The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 2 - George MacDonald (list of e readers TXT) 📗

wide alone! Caught within a net of fear, All my dreams undreamed and gone!

I will rise; I will go forth. Better dare the hideous night, Better face the freezing north Than be still, where is no light! Black wind rushing round me now, Sown with arrowy points of rain! Gone are there and then and now- I am here, and so is pain!

Dead in dreams the gloomy street! I will out on open roads. Eager grow my aimless feet- Onward, onward something goads! I will take the mountain path, Beard the storm within its den; Know the worst of this dim wrath Harassing the souls of men.

Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock! Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! Ah! I faint, I fall, I die, Sink to nothingness away!- Lo, a streak upon the sky! Lo, the opening eye of day!

II.

Mountain summits lift their snows O'er a valley green and low; And a winding pathway goes Guided by the river's flow; And a music rises ever, As of peace and low content, From the pebble-paven river Like an odour upward sent.

And the sound of ancient harms Moans behind, the hills among, Like the humming of the swarms That unseen the forest throng. Now I meet the shining rain From a cloud with sunny weft; Now against the wind I strain, Sudden burst from mountain cleft.

Now a sky that hath a moon Staining all the cloudy white With a faded rainbow-soon Lost in deeps of heavenly night! Now a morning clear and soft, Amber on the purple hills; Warm blue day of summer, oft Cooled by wandering windy rills!

Joy to travel thus along With the universe around! Every creature of the throng, Every sight and scent and sound Homeward speeding, beauty-laden, Beelike, to its hive, my soul! Mine the eye the stars are made in! Mine the heart of Nature's whole!

III.

Hills retreating on each hand Slowly sink into the plain; Solemn through the outspread land Rolls the river to the main. In the glooming of the night Something through the dusky air Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, But I know not what or where.

Is it but a chalky ridge Bared of sod, like tree of bark? Or a river-spanning bridge Miles away into the dark? Or the foremost leaping waves Of the everlasting sea, Where the Undivided laves Time with its eternity?

Is it but an eye-made sight, In my brain a fancied gleam? Or a faint aurora-light From the sun's tired smoking team? In the darkness it is gone, Yet with every step draws nigh; Known shall be the thing unknown When the morning climbs the sky!

Onward, onward through the night Matters it I cannot see? I am moving in a might Dwelling in the dark and me! End or way I cannot lose- Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; All is well with wanderer whose Heart is travelling hourly home.

IV.

Joy! O joy! the dawning sea Answers to the dawning sky, Foretaste of the coming glee When the sun will lord it high! See the swelling radiance growing To a dazzling glory-might! See the shadows gently going 'Twixt the wave-tops wild with light!

Hear the smiting billows clang! See the falling billows lean Half a watery vault, and hang Gleaming with translucent green, Then in thousand fleeces fall, Thundering light upon the strand!- This the whiteness which did call Through the dusk, across the land!

See, a boat! Out, out we dance! Fierce blasts swoop upon my sail! What a terrible expanse- Tumbling hill and heaving dale! Stayless, helpless, lost I float, Captive to the lawless free! But a prison is my boat! Oh, for petrel-wings to flee!

Look below: each watery whirl Cast in beauty's living mould! Look above: each feathery curl Dropping crimson, dropping gold!- Oh, I tremble in the flush Of the everlasting youth! Love and awe together rush: I am free in God, the Truth!


THE TREE'S PRAYER .

Alas, 'tis cold and dark! The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon Beat, beat against my bark.

Oh! why delays the spring? Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins; Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains, That I can hardly cling.

The sun shone yester-morn; I felt the glow down every fibre float, And thought I heard a thrush's piping note Of dim dream-gladness born.

Then, on the salt gale driven, The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms, Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms, And blotted out the heaven.

All night I brood and choose Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June! The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon The slow baptizing dews!

Oh, the joy-frantic birds!- They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees That browse like scattered herds!

The comfort-whispering showers That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot! The children playing round my deep-sunk root, Green-caved from burning hours!

See, see the heartless dawn, With naked, chilly arms latticed across! Another weary day of moaning loss On the thin-shadowed lawn!

But icy winter's past; Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind: I will endure with steadfast, patient mind; My leaves will come at last!


WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER.

Were I a skilful painter, My pencil, not my pen, Should try to teach thee hope and fear, And who would blame me then?- Fear of the tide of darkness That floweth fast behind, And hope to make thee journey on In the journey of the mind.

