The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 7

The starry host in glorious twofold show Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this, A quivering fear thorough my heart did go: Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss, A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss Of the cool water lightly crisping round The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze My fallen eyelids. But again the sound Of my guide's voice on the still air arose: "Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith?

For keenest sight but multiplies the shows.

Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath; Terrified, dare the terror in G.o.d's name; Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?"

I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, And strode on the invisible sea. The same High moment vanished all my cowardice, And G.o.d was with me. The well-pleased stars Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies, The white aurora flashed great scimitars From north to zenith; and again my guide Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars Latticed across a soul I there descried, No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide; Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong, Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand Close to me in the void as one in a throng, Yet on the border of some nameless land He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly, Searched in his countenance, as in a mine, For jewels of contentment, satisfy My heart I could not. Seeming to divine My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, And held me to his bosom. Still I missed That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist; Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared Along the dusty highways of the old clime.

Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared My soul, stood reading there a little time, While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew That dims the gra.s.s at evening or at prime, But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue: And on his lips a faint ethereal smile Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue Trembling about a purple flower, the while Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried; But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, And in my bosom all the utterance died.

VII.

A moment more he stood, then softly sighed.

"I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far Beyond my help," his voice at length replied To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze: Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar The liquid glory that from its visage rays, Thou therefore knowest that same world on high, Its people and its orders and its ways?"

"What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee!

Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!"

"Not the less near that nearer I shall be.

I have a world within thou dost not know-- Would I could make thee know it! but all of me Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so Into possession that betwixt us twain The frolic homeliness of love should flow As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again: Away the deeper childhood first must wipe That clouded consciousness which was our pain.

When in thy breast the G.o.dlike hath grown ripe, And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more A child than when we played with drum and pipe About our earthly father's happy door, Then--" He ceased not; his holy utterance still Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill, Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech.

At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill-- With earthly words I heavenly things would reach-- Where dwelleth now the man we used to call Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall Became a temple, holy grew the room, p.r.o.ne on the ground before him I did fall, So grand he towered above me like a doom; But now I look into the well-known face Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom Of his eternal youthfulness and grace."

"But something separates us," yet I cried; "Let light at least begin the dark to chase, The dark begin to waver and divide, And clear the path of vision. In the old time, When clouds one heart did from the other hide, A wind would blow between! If I would climb, This foot must rise ere that can go up higher: Some big A teach me of the eternal prime."

He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can Give out one perfect note in its great quire; And thereto am I sent--oh, sent of one Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing: He opens every door 'twixt man and man; He to all inner chambers all will bring."

VIII.

It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound, And Hope had ever been enough for me, To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound; From chains of school and mode she set me free, And urged my life to living.--On we went Across the stars that underlay the sea, And came to a blown sh.o.r.e of sand and bent.

Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed Silent--I, for I pondered what he meant, And he, that sacred speech might not be lost-- And came at length upon an evil place: Trees lay about like a half-buried host, Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground Slow from the waste began a gentle rise; And tender gra.s.s in patches, then all round, Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge Of softest green cold-flus.h.i.+ng every mound; At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe; And last, a gloomy forest, almost blind, For on its roof no sun-ray did impinge, So that its very leaves did share the mind Of a brown shadowless day. Not, all the year, Once part its branches to let through a wind, But all day long the unmoving trees appear To ponder on the past, as men may do That for the future wait without a fear, And in the past the coming present view.

IX.

I know not if for days many or few Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun, Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through, Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun, Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade.

No life was there--not even a spider spun.

At length we came into a sky-roofed glade, An open level, in a circle shut By solemn trees that stood aside and made Large room and lonely for a little hut By gra.s.sy sweeps wide-margined from the wood.

'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut When those great trees no larger by them stood; Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude, Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-p.r.o.ne.

To its low door my brother led me. "There Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer, And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come, Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb, And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?"

With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some Conflicting motions of his kingly head, He pointed to the open-standing door.

I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led!

I turned: his countenance shone like lightning h.o.a.r!

Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow, Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more; With voice nor hand said, _Farewell, I must go!_ But drew the clinging door hard to the post.

No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no Footfalls came back from the departing ghost.

He was no more. I laid me down and wept; I dared not follow him, restrained the most By fear I should not see him if I leapt Out after him with cries of pleading love.

Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept; There cool sleep came, G.o.d's shadow, from above.

X.

I woke, with calmness cleansed and sanctified-- The peace that filled my heart of old, when I Woke in my mother's lap; for since I died The past lay bare, even to the dreaming shy That shadowed my yet gathering unborn brain.

And, marvelling, on the floor I saw, close by My elbow-pillowed head, as if it had lain Beside me all the time I dreamless lay, A little pool of sunlight, which did stain The earthen brown with gold; marvelling, I say, Because, across the sea and through the wood, No sun had shone upon me all the way.

I rose, and through a c.h.i.n.k the glade I viewed, But all was dull as it had always been, And sunless every tree-top round it stood, With hardly light enough to show it green; Yet through the broken roof, serenely glad, By a rough hole entered that heavenly sheen.

Then I remembered in old years I had Seen such a light--where, with dropt eyelids gloomed, Sitting on such a floor, dark women sad In a low barn-like house where lay entombed Their sires and children; only there the door Was open to the sun, which entering plumed With shadowy palms the stones that on the floor Stood up like lidless chests--again to find That the soul needs no brain, but keeps her store In hidden chambers of the eternal mind.

Thence backward ran my roused Memory Down the ever-opening vista--back to blind Antic.i.p.ations while my soul did lie Closed in my mother's; forward thence through bright Spring morns of childhood, gay with hopes that fly Bird-like across their doming blue and white, To pa.s.sionate summer noons, to saddened eves Of autumn rain, so on to wintred night; Thence up once more to the dewy dawn that weaves Saffron and gold--weaves hope with still content, And wakes the wors.h.i.+p that even wrong bereaves Of half its pain. And round her as she went Hovered a sense as of an odour dear Whose flower was far--as of a letter sent Not yet arrived--a footstep coming near, But, oh, how long delayed the lifting latch!-- As of a waiting sun, ready to peer Yet peering not--as of a breathless watch Over a sleeping beauty--babbling rime About her lips, but no winged word to catch!

And here I lay, the child of changeful Time Shut in the weary, changeless Evermore, A dull, eternal, fadeless, fruitless clime!

Was this the dungeon of my sinning sore-- A gentle h.e.l.l of loneliness, foredoomed For such as I, whose love was yet the core Of all my being? The brown shadow gloomed Persistent, faded, warm. No ripple ran Across the air, no roaming insect boomed.

"Alas," I cried, "I am no living man!

Better were darkness and the leave to grope Than light that builds its own drear prison! Can This be the folding of the wings of Hope?"

XI.

That instant--through the branches overhead No sound of going went--a shadow fell Isled in the unrippled pool of sunlight fed From some far fountain hid in heavenly dell.

I looked, and in the low roofs broken place A single snowdrop stood--a radiant bell Of silvery s.h.i.+ne, softly subdued by grace Of delicate green that made the white appear Yet whiter. Blind it bowed its head a s.p.a.ce, Half-timid--then, as in despite of fear, Unfolded its three rays. If it had swung Its pendent bell, and music golden clear-- Division just entrancing sounds among-- Had flickered down as tender as flakes of snow, It had not shed more influence as it rung Than from its look alone did rain and flow.

I knew the flower; perceived its human ways; Dim saw the secret that had made it grow: My heart supplied the music's golden phrase.

Light from the dark and snowdrops from the earth, Life's resurrection out of gross decays, The endless round of beauty's yearly birth, And nations' rise and fall--were in the flower, And read themselves in silence. Heavenly mirth Awoke in my sad heart. For one whole hour I praised the G.o.d of snowdrops. But at height The bliss gave way. Next, faith began to cower; And then the snowdrop vanished from my sight.

XII.

Last, I began in unbelief to say: "No angel this! a snowdrop--nothing more!

