The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 80

My searching hands have caught a door With iron clenched and barred: Here, the gaunt spider's castle-core, Grim Death keeps watch and ward!

Its two leaves shake, its bars are bowed, As if a ghastly wind, That never bore a leaf or cloud, Were pressing hard behind.

They shake, they groan, they outward strain: What thing of dire dismay Will freeze its form upon my brain, And fright my soul away?

They groan, they shake, they bend, they crack; The bars, the doors divide; A flood of glory at their back Hath burst the portals wide!

In flows a summer afternoon; I know the very breeze!

It used to blow the silvery moon About the summer trees.

The gulf is filled with flashing tides; Blue sky through boughs looks in; Mosses and ferns o'er floor and sides A mazy arras spin.

The empty church, the yawning cleft, The earthy, dead despair Are gone, and I alive am left In sunshine and in air!

IV.

Some dreams, in slumber's twilight, sly Through the ivory wicket creep; Then suddenly the inward eye Sees them outside the sleep.

Once, wandering in the border gray, I spied one past me swim; I caught it on its truant way To nowhere in the dim.

All o'er a steep of gra.s.sy ground, Lay ruined statues old, Such forms as never more are found Save deep in ancient mould,

A host of marble Anakim Shattered in deadly fight!

Oh, what a wealth one broken limb Had been to waking sight!

But sudden, the weak mind to mock That could not keep its own, Without a shiver or a shock, Behold, the dream was gone!

For each dim form of marble rare Stood broken rush or reed; So bends on autumn field, long bare, Some tall rain-battered weed.

The shapeless night hung empty, drear, O'er my scarce slumbering head; There is no good in staying here, My spirit moaned, and fled.

V.

The simplest joys that daily pa.s.s Grow ecstasies in sleep; A wind on heights of waving gra.s.s In a dream has made me weep.

No wonder then my heart one night Was joy-full to the brim: I was with one whose love and might Had drawn me close to him!

But from a church into the street Came pouring, crowding on, A troubled throng with hurrying feet, And Lo, my friend was gone!

Alone upon a miry road I walked a wretched plain; Onward without a goal I strode Through mist and drizzling rain.

Low mounds of ruin, ugly pits, And brick-fields scarred the globe; Those wastes where desolation sits Without her ancient robe.

The dreariness, the nothingness Grew worse almost than fear; If ever hope was needful bliss, Hope sure was needful here!

Did potent wish work joyous change Like wizard's glamour-spell?

Wishes not always fruitless range, And sometimes it is well!

I know not. Sudden sank the way, Burst in the ocean-waves; Behold a bright, blue-billowed bay, Red rocks and sounding caves!

Dreaming, I wept. Awake, I ask-- Shall earthly dreams, forsooth, Set the old Heavens too hard a task To match them with the truth?

VI.

Once more I build a dream, awake, Which sleeping I would dream; Once more an unborn fancy take And try to make it seem!

Some strange delight shall fill my breast, Enticed from sleep's abyss, With sense of motion, yet of rest, Of sleep, yet waking bliss!

It comes!--I lie on something warm That lifts me from below; It rounds me like a mighty arm Though soft as drifted snow.

A dream, indeed!--Oh, happy me Whom t.i.tan woman bears Afloat upon a gentle sea Of wandering midnight airs!

A breeze, just cool enough to lave With sense each conscious limb, Glides round and under, like a wave Of twilight growing dim!

She bears me over sleeping towns, O'er murmuring ears of corn; O'er tops of trees, o'er billowy downs, O'er moorland wastes forlorn.

The harebells in the mountain-pa.s.s Flutter their blue about; The myriad blades of meadow gra.s.s Float scarce-heard music out.

Over the lake!--ah! nearer float, Nearer the water's breast; Let me look deeper--let me doat Upon that lily-nest.

Old homes we brush--in wood, on road; Their windows do not shine; Their dwellers must be all abroad In lovely dreams like mine!

Hark--drifting syllables that break Like foam-bells on fleet ships!

The little airs are all awake With softly kissing lips.

Light laughter ripples down the wind, Sweet sighs float everywhere; But when I look I nothing find, For every star is there.

O lady lovely, lady strong, Ungiven thy best gift lies!

Thou bear'st me in thine arms along, Dost not reveal thine eyes!

Pale doubt lifts up a snaky crest, In darts a pang of loss: My outstretched hand, for hills of rest, Finds only mounds of moss!

Faint and far off the stars appear; The wind begins to weep; 'Tis night indeed, chilly and drear, And all but me asleep!

ROADSIDE POEMS.

_BETTER THINGS_.

Better to smell the violet Than sip the glowing wine; Better to hearken to a brook Than watch a diamond shine.

Better to have a loving friend Than ten admiring foes; Better a daisy's earthy root Than a gorgeous, dying rose.

Better to love in loneliness Than bask in love all day; Better the fountain in the heart Than the fountain by the way.

Better be fed by mother's hand Than eat alone at will; Better to trust in G.o.d, than say, My goods my storehouse fill.