Читать книгу The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell - James Russell Lowell - Страница 200

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Death never came so nigh to me before,

Nor showed me his mild face: oft had I mused

Of calm and peace and safe forgetfulness,

Of folded hands, closed eyes, and heart at rest,

And slumber sound beneath a flowery turf,

Of faults forgotten, and an inner place

Kept sacred for us in the heart of friends;

But these were idle fancies, satisfied

With the mere husk of this great mystery,

And dwelling in the outward shows of things. 10

Heaven is not mounted to on wings of dreams,

Nor doth the unthankful happiness of youth

Aim thitherward, but floats from bloom to bloom,

With earth's warm patch of sunshine well content:

'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up,

Whose golden rounds are our calamities,

Whereon our firm feet planting, nearer God

The spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed.

True is it that Death's face seems stern and cold,

When he is sent to summon those we love, 20

But all God's angels come to us disguised;

Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,

One after other lift their frowning masks,

And we behold the seraph's face beneath,

All radiant with the glory and the calm

Of having looked upon the front of God.

With every anguish of our earthly part

The spirit's sight grows clearer; this was meant

When Jesus touched the blind man's lids with clay.

Life is the jailer, Death the angel sent 30

To draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.

He flings not ope the ivory gate of Rest—

Only the fallen spirit knocks at that—

But to benigner regions beckons us,

To destinies of more rewarded toil.

In the hushed chamber, sitting by the dead,

It grates on us to hear the flood of life

Whirl rustling onward, senseless of our loss.

The bee hums on; around the blossomed vine

Whirs the light humming-bird; the cricket chirps; 40

The locust's shrill alarum stings the ear;

Hard by, the cock shouts lustily; from farm to farm,

His cheery brothers, telling of the sun,

Answer, till far away the joyance dies:

We never knew before how God had filled

The summer air with happy living sounds;

All round us seems an overplus of life,

And yet the one dear heart lies cold and still.

It is most strange, when the great miracle

Hath for our sakes been done, when we have had 50

Our inwardest experience of God,

When with his presence still the room expands,

And is awed after him, that naught is changed,

That Nature's face looks unacknowledging,

And the mad world still dances heedless on

After its butterflies, and gives no sign.

'Tis hard at first to see it all aright:

In vain Faith blows her trump to summon back

Her scattered troop: yet, through the clouded glass

Of our own bitter tears, we learn to look 60

Undazzled on the kindness of God's face;

Earth is too dark, and Heaven alone shines through.

It is no little thing, when a fresh soul

And a fresh heart, with their unmeasured scope

For good, not gravitating earthward yet,

But circling in diviner periods,

Are sent into the world—no little thing,

When this unbounded possibility

Into the outer silence is withdrawn.

Ah, in this world, where every guiding thread 70

Ends suddenly in the one sure centre, death,

The visionary hand of Might-have-been

Alone can fill Desire's cup to the brim!

How changed, dear friend, are thy part and thy child's!

He bends above thy cradle now, or holds His warning finger out to be thy guide; Thou art the nursling now; he watches thee Slow learning, one by one, the secret things Which are to him used sights of every day; He smiles to see thy wondering glances con 80 The grass and pebbles of the spirit-world, To thee miraculous; and he will teach Thy knees their due observances of prayer. Children are God's apostles, day by day Sent forth to preach of love, and hope, and peace; Nor hath thy babe his mission left undone. To me, at least, his going hence hath given Serener thoughts and nearer to the skies, And opened a new fountain in my heart For thee, my friend, and all: and oh, if Death 90 More near approaches meditates, and clasps Even now some dearer, more reluctant hand, God, strengthen thou my faith, that I may see That 'tis thine angel, who, with loving haste, Unto the service of the inner shrine, Doth waken thy beloved with a kiss.