The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2

DEATH AND BIRTH

'Tis the midnight hour; I heard The Abbey-bell give out the word. Seldom is the lamp-ray shed On some dwarfed foot-farer's head In the deep and narrow street Lying ditch-like at my feet Where I stand at lattice high Downward gazing listlessly From my house upon the rock, Peak of earth's foundation-block.   There her windows, every story, Shine with far-off nebulous glory! Round her in that luminous cloud Stars obedient press and crowd, She the centre of all gazing, She the sun her planets dazing! In her eyes' victorious lightning Some are paling, some are brightening: Those on which they gracious turn, Stars combust, all tenfold burn; Those from which they look away Listless roam in twilight gray! When on her my looks I bent Wonder shook me like a tent, And my eyes grew dim with sheen, Wasting light upon its queen! But though she my eyes might chain, Rule my ebbing flowing brain, Truth alone, without, within, Can the soul's high homage win!   He, I do not doubt, is there Who unveiled my idol fair! And I thank him, grateful much, Though his end was none of such. He from shapely lips of wit Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, Scorching as the snow that fell On the damned in Dante's hell; With keen, gentle opposition, Playful, merciless precision, Mocked the sweet romance of youth Balancing on spheric truth; He on sense's firm set plane Rolled the unstable ball amain: With a smile she looked at me, Stung my soul, and set me free.   Welcome, friend! Bring in your bricks. Mortar there? No need to mix? That is well. And picks and hammers? Verily these are no shammers!— There, my friend, build up that niche, That one with the painting rich!   Yes, you're right; it is a show Picture seldom can bestow; City palaces and towers, Terraced gardens, twilight bowers, Vistas deep through swaying masts, Pennons flaunting in the blasts: Build; my room it does not fit; Brick-glaze is the thing for it!   Yes, a window you may call it; Not the less up you must wall it: In that niche the dead world lies; Bury death, and free mine eyes.   There were youths who held by me, Said I taught, yet left them free: Will they do as I said then? God forbid! As ye are men, Find the secret—follow and find! All forget that lies behind; Me, the schools, yourselves, forsake; In your souls a silence make; Hearken till a whisper come, Listen, follow, and be dumb.   There! 'tis over; I am dead! Of my life the broken thread Here I cast out of my hand!— O my soul, the merry land! On my heart the sinking vault Of my ruining past makes halt; Ages I could sit and moan For the shining world that's gone!   Haste and pierce the other wall; Break an opening to the All! Where? No matter; done is best. Kind of window? Let that rest: Who at morning ever lies Pondering how to ope his eyes!   I bethink me: we must fall On the thinnest of the wall! There it must be, in that niche!— No, the deepest—that in which Stands the Crucifix.                      You start?— Ah, your half-believing heart Shrinks from that as sacrilege, Or, at least, upon its edge! Worse than sacrilege, I say, Is it to withhold the day From the brother whom thou knowest For the God thou never sawest!   Reverently, O marble cold, Thee in living arms I fold! Thou who art thyself the way From the darkness to the day, Window, thou, to every land, Wouldst not one dread moment stand Shutting out the air and sky And the dayspring from on high! Brother with the rugged crown, Gently thus I lift thee down!   Give me pick and hammer; you Stand aside; the deed I'll do. Yes, in truth, I have small skill, But the best thing is the will.   Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster Clashes downward, fast and faster. Hark, I hear an outer stone Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! There's a cranny! there's a crack! The great sun is at its back! Lo, a mass is outward flung! In the universe hath sprung!   See the gold upon the blue! See the sun come blinding through! See the far-off mountain shine In the dazzling light divine! Prisoned world, thy captive's gone! Welcome wind, and sky, and sun!

LOVE'S ORDEAL

A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in boyhood.

