Hesperus Part 19

And the pearly gates of the universe Of mind and fancy, opening To the touch of the dainty finger-tips Of elegant Peris with rose-bud lips, Delicate, weird-like sounds are born From the amber depths of odorous morn, And spirits of beauty and light rehea.r.s.e Such strains as the young immortals sing, When the souls of the blest Are borne to their rest, On luminous pinions of light serene To the fragrant bowers of evergreen; O'er the rosy plains, where the dying hours Are changed by a spell to celestial flowers, Where the skies have a hue no name can express, For the tone of their pa.s.sionate loveliness Surpa.s.seth all human imagining.

Such was their beautiful Dream of Life; Each stern reality softened down; Earth seemed to have ended her age of Strife, And Harmony reigned, her olive crown Besting on the Parian brow Of the fair victor, like the gleam Of the silvery moon on waves that flow Thoughtfully down the summer stream.

Such was their earnest Dream of Life!

Was it some angel, with jealous eye, Seeing such love beneath the sky As never yet in world or star, Or spheral height, that reached so far 'Twas never beheld by mortal sight,

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Or elsewhere, save in highest heaven, Was duly earned, or truly given, That leagued with the usurper, Death, To quench the light that shone so bright That in all the earth there was not a breath So foul as to change their day to night?

Alone! alone! Oh, word of fearful tone!

Well might the moon withhold her light, The stars withdraw from human sight, When Love was overthrown.

The Minstrel's heart how changed!

Love's princ.i.p.alities, O'er which he reigned supreme, Usurped by earth's realities; The realm through which he ranged Become a vanished dream!

And yet he sung, as sings The dying swan that droops its wings And drifts along the stream:

THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW PANE.

A joy from my soul's departed, A bliss from my heart is flown, As weary, weary-hearted, I wander alone--alone!

The night wind sadly sigheth A withering, wild refrain, And my heart within me dieth For the light in the window pane.

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The stars overhead are s.h.i.+ning, As brightly as e'er they shone, As heartless--sad--repining, I wander alone--alone!

A sudden flash comes streaming, And flickers adown the lane, But no more for me is gleaming The light in the window pane.

The voices that pa.s.s are cheerful, Men laugh as the night winds moan; They cannot tell how fearful 'Tis to wander alone--alone!

For them, with each night's returning, Life singeth its tenderest strain, Where the beacon of love is burning-- The light in the window pane.

Oh, sorrow beyond all sorrows To which human life is p.r.o.ne: Without thee, through all the morrows, To wander alone--alone!

Oh, dark, deserted dwelling!

Where Hope like a lamb was slain, No voice from thy lone walls welling, No light in thy window pane.

But memory, sainted angel!

Rolls back the sepulchral stone, And sings like a sweet evangel: "No--never, never alone!

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True grief has its royal palace, Each loss is a greater gain; And Sorrow ne'er filled a chalice That Joy did not wait to drain!

"Man must be perfected By suffering," he said; "And Death is but the stepping-stone, whereby We mount towards the gate Of heaven, soon or late.

Death is the penalty of life; we die,

Because we live; and life Is but a constant strife With the immortal Impulse that within Our bodies seeks control-- The time-abiding Soul, That wrestles with us--yet we fain would win.

And what? the victory Would make us slaves; and we, Who in our blindness struggle for the prize Of this illusive state Called Life, do but frustrate The higher law--refusing to be wise."

Rightly he knew, indeed, Earth's brightest paths but lead To the true wisdom of that perfect state, Where Knowledge, heaven-born, And Love's eternal morn, Awaiteth those who would be truly great.

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With what abiding trust He rose from out the dust, As Death's swift chariot pa.s.sed him by the way; No visionary dream Was his--no trifling theme-- The Soul's great Mystery before him lay:

THE SOUL.

All my mind has sat in state, Pond'ring on the deathless Soul: What must be the Perfect Whole, When the atom is so great!

G.o.d! I fall in spirit down, Low as Persian to the sun; All my senses, one by one, In the stream of Thought must drown.

On the tide of mystery, Like a waif, I'm seaward borne, Ever looking for the morn That will yet interpret Thee,

Opening my blinded eyes, That have strove to look within, 'Whelmed in clouds of doubt and sin, Sinking where I dared to rise:

Could I trace one Spirit's flight, Track it to its final goal, Know that 'Spirit' meant 'the Soul,'

I must perish in the light.

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All in vain I search, and cry: "What, O Soul, and whence art thou?"

Lower than the earth I bow, Stricken with the grave reply:

"Wouldst thou ope what G.o.d has sealed-- Sealed in mercy here below?

What is best for man to know, Shall most surely be revealed!"

Deep on deep of mystery!

Ask the sage, he knows no more Of the soul's unspoken lore Than the child upon his knee!

Cannot tell me whence the thought That is pa.s.sing through my mind!

Where the mystic soul is shrined, Wherewith all my life is fraught?

Knows not how the brain conceives Images almost divine; Cannot work my mental mine, Cannot bind my golden sheaves.

Is he wiser, then, than I, Seeing he can read the stars?

I have rode in fancy's oars Leagues beyond his farthest sky!

Some old Rabbi, dreaming o'er The sweet legends of his race, Ask him for some certain trace Of the far, eternal sh.o.r.e.

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No. The Talmud page is dark, Though it burn with quenchless fire, And the insight must pierce higher, That would find the vital spark.

O, my Soul! be firm and wait, Hoping with the zealous few, Till the Shekinah of the True Lead thee through the Golden Gate.