The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 8

Never had poets such high call before, Never can poets hope for higher one, And, if they be but faithful to their trust, Earth will remember them with love and joy, And oh, far better, G.o.d will not forget.

For he who settles Freedom's principles Writes the death-warrant of all tyranny; Who speaks the truth stabs Falsehood to the heart, 100 And his mere word makes despots tremble more Than ever Brutus with his dagger could.

Wait for no hints from waterfalls or woods, Nor dream that tales of red men, brute and fierce, Repay the finding of this Western World, Or needed half the globe to give them birth: Spirit supreme of Freedom! not for this Did great Columbus tame his eagle soul To jostle with the daws that perch in courts; Not for this, friendless, on an unknown sea, 110 Coping with mad waves and more mutinous spirits, Battled he with the dreadful ache at heart Which tempts, with devilish subtleties of doubt, The hermit, of that loneliest solitude, The silent desert of a great New Thought; Though loud Niagara were to-day struck dumb, Yet would this cataract of boiling life Rush plunging on and on to endless deeps, And utter thunder till the world shall cease,-- A thunder worthy of the poet's song, 120 And which alone can fill it with true life.

The high evangel to our country granted Could make apostles, yea, with tongues of fire, Of hearts half-darkened back again to clay!

'Tis the soul only that is national, And he who pays true loyalty to that Alone can claim the wreath of patriotism.

Beloved! if I wander far and oft From that which I believe, and feel, and know, Thou wilt forgive, not with a sorrowing heart, 130 But with a strengthened hope of better things; Knowing that I, though often blind and false To those I love, and oh, more false than all Unto myself, have been most true to thee, And that whoso in one thing hath been true Can be as true in all. Therefore thy hope May yet not prove unfruitful, and thy love Meet, day by day, with less unworthy thanks, Whether, as now, we journey hand in hand, Or, parted in the body, yet are one 140 In spirit and the love of holy things.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

A LEGEND OF BRITTANY

PART FIRST

I

Fair as a summer dream was Margaret, Such dream as in a poet's soul might start, Musing of old loves while the moon doth set: Her hair was not more sunny than her heart, Though like a natural golden coronet It circled her dear head with careless art, Mocking the suns.h.i.+ne, that would fain have lent To its frank grace a richer ornament.

II

His loved one's eyes could poet ever speak, So kind, so dewy, and so deep were hers,-- 10 But, while he strives, the choicest phrase, too weak, Their glad reflection in his spirit blurs; As one may see a dream dissolve and break Out of his grasp when he to tell it stirs, Like that sad Dryad doomed no more to bless The mortal who revealed her loveliness.

III

She dwelt forever in a region bright, Peopled with living fancies of her own, Where naught could come but visions of delight, Far, far aloof from earth's eternal moan: 20 A summer cloud thrilled through with rosy light, Floating beneath the blue sky all alone, Her spirit wandered by itself, and won A golden edge from some unsetting sun.

IV

The heart grows richer that its lot is poor, G.o.d blesses want with larger sympathies, Love enters gladliest at the humble door, And makes the cot a palace with his eyes; So Margaret's heart a softer beauty wore, And grew in gentleness and patience wise, 30 For she was but a simple herdsman's child, A lily chance-sown in the rugged wild.

V

There was no beauty of the wood or field But she its fragrant bosom-secret knew, Nor any but to her would freely yield Some grace that in her soul took root and grew; Nature to her shone as but now revealed, All rosy-fresh with innocent morning dew, And looked into her heart with dim, sweet eyes That left it full of sylvan memories. 40

VI

Oh, what a face was hers to brighten light, And give back suns.h.i.+ne with an added glow, To wile each moment with a fresh delight, And part of memory's best contentment grow!

Oh, how her voice, as with an inmate's right, Into the strangest heart would welcome go, And make it sweet, and ready to become Of white and gracious thoughts the chosen home!

VII

None looked upon her but he straightway thought Of all the greenest depths of country cheer, 50 And into each one's heart was freshly brought What was to him the sweetest time of year, So was her every look and motion fraught With out-of-door delights and forest lere; Not the first violet on a woodland lea Seemed a more visible gift of Spring than she.

VIII

Is love learned only out of poets' books?

Is there not somewhat in the dropping flood, And in the nunneries of silent nooks, And in the murmured longing of the wood, 60 That could make Margaret dream of lovelorn looks, And stir a thrilling mystery in her blood More trembly secret than Aurora's tear Shed in the bosom of an eglatere?

IX

Full many a sweet forewarning hath the mind, Full many a whispering of vague desire, Ere comes the nature destined to unbind Its virgin zone, and all its deeps inspire,-- 70 Low stirrings in the leaves, before the wind Wake all the green strings of the forest lyre, Faint heatings in the calyx, ere the rose Its warm voluptuous breast doth all unclose.

X

Long in its dim recesses pines the spirit, Wildered and dark, despairingly alone; Though many a shape of beauty wander near it, And many a wild and half-remembered tone Tremble from the divine abyss to cheer it, Yet still it knows that there is only one Before whom it can kneel and tribute bring.

At once a happy va.s.sal and a king. 80

XI

To feel a want, yet scarce know what it is, To seek one nature that is always new, Whose glance is warmer than another's kiss, Whom we can bare our inmost beauty to, Nor feel deserted afterwards,--for this But with our destined co-mate we can do,-- Such longing instinct fills the mighty scope Of the young soul with one mysterious hope.

XII

So Margaret's heart grew br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the lore Of love's enticing secrets; and although 90 She had found none to cast it down before, Yet oft to Fancy's chapel she would go To pay her vows--and count the rosary o'er Of her love's promised graces:--haply so Miranda's hope had pictured Ferdinand Long ere the gaunt wave tossed him on the strand.

XIII

A new-made star that swims the lonely gloom, Unwedded yet and longing for the sun, Whose beams, the bride-gifts of the lavish groom, Blithely to crown the virgin planet run, 100 Her being was, watching to see the bloom Of love's fresh sunrise roofing one by one Its clouds with gold, a triumph-arch to be For him who came to hold her heart in fee.

XIV

Not far from Margaret's cottage dwelt a knight Of the proud Templars, a sworn celibate, Whose heart in secret fed upon the light And dew of her ripe beauty, through the grate Of his close vow catching what gleams he might Of the free heaven, and cursing all too late 110 The cruel faith whose black walls hemmed him in And turned life's crowning bliss to deadly sin.

XV

For he had met her in the wood by chance, And, having drunk her beauty's wildering spell, His heart shook like the pennon of a lance That quivers in a breeze's sudden swell, And thenceforth, in a close-infolded trance, From mistily golden deep to deep he fell; Till earth did waver and fade far away Beneath the hope in whose warm arms he lay. 120

XVI

A dark, proud man he was, whose half-blown youth Had shed its blossoms even in opening, Leaving a few that with more winning ruth Trembling around grave manhood's stem might cling, More sad than cheery, making, in good sooth, Like the fringed gentian, a late autumn spring: A twilight nature, braided light and gloom, A youth half-smiling by an open tomb.