  "Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay Where for an hour outstretched he had lain— Softly, yet with some token of dismay. Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain That has been gathering in the west all day! Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, And let me gather peace from thy repose."   "Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?" Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes. "I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine."   "Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; "Draw back the lattice bar and let them in." From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, Then shook the rain-drops from their shaggy skin. The maiden closed the shower-bespattered glass, Whose spotted shadow through the room did pass.   The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, But, when again beside him sat the maid, His eyes for one slow minute having scanned Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, Monotonous, like solemn-read command: "For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb." Strange moanings from the pine entered the room.   And then two shadows like the shadow of glass, Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pass; A sound of rain-drops came about the door, And a soft sighing as of plumy grass; A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim They eyed his countenance by the taper dim.   Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; She doubted whether he the saying had quoted Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?" Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so;   "Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; He looked one moment like a dead man blest— His soul a bark that in a sunny isle At length had found the haven of its rest; But he could not remain, must forward fare: He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare,   "Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they Successively in trial's hour did fail, For after sunset clouds again are gray." A sudden light shone through the fringy veil That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay A stillness on her face, waiting; and then The little clock rung out the hour of ten.   Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow To a soft plaining wind they would not stem. Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou Art not more beautiful than some of them, But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem That lamps from radiant store upon the dark The light it gathered where its song the lark.   "The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!— No woman yet hath shared my doom with me." With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim.   Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: "'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."— Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?— "At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share The terror with me? or must I go alone To meet an agony that will not spare?" She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; He staid her with his hand, and further spoke.   "Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour! Enough is left even now for telling thee The far beginnings whence the fearful power Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower— Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white Compass the place where I must lie to-night!"   Around his neck the maiden put her arm And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest. And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm All doubt away from love's primeval rest! He hid his face upon her heart, and there Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair.   A drearier moaning through the pine did go As if a human voice complained and cried For one long minute; then the sound grew low, Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died. Together at the silence two voices mow— His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide The hours into live moments—sparks of time Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime.   He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; Of dying ever into dawning birth.   "But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; Whose faith lights up the cold brain's passionless hour; Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, But waits the sun and the baptizing shower— Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine To greet the human summer, when its flower Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, And love and passion be one holy twain—   "Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul And every stain dissolve to the very core. She too will slumber, having found her goal. Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, And our long, dark, appointed period fill. Then shall we wake together, loving still."   Her face on his, her mouth to his mouth pressed, Was all the answer of the trusting maid. Close in his arms he held her to his breast For one brief moment—would have yet assayed Some deeper word her heart to strengthen, lest It should though faithful be too much afraid; But the clock gave the warning to the hour— And on the thatch fell sounds not of a shower.   One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear Lay, thin as a glassy shadow, on her heart; She trembled as some unknown thing were near, But smiled next moment—for they should not part! The youth arose. With solemn-joyous cheer, He helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart Her haste to wrap her in her mantle's fold; Then out they passed into the midnight cold.   The moon was sinking in the dim green west, Curled upward, half-way to the horizon's brink, A leaf of glory falling to its rest, The maiden's hand, still trembling, sought to link Her arm to his, with love's instinctive quest, But his enfolded her; hers did not sink, But, thus set free, it stole his body round, And so they walked, in freedom's fetters bound.   Pressed to his side, she felt, like full-toned bell, A mighty heart heave large in measured play; But as the floating moon aye lower fell Its bounding force did, by slow loss, decay. It throbbed now like a bird; now like far knell Pulsed low and faint! And now, with sick dismay, She felt the arm relax that round her clung, And from her circling arm he forward hung.   His footsteps feeble, short his paces grow; Her strength and courage mount and swell amain. He lifted up his head: the moon lay low, Nigh the world's edge. His lips with some keen pain Quivered, but with a smile his eyes turned slow Seeking in hers the balsam for his bane And finding it—love over death supreme: Like two sad souls they walked met in one dream.1   Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, Padding with gentle paws upon the road. Straight silent pines rose here and there around; A dull stream on the left side hardly flowed; A black snake through the sluggish waters wound. Hark, the night raven! see the crawling toad! She thinks how dark will be the moonless night, How feeblest ray is yet supernal light.   The moon's last gleam fell on dim glazed eyes, A body shrunken from its garments' fold: An aged man whose bent knees could not rise, He tottered in the maiden's tightening hold. She shivered, but too slight was the disguise To hide from love what never yet was old; She held him fast, with open eyes did pray, Walked through the fear, and kept the onward way.   Toward a gloomy thicket of tall firs, Dragging his inch-long steps, he turned aside. There Silence sleeps; not one green needle stirs. They enter it. A breeze begins to chide Among the cones. It swells until it whirs, Vibrating so each sharp leaf that it sighed: The grove became a harp of mighty chords, Wing-smote by unseen creatures wild for words.   But when he turned again, toward the cleft Of a great rock, as instantly it ceased, And the tall pines stood sudden, as if reft Of a strong passion, or from pain released; Again they wove their straight, dark, motionless weft Across the moonset-bars; and, west and east, Cloud-giants rose and marched up cloudy stairs; And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares.   'Twas a drear chamber for thy bridal night, O poor, pale, saviour bride! An earthen lamp With shaking hands he kindled, whose faint light Mooned out a tiny halo on the damp That filled the cavern to its unseen height, Dim glimmering like death-candle in a swamp. Watching the entrance, each side lies a hound, With liquid light his red eyes gleaming round.   A heap rose grave-like from the rocky floor Of moss and leaves, by many a sunny wind Long tossed and dried—with rich furs covered o'er Expectant. Up a jealous glory shined In her possessing heart: he should find more In her than in those faithless! With sweet mind She, praying gently, did herself unclothe, And lay down by him, trusting, and not loath.   Once more a wind came, flapping overhead; The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire. The trembling maiden heard a sudden tread— Dull, yet plain dinted on the windy gyre, As if long, wet feet o'er smooth pavement sped— Come fiercely up, as driven by longing dire To enter; followed sounds of hurried rout: With bristling hair, the hounds stood looking out.   Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, Feeble and hollow as if shut in a chest: "Take my face on your bosom; I am cold." She bared her holy bosom's truth-white nest, And forth her two hands instant went, love-bold, And took the face, and close against her pressed: Ah, the dead chill!—Was that the feet again?— But her great heart kept beating for the twain.   She heard the wind fall, heard the following rain Swelling the silent waters till their sound Went wallowing through the night along the plain. The lamp went out, by the slow darkness drowned. Must the fair dawn a thousand years refrain? Like centuries the feeble hours went round. Eternal night entombed her with decay: To her live soul she clasped the breathless clay.   The world stood still. Her life sank down so low That but for wretchedness no life she knew. A charnel wind moaned out a moaning—No; From the devouring heart of earth it blew. Fair memories lost all their sunny glow: Out of the dark the forms of old friends grew But so transparent blanched with dole and smart She saw the pale worm lying in each heart.   And, worst of all—Oh death of keep-fled life! A voice within her woke and cried: In sooth Vain is all sorrow, hope, and care, and strife! Love and its beauty, its tenderness and truth Are shadows bred in hearts too fancy-rife, Which melt and pass with sure-decaying youth: Regard them, and they quiver, waver, blot; Gaze at them fixedly, and they are not.   And all the answer the poor child could make Was in the tightened clasp of arms and hands. Hopeless she lay, like one Death would not take But still kept driving from his empty lands, Yet hopeless held she out for his dear sake; The darksome horror grew like drifting sands Till nought was precious—neither God nor light, And yet she braved the false, denying night.   So dead was hope, that, when a glimmer weak Stole through a fissure somewhere in the cave, Thinning the clotted darkness on his cheek, She thought her own tired eyes the glimmer gave: He moved his head; she saw his eyes, love-meek, And knew that Death was dead and filled the Grave. Old age, convicted lie, had fled away! Youth, Youth eternal, in her bosom lay!   With a low cry closer to him she crept And on his bosom hid a face that glowed: It was his turn to comfort—he had slept! Oh earth and sky, oh ever patient God, She had not yielded, but the truth had kept! New love, new bliss in weeping overflowed. I can no farther tell the tale begun; They are asleep, and waiting for the sun.

