The poetical works of George MacDonald - LightNovelsOnl.com
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They pierce through the tumult sharp and clear!
"The rush of speed is on my soul, My eyes are blind with things I see; I cannot grasp the awful whole, I cannot gird the mystery!
The mountains sweep like mist away; The great sea shakes like flakes of fire; The rush of things I cannot see Is mounting upward higher and higher!
Oh! life was still and full of calm In yonder spot of earthly ground, But now it rolls a thunder-psalm, Its voices drown my ear in sound!
Would G.o.d I were a child again To nurse the seeds of faith and power; I might have clasped in wisdom then A wing to beat this awful hour!
The dullest things would take my marks-- _They_ took my marks like drifted snow-- G.o.d! how the footsteps rise in sparks, Rise like myself and onward go!
Have pity, O ye driving things That once like me had human form!
For I am driven for lack of wings A shreddy cloud before the storm!"
How its words went through me then, Like a long forgotten pang, Till the storm's embrace again Swept it far with sudden clang!-- Ah, methinks I see it still!
Let us follow it, my brother, Keeping close to one another, Blessing G.o.d for might of will!
Closer, closer, side by side!
Ours are wings that deftly glide Upwards, downwards, and crosswise Flas.h.i.+ng past our ears and eyes, Splitting up the comet-tracks With a whirlwind at our backs!
How the sky is blackening!
Yet the race is never slackening; Swift, continual, and strong, Streams the torrent slope along, Like a tidal surge of faces Molten into one despair; Each the other now displaces, A continual whirl of s.p.a.ces; Ah, my fainting eyesight reels As I strive in vain to stare On a thousand turning wheels Dimly in the gloom descending, Faces with each other blending!-- Let us beat the vapours back, We are yet upon his track.
Didst thou see a spirit halt Upright on a cloudy peak, As the lightning's horrid fault Smote a gash into the cheek Of the grinning thunder-cloud Which doth still besiege and crowd Upward from the nether pits Where the monster Chaos sits, Building o'er the fleeing rack Roofs of thunder long and black?
Yes, I see it! I will shout Till I stop the horrid rout.
Ho, ho! spirit-phantom, tell Is thy path to heaven or h.e.l.l?
We would hear thee yet again, What thy standing amongst men, What thy former history, And thy hope of things to be!
Wisdom still we gain from hearing: We would know, we would know Whither thou art steering-- Unto weal or woe!
Ah, I cannot hear it speaking!
Yet it seems as it were seeking Through our eyes our souls to reach With a quaint mysterious speech, As with stretched and crossing palms One were tracing diagrams On the ebbing of the beach, Till with wild unmeasured dance All the tiptoe waves advance, Seize him by the shoulder, cover, Turn him up and toss him over: He is vanished from our sight, Nothing mars the quiet night Save a speck of gloom afar Like the ruin of a star!
Brother, streams it ever so, Such a torrent tide of woe?
Ah, I know not; let us haste Upwards from this dreary waste, Up to where like music flowing Gentler feet are ever going, Streams of life encircling run Round about the spirit-sun!
Up beyond the storm and rush With our lesson let us rise!
Lo, the morning's golden flush Meets us midway in the skies!
Perished all the dream and strife!
Death is swallowed up of Life!
_AWAKE!_
The stars are all watching; G.o.d's angel is catching At thy skirts in the darkness deep!
Gold hinges grating, The mighty dead waiting, Why dost thou sleep?
Years without number, Ages of slumber, Stiff in the track of the infinite One!
Dead, can I think it?
Dropt like a trinket, A thing whose uses are done!
White wings are crossing, Glad waves are tossing, The earth flames out in crimson and green Spring is appearing, Summer is nearing-- Where hast thou been?
Down in some cavern, Death's sleepy tavern, Housing, carousing with spectres of night?
There is my right hand!
Grasp it full tight and Spring to the light.
Wonder, oh, wonder!
How the life-thunder Bursts on his ear in horror and dread!
Happy shapes meet him; Heaven and earth greet him: Life from the dead!
_TO AN AUTOGRAPH-HUNTER_.
Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear; Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find-- The name G.o.d called when thy ideal fair Arose in deeps of the eternal mind.
When that thou findest, thou art straight a lord Of time and s.p.a.ce--art heir of all things grown; And not my name, poor, earthly label-word, But I myself thenceforward am thine own.
Thou hearest not? Or hearest as a man Who hears the muttering of a foolish spell?
My very shadow would feel strange and wan In thy abode:--I say _No_, and _Farewell_.
Thou understandest? Then it is enough; No shadow-deputy shall mock my friend; We walk the same path, over smooth and rough, To meet ere long at the unending end.
_WITH A COPY OF "IN MEMORIAM."_
TO E.M. II.
Dear friend, you love the poet's song, And here is one for your regard.
You know the "melancholy bard,"
Whose grief is wise as well as strong;
Already something understand For whom he mourns and what he sings, And how he wakes with golden strings The echoes of "the silent land;"
How, restless, faint, and worn with grief, Yet loving all and hoping all, He gazes where the shadows fall, And finds in darkness some relief;
And how he sends his cries across, His cries for him that comes no more, Till one might think that silent sh.o.r.e Full of the burden of his loss;
And how there comes sublimer cheer-- Not darkness solacing sad eyes, Not the wild joy of mournful cries, But light that makes his spirit clear;
How, while he gazes, something high, Something of Heaven has fallen on him, His distance and his future dim Broken into a dawning sky!
Something of this, dear friend, you know; And will you take the book from me That holds this mournful melody, And softens grief to sadness so?
Perhaps it scarcely suits the day Of joyful hopes and memories clear, When love should have no thought of fear, And only smiles be round your way;
Yet from the mystery and the gloom, From tempted faith and conquering trust, From spirit stronger than the dust, And love that looks beyond the tomb,
What can there be but good to win, But hope for life, but love for all, But strength whatever may befall?-- So for the year that you begin,
For all the years that follow this While a long happy life endures, This hope, this love, this strength be yours, And afterwards a larger bliss!
May nothing in this mournful song Too much take off your thoughts from time, For joy should fill your vernal prime, And peace your summer mild and long.
