The Poetical Works of George MacDonald, vol 1 | Page 7

pillars to a marble stall; And odorous woods, shaved fine like shaken
hay, Shall fill the silver manger for a bed, Whereon shall lie the ivory
Infant carved By shepherd hands on plains of Bethlehem. And over him
shall bend the Mother mild, In silken white and coroneted gems.
Glorious! But wherewithal I see not now-- The Mammon of
unrighteousness is scant; Nor know I any nests of money-bees That
could yield half-contentment to my need. Yet will I trust and hope; for
never yet In journeying through this vale of tears have I Projected
pomp that did not blaze anon.

SCENE V.--After midnight. JULIAN seated under a tree by the
roadside.
Julian. So lies my journey--on into the dark! Without my will I find
myself alive, And must go forward. Is it God that draws Magnetic all
the souls unto their home, Travelling, they know not how, but unto God?
It matters little what may come to me Of outward circumstance, as
hunger, thirst, Social condition, yea, or love or hate; But what shall I be,
fifty summers hence? My life, my being, all that meaneth _me_, Goes
darkling forward into something--what? O God, thou knowest. It is not
my care. If thou wert less than truth, or less than love, It were a fearful
thing to be and grow We know not what. My God, take care of me;
Pardon and swathe me in an infinite love, Pervading and inspiring me,
thy child. And let thy own design in me work on, Unfolding the ideal

man in me; Which being greater far than I have grown, I cannot
comprehend. I am thine, not mine. One day, completed unto thine
intent, I shall be able to discourse with thee; For thy Idea, gifted with a
self, Must be of one with the mind where it sprang, And fit to talk with
thee about thy thoughts. Lead me, O Father, holding by thy hand; I ask
not whither, for it must be on.
This road will lead me to the hills, I think; And there I am in safety and
at home.

SCENE VI.--_The Abbot's room. The_ Abbot and one of the Monks.
Abbot. Did she say _Julian_? Did she say the name?
Monk. She did.
Abbot. What did she call the lady? What?
Monk. I could not hear.
Abbot. Nor where she lived? Monk. Nor that. She was too wild for
leading where I would.
Abbot. So! Send Julian. One thing I need not ask: You have kept this
matter secret?
Monk. Yes, my lord. Abbot. Well, go and send him hither.
[Monk goes.] Said I well, That prayer would burgeon into pomp for me?
That God would hear his own elect who cried? Now for a shrine, so
glowing in the means That it shall draw the eyes by power of light! So
tender in conceit, that it shall draw The heart by very strength of
delicateness, And move proud thought to worship! I must act With
caution now; must win his confidence; Question him of the secret
enemies That fight against his soul; and lead him thus To tell me, by
degrees, his history. So shall I find the truth, and lay foundation For
future acts, as circumstance requires. For if the tale be true that he is
rich, And if----

_Re-enter _Monk in haste and terror.
Monk. He's gone, my lord! His cell is empty.
Abbot (_starting up_). What! You are crazy! Gone? His cell is empty?
Monk. 'Tis true as death, my lord. Witness, these eyes!
Abbot. Heaven and hell! It shall not be, I swear! There is a plot in this!
You, sir, have lied! Some one is in his confidence!--who is it? Go rouse
the convent.
[Monk goes.]
He must be followed, found. Hunt's up, friend Julian! First your heels,
old stag! But by and by your horns, and then your side! 'Tis venison
much too good for the world's eating. I'll go and sift this business to the
bran. Robert and him I have sometimes seen together!--God's curse! it
shall fare ill with any man That has connived at this, if I detect him.

SCENE VII.--_Afternoon. The mountains_. JULIAN.
Julian. Once more I tread thy courts, O God of heaven! I lay my hand
upon a rock, whose peak Is miles away, and high amid the clouds.
Perchance I touch the mountain whose blue summit, With the fantastic
rock upon its side, Stops the eye's flight from that high
chamber-window Where, when a boy, I used to sit and gaze With
wondering awe upon the mighty thing, Terribly calm, alone,
self-satisfied, The hitherto of my child-thoughts. Beyond, A sea might
roar around its base. Beyond, Might be the depths of the unfathomed
space, This the earth's bulwark over the abyss. Upon