# The Ascent of Man/Poem 2

THE ASCENT OF MAN.
PART I.
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As compressed within the bounded shell
Boundless Ocean seems to surge and swell,
Haunting echoes of an infinite whole
Moan and murmur through Man's finite soul.
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CHAUNTS OF LIFE.
I.
Struck out of dim fluctuant forces and shock of electrical vapour,
Repelled and attracted the atoms flashed mingling in union primeval,
And over the face of the waters far heaving in limitless twilight
Auroral pulsations thrilled faintly, and, striking the blank heaving surface,
The measureless speed of their motion now leaped into light on the waters.
And lo, from the womb of the waters, upheaved in volcanic convulsion,
Ribbed and ravaged and rent there rose bald peaks
and the rocky
Heights of confederate mountains compelling the
fugitive vapours
To take a form as they passed them and float as
clouds through the azure.
Mountains, the broad-bosomed mothers of torrents
and rivers perennial,
Feeding the rivers and plains with patient
persistence, till slowly,
In the swift passage of æons recorded in stone by
Time's graver,
There germ grey films of the lichen and mosses
and palm-ferns gigantic,
And jungle of tropical forest fantastical branches
entwining,
And limitless deserts of sand and wildernesses
primeval.
II.
Love dawned upon the seething waste,
Transformed in ever new avatars
It moved without or pause or haste:
Like sap that moulds the leaves of May
It wrought within the ductile clay.
And vaguely in the pregnant deep,
Clasped by the glowing arms of light
From an eternity of sleep
Within unfathomed gulfs of night
A pulse stirred in the plastic slime
Responsive to the rhythm of Time.
Enkindled in the mystic dark
Life built herself a myriad forms,
And, flashing its electric spark
Through films and cells and pulps and worms,
Flew shuttlewise above, beneath,
Weaving the web of life and death.
And multiplying in the ocean,
Amorphous, rude, colossal things
Lolled on the ooze in lazy motion,
Armed with grim jaws or uncouth wings;
Helpless to lift their cumbering bulk
They lurch like some dismasted hulk.
And virgin forest, verdant plain,
The briny sea, the balmy air,
Each blade of grass and globe of rain,
And glimmering cave and gloomy lair
Began to swarm with beasts and birds,
With floating fish and fleet-foot herds.
The lust of life's delirious fires
Burned like a fever in their blood,
Now pricked them on with fierce desires,
Now drove them famishing for food,
To seize coy females in the fray,
Or hotly hunted hunt for prey.
And amorously urged them on
In wood or wild to court their mate,
Proudly displaying in the sun
With antics strange and looks elate,
The vigour of their mighty thews
Or charm of million-coloured hues.
There crouching 'mid the scarlet bloom,
Voluptuously the leopard lies,
And through the tropic forest gldom
The flaming of his feline eyes
Stirs with intoxicating stress
The pulses of the leopardess.   Or two swart bulls of self-same age
Meet furiously with thunderous roar,
And lash together, blind with rage,
And clanging horns that fain would gore
Their rival, and so win the prize Of those impassive female eyes.
Or in the nuptial days of spring, When April kindles bush and brier, Like rainbows that have taken wing. Or palpitating gems of fire, Bright butterflies in one brief day Live but to love and pass away.
And herds of horses scour the plains, The thickets scream with bird and beast The love of life burns in their veins, And from the mightiest to the least Each preys upon the other's life In inextinguishable strife.
War rages on the teeming earth; The hot and sanguinary fight Begins with each new creature's birth: A dreadful war where might is right:
Where still the strongest slay and win, Where weakness is the only sin.
There is no truce to this drawn battle, Which ends but to begin again; The drip of blood, the hoarse death-rattle, The roar of rage, the shriek of pain, Are rife in fairest grove and dell, Turning earth's flowery haunts to hell.
A hell of hunger, hatred, lust, Which goads all creatures here below, Or blindworm wriggling in the dust, Or penguin in the Polar snow: A hell where there is none to save, Where life is life's insatiate grave.
