Читать книгу Spring Wild Flowers - Daniel Wilson - Страница 6

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Years have o'erflown, though still, amid the tracery

Of oriel richly dight with quaint device

Of herald's pageantry, the liv'ried light

Stole into Lowden Hall, since guilelessly

Gazing into the depths o' the other's eyes,

As they would read love's destinies aright,

Edward and Hellen sat; no words they uttered,

Nor pearly fringing tear bespoke or grief

Or overmastering gladness; 'twas the love

Of novices, that yet were all untutored

In cunning torturings of disbelief,

Or what self-slaved precisians disapprove;

Unconscious were they of love's rosy chains,

Rosy in thorns as sweets, entwining them,

Or all that lurks in its enfolded core,

What thrilling joyousness, and eke what pains;

Still in the maze of that delicious dream

That, once awakened from, returns no more.

As sister had she loved, and he as brother,

And then perchance they'd deemed it keenest sorrow--

Though passion strove for stronger utterance,

To find such tie concentred in another;

'Tis the brood of fear and faithlessness that borrow

Precocity's love-blinding eagle glance!

But they had parted;--he, the noble scion

Of Lowden's lordly race, to trim the mind-lamp

And seek fresh oil, amid wide Europe's stores

Far wandering, while the orphan, she, alone

'Mong youth's familiars, deepening the stamp

Of influences mutual of yore!

Years had elapsed, I said, her heart is throbbing,

For Edward now returns; perchance that hour

Again they'll meet! whence now the unbidden tear,

And the cheek flushed, and now the roses robbing

From their frail throne? alas! knows she the power

Of love's passionate dream? has she awoke to fear?

Why should she fear? the oriel, that before

Skreened young love sleeping, masquerades light still,

The lawn's still daisy-clad, its herds bound past her

To the woods waked to music, as of yore,

When he with her, there wandering, drank his fill

Of melody: nor miss they now a master

To give the adagio to their wood notes wild

Or list them welcoming: there too the monast'ry

Whence steals along the vale the vesper bell

Pleading that man with God be reconciled;

Or bears it such a mission to the weary

Sin-laden soul?--to her it seems the knell

That summons to fierce warfare; for Religion

Is now no fond enthusiast's dream insipid,

Tickling the fancy with a ghostly fable,

But prize 'gainst flesh and blood that must be won

When spiritual wickedness is vanquished,

And faith, deep mining for foundation stable,

Smiles at the shallow grave!--But now I wander,

While she, absorbed in thoughts set to the pealing

Of that sweet chime, is tracing up time's stream,

Fancy's barque current-borne, until it land her

In that quaint oriel's niche, and love is sealing

His parting infant vows! Hark! does she dream?

"My Hellen!" Is this knight of noble bearing,

With these deep lines of thought upon his brow,

The home-bred boy, her Edward? love ne'er questions,

And yet an onlooker might doubt their caring,

No wild embrace! no words of fevered glow!

Each th' other named, then as fond recollections

Crowded like storm-scared billows on each other,

They gazed unquailing each in the other's eye,

And drank love's fill, and knew no more of fear;

And then joy's sudden current welling smoother,

Yields the quick crowding question and reply,

Self-lost in sympathy of hearts sincere.

He has drank deep at Europe's scattered fountains,

Has slaked his ear, his eye, his thirsting soul,

Knelt for the self-styled God-vicegerent's blessing,

On his seven-hilled throne, and 'mid the Switzer's mountains

Heard God's own voice through their far vistas roll,

As though dread warning to the universe addressing;

Had seen the Heaven-lit Raphael's soul outpouring,

Till, rapt in inspiration, he expired

As the canvas burned with the transfigured God,

Promethean-winged Buonarotti soaring

O'er the amorphous marble, till soul fired

It woke and shook beneath the Sinai-missioned's load;

Pondering, had travelled o'er that dome, unwearied,

Of the Sistine shrine, whereon his seers and sybils

As o'er that dread assize of God preside!

And held communion with the mighty spirit,

That darkling brooded over Hell's abyss,

And, gloom-enrapt, woo'd Misery for his bride;

And what had she?--as one entranced she listens!

Yet still as hungering for something more,

Something that was not! while he opens out

His wealth of thought, her eloquent eye glistens

Untiring, all his treasures to explore,

But with the pause, returns her haunting doubt,

The wish to question, an o'ermastering terror

As his who trembles at the judgment bar,

With doom or freedom hanging on a word.

