Studies in Song Part 4

_October 19, 1880._

_OFF Sh.o.r.e._

When the might of the summer Is most on the sea; When the days overcome her With joy but to be, With rapture of royal enchantment, and sorcery that sets her not free,

But for hours upon hours As a thrall she remains Spell-bound as with flowers And content in their chains, And her loud steeds fret not, and lift not a lock of their deep white manes;

Then only, far under In the depths of her hold, Some gleam of its wonder Man's eye may behold, Its wild-weed forests of crimson and russet and olive and gold.

Still deeper and dimmer And goodlier they glow For the eyes of the swimmer Who scans them below As he crosses the zone of their flowerage that knows not of suns.h.i.+ne and snow.

Soft blossomless frondage And foliage that gleams As to prisoners in bondage The light of their dreams, The desire of a dawn unbeholden, with hope on the wings of its beams.

Not as prisoners entombed Waxen haggard and wizen, But consoled and illumed In the depths of their prison With delight of the light everlasting and vision of dawn on them risen,

From the banks and the beds Of the waters divine They lift up their heads And the flowers of them s.h.i.+ne Through the splendour of darkness that clothes them of water that glimmers like wine.

Bright bank over bank Making glorious the gloom, Soft rank upon rank, Strange bloom after bloom, They kindle the liquid low twilight, the dusk of the dim sea's womb.

Through the subtle and tangible Gloom without form, Their branches, infrangible Ever of storm Spread softer their sprays than the shoots of the woodland when April is warm.

As the flight of the thunder, full Charged with its word, Dividing the wonderful Depths like a bird, Speaks wrath and delight to the heart of the night that exults to have heard,

So swiftly, though soundless In silence's ear, Light, winged from the boundless Blue depths full of cheer, Speaks joy to the heart of the waters that part not before him, but hear.

Light, perfect and visible G.o.dhead of G.o.d, G.o.d indivisible, Lifts but his rod, And the shadows are scattered in sunder, and darkness is light at his nod.

At the touch of his wand, At the nod of his head From the s.p.a.ces beyond Where the dawn hath her bed, Earth, water, and air are transfigured, and rise as one risen from the dead.

He puts forth his hand, And the mountains are thrilled To the heart as they stand In his presence, fulfilled With his glory that utters his grace upon earth, and her sorrows are stilled.

The moan of her travail That groans for the light Till dayspring unravel The weft of the night, At the sound of the strings of the music of morning, falls dumb with delight.

He gives forth his word, And the word that he saith, Ere well it be heard, Strikes darkness to death; For the thought of his heart is the sunrise, and dawn as the sound of his breath.

And the strength of its pulses That pa.s.sion makes proud Confounds and convulses The depths of the cloud Of the darkness that heaven was engirt with, divided and rent as a shroud,

As the veil of the shrine Of the temple of old When darkness divine Over noonday was rolled; So the heart of the night by the pulse of the light is convulsed and controlled.

And the sea's heart, groaning For glories withdrawn, And the waves' mouths, moaning All night for the dawn, Are uplift as the hearts and the mouths of the singers on leaside and lawn.

And the sound of the quiring Of all these as one, Desired and desiring Till dawn's will be done, Fills full with delight of them heaven till it burns as the heart of the sun.

Till the waves too inherit And waters take part In the sense of the spirit That breathes from his heart, And are kindled with music as fire when the lips of the morning part,

With music unheard In the light of her lips, In the life-giving word Of the dewfall that drips On the gra.s.ses of earth, and the wind that enkindles the wings of the s.h.i.+ps.

White glories of wings As of seafaring birds That flock from the springs Of the sunrise in herds With the wind for a herdsman, and hasten or halt at the change of his words.

As the watchword's change When the wind's note s.h.i.+fts, And the skies grow strange, And the white squall drifts Up sharp from the sea-line, vexing the sea till the low cloud lifts.

At the charge of his word Bidding pause, bidding haste, When the ranks are stirred And the lines displaced, They scatter as wild swans parting adrift on the wan green waste.

At the hush of his word In a pause of his breath When the waters have heard His will that he saith, They stand as a flock penned close in its fold for division of death.

As a flock by division Of death to be thinned, As the shades in a vision Of spirits that sinned; So glimmer their shrouds and their sheetings as clouds on the stream of the wind.

But the sun stands fast, And the sea burns bright, And the flight of them past Is no more than the flight Of the snow-soft swarm of serene wings poised and afloat in the light.

Like flowers upon flowers In a festival way When hours after hours Shed grace on the day, White blossomlike b.u.t.terflies hover and gleam through the snows of the spray.

Like snow-coloured petals Of blossoms that flee From storm that unsettles The flower as the tree They flutter, a legion of flowers on the wing, through the field of the sea.

Through the furrowless field Where the foam-blossoms blow And the secrets are sealed Of their harvest below They float in the path of the sunbeams, as flakes or as blossoms of snow.

Till the sea's ways darken, And the G.o.d, withdrawn, Give ear not or hearken If prayer on him fawn, And the sun's self seem but a shadow, the noon as a ghost of the dawn.

No shadow, but rather G.o.d, father of song, Shew grace to me, Father G.o.d, loved of me long, That I lose not the light of thy face, that my trust in thee work me not wrong.

While yet I make forward With face toward thee Not turned yet in sh.o.r.eward, Be thine upon me; Be thy light on my forehead or ever I turn it again from the sea.

As a kiss on my brow Be the light of thy grace, Be thy glance on me now From the pride of thy place: As the sign of a sire to a son be the light on my face of thy face.

Thou wast father of olden Times hailed and adored, And the sense of thy golden Great harp's monochord Was the joy in the soul of the singers that hailed thee for master and lord.

Fair father of all In thy ways that have trod, That have risen at thy call, That have thrilled at thy nod, Arise, s.h.i.+ne, lighten upon me, O sun that we see to be G.o.d.

As my soul has been dutiful Only to thee, O G.o.d most beautiful, Lighten thou me, As I swim through the dim long rollers, with eyelids uplift from the sea.

Be praised and adored of us All in accord, Father and lord of us Alway adored, The slayer and the stayer and the harper, the light of us all and our lord.

At the sound of thy lyre, At the touch of thy rod, Air quickens to fire By the foot of thee trod, The saviour and healer and singer, the living and visible G.o.d.

The years are before thee As shadows of thee, As men that adore thee, As cloudlets that flee: But thou art the G.o.d, and thy kingdom is heaven, and thy shrine is the sea.

_AFTER NINE YEARS._

TO JOSEPH MAZZINI.

_Prima dicte mihi, summa dicende Camena._