And in the long portentous strife, Where types are tried even as by fire, Where life is whetted upon life And step by panting step mounts higher,
Apes lifting hairy arms now stand
And free the wonder-working hand.   They raise a light, aerial house
On shafts of widely branching trees,
Where, harboured warily, each spouse
May feed her little ape in peace,
Green cradled in his heaven-roofed bed,
Leaves rustling lullabies o'erhead.   And lo, 'mid recking swarms of earth
Grim struggling in the primal wood,
A new strange creature hath its birth:
Wild—stammering—nameless—shameless—nude;
Spurred on by want, held in by fear,
He hides his head in caverns drear.   Most unprotected of earth's kin,
His fight for life that seems so vain
Sharpens his senses, till within
The twilight mazes of his brain,
Like embryos within the womb,
Thought pushes feelers through the gloom.   And slowly in the fateful race
It grows unconscious, till at length
The helpless savage dares to face
The cave-bear in his grisly strength;
For stronger than its bulky thews
He feels a force that grows with use.   From age to dumb unnumbered age,
By dim gradations long and slow,
He reaches on from stage to stage,
Through fear and famine, weal and woe
And, compassed round with danger, still
Prolongs his life by craft and skill.   With cunning hand he shapes the flint.
He carves the horn with strange device,
He splits the rebel block by dint
Of effort—till one day there flies
A spark of fire from out the stone:
Fire which shall make the world his own.
III.
Man day by day wins his imperilled life;
For, goaded on by want, he hunts the roe,
Chases the deer, and lays the wild boar low.
In his rude boat made of the hollow trees
He drifts adventurous on the unoared seas,
And, as he tilts upon the rocking tide,
Catches the glistening fish that flash and glide
Innumerably through the waters wide.
He'll fire the bush whose flames shall help him fel
The trunks to prop his roof, where he may dwell
Beside the bubbling of a crystal well,
Sheltered from drenching rains or noxious glare
When the sun holds the zenith. Delving there,
His cumbered wife, whose multifarious toil
Seems never done, breaks the rich virgin soil,
And in the ashes casts the casual seeds Of feathered grass and efflorescent weeds; When, as with thanks, the bounteous earth one morn Returns lush blades of life-sustaining corn. And while the woman digs and plants, and twines To precious use long reeds and pliant bines, He—having hit the brown bird on the wing, And slain the roe—returns at evening, And gives his spoil unto her, to prepare The succulent, wildwood scented, simmering fare, While with impatient sniffs and eager-eyed His bronze-limbed children gather to his side. And, when the feast is done, all take their ease, Lulled by the sing-song of the evening breeze And murmuring undertones of many-foliaged trees; While here and there through rifts of green the sky Casts its blue glance like an all-seeing eye. But though by stress of want and poignant need Man tames the wolf-sprung hound and rearing steed, Pens up the ram, and yokes the deep-horned ox,
And through wide pastures shepherds woolly flocks; Though age by age, through discipline of toil, Man wring a richer harvest from the soil, And in the grim and still renewing fight Slays loathly worms and beasts of gruesome might By the close-knitted bondage of the clan, Which adding up the puny strength of man Makes thousands move with one electric thrill Of simultaneous, energetic will; Yet still behind the narrow borderland Where in security he seems to stand, His apprehensive life is compassed round By baffling mysteries he cannot sound, Where, big with terrors and calamities, The future like a foe in ambush lies: A muffled foe, that seems to watch and wait With the Medusa eyes of stony fate.— Great floods o'erwhelm and ruin his ripening grain, His boat is shattered by the hurricane,
From the rent cloud the tameless lightning springs— Heaven's flame-mouthed dragon with a roar of wings— And fires his hut and simple household things; Until before his horror-stricken eyes The stored-up produce of long labour lies, A heap of ashes smoking 'neath the skies.— Or now the pastures where his flocks did graze, Parched, withered, shrivelled by the imminent blaze Of the great ball of fire that glares above, Glow dry like iron heated in a stove; Turning upon themselves, the tortured sheep, With blackening tongues, drop heap on gasping heap, Their rotting flesh sickens the wind that moans And whistles poisoned through their chattering bones; While the thin shepherd, staring sick and gaunt, Will search the thorns for berries, or yet haunt
The stony channels of some river-bed Where filtering fresh perchance a liquid thread Of water may run clear.—Now dark o'erhead, Thickening with storm, the wintry clouds will loom, And wrap the land in weeds of mournful gloom; Shrouding the sun and every lesser light Till earth with all her aging woods grows white, And hurrying streams stop fettered in their flight. Then famished beasts freeze by the frozen lakes, And thick as leaves dead birds bestrew the brakes; And, cowering blankly by the flickering flame, Man feels a presence without form or name, When by the bodies of his speechless dead In barbarous woe he bows his stricken head. Then in the hunger of his piteous love He sends his thought, winged like a carrier dove— Through the unanswering silence void and vast, Whence from dim hollows blows an icy blast— To bring some sign, some little sign at last,
From his lost chiefs—the beautiful, the brave— Vanished like bubbles on a breaking wave, Lost in the unfathomed darkness of the grave. When, lo, behold beside him in the night,— Softly beside him, like the noiseless light Of moonbeams moving o'er the glimmering floor That come unbidden through the bolted door,— The lonely sleeper sees the lost one stand Like one returned from some dim, distant land. Bending towards him with his outstretched hand. But when he fain would grasp it in his own. He melts into thin moonshine and is gone— A spirit now, who on the other shore Of death hunts happily for evermore.— A Son of Life, but dogged, while he draws breath, By her inseparable shadow—death, Man, feeble Man, whom unknown Fates appal, With prayer and praise seeks to propitiate all The spirits, who, for good or evil plight, Bless him in victory or in sickness smite.