A trifle which G.o.d's hands drew forth in play From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore, Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed!

A wilful fancy would have gathered store Of evanescence from the pretty weed, White, shapely--then divine! Conclusion lame O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed!

Not out of G.o.d, but nothingness it came: Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat, It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!"

When, see, another shadow at my feet!

Hopeless I lifted now my weary head: Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?-- A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn!

A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said, Half rising from the couch where it was born, And smiling to the world! I breathed again; Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn, And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train.

XIII.

I was a child once more, nor pondered life, Thought not of what or how much. All my soul With sudden births of lovely things grew rife.

In peeps a daisy: on the instant roll Rich lawny fields, with red tips crowding the green, Across the hollows, over ridge and knoll, To where the rosy sun goes down serene.

From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel: I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean; Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods; Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell; Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beat.i.tudes Blaze in the slanting suns.h.i.+ne all around; Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods-- Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground-- The sacrifice bore through the veil of light, Odour and colour offering up in sound.-- Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might And shapeful silences of lovely lore, I sat a child, happy with only sight, And for a time I needed nothing more.

XIV.

Supine to the revelation I did lie, Pa.s.sive as prophet to his dreaming deep, Or harp Aeolian to the breathing sky, And blest as any child whom twilight sleep Holds half, and half lets go. But the new day Of higher need up-dawned with sudden leap: "Ah, flowers," I said, "ye are divinely gay, But your fair music is too far and fine!

Ye are full cups, yet reach not to allay The drought of those for human love who pine As the hart for water-brooks!" At once a face Was looking in my face; its eyes through mine Were feeding me with tenderness and grace, And by their love I knew my mother's eyes.

Gazing in them, there grew in me apace A longing grief, and love did swell and rise Till weeping I brake out and did bemoan My blameful share in bygone tears and cries: "O mother, wilt thou plead for me?" I groan; "I say not, plead with Christ, but plead with those Who, gathered now in peace about his throne, Were near me when my heart was full of throes, And longings vain alter a flying bliss, Which oft the fountain by the threshold froze: They must forgive me, mother! Tell them this: No more shall swell the love-dividing sigh; Down at their feet I lay my selfishness."

The face grew pa.s.sionate at this my cry; The gathering tears up to its eyebrims rose; It grew a trembling mist, that did not fly But slow dissolved. I wept as one of those Who wake outside the garden of their dream, And, lo, the droop-winged hours laborious close Its opal gates with stone and stake and beam.

XV.

But glory went that glory more might come.

Behold a countless mult.i.tude--no less!

A host of faces, me besieging, dumb In the lone castle of my mournfulness!

Had then my mother given the word I sent, Gathering my dear ones from the s.h.i.+ning press?

And had these others their love-aidance lent For full a.s.surance of the pardon prayed?

Would they concentre love, with sweet intent, On my self-love, to blast the evil shade?

Ah, perfect vision! pledge of endless hope!

Oh army of the holy spirit, arrayed In comfort's panoply! For words I grope-- For clouds to catch your radiant dawn, my own, And tell your coming! From the highest cope Of blue, down to my roof-breach came a cone Of faces and their eyes on love's will borne, Bright heads down-bending like the forward blown, Heavy with ripeness, golden ears of corn, By gentle wind on crowded harvest-field, All gazing toward my prison-hut forlorn As if with power of eyes they would have healed My troubled heart, making it like their own In which the bitter fountain had been sealed, And the life-giving water flowed alone!

XVI.

With what I thus beheld, glorified then, "G.o.d, let me love my fill and pa.s.s!" I sighed, And dead, for love had almost died again.

"O fathers, brothers, I am yours!" I cried; "O mothers, sisters. I am nothing now Save as I am yours, and in you sanctified!

O men, O women, of the peaceful brow, And infinite abysses in the eyes Whence G.o.d's ineffable gazes on me, how Care ye for me, impa.s.sioned and unwise?

Oh ever draw my heart out after you!

Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise And I need nothing, not even for love will sue!

I am no more, and love is all in all!