The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 12

Then, not for schools--but for the human kind-- The uncultured reason, the unletter'd mind; The poor, the oppress'd, the labourer, and the slave, G.o.d said, 'Be light!'--And light was on the Grave!

No more alone to sage and hero given, Ope for all life the impartial Gates of Heaven!

Enough hath Wisdom dream'd, and Reason err'd, All they would seek is found!--O'er Nature sleeps the Word!

"Thou ask'st why Christ, so lenient to the _deed_, So sternly claims the _faith_ which founds the creed; Because, reposed in faith the soul has calm; The hope a haven, and the wound a balm; Because the light, dim seen in Reason's Dream, On all alike, through faith alone, could stream.

G.o.d will'd support to Weakness, joy to Grief, And so descended from his throne--BELIEF!

Nor this alone--Have faith in things above, The unseen Beautiful of Heavenly Love; And from that faith what virtues have their birth, What spiritual meanings gird, like air, the Earth!

A deeper thought inspires the musing sage!

To youth what visions--what delights to age!

A loftier genius wakens in the world, To starrier heights more vigorous wings unfurl'd.

No more the outward senses reign alone, The soul of Nature glides into our own.

To reason less is to imagine more; They most aspire who meekly most adore!

"Therefore the G.o.d-like Comforter's decree-- 'His sins be loosen'd who hath faith in me.'

Therefore he shunn'd the cavils of the wise, And made no schools the threshold of the skies: Therefore he taught no Pharisee to preach His Word--the simple let the simple teach.

Upon the infant on his knee he smiled, And said to Wisdom, 'Be once more a child!'"

The boughs behind the old man gently stirr'd, By one unseen those Gospel accents heard; Before the preacher bow'd the pilgrim's head: "Heaven to this bourne my rescued steps hath led, Grieving, perplex'd--benighted, yet with dim Hopes in G.o.d's justice,--be my guide to Him!

In vain made man, I mourn and err!--restore Childhood's pure soul, and ready trust, once more!"

The old man on the stranger gazed;--unto The stranger's side the young disciple drew, And gently clasp'd his hand;--and on the three The western sun shone still and smilingly; But, round--behind them--dark and lengthening lay The ma.s.sive shadow of the closing day.

"See," said the preacher, "Darkness hurries on, But Man, toil-wearied, grieves not for the Sun; He knows the light that leaves him shall return, And hails the night because he trusts the morn!

Believe in G.o.d as in the Sun,--and, lo!

Along thy soul, morn's youth restored shall glow!

As rests the earth, so rest, O troubled heart, Rest, till the burthen of the cloud depart; Rest, till the gradual veil, from Heaven withdrawn, Renews thy freshness as it yields the dawn!"

Behold the storm-beat wanderer in repose!

He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose, Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings, And floats the music borne from seraph-strings.

Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives, Proclaiming G.o.d where'er Creation lives; But _there_ the doubt will come!--the clear design Attests the Maker and suggests the Shrine; But in that visible harmonious plan, What present shows the _future_ world to man?

What lore detects, beneath our crumbling clay, A soul exiled, and journeying back to day; What knowledge, in the bones of charnel urns, The etherial spark, the undying thought, discerns?

How from the universal war, the prey Of life on life, can love explore the way?

Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air, And the fierce SELF that strives and slays is there.

What but that SELF to Man doth Nature teach?

Where the charm'd link that binds the all to each?

Where the sweet Law--(doth Nature boast its birth)-- "Good will to man, and charity to earth?"

Not in the world without, but that within, Reveal'd, not instinct--soul from sense can win!

And where the Natural halts, where cramp'd, confined, The seen horizon bounds the baffled mind, The Inspired begins--the onward march is given; Bridging all s.p.a.ce, nor ending ev'n in Heaven!

There, veil'd on earth, we mark divinely clear, Duty and end--the There explains the Here!

We see the link that binds the future band, Foeman with foeman gliding hand in hand; And feel that Hate is but an hour's--the son Of earth, to perish when the earth is done-- But Love eternal; and we turn below, To hail the brother where we loathed the foe; There, in the soft and beautiful Belief, Flows the true Lethe for the lips of Grief; There, Penury, Hunger, Misery, cast their eyes, How soon the bright Republic of the Skies!

