To David in Heaven. Thirty Years After
PROEM TO DAVID IN HEAVEN
THIRTY YEARS AFTER .
Lo! the pale Moon roaming
Thro' the autumn gloaming,
Walking yonder Heavens alone, as many a year ago!
Lo! the dark streets under,
Hush'd their voice of thunder,
Silenced their mighty streams of life, and still'd their wails of woe!
Lo! Night's benediction
Shed on all things sleeping, —
The round still Moon above, — beneath, the River silently creeping!
Do I dream, or waken? ...
On mine eyelids shaken
Falls the silver dew that shuts so many weary eyes;
Sleeping not, I wander
'Neath the Moon, and ponder,
A dream that wanders in a dream, a soul that sings and sighs —
Sorrow clingeth to me, —
Time hath overcome me, —
Sorrow and Time pursue in vain the friend who was taken from me!
Pale with dead ambition
Comes his Apparition!
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, so beautiful and fair! —
Here in the night he lingers,
Creeps close, with clay-cold fingers
Touches my feverish aching brow, and softly smooths my hair:
My heart breaks within me,
My tears fall, and I name him —
The soul alive with love and light, till the darkness overcame him.
In the City that slew him
My spirit hungereth to him,
Fain would clasp him close, but lo! he fadeth and is gone!
Lone and weary-hearted
I think of days departed,
The shining hope, the golden lure, that led our footsteps on!
That led me even hither
To Night and isolation,
That crowns me with the weary crown of a sunless aspiration!
Is it gone for ever,
The bright young endeavour,
Hope that sang among the stars, and Joy that drank the day?
Has the deeply cherish'd
Aspiration perish'd,
And is the Dream we dream'd of old for ever fled away?
By the strife scarce ended,
By the battle braved,
Whisper a magic word to-night, from the grave where I left you, David!
Help me, — I am failing!
So sad, so unavailing,
Seem these weary waiting years, to your long years of rest!
Yours the sweeter sorrow, —
To strive not night or morrow,
But tranquilly to sleep and dream, as on your mother's breast!
Winter stealeth on me,
The snow-time cometh nigh me, —
Aye me! the Spring, when I was young, and sang, and my friend was by me!
When we trod together
Yonder land of heather,
Poets gladden'd in the world, divinely dower'd and born —
Now, the few remaining,
Sad souls westward waning,
Walk sighing and look backward to the darken'd gates of Morn!
Dead Gods sadly beckon,
Godlike Poets follow, —
The hooting of the owl is heard in the Temples of Apollo!
What, then, shall awaken
Souls of men forsaken
By the Poets, by the Gods, by Hope and Faith and Song?
Teach me, ere I wander
Through the shadows yonder,
One word of comfort and of joy, to make my spirit strong!
Ah, your voice is silent,
Like those greater voices, —
Gone is the glory of the Dawn, and the music that rejoices!
All I sang and sought for,
Agonised and fought for,
In my hand is fairy gold, these wan and withered leaves
Wherefore still importune
Fame or fickle Fortune?
Ah, wherefore chase the Naked Shape that beckons and deceives?
All I plead and pray for
Is one glimpse of Maytime, —
The light of Morning on the fields of the flower-time and the play-time!
How should Fame avail me,
If you and God should fail me,
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, who left me long ago?
Empty now, full measure,
O Fortune, all thy treasure —
Tis but a heap of withered flowers, and never a seed to sow!
All I plead and pray for,
Be it night-time or day-time,
Is one red bud of living bloom from the rose-trees of the Maytime!
Here, alone and weary,
I hear man's miserere
Sound from Temples where the Gods stand frozen into stone;
Loud the world complaineth,
But never a Bard remaineth
To stand upon the mountain-tops and trumpet mortals on!
'Tis over, all is over!
The world lies bereaven
Of Time's young dream, of Love's bright lure, of the Hierarchies of Heaven!
Love me, David, love me!
From thy place above me
Send me strength to stand erect, in Life's great Hippodrome!
The mob shrieks " Ad leones! "
And on the Imperial throne is
Christ with the crown of Antichrist, lord of another Rome:
His legions shriek around him,
His creatures deify him,
But naked in the ring I wait, while the harlot Fame sits by him.
" Loosen the wild beasts! " Hither
!Springs Hate, and Falsehood with her,
Fateful, cruel, leonine, they crouch and gaze at me!
How shall arms avail me
When all the horde assail me,
And foulest, spotted like a snake, the leopard, Calumny!
Alone in the arena,
Strewn with dead and dying,
I look into their eyes and wait, while the horde is multiplying!
Love me, David, love me!
Stay and bend above me!
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, there's still no love like thine!
