The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 2, George MacDonald [8 ebook reader TXT] 📗

he had lain- Softly, yet with some token of dismay. Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain That has been gathering in the west all day! Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, And let me gather peace from thy repose."

"Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?" Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes. "I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine."

"Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; "Draw back the lattice bar and let them in." From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, Then shook the rain-drops from their shaggy skin. The maiden closed the shower-bespattered glass, Whose spotted shadow through the room did pass.

The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, But, when again beside him sat the maid, His eyes for one slow minute having scanned Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, Monotonous, like solemn-read command: "For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb." Strange moanings from the pine entered the room.

And then two shadows like the shadow of glass, Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pass; A sound of rain-drops came about the door, And a soft sighing as of plumy grass; A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim They eyed his countenance by the taper dim.

Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; She doubted whether he the saying had quoted Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?" Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so;

"Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; He looked one moment like a dead man blest- His soul a bark that in a sunny isle At length had found the haven of its rest; But he could not remain, must forward fare: He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare,

"Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they Successively in trial's hour did fail, For after sunset clouds again are gray." A sudden light shone through the fringy veil That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay A stillness on her face, waiting; and then The little clock rung out the hour of ten.

Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow To a soft plaining wind they would not stem. Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou Art not more beautiful than some of them, But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem That lamps from radiant store upon the dark The light it gathered where its song the lark.

"The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!- No woman yet hath shared my doom with me." With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim.

Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: "'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."- Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?- "At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share The terror with me? or must I go alone To meet an agony that will not spare?" She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; He staid her with his hand, and further spoke.

"Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour! Enough is left even now for telling thee The far beginnings whence the fearful power Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower- Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white Compass the place where I must lie to-night!"

Around his neck the maiden put her arm And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest. And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm All doubt away from love's primeval rest! He hid his face upon her heart, and there Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair.

A drearier moaning through the pine did go As if a human voice complained and cried For one long minute; then the sound grew low, Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died. Together at the silence two voices mow- His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide The hours into live moments-sparks of time Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime.

He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; Of dying ever into dawning birth.

"But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; Whose faith lights up the cold brain's passionless hour; Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, But waits the sun and the baptizing shower- Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine To greet the human summer, when its flower Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, And love and passion be one holy twain-

"Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul And every stain dissolve to the very core. She too will slumber, having found her goal. Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, And our long, dark, appointed period fill. Then shall we wake together, loving still."

Her face on his, her mouth to his mouth pressed, Was all the answer of the trusting maid. Close in his arms he held her to his breast For one brief moment-would have yet assayed Some deeper word her heart to strengthen, lest It should though faithful be too much afraid; But the clock gave the warning to the hour- And on the thatch fell sounds not of a shower.

One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear Lay, thin as a glassy shadow, on her heart; She trembled as some unknown thing were near, But smiled next moment-for they should not part! The youth arose. With solemn-joyous cheer, He helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart Her haste to wrap her in her mantle's fold; Then out they passed into the midnight cold.

The moon was sinking in the dim green west, Curled upward, half-way to the horizon's brink, A leaf of glory falling to its rest, The maiden's hand, still trembling, sought to link Her arm to his, with love's instinctive quest, But his enfolded her; hers did not sink, But, thus set free, it stole his body round, And so they walked, in freedom's fetters bound.

Pressed to his side, she felt, like full-toned bell, A mighty heart heave large in measured play; But as the floating moon aye lower fell Its bounding force did, by slow loss, decay. It throbbed now like a bird; now like far knell Pulsed low and faint! And now, with sick dismay, She felt the arm relax that round her clung, And from her circling arm he forward hung.

His footsteps feeble, short his paces grow; Her strength and courage mount and swell amain. He lifted up his head: the moon lay low, Nigh the world's edge. His lips with some keen pain Quivered, but with a smile his eyes turned slow Seeking in hers the balsam for his bane And finding it-love over death supreme: Like two sad souls they walked met in one dream.[A]

[Note A:

In a lovely garden walking
Two lovers went hand in hand; Two wan, worn figures, talking
They sat in the flowery land.

On the cheek they kissed one another,
On the mouth with sweet refrain; Fast held they each the other,
And were young and well again.

Two little bells rang shrilly-
The dream went with the hour: She lay in the cloister stilly,
He far in the dungeon-tower!

From Uhland. ]

Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, Padding with gentle paws upon the road. Straight silent pines rose here and there around; A dull stream on the left side hardly flowed; A black snake through the sluggish waters wound. Hark, the night raven! see the crawling toad! She thinks how dark will be the moonless night, How feeblest ray is yet supernal light.

The moon's last gleam fell on dim glazed eyes, A body shrunken from its garments' fold: An aged man whose bent knees could not rise, He tottered in the maiden's tightening hold. She shivered, but too slight was the disguise To hide from love what never yet was old; She held him fast, with open eyes did pray, Walked through the fear, and kept the onward way.

Toward a gloomy thicket of tall firs, Dragging his inch-long steps, he turned aside. There Silence sleeps; not one green needle stirs. They enter it. A breeze begins to chide Among the cones. It swells until it whirs, Vibrating so each sharp leaf that it sighed: The grove became a harp of mighty chords, Wing-smote by unseen creatures wild for words.

But when he turned again, toward the cleft Of a great rock, as instantly it ceased, And the tall pines stood sudden, as if reft Of a strong passion, or from pain released; Again they wove their straight, dark, motionless weft Across the moonset-bars; and, west and east, Cloud-giants rose and marched up cloudy stairs; And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares.

'Twas a drear chamber for thy bridal night, O poor, pale, saviour bride! An earthen lamp With shaking hands he kindled, whose faint light Mooned out a tiny halo on the damp That filled the cavern to its unseen height, Dim glimmering like death-candle in a swamp. Watching the entrance, each side lies a hound, With liquid light his red eyes gleaming round.

A heap rose grave-like from the rocky floor Of moss and leaves, by many a sunny wind Long tossed and dried-with rich furs covered o'er Expectant. Up a jealous glory shined In her possessing heart: he should find more In her than in those faithless! With sweet mind She, praying gently, did herself unclothe, And lay down by him, trusting, and not loath.

Once more a wind came, flapping overhead; The hounds pricked up their ears, their