The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 1

Poetical Works of George MacDonald.

Vol. 2.

by George MacDonald.

PARABLES

_THE MAN OF SONGS._

"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, O man of many songs!

To thee what is, but looks and seems; No realm to thee belongs!"

"Seest thou those mountains, faint and far, O spirit caged and tame?"

"Blue clouds like distant hills they are, And like is not the same."

"Nay, nay; I know each mountain well, Each cliff, and peak, and dome!

In that cloudland, in one high dell, Nesteth my little home."

_THE HILLS._

Behind my father's cottage lies A gentle gra.s.sy height Up which I often ran--to gaze Back with a wondering sight, For then the chimneys I thought high Were down below me quite!

All round, where'er I turned mine eyes, Huge hills closed up the view; The town 'mid their converging roots Was clasped by rivers two; From, one range to another sprang The sky's great vault of blue.

It was a joy to climb their sides, And in the heather lie!

A joy to look at vantage down On the castle grim and high!

Blue streams below, white clouds above, In silent earth and sky!

And now, where'er my feet may roam, At sight of stranger hill A new sense of the old delight Springs in my bosom still, And longings for the high unknown Their ancient channels fill.

For I am always climbing hills, From the known to the unknown-- Surely, at last, on some high peak, To find my Father's throne, Though hitherto I have only found His footsteps in the stone!

And in my wanderings I did meet Another searching too: The dawning hope, the shared quest Our thoughts together drew; Fearless she laid her band in mine Because her heart was true.

She was not born among the hills, Yet on each mountain face A something known her inward eye By inborn light can trace; For up the hills must homeward be, Though no one knows the place.

Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine-- A long way we have come!

Clasp my hand closer yet, my child, Farther we yet must roam-- Climbing and climbing till we reach Our heavenly father's home.

_THE JOURNEY._

I.

Hark, the rain is on my roof!

Every murmur, through the dark, Stings me with a dull reproof Like a half-extinguished spark.

Me! ah me! how came I here, Wide awake and wide alone!

Caught within a net of fear, All my dreams undreamed and gone!

I will rise; I will go forth.

Better dare the hideous night, Better face the freezing north Than be still, where is no light!

Black wind rushing round me now, Sown with arrowy points of rain!

Gone are there and then and now-- I am here, and so is pain!

Dead in dreams the gloomy street!

I will out on open roads.

Eager grow my aimless feet-- Onward, onward something goads!

I will take the mountain path, Beard the storm within its den; Know the worst of this dim wrath Hara.s.sing the souls of men.

Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock!

Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones!

Hark, the torrent's thundering shock!

Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans!

Ah! I faint, I fall, I die, Sink to nothingness away!-- Lo, a streak upon the sky!

Lo, the opening eye of day!

II.

Mountain summits lift their snows O'er a valley green and low; And a winding pathway goes Guided by the river's flow; And a music rises ever, As of peace and low content, From the pebble-paven river Like an odour upward sent.

And the sound of ancient harms Moans behind, the hills among, Like the humming of the swarms That unseen the forest throng.

Now I meet the shining rain From a cloud with sunny weft; Now against the wind I strain, Sudden burst from mountain cleft.

Now a sky that hath a moon Staining all the cloudy white With a faded rainbow--soon Lost in deeps of heavenly night!

Now a morning clear and soft, Amber on the purple hills; Warm blue day of summer, oft Cooled by wandering windy rills!

Joy to travel thus along With the universe around!

Every creature of the throng, Every sight and scent and sound Homeward speeding, beauty-laden, Beelike, to its hive, my soul!

Mine the eye the stars are made in!

Mine the heart of Nature's whole!

III.

Hills retreating on each hand Slowly sink into the plain; Solemn through the outspread land Rolls the river to the main.

In the glooming of the night Something through the dusky air Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, But I know not what or where.

Is it but a chalky ridge Bared of sod, like tree of bark?

Or a river-spanning bridge Miles away into the dark?

Or the foremost leaping waves Of the everlasting sea, Where the Undivided laves Time with its eternity?

Is it but an eye-made sight, In my brain a fancied gleam?

Or a faint aurora-light From the sun's tired smoking team?

In the darkness it is gone, Yet with every step draws nigh; Known shall be the thing unknown When the morning climbs the sky!

Onward, onward through the night Matters it I cannot see?

I am moving in a might Dwelling in the dark and me!