See! I raise in token
This sword blood-red and broken,
And point at yonder scarlet thing, the Fame we deemed divine:
The imperial Harlot rises,
Her cold dead eyes look thro' me,
With shrill clear voice she crieth " On!" and pointeth the wild beasts to me!
'Tis over! — all the splendid
Dream of joy hath ended!
Fame is Death, and Death is Fame, — and Death is victor here!
Once, in days departed,
Dying happy-hearted
I could have borne the martyr's doom, — but now I shrink in fear.
No Heaven opens o'er me,
I hear no heavenly voices!
Gone is the faith which fights or falls, when the heart of youth rejoices!
This we learn, who linger
Beneath Time's wither'd finger, —
In a little while we cease, and all our dream is o'er;
Youth's fair morning vision
Of God and life Elysian
Is but a foolish fantasy, a childish dream no more;
This the wise have taught us
Every weary morrow:
That all the Glory and the Dream are the rainbows of our Sorrow! —
Better cease as you did!
Star-eyed, divinely-mooded,
Hoping, dreaming, passioning, fronting the fiery East!
Better die in gladness,
Than watch in utter sadness
The lights of Heaven put slowly out, like candles at a feast!
You emerge victorious,
We remain bereaven:
Better to die than live the heirs of an empty Earth and Heaven!
Stay! and whisper to me
Comfort to renew me —
Say the broken Gods survive, say the dead Bards live yet!
Tell me the Immortals,
Past the grave's dark portals,
Remember all the melodies that we on earth forget!
That, gathering grace together,
Gods and Poets wander
In shining raiment, side by side, thro' a Land of Light up yonder!
Say, the upward-springing
Heirs of noble singing
Fill the starry thrones and keep their heritage supreme —
Swiftly sunward flying
Byron still is crying,
Wordsworth along the calm blue aisles walks in his gentle dream!
Shakespeare, grave and gracious,
Reads some scroll of wonder;
Keats watches Homer's blind blue eyes, while the gods sweep past in thunder! ...
Ah, the dream, the fancy!
No power, no necromancy,
Peoples Heaven's thrones again or stirs the poet-throng!
Nought can bring unto me
You who loved and knew me,
The boy's belief, the morning-red, the Maytime and the Song —
Faintly up above me
Winter bells ring warning —
Aye me! the Spring, when we were young, at the golden gates of Morning!
THIRTY YEARS AFTER .
Lo! the pale Moon roaming
Thro' the autumn gloaming,
Walking yonder Heavens alone, as many a year ago!
Lo! the dark streets under,
Hush'd their voice of thunder,
Silenced their mighty streams of life, and still'd their wails of woe!
Lo! Night's benediction
Shed on all things sleeping, —
The round still Moon above, — beneath, the River silently creeping!
Do I dream, or waken? ...
On mine eyelids shaken
Falls the silver dew that shuts so many weary eyes;
Sleeping not, I wander
'Neath the Moon, and ponder,
A dream that wanders in a dream, a soul that sings and sighs —
Sorrow clingeth to me, —
Time hath overcome me, —
Sorrow and Time pursue in vain the friend who was taken from me!
Pale with dead ambition
Comes his Apparition!
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, so beautiful and fair! —
Here in the night he lingers,
Creeps close, with clay-cold fingers
Touches my feverish aching brow, and softly smooths my hair:
My heart breaks within me,
My tears fall, and I name him —
The soul alive with love and light, till the darkness overcame him.
In the City that slew him
My spirit hungereth to him,
Fain would clasp him close, but lo! he fadeth and is gone!
Lone and weary-hearted
I think of days departed,
The shining hope, the golden lure, that led our footsteps on!
That led me even hither
To Night and isolation,
That crowns me with the weary crown of a sunless aspiration!
Is it gone for ever,
The bright young endeavour,
Hope that sang among the stars, and Joy that drank the day?
Has the deeply cherish'd
Aspiration perish'd,
And is the Dream we dream'd of old for ever fled away?
By the strife scarce ended,
By the battle braved,
Whisper a magic word to-night, from the grave where I left you, David!
Help me, — I am failing!
So sad, so unavailing,
Seem these weary waiting years, to your long years of rest!
Yours the sweeter sorrow, —
To strive not night or morrow,
But tranquilly to sleep and dream, as on your mother's breast!
Winter stealeth on me,
The snow-time cometh nigh me, —
Aye me! the Spring, when I was young, and sang, and my friend was by me!
When we trod together
Yonder land of heather,
Poets gladden'd in the world, divinely dower'd and born —
Now, the few remaining,
Sad souls westward waning,
Walk sighing and look backward to the darken'd gates of Morn!
