and fail'd for breath To-night it doth inherit 15 The vasty hall of death. 16

CONSOLATION

Mist clogs the suns.h.i.+ne.

Smoky dwarf houses Hem me round everywhere; A vague dejection Weighs down my soul. 5

Yet, while I languish, Everywhere countless Prospects unroll themselves, And countless beings Pa.s.s countless moods. 10

Far hence, in Asia, On the smooth convent-roofs, On the gilt terraces, Of holy La.s.sa, 14 Bright s.h.i.+nes the sun. 15

Grey time-worn marbles Hold the pure Muses; 17 In their cool gallery, 18 By yellow Tiber, 19 They still look fair. 20

Strange unloved uproar 21 Shrills round their portal; Yet not on Helicon 23 Kept they more cloudless Their n.o.ble calm. 25

Through sun-proof alleys In a lone, sand-hemm'd City of Africa, A blind, led beggar, Age-bow'd, asks alms. 30

No bolder robber Erst abode ambush'd 32 Deep in the sandy waste; No clearer eyesight Spied prey afar. 35

Saharan sand-winds Sear'd his keen eyeb.a.l.l.s; Spent is the spoil he won.

For him the present Holds only pain. 40

Two young, fair lovers, Where the warm June-wind, Fresh from the summer fields Plays fondly round them, Stand, tranced in joy. 45

With sweet, join'd voices, And with eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g: "Ah," they cry, "Destiny, 48 Prolong the present!

Time, stand still here!" 50

The prompt stern G.o.ddess Shakes her head, frowning; Time gives his hour-gla.s.s Its due reversal; Their hour is gone. 55

With weak indulgence Did the just G.o.ddess Lengthen their happiness, She lengthen'd also Distress elsewhere. 60

The hour, whose happy Unalloy'd moments I would eternalise, Ten thousand mourners Well pleased see end. 65

The bleak, stern hour, Whose severe moments I would annihilate, Is pa.s.s'd by others In warmth, light, joy. 70

Time, so complain'd of, Who to no one man Shows partiality, Brings round to all men Some undimm'd hours. 75

A DREAM

Was it a dream? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd, Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream, Border'd, each bank, with pines; the morning sun, On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops, On the red pinings of their forest-floor, 5 Drew a warm scent abroad; behind the pines The mountain-skirts, with all their sylvan change Of bright-leaf'd chestnuts and moss'd walnut-trees And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began.

Swiss chalets glitter'd on the dewy slopes, 10 And from some swarded shelf, high up, there came Notes of wild pastoral music--over all Ranged, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow.

Upon the mossy rocks at the stream's edge, Back'd by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood, 15 Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plant's leaves m.u.f.fled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof Lay the warm golden gourds; golden, within, Under the eaves, peer'd rows of Indian corn.

We shot beneath the cottage with the stream. 20 On the brown, rude-carved balcony, two forms Came forth--Olivia's, Marguerite! and thine.

Clad were they both in white, flowers in their breast; Straw hats bedeck'd their heads, with ribbons blue, Which danced, and on their shoulders, fluttering, play'd. 25 They saw us, they conferred; their bosoms heaved, And more than mortal impulse fill'd their eyes.

Their lips moved; their white arms, waved eagerly, Flash'd once, like falling streams; we rose, we gazed.

One moment, on the rapid's top, our boat 30 Hung poised--and then the darting river of Life (Such now, methought, it was), the river of Life, Loud thundering, bore us by; swift, swift it foam'd, Black under cliffs it raced, round headlands shone.

Soon the plank'd cottage by the sun-warm'd pines 35 Faded--the moss--the rocks; us burning plains, Bristled with cities, us the sea received.

LINES

WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS

In this lone, open glade I lie, Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand! 4

Birds here make song, each bird has his, 5 Across the girdling city's hum.

How green under the boughs it is!

How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!

Sometimes a child will cross the glade To take his nurse his broken toy; 10 Sometimes a thrush flit overhead Deep in her unknown day's employ.

Here at my feet what wonders pa.s.s, What endless, active life is here! 14 What blowing daisies, fragrant gra.s.s! 15 An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.

Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out, And, eased of basket and of rod, Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. 20

In the huge world, which roars hard by, 21 Be others happy if they can!

But in my helpless cradle I Was breathed on by the rural Pan. 24

I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd, 25 Think often, as I hear them rave, That peace has left the upper world And now keeps only in the grave.

Yet here is peace for ever new!

When I who watch them am away, 30 Still all things in this glade go through The changes of their quiet day.