Eidolon, or The Course of a Soul Part 2

MAN.

Methinks there is no blessedness in life More full than that which springs in solitude; A fount unruffled by the outer world, Unmingled with its honey or its gall; But welling through the spirit silently, Like a pure rill within a garden's bounds.

Let my life float, like the sad Indian's lamp, Along the waves of Time, unpiloted Save by the breath of heaven, and the stirred tide, Till when its course be run it sink to rest Beyond the ken and fathoming of man; Let me not be a legend mouthed about By empty gossips o'er their clinking cups, Who tell the last sad tale and with a smack Turn to the merits of the pa.s.sing wine.

'Twere something to be wept for by the young And beautiful, but tears are things that dry Sooner than dew upon the waking flowers, Leaving the heart e'en gladder for their flow.

O could my life subside into a dream Rising amid the stillness of calm sleep, Filling the soul with radiant images Of love, and grace, and beauty, all serene And shadowless as yon blue sky is now!-- Would that the outward shows and forms of things Could melt away from cold reality To the warm brightness of the spiritual, Losing the grossness of this present world, As a fair face doth mirror'd in a gla.s.s-- And thus, reposing in seraphic trance, Let the few years of earth's existence pa.s.s, Like minutes in the quietness of sleep, And waken to the glorious dawn of Heaven, Refreshed, and scatheless from mortality.

SPIRIT.

Thy wish, attain'd, would brand thee deep with shame; Life was not made to rust in idle sloth Until the canker eat its gloss away, But like a falchion to grow bright with use, And hew a pa.s.sage to eternal bliss!

Canst thou stand 'fore that glory of the sun, That like G.o.d's beacon on Eternity Wakeneth up Creation unto Act, And sheddeth strength and hope, to cheer them on, Yet rebel-wise cast down thine untried arms, Ere foes a.s.sail thee, or thy work be done?

No, there's a power within the soul that yearns For action, as the lark for liberty, Pursuing ever with insatiate thirst And aspiration, some unsubstant aim.

There is a.s.sertion of the rule divine, That rest must follow labour as the night Closeth the turmoil of the wakeful day; Then let the bright sun lead thee like a king With dauntless heart to struggle and o'ercome, Uncheck'd by mischance or poor discontent, That shrivels up a monarch to a clown, And rends his purple into beggar's rags.

Let no alluring plea of sensuous ease Draw thee away from honour's rugged path, Till sleep fall on thee from the wings of death, And bear thee to sweet dreams and Paradise!

MAN.

How sweet it is to read fair Nature o'er Reclining thus upon her gentle breast, Like a young child that in her mother's face Traceth the motions of deep tenderness, Listing the murmurs of strange melodies That wander ever round her fresh and clear, Whence the sweet singers of our earth have caught Rapt harmonies and echoed them for aye!

What study is like Nature's lumined page, So glorious with perfect excellence, That like the flowing of a mighty wind It fills the crevices and deeps of soul!

No upper chamber and no midnight oil For me, to throw dim light upon the scroll, Whose feeble pedantry dulls down the soul From high imaginings to senseless words; But for my lamp I'll have the summer sun Set in the brightness of the firmament; My chamber shall be canopied by heaven, Gemmed by the glory of the fixed stars, And round it floating evermore the breath Of nascent flowers, and fragrant greenery: And for my books, all lovely things in Earth And air, and heaven, all seasons and all times.

The Spring shall bring me all the thoughts of youth, Its budding hopes and buoyant happiness; 'Twill sing me lays of tenderness and love, That are the first sweet flowers of childhood's days, And win me back to purity and joy With the untainted current of its breath.

Summer will be the volume of the heart, Expanded with the strength of growing life, Swelling with full brimm'd feeling evermore, And power and pa.s.sion longing to be forth; 'Twill tell of life quick with the seed of thought, Rising incessant into bud and bloom, And shedding hope and promise over Time, Like the sweet breath that tells the mariner Of fragrant sh.o.r.es fast rising in his course.

Then Autumn, glorious with accomplishment, The harvest and the fruitage of the past, Stored with the gladness and the gain of life, Or sadden'd by its unproductiveness; And Winter like a prophecy would come To warn me of the end that draweth nigh.

Each falling leaf that flutter'd from its bough, Pale with the sereness of keen-biting frosts, Would teach me that the ties of earth must loose, One after one, the interests and joys That made life's excellent completeness up, Until the trunk, stripped of its verdant dress, Stand in the naked dreadfulness of death.

