Eidolon, or The Course of a Soul Part 11

Forth went he from the ebb and flow of men, Whose busy vortex drowneth quiet thought, To hold communion with wise Nature's soul In solitude. Amongst lone woods he roamed, Listing the murmurs of the swaying boughs That quivered with the spirit of the breeze, Threading their arched aisles with solemn heart, And hiving in his soul a myriad thoughts That fell unseen upon him. Oft he stood On mountain fronts, and gazed long hours away, Tracing the sweep of hill and dale, now veined With glistening waters, and now dark with groves, Still changing till sight lost ident.i.ty, And the ideal and the real met.

He saw the sun enter the golden gates Of Night, that closed upon his radiant path, And left Earth wondering; and star by star Unlid their shining orbs, and o'er heaven's plain Wheel their bright cars to greet him in the East.

He saw the morn break beautiful and pure, Like virgin from her slumbers, and robe earth In dewy brightness, cresting the far hills With glorious halos of oncoming day.

All loveliness of earth and sky he sought, And pondered with a heart attent to learn, Knowing that Beauty, like a parent stream, Is nourished by each trickling rill that flows Into it; and the soul that would be apt To work its highest counsels out, must toil Through long apprentice-ship to mastery, By units gath'ring fitness for the whole.

Thus did he, till with spirit br.i.m.m.i.n.g up With glorious inspiration, he returned, And set the G.o.d-like in him to create; His swelling soul grew patient to the work, Wise with the sense of innate potency, And on the shapeless marble still he wrought With faith and firm a.s.surance.

Many came Amid their aimless wanderings, and stood Beside that quiet worker, wondering At the majestic purpose on his brow, And vapouring forth their self-important views, That turned his course as little as the air Swerveth the eagle in his lightning flight.

Many applauded with patronic warmth And empty commendation, and no scorn Curled his proud lip, not one defiant word Echoed their nothings into transient life.

But as the marble grew beneath his hands To shape and comeliness, his soul-deep eyes Flashed with the joy of high accomplishment, And scanned each valiant critic with a glance That sifted all his littleness away.

Thus did he till his work stood perfected, A woman beautiful with youth and grace, But like a Vestal singled from her s.e.x To show the beauty of pure innocence.

Her form was such as rapt Endymion Saw on the heights of Latmos when he slept And dreamed Heaven down to him. A glorious shape That to the brightness of ethereal charms Join'd the familiar sweetness of a maid; A soft clear forehead circled by the light That heaven sets lambent on its imaged self; A face that beaming on the heart of man As by a silent teaching in the sense Makes goodness natural. Upon each limb Grace laid its sweet commandment lovingly, Whilst the fair bosom glowed with tenderness, As from the fulness of a soul beneath, Woman's divinest attribute possessed Unsullied and entire; and through the frame And every feature radiating went A lovely sense of gentleness and love.

Bright is the summer of Cyprus, Undimm'd the skies and clear, Blue and clear as a maiden's eyes That loves and hath never felt sadness.

Then, Time is a sunlit river Flowing 'mid flowers and green pastures Brightly onward to heaven!

There is music pervading the air, Music of voice and of instrument, And the silver toning of laughters Blendeth in jubilant chorus; Bands of maidens and youths With flowing garments of purple, And zones jewelled and bright As the mystic girdle of Venus, Wreathed with myrtle and roses, And their beauty wantonly bared To the swimming glances of pa.s.sion, Evermore sweep o'er the pathways, Strewing sweet flowers as they go To the sacred altars of Venus 'Neath the feet of the snow-white kine, That must bleed at the shrine of the G.o.ddess; Care is forgotten, for life Hath no aim and no mission but pleasure; Its cup is a foretaste of Paradise, Drain the sweet draught to the dregs, The fountain will flow on for ever!

'Tis the feast day of Venus--Hail! Hail!

Pygmalion stood beside his master-piece, Still with his mind devote to mighty thoughts And busy inspiration, for through Time The worker must be constant to his toil, Heedless of pleasure and the idle toys For which man bartereth eternity; Life is his seed-time, after life his rest.

Had he not joyed to scan that lovely form, And mark each glorious lineament, that held A model up to Nature of pure grace Unblemished by the shadow of a fault?

Had he not loved with more than Artist soul The beauteous creature of his heaven-drawn power, And oped again the flood-gates of his heart To the full current of humanity?

Had he not thanked the G.o.ds for victory, And gloried in his strength with conscious might That made e'en fame his fellow? Yet he stood Silent and sad beside his finished work.

What lacked he yet? Life! life! for his creation: "What have I wrought," he uttered, "what achieved?

