Volume Ii Part 1 (1/2)
Poetical Works of George MacDonald.
Vol. 2.
by George MacDonald.
PARABLES
_THE MAN OF SONGS._
”Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, O man of many songs!
To thee what is, but looks and seems; No realm to thee belongs!”
”Seest thou those mountains, faint and far, O spirit caged and tame?”
”Blue clouds like distant hills they are, And like is not the same.”
”Nay, nay; I know each mountain well, Each cliff, and peak, and dome!
In that cloudland, in one high dell, Nesteth my little home.”
_THE HILLS._
Behind my father's cottage lies A gentle gra.s.sy height Up which I often ran--to gaze Back with a wondering sight, For then the chimneys I thought high Were down below me quite!
All round, where'er I turned mine eyes, Huge hills closed up the view; The town 'mid their converging roots Was clasped by rivers two; From, one range to another sprang The sky's great vault of blue.
It was a joy to climb their sides, And in the heather lie!
A joy to look at vantage down On the castle grim and high!
Blue streams below, white clouds above, In silent earth and sky!
And now, where'er my feet may roam, At sight of stranger hill A new sense of the old delight Springs in my bosom still, And longings for the high unknown Their ancient channels fill.
For I am always climbing hills, From the known to the unknown-- Surely, at last, on some high peak, To find my Father's throne, Though hitherto I have only found His footsteps in the stone!
And in my wanderings I did meet Another searching too: The dawning hope, the shared quest Our thoughts together drew; Fearless she laid her band in mine Because her heart was true.
She was not born among the hills, Yet on each mountain face A something known her inward eye By inborn light can trace; For up the hills must homeward be, Though no one knows the place.
Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine-- A long way we have come!
Clasp my hand closer yet, my child, Farther we yet must roam-- Climbing and climbing till we reach Our heavenly father's home.
_THE JOURNEY._
I.
Hark, the rain is on my roof!
Every murmur, through the dark, Stings me with a dull reproof Like a half-extinguished spark.
Me! ah me! how came I here, Wide awake and wide alone!
Caught within a net of fear, All my dreams undreamed and gone!
I will rise; I will go forth.
Better dare the hideous night, Better face the freezing north Than be still, where is no light!
Black wind rus.h.i.+ng round me now, Sown with arrowy points of rain!
Gone are there and then and now-- I am here, and so is pain!