THE LOST SOUL

  Look! look there! Send your eyes across the gray By my finger-point away Through the vaporous, fumy air. Beyond the air, you see the dark? Beyond the dark, the dawning day? On its horizon, pray you, mark Something like a ruined heap Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back: Down all the grades through which they rose Up to harmonious life and law's repose, Back, slow, to the awful deep Of nothingness, mere being's lack: On its surface, lone and bare, Shapeless as a dumb despair, Formless, nameless, something lies: Can the vision in your eyes Its idea recognize?   'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!— Half he lived some ages back; But, with hardly opened eyes, Thinking him already wise, Down he sat and wrote a book; Drew his life into a nook; Out of it would not arise To peruse the letters dim, Graven dark on his own walls; Those, he judged, were chance-led scrawls, Or at best no use to him. A lamp was there for reading these; This he trimmed, sitting at ease, For its aid to write his book, Never at his walls to look— Trimmed and trimmed to one faint spark Which went out, and left him dark.— I will try if he can hear Spirit words with spirit ear!   Motionless thing! who once, Like him who cries to thee, Hadst thy place with thy shining peers, Thy changeful place in the changeless dance Issuing ever in radiance From the doors of the far eternity, With feet that glitter and glide and glance To the music-law that binds the free, And sets the captive at liberty— To the clang of the crystal spheres! O heart for love! O thirst to drink From the wells that feed the sea! O hands of truth, a human link 'Twixt mine and the Father's knee! O eyes to see! O soul to think! O life, the brother of me! Has Infinitude sucked back all The individual life it gave? Boots it nothing to cry and call? Is thy form an empty grave?   It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! Sounds no sense to its ear will bring! Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry; Love no light to its heart will carry! Sting it with words, it will never shrink; It will not repent, it cannot think! Hath God forgotten it, alas! Lost in eternity's lumber-room? Will the wind of his breathing never pass Over it through the insensate gloom? Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled, Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world, Sightless and deaf, with never a cry, In the hell of its own vacuity!   See, see yon angel crossing our flight Where the thunder vapours loom, From his upcast pinions flashing the light Of some outbreaking doom! Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh! Smite we the wing up a steeper sky! What matters the hail or the clashing winds, The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds! We know by the tempest we do not lie Dead in the pits of eternity!