The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 51

First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; He smote me on the temples and I rose, Casting the night aside and all its woes; And I would spurn my idleness, and take My own wild journey even like him, and shake The pillars of all doubt with l.u.s.ty blows, Even like himself when his rich glory goes Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break.

But ere my soul was ready for the fight, His solemn setting mocked me in the west; And as I trembled in the lifting night, The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd A mellow wisdom in her silent youth, Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth.

_DOUBT HERALDING VISION._

An angel saw me sitting by a brook, Pleased with the silence, and the melodies Of wind and water which did fall and rise: He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies, Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes An inextinguishable wish to look; When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came, Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky, A host of splendours watching silently, With l.u.s.trous eyes that wept as if in blame, And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame, And signalled things I hope to hold although I die!

_LIFE OR DEATH?_

Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, For every flower that ends its little span, For every child that groweth up to man, For every captive bird a cage doth keep, For every aching eye that went to sleep Long ages back, when other eyes began To see and know and love as now they can, Unravelling G.o.d's wonders heap by heap?

Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity In charnel dens that rot and reek alway, A dismal light for those that go astray, A pit of foul deformity--to be, Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day?

_LOST AND FOUND._

I missed him when the sun began to bend; I found him not when I had lost his rim; With many tears I went in search of him, Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, And gave me echoes when I called my friend; Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, And high cathedrals where the light was dim, Through books and arts and works without an end, But found him not--the friend whom I had lost.

And yet I found him--as I found the lark, A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; I found him nearest when I missed him most; I found him in my heart, a life in frost, A light I knew not till my soul was dark.

_THE MOON._

She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon!

Under a ragged cloud I found her out, Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt!

That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon, And he hath found and he will hide her soon!

Come, all ye little winds that sit without, And blow the shining leaves her edge about, And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune!

She will forget us in her walks at night Among the other worlds that are so fair!

She will forget to look on our despair!

She will forget to be so young and bright!

Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light-- I saw them hanging by thy girdle there!

_TRUTH, NOT FORM!_

I came upon a fountain on my way When it was hot, and sat me down to drink Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink I spied full many vessels made of clay, Whereon were written, not without display, In deep engraving or with merely ink, The blessings which each owner seemed to think Would light on him who drank with each alway.

I looked so hard my eyes were looking double Into them all, but when I came to see That they were filthy, each in his degree, I bent my head, though not without some trouble, To where the little waves did leap and bubble, And so I journeyed on most pleasantly.

_G.o.d IN GROWTH._

I said, I will arise and work some thing, Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow A life around me, clear as yes from no, That to my restless hand some rest may bring, And give a vital power to Action's spring: Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo!

An angel stood beside me on the snow, With folded wings that came of pondering.

"G.o.d's glory flashes on the silence here Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue, "Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer To bear his message to the hidden year Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new."

_IN A CHURCHYARD._

There may be seeming calm above, but no!-- There is a pulse below which ceases not, A subterranean working, fiery hot, Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show Of elemental conflict; and this spot Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot, And here the humblest weeds take root and grow.

There is a calm upon the mighty sea, Yet are its depths alive and full of being, Enormous bulks that move unwieldily; Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing!-- From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample, Comes there no rushing sound: _these_ do not trample!

_POWER._

Power that is not of G.o.d, however great, Is but the downward rushing and the glare Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share In the one impulse which doth animate The parent ma.s.s: emblem to me of fate!

Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer-- A moment brilliant, then most desolate!

And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn From all the things we see continually That pride is but the empty mockery Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern And sweet repose of soul which we can earn Only through reverence and humility!

_DEATH._

Yes, there is one who makes us all lay down Our mushroom vanities, our speculations, Our well-set theories and calculations, Our workman's jacket or our monarch's crown!

To him alike the country and the town, Barbaric hordes or civilized nations, Men of all names and ranks and occupations, Squire, parson, lawyer, Jones, or Smith, or Brown!

He stops the carter: the uplifted whip Falls dreamily among the horses' straw; He stops the helmsman, and the gallant ship Holdeth to westward by another law; No one will see him, no one ever saw, But he sees all and lets not any slip.

_THAT HOLY THING._

They all were looking for a king To slay their foes, and lift them high: Thou cam'st a little baby thing That made a woman cry.

O son of man, to right my lot Nought but thy presence can avail; Yet on the road thy wheels are not, Nor on the sea thy sail!

My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed?

Thou com'st down thine own secret stair: Com'st down to answer all my need, Yea, every bygone prayer!

_FROM NOVALIS_.

Uplifted is the stone And all mankind arisen!

We are thy very own, We are no more in prison!

What bitterest grief can stay Beside thy golden cup, When earth and life give way And with our Lord we sup!

To the marriage Death doth call, The lamps are burning clear, The virgins, ready all, Have for their oil no fear.

Would that even now were ringing The distance with thy throng!

And that the stars were singing To us a human song!

Courage! for life is hasting To endless life away; The inward fire, unwasting, Transfigures our dull clay!

See the stars melting, sinking In life-wine golden-bright!