The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 90

THE PANTHEISM OF LOVE Pa.s.sING INTO THE IDEAL.

Then I rose, at dawn departing, Wan the dead earth, wan the snow, Wan the frost-beam dimly darting Where the corn-seed lurk'd below;

From that night, as streams dividing At the fountain till the sea, Wildly chafing, gently gliding, Life has twofold lives for me;

One by mart and forum pa.s.sing, Vex'd reflection of the crowd; One the hush of forests gla.s.sing, Or the changes of the cloud.

By the calmer stream, for ever Dwell the ghosts that haunt the heart, And the phantoms and the river Make the Poet-World of Art.

There in all that Fancy gildeth, Still thy vanish'd smile I see; And each airy hall it buildeth Is a votive shrine to thee!

Do men praise the labour?--gladden'd That the homage may endure; Do they scorn it?--only sadden'd That thine altar is so poor.

If the Beautiful be clearer As the seeker's days decline, Should the Ideal not be nearer As my soul approaches thine?

Thus the single light bereft me Fused through all creation flows; Gazing where a sun had left me, Lo, the myriad stars arose!

PART VI.

THE MEMORY OF LOVE a.s.sOCIATES ITS CONSOLATIONS WITH ITS HOPES.

Now the eastern hill-top fadeth From the arid wastes forlorn, And the only tree that shadeth Has the scant leaves of the thorn.

Not a home to smile before me, Not a voice to cheer is heard; Hush! the thorn-leaves tremble o'er me,-- Hark, the carol of a bird!

Unto air what charm is given?

Angel, as a link to thee, Midway between earth and heaven Hangs the delicate melody!

How it teacheth while it chideth, Is the pathway so forlorn?

Mercy over man presideth, And--the bird sings from the thorn.

Floating on, the music leads me, As the pausing-place I leave, And the gentle wing precedes me Through the lulled airs of eve.

Stay, O last of all the number, Bathing happy plumes in light, Till the deafness of the slumber, Till the blindness of the night.

Only for the vault to leave thee, Only with my life to lose; Let my closing eyes perceive thee, Fold thy wings amid the yews.

MIND AND SOUL.

Hark! the awe-whisperd'd prayer, "G.o.d spare my mind!"

Dust unto dust, the mortal to the clod; But the high place, the altar that has shrined Thine image,--spare, O G.o.d!

Thought, the grand link from human life to Thee, The humble reed that by the Shadowy River Responds in music to the melody Of spheres that hymn for ever,--

The order of the mystic world within, The airy girth of all things near and far; Sense, though of sorrow,--memory, though of sin,-- Gleams through the dungeon bar,--

Vouchsafe me to the last!--Though none may mark The solemn pang, nor soothe the parting breath, Still let me seek for G.o.d amid the dark, And face, unblinded, Death!

Whence is this fine distinction twixt the twain Rays of the Maker in the lamp of clay Spirit and Mind?--strike the material brain, And soul seems hurl'd away.

Touch but a nerve, and Brutus is a slave; A nerve, and Plato drivels! Was it mind, Or soul, that taught the wise one in the cave, The freeman in the wind?

If mind--O Soul! what is thy task on earth?

If soul! O wherefore can a touch destroy, Or lock in Lethe's Acherontian dearth, The Immortal's grief and joy?

Hark, how a child can babble of the cells Wherein, beneath the perishable brow, Fancy invents, and Memory chronicles, And Reason asks--as now:

Mapp'd are the known dominions of the thought, But who shall find the palace of the soul?

Along what channels shall the source be sought, The well-spring of the whole?

Look round, vain questioner,--all s.p.a.ce survey, Where'er thou lookest, lo, how clear is Mind!

The laws that part the darkness from the day, And the sweet Pleads bind,

The thought, the will, the art, the elaborate power Of the Great Cause from whence the All began, Gaze on the star, or bend above the flower, Still speak of Mind to man.

But the arch soul of soul--from which the law Is but the shadow, who on earth can see?

What guess cleaves upward through the deeps of awe, Unspeakable, to thee?

As in Creation lives the Father Soul, So lives the soul He breathed amidst the clay; Round it the thoughts on starry axles roll, Life flows and ebbs away.

If chaos smote the universe again, And new Chaldeans shudder'd to explore Amidst the maddening elements in vain The harmonious Mind of yore,

Would not G.o.d live the same?--the Unseen Spirit, Whether that life or wills or wrecks Creation?-- So lives, distinct, the G.o.d-spark we inherit, When Mind is desolation.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.

From Heaven what fancy stole The dream of some good spirit, aye at hand, The seraph whispering to the exile soul Tales of its native land?

Who to the cradle gave The unseen watcher by the mother's side, Born with the birth, companion to the grave, The holy angel-guide?

Is it a fable?--"No,"

I hear LOVE answer from the sunlit air, "Still where _my_ presence gilds the darkness--know Life's angel-guide is there?"

Is it a fable?--Hark, FAITH hymns from deeps beyond the palest star, "_I_ am the pilot to thy wandering bark, Thy guide to sh.o.r.es afar."

Is it a fable?--sweet From wave, from air, from every forest tree, The murmur spoke, "Each thing thine eyes can greet An angel-guide can be.

"From myriads take thy choice, In all that lives a guide to G.o.d is given; Ever thou hear'st some angel guardian's voice When Nature speaks of Heaven!"