The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 3

Yes, a window you may call it; Not the less up you must wall it: In that niche the dead world lies; Bury death, and free mine eyes.

There were youths who held by me, Said I taught, yet left them free: Will they do as I said then?

G.o.d forbid! As ye are men, Find the secret--follow and find!

All forget that lies behind; Me, the schools, yourselves, forsake; In your souls a silence make; Hearken till a whisper come, Listen, follow, and be dumb.

There! 'tis over; I am dead!

Of my life the broken thread Here I cast out of my hand!-- O my soul, the merry land!

On my heart the sinking vault Of my ruining past makes halt; Ages I could sit and moan For the shining world that's gone!

Haste and pierce the other wall; Break an opening to the All!

Where? No matter; done is best.

Kind of window? Let that rest: Who at morning ever lies Pondering how to ope his eyes!

I bethink me: we must fall On the thinnest of the wall!

There it must be, in that niche!-- No, the deepest--that in which Stands the Crucifix.

You start?-- Ah, your half-believing heart Shrinks from that as sacrilege, Or, at least, upon its edge!

Worse than sacrilege, I say, Is it to withhold the day From the brother whom thou knowest For the G.o.d thou never sawest!

Reverently, O marble cold, Thee in living arms I fold!

Thou who art thyself the way From the darkness to the day, Window, thou, to every land, Wouldst not one dread moment stand Shutting out the air and sky And the dayspring from on high!

Brother with the rugged crown, Gently thus I lift thee down!

Give me pick and hammer; you Stand aside; the deed I'll do.

Yes, in truth, I have small skill, But the best thing is the will.

Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster Clashes downward, fast and faster.

Hark, I hear an outer stone Down the rough rock rumbling thrown!

There's a cranny! there's a crack!

The great sun is at its back!

Lo, a ma.s.s is outward flung!

In the universe hath sprung!

See the gold upon the blue!

See the sun come blinding through!

See the far-off mountain shine In the dazzling light divine!

Prisoned world, thy captive's gone!

Welcome wind, and sky, and sun!

_LOVE'S ORDEAL._

A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in boyhood.

"Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?"

Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay Where for an hour outstretched he had lain-- Softly, yet with some token of dismay.

Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain That has been gathering in the west all day!

Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, And let me gather peace from thy repose."

"Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?"

Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes.

"I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine."

"Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; "Draw back the lattice bar and let them in."

From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, Then shook the rain-drops from their s.h.a.ggy skin.

The maiden closed the shower-bespattered gla.s.s, Whose spotted shadow through the room did pa.s.s.

The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, But, when again beside him sat the maid, His eyes for one slow minute having scanned Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, Monotonous, like solemn-read command: "For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb."

Strange moanings from the pine entered the room.

And then two shadows like the shadow of gla.s.s, Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pa.s.s; A sound of rain-drops came about the door, And a soft sighing as of plumy gra.s.s; A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim They eyed his countenance by the taper dim.

Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; She doubted whether he the saying had quoted Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?"

Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so;

"Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; He looked one moment like a dead man blest-- His soul a bark that in a sunny isle At length had found the haven of its rest; But he could not remain, must forward fare: He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare,

"Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they Successively in trial's hour did fail, For after sunset clouds again are gray."

A sudden light shone through the fringy veil That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay A stillness on her face, waiting; and then The little clock rung out the hour of ten.

Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow To a soft plaining wind they would not stem.

Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou Art not more beautiful than some of them, But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem That lamps from radiant store upon the dark The light it gathered where its song the lark.

"The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!-- No woman yet hath shared my doom with me."

With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim.

Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: "'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."-- Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?-- "At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share The terror with me? or must I go alone To meet an agony that will not spare?"

She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; He staid her with his hand, and further spoke.

"Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour!

Enough is left even now for telling thee The far beginnings whence the fearful power Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower-- Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white Compa.s.s the place where I must lie to-night!"

Around his neck the maiden put her arm And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest.

And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm All doubt away from love's primeval rest!

He hid his face upon her heart, and there Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair.

A drearier moaning through the pine did go As if a human voice complained and cried For one long minute; then the sound grew low, Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died.

Together at the silence two voices mow-- His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide The hours into live moments--sparks of time Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime.

He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; Of dying ever into dawning birth.

"But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; Whose faith lights up the cold brain's pa.s.sionless hour; Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, But waits the sun and the baptizing shower-- Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine To greet the human summer, when its flower Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, And love and pa.s.sion be one holy twain--

"Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul And every stain dissolve to the very core.

She too will slumber, having found her goal.

Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, And our long, dark, appointed period fill.

Then shall we wake together, loving still."