Poems by Ralph Waldo Emerson Part 31

Call hither thy mortal enemy, Make him glad thy fall to see!

Yon waterflag, yon sighing osier, A drop can shake, a breath can fan; Maidens laugh and weep; Composure Is the pudency of man,'

Again by night the poet went From the lighted halls Beneath the darkling firmament To the seash.o.r.e, to the old seawalls, Out shone a star beneath the cloud, The constellation glittered soon,-- You have no lapse; so have ye glowed But once in your dominion.

And yet, dear stars, I know ye shine Only by needs and loves of mine; Light-loving, light-asking life in me Feeds those eternal lamps I see.

And I to whom your light has spoken, I, pining to be one of you, I fall, my faith is broken, Ye scorn me from your deeps of blue.

Or if perchance, ye orbs of Fate, Your ne'er averted glance Beams with a will compa.s.sionate On sons of time and chance, Then clothe these hands with power In just proportion, Nor plant immense designs Where equal means are none.'

CHORUS OF SPIRITS

Means, dear brother, ask them not; Soul's desire is means enow, Pure content is angel's lot, Thine own theatre art thou.

Gentler far than falls the snow In the woodwalks still and low Fell the lesson on his heart And woke the fear lest angels part.

POET

I see your forms with deep content, I know that ye are excellent, But will ye stay?

I hear the rustle of wings, Ye meditate what to say Ere ye go to quit me for ever and aye.

SPIRITS

Brother, we are no phantom band; Brother, accept this fatal hand.

Aches thine unbelieving heart With the fear that we must part?

See, all we are rooted here By one thought to one same sphere; From thyself thou canst not flee,-- From thyself no more can we.

POET

Suns and stars their courses keep, But not angels of the deep: Day and night their turn observe, But the day of day may swerve.

Is there warrant that the waves Of thought in their mysterious caves Will heap in me their highest tide, In me therewith beatified?

Unsure the ebb and flood of thought, The moon comes back,--the Spirit not.

SPIRITS

Brother, sweeter is the Law Than all the grace Love ever saw; We are its suppliants. By it, we Draw the breath of Eternity; Serve thou it not for daily bread,-- Serve it for pain and fear and need.

Love it, though it hide its light; By love behold the sun at night.

If the Law should thee forget, More enamoured serve it yet; Though it hate thee, suffer long; Put the Spirit in the wrong; Brother, no decrepitude Chills the limbs of Time; As fleet his feet, his hands as good, His vision as sublime: On Nature's wheels there is no rust; Nor less on man's enchanted dust Beauty and Force alight.

FRAGMENTS ON THE POET AND THE POETIC GIFT

I

There are beggars in Iran and Araby, SAID was hungrier than all; Hafiz said he was a fly That came to every festival.

He came a pilgrim to the Mosque On trail of camel and caravan, Knew every temple and kiosk Out from Mecca to Ispahan; Northward he went to the snowy hills, At court he sat in the grave Divan.

His music was the south-wind's sigh, His lamp, the maiden's downcast eye, And ever the spell of beauty came And turned the drowsy world to flame.

By lake and stream and gleaming hall And modest copse and the forest tall, Where'er he went, the magic guide Kept its place by the poet's side.

Said melted the days like cups of pearl, Served high and low, the lord and the churl, Loved harebells nodding on a rock, A cabin hung with curling smoke, Ring of axe or hum of wheel Or gleam which use can paint on steel, And huts and tents; nor loved he less Stately lords in palaces, Princely women hard to please, Fenced by form and ceremony, Decked by courtly rites and dress And etiquette of gentilesse.

But when the mate of the snow and wind, He left each civil scale behind: Him wood-G.o.ds fed with honey wild And of his memory beguiled.

He loved to watch and wake When the wing of the south-wind whipt the lake And the gla.s.sy surface in ripples brake And fled in pretty frowns away Like the flitting boreal lights, Rippling roses in northern nights, Or like the thrill of Aeolian strings In which the sudden wind-G.o.d rings.

In caves and hollow trees he crept And near the wolf and panther slept.

He came to the green ocean's brim And saw the wheeling sea-birds skim, Summer and winter, o'er the wave, Like creatures of a skiey mould, Impa.s.sible to heat or cold.

