The Ascent of Man Part 1

The Ascent of Man.

by Mathilde Blind.

THE ASCENT OF MAN.

_PRELUDE._

WINGS.

Ascend, oh my Soul, with the wings of the lark ascend!

Soaring away and away far into the blue.

Or with the shrill seagull to the breakers bend, Or with the bee, where the gra.s.ses and field-flowers blend, Drink out of golden cups of the honey-dew.

Ascend, oh my Soul, on the wings of the wind as it blows, Striking wild organ-blasts from the forest trees, Or on the zephyr bear love of the rose to the rose, Or with the hurricane sower cast seed as he goes Limitless ploughing the leagues of the sibilant seas.

Ascend, oh my Soul, on the wings of the choral strain, Invisible tier above tier upbuilding sublime; Note as it scales after note in a rhythmical chain Reaching from chaos and welter of struggle and pain, Far into vistas empyreal receding from time.

Ascend! take wing on the thoughts of the Dead, my Soul, Breathing in colour and stone, flashing through epic and song: Thoughts that like avalanche snows gather force as they roll, Mighty to fashion and knead the phenomenal throng Of generations of men as they thunder along.

THE ASCENT OF MAN.

PART I.

As compressed within the bounded sh.e.l.l Boundless Ocean seems to surge and swell, Haunting echoes of an infinite whole Moan and murmur through Man's finite soul.

_CHAUNTS OF LIFE._

I.

Struck out of dim fluctuant forces and shock of electrical vapour, Repelled and attracted the atoms flashed mingling in union primeval, And over the face of the waters far heaving in limitless twilight Auroral pulsations thrilled faintly, and, striking the blank heaving surface, The measureless speed of their motion now leaped into light on the waters.

And lo, from the womb of the waters, upheaved in volcanic convulsion, Ribbed and ravaged and rent there rose bald peaks and the rocky Heights of confederate mountains compelling the fugitive vapours To take a form as they pa.s.sed them and float as clouds through the azure.

Mountains, the broad-bosomed mothers of torrents and rivers perennial, Feeding the rivers and plains with patient persistence, till slowly, In the swift pa.s.sage of aeons recorded in stone by Time's graver, There germ grey films of the lichen and mosses and palm-ferns gigantic, And jungle of tropical forest fantastical branches entwining, And limitless deserts of sand and wildernesses primeval.

II.

Lo, moving o'er chaotic waters, Love dawned upon the seething waste, Transformed in ever new avatars It moved without or pause or haste: Like sap that moulds the leaves of May It wrought within the ductile clay.

And vaguely in the pregnant deep, Clasped by the glowing arms of light From an eternity of sleep Within unfathomed gulfs of night A pulse stirred in the plastic slime Responsive to the rhythm of Time.

Enkindled in the mystic dark Life built herself a myriad forms, And, flashing its electric spark Through films and cells and pulps and worms, Flew shuttlewise above, beneath, Weaving the web of life and death.

And multiplying in the ocean, Amorphous, rude, colossal things Lolled on the ooze in lazy motion, Armed with grim jaws or uncouth wings; Helpless to lift their c.u.mbering bulk They lurch like some dismasted hulk.

And virgin forest, verdant plain, The briny sea, the balmy air, Each blade of gra.s.s and globe of rain, And glimmering cave and gloomy lair Began to swarm with beasts and birds, With floating fish and fleet-foot herds.

The l.u.s.t of life's delirious fires Burned like a fever in their blood, Now p.r.i.c.ked them on with fierce desires, Now drove them famishing for food, To seize coy females in the fray, Or hotly hunted hunt for prey.

And amorously urged them on In wood or wild to court their mate, Proudly displaying in the sun With antics strange and looks elate, The vigour of their mighty thews Or charm of million-coloured hues.

There crouching 'mid the scarlet bloom, Voluptuously the leopard lies, And through the tropic forest gloom The flaming of his feline eyes Stirs with intoxicating stress The pulses of the leopardess.

Or two swart bulls of self-same age Meet furiously with thunderous roar, And lash together, blind with rage, And clanging horns that fain would gore Their rival, and so win the prize Of those impa.s.sive female eyes.

Or in the nuptial days of spring, When April kindles bush and brier, Like rainbows that have taken wing, Or palpitating gems of fire, Bright b.u.t.terflies in one brief day Live but to love and pa.s.s away.

