They touch with fire, thought's graven page, the roll Stamped with past years-and lo! it shrivels as a scroll! LXXV. And this was of such hours!-the sudden flow Of my soul's tide seemed whelming me; the glare Of the red flames, yet rocking to and fro, Scorched up my heart with breathless thirst for air, And solitude and freedom. It had been Well with me then, in some vast desert scene, To pour my voice out, for the winds to bear On with them, wildly questioning the sky, Fiercely th' untroubled stars, of man's dim destiny. LXXVI. I would have called, adjuring the dark cloud; To the most ancient Heavens I would have said -"Speak to me! show me truth!"(8)—through night aloud I would have cried to him, the newly dead, "Come back! and show me truth!"-My spirit seemed Gasping for some free burst, its darkness teemed With such pent storms of thought!-again I fled I fled, a refuge from man's face to gain, Scarce conscious when I paused, entering a lonely fane. LXXVII. A mighty minster, dim, and proud, and vast! A halo of sad fame to mantle o'er LXXVIII. More hushed, far more!-for there the wind sweeps by, Or the woods tremble to the streams' loud play! Yet arch through arch in one soft flow pervading; And I stood still:-prayer, chant, had died away, Yet past me floated a funereal breath Of incense.-I stood still-as before God and death! So still the waves of parted, shadowy hair The gulfs, Deliverer! round the straining bark! -Thou wert the single star of that all-shrouding LXXXIV. Aid for one sinking!-Thy lone brightness gleamed On his wild face, just lifted o'er the wave, With its worn, fearful, human look that seemed To cry through surge and blast-"I perishsave!" Not to the winds-not vainly!-thou wert nigh, Thy hand was stretched to fainting agony, Even in the portals of th' unquiet grave! O thou that art the life! and yet didst bear Too much of mortal wo to turn from mortal prayer! LXXXV. But it was not a thing to rise on death, With its remembered light, that face of thine, Where then is mercy?—whither shall we flee, So unallied to hope, save by our hold on thee? LXXXVIII. "But didst thou not, the deep sea brightly treading, Lift from despair that struggler with the wave? And wert thou not, sad tears, yet awful, shedding, Beheld, a weeper at a mortal's grave? And is this weight of anguish, which they bind On life, this searing to the quick of mind, That but to God its own free path would crave, This crushing out of hope, and love, and youth, Thy will indeed?-Give light! that I may know the truth! LXXXIX. "For my sick soul is darkened unto death, With shadows from the suffering it hath seen; The strong foundations of mine ancient faith Sink from beneath me-whereon shall I lean? -Oh! if from thy pure lips was wrung the sigh Of the dust's anguish! if like man to die, -And earth round him shuts heavily-hath been Even to thee bitter, aid me!-guide me!-turn Redeemer! dimmed by this world's misty breath, My wild and wandering thoughts back from their Yet mournfully, mysteriously divine? -Oh! that calm, sorrowful, prophetic eye, What told that thou couldst be but for a time uncrowned! LXXXVI. And more than all, the Heaven of that sad smile! starless bourne!" XC. And calm'd I rose:-but how the while had risen Morn's orient sun, dissolving mist and shade! -Could there indeed be wrong, or chain, or prison, In the bright world such radiance might pervade? It fill'd the fane, it mantled the pale form Which rose before me through the pictured storm, Even the gray tombs it kindled, and array'd With life!-how hard to see thy race begun, Surely thou wert!-my heart grew hushed be- And think man wakes to grief, wakening to thee, O sun! XCI. I sought my home again:-and thou, my child, There at my play beneath yon ancient pine, With eyes, whose lightning laughter(10) hath beguil'd A thousand pangs, thence flashing joy to mine; Seem'd on my soul all mournfully to shine, Than but in turn the blight of human hope to see. XCII. Now sport, for thou art free-the bright birds chasing, Whose wings waft star-like gleams from tree to tree; Or with the fawn, thy swift wood-playmate racing, Sport on, my joyous child! for thou art free! II. Oh, Indian hunter of the desert's race! Of the dark holds wherewith man cumbers earth, Should wake no more dim thoughts of far-seen To shut from human eyes the dancing seasons' mirth. III. There, fettered down from day, to think the while How bright in Heaven the festal sun is glowing, Making earth's loneliest places, with his smile, Flush like the rose; and how the streams are flowing With sudden sparkles through the shadowy grass, And water-flowers, all trembling as they pass; And how the rich dark summer-trees are bowing With their full foliage;-this to know, and pine Bound unto midnight's heart, seems a stern lot— 'twas mine. IV. Wherefore was this?-Because my soul had drawn Light from the book whose words are graved in light! There, at its well-head, had I found the dawn, And day, and noon of freedom:--but too bright It shines on that which man to man hath given, And called the truth-the very truth, from Heaven! And therefore seeks he, in his brother's sight, To cast the mote; and therefore strives to bind With his strong chains to earth, what is not earth's the mind! V. It is a weary and a bitter task Back from the lip the burning word to keep, And to shut out Heaven's air with falsehood's mask, And in the dark urn of the soul to heap I might not brook it long-and thus was thrown Into that grave-like cell, to wither there alone. In fair sierras, hiding their deep springs, Let childhood's radiant mist the free child yet en- And traversed but by storms, or sounding eagles' fold! XV. It is enough that through such heavy hours, name Bear up her martyrs with all-conquering sway? It is enough that Torture may be vainI had seen Alvar die-the strife was won from Pain. XVI. And faint not, heart of man! though years wane slow! There have been those that from the deepest caves, And cells of night, and fastnesses, below A quenchless hope, and watched their time, and burst On the bright day, like wakeners from the graves! I was of such at last!-unchained I trod This green earth, taking back my freedom from my God! XVII. That was an hour to send its fadeless trace Down life's far sweeping tide!-A dim, wild night, Like sorrow, hung upon the soft moon's face, Yet how my heart leaped in her blessed light! The shepherd's light-the sailor's on the seaThe hunter's homeward from the mountains free, Where its lone smile makes tremulously bright The thousand streams!-I could but gaze through tears Oh! what a sight is Heaven, thus first beheld for years! XVIII. The rolling clouds!-they have the whole blue space Above to sail in-all the dome of sky! Wildest of all the savage glens that lie wings. |