Volume I Part 27 (1/2)
A harmony sublime and plain, Which cleft (as flying swan, the rain,-- Throwing the drops off with a strain
Of her white wing) those undertones Of perplext chords, and soared at once And struck out from the starry thrones
Their several silver octaves as It pa.s.sed to G.o.d. The music was Of divine stature; strong to pa.s.s:
And those who heard it, understood Something of life in spirit and blood, Something of nature's fair and good:
And while it sounded, those great souls Did thrill as racers at the goals And burn in all their aureoles;
But she the lady, as vapour-bound, Stood calmly in the joy of sound, Like Nature with the showers around:
And when it ceased, the blood which fell Again, alone grew audible, Tolling the silence as a bell.
The sovran angel lifted high His hand, and spake out sovranly: ”Tried poets, hearken and reply!
”Give me true answers. If we grant That not to suffer, is to want The conscience of the jubilant,--
”If ignorance of anguish is _But_ ignorance, and mortals miss Far prospects, by a level bliss,--
”If, as two colours must be viewed In a visible image, mortals should Need good and evil, to see good,--
”If to speak n.o.bly, comprehends To feel profoundly,--if the ends Of power and suffering, Nature blends,--
”If poets on the tripod must Writhe like the Pythian to make just Their oracles and merit trust,--
”If every vatic word that sweeps To change the world must pale their lips And leave their own souls in eclipse,--
”If to search deep the universe Must pierce the searcher with the curse, Because that bolt (in man's reverse)
”Was shot to the heart o' the wood and lies Wedged deepest in the best,--if eyes That look for visions and surprise
”From influent angels, must shut down Their eyelids first to sun and moon, The head asleep upon a stone,--
”If ONE who did redeem you back, By His own loss, from final wrack, Did consecrate by touch and track
”Those temporal sorrows till the taste Of brackish waters of the waste Is salt with tears He dropt too fast,--
”If all the crowns of earth must wound With p.r.i.c.kings of the thorns He found,-- If saddest sighs swell sweetest sound,--
”What say ye unto this?--refuse This baptism in salt water?--choose Calm b.r.e.a.s.t.s, mute lips, and labour loose?
”Or, O ye gifted givers! ye Who give your liberal hearts to me To make the world this harmony,
”Are ye resigned that they be spent To such world's help?”
The Spirits bent Their awful brows and said ”Content.”
Content! it sounded like _Amen_ Said by a choir of mourning men; An affirmation full of pain
And patience,--ay, of glorying And adoration, as a king Might seal an oath for governing.