The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 70

V

'Tis a woodland enchanted!

A vast silver willow, I know not how planted, (This wood is enchanted, And full of surprises.) Stands stemming a billow, A motionless billow Of ankle-deep mosses; Two great roots it crosses To make a round basin. 100 And there the Fount rises; Ah, too pure a mirror For one sick of error To see his sad face in!

No dew-drop is stiller In its lupin-leaf setting Than this water moss-bounded; But a tiny sand-pillar From the bottom keeps jetting, And mermaid ne'er sounded 110 Through the wreaths of a sh.e.l.l, Down amid crimson dulses In some cavern of ocean, A melody sweeter Than the delicate pulses, The soft, noiseless metre, The pause and the swell Of that musical motion: I recall it, not see it; Could vision be clearer? 120 Half I'm fain to draw nearer Half tempted to flee it; The sleeping Past wake not, Beware!

One forward step take not, Ah! break not That quietude rare!

By my step unaffrighted A thrush hops before it, And o'er it 130 A birch hangs delighted, Dipping, dipping, dipping its tremulous hair; Pure as the fountain, once I came to the place, (How dare I draw nearer?) I bent o'er its mirror, And saw a child's face Mid locks of bright gold in it; Yes, pure as this fountain once,-- Since, bow much error! 140 Too holy a mirror For the man to behold in it His harsh, bearded countenance!

VI

'Tis a woodland enchanted!

Ah, fly unreturning!

Yet stay;-- 'Tis a woodland enchanted, Where wonderful chances Have sway; Luck flees from the cold one, 150 But leaps to the bold one Half-way; Why should I be daunted?

Still the smooth mirror glances, Still the amber sand dances, One look,--then away!

O magical gla.s.s!

Canst keep in thy bosom Shades of leaf and of blossom When summer days pa.s.s, 160 So that when thy wave hardens It shapes as it pleases, Unharmed by the breezes, Its fine hanging gardens?

Hast those in thy keeping.

And canst not uncover, Enchantedly sleeping, The old shade of thy lover?

It is there! I have found it!

He wakes, the long sleeper! 170 The pool is grown deeper, The sand dance is ending, The white floor sinks, blending With skies that below me Are deepening and bending, And a child's face alone That seems not to know me, With hair that fades golden In the heaven-glow round it, Looks up at my own; 180 Ah, glimpse through the portal That leads to the throne, That opes the child's olden Regions Elysian!

Ah, too holy vision For thy skirts to be holden By soiled hand of mortal!

It wavers, it scatters, 'Tis gone past recalling!

A tear's sudden falling 190 The magic cup shatters, Breaks the spell of the waters, And the sand cone once more, With a ceaseless renewing, Its dance is pursuing On the silvery floor, O'er and o'er, With a noiseless and ceaseless renewing.

VII

'Tis a woodland enchanted!

If you ask me, _Where is it?_ 200 I can but make answer, ''Tis past my disclosing;'

Not to choice is it granted By sure paths to visit The still pool enclosing Its blithe little dancer; But in some day, the rarest Of many Septembers, When the pulses of air rest, And all things lie dreaming 210 In drowsy haze steaming From the wood's glowing embers, Then, sometimes, unheeding, And asking not whither, By a sweet inward leading My feet are drawn thither, And, looking with awe in the magical mirror, I see through my tears, Half doubtful of seeing, The face unperverted, 220 The warm golden being Of a child of five years; And spite of the mists and the error.

And the days overcast, Can feel that I walk undeserted, But forever attended By the glad heavens that bended O'er the innocent past; Toward fancy or truth Doth the sweet vision win me? 230 Dare I think that I cast In the fountain of youth The fleeting reflection Of some bygone perfection That still lingers in me?

YUSSOUF

A stranger came one night to Yussouf's tent, Saying, 'Behold one outcast and in dread, Against whose life the bow of power is bent, Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head; I come to thee for shelter and for food, To Yussouf, called through all our tribes "The Good."

'This tent is mine,' said Yussouf, 'but no more Than it is G.o.d's come in and be at peace; Freely shall thou partake of all my store As I of His who buildeth over these Our tents his glorious roof of night and day, And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay.'

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night, And, waking him ere day, said: 'Here is gold; My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight; Depart before the prying day grow bold.'

As one lamp lights another, nor grows less, So n.o.bleness enkindleth n.o.bleness.

That inward light the stranger's face made grand, Which s.h.i.+nes from all self-conquest; kneeling low, He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf's hand, Sobbing: 'O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so; I will repay thee; all this thou hast done Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!'

