The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 40

The sun shone on--why should he not s.h.i.+ne on?

Glad summer noises rose from all the land; The love of G.o.d lay warm on hill and plain: 'Tis well to die in summer.

When the breath, After a hopeless pause, returned no more, The father fell upon his knees, and said: "O G.o.d, I thank thee; it is over now!

Through the sore time thy hand has led him well.

Lord, let me follow soon, and be at rest."

Therewith he rose, and comforted the maid, Who in her brother had lost the pride of life, And wept as all her heaven were only rain.

Of the loved lady, little more I know.

I know not if, when she had read his words, She rose in haste, and to her chamber went, And shut the door; nor if, when she came forth, A dawn of holier purpose gleamed across The sadness of her brow. But this I know, That, on a warm autumnal afternoon, When headstone-shadows crossed three neighbour graves, And, like an ended prayer, the empty church Stood in the suns.h.i.+ne, or a cenotaph, A little boy, who watched a cow near by Gather her milk where alms of clover-fields Lay scattered on the sides of silent roads, All sudden saw, nor knew whence she had come, A lady, veiled, alone, and very still, Seated upon a grave. Long time she sat And moved not, weeping sore, the watcher said-- Though how he knew she wept, were hard to tell.

At length, slow-leaning on her elbow down, She hid her face a while in the short gra.s.s, And pulled a something small from off the mound-- A blade of gra.s.s it must have been, he thought, For nothing else was there, not even a daisy-- And put it in a letter. Then she rose, And glided silent forth, over the wall, Where the two steps on this side and on that Shorten the path from westward to the church.-- The clang of hoofs and sound of light, swift wheels Arose and died upon the listener's ear.

A STORY OF THE SEA-Sh.o.r.e.

TO THEM THAT MOURN.

Let your tears flow; let your sad sighs have scope; Only take heed they fan, they water Hope.

A STORY OF THE SEA-Sh.o.r.e.

INTRODUCTION.

I sought the long clear twilights of my home, Far in the pale-blue skies and slaty seas, What time the sunset dies not utterly, But withered to a ghost-like stealthy gleam, Round the horizon creeps the short-lived night, And changes into sunrise in a swoon.

I found my home in homeliness unchanged: The love that made it home, unchangeable, Received me as a child, and all was well.

My ancient summer-heaven, borne on the hills, Once more embraced me; and once more the vale, So often sighed for in the far-off nights, Rose on my bodily vision, and, behold, In nothing had the fancy mocked the fact!

The hasting streams went garrulous as of old; The resting flowers in silence uttered more; The blue hills rose and dwelt alone in heaven; Householding Nature from her treasures brought Things old and new, the same yet not the same, For all was holier, lovelier than before; And best of all, once more I paced the fields With him whose love had made me long for G.o.d So good a father that, needs-must, I sought A better still, Father of him and me.

Once on a day, my cousin Frank and I Sat swiftly borne behind the dear white mare That oft had carried me in bygone days Along the lonely paths of moorland hills; But now we sought the coast, where deep waves foam 'Gainst rocks that lift their dark fronts to the north.

And with us went a girl, on whose kind face I had not looked for many a youthful year, But the old friends.h.i.+p straightway blossomed new.

The heavens were sunny, and the earth was green; The large harebells in families stood along The gra.s.sy borders, of a tender blue Transparent as the sky, haunted with wings Of many b.u.t.terflies, as blue as they.

And as we talked and talked without restraint, Brought near by memories of days that were, And therefore are for ever; by the joy Of motion through a warm and s.h.i.+ning air; By the glad sense of freedom and like thoughts; And by the bond of friends.h.i.+p with the dead, She told the tale which here I tell again.

I had returned to childish olden time, And asked her if she knew a castle worn, Whose masonry, razed utterly above, Yet faced the sea-cliff up, and met the waves:-- 'Twas one of my child-marvels; for, each year, We turned our backs upon the ripening corn, And sought some village on the Moray sh.o.r.e; And nigh this ruin, was that I loved the best.

For oh the riches of that little port!-- Down almost to the beach, where a high wall Inclosed them, came the gardens of a lord, Free to the visitor with foot restrained-- His shady walks, his ancient trees of state; His river--that would not be shut within, But came abroad, went dreaming o'er the sands, And lost itself in finding out the sea; Inside, it bore grave swans, white splendours--crept Under the fairy leap of a wire bridge, Vanished in leaves, and came again where lawns Lay verdurous, and the peac.o.c.k's plumy heaven Bore azure suns with green and golden rays.

