Song-Surf

Cale Young Rice

Song-Surf

FOREWORD

These poems, first published as "Song-Surf" in 1900, by a firm which failed before the book, left the press, were republished with additions as the "lyrics" of "Plays & Lyrics," by Hodder & Stoughton, of London, in 1905. Revision and omissions have been made for this volume of a uniform edition in which they now appear.

WITH OMAR

I sat with Omar by the Tavern door,Musing the mystery of mortals o'er,And soon with answers alternate we stroveWhether, beyond death, Life hath any shore."Come, fill the cup," said he. "In the fire of SpringYour Winter-garment of Repentance fling.The Bird of Time has but a little wayTo flutter – and the Bird is on the Wing.""The Bird of Time?" I answered. "Then have INo heart for Wine. Must we not cross the SkyUnto Eternity upon his wings – Or,failing, fall into the Gulf and die?""Ay; so, for the Glories of this World sigh some,And some for the Prophet's Paradise to come;But you, Friend, take the Cash – the Credit leave,Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!""What! take the Cash and let the Credit go?Spend all upon the Wine the while I knowA possible To-morrow may bring thirstFor Drink but Credit then shall cause to flow?""Yea, make the most of what you yet may spend,Before we too into the Dust descend;Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and – sans End!""Into the Dust we shall descend – we must.But can the soul not break the crumbling CrustIn which he is encaged? To hope or toDespair he will – which is more wise or just?""The worldly hope men set their hearts uponTurns Ashes – or it prospers: and anon,Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,Lighting a little hour or two – is gone.""Like Snow it comes – to cool one burning Day;And like it goes – for all our plea or sway.But flooding tears nor Wine can ever purgeThe Vision it has brought to us away.""But to this world we come and Why not knowing,Nor Whence, like water willy-nilly flowing;And out of it, as Wind along the waste,We know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.""True, little do we know of Why or Whence.But is forsooth our Darkness evidenceThere is no Light? – the worm may see no starTho' heaven with myriad multitudes be dense.""But, all unasked, we're hither hurried Whence?And, all unasked, we're Whither hurried hence?O, many a cup of this forbidden WineMust drown the memory of that insolence.""Yet can not – ever! For it is forbidStill by that quenchless Soul within us hid,Which cries, 'Feed – feed me not on Wine alone,For to Immortal Banquets I am bid.'""Well oft I think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled:That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in her lap from some once lovely Head.""Then if, from the dull Clay thro' with Life's throes,More beautiful spring Hyacinth and Rose,Will the great Gardener for the uprooted soulFind Use no sweeter than – useless Repose?""We cannot know – so fill the cup that clearsTo-day of past regret and future fears:To-morrow! – Why, To-morrow we may beOurselves with Yesterday's sev'n thousand Years.""No Cup there is to bring oblivionMore during than Regret and Fear – no, none!For Wine that's Wine to-day may change and beMarah before to-morrow's Sands have run.""Myself when young did eagerly frequentDoctor and Saint, and heard great argumentAbout it and about: but evermoreCame out by the same Door where in I went.""The doors of Argument may lead Nowhither,Reason become a Prison where may witherFrom sunless eyes the Infinite, from heartsAll Hope, when their sojourn too long is thither.""Up from Earth's Centre thro' the Seventh GateI rose, and on the throne of Saturn sate,And many a Knot unravelled by the Road —But not the Master-knot of Human fate.""The Master-knot knows but the Master-handThat scattered Saturn and his countless BandLike seeds upon the unplanted heaven's Air:The Truth we reap from them is Chaff thrice fanned.""Yet if the Soul can fling the Dust asideAnd naked on the air of Heaven ride,Wer't not a shame – wer't not a shame for himIn this clay carcase crippled to abide?""No, for a day bound in this Dust may teachMore of the Sáki's Mind than we can reachThrough æons mounting still from Sky to Sky —May open through all Mystery