"Life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; He heard far voices mock his own, The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, Long roll of waves unknown.
"The arrows of his straining sight Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage, Like lost guides calling left and right, Perplexed his doubtful age.
"Like childhood, listening for the sound Of its dropped pebbles in the well, All vainly down the dark profound His brief-lined plummet fell.
"So, scattering flowers with pious pains On old beliefs, of later creeds, Which claimed a place in Truth's domains, He asked the title-deeds.
"He saw the old-time's groves and shrines In the long distance fair and dim; And heard, like sound of far-off pines, The century-mellowed hymn!
"He dared not mock the Dervish whirl, The Brahmin's rite, the Lama's spell; God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl Might sanctify the shell.
"While others trod the altar stairs He faltered like the publican; And, while they praised as saints, his prayers Were those of sinful man.
"For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law, The trembling faith alone sufficed, That, through its cloud and flame, he saw The sweet, sad face of Christ!
"And listening, with his forehead bowed, Heard the Divine compassion fill The pauses of the trump and cloud With whispers small and still.
"The words he spake, the thoughts he penned, Are mortal as his hand and brain, But, if they served the Master's end, He has not lived in vain!"
Heaven make thee better than thy name, Child of my friends!--For thee I crave What riches never bought, nor fame To mortal longing gave.
I pray the prayer of Plato old: God make thee beautiful within, And let thine eyes the good behold In everything save sin!
Imagination held in check To serve, not rule, thy poised mind; Thy Reason, at the frown or beck Of Conscience, loose or bind.
No dreamer thou, but real all,-- Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth; Life made by duty epical And rhythmic with the truth.
So shall that life the fruitage yield Which trees of healing only give, And green-leafed in the Eternal field Of God, forever live!
1853.
A MEMORY
Here, while the loom of Winter weaves The shroud of flowers and fountains, I think of thee and summer eves Among the Northern mountains.
When thunder tolled the twilight's close, And winds the lake were rude on, And thou wert singing, _Ca' the Yowes_, The bonny yowes of Cluden!
When, close and closer, hushing breath, Our circle narrowed round thee, And smiles and tears made up the wreath Wherewith our silence crowned thee;
And, strangers all, we felt the ties Of sisters and of brothers; Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes Now smile upon another's?
The sport of Time, who still apart The waifs of life is flinging; Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart Draw nearer for that singing!
Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, And twilight's fire is gleaming, I hear the songs of Scotland's bard Sound softly through my dreaming!
A song that lends to winter snows The glow of summer weather,-- Again I hear thee ca' the yowes To Cluden's hills of heather
1854.
MY DREAM.
In my dream, methought I trod, Yesternight, a mountain road; Narrow as Al Sirat's span, High as eagle's flight, it ran.
Overhead, a roof of cloud With its weight of thunder bowed; Underneath, to left and right, Blankness and abysmal night.
Here and there a wild-flower blushed, Now and then a bird-song gushed; Now and then, through rifts of shade, Stars shone out, and sunbeams played.
But the goodly company, Walking in that path with me, One by one the brink o'erslid, One by one the darkness hid.
Some with wailing and lament, Some with cheerful courage went; But, of all who smiled or mourned, Never one to us returned.
Anxiously, with eye and ear, Questioning that shadow drear, Never hand in token stirred, Never answering voice I heard!
Steeper, darker!--lo! I felt From my feet the pathway melt.
Swallowed by the black despair, And the hungry jaws of air,
Past the stony-throated caves, Strangled by the wash of waves, Past the splintered crags, I sank On a green and flowery bank,--
Soft as fall of thistle-down, Lightly as a cloud is blown, Soothingly as childhood pressed To the bosom of its rest.
Of the sharp-horned rocks instead, Green the grassy meadows spread, Bright with waters singing by Trees that propped a golden sky.
Painless, trustful, sorrow-free, Old lost faces welcomed me, With whose sweetness of content Still expectant hope was blent.
Waking while the dawning gray Slowly brightened into day, Pondering that vision fled, Thus unto myself I said:--
"Steep and hung with clouds of strife Is our narrow path of life; And our death the dreaded fall Through the dark, awaiting all.
"So, with painful steps we climb Up the dizzy ways of time, Ever in the shadow shed By the forecast of our dread.
"Dread of mystery solved alone, Of the untried and unknown; Yet the end thereof may seem Like the falling of my dream.
"And this heart-consuming care, All our fears of here or there, Change and absence, loss and death, Prove but simple lack of faith."
Thou, O Most Compassionate!
Who didst stoop to our estate, Drinking of the cup we drain, Treading in our path of pain,--
Through the doubt and mystery, Grant to us thy steps to see, And the grace to draw from thence Larger hope and confidence.
Show thy vacant tomb, and let, As of old, the angels sit, Whispering, by its open door "Fear not! He hath gone before!"
1855.