The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 100

'But, Willie, friend, don't turn me forth, Auld Clootie needs no gauger; And if on earth I had small worth, You've let in worse I'se wager!' 60 'Na, nane has knockit at the yett But found me hard as whunstane; There's chances yet your bread to get Wi Auld Nick, gaugin' brunstane.'

IX

Meanwhile, the Unco' Guid had ta'en Their place to watch the process, Flattening in vain on many a pane Their disembodied noses.

Remember, please, 'tis all a dream; One can't control the fancies 70 Through sleep that stream with wayward gleam, Like midnight's boreal dances.

X

Old Willie's tone grew sharp 's a knife: '_In primis_, I indite ye, For makin' strife wi' the water o' life, And preferrin' _aqua vitae!_'

Then roared a voice with l.u.s.ty din, Like a skipper's when 'tis blowy, 'If _that's_ a sin, _I_'d ne'er got in, As sure as my name's Noah!' 80

XI

Baulked, Willie turned another leaf,-- 'There's many here have heard ye, To the pain and grief o' true belief, Say hard things o' the clergy!'

Then rang a clear tone over all,-- 'One plea for him allow me: I once heard call from o'er me, "Saul, Why persecutest thou me?"'

XII

To the next charge vexed Willie turned, And, sighing, wiped his gla.s.ses: 90 'I'm much concerned to find ye yearned O'er-warmly tow'rd the la.s.ses!'

Here David sighed; poor Willie's face Lost all its self-possession: 'I leave this case to G.o.d's own grace; It baffles _my_ discretion!'

XIII

Then sudden glory round me broke, And low melodious surges Of wings whose stroke to splendor woke Creation's farthest verges; 100 A cross stretched, ladder-like, secure From earth to heaven's own portal, Whereby G.o.d's poor, with footing sure, Climbed up to peace immortal.

XIV

I heard a voice serene and low (With my heart I seemed to hear it,) Fall soft and slow as snow on snow, Like grace of the heavenly spirit; As sweet as over new-born son The croon of new-made mother, 110 The voice begun, 'Sore tempted one!'

Then, pausing, sighed, 'Our brother!

XV

'If not a sparrow fall, unless The Father sees and knows it, Think! recks He less his form express, The soul his own deposit?

If only dear to Him the strong, That never trip nor wander, Where were the throng whose morning song Thrills his blue arches yonder? 120

XVI

'Do souls alone clear-eyed, strong-kneed, To Him true service render, And they who need his hand to lead, Find they his heart untender?

Through all your various ranks and fates He opens doors to duty, And he that waits there at your gates Was servant of his Beauty.

XVII

'The Earth must richer sap secrete, (Could ye in time but know it!) 130 Must juice concrete with fiercer heat, Ere she can make her poet; Long generations go and come, At last she bears a singer, For ages dumb of senses numb The compensation-bringer!

XVIII

'Her cheaper broods in palaces She raises under gla.s.ses, But souls like these, heav'n's hostages, Spring shelterless as gra.s.ses: 140 They share Earth's blessing and her bane, The common sun and shower; What makes your pain to them is gain, Your weakness is their power.

XIX

'These larger hearts must feel the rolls Of stormier-waved temptation; These star-wide souls between their poles Bear zones of tropic pa.s.sion.

He loved much!--that is gospel good, Howe'er the text you handle; 150 From common wood the cross was hewed, By love turned priceless sandal.

XX

'If scant his service at the kirk, He _paters_ heard and _aves_ From choirs that lurk in hedge and birk, From blackbird and from mavis; The cowering mouse, poor unroofed thing, In him found Mercy's angel; The daisy's ring brought every spring To him love's fresh evangel! 160

XXI

'Not he the threatening texts who deals Is highest 'mong the preachers, But he who feels the woes and weals Of all G.o.d's wandering creatures.

He doth good work whose heart can find The spirit 'neath the letter; Who makes his kind of happier mind, Leaves wiser men and better.

XXII

'They make Religion be abhorred Who round with darkness gulf her, 170 And think no word can please the Lord Unless it smell of sulphur, Dear Poet-heart, that childlike guessed The Father's loving kindness, Come now to rest! Thou didst his hest, If haply 'twas in blindness!'

XXIII

Then leapt heaven's portals wide apart, And at their golden thunder With sudden start I woke, my heart Still throbbing-full of wonder. 180 'Father,' I said, ''tis known to Thee How Thou thy Saints preparest; But this I see,--Saint Charity Is still the first and fairest!'

XXIV

Dear Bard and Brother! let who may Against thy faults be railing, (Though far, I pray, from us be they That never had a failing!) One toast I'll give, and that not long, Which thou wouldst pledge if present, 190 To him whose song, in nature strong, Makes man of prince and peasant!

IN AN ALb.u.m

The misspelt scrawl, upon the wall By some Pompeian idler traced, In ashes packed (ironic fact!) Lies eighteen centuries uneffaced, While many a page of bard and sage, Deemed once mankind's immortal gain, Lost from Time's ark, leaves no more mark Than a keel's furrow through the main.

O Chance and Change! our buzz's range Is scarcely wider than a fly's; Then let us play at fame to-day, To-morrow be unknown and wise; And while the fair beg locks of hair, And autographs, and Lord knows what, Quick! let us scratch our moment's match, Make our brief blaze, and be forgot!