The Early Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson Part 64

"Then dying of a mortal stroke, What time the foeman's line is broke.

And all the war is roll'd in smoke." [2]

"Yea!" said the voice, "thy dream was good, While thou abodest in the bud.

It was the stirring of the blood.

"If Nature put not forth her power [2]

About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?

"Then comes the check, the change, the fall.

Pain rises up, old pleasures pall.

There is one remedy for all.

"Yet hadst thou, thro' enduring pain, Link'd month to month with such a chain Of knitted purport, all were vain.

"Thou hadst not between death and birth Dissolved the riddle of the earth.

So were thy labour little worth.

"That men with knowledge merely play'd, I told thee--hardly nigher made, Tho' scaling slow from grade to grade;

"Much less this dreamer, deaf and blind, Named man, may hope some truth to find, That bears relation to the mind.

"For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own coc.o.o.n.

"Cry, faint not: either Truth is born Beyond the polar gleam forlorn, Or in the gateways of the morn.

"Cry, faint not, climb: the summits slope Beyond the furthest nights of hope, Wrapt in dense cloud from base to cope.

"Sometimes a little corner s.h.i.+nes, As over rainy mist inclines A gleaming crag with belts of pines.

"I will go forward, sayest thou, I shall not fail to find her now.

Look up, the fold is on her brow.

"If straight thy track, or if oblique, Thou know'st not. Shadows thou dost strike, Embracing cloud, Ixion-like;

"And owning but a little more Than beasts, abidest lame and poor, Calling thyself a little lower

"Than angels. Cease to wail and brawl!

Why inch by inch to darkness crawl?

There is one remedy for all."

"O dull, one-sided voice," said I, "Wilt thou make everything a lie, To flatter me that I may die?

"I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.

"I cannot hide that some have striven, Achieving calm, to whom was given The joy that mixes man with Heaven:

"Who, rowing hard against the stream, Saw distant gates of Eden gleam, And did not dream it was a dream";

"But heard, by secret transport led, [3]

Ev'n in the charnels of the dead, The murmur of the fountain-head--

"Which did accomplish their desire,-- Bore and forbore, and did not tire, Like Stephen, an unquenched fire.

"He heeded not reviling tones, Nor sold his heart to idle moans, Tho' cursed and scorn'd, and bruised with stones:

"But looking upward, full of grace, He pray'd, and from a happy place G.o.d's glory smote him on the face."

The sullen answer slid betwixt: "Not that the grounds of hope were fix'd, The elements were kindlier mix'd." [4]

I said, "I toil beneath the curse, But, knowing not the universe, I fear to slide from bad to worse. [5]

"And that, in seeking to undo One riddle, and to find the true, I knit a hundred others new:

"Or that this anguish fleeting hence, Unmanacled from bonds of sense, Be fix'd and froz'n to permanence:

"For I go, weak from suffering here; Naked I go, and void of cheer: What is it that I may not fear?"

"Consider well," the voice replied, "His face, that two hours since hath died; Wilt thou find pa.s.sion, pain or pride?

"Will he obey when one commands?

Or answer should one press his hands?

He answers not, nor understands.

"His palms are folded on his breast: There is no other thing express'd But long disquiet merged in rest.

"His lips are very mild and meek: Tho' one should smite him on the cheek, And on the mouth, he will not speak.

"His little daughter, whose sweet face He kiss'd, taking his last embrace, Becomes dishonour to her race--

"His sons grow up that bear his name, Some grow to honour, some to shame,-- But he is chill to praise or blame. [6]

"He will not hear the north wind rave, Nor, moaning, household shelter crave From winter rains that beat his grave.

"High up the vapours fold and swim: About him broods the twilight dim: The place he knew forgetteth him."

"If all be dark, vague voice," I said, "These things are wrapt in doubt and dread, Nor canst thou show the dead are dead.

"The sap dries up: the plant declines. [7]

A deeper tale my heart divines.

Know I not Death? the outward signs?

"I found him when my years were few; A shadow on the graves I knew, And darkness in the village yew.

"From grave to grave the shadow crept: In her still place the morning wept: Touch'd by his feet the daisy slept.

"The simple senses crown'd his head: [8]

'Omega! thou art Lord,' they said; 'We find no motion in the dead.'

"Why, if man rot in dreamless ease, Should that plain fact, as taught by these, Not make him sure that he shall cease?