Thus will my soul learn wisdom true and deep, Not in the school of petty prejudice, Where truth is measured out by interest, And duty shrinks into expediency; Not in the volumes of pedantic fools, Who bind up knowledge, mummy-like, with terms, That sunder'd, the enclosure turns to dust; Not in the false philosophy of man, Who speculates on causes and effects, Yet thrusts his hand into the scorching flame, And wonders that it singeth in the act-- But from her teaching who can never err, The Pure, the Beautiful, the Mother mind, That in the fulness of her unsearch'd soul, Shrineth all knowledge and all loveliness!

SPIRIT.

Ay! there are lessons of true wisdom writ In every page of Nature, from the flower Man treads beneath him as he wanders past, The humblest and the weakest thing of earth, Yet with its sweet breath rising on the air To make the fragrance of the summer full, Up to the rattle of the thunder cloud, The voice of heaven heard rolling through the spheres Till earth is dumb and stricken at the sound; Then let thy heart lean to them reverently, Knowing that action is the end of thought; And thus from Nature bring thou precepts still To guide thee n.o.bly through this pilgrim world!

One deed wrought out in holiness and love Is richer than all vain imaginings!

Let then her lore fulfil thee evermore, And like high inspiration send thee forth To prophecy aloud unto mankind Of love, and peace, and verity sublime.

Let not disaster daunt thee, nor reproach, No feeble yelpings of the toothless curs That follow on the heels of all who walk The highways of this world in faithfulness, And strength, but like a wild swan on the wave Let every billow swelling round thy breast Raise thee in spirit nigher unto heaven!

SCENE. _A Grove--Sunset._

MAN.

O, Earth is beautiful! In such a scene The everlasting curse that sin entailed Strikes on the heart by contrast, as though heaven Rolled back its portals till the holy wrath Of G.o.d burst on Creation. All is still Save the rapt nightingale, that sings to rest Earth's warring mult.i.tudes, and this bright rill Whose voice is eloquent as poesy.

The very breeze is hush'd that stirr'd the leaves To pleasure, and the golden clouds float on As though an angel steered them o'er the plain Of heaven. It is a blessed thing to feel The melody of silence in the woods, When outer life is hushed, and in the heart The echo of its murmurous sweetness sounds, As in the pauses of a song the harp Still vibrates. 'Tis a test by which the soul Lies open unto Nature, for its frame, Impure or guilty, unto discord turns Those tones of peace and harmony. Perchance These woods ne'er heard the voice of man till now, Nor know the motion of his jarring thoughts.

I feel the weight of judgment o'er my head If, Adam-like, I bring the brand of guilt On this unfallen Paradise. In sooth This scene is rich in Eden loveliness, And peace, and the rude din of jabbering crowds Unheard as when Earth's generations yet Lay in the womb of Time. How soft the air Breathes with the scent of flow'rs, o'er which the dew Hangs like a charm of sweetness! Ah, fair Earth!

'Tis sad to die and leave thee e'en for heaven; Yet the blue sky above is glorious, And brings the spirit visions of bright scenes Yet lovelier than this. There is a veil Of dreamy beauty o'er it, from whose woof The mystic star-eyes glimmer like a bride's.

In such an hour peace steals upon the soul, Like the soft twilight o'er the toiling world; There is no room for pa.s.sion--strife would blush As at the chiding of a gentle glance.

SPIRIT.

Eve brings forth bright thoughts from the soul, like stars From the blue heavens. Its sweet serenity Is as a boon of mercy from above, Restoring rest unto a toil-doomed world.

Dost thou not turn from this to the pure calm Of Heaven as by a spell?

MAN.

Ay! yonder cloud, Bright with the last faint glances of the sun, Bears my soul thither.

SPIRIT.

All the Beautiful Points like the pilot-flower, magnetically, To Heaven, where beauty is accomplish'd. Earth Is but the reproduction of one form, Whose perfectness is heaven, and thus the mind, Unblinded by the blighting mist of sin, Sees emblems of its everlasting hope In Nature's loveliness. This quiet hour When the calm'd heart cries truce unto itself, And lays the weapons of resentment down, And bitterness and anger, yields the bliss That in completeness is the bliss of Heaven.

The Earth is ne'er so sweet as when it seems By intuition to the soul like Heaven, And in the spirit earthliness dissolves Like mist before the sunshine.

MAN.

There's a power Within the soul that makes it yearn to soar Up to the Infinite, and, eagle-like, Bask in the unveiled glory of the sun; But this frame clogs its aspirations all, Like gyves that press the struggling captive down.

