The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 25

And if it be a dream, If the great Future be the little Past 'Neath a new mask, which drops and shows at last The same weird, mocking face to balk and blast, 120 Yet, Muse, a gladder measure suits the theme, And the Tyrtaean harp Loves notes more resolute and sharp, Throbbing, as throbs the bosom, hot and fast: Such visions are of morning, Theirs is no vague forewarning, The dreams which nations dream come true.

And shape the world anew; If this be a sleep, 129 Make it long, make it deep, O Father, who-sendest the harvests men reap!

While Labor so sleepeth, His sorrow is gone, No longer he weepeth, But smileth and steepeth His thoughts in the dawn; He heareth Hope yonder Rain, lark-like, her fancies, His dreaming hands wander Mid heart's-ease and pansies; 140 ''Tis a dream! 'Tis a vision!'

Shrieks Mammon aghast; 'The day's broad derision Will chase it at last; Ye are mad, ye have taken A slumbering kraken For firm land of the Past!'

Ah! if he awaken, G.o.d s.h.i.+eld us all then, 149 If this dream rudely shaken Shall cheat him again!

IX

Since first I heard our Northwind blow, Since first I saw Atlantic throw On our grim rocks his thunderous snow, I loved thee, Freedom; as a boy The rattle of thy s.h.i.+eld at Marathon Did with a Grecian joy Through all my pulses run; But I have learned to love thee now Without the helm upon thy gleaming brow, 160 A maiden mild and undefiled Like her who bore the world's redeeming child; And surely never did thine altars glance With purer fires than now in France; While, in their clear white flashes, Wrong's shadow, backward cast, Waves cowering o'er the ashes Of the dead, blaspheming Past, O'er the shapes of fallen giants, His own unburied brood, 170 Whose dead hands clench defiance At the overpowering Good: And down the happy future runs a flood Of prophesying light; It shows an Earth no longer stained with blood, Blossom and fruit where now we see the bud Of Brotherhood and Right.

ANTI-APIS

Praisest Law, friend? We, too, love it much as they that love it best; 'Tis the deep, august foundation, whereon Peace and Justice rest; On the rock primeval, hidden in the Past its bases be, Block by block the endeavoring Ages built it up to what we see.

But dig down: the Old unbury; thou shalt find on every stone That each Age hath carved the symbol of what G.o.d to them was known, Ugly shapes and brutish sometimes, but the fairest that they knew; If their sight were dim and earthward, yet their hope and aim were true.

Surely as the unconscious needle feels the far-off loadstar draw, So strives every gracious nature to at-one itself with law; 10 And the elder Saints and Sages laid their pious framework right By a theocratic instinct covered from the people's sight.

As their G.o.ds were, so their laws were; Thor the strong could reave and steal, So through many a peaceful inlet tore the Norseman's eager keel; But a new law came when Christ came, and not blameless, as before, Can we, paying him our lip-t.i.thes, give our lives and faiths to Thor.

Law is holy: ay, but what law? Is there nothing more divine Than the patched-up broils of Congress, venal, full of meat and wine?

Is there, say you, nothing higher? Naught, G.o.d save us! that transcends Laws of cotton texture, wove by vulgar men for vulgar ends? 20

Did Jehovah ask their counsel, or submit to them a plan, Ere He filled with loves, hopes, longings, this aspiring heart of man?

For their edict does the soul wait, ere it swing round to the pole Of the true, the free, the G.o.d-willed, all that makes it be a soul?

Law is holy; but not your law, ye who keep the tablets whole While ye dash the Law to pieces, shatter it in life and soul; Bearing up the Ark is lightsome, golden Apis hid within, While we Levites share the offerings, richer by the people's sin.

Give to Caesar what is Caesar's? yes, but tell me, if you can, Is this superscription Caesar's here upon our brother man? 30 Is not here some other's image, dark and sullied though it be, In this fellow-soul that wors.h.i.+ps, struggles G.o.dward even as we?

It was not to such a future that the Mayflower's prow was turned, Not to such a faith the martyrs clung, exulting as they burned; Not by such laws are men fas.h.i.+oned, earnest, simple, valiant, great In the household virtues whereon rests the unconquerable state.

Ah! there is a higher gospel, overhead the G.o.d-roof springs, And each glad, obedient planet like a golden shuttle sings Through the web which Time is weaving in his never-resting loom, Weaving seasons many-colored, bringing prophecy to doom. 40

Think you Truth a farthing rushlight, to be pinched out when you will With your deft official fingers, and your politicians' skill?

