O Life and flying Unity Of Loveliness! Must man despair Forever in his chase of thee!
When snowy clouds flash silver-gilt, Then feel I that thou art on high!
When fire o"er all the west is spilt, Flames at its heart thy majesty.
Thy beauty basks on distant hills; It smiles in eve"s wine-colored sea; It shakes its light on leaves and rills; In calm ideals it mocks at me;
Thy glances strike from many a lake That lines through woodland scapes a sheen; Yet to thine eyes I never wake:-- They glance, but they remain unseen.
I know thee not, O Spirit fair!
Thou fillest heaven: the stars are thee: Whatever fleets with beauty rare Fleets radiant from thy mystery.
Forever thou art near my grasp; Thy touches pa.s.s in twilight air; Yet still--thy shapes elude my clasp:-- I know thee not, thou Spirit fair!
O Ether, proud, and vast, and great, Above the legions of the stars!
To this thou art not adequate;-- Nor rainbow"s glorious scimitars.
I know thee not, thou Spirit sweet!
I chained pursue, while thou art free.
Sole by the smile I sometimes meet I know thou, Vast One, knowest me.
In old religions hadst thou place: Long, long, O Vision, our pursuit!
Yea, monad, fish and childlike brute Through countless ages dreamt thy grace.
Grey nations felt thee o"er them tower; Some clothed thee in fantastic dress; Some thought thee as the unknown Power, I, e"er the unknown Loveliness.
To all, thou wert as harps of joy; To bard and sage their fulgent sun: To priests their mystic life"s employ; But unto me the Lovely One.
Veils clothed thy might; veils draped thy charm; The might they tracked, but I the grace; They learnt all forces were thine Arm, I that all beauty was thy Face.
Night spares us little. Wanderers we.
Our rapt delights, our wisdoms rare But shape our darknesses of thee,-- We know thee not, thou Spirit fair!
Would that thine awful Peerlessness An hour could shine o"er heaven and earth And I the maddening power possess To drink the cup,--O G.o.dlike birth!
All life impels me to thy search: Without thee, yea, to live were null; Still shall I make the dawn thy Church, And pray thee "G.o.d the Beautiful."
THE WIND-CHANT.
The Soul, the inner, immortal Ruler.--_Hindu Upanishad._
"Witch-like, see it planets roll, Hear it from the cradle call-- Nature?--Nature is the soul; That alone is aught and all.
Grieved or broken though the song, The fount of music is elate, For the Soul is ever strong, For the Soul is ever great."
"For the Soul is ever great!"-- Songless sat I by a grove, Pines, like funeral priests of state, Chanted solemn rites above.
Dark and gla.s.sy far below, The River in his proud vale slept, Eve with olive-shafted bow Like a stealthy archer crept.
Why, O Masters, then I thought, Is the mantle yours, of song?
Why with hours like this do not Glorious strains to _all_ belong?
Why _all_ choosing, why _all_ ban?
Why are lords, and why are slaves And the most of gentle man Clipt and harried to their graves?
Foiled and ruined, ma.s.ses die That one fair and n.o.ble be.
Why are all not Masters? Why So unjust is Life"s decree?
Why are poor and why are rich?
Why are slaves and why are lords?
Unto this the splendid niche: Those caste d.a.m.neth in their words.
Do not powers of evil reign?
Do not flashes" storms make dread?
Should not He of Life again Bring the just peace of the dead?
Oft the Pines, like priests of state, Have spoke the heavenly word to man; So above me as I sate aeol voices chanting ran: "For the Soul is ever great For the Soul is ever strong; In the murmurer it can wait-- In the shortest sight see long.
"Not a yearning but is proof Thou art yet its aim to own: Thou the warp art and the woof, Not the woof or warp alone.
Couldst thou drop the lead within To the bottom of thyself, All the World--and G.o.d--and Sin-- And Force--and Ages--were that Elf.
"With thy breathing goes all breath, With thy striving goes all strife, In thy being, deep as death, Lies the largeness of all life.
The world is but thy deepest wish, The phases thereof are thy dream; They that hunt or plough or fish Are of thee the out-turned seam.
"Helpless, thou hast every power, In thee greatness perfect sleeps-- And thou comest to thy dower, And thy strength perennial keeps.
Stir the Aeol harp elate!
Make a triumph of its song, For the Soul is ever great, For the Soul is ever strong!"
Rushings cool as of a breeze Amened to their litany; In their pure sky smiled the trees; And no more was mystery.
Clear I saw the Soul at work, All through fair Saint Francis vale, Beauty-making; like a dirk Peering bright amid the mail.
Vital the dark River wound, Gla.s.sy in his cool repose; Many a bird-like country, sound As the Soul-voice upward rose.
Then as in a gla.s.s I knew _I_ was vale and town and stream, Shadowed grove and northern blue And the stars that "gan to gleam.
This was I, and all was mine.
Mine--yea, ours--the grace and might, With the lordship of a line That laughs at any earthly knight.
Ah, what music then I heard!
What conceptions then I saw!
Master-thoughts within me stirred, And there flashed the Master-law.
Next them did the greatest shapes Of Angelo crowd in a dream:-- Vain the grace that marble drapes; A village mason"s these did seem.
But--the light from Angelo"s eye That so deeply eager burns With its fierce sincerity!-- Ah, the ancient saw returns: "Greater artist than his art;"
Meaning: greater yet than he Is the vast outfeeling Heart In him lying like the sea.
With a sudden eagle-stroke How this truth can lift one wide.
Then he sees the sublime joke Of humility and pride; For the Soul is _ever_ great, The one Soul within us all: One the tone that shakes a state With the helpless cradle-call.
Yes, that wonder of the Soul Is the riddle of it all, And the answer, and the whole, Bright with joy that rends the pall.
Brother-man, I pray you stand, Hear a minstrel; but the song If you do not understand, Pa.s.s and do not do it wrong.