He stood before the tumbling main With joy too tense for sober brain; He shared the life of the element, The tie of blood and home was rent: As if in him the welkin walked, The winds took flesh, the mountains talked, And he the bard, a crystal soul Sphered and concentric with the whole.

II

The Dervish whined to Said, "Thou didst not tarry while I prayed.

Beware the fire that Eblis burned,"

But Saadi coldly thus returned, "Once with manlike love and fear I gave thee for an hour my ear, I kept the sun and stars at bay, And love, for words thy tongue could say.

I cannot sell my heaven again For all that rattles in thy brain."

III

Said Saadi, "When I stood before Ha.s.san the camel-driver's door, I scorned the fame of Timour brave; Timour, to Ha.s.san, was a slave.

In every glance of Ha.s.san's eye I read great years of victory, And I, who cower mean and small In the frequent interval When wisdom not with me resides, Worship Toil's wisdom that abides.

I shunned his eyes, that faithful man's, I shunned the toiling Ha.s.san's glance."

IV

The civil world will much forgive To bards who from its maxims live, But if, grown bold, the poet dare Bend his practice to his prayer And following his mighty heart Shame the times and live apart,-- _Vae solis!_ I found this, That of goods I could not miss If I fell within the line, Once a member, all was mine, Houses, banquets, gardens, fountains, Fortune's delectable mountains; But if I would walk alone, Was neither cloak nor crumb my own.

And thus the high Muse treated me, Directly never greeted me, But when she spread her dearest spells, Feigned to speak to some one else.

I was free to overhear, Or I might at will forbear; Yet mark me well, that idle word Thus at random overheard Was the symphony of spheres, And proverb of a thousand years, The light wherewith all planets shone, The livery all events put on, It fell in rain, it grew in grain, It put on flesh in friendly form, Frowned in my foe and growled in storm, It spoke in Tullius Cicero, In Milton and in Angelo: I travelled and found it at Rome; Eastward it filled all Heathendom And it lay on my hearth when I came home.

V

Mask thy wisdom with delight, Toy with the bow, yet hit the white, As Jelaleddin old and gray; He seemed to bask, to dream and play Without remoter hope or fear Than still to entertain his ear And pa.s.s the burning summer-time In the palm-grove with a rhyme; Heedless that each cunning word Tribes and ages overheard: Those idle catches told the laws Holding Nature to her cause.

G.o.d only knew how Saadi dined; Roses he ate, and drank the wind; He freelier breathed beside the pine, In cities he was low and mean; The mountain waters washed him clean And by the sea-waves he was strong; He heard their medicinal song, Asked no physician but the wave, No palace but his sea-beat cave.

Saadi held the Muse in awe, She was his mistress and his law; A twelvemonth he could silence hold, Nor ran to speak till she him told; He felt the flame, the fanning wings, Nor offered words till they were things, Glad when the solid mountain swims In music and uplifting hymns.

Charmed from f.a.got and from steel, Harvests grew upon his tongue, Past and future must reveal All their heart when Saadi sung; Sun and moon must fall amain Like sower's seeds into his brain, There quickened to be born again.

The free winds told him what they knew, Discoursed of fortune as they blew; Omens and signs that filled the air To him authentic witness bare; The birds brought auguries on their wings, And carolled undeceiving things Him to beckon, him to warn; Well might then the poet scorn To learn of scribe or courier Things writ in vaster character; And on his mind at dawn of day Soft shadows of the evening lay.

Pale genius roves alone, No scout can track his way, None credits him till he have shown His diamonds to the day.

Not his the feaster's wine, Nor land, nor gold, nor power, By want and pain G.o.d screeneth him Till his elected hour.

Go, speed the stars of Thought On to their shining goals:-- The sower scatters broad his seed, The wheat thou strew'st be souls.

I grieve that better souls than mine Docile read my measured line: High destined youths and holy maids Hallow these my orchard shades; Environ me and me baptize With light that streams from gracious eyes.

I dare not be beloved and known, I ungrateful, I alone.

Ever find me dim regards, Love of ladies, love of bards, Marked forbearance, compliments, Tokens of benevolence.

What then, can I love myself?