Poems of James Russell Lowell Part 13

VIII.

Why should we ever weary of this life?

Our souls should widen ever, not contract, Grow stronger, and not harder, in the strife, Filling each moment with a n.o.ble act; If we live thus, of vigor all compact, Doing our duty to our fellow-men, And striving rather to exalt our race Than our poor selves, with earnest hand or pen We shall erect our names a dwelling-place Which not all ages shall cast down agen; Offspring of Time shall then be born each hour, Which, as of old, earth lovingly shall guard, To live forever in youth's perfect flower, And guide her future children Heavenward.

IX.

GREEN MOUNTAINS.

Ye mountains, that far off lift up your heads, Seen dimly through their canopies of blue, The shade of my unrestful spirit sheds Distance-created beauty over you; I am not well content with this far view; How may I know what foot of loved-one treads Your rocks moss-grown and sun-dried torrent beds?

We should love all things better, if we knew What claims the meanest have upon our hearts: Perchance even now some eye, that would be bright To meet my own, looks on your mist-robed forms; Perchance your grandeur a deep joy imparts To souls that have encircled mine with light-- O brother-heart, with thee my spirit warms!

X.

My friend, adown Life's valley, hand in hand, With grateful change of grave and merry speech Or song, our hearts unlocking each to each, We'll journey onward to the silent land; And when stern Death shall loose that loving band, Taking in his cold hand a hand of ours, The one shall strew the other's grave with flowers, Nor shall his heart a moment be unmanned.

My friend and brother! if thou goest first, Wilt thou no more re-visit me below?

Yea, when my heart seems happy, causelessly And swells, not dreaming why, as it would burst With joy unspeakable--my soul shall know That thou, unseen, art bending over me.

XI.

Verse cannot say how beautiful thou art, How glorious the calmness of thine eyes, Full of unconquerable energies, Telling that thou hast acted well thy part.

No doubt or fear thy steady faith can start, No thought of evil dare come nigh to thee, Who hast the courage meek of purity, The self-stayed greatness of a loving heart, Strong with serene, enduring fort.i.tude; Where'er thou art, that seems thy fitting place, For not of forms, but Nature, art thou child; And lowest things put on a n.o.ble grace When touched by ye, O patient, Ruth-like, mild And spotless hands of earnest womanhood.

XII.

The soul would fain its loving kindness tell, But custom hangs like lead upon the tongue; The heart is brimful, hollow crowds among, When it finds one whose life and thought are well; Up to the eyes its gus.h.i.+ng love doth swell, The angel cometh and the waters move, Yet it is fearful still to say "I love,"

And words come grating as a jangled bell.

O might we only speak but what we feel, Might the tongue pay but what the heart doth owe, Not Heaven's great thunder, when, deep peal on peal, It shakes the earth, could rouse our spirits so, Or to the soul such majesty reveal, As two short words half-spoken faint and low!

XIII.

I saw a gate: a harsh voice spake and said, "This is the gate of Life;" above was writ, "Leave hope behind, all ye who enter it;"

Then shrank my heart within itself for dread; But, softer than the summer rain is shed, Words dropt upon my soul, and they did say, "Fear nothing, Faith shall save thee, watch and pray!"

So, without fear I lifted up my head, And lo! that writing was not, one fair word Was carven in its stead, and it was "Love."

Then rained once more those sweet tones from above With healing on their wings: I humbly heard, "I am the Life, ask and it shall be given!

I am the way, by me ye enter Heaven!"

XIV.

To the dark, narrow house where loved ones go, Whence no steps outward turn, whose silent door None but the s.e.xton knocks at any more, Are they not sometimes with us yet below?

The longings of the soul would tell us so; Although, so pure and fine their being's essence, Our bodily eyes are witless of their presence, Yet not within the tomb their spirits glow, Like wizard lamps pent up, but whensoever With great thoughts worthy of their high behests Our souls are filled, those bright ones with us be, As, in the patriarch's tent, his angel guests;-- O let us live so worthily, that never We may be far from that blest company.

XV.

I fain would give to thee the loveliest things, For lovely things belong to thee of right, And thou hast been as peaceful to my sight, As the still thoughts that summer twilight brings; Beneath the shadow of thine angel wings O let me live! O let me rest in thee, Growing to thee more and more utterly, Upbearing and upborn, till outward things Are only as they share in thee a part!

Look kindly on me, let thy holy eyes Bless me from the deep fulness of thy heart; So shall my soul in its right strength arise, And nevermore shall pine and shrink and start, Safe-sheltered in thy full souled sympathies.

XVI.

Much I had mused of Love, and in my soul There was one chamber where I dared not look, So much its dark and dreary voidness shook My spirit, feeling that I was not whole: All my deep longings flowed toward one goal For long, long years, but were not answered, Till Hope was drooping, Faith well-nigh stone-dead, And I was still a blind, earth-delving mole; Yet did I know that G.o.d was wise and good, And would fulfil my being late or soon; Nor was such thought in vain, for, seeing thee, Great Love rose up, as, o'er a black pine wood, Round, bright, and clear, upstarteth the full moon, Filling my soul with glory utterly.

XVII.

Sayest thou, most beautiful, that thou wilt wear Flowers and leafy crowns when thou art old, And that thy heart shall never grow so cold But they shall love to wreath thy silvered hair And into age's snows the hope of spring-tide bear?

O, in thy child-like wisdom's moveless hold Dwell ever! still the blessings manifold Of purity, of peace, and untaught care For other's hearts, around thy pathway shed, And thou shalt have a crown of deathless flowers To glorify and guard thy blessed head And give their freshness to thy life's last hours; And, when the Bridegroom calleth, they shall be A wedding-garment white as snow for thee.

XVIII.

Poet! who sittest in thy pleasant room, Warming thy heart with idle thoughts of love, And of a holy life that leads above, Striving to keep life's spring-flowers still in bloom, And lingering to snuff their fresh perfume-- O, there were other duties meant for thee, Than to sit down in peacefulness and Be!

O, there are brother-hearts that dwell in gloom, Souls loathsome, foul, and black with daily sin, So crusted o'er with baseness, that no ray Of heaven's blessed light may enter in!

Come down, then, to the hot and dusty way, And lead them back to hope and peace again-- For, save in Act, thy Love is all in vain.

XIX.