My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale Part 6

What visions charm thy gaze, now resting wide In settled sweet content? Beholdest thou Thy babe, now sprung a man, walk sunhazed slopes With one lovelier than visions; lovely as The truth, O Love, when thou dost smile on me?

Or seest thou him still greater grown in might, And stout of action marching on to reach That changeful coloured flag, whose waving crests The glittering heights of fame, for which men pant; Unmindful there what tempests rage and sweep; Alas; what dream has made that watery veil Hide thine eye's light from mine; even as a mist Pa.s.sing between me and a harvest moon!

And whence this shadowy wall that baulks my gaze?

Why fadest thou, thyself, in mist, O Love?

Whither hath fled thy babe--and where art thou?-- Where am I?--Is it life--a dream--or death?

Ah me; alas, this crushing wretchedness!

And I a vainer fool than one who yearns Clutching at rainbows spanned across the sky!

Ah, hope diseased! My spirit lured astray By siren hope drifts hard by some dark fate: And hope alternating despair has mixed My life so long with charnelled death, that I Can scarce resolve the present from my past, Nor what might once have been from what is now.

Ah, Dearest! shall I never see thy face Again: not ever; never any more?

I know that fancy was but naught, and one Born of past hope: I know thy earthly form Is mouldering in its tomb; but yet, O Love, Thy spirit must dwell somewhere in this waste Of worlds, that fill the overwhelming heavens With light and motion; that could never die; And wilt thou not vouchsafe one beaming look To ease a lonely heart that beats in pain For loss of thee, and only thee, O Love?

Or hast thou found in that pure life thou livest My soul was an unworthy choice for thine, And therefore takest no count of its despair?

And yet, yea verily, thy love was true; I would not wrong thee with another thought: I would not enter at the gates of heaven By thinking else than that thy love was true.

But I obtain no response to my cries, Making within my soul all void, and cold, And comfortless.

Ay, empty, as this grate, Of life, wherefrom the fire has well nigh fled, Leaving but chasmed ugliness and ruin: And weak as faltering of these taper flames Half sunken in their sockets, by whose gleam I see, though faintly, where my books stand ranged Most mute; though sometime eloquent to me; And where my pictures hang with other forms Instinct from what I know: where friends portrayed Like ghosts loom on me from another world.

Then what remains, but, like a child worn out With weeping, that I sink me down to rest, To sleep, not dream--and if I could to die?

III. MY LADY'S VOICE FROM HEAVEN.

I had been sitting by her tomb In torpor one dark night; When fitful tremours shook the doom Of cold lethargic settled gloom, That weighed upon my sight:

And while I sat, and sickly heaves Disturbed my spirit's sloth, A wind came, blown o'er distant sheaves, That hissing, tore and lashed the leaves And lashed the undergrowth:

It roared and howled, it raged about With some determined aim; And storming up the night, brought out The moon, that like a happy shout, Called forth My Lady's name,

In sudden splendour on the stone.

Then, for an instant, I s.n.a.t.c.hed and heaped up my past, bestrown With hopes and kisses, struggling moan, And pangs: as suddenly,

Oppressed with overwhelming weight, Down fell the edifice; When touched, as by the hand of Fate, My gloom was gone. I felt my state So light, I sobbed for bliss.

The loud winds, spent in seeking rest, Dropped dead. My fevered brow Drank coolness from the gra.s.s it pressed; And in my desolated breast A change began to grow,

While feeling those tears slowly drain The load of grief which had A sluggish curse within me lain, Save when remembrance wrought my brain For vivid moments mad.

My tears, as treasures of a wreck That in the ocean slept, Recovered, ran without a check; And earth was my good mother's neck To which I clung and wept.

I rose at length, and felt a dense Benumbed dead weight. And now The night air hung in deep suspense!

A singing hush that pressed my sense And stunned me like a blow:

Through my lids clenched the living air In gold and purple rings Danced musically round me there, The light it held throbbed with the glare And beat of rapid wings.