Those are his Dead who, wrapped in grisly shrouds,
Now ride phantasmal on the rushing clouds,
Souls of departed chiefs whose livid forms
He sees careering on the reinless storms,
Wild, spectral huntsmen who tumultuously,
With loud halloo and shrilly echoing cry,
Follow the furious chase, with the whole pack
Of shadowy hounds fierce yelping in the track
Of wolves and bears as shadowy as the hosts
Who lead once more as unsubstantial ghosts
Their lives of old as restlessly they fly
Across the wildernesses of the sky.
When the wild hunt is done, shall they not rest
Their heads upon some swan-white maiden's breast,
And quaff their honeyed mead with godlike zest
In golden-gated Halls whence they may see
The earth and marvellous secrets of the Sea
Whereon the clouds will lie with grey wings furled,
And in whose depths, voluminously curled, The serpent looms whose girth engirds the world? Far, far above now in supernal power Those spirits rule the sunshine and the shower! How shall he win their favour; yea, how move To pity the unpitying gods above, The Dæmon rulers of life's fitful dream, Who sway men's destinies, and still would seem To treat them lightly as a game of chance, The sport of whim and blindfold circumstance— The irresponsible, capricious gods, So quick to please or anger; whose sharp rods Are storms and lightnings launched from cloven skies; Who feast upon the shuddering victim's cries, The smell of blood, and human sacrifice. But ever as Man grows they grow with him; Terrific, cruel, gentle, bright, or dim, With eyes of dove-like mercy, hands of wrath, Procession-like, they hover o'er his path
And, changing with the gazer, borrow light From their rapt devotee's adoring sight. And Ormuzd, Ashtaroth, Osiris, Baal— Love spending gods and gods of blood and wail— Look down upon their suppliant from the skies With his own magnified, responsive eyes. For Man, from want and pressing hunger freed, Begins to feel another kind of need, And in his shaping brain and through his eyes Nature, awakening, sees her blue-arched skies; The Sun, his life-begetter, isled in space; The Moon, the Measurer of his span of days; The immemorial stars who pierce his night With inklings of things vast and infinite. All shows of heaven and earth that move and pass Take form within his brain as in a glass. The tidal thunder of the sea now roars And breaks symphonious on a hundred shores; The fitful flutings of the vagrant breeze Strike gusts of sound from virgin forest trees;
White leaping waters of wild cataracts fall From crag and jag in lapses musical, And streams meandering amid daisied leas Throb with the pulses of tumultuous seas. From hills and valleys smoking mists arise, Steeped in pale gold and amethystine dyes. The land takes colour from him, and the flowers Laugh in his path like sun-dyed April showers. The moving clouds in calm or thunderstorm, All shows of things in colour, sound, or form Moulded mysteriously, are freshly wrought Within the fiery furnace of his thought.
IV.
Man builds the city wall That shall withstand her league of levelling storms; He builds tremendous tombs Where, hid in hoarded glooms, His dead defy corruption with her worms: High towers he rears and bulks of glowing stone, Where the king rules upon a golden throne.
Creature of hopes and fears. Of mirth and many tears, He makes himself a thousand costly altars. Whence smoke of sacrifice, Fragrant with myrrh and spice, Ascends to heaven as the flame leaps and falters; Where, like a king above the Cloud control, God sits enthroned and rules Man's subject soul.
