Read Ebook: The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 by MacDonald George

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Oh, what a dream I had! Oh, Julian!-- I don't know when it was. It must have been Before you brought me here! I am sure it was.

Did I hurt you? Would you not have me lean my head on you?

You have been standing till you're faint, my lady! Lie down a little. There!--I'll fetch you something.

This evening must decide it, come what will.

I will but love you more. I thought you had Already told me suffering enough; But not the half, it seems, of your adventures. You have been a soldier!

My wounds are not of such.

No. Penance, Lilia; Such penance as the saints of old inflicted Upon their quivering flesh. Folly, I know; As a lord would exalt himself, by making His willing servants into trembling slaves! Yet I have borne it.

I thought--

Julian,--I thought you said.... did you not say...?

I thought you said ...

I was to be your wife!

Escape, my lord!

Farewell, Lilia!

Fear of a coward's name shall not detain me. My presence would but bring down evil on you, My heart's beloved; yes, all the ill you fear, The terrible things that you have imaged out If you fled with me. They will not hurt you, If you be not polluted by my presence.

They've fired the gate.

O God! farewell!

Look how the torches gleam Among the trees. Thank God, we have escaped!

Slip down, my Lilia; lie at full length In the bottom of the boat; your dress is white, And would return the torches' glare. I fear The damp night-air will hurt you, dressed like this.

Now for a strong pull with my muffled oars! The water mutters Spanish in its sleep. My beautiful! my bride! my spirit's wife! God-given, and God-restored! My heart exults, Hovering about thee, beautiful! my soul!-- Once round the headland, I will set the sail; The fair wind bloweth right adown the stream. Dear wind, dear stream, dear stars, dear heart of all, White angel lying in my little boat! Strange that my boyhood's skill with sail and helm, Oft steering safely 'twixt the winding banks, Should make me rich with womanhood and life!

SONG.

Thou hast been blowing leaves, O wind of strife, Wan, curled, boat-like leaves, that ran and fled; Unresting yet, though folded up from life; Sleepless, though cast among the unwaking dead! Out to the ocean fleet and float; Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat.

O wind of strife, to us a wedding wind, O cover me with kisses of her mouth; Blow thou our souls together, heart and mind; To narrowing northern lines, blow from the south! Out to the ocean fleet and float; Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat.

Thou hast been blowing many a drifting thing From circling cove down to the unsheltered sea; Thou blowest to the sea my blue sail's wing, Us to a new love-lit futurity: Out to the ocean fleet and float; Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat.

And weep not, though the Beautiful decay Within thy heart, as daily in thine eyes; Thy heart must have its autumn, its pale skies, Leading, mayhap, to winter's dim dismay. Yet doubt not. Beauty doth not pass away; Her form departs not, though her body dies. Secure beneath the earth the snowdrop lies, Waiting the spring's young resurrection-day, Through the kind nurture of the winter cold. Nor seek thou by vain effort to revive The summer-time, when roses were alive; Do thou thy work--be willing to be old: Thy sorrow is the husk that doth infold A gorgeous June, for which thou need'st not strive.

"Melchah stood looking on the corpse of his son, and spoke not. At length he broke the silence and said: 'He hath told his tale to the Immortals.' Abdiel, the friend of him that was dead, asked him what he meant by the words. The old man, still regarding the dead body, spake as follows:--"

