Poems by George Meredith Volume I Part 5

The silence of preluded song - AEolian silence charms the woods; Each tree a harp, whose foliaged strings Are waiting for the master's touch To sweep them into storms of joy, Stands mute and whispers not; the birds Brood dumb in their foreboding nests, Save here and there a chirp or tweet, That utters fear or anxious love, Or when the ouzel sends a swift Half warble, shrinking back again His golden bill, or when aloud The storm-c.o.c.k warns the dusking hills And villages and valleys round: For lo, beneath those ragged clouds That skirt the opening west, a stream Of yellow light and windy flame Spreads lengthening southward, and the sky Begins to gloom, and o'er the ground A moan of coming blasts creeps low And rustles in the crisping gra.s.s; Till suddenly with mighty arms Outspread, that reach the horizon round, The great South-West drives o'er the earth, And loosens all his roaring robes Behind him, over heath and moor.

He comes upon the neck of night, Like one that leaps a fiery steed Whose keen black haunches quivering shine With eagerness and haste, that needs No spur to make the dark leagues fly!

Whose eyes are meteors of speed; Whose mane is as a flashing foam; Whose hoofs are travelling thunder-shocks; - He comes, and while his growing gusts, Wild couriers of his reckless course, Are whistling from the daggered gorse, And hurrying over fern and broom, Midway, far off, he feigns to halt And gather in his streaming train.

Now, whirring like an eagle's wing Preparing for a wide blue flight; Now, flapping like a sail that tacks And chides the wet bewildered mast; Now, screaming like an anguish'd thing Chased close by some down-breathing beak; Now, wailing like a breaking heart, That will not wholly break, but hopes With hope that knows itself in vain; Now, threatening like a storm-charged cloud; Now, cooing like a woodland dove; Now, up again in roar and wrath High soaring and wide sweeping; now, With sudden fury dashing down Full-force on the awaiting woods.

Long waited there, for aspens frail That tinkle with a silver bell, To warn the Zephyr of their love, When danger is at hand, and wake The neighbouring boughs, surrendering all Their prophet harmony of leaves, Had caught his earliest windward thought, And told it trembling; naked birk Down showering her dishevelled hair, And like a beauty yielding up Her fate to all the elements, Had swayed in answer; hazels close, Thick brambles and dark brushwood tufts, And briared brakes that line the dells With s.h.a.ggy beetling brows, had sung Shrill music, while the tattered flaws Tore over them, and now the whole Tumultuous concords, seized at once With savage inspiration,--pine, And larch, and beech, and fir, and thorn, And ash, and oak, and oakling, rave And shriek, and shout, and whirl, and toss, And stretch their arms, and split, and crack, And bend their stems, and bow their heads, And grind, and groan, and lion-like Roar to the echo-peopled hills And ravenous wilds, and crake-like cry With harsh delight, and cave-like call With hollow mouth, and harp-like thrill With mighty melodies, sublime, From clumps of column'd pines that wave A lofty anthem to the sky, Fit music for a prophet's soul - And like an ocean gathering power, And murmuring deep, while down below Reigns calm profound;--not trembling now The aspens, but like freshening waves That fall upon a shingly beach; - And round the oak a solemn roll Of organ harmony ascends, And in the upper foliage sounds

A symphony of distant seas.

The voice of nature is abroad This night; she fills the air with balm; Her mystery is o'er the land; And who that hears her now and yields His being to her yearning tones, And seats his soul upon her wings, And broadens o'er the wind-swept world With her, will gather in the flight More knowledge of her secret, more Delight in her beneficence, Than hours of musing, or the lore That lives with men could ever give!

Nor will it pa.s.s away when morn Shall look upon the lulling leaves, And woodland sunshine, Eden-sweet, Dreams o'er the paths of peaceful shade; - For every elemental power Is kindred to our hearts, and once Acknowledged, wedded, once embraced, Once taken to the unfettered sense, Once claspt into the naked life, The union is eternal.

WILL O' THE WISP

Follow me, follow me, Over brake and under tree, Thro' the bosky tanglery, Brushwood and bramble!

Follow me, follow me, Laugh and leap and scramble!

Follow, follow, Hill and hollow, Fosse and burrow, Fen and furrow, Down into the bulrush beds, 'Midst the reeds and osier heads, In the rushy soaking damps, Where the vapours pitch their camps, Follow me, follow me, For a midnight ramble!