And herds of horses scour the plains, The thickets scream with bird and beast The love of life burns in their veins, And from the mightiest to the least Each preys upon the other's life In inextinguishable strife.

War rages on the teeming earth; The hot and sanguinary fight Begins with each new creature's birth: A dreadful war where might is right; Where still the strongest slay and win, Where weakness is the only sin.

There is no truce to this drawn battle, Which ends but to begin again; The drip of blood, the hoa.r.s.e death-rattle, The roar of rage, the shriek of pain, Are rife in fairest grove and dell, Turning earth's flowery haunts to h.e.l.l.

A h.e.l.l of hunger, hatred, l.u.s.t, Which goads all creatures here below, Or blindworm wriggling in the dust, Or penguin in the Polar snow: A h.e.l.l where there is none to save, Where life is life's insatiate grave.

And in the long portentous strife, Where types are tried even as by fire, Where life is whetted upon life And step by panting step mounts higher, Apes lifting hairy arms now stand And free the wonder-working hand.

They raise a light, aerial house On shafts of widely branching trees, Where, harboured warily, each spouse May feed her little ape in peace, Green cradled in his heaven-roofed bed, Leaves rustling lullabies o'erhead.

And lo, 'mid reeking swarms of earth Grim struggling in the primal wood, A new strange creature hath its birth: Wild--stammering--nameless--shameless--nude; Spurred on by want, held in by fear, He hides his head in caverns drear.

Most unprotected of earth's kin, His fight for life that seems so vain Sharpens his senses, till within The twilight mazes of his brain, Like embryos within the womb, Thought pushes feelers through the gloom.

And slowly in the fateful race It grows unconscious, till at length The helpless savage dares to face The cave-bear in his grisly strength; For stronger than its bulky thews He feels a force that grows with use.

From age to dumb unnumbered age, By dim gradations long and slow, He reaches on from stage to stage, Through fear and famine, weal and woe And, compa.s.sed round with danger, still Prolongs his life by craft and skill.

With cunning hand he shapes the flint, He carves the horn with strange device, He splits the rebel block by dint Of effort--till one day there flies A spark of fire from out the stone: Fire which shall make the world his own.

III.

And from the clash of warring Nature's strife Man day by day wins his imperilled life; For, goaded on by want, he hunts the roe, Chases the deer, and lays the wild boar low.

In his rude boat made of the hollow trees He drifts adventurous on the unoared seas, And, as he tilts upon the rocking tide, Catches the glistening fish that flash and glide Innumerably through the waters wide.

He'll fire the bush whose flames shall help him fel The trunks to prop his roof, where he may dwell Beside the bubbling of a crystal well, Sheltered from drenching rains or noxious glare When the sun holds the zenith. Delving there, His c.u.mbered wife, whose multifarious toil Seems never done, breaks the rich virgin soil, And in the ashes casts the casual seeds Of feathered gra.s.s and efflorescent weeds; When, as with thanks, the bounteous earth one morn Returns lush blades of life-sustaining corn.

And while the woman digs and plants, and twines To precious use long reeds and pliant bines, He--having hit the brown bird on the wing, And slain the roe--returns at evening, And gives his spoil unto her, to prepare The succulent, wildwood scented, simmering fare, While with impatient sniffs and eager-eyed His bronze-limbed children gather to his side.

And, when the feast is done, all take their ease, Lulled by the sing-song of the evening breeze And murmuring undertones of many-foliaged trees; While here and there through rifts of green the sky Casts its blue glance like an all-seeing eye.