a breach.""You speak as if Existence closing yourAccount, and mine, should know the like no more;The Eternal Sáki from that Bowl has pouredMillions of bubbles like us, and will pour.""Bubbles we are, pricked by the point of Death.But, in each bubble, may there be no BreathThat lifts it and at last to Freedom flies,And o'er all heights of Heaven wandereth?""A moment's halt – a momentary tasteOf Being from the Well amid the Waste —And Lo – the phantom Caravan has reachedThe Nothing it set out from – Oh, make haste!""And yet it should be – it should be that weWho drink shall drink of Immortality.The Master of the Well has much to spare:Will He say, 'Taste' – then shall we no more be?""The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,Moves on; nor all your Piety nor WitShall lure it back to cancel half a line,Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.""And were it other, might we not eraseThe Letter of some Sorrow in whose placeNo truer sounding, we should fail to spellThe Heart which yearns behind the mock-world's Face?""Well, this I know; whether the one True LightKindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me, quite,One flash of it within the Tavern caughtBetter than in the Temple lost outright.""In Temple or in Tavern 't may be lost.And everywhere that Love hath any CostIt may be found; the Wrath it seems is butA Cloud whose Dew should make its power most.""But see His Presence thro' Creation's veinsRunning Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi; andThey change and perish all – but He remains.""All – it may be. Yet lie to sleep, and lo,The soul seems quenched in Darkness – is it so?Rather believe what seemeth not than seemsOf Death – until we know —until we know.""So wastes the Hour – gone in the vain pursuitOf This and That we strive o'er and dispute.Better be jocund with the fruitful GrapeThan sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.""Better – unless we hope that grief is thrownAcross our Path by urgence of the Unknown,Lest we may think we have no more to liveAnd bide content with dim-lit Earth alone.""Then, strange, is't not? that of the myriads whoBefore us passed the door of Darkness throughNot one returns to tell us of the Road,Which to discover we must travel too?""Such is the Ban! but even though we heardLove in Life's All we still should crave the wordOf one returned. Yet none is sure, we know,Though they lie deep, they are by Death deterred.""Send then thy Soul through the InvisibleSome letter of the After-life to spell:And by and by thy Soul returned to theeBut answers, 'I myself am Heaven and Hell.'""From the Invisible, he does. But sentThro' Earth, where living Goodness tho' 'tis blentWith Evil dures, may he not read the Voice,'To make thee but for Death were toil ill spent'?""Well, when the Angel of the darker drinkAt last shall find us by the river-brinkAnd offering his Cup invite our soulsForth to our lips to quaff, we shall not shrink.""No. But if in the sable Cup we knewDeath without waking were the wilful brew,Nobler it were to curse as Coward HimWho roused us into light – then light withdrew.""Then Thou who didst with pitfall and with ginBeset the Road I was to wander in,Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil roundEnmesh, and then impute my fall to sin.""He will not. If one evil we endureTo ultimate Debasing, oh, be sure'Tis not of Him predestined, and the sinNot His nor ours – but Fate's He could not cure.""Yet, ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!The Nightingale that on the branches sang,Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows?""So does it seem – no other joys like these!Yet Summer comes, and Autumn's honoured ease;And wintry Age, is't ever whisperlessOf that Last Spring, whose Verdure may not cease?""Still, would some winged Angel ere too lateArrest the yet unfolded roll of Fate,And make the stern Recorder otherwiseEnregister, or quite obliterate!""To otherwise enregister believeHe toils eternally, nor asks Reprieve.And could Creation perfect from his handsHave come at Dawn, none overmuch should grieve."So till the wan and early scent of dayWe strove, and silent turned at last away,Thinking how men in ages yet unbornWould ask and answer – trust and doubt and pray.

