And rapid flowed hard by, whose rocky sides, Upheaved by some convulsion, frowning stood To guard its narrow channel. There a cliff Stretched half across the stream, and at its foot The hurrying waters curled in many a fold Of creamy white. Him, on the rocks I found There lying, prostrate, racked with anguish sore, And cold with coming death; his foaming lips Were bloodless, and his limbs, all stained and torn, Writhed helplessly. I brought green moss and placed For pillow 'neath his head; I laved his brow And face and clotted hair; but all in vain
I strove, for ever a wild look would come
In his dark eyes, and shade of ghastly fear. Colder he grew, and silent, till at length
I thought him dead, and wondered, pitying him, And his fair form so helpless on the sand,
As some white statue fallen from its niche,
Broken irreparably. A sudden thought
Flashed on my mind. The shell-the shell was there, Still round his neck. If I could strike some sounds Of that new power that had so swayed my soul, What might not chance! For music should indeed, If god of men, be master over death,
And light up fire within the chilling breast.
I seized the shell and struck it: one low sound Broke from it, dying among the cliffs and roar Of current, soft as a child's moan in dreams. But, ere I touched again, with a wild laugh. That made the forests ring and scared the owls From their day-sleep, and drove them hooting out In blinding sunlight, suddenly he sprang, Clutched with mad hands the shell, and, crushing it, Flung the white fragments in the waves below. He saw them sink, then crying aloud, "Tis vain! 'Tis vain; the shadow comes!' he fell back dead. O death-cry in the roaring of the waves, O death-cry in the stillness of the rocks, O death-cry in the laughing of the trees! The shadow passing by had fallen on me, Never to rise. So thought I then. I broke Into loud weeping thus that life should end, In pain and loathsomeness, the fairest flower Of nature dying unfruitful. Stygian dark And horrors of the shades passed over me, Cries of the Furies and the torrent's roar Rang in my ears, and voices out of hell
Re-echoed, 'Vain! 'tis vain; the shadow comes ! '
I hid the dead with moss, then turned and fled,
I cared not whither, so that I might fly
From the dark thoughts that drove me night and day,
And sights of death that haunted me.
The glorious world! and rapine, lust, and death Glared in each face, and blasted all but wilds
Where man was not. Then, Father, came the thought That in that higher nature might be peace Which music roused, but could not satisfy; So sought I wisdom and the secret, dread, Of life and death, nor knew I where to find. I journeyed to the blazing East, and there, In blinding simooms and a sun that scorched League upon league of sand, I stood before The stony monster that primeval hands, Fraught with mad longings, shaped with giant tools From mountain-side. O passionless cold lips! O smile of scorn! O glance of burning hate!
I placed my lips against its stony mouth,
On fire to hear, tho' hearing were to die,
The secret of the Sphinx. I heard the birth And death of empires, heard the rolling spheres,
Masts snapped at sea, and, in strange concourse blent, The din of cities, cries of wasted hearts,
Marshalling of steeds, ravings of fevered men, While over all the moaning of a sea,
And faint a voice, growing stronger, 'This is all.' And this was all; and so I journeyed home, Heart-sick, and with dark thoughts that gnawed my
As fire eats out a tree, when thunder-clouds
Darken the woods, and lightning blasts the stems, With fruit half-ripe. The unexpressed desire For something further than the furthest star, For something deeper than the lowest deep, For something behind all, thro' all, in all, Drove me to fathom all philosophy.
Thus long time sought I God, not knowing, in fire, In cold, in light, and, mole-like, closed my eyes, And groped thro' nature, while the truth I sought Was at my door, His hand upon my latch, And I too blind to see, for the dark shade Of things material hung upon my sight. Oh, Father, I was fearful lest the truth Should grind my soul to powder if I found. For what was I but man? and God, the God Of this great universe, what should He care For one worn heart among a myriad stars?
If I should find—what should I find, indeed,
But some great power my senses could not grasp, A part of some vast whole I could not see, And I no more to Him than breathing clay? What link between the Maker and the made? For men can draw no nourishment from stones And things in nature save thro' beasts and flowers, Which link the two; and so, methought, if God Should be the God I deem Him, how can He, The hidden Force that blindly moves the world, Soothe the fierce hunger in the soul of man That craves for love? What sympathy between The finite and the infinite? Life itself
Grew hard to breathe beneath eternal clouds;
No sun, no goal, to cheer it. But I see
In this dear Christ the answer of my soul;
The pledge of God's great love; the link that binds
The Godhead and the manhood into one;
The undertone that makes one harmony
Of our existence, giving life and peace
And love for men where once a fruitless search Thro' the blind forces of the universe
In weary years shut out the light of day,
And dried the fount of love within the soul."
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