Rampolli

II

     Dawn, far eastward, on the mountain!     Gray old times are growing young:     From the flashing colour-fountain     I will quaff it deep and long!—     Granted boon to Longing’s long privation!     Sweet love in divine transfiguration!     Comes at last, our old Earth’s native,     All-Heaven’s one child, simple, kind!     Blows again, in song creative,     Round the earth a living wind;     Blows to clear new flames that rush together     Sparks extinguished long by earthly weather.     Everywhere, from graves upspringing,     Rises new-born life, new blood!     Endless peace up to us bringing,     Dives he underneath life’s flood;     Stands in midst, with full hands, eyes caressing—     Hardly waits the prayer to grant the blessing.     Let his mild looks of invading     Deep into thy spirit go;     By his blessedness unfading     Thou thy heart possessed shalt know.     Hearts of all men, spirits all, and senses     Mingle, and a new glad dance commences.     Grasp his hands with boldness yearning;     Stamp his face thy heart upon;     Turning toward him, ever turning,     Thou, the flower, must face thy sun.     Who to him his heart’s last fold unfoldeth,     True as wife’s his heart for ever holdeth.     Ours is now that Godhead’s splendour     At whose name we used to quake!     South and north, its breathings tender     Heavenly germs at once awake!     Let us then in God’s full garden labour,     And to every bud and bloom be neighbour!

III

     Who in his chamber sitteth lonely,       And weepeth heavy, bitter tears;     To whom in doleful colours, only       Of want and woe, the world appears;     Who of the Past, gulf-like receding,       Would search with questing eyes the core,     Down into which a sweet woe, pleading,       Wiles him from all sides evermore—     As if a treasure past believing       Lay there below, for him high-piled,     After whose lock, with bosom heaving,       He breathless grasps in longing wild:     He sees the Future, waste and arid,       In hideous length before him stretch;     About he roams, alone and harried,       And seeks himself, poor restless wretch!—     I fall upon his bosom, tearful:       I once, like thee, with woe was wan;     But I grew well, am strong and cheerful,       And know the eternal rest of man.     Thou too must find the one consoler       Who inly loved, endured, and died—     Even for them that wrought his dolour       With thousand-fold rejoicing died.     He died—and yet, fresh each to-morrow,       His love and him thy heart doth hold;     Thou mayst, consoled for every sorrow,       Him in thy arms with ardour fold.     New blood shall from his heart be driven       Through thy dead bones like living wine;     And once thy heart to him is given,       Then is his heart for ever thine.     What thou didst lose, he keeps it for thee;       With him thy lost love thou shalt find;     And what his hand doth once restore thee,       That hand to thee will changeless bind.

IV

     Of the thousand hours me meeting,     And with gladsome promise greeting,       One alone hath kept its faith—     One wherein—ah, sorely grieved!—     In my heart I first perceived       Who for us did die the death.     All to dust my world was beaten;     As a worm had through them eaten       Withered in me bud and flower;     All my life had sought or cherished     In the grave had sunk and perished;       Pain sat in my ruined bower.     While I thus, in silence sighing,     Ever wept, on Death still crying,       Still to sad delusions tied,     All at once the night was cloven,     From my grave the stone was hoven,       And my inner doors thrown wide.     Whom I saw, and who the other,     Ask me not, or friend or brother!—       Sight seen once, and evermore!     Lone in all life’s eves and morrows,     This hour only, like my sorrows,       Ever shines my eyes before.

V

     If I him but have,1       If he be but mine,     If my heart, hence to the grave,       Ne’er forgets his love divine—     Know I nought of sadness,     Feel I nought but worship, love, and gladness.     If I him but have,       Pleased from all I part;     Follow, on my pilgrim staff,       None but him, with honest heart;     Leave the rest, nought saying,     On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.     If I him but have,        Glad to sleep I sink;     From his heart the flood he gave        Shall to mine be food and drink;     And, with sweet compelling,     Mine shall soften, deep throughout it welling.     If I him but have,        Mine the world I hail;     Happy, like a cherub grave        Holding back the Virgin’s veil:     I, deep sunk in gazing,     Hear no more the Earth or its poor praising.     Where I have but him       Is my fatherland;     Every gift a precious gem       Come to me from his own hand!     Brothers long deplored,     Lo, in his disciples, all restored!

VI

     My faith to thee I break not,       If all should faithless be,     That gratitude forsake not       The world eternally.     For my sake Death did sting thee       With anguish keen and sore;     Therefore with joy I bring thee       This heart for evermore.     Oft weep I like a river       That thou art dead, and yet     So many of thine thee, Giver       Of life, life-long forget!     By love alone possessed,       Such great things thou hast done!     But thou art dead, O Blessed,       And no one thinks thereon!     Thou stand’st with love unshaken       Ever by every man;     And if by all forsaken,       Art still the faithful one.     Such love must win the wrestle;       At last thy love they’ll see,     Weep bitterly, and nestle       Like children to thy knee.     Thou with thy love hast found me!       O do not let me go!     Keep me where thou hast bound me       Till one with thee I grow.     My brothers yet will waken,       One look to heaven will dart—     Then sink down, love-o’ertaken,       And fall upon thy heart.

VII.