Were I a skilful painter, What should I paint for thee?- A tiny spring-bud peeping out From a withered wintry tree; The warm blue sky of summer O'er jagged ice and snow, And water hurrying gladsome out From a cavern down below;

The dim light of a beacon Upon a stormy sea, Where a lonely ship to windward beats For life and liberty; A watery sun-ray gleaming Athwart a sullen cloud And falling on some grassy flower The rain had earthward bowed;

Morn peeping o'er a mountain, In ambush for the dark, And a traveller in the vale below Rejoicing like a lark; A taper nearly vanished Amid the dawning gray, And a maiden lifting up her head, And lo, the coming day!

I am no skilful painter; Let who will blame me then That I would teach thee hope and fear With my plain-talking pen!- Fear of the tide of darkness That floweth fast behind, And hope to make thee journey on In the journey of the mind.


FAR AND NEAR . [The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.]

I.

Blue sky above, blue sea below,
Far off, the old Nile's mouth, 'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow
A soft wind from the south.

In great and solemn heaves the mass
Of pulsing ocean beat, Unwrinkled as the sea of glass
Beneath the holy feet.

With forward leaning of desire
The ship sped calmly on, A pilgrim strong that would not tire
Or hasten to be gone.

II.

List!-on the wave!-what can they be,
Those sounds that hither glide? No lovers whisper tremulously
Under the ship's round side!

No sail across the dark blue sphere
Holds white obedient way; No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near,
No following fish at play!

'Tis not the rippling of the wave,
Nor sighing of the cords; No winds or waters ever gave
A murmur so like words;

Nor wings of birds that northward strain,
Nor talk of hidden crew: The traveller questioned, but in vain-
He found no answer true.

III.

A hundred level miles away,
On Egypt's troubled shore, Two nations fought, that sunny day,
With bellowing cannons' roar.

The fluttering whisper, low and near,
Was that far battle's blare; A lipping, rippling motion here,
The blasting thunder there.

IV.

Can this dull sighing in my breast
So faint and undefined, Be the worn edge of far unrest
Borne on the spirit's wind?

The uproar of high battle fought
Betwixt the bond and free, The thunderous roll of armed thought
Dwarfed to an ache in me?


MY ROOM

To G. E. M.

'Tis a little room, my friend- Baby walks from end to end; All the things look sadly real This hot noontide unideal; Vaporous heat from cope to basement All you see outside the casement, Save one house all mud-becrusted, And a street all drought-bedusted! There behold its happiest vision, Trickling water-cart's derision! Shut we out the staring space, Draw the curtains in its face!

Close the eyelids of the room, Fill it with a scarlet gloom: Lo, the walls with warm flush dyed! Lo, the ceiling glorified, As when, lost in tenderest pinks, White rose on the red rose thinks! But beneath, a hue right rosy, Red as a geranium-posy, Stains the air with power estranging, Known with unknown clouding, changing. See in ruddy atmosphere Commonplaceness disappear! Look around on either hand- Are we not in fairyland?

On that couch, inwrapt in mist Of vaporized amethyst, Lie, as in a rose's heart: Secret things I would impart; Any time you would believe them- Easier, though, you will receive them Bathed in glowing mystery Of the red light shadowy; For this ruby-hearted hue, Sanguine core of all the true, Which for love the heart would plunder Is the very hue of wonder; This dissolving dreamy red Is the self-same radiance shed From the heart of poet young, Glowing poppy sunlight-stung: If in light you make a schism 'Tis the deepest in the prism.

This poor-seeming room, in fact Is of marvels all compact, So disguised by common daylight By its disenchanting gray light, Only eyes that see by shining, Inside pierce to its live lining. Loftiest observatory Ne'er unveiled such hidden glory; Never sage's furnace-kitchen Magic wonders was so rich in; Never book of wizard old Clasped such in its iron hold.

See that case against the wall, Darkly-dull-purpureal!- A piano to the prosy, But to us in twilight rosy- What?-A cave where Nereids lie, Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, Dreaming of the time when they Danced in forest and in bay. In that chest before your eyes Nature self-enchanted lies;- Lofty days of summer splendour; Low dim eves of opal tender; Airy hunts of cloud and wind; Brooding storm-below, behind; Awful hills and midnight woods; Sunny rains in solitudes; Babbling streams in forests hoar; Seven-hued icebergs; oceans frore.- Yes; did I not say enchanted , That is, hid away till wanted? Do you hear a low-voiced singing? 'Tis the sorceress's, flinging Spells around her baby's riot, Binding her in moveless quiet:- She at will can disenchant them, And to prayer believing grant them.

You believe me: soon will night Free her hands for fair delight; Then invoke her-she will come. Fold your arms, be blind and dumb. She will bring a book of spells Writ like crabbed oracles; Like Sabrina's will her hands Thaw the power of charmed bands. First will ransomed music rush Round thee in a glorious gush; Next, upon its waves will sally,