Dead Gods sadly beckon,
Godlike Poets follow, —
The hooting of the owl is heard in the Temples of Apollo!
What, then, shall awaken
Souls of men forsaken
By the Poets, by the Gods, by Hope and Faith and Song?
Teach me, ere I wander
Through the shadows yonder,
One word of comfort and of joy, to make my spirit strong!
Ah, your voice is silent,
Like those greater voices, —
Gone is the glory of the Dawn, and the music that rejoices!
All I sang and sought for,
Agonised and fought for,
In my hand is fairy gold, these wan and withered leaves
Wherefore still importune
Fame or fickle Fortune?
Ah, wherefore chase the Naked Shape that beckons and deceives?
All I plead and pray for
Is one glimpse of Maytime, —
The light of Morning on the fields of the flower-time and the play-time!
How should Fame avail me,
If you and God should fail me,
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, who left me long ago?
Empty now, full measure,
O Fortune, all thy treasure —
Tis but a heap of withered flowers, and never a seed to sow!
All I plead and pray for,
Be it night-time or day-time,
Is one red bud of living bloom from the rose-trees of the Maytime!
Here, alone and weary,
I hear man's miserere
Sound from Temples where the Gods stand frozen into stone;
Loud the world complaineth,
But never a Bard remaineth
To stand upon the mountain-tops and trumpet mortals on!
'Tis over, all is over!
The world lies bereaven
Of Time's young dream, of Love's bright lure, of the Hierarchies of Heaven!
Love me, David, love me!
From thy place above me
Send me strength to stand erect, in Life's great Hippodrome!
The mob shrieks " Ad leones! "
And on the Imperial throne is
Christ with the crown of Antichrist, lord of another Rome:
His legions shriek around him,
His creatures deify him,
But naked in the ring I wait, while the harlot Fame sits by him.
" Loosen the wild beasts! " Hither
!Springs Hate, and Falsehood with her,
Fateful, cruel, leonine, they crouch and gaze at me!
How shall arms avail me
When all the horde assail me,
And foulest, spotted like a snake, the leopard, Calumny!
Alone in the arena,
Strewn with dead and dying,
I look into their eyes and wait, while the horde is multiplying!
Love me, David, love me!
Stay and bend above me!
Light of life, my boyhood's friend, there's still no love like thine!
See! I raise in token
This sword blood-red and broken,
And point at yonder scarlet thing, the Fame we deemed divine:
The imperial Harlot rises,
Her cold dead eyes look thro' me,
With shrill clear voice she crieth " On!" and pointeth the wild beasts to me!
'Tis over! — all the splendid
Dream of joy hath ended!
Fame is Death, and Death is Fame, — and Death is victor here!
Once, in days departed,
Dying happy-hearted
I could have borne the martyr's doom, — but now I shrink in fear.
No Heaven opens o'er me,
I hear no heavenly voices!
Gone is the faith which fights or falls, when the heart of youth rejoices!
This we learn, who linger
Beneath Time's wither'd finger, —
In a little while we cease, and all our dream is o'er;
Youth's fair morning vision
Of God and life Elysian
Is but a foolish fantasy, a childish dream no more;
This the wise have taught us
Every weary morrow:
That all the Glory and the Dream are the rainbows of our Sorrow! —
Better cease as you did!
Star-eyed, divinely-mooded,
Hoping, dreaming, passioning, fronting the fiery East!
Better die in gladness,
Than watch in utter sadness
The lights of Heaven put slowly out, like candles at a feast!
You emerge victorious,
We remain bereaven:
Better to die than live the heirs of an empty Earth and Heaven!
Stay! and whisper to me
Comfort to renew me —
Say the broken Gods survive, say the dead Bards live yet!
Tell me the Immortals,
Past the grave's dark portals,
Remember all the melodies that we on earth forget!
That, gathering grace together,
Gods and Poets wander
In shining raiment, side by side, thro' a Land of Light up yonder!
Say, the upward-springing
Heirs of noble singing
Fill the starry thrones and keep their heritage supreme —
Swiftly sunward flying
Byron still is crying,
Wordsworth along the calm blue aisles walks in his gentle dream!
Shakespeare, grave and gracious,
Reads some scroll of wonder;
Keats watches Homer's blind blue eyes, while the gods sweep past in thunder! ...
Ah, the dream, the fancy!
No power, no necromancy,
Peoples Heaven's thrones again or stirs the poet-throng!
Nought can bring unto me
You who loved and knew me,
The boy's belief, the morning-red, the Maytime and the Song —
Faintly up above me
Winter bells ring warning —
Aye me! the Spring, when we were young, at the golden gates of Morning!
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