O! what a mighty fog, What a merry night O ho!

Follow, follow, nigher, nigher - Over bank, and pond, and briar, Down into the croaking ditches, Rotten log, Spotted frog, Beetle bright With crawling light, What a joy O ho!

Deep into the purple bog - What a joy O ho!

Where like hosts of puckered witches All the shivering agues sit Warming hands and chafing feet, By the blue marsh-hovering oils: O the fools for all their moans!

Not a forest mad with fire Could still their teeth, or warm their bones, Or loose them from their chilly coils.

What a clatter, How they chatter!

Shrink and huddle, All a muddle!

What a joy O ho!

Down we go, down we go, What a joy O ho!

Soon shall I be down below, Plunging with a grey fat friar, Hither, thither, to and fro, Breathing mists and whisking lamps, Plashing in the shiny swamps; While my cousin Lantern Jack, With cook ears and cunning eyes, Turns him round upon his back, Daubs him oozy green and black, Sits upon his rolling size, Where he lies, where he lies, Groaning full of sack - Staring with his great round eyes!

What a joy O ho!

Sits upon him in the swamps Breathing mists and whisking lamps!

What a joy O ho!

Such a lad is Lantern Jack, When he rides the black nightmare Through the fens, and puts a glare In the friar's track.

Such a frolic lad, good lack!

To turn a friar on his back, Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him.

Lay him sprawling, smack!

Such a lad is Lantern Jack!

Such a tricksy lad, good lack!

What a joy O ho!

Follow me, follow me, Where he sits, and you shall see!

SONG

Fair and false! No dawn will greet Thy waking beauty as of old; The little flower beneath thy feet Is alien to thy smile so cold; The merry bird flown up to meet Young morning from his nest i' the wheat Scatters his joy to wood and wold, But scorns the arrogance of gold.

False and fair! I scarce know why, But standing in the lonely air, And underneath the blessed sky, I plead for thee in my despair; - For thee cut off, both heart and eye From living truth; thy spring quite dry; For thee, that heaven my thought may share, Forget--how false! and think--how fair!

SONG

Two wedded lovers watched the rising moon, That with her strange mysterious beauty glowing, Over misty hills and waters flowing, Crowned the long twilight loveliness of June: And thus in me, and thus in me, they spake, The solemn secret of fist love did wake.

Above the hills the blushing orb arose; Her shape encircled by a radiant bower, In which the nightingale with charmed power Poured forth enchantment o'er the dark repose: And thus in me, and thus in me, they said, Earth's mists did with the sweet new spirit wed.

Far up the sky with ever purer beam, Upon the throne of night the moon was seated, And down the valley glens the shades retreated, And silver light was on the open stream.

And thus in me, and thus in me, they sighed, Aspiring Love has hallowed Pa.s.sion's tide.

SONG

I cannot lose thee for a day, But like a bird with restless wing My heart will find thee far away, And on thy bosom fall and sing, My nest is here, my rest is here; - And in the lull of wind and rain, Fresh voices make a sweet refrain, 'His rest is there, his nest is there.'

With thee the wind and sky are fair, But parted, both are strange and dark; And treacherous the quiet air That holds me singing like a lark, O shield my love, strong arm above!

Till in the hush of wind and rain, Fresh voices make a rich refrain, 'The arm above will shield thy love.'

DAPHNE

Musing on the fate of Daphne, Many feelings urged my breast, For the G.o.d so keen desiring, And the Nymph so deep distrest.

Never flashed thro' sylvan valley Visions so divinely fair!

He with early ardour glowing, She with rosy anguish rare.

Only still more sweet and lovely For those terrors on her brows, Those swift glances wild and brilliant, Those delicious panting vows.

Timidly the timid shoulders Shrinking from the fervid hand!

Dark the tide of hair back-flowing From the blue-veined temples bland!

Lovely, too, divine Apollo In the speed of his pursuit; With his eye an azure l.u.s.tre, And his voice a summer lute!

Looking like some burnished eagle Hovering o'er a fluttered bird; Not unseen of silver Naiad, And of wistful Dryad heard!

Many a morn the naked beauty Saw her bright reflection drown In the flowing smooth-faced river, While the G.o.d came sheening down.