It was my childish Eden; for the skies Were loftier in that garden, and the clouds More summer-gracious, edged with broader white; And when they rained, it was a golden rain That sparkled as it fell--an odorous rain.

And then its wonder-heart!--a little room, Half-hollowed in the side of a steep hill, Which rose, with columned, windy temple crowned, A landmark to far seas. The enchanted cell Was clouded over in the gentle night Of a luxuriant foliage, and its door, Half-filled with rainbow hues of coloured gla.s.s, Opened into the bosom of the hill.

Never to sesame of mine that door Gave up its sanctuary; but through the gla.s.s, Gazing with reverent curiosity, I saw a little chamber, round and high, Which but to see was to escape the heat, And bathe in coolness of the eye and brain; For all was dusky greenness; on one side, A window, half-blind with ivy manifold, Whose leaves, like heads of gazers, climbed to the top, Gave a joy-saddened light, for all that came Through the thick veil was green, oh, kindest hue!

But the heart has a heart--this heart had one: Still in the midst, the _ever more_ of all, On a low column stood, white, cold, dim-clear, A marble woman. Who she was I know not-- A Psyche, or a Silence, or an Echo: Pale, undefined, a silvery shadow, still, In one lone chamber of my memory, She is a power upon me as of old.

But, ah, to dream there through hot summer days, In coolness shrouded and sea-murmurings, Forgot by all till twilight shades grew dark!

To find half-hidden in the hollowed wall, A nest of tales, old volumes such as dreams h.o.a.rd up in bookshops dim in tortuous streets!

That wondrous marble woman evermore Filling the gloom with calm delirium Of radiated whiteness, as I read!-- The fancied joy, too plenteous for its cup, O'erflowed, and turned to sadness as it fell.

But the gray ruin on the shattered sh.o.r.e, Not the green refuge in the bowering hill, Drew forth our talk that day. For, as I said, I asked her if she knew it. She replied, "I know it well. A woman used to live In one of its low vaults, my mother says."

"I found a hole," I said, "and spiral stair, Leading from level of the ground above To a low-vaulted room within the rock, Whence through a small square window I looked forth Wide o'er the waters; the dim-sounding waves Were many feet below, and shrunk in size To a great ripple." "'Twas not there," she said, "--Not in that room half up the cliff, but one Low down, within the margin of spring tides: When both the tide and northern wind are high, 'Tis more an ocean-cave than castle-vault."

And then she told me all she knew of her.

It was a simple tale, a monotone: She climbed one sunny hill, gazed once abroad, Then wandered down, to pace a dreary plain; Alas! how many such are told by night, In fisher-cottages along the sh.o.r.e!

Farewell, old summer-day! I turn aside To tell her story, interwoven with thoughts Born of its sorrow; for I dare not think A woman at the mercy of a sea.

THE STORY.

Aye as it listeth blows the listless wind, Swelling great sails, and bending lordly masts, Or hurrying shadow-waves o'er fields of corn, And hunting lazy clouds across the sky: Now, like a white cloud o'er another sky, It blows a tall brig from the harbour's mouth, Away to high-tossed heads of wallowing waves, 'Mid hoverings of long-pinioned arrowy birds.

With clouds and birds and sails and broken crests, All s.p.a.ce is full of spots of fluttering white, And yet the sailor knows that handkerchief Waved wet with tears, and heavy in the wind.

Blow, wind! draw out the cord that binds the twain; Draw, for thou canst not break the lengthening cord.

Blow, wind! yet gently; gently blow, fair wind!

And let love's vision slowly, gently die; Let the bright sails all solemn-slowly pa.s.s, And linger ghost-like o'er the vanished hull, With a white farewell to her straining eyes; For never more in morning's level beams, Will those sea-shadowing sails, dark-stained and worn, From the gray-billowed north come dancing in; Oh, never, gliding home 'neath starry skies, Over the dusk of the dim-glancing sea, Will the great s.h.i.+p send forth a herald cry Of home-come sailors, into sleeping streets!

Blow gently, wind! blow slowly, gentle wind!

Weep not yet, maiden; 'tis not yet thy hour.

Why shouldst thou weep before thy time is come?

Go to thy work; break into song sometimes-- Song dying slow-forgotten, in the lapse Of dreamy thought, ere natural pause ensue, Or sudden dropt what time the eager heart Hurries the ready eye to north and east.

Sing, maiden, while thou canst, ere yet the truth, Slow darkening, choke the heart-caged singing bird!