"Three years ago, I fell asleep on the summit of the hill Yarib; and there I dreamed a dream. I thought I lay at the foot of a cliff, near the top of a great mountain; for beneath me were the clouds, and above me, the heavens deep and dark. And I heard voices sweet and strong; and I lifted up my eyes, and, Lo! over against me, on a rocky slope, some seated, each on his own crag, some reclining between the fragments, I saw a hundred majestic forms, as of men who had striven and conquered. Then I heard one say: 'What wouldst thou sing unto us, young man?' A youthful voice replied, tremblingly: 'A song which I have made for my singing.' 'Come, then, and I will lead thee to the hole in the rock: enter and sing.' From the assembly came forth one whose countenance was calm unto awfulness; but whose eyes looked in love, mingled with doubt, on the face of a youth whom he led by the hand toward the spot where I lay. The features of the youth I could not discern: either it was the indistinctness of a dream, or I was not permitted to behold them. And, Lo! behind me was a great hole in the rock, narrow at the entrance, but deep and wide within; and when I looked into it, I shuddered; for I thought I saw, far down, the glimmer of a star. The youth entered and vanished. His guide strode back to his seat; and I lay in terror near the mouth of the vast cavern. When I looked up once more, I saw all the men leaning forward, with head aside, as if listening intently to a far-off sound. I likewise listened; but, though much nearer than they, I heard nothing. But I could see their faces change like waters in a windy and half-cloudy day. Sometimes, though I heard nought, it seemed to me as if one sighed and prayed beside me; and once I heard a clang of music triumphant in hope; but I looked up, and, Lo! it was the listeners who stood on their feet and sang. They ceased, sat down, and listened as before. At last one approached me, and I ventured to question him. 'Sir,' I said, 'wilt thou tell me what it means?' And he answered me thus: 'The youth desired to sing to the Immortals. It is a law with us that no one shall sing a song who cannot be the hero of his tale--who cannot live the song that he sings; for what right hath he else to devise great things, and to take holy deeds in his mouth? Therefore he enters the cavern where God weaves the garments of souls; and there he lives in the forms of his own tale; for God gives them being that he may be tried. The sighs which thou didst hear were his longings after his own Ideal; and thou didst hear him praying for the Truth he beheld, but could not reach. We sang, because, in his first great battle, he strove well and overcame. We await the next.' A deep sleep seemed to fall upon me; and when I awoke, I saw the Immortals standing with their eyes fixed on the mouth of the cavern. I arose and turned toward it likewise. The youth came forth. His face was worn and pale, as that of the dead man before me; but his eyes were open, and tears trembled within them. Yet not the less was it the same face, the face of my son, I tell thee; and in joy and fear I gazed upon him. With a weary step he approached the Immortals. But he who had led him to the cave hastened to meet him, spread forth his arms, and embraced him, and said unto him: 'Thou hast told a noble tale; sing to us now what songs thou wilt.' Therefore said I, as I gazed on my son: 'He hath told his tale to the Immortals.'"

My child woke crying from her sleep; I bended o'er her bed, And soothed her, till in slumber deep She from the darkness fled.

And as beside my child I stood, A still voice said in me-- "Even thus thy Father, strong and good, Is bending over thee."

I am afraid the thought is not at rest, But rises still, that she is not my wife-- Not truly, lawfully. I hoped the child Would kill that fancy; but I fear instead, She thinks I have begun to think the same-- Thinks that it lies a heavy weight of sin Upon my heart. Alas, my Lilia! When every time I pray, I pray that God Would look and see that thou and I be one!

There was a man who had a little boy, And when the boy grew big, he went and asked His father to give him a purse of money. His father gave him such a large purse full! And then he went away and left his home. You see he did not love his father much.

But at the last, hunger and waking love Made him remember his old happy home. "How many servants in my father's house Have plenty, and to spare!" he said. "I'll go And say, 'I have done very wrong, my father; I am not worthy to be called your son; Put me among your servants, father, please.'" Then he rose up and went; but thought the road So much, much farther to walk back again, When he was tired and hungry. But at last He saw the blue top of the great big hill That stood beside his father's house; and then He walked much faster. But a great way off, His father saw him coming, lame and weary With his long walk; and very different From what he had been. All his clothes were hanging In tatters, and his toes stuck through his shoes--

Ah! there they come, the visions of my land! The long sweep of a bay, white sands, and cliffs Purple above the blue waves at their feet! Down the full river comes a light-blue sail; And down the near hill-side come country girls, Brown, rosy, laden light with glowing fruits; Down to the sands come ladies, young, and clad For holiday; in whose hearts wonderment At manhood is the upmost, deepest thought; And to their side come stately, youthful forms, Italy's youth, with burning eyes and hearts:-- Triumphant Love is lord of the bright day. Yet one heart, under that blue sail, would look With pity on their poor contentedness; For he sits at the helm, I at his feet. He sung a song, and I replied to him. His song was of the wind that blew us down From sheltered hills to the unsheltered sea. Ah, little thought my heart that the wide sea, Where I should cry for comforting in vain, Was the expanse of his wide awful soul, To which that wind was helpless drifting me! I would he were less great, and loved me more. I sung to him a song, broken with sighs, For even then I feared the time to come: "O will thine eyes shine always, love, as now? And will thy lips for aye be sweetly curved?" Said my song, flowing unrhymed from my heart. "And will thy forehead ever, sunlike bend, And suck my soul in vapours up to thee? Ah love! I need love, beauty, and sweet odours. Thou livest on the hoary mountains; I In the warm valley, with the lily pale, Shadowed with mountains and its own great leaves; Where odours are the sole invisible clouds, Making the heart weep for deliciousness. Will thy eternal mountain always bear Blue flowers upspringing at the glacier's foot? Alas! I fear the storms, the blinding snow, The vapours which thou gatherest round thy head, Wherewith thou shuttest up thy chamber-door, And goest from me into loneliness." Ah me, my song! it is a song no more! He is alone amid his windy rocks; I wandering on a low and dreary plain!

