Life Without and Life Within Part 33

Yet sometimes tears must dim his eyes, As, on the melodious bridge of song, The shadows of past joys arise, And in mild beauty round him throng.

In vain, o'er life, that early beam Such radiance shed;--the impetuous stream Of strife has seized him, onward borne, While left behind his loved ones mourn.

Here in the crowd must he complain, Nor find a fit employ?

Give him poetic place again, Or the quick throb of warlike joy.

The wonted inspiration give; Thus languidly he cannot live; Love's accents are no longer near; Let him the trumpet hear.

Where is the cannon's thunder?

The clas.h.i.+ng cymbals, where?

While foreign foes our cities plunder, Can we not hasten there?

I can no longer watch this stream; _In prose_ I die! O source of flame!

O poesy! for which I glow,-- A n.o.bler death thou shouldst bestow!

MY SEAL-RING.

Mercury has cast aside The signs of intellectual pride, Freely offers thee the soul: Art thou n.o.ble to receive?

Canst thou give or take the whole, n.o.bly promise, and believe?

Then thou wholly human art, A spotless, radiant, ruby heart, And the golden chain of love Has bound thee to the realm above.

If there be one small, mean doubt, One serpent thought that fled not out, Take instead the serpent-rod; Thou art neither man nor G.o.d.

Guard thee from the powers of evil; Who cannot trust, vows to the devil.

Walk thy slow and spell-bound way; Keep on thy mask, or shun the day-- Let go my hand upon the way.

THE CONSOLERS.

TRANSLATED FROM GOETHE.

"Why wilt thou not thy griefs forget?

Why must thine eyes with tears be wet?

When all things round thee sweetly smile, Canst thou not, too, be glad a while?"

"Hither I come to weep alone; The grief I feel is all mine own; Dearer than smiles these tears to me; Smile you--I ask no sympathy!"

"Repel not thus affection's voice!

While thou art sad, can we rejoice?

To friendly hearts impart thy woe; Perhaps we may some healing know."

"Too gay your hearts to feel like mine, Or such a sorrow to divine; Nought have I lost I e'er possessed; I mourn that I cannot be blessed."

"What idle, morbid feelings these!

Can you not win what prize you please?

Youth, with a genius rich as yours, All bliss the world can give insures."

"Ah, too high-placed is my desire!

The star to which my hopes aspire s.h.i.+nes all too far--I sigh in vain, Yet cannot stoop to earth again."

"Waste not so foolishly thy prime; If to the stars thou canst not climb, Their gentle beams thy loving eye Every clear night will gratify."

"Do I not know it? Even now I wait the sun's departing glow, That I may watch them. Meanwhile ye Enjoy the day--'tis nought to me!"

ABSENCE OF LOVE.

Though many at my feet have bowed, And asked my love through pain and pleasure, Fate never yet the youth has showed Meet to receive so great a treasure.

Although sometimes my heart, deceived, Would love because it sighed _to feel_, Yet soon I changed, and sometimes grieved Because my fancied wound would heal.

MEDITATIONS.

SUNDAY, _May 12, 1833_.

The clouds are marshalling across the sky, Leaving their deepest tints upon yon range Of soul-alluring hills. The breeze comes softly, Laden with tribute that a hundred orchards Now in their fullest blossom send, in thanks For this refres.h.i.+ng shower. The birds pour forth In heightened melody the notes of praise They had suspended while G.o.d's voice was speaking, And his eye flas.h.i.+ng down upon his world.

I sigh, half-charmed, half-pained. My sense is living, And, taking in this freshened beauty, tells Its pleasure to the mind. The mind replies, And strives to wake the heart in turn, repeating Poetic sentiments from many a record Which other souls have left, when stirred and satisfied By scenes as fair, as fragrant. But the heart Sends back a hollow echo to the call Of outward things,--and its once bright companion, Who erst would have been answered by a stream Of life-fraught treasures, thankful to be summoned,-- Can now rouse nothing better than this echo; Unmeaning voice, which mocks their softened accents.

Content thee, beautiful world! and hush, still busy mind!

My heart hath sealed its fountains. To the things Of Time they shall be oped no more. Too long, Too often were they poured forth: part have sunk Into the desert; part profaned and swollen By bitter waters, mixed by those who feigned They asked them for refreshment, which, turned back, Have broken and o'erflowed their former urns.

So when ye talk of _pleasure_, lonely world, And busy mind, ye ne'er again shall move me To answer ye, though still your calls have power To jar me through, and cause dull aching _here_.

Not so the voice which hailed me from the depths Of yon dark-bosomed cloud, now vanis.h.i.+ng Before the sun ye greet. It touched my centre, The voice of the Eternal, calling me To feel his other worlds; to feel that if I could deserve a home, I still might find it In other spheres,--and bade me not despair, Though "want of harmony" and "aching void"

Are terms invented by the men of this, Which I may not forget.

In former times I loved to see the lightnings flash athwart The stooping heavens; I loved to hear the thunder Call to the seas and mountains; for I thought 'Tis thus man's flas.h.i.+ng fancy doth enkindle The firmament of mind; 'tis thus his eloquence Calls unto the soul's depths and heights; and still I deified the creature, nor remembered The Creator in his works.

Ah now how different!

The proud delight of that keen sympathy Is gone; no longer riding on the wave, But whelmed beneath it: my own plans and works, Or, as the Scriptures phrase it, my "_inventions_"

No longer interpose 'twixt me and Heaven.

To-day, for the first time, I felt the Deity, And uttered prayer on hearing thunder. This Must be thy will,--for finer, higher spirits Have gone through this same process,--yet I think There was religion in that strong delight, Those sounds, those thoughts of power imparted. True, I did not say, "He is the Lord thy G.o.d,"

But I had feeling of his essence. But "'Twas pride by which the angels fell." So be it!

But O, might I but see a little onward!

Father, I cannot be a spirit of power; May I be active as a spirit of love, Since thou hast ta'en me from that path which Nature Seemed to appoint, O, deign to ope another, Where I may walk with thought and hope a.s.sured; "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief!"

Had I but faith like that which fired Novalis, I too could bear that the heart "fall in ashes,"

While the freed spirit rises from beneath them, With heavenward-look, and Phoenix-plumes upsoaring!