The Voice of Science in Nineteenth-Century Literature Part 11

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

XXV

Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."

XXVI

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVII

Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about; but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went.

XXVIII

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow; And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-- "I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

XXIX

Into this Universe, and _Why_ not knowing Nor _Whence_, like Water w.i.l.l.y-nilly flowing; And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not _Whither_, w.i.l.l.y-nilly blowing.

x.x.x

What, without asking, hither hurried _Whence_?

And, without asking, _Whither_ hurried hence!

Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence!

x.x.xI

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

x.x.xII

There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see; Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was--and then no more of THEE and ME.

x.x.xIII

Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

x.x.xIV

Then of the THEE IN ME who works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, As from Without--"THE ME WITHIN THEE BLIND!"

x.x.xV

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live, Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."

x.x.xVI

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer'd, once did live, And drink; and Ah! the pa.s.sive Lip I kiss'd, How many Kisses might it take--and give!

x.x.xVII

For I remember stopping by the way To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay; And with its all-obliterated Tongue It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

x.x.xVIII

And has not such a Story from of Old Down Man's successive generations roll'd Of such a clod of saturated Earth Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

x.x.xIX

And not a drop that from our Cups we throw For Earth to drink of, but may steal below To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.

XL

As then the Tulip for her morning sup Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up, Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.

XLI

Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

XLII

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in what All begins and ends in--Yes; Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY You were--TO-MORROW you shall be not less.

XLIII

So when that Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.

XLIV

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him In this clay carca.s.s crippled to abide?

XLV

'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

XLVI

And fear not lest Existence closing your Account, and mine, should know the like no more; The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

XLVII

When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

XLVIII

A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste-- And Lo!--the phantom Caravan has reach'd The NOTHING it set out from--Oh, make haste!