The child spake n.o.bly: strange to hear, His infantine soft accents clear Charged with high meanings, did appear;
And fair to see, his form and face Winged out with whiteness and pure grace From the green darkness of the place.
Behind his head a palm-tree grew; An orient beam which pierced it through Transversely on his forehead drew
The figure of a palm-branch brown Traced on its brightness up and down In fine fair lines,--a shadow-crown:
Guido might paint his angels so-- A little angel, taught to go With holy words to saints below--
Such innocence of action yet Significance of object met In his whole bearing strong and sweet.
And all the children, the whole band, Did round in rosy reverence stand, Each with a palm-bough in his hand.
"And so he died," I whispered. "Nay, Not _so_," the childish voice did say, "That poet turned him first to pray
"In silence, and G.o.d heard the rest "Twixt the sun"s footsteps down the west.
Then he called one who loved him best,
"Yea, he called softly through the room (His voice was weak yet tender)--"Come,"
He said, "come nearer! Let the bloom
""Of Life grow over, undenied, This bridge of Death, which is not wide-- I shall be soon at the other side.
""Come, kiss me!" So the one in truth Who loved him best,--in love, not ruth, Bowed down and kissed him mouth to mouth:
"And in that kiss of love was won Life"s manumission. All was done: The mouth that kissed last, kissed _alone_.
"But in the former, confluent kiss, The same was sealed, I think, by His, To words of truth and uprightness."
The child"s voice trembled, his lips shook Like a rose leaning o"er a brook, Which vibrates though it is not struck.
"And who," I asked, a little moved Yet curious-eyed, "was this that loved And kissed him last, as it behoved?"
"_I_," softly said the child; and then "_I_," said he louder, once again: "His son, my rank is among men:
"And now that men exalt his name I come to gather palms with them, That holy love may hallow fame.
"He did not die alone, nor should His memory live so, "mid these rude World-praisers--a worse solitude.
"Me, a voice calleth to that tomb Where these are strewing branch and bloom Saying, "Come nearer:" and I come.
"Glory to G.o.d!" resumed he, And his eyes smiled for victory O"er their own tears which I could see
Fallen on the palm, down cheek and chin-- "That poet now has entered in The place of rest which is not sin.
"And while he rests, his songs in troops Walk up and down our earthly slopes, Companioned by diviner hopes."
"But _thou_," I murmured to engage The child"s speech farther--"hast an age Too tender for this orphanage."
"Glory to G.o.d--to G.o.d!" he saith: "KNOWLEDGE BY SUFFERING ENTERETH, AND LIFE IS PERFECTED BY DEATH."
THE POET"S VOW
O be wiser thou, Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
WORDSWORTH.
THE POET"S VOW.
PART THE FIRST.
SHOWING WHEREFORE THE VOW WAS MADE.
I.
Eve is a twofold mystery; The stillness Earth doth keep, The motion wherewith human hearts Do each to either leap As if all souls between the poles Felt "Parting comes in sleep."
II.
The rowers lift their oars to view Each other in the sea; The landsmen watch the rocking boats In a pleasant company; While up the hill go gladlier still Dear friends by two and three.
III.
The peasant"s wife hath looked without Her cottage door and smiled, For there the peasant drops his spade To clasp his youngest child Which hath no speech, but its hand can reach And stroke his forehead mild.
IV.
A poet sate that eventide Within his hall alone, As silent as its ancient lords In the coffined place of stone, When the bat hath shrunk from the praying monk, And the praying monk is gone.
V.
Nor wore the dead a stiller face Beneath the cerement"s roll: His lips refusing out in words Their mystic thoughts to dole, His steadfast eye burnt inwardly, As burning out his soul.
VI.