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

art whole And sound and well! For the keen pain, and stir
Uneasy, and sore grief that came to us all,
In that we knew not how the wine and myrrh Could ever from the vinegar and gall
Be parted, are deep sunk, yea drowned in God;
And yet the past not folded in a pall, But breathed upon, like Aaron's withered rod,
By a sweet light that brings the blossoms through,
Showing in dreariest paths that men have trod Another's foot-prints, spotted of crimson hue,
Still on before wherever theirs did wend;
Yea, through the desert leading, of thyme and rue, The desert souls in which young lions rend
And roar-the passionate who, to be blest,
Ravin as bears, and do not gain their end, Because that, save in God, there is no rest."

IV.

Something my brother said to me like this,
But how unlike it also, think, I pray:
His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss; Himself the word, his speech was but a ray
In the clear nimbus that with verity
Of absolute utterance made a home-born day Of truth about him, lamping solemnly;
And when he paused, there came a swift repose,
Too high, too still to be called ecstasy- A purple silence, lanced through in the close
By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling,
It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose. He was a glory full of reconciling,
Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain,
Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling Back to the bosom of a speechless gain.

V.

I cannot tell how long we joyous talked,
For from my sense old time had vanished quite,
Space dim-remaining-for onward still we walked. No sun arose to blot the pale, still night-
Still as the night of some great spongy stone
That turns but once an age betwixt the light And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown,
And long as that to me before whose face
Visions so many slid, and veils were blown Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace.
Innumerous thoughts yet throng that infinite hour,
And hopes which greater hopes unceasing chase, For I was all responsive to his power.
I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep;
I saw the growth of each grief-nurtured flower; I saw the gardener watching-in their sleep
Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid
Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep; What wonder then I saw nor was dismayed!
I saw the dull, degraded monsters nursed
In money-marshes, greedy men that preyed Upon the helpless, ground the feeblest worst;
Yea all the human chaos, wild and waste,
Where he who will not leave what God hath cursed Now fruitless wallows, now is stung and chased
By visions lovely and by longings dire.
"But who believeth, he shall not make haste, Even passing through the water and the fire,
Or sad with memories of a better lot!
He, saved by hope, for all men will desire, Knowing that God into a mustard-jot
May shut an aeon; give a world that lay
Wombed in its sun, a molten unorbed clot, One moment from the red rim to spin away
Librating-ages to roll on weary wheel
Ere it turn homeward, almost spent its day! Who knows love all, time nothing, he shall feel
No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand;
Tender as air, but clothed in triple steel, He for his kind, in every age and land,
Hoping will live; and, to his labour bent,
The Father's will shall, doing, understand." So spake my brother as we onward went:
His words my heart received, as corn the lea,
And answered with a harvest of content. We came at last upon a lonesome sea.

VI.

And onward still he went, I following
Out on the water. But the water, lo,
Like a thin sheet of glass, lay vanishing! The starry host in glorious twofold show
Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this,
A quivering fear thorough my heart did go: Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss,
A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found
Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss Of the cool water lightly crisping round
The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze
My fallen eyelids. But again the sound Of my guide's voice on the still air arose:
"Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith?
For keenest sight but multiplies the shows. Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath;
Terrified, dare the terror in God's name;
Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?"
I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes,
And strode on the invisible sea. The same High moment vanished all my cowardice,
And God was with me. The well-pleased stars
Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies, The white aurora flashed great scimitars
From north to zenith; and again my guide
Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars Latticed across a soul I there descried,
No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long
Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide; Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong,
Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand
Close to me in the void as one in a throng, Yet on the border of some nameless land
He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery
Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly,
Searched in his countenance, as in a mine,
For jewels of contentment, satisfy My heart I could not. Seeming to divine
My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed
My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, And held me to his bosom. Still I missed
That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared
One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist; Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared
Along the dusty highways of the old clime.
Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared My soul, stood reading there a little time,
While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew
That dims the grass at evening or at prime, But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue:
And on his lips a faint ethereal smile
Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue Trembling about a purple flower, the while
Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried;
But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, And in my bosom all the utterance died.

VII.

A moment more he stood, then softly sighed.
"I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far
Beyond my help," his voice at length replied To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star
Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze:
Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar The liquid glory that from its visage rays,
Thou therefore knowest that same world on high,
Its people and its orders and its ways?" "What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that
Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee!
Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!" "Not the less near that nearer I shall be.
I have a world within thou dost not know-
Would I could make thee know it! but all of me Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so
Into possession that betwixt us twain
The frolic homeliness of love should flow As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again:
Away the deeper childhood first must wipe
That clouded consciousness which was our pain. When in thy breast the godlike hath grown ripe,
And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more
A child than when we played with drum and pipe About our earthly father's happy door,
Then-" He ceased not; his holy utterance still
Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill,
Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech.
At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill- With earthly words I heavenly things would reach-
Where dwelleth now the man we used to call
Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall
Became a temple, holy grew the room,
Prone on the ground before him I did fall, So grand he towered above me like a doom;
But now I look into the well-known face
Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom Of his eternal youthfulness and grace."
"But something separates us," yet I cried;
"Let light at least begin the dark to chase, The dark begin to waver and divide,
And clear the path of vision. In the old time,
When clouds one heart did from the other hide, A wind would blow between! If I would climb,
This foot must rise ere that can go up higher:
Some big A teach me of the eternal prime." He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire
Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can
Give out one perfect note in its great quire; And thereto am I sent-oh, sent of one
Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing:
He opens every door 'twixt man and man; He to all inner chambers all will bring."

VIII.

It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound,
And Hope had ever been enough for me,
To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound; From chains of school and mode she set me free,
And urged my life to living.-On we went
Across the stars that underlay the sea, And came to a blown shore of sand and bent.
Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed
Silent-I, for I pondered what he meant, And he, that sacred speech might not be lost-
And came at length upon an evil place:
Trees lay about like a half-buried host, Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race
Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries
And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies
Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground
Slow from the waste began a gentle rise; And tender grass in patches, then all round,
Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge
Of softest green cold-flushing every mound; At