Yet grievous here below And manifold Man's woe; Though he can stay the flood and bind the waters, His hand he shall not stay That bids him sack and slay And turn the waving fields to fields of slaughters; And, as he reaps War's harvest grim and gory. Commits a thousand crimes and calls it glory.
Vast empires fall and rise, As when in sunset skies The monumental clouds lift flashing towers With turrets, spires, and bars Lit by confederate stars Till the bright rack dissolves in flying showers: Kingdoms on kingdoms have their fleeting day, Dazzle the conquered world, and pass away.
In golden Morning lands The blazing crowns change hands, From mystic Ind to fleshly Babylon,
Assyria, Palestine Armed with her bock divine, Dread Persia whose fleet chariots charged and won Pale Continents where prostrate monarchs kneel Before the flash of her resistless steel.
As one by one they start With proudly beating heart Fast in the furious, fierce-contested race, Where neck to neck they strain Deliriously to gain The winning post of power, the meed of praise; Some drop behind, fall, or are trampled down While the proud victor grasps the laurel crown.
Not only great campaigns Shall glorify their reigns, But high-towered cities wondrous to behold, I With gardens poised in air Like bowers of Eden fair, With brazen gates and shrines of beaten gold,
And Palace courts whose constellated lights Shine on black slaves and cringing satellites.
Eclipsing with her fate Each power and rival state With her unnumbered stretch of generations, A sand-surrounded isle Fed by the bounteous Nile, Egypt confronts Sahara—sphinx of nations; Taught by the floods that make or mar her shore, She scans the stars and hoards mysterious lore.
Hers are imperial halls With strangely scriptured walls And long perspectives of memorial places, Where the hushed daylight glows On mute colossal rows Of clawed wild beasts featured with female faces,
And realmless kings inane whose stony eyes Have watched the hour-glass of the centuries.
There in the rainless sands The toil of captive hands, That aye must do as their taskmaster bids, Through years of dusty days Brick by slow brick shall raise The incarnate pride of kings—the Pyramids— Linked with some name synonymous with slaughter Time has effaced like a name writ in water.
For ever with fateful shocks, Roar as of hurtling rocks, Start fresh embattled hosts with flags unfurled, To meet on battle-fields With clash of spears and shields, Widowing the world of men to win the world: The hissing air grows dark with iron rain, And groans the earth beneath her sheaves of slain.
Triumphant o'er them all, See crowns and sceptres fall Before the arms of iron-soldered legions; As Capitolian Rome Across the salt sea foam Orders her Cæsars to remotest regions: From silver Spain and Albion's clouded seas To the fair shrines and marble mines of Greece.
Pallas unmatched in war, To her triumphal car Rome chains fallen despots and discrownèd queens With many a rampant beast, Birds from the gorgeous East, And wool-haired Nubians torn from tropic scenes; There huge barbarians from Druidic woods Tower ominous o'er the humming multitudes;
For still untamed and free In loathed captivity, Their spirits bend not to the conqueror's yoke,
Though for a Roman sight They must in mimic fight Give wounds in play and deal Death's mortal stroke, While round the arena rings the fierce applause Voluptuous, as their bubbling life-blood flows
In streams of purple rain From hecatombs of slain Saluting Cæsar still with failing breath, But in their dying souls Undying hate, which rolls From land to land the avalanche of Death, That, gathering volume as it sweeps along, Pours down the Alps throng on unnumbered throng.
From northern hills and plains Storm-lashed by driving rains, From moorland wastes and depths of desolate wood,
From many an icebound shore, The human torrents pour, Horde following upon horde as flood on flood, Avengers of the slain they come, they come, And break in thunder on the walls of Rome.
A trembling people waits As, surging through its gates, Break the fierce Goths with trumpet-blasts of doom; And many a glorious shrine Begins to flare and shine, And many a palace flames up through the gloom, Kindled like torches by relentless wrath To light the Spoiler on destruction's path.
Yea, with Rome's ravished walls, The old world tottering falls And crumbles into ruin wide and vast;
The Empire seems to rock As with an earthquake's shock, And vassal provinces look on aghast; As realms are split and nation rent from nation, The globe seems drifting to annihilation.
V.