But though by stress of want and poignant need Man tames the wolf-sprung hound and rearing steed, Pens up the ram, and yokes the deep-horned ox, And through wide pastures shepherds woolly flocks; Though age by age, through discipline of toil, Man wring a richer harvest from the soil, And in the grim and still renewing fight Slays loathly worms and beasts of gruesome might By the close-knitted bondage of the clan, Which adding up the puny strength of man Makes thousands move with one electric thrill Of simultaneous, energetic will; Yet still behind the narrow borderland Where in security he seems to stand, His apprehensive life is compa.s.sed round By baffling mysteries he cannot sound, Where, big with terrors and calamities, The future like a foe in ambush lies: A m.u.f.fled foe, that seems to watch and wait With the Medusa eyes of stony fate.-- Great floods o'erwhelm and ruin his ripening grain, His boat is shattered by the hurricane, From the rent cloud the tameless lightning springs-- Heaven's flame-mouthed dragon with a roar of wings-- And fires his hut and simple household things; Until before his horror-stricken eyes The stored-up produce of long labour lies, A heap of ashes smoking 'neath the skies.-- Or now the pastures where his flocks did graze, Parched, withered, shrivelled by the imminent blaze Of the great ball of fire that glares above, Glow dry like iron heated in a stove; Turning upon themselves, the tortured sheep, With blackening tongues, drop heap on gasping heap, Their rotting flesh sickens the wind that moans And whistles poisoned through their chattering bones; While the thin shepherd, staring sick and gaunt, Will search the thorns for berries, or yet haunt The stony channels of some river-bed Where filtering fresh perchance a liquid thread Of water may run clear.--Now dark o'erhead, Thickening with storm, the wintry clouds will loom, And wrap the land in weeds of mournful gloom; Shrouding the sun and every lesser light Till earth with all her aging woods grows white, And hurrying streams stop fettered in their flight.

Then famished beasts freeze by the frozen lakes, And thick as leaves dead birds bestrew the brakes; And, cowering blankly by the flickering flame, Man feels a presence without form or name, When by the bodies of his speechless dead In barbarous woe he bows his stricken head.

Then in the hunger of his piteous love He sends his thought, winged like a carrier dove-- Through the unanswering silence void and vast, Whence from dim hollows blows an icy blast-- To bring some sign, some little sign at last, From his lost chiefs--the beautiful, the brave-- Vanished like bubbles on a breaking wave, Lost in the unfathomed darkness of the grave.

When, lo, behold beside him in the night,-- Softly beside him, like the noiseless light Of moonbeams moving o'er the glimmering floor That come unbidden through the bolted door,-- The lonely sleeper sees the lost one stand Like one returned from some dim, distant land, Bending towards him with his outstretched hand.

But when he fain would grasp it in his own, He melts into thin moonshine and is gone-- A spirit now, who on the other sh.o.r.e Of death hunts happily for evermore.-- A Son of Life, but dogged, while he draws breath, By her inseparable shadow--death, Man, feeble Man, whom unknown Fates appal, With prayer and praise seeks to propitiate all The spirits, who, for good or evil plight, Bless him in victory or in sickness smite.

Those are his Dead who, wrapped in grisly shrouds, Now ride phantasmal on the rushing clouds, Souls of departed chiefs whose livid forms He sees careering on the reinless storms, Wild, spectral huntsmen who tumultuously, With loud halloo and shrilly echoing cry, Follow the furious chase, with the whole pack Of shadowy hounds fierce yelping in the track Of wolves and bears as shadowy as the hosts Who lead once more as unsubstantial ghosts Their lives of old as restlessly they fly Across the wildernesses of the sky.

When the wild hunt is done, shall they not rest Their heads upon some swan-white maiden's breast, And quaff their honeyed mead with G.o.dlike zest In golden-gated Halls whence they may see The earth and marvellous secrets of the Sea Whereon the clouds will lie with grey wings furled, And in whose depths, voluminously curled, The serpent looms whose girth engirds the world?

Far, far above now in supernal power Those spirits rule the sunshine and the shower!

How shall he win their favour; yea, how move To pity the unpitying G.o.ds above, The Daemon rulers of life's fitful dream, Who sway men's destinies, and still would seem To treat them lightly as a game of chance, The sport of whim and blindfold circ.u.mstance-- The irresponsible, capricious G.o.ds, So quick to please or anger; whose sharp rods Are storms and lightnings launched from cloven skies; Who feast upon the shuddering victim's cries, The smell of blood, and human sacrifice.

But ever as Man grows they grow with him; Terrific, cruel, gentle, bright, or dim, With eyes of dove-like mercy, hands of wrath, Procession-like, they hover o'er his path And, changing with the gazer, borrow light From their rapt devotee's adoring sight.

And Ormuzd, Ashtaroth, Osiris, Baal-- Love spending G.o.ds and G.o.ds of blood and wail-- Look down upon their suppliant from the skies With his own magnified, responsive eyes.