The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 34

JULIAN _descries him suddenly_.

What are you, man? O brother, bury me-- There's money in my pocket--

[_Emptying the Jew's gold on the floor_.]

by my child.

[_Staring at him_.]

Oh! you are Death. Go, saddle the pale horse-- I will not walk--I'll ride. What, skeleton!

_I cannot sit him_! ha! ha! Hither, brute!

Here, Lilia, do the lady's task, my child, And buckle on my spurs. I'll send him up With a gleam through the blue, snorting white foam-flakes.

Ah me! I have not won my golden spurs, Nor is there any maid to bind them on:

I will not ride the horse, I'll walk with thee.

Come, Death, give me thine arm, good slave!--we'll go.

_Lord Seaford (stooping over him_).

I am Seaford, Count.

_Julian_.

Seaford! What Seaford?

[_Recollecting_.]

_--Seaford_!

[_Springing to his feet_.]

Where is my wife?

[_He falls into SEAFORD'S arms. He lays him down_.]

_Lord S_.

Had I seen _him_, she had been safe for me.

[_Goes_.]

[JULIAN _lies motionless. Insensibility pa.s.ses into sleep. He wakes calm, in the sultry dusk of a summer evening_.]

_Julian_.

Still, still alive! I thought that I was dead.

I had a frightful dream. 'Tis gone, thank G.o.d!

[_He is quiet a little_.]

So then thou didst not take the child away That I might find my wife! Thy will be done.

Thou wilt not let me go. This last desire I send away with grief, but willingly.

I have prayed to thee, and thou hast heard my prayer: Take thou thine own way, only lead her home.

Cleanse her, O Lord. I cannot know thy might; But thou art mighty, with a power unlike All, all that we know by the name of power, Transcending it as intellect transcends 'The stone upon the ground--it may be more, For these are both created--thou creator, Lonely, supreme.

Now it is almost over, My spirit's journey through this strange sad world; This part is done, whatever cometh next.

Morning and evening have made out their day; My sun is going down in stormy dark, But I will face it fearless.

The first act Is over of the drama.--Is it so?

What means this dim dawn of half-memories?

There's something I knew once and know not now!-- A something different from all this earth!

It matters little; I care not--only know That G.o.d will keep the living thing he made.

How mighty must he be to have the right Of swaying this great power I feel I am-- Moulding and forming it, as pleaseth him!

O G.o.d, I come to thee! thou art my life; O G.o.d, thou art my home; I come to thee.

Can this be death? Lo! I am lifted up Large-eyed into the night. Nothing I see But that which _is_, the living awful Truth-- All forms of which are but the sparks flung out From the luminous ocean clothing round the sun, Himself all dark. Ah, I remember me: Christ said to Martha--"Whosoever liveth, And doth believe in me, shall never die"!

I wait, I wait, wait wondering, till the door Of G.o.d's wide theatre be open flung To let me in. What marvels I shall see!

The expectation fills me, like new life Dancing through all my veins.

Once more I thank thee For all that thou hast made me--most of all, That thou didst make me wonder and seek thee.

I thank thee for my wife: to thee I trust her; Forget her not, my G.o.d. If thou save her, I shall be able then to thank thee so As will content thee--with full-flowing song, The very bubbles on whose dancing waves Are daring thoughts flung faithful at thy feet.

My heart sinks in me.--I grow faint. Oh! whence This wind of love that fans me out of life?

One stoops to kiss me!--Ah, my lily child!

G.o.d hath not flung thee over his garden-wall.

[_Re-enter_ LORD SEAFORD _with the doctor_. JULIAN _takes no heed of them. The doctor shakes his head_.]

My little child, I'll never leave thee more; We are both children now in G.o.d's big house.

Come, lead me; you are older here than I By three whole days, my darling angel-child!

[_A letter is brought in_. LORD SEAFORD _holds it before_ JULIAN'S _eyes. He looks vaguely at it_.]

_Lord S_.

It is a letter from your wife, I think.

_Julian (feebly_).

A letter from my Lilia! Bury it with me-- I'll read it in my chamber, by and by: Dear words should not be read with others nigh.

Lilia, my wife! I am going home to G.o.d.

_Lord S. (pending over him_).

Your wife is innocent. I _know_ she is.

JULIAN _gazes at him blankly. A light begins to grow in his eyes. It grows till his face is transfigured. It vanishes.

He dies_.

PART V.

AND do not fear to hope. Can poet's brain More than the Father's heart rich good invent?

Each time we smell the autumn's dying scent, We know the primrose time will come again; Not more we hope, nor less would soothe our pain.

Be bounteous in thy faith, for not mis-spent Is confidence unto the Father lent: Thy need is sown and rooted for his rain.