JAEL

Jehovah! Jehovah! art Thou not stronger than gods of the heathen?I slew him, that Sisera, prince of the host Thou dost hate.But fear of his blood is upon me, about me is breathenHis spirit – by night and by day come voices that wait.Athirst and affrightened he fled from the star-wrought waters of Kishon.His face was as wool when he swooned at the door of my tent.The Lord hath given him into the hand of perdition,I smiled – but he saw not the face of my cunning intent.He thirsted for water: I fed him the curdless milk of the cattle.He lay in the tent under purple and crimson of Tyre.He slept and he dreamt of the surge and storming of battle.Ah ha! but he woke not to waken Jehovah's ire.He slept as he were a chosen of Israel's God Almighty.A dog out of Canaan! – thought he I was woman alone?I slipt like an asp to his ear and laughed for the sight heWould give when the carrion kites should tear to his bone.I smote thro' his temple the nail, to the dust, a worm, did I bind him.My heart was a-leap with rage and a-quiver with scorn.And I danced with a holy delight before and behind him —I that am called blessèd o'er all unto Judah born."Aye, come, I will show thee, O Barak, a woman is more than a warrior,"I cried as I lifted the door wherein Sisera lay."To me did he fly and I shall be called his destroyer —I, Jael, who am subtle to find for the Lord a way!""Above all the daughters of men be blest – of Gilead or Asshur,"Sang Deborah, prophetess, then, from her waving palm."Behold her, ye people, behold her the heathen's abasher;Behold her the Lord hath uplifted – behold and be calm!"The mother of him at the window looks out thro' the lattice to listen —Why roll not the wheels of his chariot? why does he stay?Shall he not return with the booty of battle, and glistenIn songs of his triumph – ye women, why do ye not say?"And I was as she who danced when the Seas were rended asunderAnd stood, until Egypt pressed in to be drowned unto death.My breasts were as fire with the glory, the rocks that were underMy feet grew quick with the gloating that beat in my breath.At night I stole out where they cast him, a sop to the jackal and raven.But his bones stood up in the moon and I shook with affright.The strength shrank out of my limbs and I fell, a craven,Before him – the nail in his temple gleamed bloodily bright.Jehovah! Jehovah! art Thou not stronger than gods of the heathen?I slew him, that Sisera, prince of the host Thou dost hate.But fear of his blood is upon me, about me is breathenHis spirit – by day and by night come voices that wait.I fly to the desert, I fly to the mountain – but they will not hide me.His gods haunt the winds and the caves with vengeance that criesFor judgment upon me; the stars in their courses deride me —The stars Thou hast hung with a breath in the wandering skies.Jehovah! Jehovah! I slew him, the scourge and sting of Thy Nation.Take from me his spirit, take from me the voice of his blood.With madness I rave – by day and by night, defamation!Jehovah, release me! Jehovah! if still Thou art God!

TO THE SEA

Art thou enraged, O sea, with the blue peaceOf heaven, so to uplift thine armèd waves,Thy billowing rebellion 'gainst its ease,And with Tartarean mutter from cold caves,From shuddering profundities where shapesOf awe glide thro' entangled leagues of ooze,To hoot thy watery omens evermore,And evermore thy moanings interfuseWith seething necromancy and mad lore?Or, dost thou labour with the drifting bonesOf countless dead, thou mighty Alchemist,Within whose stormy crucible the stonesOf sunk primordial shores, granite and schist,Are crumbled by thine all-abrasive beat?With immemorial chanting to the moon,And cosmic incantation, dost thou craveRest to be found not till thy wild be strewnFrigid and desert over earth's last grave?Thou seemest with immensity mad, blind —With raving deaf, with wandering forlorn;Parent of Demogorgon whose dire mindIs night and earthquake, shapeless shame and scornOf the o'ermounting birth of Harmony.Bound in thy briny bed and gnawing earthWith foamy writhing and fierce-panted tides,Thou art as Fate in torment of a dearthOf black disaster and destruction's strides.And how thou dost drive silence from the world,Incarnate Motion of all mystery!Whose waves are fury-wings, whose winds are hurledWhither thy Ghost tempestuous can seeA desolate apocalypse of death.Oh, how thou dost drive silence from the world,With emerald overflowing, waste on wasteOf flashing susurration, dashed and swirledO'er isles and continents that shrink abased!Nay, frustrate Hope art thou, of the Unknown,Gathered from primal mist and firmament;A surging shape of Life's unfathomed moan,Whelming humanity with fears unmeant.Yet do I love thee, O, above all fear,And loving thee unconquerably trustThe runes that from thy ageless surfing startWould read, were they revealed, gust upon gust,That Immortality is might of heart!