Tell me of other worlds?

SPIRIT.

There is a world Bright as yon star that flecks the wing of night, And sheds its glory o'er the Universe, Made up of such pure loveliness within, That like a gem it glistens through the crust, And makes heaven luminous. A chasten'd sound Of never failing melody still floats About it, like an ocean, undulating To the sweet breath of summer scented airs, From hill to dale and leafy-tufted woods, That catch the humours of the golden sun, And deck them in his livery. There falls From the soft twilight gloom of sparry grots, And crystal pillar'd caverns, many a stream That breaks in light and music on the soul, And like a diamond-sandall'd spirit glides In beauty through the land, margined by flowers That mirror in its tide, and seem like stars In heaven. There are flowers everywhere, in vale Hill-side and woodland, in the sun and shade, That whether dreams be on them, or they wake, Send evermore sweet incense to the heavens.

Sun-crested mountains, softened into grace By the blue tints of distance, lend new charms To verdant swarded valleys, in whose lap As in a mother's bosom, waters lie And ripple to the wooing of the winds.

The very clouds that scan the blue of heaven, Fused sometimes by the sunshine as with soul, Or flaked by the light fancies of the gale, Form to the vision labyrinths of grace And beauty, that melt into s.p.a.ce, and spread A hemisphere of magic o'er the orb-- And thro' this world at morning, noon, and night, A dreamy sweetness wanders, varying From blessing unto blessing, that the sense Of pleasure dull not with satiety.

MAN.

And it is habited?

SPIRIT.

By beings framed After the model of all perfectness.

In some the majesty of strength sublime, Rejoicing on the nervous power of life Like the broad noontide sun, with glances bold And open as the soul lies unto G.o.d, And brows that thought wreathes with a glorious crown Of fadeless immortality, which shines Like lightning, playing round the arc of heaven.

And some there are as gentle and as fair As flowers made animate, whose motions are More graceful than the sweep of evening gales O'er moonlit waters; and whose beauty fills The air they breathe with sweetness, and to life Is what the sunshine is to summer. All Are filled with deathless spirits, capable Of joy, and love, and holiness, that make, Together, heaven's felicity. The strong, Tho' they be trenched round with mighty thoughts, Without one breach for weakness, in their souls Feel the sweet want for love's pure tenderness, That, like the dew, may soothe the eagle's breast, And send it soaring nigher to the sun.

Thus to their lives they graft the fragile blossom, Whose sweetness is an amulet to lay Life's else perturbed spirit; so that all Have oneness of necessity and good.

MAN.

O! I can compa.s.s spirit that could grasp A star and dash it from its...o...b..t, till It flew through s.p.a.ce eternally, and whelmed Myriads of spheres in flaming ruin, yet Cannot consummate that which is so light, One hour's emanc.i.p.ation from this clod To wander thro' such worlds. Which brightest orb In heaven's wide treasury shines in thy tale?

SPIRIT.

Listen! e'en in this paradise there works A mighty power of evil, conjured there By acts of foreknown consequence. This rears A standard of rebellion against G.o.d, And whirls a giddy tide of interest And pleasure to suck souls unto itself, The centre--dashing sorrow like salt foam To sterilize humanity. Yet still There is a virtue, given to make its guiles Shrink into ruin, like a withered leaf, And pa.s.s the spirit scatheless. 'Tis a strife Of spirit against spirit, whose result Of loss or gain fashions eternity.

MAN.

O! it is fine to brace the spirit up, To struggle with its foes, and feel it swell Till it could shake a thousand demons off As lightly as a lion doth the drops That eve sheds on him. There's no joy like that Of danger met, and danger overcome.

The soul is like a sword that rusts to lie Inglorious in its scabbard, but will flash Bright as the lightning in the battle field.

Spirit! will death transport to such a world?

SPIRIT.

Thou art upon it--It is earth--Itself All lovely, but man's soul so warped and blind He scarce can see her beauty, but still scans The stars of heaven for that which lies displayed Beneath his feet. The heart rears phantoms up To overthrow reality, and make Intention stand for Act. 'Tis well to boast Of spirit warfare in another sphere, Yet like a craven slight the trumpet call That bids man up and strive in this. In life There is a struggle evermore, wherein The spirit grapples with such subtle foes, That victory is glory infinite.

No crumbling stone to whet ambition on, That 'neath the sapping of one wave of Time, Melts to the substance of oblivion.