HYMN

     Few understand     The mystery of Love,     Know insatiableness,     And thirst eternal.     Of the Last Supper     The divine meaning     Is to the earthly senses a riddle;     But he that ever     From warm, beloved lips,     Drew breath of life;     In whom the holy glow     Ever melted the heart in trembling waves;     Whose eye ever opened so     As to fathom     The bottomless deeps of heaven—     Will eat of his body     And drink of his blood     Everlastingly.     Who of the earthly body     Has divined the lofty sense?     Who can say     That he understands the blood?     One day all is body,     One body:     In heavenly blood     Swims the blissful two.     Oh that the ocean     Were even now flushing!     And in odorous flesh     The rock were upswelling!     Never endeth the sweet repast;     Never doth Love satisfy itself;     Never close enough, never enough its own,     Can it have the beloved!     By ever tenderer lips     Transformed, the Partaken     Goes deeper, grows nearer.     Pleasure more ardent     Thrills through the soul;     Thirstier and hungrier     Becomes the heart;     And so endureth Love’s delight     From everlasting to everlasting.     Had the refraining     Tasted but once,     All had they left     To set themselves down with us     To the table of longing     Which will never be bare;     Then had they known Love’s     Infinite fullness,     And commended the sustenance     Of body and blood.

VIII

     Weep I must—my heart runs over:     Would he once himself discover—       If but once, from far away!     Holy sorrow! still prevailing     Is my weeping, is my wailing:       Would that I were turned to clay!     Evermore I hear him crying     To his Father, see him dying:       Will this heart for ever beat!     Will my eyes in death close never?     Weeping all into a river       Were a bliss for me too sweet!     Hear I none but me bewailing?     Dies his name an echo failing?       Is the world at once struck dead?     Shall I from his eyes, ah! never     More drink love and life for ever?       Is he now for always dead?     Dead? What means that sound of dolour?     Tell me, tell me thou, a scholar,       What it means, that word so grim.     He is silent; all turn from me!     No one on the earth will show me       Where my heart may look for him!     Earth no more, whate’er befall me,     Can to any gladness call me!       She is but one dream of woe!     I too am with him departed:     Would I lay with him, still-hearted,       In the region down below!     Hear, me, hear, his and my father!     My dead bones, I pray thee, gather       Unto his—and soon, I pray!     Grass his hillock soon will cover,     Soon the wind will wander over,       Soon his form will fade away.     If his love they once perceived,     Soon, soon all men had believed,       Letting all things else go by!     Lord of love him only owning,     All would weep with me bemoaning,       And in bitter woe would die!

IX

     He lives! he’s risen from the dead!       To every man I shout;     His presence over us is spread,       Goes with us in and out.     To each I say it; each apace       His comrades telleth too—     That straight will dawn in every place       The heavenly kingdom new.     Now, to the new mind, first appears       The world a fatherland;     A new life men receive, with tears       Of rapture, from his hand.     Down into deepest gulfs of sea       Grim Death hath sunk away;     And now each man with holy glee,       Can face his coming day.     The darksome road that he hath gone       Leads out on heaven’s floor:     Who heeds the counsel of the Son       Enters the Father’s door.     Down here weeps no one any more       For friend that shuts his eyes;     For, soon or late, the parting sore       Will change to glad surprise.     And now to every friendly deed       Each heart will warmer glow;     For many a fold the fresh-sown seed       In lovelier fields will blow.     He lives—will sit beside our hearths,       The greatest with the least;     Therefore this day shall be our Earth’s       Glad Renovation-feast.

X

     The times are all so wretched!       The heart so full of cares!     The future, far outstretched,       A spectral horror wears.     Wild terrors creep and hover       With foot so ghastly soft!     Our souls black midnights cover       With mountains piled aloft.     Firm props like reeds are waving;       For trust is left no stay;     Our thoughts, like whirlpool raving,       No more the will obey!     Frenzy, with eye resistless,       Decoys from Truth’s defence;     Life’s pulse is flagging listless,       And dull is every sense.     Who hath the cross upheaved       To shelter every soul?     Who lives, on high received,       To make the wounded whole?     Go to the tree of wonder;       Give silent longing room;     Issuing flames asunder       Thy bad dream will consume.     Draws thee an angel tender       In saftey to the strand:     Lo, at thy feet in splendour       Lies spread the Promised Land!

XI

     I know not what were left to draw me,       Had I but him who is my bliss;     If still his eye with pleasure saw me,       And, dwelling with me, me would miss.     So many search, round all ways going,       With face distorted, anxious eye,     Who call themselves the wise and knowing,       Yet ever pass this treasure by!     One man believes that he has found it,       And what he has is nought but gold;     One takes the world by sailing round it:       The deed recorded, all is told!     One man runs well to gain the laurel;       Another, in Victory’s fane a niche:     By different Shows in bright apparel       All are befooled, not one made rich!     Hath He not then to you appeared?       Have ye forgot Him turning wan     Whose side for love of us was speared—       The scorned, rejected Son of Man?     Of Him have you not read the story—       Heard one poor word upon the wind?     What heavenly goodness was his glory,       Or what a gift he left behind?     How he descended from the Father,       Of loveliest mother infant grand?     What Word the nations from him gather?       How many bless his healing hand?     How, thereto urged by mere love, wholly       He gave himself to us away,     And down in earth, foundation lowly,       First stone of God’s new city, lay?     Can such news fail to touch us mortals?       Is not to know the man pure bliss?     Will you not open all your portals       To him who closed for you the abyss?     Will you not let the world go faring?       For Him your dearest wish deny?     To him alone your heart keep baring,       Who you has shown such favour high?     Hero of love, oh, take me, take me!       Thou art my life! my world! my gold!     Should every earthly thing forsake me,       I know who will me scatheless hold!     I see Thee my lost loves restoring!       True evermore to me thou art!     Low at thy feet heaven sinks adoring,       And yet thou dwellest in my heart!

XII

     Earth’s Consolation, why so slow?     Thy inn is ready long ago;     Each lifts to thee his hungering eyes,     And open to thy blessing lies.     O Father, pour him forth with might;     Out of thine arms, oh yield him quite!     Shyness alone, sweet shame, I know,     Kept him from coming long ago!

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1

Here I found the double or feminine rhyme impossible without the loss of the far more precious simplicity of the original, which could be retained only by a literal translation.