Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 6

As the kindling glances, Queen-like and clear, Which the bright moon lances From her tranquil sphere At the sleepless waters Of a lonely mere, On the wild whirling waves, mournfully, mournfully, Shiver and die.

As the tears of sorrow Mothers have shed-- Prayers that to-morrow Shall in vain be sped When the flower they flow for Lies frozen and dead-- Fall on the throbbing brow, fall on the burning breast, Bringing no rest.

Like bright waves that fall With a lifelike motion On the lifeless margin of the sparkling Ocean; A wild rose climbing up a mouldering wall-- A gush of sunbeams through a ruin'd hall-- Strains of glad music at a funeral-- So sad, and with so wild a start To this deep-sober'd heart, So anxiously and painfully, So drearily and doubtfully, And oh, with such intolerable change Of thought, such contrast strange, O unforgotten voice, thy accents come, Like wanderers from the world's extremity, Unto their ancient home!

In vain, all, all in vain, They beat upon mine ear again, Those melancholy tones so sweet and still.

Those lute-like tones which in the bygone year Did steal into mine ear-- Blew such a thrilling summons to my will, Yet could not shake it; Made my tost heart its very life-blood spill, Yet could not break it.

YOUTH'S AGITATIONS

When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence, From this poor present self which I am now; When youth has done its tedious vain expense Of pa.s.sions that for ever ebb and flow;

Shall I not joy youth's heats are left behind, And breathe more happy in an even clime?-- Ah no, for then I shall begin to find A thousand virtues in this hated time!

Then I shall wish its agitations back, And all its thwarting currents of desire; Then I shall praise the heat which then I lack, And call this hurrying fever, generous fire;

And sigh that one thing only has been lent To youth and age in common--discontent.

THE WORLD'S TRIUMPHS

So far as I conceive the world's rebuke To him address'd who would recast her new, Not from herself her fame of strength she took, But from their weakness who would work her rue.

"Behold," she cries, "so many rages lull'd, So many fiery spirits quite cool'd down; Look how so many valours, long undull'd, After short commerce with me, fear my frown!

"Thou too, when thou against my crimes wouldst cry, Let thy foreboded homage check thy tongue!"-- The world speaks well; yet might her foe reply: "Are wills so weak?--then let not mine wait long!

"Hast thou so rare a poison?--let me be Keener to slay thee, lest thou poison me!"

STAGIRIUS[3]

Thou, who dost dwell alone-- Thou, who dost know thine own-- Thou, to whom all are known From the cradle to the grave-- Save, oh! save.

From the world's temptations, From tribulations, From that fierce anguish Wherein we languish, From that torpor deep Wherein we lie asleep, Heavy as death, cold as the grave, Save, oh! save.

When the soul, growing clearer, Sees G.o.d no nearer; When the soul, mounting higher, To G.o.d comes no nigher; But the arch-fiend Pride Mounts at her side, Foiling her high emprise, Sealing her eagle eyes, And, when she fain would soar, Makes idols to adore, Changing the pure emotion Of her high devotion, To a skin-deep sense Of her own eloquence; Strong to deceive, strong to enslave-- Save, oh! save.

From the ingrain'd fashion Of this earthly nature That mars thy creature; From grief that is but pa.s.sion, From mirth that is but feigning, From tears that bring no healing, From wild and weak complaining, Thine old strength revealing, Save, oh! save.

From doubt, where all is double; Where wise men are not strong, Where comfort turns to trouble, Where just men suffer wrong; Where sorrow treads on joy, Where sweet things soonest cloy, Where faiths are built on dust, Where love is half mistrust, Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea-- Oh! set us free.

O let the false dream fly, Where our sick souls do lie Tossing continually!

O where thy voice doth come Let all doubts be dumb, Let all words be mild, All strifes be reconciled, All pains beguiled!

Light bring no blindness, Love no unkindness, Knowledge no ruin, Fear no undoing!

From the cradle to the grave, Save, oh! save.

HUMAN LIFE

What mortal, when he saw, Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend, Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly: "I have kept uninfringed my nature's law; The inly-written chart thou gavest me, To guide me, I have steer'd by to the end"?

Ah! let us make no claim, On life's incognisable sea, To too exact a steering of our way; Let us not fret and fear to miss our aim, If some fair coast have lured us to make stay, Or some friend hail'd us to keep company.

Ay! we would each fain drive At random, and not steer by rule.

Weakness! and worse, weakness bestow'd in vain Winds from our side the unsuiting consort rive, We rush by coasts where we had lief remain; Man cannot, though he would, live chance's fool.

No! as the foaming swath Of torn-up water, on the main, Falls heavily away with long-drawn roar On either side the black deep-furrow'd path Cut by an onward-labouring vessel's prore, And never touches the ship-side again;

Even so we leave behind, As, charter'd by some unknown Powers, We stem across the sea of life by night, The joys which were not for our use design'd;-- The friends to whom we had no natural right, The homes that were not destined to be ours.

TO A GIPSY CHILD BY THE SEA-Sh.o.r.e

DOUGLAS, ISLE OF MAN

Who taught this pleading to unpractised eyes?

Who hid such import in an infant's gloom?

Who lent thee, child, this meditative guise?

Who ma.s.s'd, round that slight brow, these clouds of doom?

Lo! sails that gleam a moment and are gone; The swinging waters, and the cl.u.s.ter'd pier.

Not idly Earth and Ocean labour on, Nor idly do these sea-birds hover near.

But thou, whom superfluity of joy Wafts not from thine own thoughts, nor longings vain, Nor weariness, the full-fed soul's annoy-- Remaining in thy hunger and thy pain;

Thou, drugging pain by patience; half averse From thine own mother's breast, that knows not thee; With eyes which sought thine eyes thou didst converse, And that soul-searching vision fell on me.

Glooms that go deep as thine I have not known: Moods of fantastic sadness, nothing worth.

Thy sorrow and thy calmness are thine own: Glooms that enhance and glorify this earth.

What mood wears like complexion to thy woe?

His, who in mountain glens, at noon of day, Sits rapt, and hears the battle break below?

--Ah! thine was not the shelter, but the fray.