He has been gazing in the world's broad mirror

And gathering its jewels strewed afar,

While she, by concience' still small voice inpour'd

The while hath slaked her longings at that spring

That whoso drinketh of shall thirst no more:

And heard you not, she asks with eager trembling,--

Bright tales have won e'en here on rumour's wing,

Of the new Faith?--heard! yea the hellish roar

Of the Heresy hath made wide Europe ring!

Why trembles she, and sinks, like a frail flower breaking,

By the tempest snapt?--all, all but this she'd bear

And feel't no sacrifice,--but he, the noble

True hearted one, on whom her soul is seeking

To cling 'gainst all the buffets of life's care,

He armed against her!--There had burst hope's bubble,

And all her soul she flung into grief's madness

And wildly wept; fierce threatenings had she known,

The martyr's crown, the faggot's fiery terrors,

Though with them too the glorious gospel's gladness,

By him led up, whose love her lone heart won,

Groping to Heaven's light, thro' blinding errors;

Grief has she known, an orphan's bitter dole,

When left in lone dependence among strangers,

The agonizing strife, when faith with fear

Struggles for mastery in the awakened soul,

And wins no peace; still 'mid sore griefs and dangers

One holy form her prayers and hopes would wear,

She heard of Rome's corruptions, of the assumption

Of apostolic gifts by each mitred minion;

Of the Most High's prerogative now vended

By priestly mountebanks; the dear redemption

In God o'ermastered anguish hardly won,

Now sealed,--and not of grace, but sale extended,

And the Rome-gospel's God a usurer!

All this she heard, and with it coupling

Vague lines of his transmuted in love's folly,

In saddest hours this hope would reassure her,

He, too, the new-born light is welcoming,

He, too, joint-heir with her, of life and immortality!

Housed in Hope's Ark she has out-braved worst dangers,

But at his breath the fragile raft's gone down;

Like cloud-built home, piled on the vapour's crest,

That cheats the mountaineer, afar 'mong strangers,

Till wreck'd by envious winds, even so his frown

Has whelmed her refuge in the eddying yeast.

Yet if she wept, 'twas on his breast, while tightening

Love's bonds by the very danger threatening severance;

While he, with soothing reassurance, wonders

Whence spring such sorrows; soon her eye is brightening,

Now veiled to utterances of holy reverence,

Now flashing scorn against the ghostly thunders

Raised by a timid maid! she speaks of sin,

A broken law, and an avenging God;

Of penance, alms, and priestly intercessions,

Vain purchase-fee of conscience, peace to win;

Then of our glorious Surety, and the load

He bore upon the cross for our transgressions;

Of purgatorial fires, the mediation

Of the Virgin Mother, and the saintly host;

Cumbrous deceits to hide the Gospel plan!

Of the blood-purchased reconciliation,

The quickening presence of the Holy Ghost,

God's pardoning free gift to rebellious man!

She paints the lowly Jesus in the manger,

God veiled in self-assumed humility,

Whose power and majesty the heavens fill;

For them rejecting him, against the avenger

Pleader and shield; for them the bitter cry,

Bowing in agony to the Father's will;

The broken bread in each believer's hand,

Simple memorial of that dying hour;

Thus picturing!--behold the other side!

See his ambassador all proudly stand,

Faggot and sword the emblems of his power,

And Heaven's gates, that justice opened wide,

Barred, and the priestly usurer within

Selling the pass, that gapes to adulterous crowds,

Yet closes 'gainst the humbly contrite soul!

The visible church, traditionally lain

On the apostolic rock, with hellish shouts

'Gainst the Lamb's bride her blazing thunders roll;

Th' invisible, the bride, a fugitive

Fleeing to shelter in the wilderness!

Say, is not this the voice was heard to cry--

Come out of her my people that believe,

God hath remembered her iniquities,

And wakes to retribution righteously!

Charmed, while amazed, to her burning words he listens,

Nature's heart eloquence, though strange perhaps

As the first welcome to a lover's ear!

Charmed! could he other, while her clear eye glistens,

Flashing back love for love,--from such long lapse

What would not been a happiness to hear!

Yet seemed it foolishness; the spoils of Greece,

The Romans' eloquence and poetry,

Historian, philosopher, and sage--

All were as household words; what then were these

But childish fables? 'tis the spiritual eye

Alone can comprehend the wondrous page!

How strange God's ways! while he in search of knowledge

Has compassed sea and land, unheeding danger,

So he from every source soul-light receive;

The orphan maid, to learning's cloistered college

And travel's liberal stores alike a stranger,

Has found the noblest truth--believe and live!

Has learned to know herself, with faith elate

To soar beyond earth's transitory scene

And hold communion with the Deity,

Led down by Christ, with joy to anticipate

The grave, as to a tranquil slumber lain,

The vestibule that ushers to infinity!