Naught! naught! my power hath wasted on a stone, Changed its rude seeming haply unto grace, But as it was, so is it now, mere stone; My beauteous image, emblem of my soul, Cast in the mould of thought's supremest good, Fairer than all of womankind on Earth, Is yet more worthless and more transient Than is the meanest wretch who feels the life Throb quenchlessly within him. Time may strew Its fragments blindly o'er the face of Earth, Scatter its spotless beauties, yet pa.s.s on And leave the world no poorer than it was.

There is no beauty separate from soul; From it as from a spring flow all the streams That clothe this dust with living loveliness Else doomed to deep aridity and death.

O lovely daughter of my craving soul!

Hope of my life! Divinest shape of Earth!

Can I regard thy beauty thus and know Thou art the empty semblance of a worthless thing.

Are those sweet charms where loveliness hath set The limits of her potency, mere dust Unn.o.bled by the pa.s.sage of a soul, Rescued a moment from the senseless ma.s.s, That soon again shall have thee for its own?

What hath my soul begotten? Death in life-- A child of Earth unblessed, unstamped of heaven.

First-fruit of Spirit love! is this thy fate?

G.o.ds! hear me from your thrones! Must it be so?"

Forth sped he.

Like a stream that is swayed in the sunlight, Breaking in flashes of brightness, The people of Cyprus were gathered Around the temple of Venus; Mirth and music ascended.

Amid the fumes of the incense, Loud as when pleasure hath knocked On a heart that is hollow and empty.

Maidens rejoiced in their shame, And fancied their lewdness devotion, Banishing thought from their bosoms, And making them giddy with pa.s.sion.

Men forgetting their birthright, And the glorious spirit of freedom, Made themselves slaves unto folly, And l.u.s.t, and imbecile pleasure.

Life was summed up in the Present, For foolishness knoweth no Future.

Through the deluded ma.s.s Pygmalion prest, As each true soul must on its course to Fame, Blind to the follies that beset his path, The empty pleasures, and fict.i.tious joys; Deaf to the jeers and mockings of the crowd, Their sottish laughters and unmeaning mirth, His senses all attent to his great aim, Fixed on the prize of immortality.

Within the Temple separate he stood From the base host of giddy worshippers, And prostrated his soul with strong desire At the bright shrine of Cytherea's power.

"O Cypris! G.o.ddess! Light of heaven and Earth!

That from the snow-crest of the waving sea, The endless worker--the unresting soul, Sprang'st in the glory of thy charms divine, And Beauty mad'st immortal! That dost hold The sacred urn of everlasting love, Whose draught is life, strength, rapture to the soul, And pouring of its fulness o'er the Earth, Makest its drooping energies revive, To struggle onward through the fight of life!

O thou divinest arbitress of fate!

Stoop from thy starry throne, receive my prayer, And grant me life, breath, being for my work.

Let not the love that glorifies a man, Sink 'neath the level of humanity, And take unto its Holiest a shape Of woman's dust engraven on a stone; Grant that this first-fruit of my soul may be Endued with lovely immortality; That she may have the throbbing pulse of life, Quick'ning with every gracious influence, To work some sweet seraphic Purpose out, And walking 'mongst Earth's mult.i.tudes exalt Man's soul to worship Beauty, that when I The Worker shall have gone unto my rest, A glorious witness may remain to tell That such an one wrought, struggled and attained."

Thus prayed he. And an answer stirred his soul, "That which is born of Truth dies never. Time Still takes its sweet impression as it flies, And drops it seed-like into some wise heart, Where it may blossom and bear fruit anew To make its good perpetual. Thy prayer Is heard. The fire shall go from Heaven. Thy work Shall live."

Homeward he sped, and by his work stood soon.

O'er that sweet visage once so motionless, To his rapt gaze there stole the rays divine That bear all high intelligence of heaven, And undulating o'er each graceful line Made the cold stone angelic. Liquid eyes, Bright with all pure imaginings, and full Of young emotion, love, and gentleness, Beamed softly on him in dim wonderment; Whilst from her lips that parted half for speech, Flowed the deep sweetness of a woman's smile, And o'er his perplex'd spirit shed the light Of Hope and glad a.s.surance. All her frame Glowed with the rosy hue of life and youth, And melting from the rigidness of stone Sank into att.i.tudes of peerless grace.

And when conviction strengthened in his soul As the awak'ning beauties of his work Expanded 'neath the spirit influence, He clasp'd the maid unto his beating heart, As father might the daughter of his love, Rejoicing with blent pride and tenderness In the supernal beauty of his child.

Hearing within him murmurs of a voice-- "I have accomplish'd, have not wrought in vain, Left no faint record written on the tide Of life, to perish with its setting wave; But my fair work shall live for evermore, And through the phalanx of advancing Ages Speed like a herald sounding to the world, 'Behold a man who crushed oblivion, 'And girding up his soul in faith and love 'Wrought like a G.o.d beyond the reach of Time!'"

