The Poetical Works of George MacDonald, vol 1 | Page 2

outward
maker's force, or like an inward father.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S Arcadia.
_Written December and January_, 1850-51.
TO L.P.M.D.
Receive thine own; for I and it are thine. Thou know'st its story; how
for forty days-- Weary with sickness and with social haze, (After thy
hands and lips with love divine Had somewhat soothed me, made the
glory shine, Though with a watery lustre,) more delays Of blessedness
forbid--I took my ways Into a solitude, Invention's mine; There thought
and wrote, afar, and yet with thee. Those days gone past, I came, and
brought a book; My child, developed since in limb and look. It came in
shining vapours from the sea, And in thy stead sung low sweet songs to
me, When the red life-blood labour would not brook.
_May_, 1855.

WITHIN AND WITHOUT
PART I.
Go thou into thy closet; shut thy door; And pray to Him in secret: He
will hear. But think not thou, by one wild bound, to clear The
numberless ascensions, more and more, Of starry stairs that must be
climbed, before Thou comest to the Father's likeness near, And bendest
down to kiss the feet so dear That, step by step, their mounting flights
passed o'er. Be thou content if on thy weary need There falls a sense of
showers and of the spring; A hope that makes it possible to fling
Sickness aside, and go and do the deed; For highest aspiration will not
lead Unto the calm beyond all questioning.
SCENE I.--A cell in a convent. JULIAN alone.
Julian. Evening again slow creeping like a death! And the red
sunbeams fading from the wall, On which they flung a sky, with streaks
and bars Of the poor window-pane that let them in, For clouds and

shadings of the mimic heaven! Soul of my cell, they part, no more to
come. But what is light to me, while I am dark! And yet they strangely
draw me, those faint hues, Reflected flushes from the Evening's face,
Which as a bride, with glowing arms outstretched, Takes to her
blushing heaven him who has left His chamber in the dim deserted east.
Through walls and hills I see it! The rosy sea! The radiant head
half-sunk! A pool of light, As the blue globe had by a blow been
broken, And the insphered glory bubbled forth! Or the sun were a
splendid water-bird, That flying furrowed with its golden feet A
flashing wake over the waves, and home! Lo there!--Alas, the dull
blank wall!--High up, The window-pane a dead gray eye! and night
Come on me like a thief!--Ah, well! the sun Has always made me sad!
I'll go and pray: The terror of the night begins with prayer.
(Vesper bell.) Call them that need thee; I need not thy summons; My
knees would not so pain me when I kneel, If only at thy voice my
prayer awoke. I will not to the chapel. When I find Him, Then will I
praise him from the heights of peace; But now my soul is as a speck of
life Cast on the deserts of eternity; A hungering and a thirsting, nothing
more. I am as a child new-born, its mother dead, Its father far away
beyond the seas. Blindly I stretch my arms and seek for him: He goeth
by me, and I see him not. I cry to him: as if I sprinkled ashes, My
prayers fall back in dust upon my soul.
(_Choir and organ-music_.) I bless you, sweet sounds, for your visiting.
What friends I have! Prismatic harmonies Have just departed in the
sun's bright coach, And fair, convolved sounds troop in to me, Stealing
my soul with faint deliciousness. Would they took shapes! What levees
I should hold! How should my cell be filled with wavering forms!
Louder they grow, each swelling higher, higher; Trembling and
hesitating to float off, As bright air-bubbles linger, that a boy Blows,
with their interchanging, wood-dove-hues, Just throbbing to their flight,
like them to die. --Gone now! Gone to the Hades of dead loves! Is it for
this that I have left the world?-- Left what, poor fool? Is this, then, all
that comes Of that night when the closing door fell dumb On music and
on voices, and I went Forth from the ordered tumult of the dance,
Under the clear cope of the moonless night, Wandering away without

the city-walls, Between the silent meadows and the stars, Till
something woke in me, and moved my spirit, And of themselves my
thoughts turned toward God; When straight within my soul I felt as if
An eye was opened; but I knew not whether 'Twas I that saw, or God
that looked on me? It closed again, and darkness fell; but not To hide
the