THE DAY-MOON

So wan, so unavailing,Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!Last night, sphered in thy shining,A Circe – mystic destinies divining;To-day but as a featherTorn from a seraph's wing in sinful weather,Down-drifting from the portalsOf Paradise, unto the land of mortals.Yet do I feel thee awingMy heart with mystery, as thy updrawingMoves thro' the tides of OceanAnd leaves lorn beaches barren of its motion;Or strands upon near shallowsThe wreck whose weirded form at night unhallowsThe fisher maiden's prayers —"For him! – that storms may take not unawares!"So wan, so unavailing,Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!But Night shall come atoningThy phantom life thro' day, and high enthroningThee in her chambers arrasedWith star-hieroglyphs, leave thee unharassedTo glide with silvery passion,Till in earth's shadow swept thy glowings ashen.

A SEA-GHOST

Oh, fisher-fleet, go in from the seaAnd furl your wings.The bay is gray with the twilit sprayAnd the loud surf springs.The chill buoy-bell is rung by the handsOf all the drowned,Who know the woe of the wind and towOf the tides around.Go in, go in! Oh, haste from the sea,And let them rest —A son and one who was wed and oneWho went down unblest.Aye, even as I, whose hands at the bellNow labour most.The tomb has gloom, but Oh, the doomOf the drear sea-ghost!He evermore must wander the oozeBeneath the wave,Forlorn – to warn of the tempest born,And to save – to save!Then go, go in! and leave us the sea,For only soCan peace release us and give us easeOf our salty woe.

ON THE MOOR

1I met a child upon the moorA-wading down the heather;She put her hand into my own,We crossed the fields together.I led her to her father's door —A cottage mid the clover.I left her – and the world grew poorTo me, a childless rover.2I met a maid upon the moor,The morrow was her wedding.Love lit her eyes with lovelier huesThan the eve-star was shedding.She looked a sweet good-bye to me,And o'er the stile went singing.Down all the lonely night I heardBut bridal bells a-ringing.3I met a mother on the moor,By a new grave a-praying.The happy swallows in the blueUpon the winds were playing."Would I were in his grave," I said,"And he beside her standing!"There was no heart to break if deathFor me had made demanding.

THE CRY OF EVE

Down the palm-way from Eden in the mid-nightLay dreaming Eve by her outdriven mate,Pillowed on lilies that still told the sweetOf birth within the Garden's ecstasy.Pitiful round her face that could not loseIts memory of God's perfecting was strewnHer troubled hair, and sigh grieved after sighAlong her loveliness in the white moon.Then sudden her dream, too cruelly impentWith pain, broke and a cry fled shudderingInto the wounded stillness from her lips —As, cold, she fearfully felt for his hand,And tears, that had before ne'er visitedHer lids with anguish, drew from her the moan:"Oh, Adam! What have I dreamed?Now do I understand His words, so dimTo creatures that had quivered but with bliss!Since at the dusk thy kiss to me, and IWept at caresses that were once all joy,I have slept, seeing through FuturityThe uncreated ages visibly!Foresuffering phantoms crowded in the wombOf Time, and all with lamentable mienAccusing without mercy, thee and me!And without pity! for tho' some were farFrom birth, and without name, others were near —Sodom and dark Gomorrah – from whose flamesFleeing one turned … how like her look to mineWhen the tree's horror trembled on my taste!And Babylon upbuilded on our sin;And Nineveh, a city sinking slowUnder a shroud of sandy centuriesThat hid me not from the buried cursing eyesOf women who e'er-bitterly gave birth!Ah, to be mother of all misery!To be first-called out of the earth and failFor a whole world! To shame maternityFor women evermore – women whose tearsFlooding the night, no hope can wipe away!To see the wings of Death, as, Adam, thouHast not, endlessly beating, and to hearThe swooning ages suffer up to God!And Oh, that birth-cry of a guiltless childIn it are sounding of our sin and woe,

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.