'Take thrice the gold,' said Yussouf 'for with thee Into the desert, never to return, My one black thought shall ride away from me; First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn, Balanced and just are all of G.o.d's decrees; Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace!'

THE DARKENED MIND

The fire is turning clear and blithely, Pleasantly whistles the winter wind; We are about thee, thy friends and kindred, On us all flickers the firelight kind; There thou sittest in thy wonted corner Lone and awful in thy darkened mind.

There thou sittest; now and then thou moanest; Thou dost talk with what we cannot see, Lookest at us with an eye so doubtful, It doth put us very far from thee; There thou sittest; we would fain be nigh thee, But we know that it can never be.

We can touch thee, still we are no nearer; Gather round thee, still thou art alone; The wide chasm of reason is between us; Thou confutest kindness with a moan; We can speak to thee, and thou canst answer, Like two prisoners through a wall of stone.

Hardest heart would call it very awful When thou look'st at us and seest--oh, what?

If we move away, thou sittest gazing With those vague eyes at the selfsame spot, And thou mutterest, thy hands thou wringest, Seeing something,--us thou seest not.

Strange it is that, in this open brightness, Thou shouldst sit in such a narrow cell; Strange it is that thou shouldst be so lonesome Where those are who love thee all so well; Not so much of thee is left among us As the hum outliving the hushed bell.

WHAT RABBI JEHOSHA SAID

Rabbi Jehosha used to say That G.o.d made angels every day, Perfect as Michael and the rest First brooded in creation's nest, Whose only office was to cry _Hosanna!_ once, and then to die; Or rather, with Life's essence blent, To be led home from banishment.

Rabbi Jehosha had the skill To know that Heaven is in G.o.d's will; And doing that, though for a s.p.a.ce One heart-beat long, may win a grace As full of grandeur and of glow As Princes of the Chariot know.

'Twere glorious, no doubt, to be One of the strong-winged Hierarchy, To burn with Seraphs, or to s.h.i.+ne With Cherubs, deathlessly divine; Yet I, perhaps, poor earthly clod, Could I forget myself in G.o.d, Could I but find my nature's clue Simply as birds and blossoms do, And but for one rapt moment know 'Tis Heaven must come, not we must go, Should win my place as near the throne As the pearl-angel of its zone.

And G.o.d would listen mid the throng For my one breath of perfect song, That, in its simple human way, Said all the Host of Heaven could say.

ALL-SAINTS

One feast, of holy days the crest, I, though no Churchman, love to keep, All-Saints,--the unknown good that rest In G.o.d's still memory folded deep; The bravely dumb that did their deed, And scorned to blot it with a name, Men of the plain heroic breed, That loved Heaven's silence more than fame.

Such lived not in the past alone, But thread to-day the unheeding street, And stairs to Sin and Famine known Sing with the welcome of their feet; The den they enter grows a shrine, The grimy sash an oriel burns, Their cup of water warms like wine, Their speech is filled from heavenly urns.

About their brows to me appears An aureole traced in tenderest light, The rainbow-gleam of smiles through tears In dying eyes, by them made bright, Of souls that s.h.i.+vered on the edge Of that chill ford repa.s.sed no more, And in their mercy felt the pledge And sweetness of the farther sh.o.r.e.

A WINTER-EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE

I

Beauty on my hearth-stone blazing!

To-night the triple Zoroaster Shall my prophet be and master; To-night will I pure Magian be, Hymns to thy sole honor raising, While thou leapest fast and faster, Wild with self-delighted glee, Or sink'st low and glowest faintly As an aureole still and saintly, Keeping cadence to my praising 10 Thee! still thee! and only thee!

II

Elfish daughter of Apollo!

Thee, from thy father stolen and bound To serve in Vulcan's clangorous smithy, Prometheus (primal Yankee) found, And, when he had tampered with thee, (Too confiding little maid!) In a reed's precarious hollow To our frozen earth conveyed: For he swore I know not what; 20 Endless ease should be thy lot, Pleasure that should never falter, Lifelong play, and not a duty Save to hover o'er the altar, Vision of celestial beauty, Fed with precious woods and spices; Then, perfidious! having got Thee in the net of his devices, Sold thee into endless slavery, Made thee a drudge to boil the pot, 30 Thee, Helios' daughter, who dost bear His likeness in thy golden hair; Thee, by nature wild and wavery, Palpitating, evanescent As the shade of Dian's crescent, Life, motion, gladness, everywhere!

III