ODE TO FANCY.

O! thou art a sweet and playful thing, And light as a lark upon the wing, Pouring the melody of thy mirth, In sunny showers down to the earth.

The sunbeams pave o'er the crystal waters A pathway for thee to Triton's daughters, Down in the depths of the waving sea, Where their bright arched palaces be: There mermaids hasten unto thy side, And sing their songs till the ravished tide Feels the soft music through all its swells, And whispers them o'er to the coral sh.e.l.ls.

Fays are thy playmates at dewy e'en, For o'er their land they have made thee queen, Crowned thee with flowers of fadeless hue, And drained thy health in the honey dew; And over mountain, and hill, and dale, 'Lumed by the glow of the moonbeams pale, Thy merry train in the stillness dance, Like a beam of pleasure and radiance; Thine are the revels each summer night, Held on the mead by the glow-worm's light, Till maidens, straying at early dawn, Trace thy blithe footsteps upon the lawn; Thus dost thou lead on thy joyous rout, And trip around till thou'rt wearied out; And in the harebells the yellow bee Creeps in the morning to waken thee Forth from thy sweet dreams of joy and love, That rise in odorous breath above.

Like some fair wizard thou weavest spells Over all flowers, and brooks, and dells, Wreathing above every mossy bed, Till with bright dreams it is canopied And through the rose-coloured atmosphere All things more lovely and bright appear, Losing the faintness of earthly things, And shining with heaven's illuminings.

Thine are the Naiads and Nymphs which rise From dell and fountain to daze our eyes; Thine are the spirits 'mid leafy trees, Whose voices come to us on the breeze.

Thine are the maidens whose trackless feet Bear to the flower cups their honey sweet, Pressing their perfume till through and through Is pierced the soul of the rising dew.

Lead me, sweet sprite, to thy sunny dwelling!

Is it where brooklets are softly welling Amid the greenwoods with many a fall, Making the lily-cups musical?

Is it where mosses and violets meet, And blend their lives in an union sweet, Whither the b.u.t.terflies speed to tell Glad tales of the flowers thou lovest so well?

Is't in the covert whose lonely shade The ring-dove her resting place hath made, Lulled by the melody of her note Till dreams of Elysium round thee float?

Is't on the breast of the sunlit sea, With ripples of glory to circle thee, Bright flashing dolphins to bear thy car, And waft thee to glorious isles afar?

Is't in some cave where the light of day Borrows new hues from the diamond ray, Paven with jewels and silv'ry sand Borne by the waves from the mermaid's land Is't in the arms of the balmy gale Over the ocean thou lovest to sail, Loosing the folds of thy silken hair To float at will on the perfumed air?

Is it by valley or heath-clad mountain?

Is it by streamlet or limpid fountain?

Tell me, and I will come to thee, Follow thy flight through immensity!

Dost thou not roam in the realms of sleep, While stars above thee their bright watch keep, Lapping the soul in a crystal sea, Whose every swell is felicity?

And in the halls of her quiet home, Where darkness pillars the starry dome, Making all beauty more beautiful, And keeping the moonbeams soft and cool, Dost thou not sit till the morning beams Weaving the fabric of happy dreams, Bringing dear visions to weeping eyes, Till sorrow transforms to paradise?

Dost thou not kiss sweet lips till they smile, And murmur of joys they knew erewhile, And build up hopes that are shatter'd quite, Decking the past in a robe of light?

O! thou art a kind and gentle thing, Bearing the gifts that _good_ angels bring, Joying in all that is bright and free, And soothing the sting of misery; If thou would'st dwell in my beating heart, And breathe thy fragrance through every part, I would ever love and obey thee, Never slight thee and never betray thee Into the hands of cruel scoffers, Who sell their souls to fill their coffers, Crush every flower beneath their feet, And make the sole bliss of life--to cheat; Cheat the greenwoods of happy ramblers, To rear a race of slaves and gamblers; Cheat the summer, cheat the spring, Cheat the sweet flowers of their ministring; Cheat the soft meadows and sunny skies Of their glad tribute from glist'ning eyes; Cheat the birds in their leafy bowers, Cheat every day of its few short hours, Cheat even life of its little pleasure, Dealing its needfuls out in short measure; Cheating all beauty while they draw breath, But true to _one_ commerce, that is--Death!

Come to me then, and I'll cherish thee, Thou shalt my loving companion be; From the cold world we will live apart, And build up a new one within my heart.

WHAT IS A SIGH?

It is the sound Raised by the sweeping of an angel's wing, As through the air It bears a prayer Of the soul's uttering.

It is the sweet Melodious echo of some thrilling thought Retold by sadness Unto gladness, Which memory hath brought.

It is the hymn Breath'd ever by the votaries of love, Whose dulcidence, Soft and intense, Soars dreamily above.