The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 1 by George MacDonald (series like harry potter .txt) 📕

truth;
Smiles better teachers are than mightiest words.
Thou, who wast life, not thought, how couldst thou help it?
How love me on, withdrawn from all thy sight-
For life must ever need the shows of life?
How fail to love a man so like thyself,
Whose manhood sought thy fainting womanhood?
I brought thee pine-boughs, rich in hanging cones,
But never white flowers, rubied at the heart.
O God, forgive me; it is all my fault.
Would I have had dead Love, pain-galvanized,
Led fettered after me by gaoler Duty?
Thou gavest me a woman rich in heart,
And I have kept her like a caged seamew
Starved by a boy, who weeps when it is dead.
O God, my eyes are opening-fearfully:
I know it now-'twas pride, yes, very pride,
That kept me back from speaking all my soul.
I was self-haunted, self-possessed-the worst
Of all possessions. Wherefore did I never
Cast all my being, life and all, on hers,
In burning words of openness and truth?
Why never fling my doubts, my hopes, my love,
Prone at her feet abandonedly? Why not
Have been content to minister and wait;
And if she answered not to my desires,
Have smiled and waited patient? God, they say,
Gives to his aloe years to breed its flower:
I gave not five years to a woman's soul!
Had I not drunk at last old wine of love?
I shut her love back on her lovely heart;
I did not shield her in the wintry day;
And she has withered up and died and gone.
God, let me perish, so thy beautiful
Be brought with gladness and with singing home.
If thou wilt give her back to me, I vow
To be her slave, and serve her with my soul.
I in my hand will take my heart, and burn
Sweet perfumes on it to relieve her pain.
I, I have ruined her-O God, save thou!

[ His bends his head upon his knees . LILY comes running up
to him, stumbling over the graves .]

Lily .
Why do they make so many hillocks, father?
The flowers would grow without them.

Julian .
So they would.

Lily .
What are they for, then?

Julian (aside ).
I wish I had not brought her;
She will ask questions. I must tell her all.

( Aloud ).

'Tis where they lay them when the story's done.

Lily .
What! lay the boys and girls?

Julian .
Yes, my own child-
To keep them warm till it begin again.

Lily .
Is it dark down there?

[ Clinging to JULIAN, and pointing down .]

Julian .
Yes, it is dark; but pleasant-oh, so sweet!
For out of there come all the pretty flowers.

Lily .
Did the church grow out of there, with the long stalk
That tries to touch the little frightened clouds?

Julian .
It did, my darling.-There's a door down there
That leads away to where the church is pointing.

[ She is silent far some time, and keeps looking first down and
then up . JULIAN carries her away .]


SCENE XX.- Portsmouth . LORD SEAFORD, partially recovered. Enter LADY GERTRUDE and BERNARD.

Lady Gertrude .
I have found an old friend, father. Here he is!

Lord S .
Bernard! Who would have thought to see you here!

Bern .
I came on Lady Gertrude in the street.
I know not which of us was more surprised.

[LADY GERTRUDE goes .]

Bern .
Where is the countess?

Lord S .
Countess! What do you mean? I do not know.

Bern .
The Italian lady.

Lord S .
Countess Lamballa, do you mean? You frighten me!

Bern .
I am glad indeed to know your ignorance;
For since I saw the count, I would not have you
Wrong one gray hair upon his noble head.

[LORD SEAFORD covers his eyes with his hands .]

You have not then heard the news about yourself?
Such interesting echoes reach the last
A man's own ear. The public has decreed
You and the countess run away together.
'Tis certain she has balked the London Argos,
And that she has been often to your house.
The count believes it-clearly from his face:
The man is dying slowly on his feet.

Lord S. (starting up and ringing the bell ).
O God! what am I? My love burns like hate,
Scorching and blasting with a fiery breath!

Bern .
What the deuce ails you, Seaford? Are you raving?

Enter Waiter.

Lord S .
Post-chaise for London-four horses-instantly.

[ He sinks exhausted in his chair .]


SCENE XXI.- LILY in bed. JULIAN seated by her .

Lily .
O father, take me on your knee, and nurse me.
Another story is very nearly done.

[ He takes her on his knees .]

I am so tired! Think I should like to go
Down to the warm place that the flowers come from,
Where all the little boys and girls are lying
In little beds-white curtains, and white tassels.
-No, no, no-it is so dark down there!
Father will not come near me all the night.

Julian .
You shall not go, my darling; I will keep you.

Lily .
O will you keep me always, father dear?
And though I sleep ever so sound, still keep me?
Oh, I should be so happy, never to move!
'Tis such a dear well place, here in your arms!
Don't let it take me; do not let me go:
I cannot leave you, father-love hurts so.

Julian .
Yes, darling; love does hurt. It is too good
Never to hurt. Shall I walk with you now,
And try to make you sleep?

Lily .
Yes-no; for I should leave you then. Oh, my head!
Mother, mother, dear mother!-Sing to me, father.

[ He tries to sing .]

Oh the hurt, the hurt, and the hurt of love!
Wherever the sun shines, the waters go.
It hurts the snowdrop, it hurts the dove,
God on his throne, and man below.

But sun would not shine, nor waters go,
Snowdrop tremble, nor fair dove moan,
God be on high, nor man below,
But for love-for the love with its hurt alone.

Thou knowest, O Saviour, its hurt and its sorrows;
Didst rescue its joy by the might of thy pain:
Lord of all yesterdays, days, and to-morrows,
Help us love on in the hope of thy gain;

Hurt as it may, love on, love for ever;
Love for love's sake, like the Father above,
But for whose brave-hearted Son we had never
Known the sweet hurt of the sorrowful love.

[ She sleeps at last. He sits as before, with the child
leaning on his bosom, and falls into a kind of stupor, in
which he talks .]

Julian .
A voice comes from the vacant, wide sea-vault:
Man with the heart, praying for woman's love,
Receive thy prayer; be loved; and take thy choice:
Take this or this . O Heaven and Earth! I see-What
is it? Statue trembling into life
With the first rosy flush upon the skin?
Or woman-angel, richer by lack of wings?
I see her-where I know not; for I see
Nought else: she filleth space, and eyes, and brain-
God keep me!-in celestial nakedness.
She leaneth forward, looking down in space,
With large eyes full of longing, made intense
By mingled fear of something yet unknown;
Her arms thrown forward, circling half; her hands
Half lifted, and half circling, like her arms.

O heavenly artist! whither hast thou gone
To find my own ideal womanhood-
Glory grown grace, divine to human grown?

I hear the voice again: Speak but the word:
She will array herself and come to thee.
Lo, at her white foot lie her daylight clothes,
Her earthly dress for work and weary rest !
-I see a woman-form, laid as in sleep,
Close by the white foot of the wonderful.
It is the same shape, line for line, as she.
Long grass and daisies shadow round her limbs.
Why speak I not the word?---Clothe thee, and come,
O infinite woman! my life faints for thee.

Once more the voice: Stay! look on this side first:
I spake of choice. Look here, O son of man!
Choose then between them . Ah! ah!

[ Silence .]