SONG.

Eyes of beauty, eyes of light, Sweetly, softly, sadly bright! Draw not, ever, o'er my eye, Radiant mists of ecstasy.

Be not proud, O glorious orbs! Not your mystery absorbs; But the starry soul that lies Looking through your night of eyes.

One moment, be less perfect, sweet; Sin once in something small; One fault to lift me on my feet From love's too perfect thrall!

For now I have no soul; a sea Fills up my caverned brain, Heaving in silent waves to thee, The mistress of that main.

O angel! take my hand in thine; Unfold thy shining silver wings; Spread them around thy face and mine, Close curtained in their murmurings.

But I should faint with too much bliss To be alone in space with thee; Except, O dread! one angel-kiss In sweetest death should set me free.

O beauteous devil, tempt me, tempt me on, Till thou hast won my soul in sighs; I'll smile with thee upon thy flaming throne, If thou wilt keep those eyes.

And if the meanings of untold desires Should charm thy pain of one faint sting, I will arise amid the scorching fires, I will arise and sing.

O what is God to me? He sits apart Amid the clear stars, passionless and cold. Divine! thou art enough to fill my heart; O fold me in thy heaven, sweet love, infold.

With too much life, I fall before thee dead. With holding thee, my sense consumes in storm. Thou art too keen a flame, too hallowed For any temple but thy holy form.

--the heart of earth's delight Withered from mine! O for a desert sea, The cold sun flashing on the sailing icebergs! Where I might cry aloud on God, until My soul burst forth upon the wings of pain, And fled to him. A numbness as of death Infolds me. As in sleep I walk. I live, But my dull soul can hardly keep awake. Yet God is here as on the mountain-top, Or on the desert sea, or lonely isle; And I should know him here, if Lilia loved me, As once I thought she did. But can I blame her? The change has been too much for her to bear. Can poverty make one of two hearts cold, And warm the other with the love of God? But then I have been silent, often moody, Drowned in much questioning; and she has thought That I was tired of her, while more than all I pondered how to wake her living soul. She cannot think why I should haunt my chamber, Except a goaded conscience were my grief; Thinks not of aught to gain, but all to shun. Deeming, poor child, that I repent me thus Of that which makes her mine for evermore, It is no wonder if her love grow less. Then I am older much than she; and this Fever, I think, has made me old indeed Before my fortieth year; although, within, I seem as young as ever to myself. O my poor Lilia! thou art not to blame; I'll love thee more than ever; I will be So gentle to thy heart where love lies dead! For carefully men ope the door, and walk With silent footfall through the room where lies, Exhausted, sleeping, with its travail sore, The body that erewhile hath borne a spirit. Alas, my Lilia! where is dead Love's child?

I must go forth and do my daily work. I thank thee, God, that it is hard sometimes To do my daily labour; for, of old, When men were poor, and could not bring thee much, A turtle-dove was all that thou didst ask; And so in poverty, and with a heart Oppressed with heaviness, I try to do My day's work well to thee,--my offering: That he has taught me, who one day sat weary At Sychar's well. Then home when I return, I come without upbraiding thoughts to thee. Ah! well I see man need not seek for penance-- Thou wilt provide the lamb for sacrifice; Thou only wise enough to teach the soul, Measuring out the labour and the grief, Which it must bear for thy sake, not its own. He neither chose his glory, nor devised The burden he should bear; left all to God; And of them both God gave to him enough. And see the sun looks faintly through the mist; It cometh as a messenger to me. My soul is heavy, but I will go forth; My days seem perishing, but God yet lives And loves. I cannot feel, but will believe.

Look, my dear Lilia, how the sun shines out!

SONG.

Once I was a child, Oim?! Full of frolic wild; Oim?! All the stars for glancing, All the earth for dancing; Oim?! Oim?!

When I ran about, Oim?! All the flowers came out, Oim?! Here and there like stray things, Just to be my playthings. Oim?! Oim?!

Mother's eyes were deep, Oim?! Never needing sleep. Oim?! Morning--they're above me! Eventide--they love me! Oim?! Oim?!

Father was so tall! Oim?! Stronger he than all! Oim?! On his arm he bore me, Queen of all before me. Oim?! Oim?!

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