Came the tidings borne o'er wide dominions; The glad tidings thrilled the world as when Spring comes fluttering on the west wind's pinions, When her voice is heard Warbling through each bird, And a new-born hope Throbs through all things infinite in scope.
"Peace on earth and good will!" came the word Of the Son of Man, the Man of Sorrow— But the peace turned to a flaming sword, Turned to woe and wailing on the morrow When with gibes and scorns, Crowned with barren thorns, Gashed and crucified, On the Cross the tortured Jesus died.
And the world, once full of flower-hung shrines, Now forsakes old altars for the new, Zeus grows faint and Venus' star declines As Jehovah glorifies the Jew, He whom—lit with awe— God-led Moses saw, Graving with firm hand In his people's heart his Lord's command.
Holding Hells and Heavens in either hand Comes the priest and comes the wild-eyed prophet, Tells the people of some happier land, Terrifies them with a burning Tophet; Gives them creeds for bread And warm roof o'erhead, Gives for life's delight Passports to the kingdom, spirit-bright.
And the people groaning everywhere Hearken gladly to the wondrous story,
How beyond this life of toil and care They shall lead a life of endless glory: Where beyond the dim Earth-mists Seraphim, Love-illumined, wait— Hierarchies of angels at heaven's gate.
Let them suffer while they live below. Bear in silence weariness and pain; For the heavier is their earthly woe, Verily the heavenlier is their gain In the mansions where Sorrow and despair, Yea, all moan shall cease With the moan of immemorial seas.
And to save their threatened souls from sin. Save them from the world, the flesh, the devil, Men and Women break from bonds of kin And in cloistered cell draw bar on evil,
Worship on their knees Sacred Images, And all Saints above, The Madonna, mystic Rose of love.
Mystic Rose of Maiden Motherhood, Moon of Hearts immaculately mild, Beaming o'er the turbulent times and rude With the promise of her blessed Child: Whom pale Monks adore, Pining evermore For the heaven of love Which their homesick lives are dying of.
But the flame of mystical desires Turns to fury fiercer than a leopard's, Holy fagots blaze with kindling fires As the priests, the people's careful shepherds, In Heaven's awful name, Set the pile on flame
Where, for Conscience' sake,
Heretics burn chaunting at the stake.
Subterranean secrets of the prison,
Throbs of anguish in the crushing cell.
Torture-chambers of the Inquisition Are the Church's antidotes to Hell. Better rack them here, Mutilate and sear, Than their souls should go To the place of everlasting woe.
And a lurid universal night,
Lit by quenchless fires for unquenched sages, Thick with spectral broods that shun the light, Looms impervious o'er the stifled ages Where the blameless wise
Fall a sacrifice,
Fall as fell of old
The unspotted firstlings of the fold.
And the violent feud of clashing creeds Shatters empires and breaks realms asunder; Cities tremble, sceptres shake like reeds At the swift bolts of the Papal thunder; Yea, the bravest quail, Cast from out the pale Of all Christendom By the dread anathemas of Rome.
And like one misled by marish gleams When he hears the shrill cock's note of warning, Europe, starting from its trance of dreams, Sees the first streak of the clear-eyed morning As it broadening stands Over ravaged lands Where mad nations are Locked in grip of fratricidal war.
Castles burn upon the vine-clad knolls, Huts glow smouldering in the trampled meadows;
And a hecatomb of martyred souls Fills a queenly town with wail of widows In those branded hours When red-guttering showers Splash by courts and stews To the Bells of Saint Bartholomew's.
Seed that's sown upon the wanton wind Shall be harvested in whirlwind rages, For revenge and hate bring forth their kind, And black crime must ever be the wages Of a nation's crime Time transmits to time, Till the score of years Is wiped out in floods of staunchless tears.
Yea, the anguish in a people's life May have eaten out its heart of pity, Bred in scenes of scarlet sin and strife, Heartless splendours of a haughty city;
Dark with lowering fate, At the massive gate Of its kings it may Stand and knock with tragic hand one day.
For the living tomb gives up its dead, Bastilles yawn, and chains are rent asunder, Little children now and hoary head, Man and maiden, meet in joy and wonder; Throng on radiant throng. Brave and blithe and strong, Gay with pine and palm, Fill fair France with freedom's thunder-psalm.