Mine eyes I dared not try to raise; My Lady's beamed on me In fixed serenity of gaze, And were what old sunshiny days In childhood used to be.

A gasping lapse; and I was whirled Round the faint void of s.p.a.ce; In dizzy circles hugely hurled, I saw the constellated world With every orb embrace,

To one stupendous vortex-light, Spinning a fiery ram, Then fail, struck out by sudden night; When swung adown in headlong might, Earth's touch shook through my brain.

The dumb sound in mine ears was burst By her portentous voice; As sweet as death to one accursed, As unto one near blind for thirst A running water's noise.

Her voice in some translucent star, Remote, beyond my sight, Was singing marvellously far; And yet so strangely near to jar, As jars too strong a light.

She sang a song. She warbled low, She did not sing in words; I felt it in my spirit glow, And knew it, as with joy I know The morning shouts of birds.

But hard the task I undertake, With mortal tongue to reach The utterance of my Love, and make Her high immortal meaning break To clearness through my speech!

I can no more, with glimmering trope That into darkness runs, Reveal its depth, than they could hope, Who on in lifelong blindness grope, To sing of rising suns.

"Or e'er that life my King had lent Was lifted into rest, His message through my lips He sent, And on thy path His glory went To guide thee to the blessed.

"But thou didst turn thy face, and scorn His grace divine as nought; And set thy gaze to earth forlorn, And rage at fate, till gaunt and worn, Death mouldered in thy thought.

"Thou, blindly gross, didst toy with clay, And in the ghastly gleam Of charnel gloom didst kiss decay; And many full moons waned away, And left thee in thy dream.

"For with thy Lily's worldly dress Thou didst thine eyesight fill; And scorn to know its loveliness Were but an empty boast unless Made living by His will.

"Thou mourn'dst not most the vanished soul Which was my Lord's through thine; But more the broken pleasure-bowl, Whose golden richness shed, when whole, Its splendour in thy wine.

"And therefore living wert thou made To taste the cup of death; And therefore did the glory fade, From guidance into deadly shade That iced thy shuddering breath.

"Permitted, now I come to thee: I warn thee of thy sin; I urge thee cleanse thine eyesight free, That purified thy soul may see The way his love to win.

"His love incomprehensible Did never turn away From penitent whom harm befell; But springeth like a desert well For thirsting poor estray.

"Let him who scorneth mercy shown, Unhappy one, beware!

For whoso lives in pride alone, His pride shall harden to a stone Too great for him to bear.

"And whoso, having warned been, Refuseth still to turn, Behind his shadow, shrunken mean, A poring spectre shall be seen With livid stare and girn.

"Thou troubled one, who unto me Art next my Lord's own grace, O turn to Him, and He will be A refuge from thy misery, A smile upon thy face!

"A righteous strength will nerve thine arm, And courage fill thy breast: And having bravely warred on harm, The cries of victory shall charm Thy dying eyes to rest.

"And succoured ones shall praise his name Who, toiling for them, died.

And, n.o.bly sung, his honest fame Shall beat in hearts unborn, and claim Their love and grateful pride.

"And Love will lead her sacrifice To where a shining row Stand beckoning to the heights of bliss; And she will clasp his hands and kiss Welcome upon his brow."

I knew not when the singing ceased To trance my brightened soul, Then from that long eclipse released.

But looking hopeful towards the East, I saw flush pole to pole

The dawn, that had begun to show, And through dank vapour burned, As in a sick face lying low The rich incarnadine would glow, When healthy life returned.

Small drowsy chirping met the light, And dim in lowlands far Lone marsh-birds winged their misty flight; What time Her aspect on my sight Beamed from the morning star.

It waned into the warbling day; That, rising fierce and strong, Now looked the Western gloom away, And kindled such a roundelay, The world awoke with song,

And fresh delicious breezes came With scents of paradise So tingling through my knitted frame, That never since I lisped a name Knew I such joy arise.