There, Love, heart-broken, sees prepared the bower, And hears the bridal step, and waits the nuptial hour!

There, smiles the mother we have wept! there bloom Again the buds asleep within the tomb; There, souls regain what hearts had lost before In that fix'd moment call'd the--Evermore!

Refresh'd in that soft baptism, and reborn, The Indian woke, and on the world was morn!

All things seem'd new--rose-colour'd in the skies Shone the h.o.a.r peaks of the old memories; No more enshrouded with unbroken gloom Calantha's injured name and early tomb-- No more with woe (how ill-suppress'd by pride!) Thought sounds the gulf that parts the promised bride!

Faithful no less to Death, and true to Love, This blooms again--that shall rejoin, above!

The Stoic courage had the wound conceal'd; The Christian hope the wound's sharp torture heal'd.

As rude the waste, but now before him shone } The star;--he rose, and cheerful journey'd on, } Full of the G.o.d most with us when alone! }

III.

'Tis night,--a night by fits now foul, now fair, As speed the cloud-wracks through the gusty air: At times the wild blast dies--and high and far, Through chasms of cloud, looks down the solemn star-- Or the majestic moon;--so watchfires mark Some sleeping War dim-tented in the dark; Or so, through antique Chaos and the storm Of Matter, whirl'd and writhing into form, Pale angels peer'd!

Anon, from brief repose The winds leap forth, the cloven deeps reclose; Ma.s.s upon ma.s.s, the hurtling vapours driven, As one huge blackness walls the earth from heaven!-- In one of these brief lulls--you see, serene, The village church spire 'mid its mounds of green, The scattered roof-tops of the hamlet round, And the swoll'n rill that girds the holy ground.

A plank that rock'd above the rus.h.i.+ng wave, The dizzy pathway to a wanderer gave; There, as he paused, from the lone churchyard, slow Emerged a form the wanderer's eyes should know!

It gains the opposing margent of the stream, Full on the face s.h.i.+nes calm the crescent beam; It halts upon the bridge! Now, Indian, learn If in thy soul the heathen yet can yearn!

Swift runs the wave, the instinct and the hour, The lonely night, when evil thoughts have power, The foe before thee, and no things that live To witness vengeance--Canst thou still forgive?

Scarce seen by each the face of each--when, deep O'er the lost moon, the cloud's loud surges sweep; Yea, as a sea devours the fated bark, Vanish'd the heaven, and closed the abyss of dark!

You heard the roaring of the mighty blast, The groaning trees uprooted as it pa.s.s'd The wrath and madness of the starless rill, Swell'd by each torrent rus.h.i.+ng from the hill.

The slight plank creaks--high mount the waves and high, Hark! with the tempest's shrieks the human cry!

Upon the bridge but _one_ man now!--below, The night of waters and the drowning foe!

The Indian heard the death-cry and the fall; Still o'er the wild scene hung the funeral pall!

What eye can pierce the darkness of the wave? } What hand guide rescue through the roaring grave? } Not for such craven questions pause the brave! } Again the moon!--again the churchyard's green, Spire, hamlet, mead, and rill distinct are seen; But on the bridge _no_ form, no life! The beam Shoots wan and broken on the tortured stream; Vague, indistinct, what yonder moveth o'er The troubled tide, and struggles to the sh.o.r.e?

Hark, where the sere bough of the tossing tree Snaps in the grasp of some strong agony, And the dull plunge, and stifled cry betray Where the grim water-fiend reclasps his prey!

Still s.h.i.+nes the moon--still halts the panting storm, It moves again--the shadow shapes to form, Lo! where yon bank shelves gradual, and the ray Silvers the reed, it cleaves its vigorous way!-- Saved from the deep, but happier far to save, The foeman wrests the foeman from the grave!

Still s.h.i.+nes the moon--still halts the storm!--above His sons, looks down divine the Father-Love!

Upon the Indian's breast droops Arden's head, Its marble beauty rigid as the dead.

What skill so fondly tends the soul's eclipse, Chafes the stiff limb, and breathes in breathless lips?

