A Midsummer Holiday and Other Poems | Page 8

not whence their comfort flowed,?Whence fear was lightened of her fever-fit,?Whence anguish of her life-compelling load.?Yea, no man's head whereon the fire alit,?Of all that passed along that sunset road
Westward, no brow so drear,?No eye so dull of cheer,?No face so mean whereon that light abode,
But as with alien pride?Strange godhead glorified?Each feature flushed from heaven with fire that showed?The likeness of its own life wrought?By strong transfiguration as of living thought.
XXII.
Nor only clouds of the everlasting sky,?Nor only men that paced that sunward way?To the utter bourne of evening, passed not by?Unblest or unillumined: none might say,?Of all things visible in the wide world's eye,?That all too low for all that grace it lay:?The lowliest lakelets of the moorland nigh,?The narrowest pools where shallowest wavelets play,
Were filled from heaven above?With light like fire of love,?With flames and colours like a dawn in May,
As hearts that lowlier live?With light of thoughts that give?Light from the depth of souls more deep than they
Through song's or story's kindling scroll,?The splendour of the shadow that reveals the soul.
XXIII.
For, when such light is in the world, we share,?All of us, all the rays thereof that shine:?Its presence is alive in the unseen air,?Its fire within our veins as quickening wine;?A spirit is shed on all men everywhere,?Known or not known of all men for divine.?Yea, as the sun makes heaven, that light makes fair?All souls of ours, all lesser souls than thine,
Priest, prophet, seer and sage,?Lord of a subject age?That bears thy seal upon it for a sign;
Whose name shall be thy name,?Whose light thy light of fame,?The light of love that makes thy soul a shrine;?Whose record through all years to be?Shall bear this witness written--that its womb bare thee.
XXIV.
O mystery, whence to one man's hand was given?Power upon all things of the spirit, and might?Whereby the veil of all the years was riven?And naked stood the secret soul of night!?O marvel, hailed of eyes whence cloud is driven,?That shows at last wrong reconciled with right?By death divine of evil and sin forgiven!?O light of song, whose fire is perfect light!
No speech, no voice, no thought,?No love, avails us aught?For service of thanksgiving in his sight
Who hath given us all for ever?Such gifts that man gave never?So many and great since first Time's wings took flight.?Man may not praise a spirit above?Man's: life and death shall praise him: we can only love.
XXV.
Life, everlasting while the worlds endure,?Death, self-abased before a power more high,?Shall bear one witness, and their word stand sure,?That not till time be dead shall this man die?Love, like a bird, comes loyal to his lure;?Fame flies before him, wingless else to fly.?A child's heart toward his kind is not more pure,?An eagle's toward the sun no lordlier eye.
Awe sweet as love and proud?As fame, though hushed and bowed,?Yearns toward him silent as his face goes by:
All crowns before his crown?Triumphantly bow down,?For pride that one more great than all draws nigh:?All souls applaud, all hearts acclaim,?One heart benign, one soul supreme, one conquering name.
NOTES
ST. V.?V. 3. La Légende des Siècles: Le Sacre de la Femme.
4. La Conscience.?7. Booz endormi.?8. Première rencontre du Christ avec le tombeau.?9. La Terre: Hymne.?VI. 3. Les Temps Paniques.
9. La Ville Disparue.?VII. Les Trois Cents.?VIII. 1. Le Détroit de l'Euripe: La Chanson de Sophocle à Salamine.
7. Le Romancero du Cid.?IX. 3. Le Petit Roi de Galice.
5. Le Jour des Rois.?9. Montfaucon.?X. La vision d'où est sorti ce livre.?XI. 9. L'an neuf de l'Hégire.
12. Les sept merveilles du monde.?XII. 1. Les quatre jours d'Elciis.
4. Le Régiment du baron Madruce.?7. La Chanson des Aventuriers de la Mer.?9. Les Re?tres.?12. La Rose de l'Infante.?XIII. 1. Le Satyre.
12. Les paysans au bord de la mer.?XIV. 1. Les pauvres gens.
5. Petit Paul.?7. Guerre Civile.?9. La Vision de Dante.?15. La Trompette du Jugement.?XV. Torquemada (1882).?XVI. La Légende des Siècles: tome cinquième et dernier (1883). XVII. November 25, 1883.
_LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI._
Italia, mother of the souls of men,
Mother divine,?Of all that served thee best with sword or pen,
All sons of thine,
Thou knowest that here the likeness of the best
Before thee stands,?The head most high, the heart found faithfullest,
The purest hands.
Above the fume and foam of time that flits,
The soul, we know,?Now sits on high where Alighieri sits
With Angelo.
Not his own heavenly tongue hath heavenly speech
Enough to say?What this man was, whose praise no thought may reach,
No words can weigh.
Since man's first mother brought to mortal birth
Her first-born son,?Such grace befell not ever man on earth
As crowns this one.
Of God nor man was ever this thing said,
That he could give?Life back to her who gave him, whence his dead
Mother might live.
But this man found his mother dead and slain,
With fast sealed eyes,?And bade the dead rise up and live again,
And she did rise.
And all the world was bright with her through