Studies in Song Part 6

A child of brighter than the morning's birth And lovelier than all smiles that may be smiled Save only of little children undefiled, Sweet, perfect, witless of their own dear worth, Live rose of love, mute melody of mirth, Glad as a bird is when the woods are mild, Adorable as is nothing save a child, Hails with wide eyes and lips his life on earth, His lovely life with all its heaven to be.

And whoso reads the name inscribed or hears Feels his own heart a frozen well of tears, Child, for deep dread and fearful pity of thee Whom G.o.d would not let rather die than see The inc.u.mbent horror of impending years.

II.

Man, that wast G.o.dlike being a child, and now, No less than kinglike, art no more in sooth For all thy grace and lordliness of youth, The crown that bids men's branded foreheads bow Much more has branded and bowed down thy brow And gnawn upon it as with fire or tooth Of steel or snake so sorely, that the truth Seems here to bear false witness. Is it thou, Child? and is all the summer of all thy spring This? are the smiles that drew men's kisses down All faded and transfigured to the frown That grieves thy face? Art thou this weary thing?

Then is no slave's load heavier than a crown And such a thrall no bondman as a king.

III.

Misery, beyond all men's most miserable, Absolute, whole, defiant of defence, Inevitable, inexplacable, intense, More vast than heaven is high, more deep than h.e.l.l, Past cure or charm of solace or of spell, Possesses and pervades the spirit and sense Whereto the expanse of the earth pays tribute; whence Breeds evil only, and broods on fumes that swell Rank from the blood of brother and mother and wife.

'Misery of miseries, all is misery,' saith The heavy fair-faced hateful head, at strife With its own l.u.s.ts that burn with feverous breath Lips which the loathsome bitterness of life Leaves fearful of the bitterness of death.

_THE RESURRECTION OF ALCILIA._

(Gratefully inscribed to Dr. A.B. Grosart.)

Sweet song-flower of the Mayspring of our song, Be welcome to us, with loving thanks and praise To his good hand who travelling on strange ways Found thee forlorn and fragrant, lain along Beneath dead leaves that many a winter's wrong Had rained and heaped through nigh three centuries' maze Above thy Maybloom, hiding from our gaze The life that in thy leaves lay sweet and strong.

For thine have life, while many above thine head Piled by the wind lie blossomless and dead.

So now disburdened of such load above That lay as death's own dust upon thee shed By days too deaf to hear thee like a dove Murmuring, we hear thee, bird and flower of love.

_THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY._

(On the refusal by the French Senate of the plenary amnesty demanded by Victor Hugo, in his speech of July 3rd, for the surviving exiles of the Commune.)

Thou shouldst have risen as never dawn yet rose, Day of the sunrise of the soul of France, Dawn of the whole world's morning, when the trance Of all the world had end, and all its woes Respite, prophetic of their perfect close.

Light of all tribes of men, all names and clans, Dawn of the whole world's morning and of man's Flower of the heart of morning's mystic rose, Dawn of the very dawn of very day, When the sun brighter breaks night's ruinous prison, Thou shouldst have risen as yet no dawn has risen, Evoked of him whose word puts night away, Our father, at the music of whose word Exile had ended, and the world had heard.

_July 5, 1880._

LAUNCH OF THE LIVADIA

Mala soluta navis exit alite.

HOR.

Rigged with curses dark.

MILTON.

_THE LAUNCH OF THE LIVADIA._

I.

Gold, and fair marbles, and again more gold, And s.p.a.ce of halls afloat that glance and gleam Like the green heights of sunset heaven, or seem The golden steeps of sunrise red and cold On deserts where dark exile keeps the fold Fast of the flocks of torment, where no beam Falls of kind light or comfort save in dream, These we far off behold not, who behold The cordage woven of curses, and the decks With mortal hate and mortal peril paven; From stem to stern the lines of doom engraven That mark for sure inevitable wrecks Those sails predestinate, though no storm vex, To miss on earth and find in h.e.l.l their haven.

II.

All curses be about her, and all ill Go with her; heaven be dark above her way, The gulf beneath her glad and sure of prey, And, wheresoe'er her prow be pointed, still The winds of heaven have all one evil will Conspirant even as hearts of kings to slay With mouths of kings to lie and smile and pray, And chiefliest his whose wintrier breath makes chill With more than winter's and more poisonous cold The horror of his kingdom toward the north, The deserts of his kingdom toward the east.

And though death hide not in her direful hold Be all stars adverse toward her that come forth Nightly, by day all hours till all have ceased:

III.

Till all have ceased for ever, and the sum Be summed of all the sumless curses told Out on his head by all dark seasons rolled Over its cursed and crowned existence, dumb And blind and stark as though the snows made numb All sense within it, and all conscience cold, That hangs round hearts of less imperial mould Like a snake feeding till their doomsday come.

O heart fast bound of frozen poison, be All nature's as all true men's hearts to thee, A two-edged sword of judgment; hope be far And fear at hand for pilot oversea With death for compa.s.s and despair for star, And the white foam a shroud for the White Czar.

_September 30, 1880._

_SIX YEARS OLD._

To H.W.M.

Between the springs of six and seven, Two fresh years' fountains, clear Of all but golden sand for leaven, Child, midway pa.s.sing here, As earth for love's sake dares bless heaven, So dare I bless you, dear.

Between two bright well-heads, that brighten With every breath that blows Too loud to lull, too low to frighten, But fain to rock, the rose, Your feet stand fast, your lit smiles lighten, That might rear flowers from snows.

You came when winds unleashed were snarling Behind the frost-bound hours, A snow-bird st.u.r.dier than the starling, A storm-bird fledged for showers, That spring might smile to find you, darling, First born of all the flowers.

Could love make worthy things of worthless, My song were worth an ear: Its note should make the days most mirthless The merriest of the year, And wake to birth all buds yet birthless To keep your birthday, dear.

But where your birthday brightens heaven No need has earth, G.o.d knows, Of light or warmth to melt or leaven The frost or fog that glows With sevenfold heavenly lights of seven Sweet springs that cleave the snows.

Could love make worthy music of you, And match my Master's powers, Had even my love less heart to love you, A better song were ours; With all the rhymes like stars above you, And all the words like flowers.

_September 30, 1880._