Is your G.o.d a wooden fetish, to be hidden out of sight That his block eyes may not see you do the thing that is not right?

But the Destinies think not so; to their judgment-chamber lone Comes no noise of popular clamor, there Fame's trumpet is not blown; Your majorities they reck not; that you grant, but then you say That you differ with them somewhat,--which is stronger, you or they?

Patient are they as the insects that build islands in the deep; They hurl not the bolted thunder, but their silent way they keep; 50 Where they have been that we know; where empires towered that were not just; Lo! the skulking wild fox scratches in a little heap of dust.

A PARABLE

Said Christ our Lord, 'I will go and see How the men, my brethren, believe in me.'

He pa.s.sed not again through the gate of birth, But made himself known to the children of earth.

Then said the chief priests, and rulers, and kings, 'Behold, now, the Giver of all good things; Go to, let us welcome with pomp and state Him who alone is mighty and great.'

With carpets of gold the ground they spread Wherever the Son of Man should tread, And in palace-chambers lofty and rare They lodged him, and served him with kingly fare.

Great organs surged through arches dim Their jubilant floods in praise of him; And in church, and palace, and judgment-hall, He saw his own image high over all.

But still, wherever his steps they led, The Lord in sorrow bent down his head, And from under the heavy foundation-stones, The son of Mary heard bitter groans.

And in church, and palace, and judgment-hall, He marked great fissures that rent the wall, And opened wider and yet more wide As the living foundation heaved and sighed.

'Have ye founded your thrones and altars, then, On the bodies and souls of living men?

And think ye that building shall endure, Which shelters the n.o.ble and crushes the poor?

'With gates of silver and bars of gold Ye have fenced my sheep from their Father's fold; I have heard the dropping of their tears In heaven these eighteen hundred years.'

'O Lord and Master, not ours the guilt, We build but as our fathers built; Behold thine images, how they stand, Sovereign and sole, through all our land.

'Our task is hard,--with sword and flame To hold thine earth forever the same, And with sharp crooks of steel to keep Still, as thou leftest them, thy sheep.'

Then Christ sought out an artisan, A low-browed, stunted, haggard man, And a motherless girl, whose fingers thin Pushed from her faintly want and sin.

These set he in the midst of them, And as they drew back their garment-hem, For fear of defilement, 'Lo, here,' said he, 'The images ye have made of me!'

ODE

WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE INTRODUCTION OF THE COCHITUATE WATER INTO THE CITY OF BOSTON

My name is Water: I have sped Through strange, dark ways, untried before, By pure desire of friends.h.i.+p led, Cochituate's amba.s.sador; He sends four royal gifts by me: Long life, health, peace, and purity.

I'm Ceres' cup-bearer; I pour, For flowers and fruits and all their kin, Her crystal vintage, from of yore Stored in old Earth's selectest bin, Flora's Falernian ripe, since G.o.d The wine-press of the deluge trod.

In that far isle whence, iron-willed, The New World's sires their bark unmoored, The fairies' acorn-cups I filled Upon the toadstool's silver board, And, 'neath Herne's oak, for Shakespeare's sight, Strewed moss and gra.s.s with diamonds bright.

No fairies in the Mayflower came, And, lightsome as I sparkle here, For Mother Bay State, busy dame, I've toiled and drudged this many a year, Throbbed in her engines' iron veins, Twirled myriad spindles for her gains.

I, too, can weave: the warp I set Through which the sun his shuttle throws, And, bright as Noah saw it, yet For you the arching rainbow glows, A sight in Paradise denied To unfallen Adam and his bride.

When Winter held me in his grip, You seized and sent me o'er the wave, Ungrateful! in a prison-s.h.i.+p; But I forgive, not long a slave, For, soon as summer south-winds blew, Homeward I fled, disguised as dew.

For countless services I'm fit, Of use, of pleasure, and of gain, But lightly from all bonds I flit, Nor lose my mirth, nor feel a stain; From mill and wash-tub I escape, And take in heaven my proper shape.

So, free myself, to-day, elate I come from far o'er hill and mead, And here, Cochituate's envoy, wait To be your blithesome Ganymede, And brim your cups with nectar true That never will make slaves of you.

LINES