The weeks went by. Oft leaving household work, With bare arms and uncovered head she clomb The landward slope of the prophetic hill; From whose green head, as from the verge of time, Far out on the eternity of blue, Shading her hope-rapt eyes, seer-like she gazed, If from the Hades of the nether world, Slow climbing up the round side of the earth, Haply her prayers were drawing his tardy sails Over the threshold of the far sky-sea-- Drawing her sailor home to celebrate, With holy rites of family and church, The apotheosis of maidenhood.

Months pa.s.sed; he came not; and a shadowy fear, Long haunting the horizon of her soul, In deeper gloom and sharper form drew nigh; And growing in bulk, possessed her atmosphere, And lost all shape, because it filled all s.p.a.ce, And reached beyond the bounds of consciousness-- In sudden incarnations darting swift From out its infinite a gulfy stare Of terror blank, of hideous emptiness, Of widowhood ere ever wedding-day.

On granite ridge, and chalky cliff, and pier, Far built into the waves along our sh.o.r.es, Maidens have stood since ever s.h.i.+ps went forth; The same pain at the heart; the same slow mist Clouding the eye; the same fixed longing look, As if the soul had gone, and left the door Wide open--gone to lean, hearken, and peer Over the awful edge where voidness sinks Sheer to oblivion--that horizon-line Over whose edge he vanished--came no more.

O G.o.d, why are our souls, waste, helpless seas, Tortured with such immitigable storm?

What is this love, that now on angel wing Sweeps us amid the stars in pa.s.sionate calm; And now with demon arms fast cincturing, Drops us, through all gyrations of keen pain, Down the black vortex, till the giddy whirl Gives fainting respite to the ghastly brain?

O happy they for whom the Possible Opens its gates of madness, and becomes The Real around them!--such to whom henceforth There is but one to-morrow, the next morn, Their wedding-day, ever one step removed, The husband's foot ever upon the verge Of the day's threshold, in a lasting dream!

Such madness may be but a formless faith-- A chaos which the breath of G.o.d will blow Into an ordered world of seed and fruit.

Shall not the Possible become the Real?

G.o.d sleeps not when he makes his daughters dream.

Shall not the morrow dawn at last which leads The maiden-ghost, confused and half awake, Into the land whose shadows are our dreams?-- Thus questioning we stand upon the sh.o.r.e, And gaze across into the Unrevealed.

Upon its visible symbol gazed the girl, Till earth behind her ceased, and sea was all, Possessing eyes and brain and shrinking soul-- A universal mouth to swallow up, And close eternally in one blue smile!

A still monotony of pauseless greed, Its only voice an endless, dreary song Of wailing, and of craving from the world!

A low dull dirge that ever rose and died, Recurring without pause or change or close, Like one verse chaunted ever in sleepless brain, Still drew her to the sh.o.r.e. It drew her down, Like witch's spell, that fearful endless moan; Somewhere, she thought, in the green abyss below, His body, at the centre of the moan, Obeyed the motions whence the moaning grew; Now, now, in circle slow revolved, and now Swayed like a wind-swung bell, now swept along Hither and thither, idly to and fro, Heedlessly wandering through the heedless sea.

Its fascination drew her onward still-- On to the ridgy rocks that seaward ran, And out along their furrows and jagged backs, To the last lonely point where the green ma.s.s Arose and sank, heaved slow and forceful. There She shuddered and recoiled. Thus, for a time, Sport-slave of power occult, she came and went, Betwixt the sh.o.r.e and sea alternating, Drawn ever to the greedy lapping lip, Then, terror-stung, driven backward: there it lay, The heartless, cruel, miserable deep, Ambushed in horror, with its glittering eye Still drawing her to its green gulfing maw!

But every ocean hath its isles, each woe Its scattered comfortings; and this was one That often came to her--that she, wave-caught, Must, in the wash of ever-s.h.i.+fting waters, In some good hour sure-fixed of pitiful fate, _All-conscious still of love, despite the sea_, Float over some stray bone, some particle, Which far-diffused sense would know as his: Heart-glad she would sit down, and watch the tide Slow-growing--till it reached at length her feet, When, at its first cold touch, up she would spring, And, ghastful, flee, with white-rimmed sightless eye.

But still, where'er she fled, the sea-voice followed; Whisperings innumerable of water-drops Would grow together to a giant cry; Now hoa.r.s.e, half-stifled, pleading, warning tones, Now thunderous peals of billowy, wrathful shouts, Called after her to come, and make no pause.

From the loose clouds that mingled with the spray, And from the tossings of the lifted seas, Where plunged and rose the raving wilderness, Outreaching arms, pursuing, beckoning hands, Came sh.o.r.eward, lengthening, feeling after her.