Free and equal—rid of king and priest— The rapt nation bids each neighbour nation To partake the sacramental feast And communion of the Federation: And electrified Masses, far and wide,
Thrill to hope and start Vibrating as with one common heart.
From the perfumed South of amorous France With her wreath of orange bloom and myrtle, From old wizard woods of lost Romance Soft with wail of wind and voice of turtle, From the roaring sea Of grey Normandy, And the rich champaigns Where the vine gads o'er Burgundian plains;
From the banks of the blue arrowy Rhone, And from many a Western promontory, From volcanic crags of cloven stone Crowned with castles ivy-green in story; From gay Gascon coasts March fraternal hosts, Equal hosts and free, Pilgrims to the shrine of liberty.
But king calls on king in wild alarms, Troops march threatening through the vales and passes, Barefoot Faubourgs at the cry to arms On the frontier hurl their desperate masses: The deep tocsin's boom Fills the streets with gloom, And with iron hand The red Terror guillotines the land.
For the Furies of the sanguine past Chase fair Freedom, struggling torn and baffled, Till infuriate—turned to bay at last— Rolled promiscuous on the common scaffold, Vengeful she shall smite A Queen's head bleached white. And a courtesan's Whose light hands once held the reins of France.
She shall smite and spare not—yea, her own, Her fair sons so pure from all pollution, With their guiltless life-blood must atone To the goddess of the Revolution; Dying with a song On their lips, her young Ardent children end, Meeting death even as one meets a friend.
And her daughter, in heroic shame, Turned to Freedom's Moloch statue, crying: "Liberty, what crimes done in thy name!" Spake, and with her Freedom's self seemed dying As she bleeding lay 'Neath Napoleon's sway: Europe heard her knell When on Waterloo the Empire fell.
VI.
No rest for him, no peace is to be found; He may have tamed wild beasts and made the ground Yield corn and wine and every kind of food; He may have turned the ocean to his steed, Tutored the lightning's elemental speed To flash his thouglit from Ætna to Atlantic; He may have weighed the stars and spanned the stream, And trained the fiery force of panting steam To whirl him o'er vast steppes and heights gigantic: But the storm-lashed world of feeling— Love, the fount of tears unsealing, Choruses of passion pealing—
Lust, ambition, hatred, awe, Clashing loudly with the law, But the phantasms of the mind Who shall master, yea, who bind!
What help is there without, what hope within Of rescue from the immemorial strife? What will redeem him from the spasm of life, With all its devious ways of shame and sin? What will redeem him from ancestral greeds, Grey legacies of hate and hoar misdeeds. Which from the guilty past Man doth inherit— The past that is bound up with him, and part Of the pulsations of his inmost heart, And of the vital motions of his spirit? Ages mazed in tortuous errors, Ghostly fears, and haunting terrors, Minds bewitched that served as mirrors For the foulest fancies bred In a fasting hermit's head,
Such as cast a sickly blight On all shapes of life and light.
Yea, panting and pursued and stung and driven, The soul of Man flies on in deep distress, As once across the world's harsh wilderness Latona fled, chased by the Queen of heaven; Flying across the homeless Universe From the inveterate stroke of Juno's curse; On whom even mother earth closed all her portals, Refusing shelter in her cooing bowers, Or rest upon her velvet couch of flowers, To the most weary of all weary mortals. Within whose earth-encumbered form, Like two fair stars entwined in storm, Or wings astir within the worm, Feeling out for light and air, Struggled that celestial pair, Phœbus of unerring bow, And chaste Dian fair as snow.
Ah, who will harbour her? Ah, who will save The fugitive from pangs that rack and tear; Who, finding rest nor refuge anywhere, Seems doomed to be her unborn offspring's grave; The seed of Jove, murdered before their birth— Did not the sea, more merciful than earth, Bid Delos stand—that wandering isle of Ocean— Stand motionless upon the moving foam, To be the exile's wave-encircled home, And lull her pains with leaves in drowsy motion, Where the soft-boughed olive sighing Bends above the woman lying And in spasms of anguish crying, Shuddering through her mortal frame. As from dust is struck the flame Which shall henceforth beam sublime Through the firmament of Time?
