189

Some shadow of the glory of our King,
Fades not on earth, nor with our years doth end;
Nay, even earth's poor physical powers transcend
The narrow bounds of space and time,
The swift thought by some mystic sympathy
Speeding through desert sand, and storm-tost sea.
And shall we hold the range of mind
Is to our little lives confined;

That the pure heart in some blest sphere above,
Loves not which here was set on fire of love;
The clear eye scans not still, which here could scan
The confines of the Universal plan;

200

The seer nor speaks nor thinks his thoughts sublime, And all of Homer is a speck of lime?

Nay, friend, let us forget

The conflicts of our doubt a little while,

Again our springs shall smile;

We shall not perish yet.

If God so guide our fate,

The nobler portions of ourselves shall last

Till all the lower rounds of life be past,

And we, regenerate.

We too again shall rise,

The same and not the same,

As daily rise upon the orient skies
New dawns with wheels of flame.
So, if it worthy prove,

Our being, self-perfected, shall upward move
To higher essence, and still higher grown;

Not sweeping idle harps before a throne,
Nor spending praise where is no need of praise;
But through unnumbered lives and ages come,
Of pure laborious days,

To an eternal home,

Where spring is not, nor birth, nor any dawn, But life's full noontide never is withdrawn.

JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882)

210

221

FROM THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT
As I came through the desert thus it was,
As I came through the desert: All was black,
In heaven no single star, on earth no track;
A brooding hush without a stir or note,
The air so thick it clotted in my throat;
And thus for hours; then some enormous things
Swooped past with savage cries and clanking wings:
But I strode on austere;

No hope could have no fear.

As I came through the desert thus it was,
As I came through the desert: Eyes of fire
Glared at me throbbing with a starved desire;
The hoarse and heavy and carnivorous breath
Was hot upon me from deep jaws of death;
Sharp claws, swift talons, fleshless fingers cold
Plucked at me from the bushes, tried to hold:
But I strode on austere;

No hope could have no fear.

176

185

ART

I

Since he could not embrace it flushed and warm He has carved in stone the perfect form.

Who gives the fine report of the feast?

What precious thing are you making fast In all these silken lines?

And where and to whom will it go at last?

Such subtle knots and twines!

I am tying up all my love in this,
With all its hopes and fears,
With all its anguish and all its bliss,
And its hours as heavy as years.

I am going to send it afar, afar,

To I know not where above;

To that sphere beyond the highest star Where dwells the soul of my Love.

But in vain, in vain, would I make it fast With countless subtle twines;

For ever its fire breaks out at last,

And shrivels all the lines.

II

If you have a carrier-dove

That can fly over land and sea; And a message for your Love, "Lady, I love but thee!"

And this dove will never stir

But straight from her to you,

And straight from you to her;

As you know and she knows too.

Will you first ensure, O sage,

Your dove that never tires

With your message in a cage, Though a cage of golden wires?

Or will you fling your dove:

"Fly, darling, without rest,

Over land and sea to my Love,

THE EARTHLY PARADISE

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.

But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by,

Made the more mindful that the sweet days die Remember me a little then, I pray,

The idle singer of an empty day.

14

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate

To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lulled by the singer of an empty day.

28

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king

At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow,

Forget six counties overhung with smoke,
Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke,
Forget the spreading of the hideous town;
Think rather of the pack-horse on the down,
And dream of London, small, and white, and
clean,

The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green;
Think, that below bridge the green lapping waves
Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves,
Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up hill,
And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to fill,
And treasured scanty spice from some far sea, 11
Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery,
And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne;
While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's
pen

Moves over bills of lading. mid such times Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes.

20

A nameless city in a distant sea, White as the changing walls of faerie, Thronged with much people clad in ancient guise I now am fain to set before your eyes; There, leave the clear green water and the quays, And pass betwixt its marble palaces, Until ye come unto the chiefest square; A bubbling conduit is set midmost there, And round about it now the maidens throng, With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song, Making but light of labour new begun While in their vessels gleams the morning sun.

On one side of the square a temple stands, Wherein the gods worshipped in ancient lands 30 Still have their altars; a great market-place Upon two other sides fills all the space, And thence the busy hum of men comes forth; But on the cold side looking toward the north A pillared council-house may you behold, Within whose porch are images of gold, Gods of the nations who dwelt anciently About the borders of the Grecian sea.

551

40

Pass now between them, push the brazen door, And standing on the polished marble floor Leave all the noises of the square behind; Most calm that reverent chamber shall ye find, Silent at first, but for the noise you made When on the brazen door your hand you laid To shut it after you but now behold The city rulers on their thrones of gold, Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands Long carven silver-banded ebony wands; Then from the dais drop your eyes and see Soldiers and peasants standing reverently Before those elders, round a little band Who bear such arms as guard the English land, But battered, rent, and rusted sore and they, The men themselves, are shrivelled, bent, and grey; And as they lean with pain upon their spears Their brows seem furrowed deep with more than

years;

For sorrow dulls their heavy sunken eyes; Bent are they less with time than miseries.

THE LADY OF THE LAND

It happened once, some men of Italy Midst the Greek Islands went a sea-roving, And much good fortune had they on the sea: Of many a man they had the ransoming, And many a chain they gat, and goodly thing; And midst their voyage to an isle they came, Whereof my story keepeth not the name.

Now though but little was there left to gain, Because the richer folk had gone away,

Yet since by this of water they were fain They came to anchor in a land-locked bay, Whence in a while some went ashore to play, Going but lightly armed in twos or threes, For midst that folk they feared no enemies.

And of these fellows that thus went ashore, One was there who left all his friends behind; Who going inland ever more and more, And being left quite alone, at last did find A lonely valley sheltered from the wind, Wherein, amidst an ancient cypress wood, A long-deserted ruined castle stood.

50

7

14

21