The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 36

We're so happy all the day, Waiting for another!

All the flowers and suns.h.i.+ne stay, Watching for my mother.

_Julian_.

My maiden! for true wife is always maiden To the true husband: thou art mine for ever.

_Lilia_.

What gentle hopes keep pa.s.sing to and fro!

Thou shadowest me with thine own rest, my G.o.d; A cloud from thee stoops down and covers me.

[_She falls asleep on her knees_]

SCENE III.--JULIAN _on the summit of a mountain-peak. The stars are brilliant around a crescent moon, hanging half-way between the mountain and the zenith. Below lies a sea of vapour. Beyond rises a loftier pinnacle, across which is stretched a bar of cloud_. LILY _lies on the cloud, looking earnestly into the mist below_.

_Julian (gazing upward_).

And thou wast with me all the time, my G.o.d, Even as now! I was not far from thee.

Thy spirit spoke in all my wants and fears, And hopes and longings. Thou art all in all.

I am not mine, but thine. I cannot speak The thoughts that work within me like a sea.

When on the earth I lay, crushed down beneath A hopeless weight of empty desolation, Thy loving face was lighted then, O Christ, With expectation of my joy to come, When all the realm of possible ill should lie Under my feet, and I should stand as now Heart-sure of thee, true-hearted, only One.

Was ever soul filled to such overflowing With the pure wine of blessedness, my G.o.d!

Filled as the night with stars, am I with joys; Filled as the heavens with thee, am I with peace; For now I wait the end of all my prayers-- Of all that have to do with old-world things: What new things come to wake new prayers, my G.o.d, Thou know'st; I wait on thee in perfect peace.

[_He turns his gaze downward.--From the fog-sea below half-rises a woman-form, which floats toward him._]

Lo, as the lily lifts its s.h.i.+ning bosom From the lone couch of waters where it slept, When the fair morn toucheth and waketh it; So riseth up my lily from the deep Where human souls are vexed in awful dreams!

[LILY _spies her mother, darts down, and is caught in her arms. They land on_ JULIAN'S _peak, and climb_, LILY _leading her mother_.]

_Lily_.

Come faster, mother dear; father is waiting.

_Lilia_.

Have patience with me, darling. By and by, I think, I shall do better.--Oh my Julian!

_Julian_.

I may not help her. She must climb and come.

[_He reaches his hand, and the three are clasped in an infinite embrace_.]

O G.o.d, thy thoughts, thy ways, are not as ours: They fill our longing hearts up to the brim.

[_The moon and the stars and the blue night close around them; and the poet awakes from his dream_.]

A HIDDEN LIFE.

TO MY FATHER: _with my second volume of verse_.

I.

Take of the first fruits, father, of thy care, Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my grat.i.tude, Late waked for early gifts ill understood; Claiming in all my harvests rightful share, Whether with song that mounts the joyful air I praise my G.o.d, or, in yet deeper mood, Sit dumb because I know a speechless good, Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer.

Thou hast been faithful to my highest need; And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore, Shall never feel the grateful burden sore.

Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed, But for the sense thy living self did breed Of fatherhood still at the great world's core.

II.

All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined, As for some being of another race; Ah, not with it, departing--growing apace As years did bring me manhood's loftier mind, Able to see thy human life behind-- The same hid heart, the same revealing face-- My own dim contest settling into grace, Of sorrow, strife, and victory combined!

So I beheld my G.o.d, in childhood's morn, A mist, a darkness, great, and far apart, Moveless and dim--I scarce could say _Thou art_: My manhood came, of joy and sadness born;-- Full soon the misty dark, asunder torn, Revealed man's glory, G.o.d's great human heart.

G.M.D. jr.

ALGIERS, _April, 1857_.

A HIDDEN LIFE.

Proudly the youth, sudden with manhood crowned, Went walking by his horses, the first time, That morning, to the plough. No soldier gay Feels at his side the throb of the gold hilt (Knowing the blue blade hides within its sheath, As lightning in the cloud) with more delight, When first he belts it on, than he that day Heard still the clank of the plough-chains against His horses' harnessed sides, as to the field They went to make it fruitful. O'er the hill The sun looked down, baptizing him for toil.

A farmer's son, a farmer's grandson he; Yea, his great-grandsire had possessed those fields.

Tradition said they had been tilled by men Who bore the name long centuries ago, And married wives, and reared a stalwart race, And died, and went where all had followed them, Save one old man, his daughter, and the youth Who ploughs in pride, nor ever doubts his toil; And death is far from him this sunny morn.

Why should we think of death when life is high?

The earth laughs all the day, and sleeps all night.

The daylight's labour and the night's repose Are very good, each better in its time.

The boy knew little; but he read old tales Of Scotland's warriors, till his blood ran swift As charging knights upon their death-career.

He chanted ancient tunes, till the wild blood Was charmed back into its fountain-well, And tears arose instead. That poet's songs, Whose music evermore recalls his name, His name of waters babbling as they run, Rose from him in the fields among the kine, And met the skylark's, raining from the clouds.

But only as the poet-birds he sang-- From rooted impulse of essential song; The earth was fair--he knew not it was fair; His heart was glad--he knew not it was glad; He walked as in a twilight of the sense-- Which this one day shall turn to tender morn.

Long ere the sun had cleared the feathery tops Of the fir-thicket on the eastward hill, His horses leaned and laboured. Each great hand Held rein and plough-stilt in one guiding grasp-- No ploughman there would brook a helper. Proud With a true ploughman's pride--n.o.bler, I think, Than statesman's, ay, or poet's, or painter's pride, For little praise will come that he ploughs well-- He did plough well, proud of his work itself, And not of what would follow. With sure eye, He saw his horses keep the arrow-track; He saw the swift share cut the measured sod; He saw the furrow folding to the right, Ready with nimble foot to aid at need:-- Turning its secrets upward to the sun, And hiding in the dark the sun-born gra.s.s, And daisies dipped in carmine, lay the tilth-- A million graves to nurse the buried seed, And send a golden harvest up the air.

When the steep sun had clomb to his decline, And pausing seemed, at edge of slow descent, Upon the keystone of his airy bridge, They rested likewise, half-tired man and horse, And homeward went for food and courage new.

Therewith refreshed, they turned again to toil, And lived in labour all the afternoon; Till, in the gloaming, once again the plough Lay like a stranded bark upon the lea, And home with hanging neck the horses went, Walking beside their master, force by will: Then through the lengthening shades a vision came.

It was a lady mounted on a horse, A slender girl upon a mighty steed, That bore her with the pride horses must feel When they submit to women. Home she went, Alone, or else her groom lagged far behind.

Scarce had she bent simple acknowledgment Of the hand in silent salutation lifted To the bowed head, when something faithless yielded: The saddle slipped, the horse stopped, and the girl Stood on her feet, still holding fast the reins.

Three paces bore him bounding to her side; Her radiant beauty almost fixed him there; But with main force, as one that grapples fear, He threw the fascination off, and saw The work before him. Soon his hand and knife Had set the saddle firmer than before Upon the gentle horse; and then he turned To mount the maiden. But bewilderment A moment lasted; for he knew not how, With stirrup-hand and steady arm, to throne, Elastic, on her steed, the ascending maid: A moment only; for while yet she thanked, Nor yet had time to teach her further will, About her waist he put his brawny hands, That all but zoned her round; and like a child Lifting her high, he set her on the horse; Whence like a risen moon she smiled on him, Nor turned aside, although a radiant blush Shone in her cheek, and shadowed in her eyes.