The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 35

7

In thee my spring of life hath bid the while A rose unfold beyond the summer's best, The mystery of joy made manifest In love's self-answering and awakening smile, Whereby the lips in wonder reconcile Pa.s.sion with peace, and show desire at rest,-- A grace of silence by the Greek unguesst, That bloom'd to immortalize the Tuscan style:

When first the angel-song that faith hath ken'd Fancy pourtray'd, above recorded oath Of Israel's G.o.d, or light of poem pen'd; The very countenance of plighted troth 'Twixt heaven and earth, where in one moment blend The hope of one and happiness of both.

8

For beauty being the best of all we know Sums up the unsearchable and secret aims Of nature, and on joys whose earthly names Were never told can form and sense bestow; And man hath sped his instinct to outgo The step of science; and against her shames Imagination stakes out heavenly claims, Building a tower above the head of woe.

Nor is there fairer work for beauty found Than that she win in nature her release From all the woes that in the world abound: Nay with his sorrow may his love increase, If from man's greater need beauty redound, And claim his tears for homage of his peace.

9

Thus to thy beauty doth my fond heart look, That late dismay'd her faithless faith forbore; And wins again her love lost in the lore Of schools and script of many a learned book: For thou what ruthless death untimely took Shalt now in better brotherhood restore, And save my batter'd ship that far from sh.o.r.e High on the dismal deep in tempest shook.

So in despite of sorrow lately learn'd I still hold true to truth since thou art true, Nor wail the woe which thou to joy hast turn'd: Nor come the heavenly sun and bathing blue To my life's need more splendid and unearn'd Than hath thy gift outmatch'd desire and due.

10

Winter was not unkind because uncouth; His prison'd time made me a closer guest, And gave thy graciousness a warmer zest, Biting all else with keen and angry tooth: And bravelier the triumphant blood of youth Mantling thy cheek its happy home possest, And sterner sport by day put strength to test, And custom's feast at night gave tongue to truth.

Or say hath flaunting summer a device To match our midnight revelry, that rang With steel and flame along the snow-girt ice?

Or when we hark't to nightingales that sang On dewy eves in spring, did they entice To gentler love than winter's icy fang?

11

There's many a would-be poet at this hour, Rhymes of a love that he hath never woo'd, And o'er his lamplit desk in solitude Deems that he sitteth in the Muses' bower: And some the flames of earthly love devour, Who have taken no kiss of Nature, nor renew'd In the world's wilderness with heavenly food The sickly body of their perishing power.

So none of all our company, I boast, But now would mock my penning, coud they see How down the right it maps a jagged coast; Seeing they hold the manlier praise to be Strong hand and will, and the heart best when most 'Tis sober, simple, true, and fancy-free.

12

How coud I quarrel or blame you, most dear, Who all thy virtues gavest and kept back none; Kindness and gentleness, truth without peer, And beauty that my fancy fed upon?

Now not my life's contrition for my fault Can blot that day, nor work me recompence, Tho' I might worthily thy worth exalt, Making thee long amends for short offence.

For surely nowhere, love, if not in thee Are grace and truth and beauty to be found; And all my praise of these can only be A praise of thee, howe'er by thee disown'd: While still thou must be mine tho' far removed, And I for one offence no more beloved.

13

Now since to me altho' by thee refused The world is left, I shall find pleasure still; The art that most I have loved but little used Will yield a world of fancies at my will: And tho' where'er thou goest it is from me, I where I go thee in my heart must bear; And what thou wert that wilt thou ever be, My choice, my best, my loved, and only fair.

Farewell, yet think not such farewell a change From tenderness, tho' once to meet or part But on short absence so coud sense derange That tears have graced the greeting of my heart; They were proud drops and had my leave to fall, Not on thy pity for my pain to call.

14

When sometimes in an ancient house where state From n.o.ble ancestry is handed on, We see but desolation thro' the gate, And richest heirlooms all to ruin gone; Because maybe some fancied shame or fear, Bred of disease or melancholy fate, Hath driven the owner from his rightful sphere To wander nameless save to pity or hate:

What is the wreck of all he hath in fief, When he that hath is wrecking? nought is fine Unto the sick, nor doth it burden grief That the house perish when the soul doth pine.

Thus I my state despise, slain by a sting So slight 'twould not have hurt a meaner thing.

15

Who builds a ship must first lay down the keel Of health, whereto the ribs of mirth are wed: And knit, with beams and knees of strength, a bed For decks of purity, her floor and ceil.

Upon her masts, Adventure, Pride, and Zeal, To fortune's wind the sails of purpose spread: And at the prow make figured maidenhead O'erride the seas and answer to the wheel.

And let him deep in memory's hold have stor'd Water of Helicon: and let him fit The needle that doth true with heaven accord: Then bid her crew, love, diligence and wit With justice, courage, temperance come aboard, And at her helm the master reason sit.

16

This world is unto G.o.d a work of art, Of which the unaccomplish'd heavenly plan Is hid in life within the creature's heart, And for perfection looketh unto man.

Ah me! those thousand ages: with what slow Pains and persistence were his idols made, Destroy'd and made, ere ever he coud know The mighty mother must be so obey'd.

For lack of knowledge and thro' little skill His childish mimicry outwent his aim; His effort shaped the genius of his will; Till thro' distinction and revolt he came, True to his simple terms of good and ill, Seeking the face of Beauty without blame.

17

Say who be these light-bearded, sunburnt faces In negligent and travel-stain'd array, That in the city of Dante come to-day, Haughtily visiting her holy places?

O these be n.o.ble men that hide their graces, True England's blood, her ancient glory's stay, By tales of fame diverted on their way Home from the rule of oriental races.

Life-trifling lions these, of gentle eyes And motion delicate, but swift to fire For honour, pa.s.sionate where duty lies, Most loved and loving: and they quickly tire Of Florence, that she one day more denies The embrace of wife and son, of sister or sire.

18

Where San Miniato's convent from the sun At forenoon overlooks the city of flowers I sat, and gazing on her domes and towers Call'd up her famous children one by one: And three who all the rest had far outdone, Mild Giotto first, who stole the morning hours, I saw, and G.o.d-like Buonarroti's powers, And Dante, gravest poet, her much-wrong'd son.

Is all this glory, I said, another's praise?

Are these heroic triumphs things of old, And do I dead upon the living gaze?

Or rather doth the mind, that can behold The wondrous beauty of the works and days, Create the image that her thoughts enfold?

19

Rejoice, ye dead, where'er your spirits dwell, Rejoice that yet on earth your fame is bright; And that your names, remember'd day and night, Live on the lips of those that love you well.

'Tis ye that conquer'd have the powers of h.e.l.l, Each with the special grace of your delight: Ye are the world's creators, and thro' might Of everlasting love ye did excel.

Now ye are starry names, above the storm And war of Time and nature's endless wrong Ye flit, in pictured truth and peaceful form, Wing'd with bright music and melodious song,-- The flaming flowers of heaven, making May-dance In dear Imagination's rich pleasance.