Oh, balmy Island bedded on the brine, Harbour of refuge on the tumbling seas,
The fabulous bowers of the Hesperides
Ne'er bore such blooming gold as glows in thine:
Thou green Oasis on the tides of Time
Where no rude blast disturbs the azure clime;
Thou Paradise whence man can ne'er be driven,
Where, severed from the world-clang and the roar,
Still in the flesh he yet may reach that shore
Where want is not, and, like the dew from heaven,
There drops upon the fevered soul
The balm of Thought's divine control
And rapt absorption in the whole:
Delivery in the realm of art
Of the world-racked human heart—
Forms and hues and sounds that make
Life grow lovelier for their sake.
By sheer persistence, strenuous and slow,
The marble yields and, line by flowing line
And curve by curve, begins to swell and shine
Beneath the ring of each far-sighted blow:
Until the formless block obeys the hand, And at the mastermg mind's supreme command Takes form and radiates from each limb and feature Such beauty as ne'er bloomed in mortal mould, Whose face, out-smiling centuries, shall hold Perfection's mirror up to 'prentice nature. Not from out voluptuous ocean Venus rose in balanced motion, Goddess of all bland emotion; But she leaped a shape of light, Radiating love's delight, From the sculptor's brain to be Sphered in immortality.
New spirit-yearnings for a heavenlier mood Call for a love more pitiful and tender, And 'neath the painter's touch blooms forth in splendour The image of transfigured motherhood.
All hopes of all glad women who have smiled In adoration on their first-born child Here smile through one glad woman made immortal; All tears of all sad women through whose heart Has pierced the edge of sorrow's sevenfold dart Lie weeping with her at death's dolorous portal. For in married hues whose splendour Bodies forth the gloom and grandeur Of life's pageant, tragic, tender, Common things transfigured flush By the magic of the brush, As when sun-touched raindrops glow, Blent in one harmonious bow.
But see, he comes. Lord of life's changeful shows, To whom the ways of Nature are laid bare, Who looks on heaven and makes the heavens more fair, And adds new sweetness to the perfumed rose;
Who can unseal the heart with all its tears, Marshal loves, hates, hopes, sorrows, joys, and fears In quick procession o'er the passive pages; Who has given tongue to silent generations And wings to thought, so that long-mouldered nations May call to nations o'er the abyss of ages: The poet, in whose shaping brain Life is created o'er again With loftier raptures, loftier pain; Whose mighty potencies of verse Move through the plastic Universe, And fashion to their strenuous will The world that is creating still.
Do you hear it, do you hear it Soaring up to heaven, or somewhere near it? From the depths of life upheaving, Clouds of earth and sorrow cleaving, From despair and death retrieving,
All triumphant blasts of sound Lift you at one rhythmic bound From the thraldom of the ground. *****All the sweetness which the glowing Violets waft to west winds blowing, All the burning love-notes aching, Rills and thrills of rapture shaking Through the hearts that throb to breaking Of the little nightingales; Mellow murmuring waters streaming Lakeward in long silver trails, Crooning low while earth lies dreaming To the moonlight-tangled vales; Swish of rain on half-blown roses Hoarding close their rich perfume, Which the summer dawn uncloses Sparkling in their morning bloom; Convent peals o'er pastoral meadows, Swinging through hay-scented air
When the velvet-footed shadows Call the hind to evening prayer. Yea, all notes of woods and highlands; Sea-fowls' screech round sphinx-like islands Couched among the Hebrides; Cuckoo calls through April showers, When the green fields froth with flowers And with bloom the orchard trees. Boom of surges with their hollow Refluent shock from cave to cave, As the maddening spring tides follow Moonstruck reeling wave o'er wave. Yea, all rhythms of air and ocean Married to the heart's emotion, To the intervolved emotion Of the heart for ever turning In a whirl of bliss and pain, Blending in symphonious strain All the vague, unearthly yearning Of the visionary brain. *****
All life's discords sweetly blending, Heights on heights of being ascending, Harmonies of confluent sound Lift you at one rhythmic bound From the thraldom of the ground; Loosen all your bonds of birth, Clogs of sense and weights of earth. Bear you in angelic legions High above terrestrial regions Into ampler ether, where Spirits breathe a finer air, Where upon world altitudes God-intoxicated moods Fill you with beatitudes; Till no longer cramped and bound By the narrow human round. All the body's barriers slide. Which with cold obstruction hide The supreme, undying, sole Spirit struggling through the whole,
And no more a thing apart
From the universal heart
Liberated by the grace
Of man's genius for a space,
Human lives dissolve, enlace
In a flaming world embrace.