Wooes back the flickering life, and when, once more, The ebbing blood the wan cheek mantles o'er; When stirs the pulse, when opes the glazing eye, What voice of joy finds listeners in the sky?

"Bless thee, my G.o.d!--this mercy thine!--he lives: Look in my heart, forgive, for it forgives!"

Then, while yet clear the heaven, he flies--he gains The nearest roof--prompt aid his prayer obtains; Well known the n.o.ble stranger's mien--they bear To the rude home, and ply the zealous care; Life with the dawn comes sure, if faint and slow, And all night long the foeman watch'd the foe!

Day dawns on earth, still darkness wraps the mind; Sleep pa.s.s'd, the waking is a veil more blind: The soul, scared roughly from its mansion, glides O'er mazy wastes through which the meteor guides.

The startled menial, who, alone of all The hireling pomp that swarms in Arden's hall, Attends his lord,--dismay'd lest one so high, A rural Galen should permit to die, Departs in haste to seek the subtler skill Which from the College takes the right to kill; And summon Lucy to the solemn room To watch the father's life,--fast by the mother's tomb.

Meanwhile such facile arts as nature yields, Draughts from the spring and simples from the fields, Learn'd in his savage youth, the Indian plies; The fever slakes, the cloudy darkness flies; O'er the vex'd vision steals the lulling rest, And Arden wakes to sense on Morvale's breast!

On Morvale's breast!--and through the noiseless door A fearful footfall creeps, and lo! once more Thou look'st, pale daughter, on thy father's foe!

Not with the lurid eye and menaced blow; Not as when last, between the murtherous blade And the proud victim, gleam'd the guardian maid-- Thy post is his!--that breast the prop supplies That thine should yield;--as thine so watch those eyes, Wistful and moist, that waning life above; Recal the Heathen's hate!--behold the Christian's love!

The learned leech proclaims the danger o'er; When life is safe, can Fate then harm no more?

The danger past for Arden, but for you Who watch the couch, what danger threats anew?

How meet in pious duty and fond care, In hours when through the eye the heart is bare?

How join in those soft sympathies, and yet The earlier link, the tenderer bond forget?

How can the soul the magnet-charm withstand, When chance brings look to look, and hand to hand!

No, Indian, no--if yet the power divine Above the laws of our low world be thine; If yet the Honour which thy later creed Softens, not quells, revere the injured dead, Fly, ere the full heart cries, "I love thee still"-- And find thy guardian in the angel--WILL!

That power was his!

Along the landscape lay The hazy rime of winter's dawning day: Snake-like the curving mists betray'd the rill, The last star gleam'd upon the Eastern hill, Still slept beneath the leafless trees the herd; Still mute the sharp note of the sunless bird; No sound, no life; as to some hearth, bereft By death, of welcome, since his wanderings left, Comes back the traveller;--so to earth, forlorn Returns the ungreeted melancholy Morn.

Forth from the threshold stole the Indian!--far Spread the dim land beneath the waning star.

Alas! how wide the world his heart will find Who leaves one spot--the heart's true home, behind!

He paused--one upward look upon the gloom Of the closed cas.e.m.e.nt, the love-hallow'd room, Where yet, perchance, while happier Suffering slept Its mournful vigil tender Duty kept; One prayer! What mercy taught us prayer?--as dews On drooping herbs--as sleep tired life renews, As dreams that lead, and lap our griefs in Heaven, To souls through Prayer, dew, sleep, and dream, are given!

So bow'd, not broken, and with manly will, Onwards he strode, slow up the labouring hill!

If Lucy mourn'd his absence, not before Her sire's dim eyes the face of grief she wore; Haply her woman heart divined the spell Of her own power, by flight proclaim'd too well; And not in hours like these may self control The generous empire of a n.o.ble soul: Lo, her first thought, first duty--the soft reign Of Woman--patience by the bed of pain!

As mute the father, yet to him made clear The cause of flight untold to Lucy's ear; Thus ran the lines that met, at morn, his eyes:-- "Farewell! my place a daughter now supplies!-- Thou hast pa.s.s'd the gates of Death, and bright once more Smile round thy steps the sunlight and the sh.o.r.e.