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

full of eyes,
The memory passed, reclothed in verity:
Once more I now behold it; the inward blaze
Of the glad windows half quenched in the moon;
The trees that, drooping, murmured to the wind,
"Ah! wake me not," which left them to their sleep,
All save the poplar: it was full of joy,
So that it could not sleep, but trembled on.
Sudden as Aphrodite from the sea,
She issued radiant from the pearly night.
It took me half with fear-the glimmer and gleam
Of her white festal garments, haloed round
With denser moonbeams. On she came-and there
I am bewildered. Something I remember
Of thoughts that choked the passages of sound,
Hurrying forth without their pilot-words;
Of agony, as when a spirit seeks
In vain to hold communion with a man;
A hand that would and would not stay in mine;
A gleaming of white garments far away;
And then I know not what. The moon was low,
When from the earth I rose; my hair was wet,
Dripping with dew-

Enter ROBERT cautiously .

Why, how now, Robert?

[ Rising on his elbow .]
Robert (glancing at the chest ).
I see; that's well. Are
you nearly ready?

Julian .
Why? What's the matter?

Robert .
You must go this night,
If you would go at all.

Julian .
Why must I go?
[ Rises .]
Robert (turning over the things in the chest ).
Here, put
this coat on. Ah! take that thing too.
No more such head-gear! Have you not a hat,

[ Going to the chest again .]

Or something for your head? There's such a hubbub
Got up about you! The Abbot comes to-morrow.

Julian .
Ah, well! I need not ask. I know it all.

Robert .
No, you do not. Nor is there time to tell you.
Ten minutes more, they will be round to bar
The outer doors; and then-good-bye, poor Julian!

[ JULIAN has been rapidly changing his clothes .]

Julian .
Now I am ready, Robert. Thank you, friend.
Farewell! God bless you! We shall meet again.

Robert .
Farewell, dear friend! Keep far away from this.

[ Goes .]

[JULIAN follows him out of the cell, steps along a narrow
passage to a door, which he opens slowly. He goes out,
and closes the door behind him .]


SCENE IV.- Night. The court of a country-inn. The Abbot, while his horse is brought out .

Abbot .
Now for a shrine to house this rich Madonna,
Within the holiest of the holy place!
I'll have it made in fashion as a stable,
With porphyry pillars to a marble stall;
And odorous woods, shaved fine like shaken hay,
Shall fill the silver manger for a bed,
Whereon shall lie the ivory Infant carved
By shepherd hands on plains of Bethlehem.
And over him shall bend the Mother mild,
In silken white and coroneted gems.
Glorious! But wherewithal I see not now-
The Mammon of unrighteousness is scant;
Nor know I any nests of money-bees
That could yield half-contentment to my need.
Yet will I trust and hope; for never yet
In journeying through this vale of tears have I
Projected pomp that did not blaze anon.


SCENE V.- After midnight . JULIAN seated under a tree by the roadside .


Julian .
So lies my journey-on into the dark!
Without my will I find myself alive,
And must go forward. Is it God that draws
Magnetic all the souls unto their home,
Travelling, they know not how, but unto God?
It matters little what may come to me
Of outward circumstance, as hunger, thirst,
Social condition, yea, or love or hate;
But what shall I be, fifty summers hence?
My life, my being, all that meaneth me ,
Goes darkling forward into something-what?
O God, thou knowest. It is not my care.
If thou wert less than truth, or less than love,
It were a fearful thing to be and grow
We know not what. My God, take care of me;
Pardon and swathe me in an infinite love,
Pervading and inspiring me, thy child.
And let thy own design in me work on,
Unfolding the ideal man in me;
Which being greater far than I have grown,
I cannot comprehend. I am thine, not mine.
One day, completed unto thine intent,
I shall be able to discourse with thee;
For thy Idea, gifted with a self,
Must be of one with the mind where it sprang,
And fit to talk with thee about thy thoughts.
Lead me, O Father, holding by thy hand;
I ask not whither, for it must be on.

This road will lead me to the hills, I think;
And there I am in safety and at home.


SCENE VI.- The Abbot's room. The Abbot and one of the Monks.

Abbot .
Did she say Julian ? Did she say the name?

Monk .
She did.

Abbot .
What did she call the lady? What?

Monk .
I could not hear.

Abbot .
Nor where she lived?
Monk .
Nor that.
She was too wild for leading where I would.

Abbot .
So! Send Julian. One thing I need not ask:
You have kept this matter secret?

Monk .
Yes, my lord.
Abbot .
Well, go and send him hither.

[Monk goes .]
Said I well,
That prayer would burgeon into pomp for me?
That God would hear his own elect who cried?
Now for a shrine, so glowing in the means
That it shall draw the eyes by power of light!
So tender in conceit, that it shall draw
The heart by very strength of delicateness,
And move proud thought to worship!
I must act
With caution now; must win his confidence;
Question him of the secret enemies
That fight against his soul; and lead him thus
To tell me, by degrees, his history.
So shall I find the truth, and lay foundation
For future acts, as circumstance requires.
For if the tale be true that he is rich,
And if--

Re-enter Monk in haste and terror .

Monk .
He's gone, my lord! His cell is empty.

Abbot ( starting up ).
What! You are crazy! Gone?
His cell is empty?

Monk .
'Tis true as death, my lord. Witness, these eyes!

Abbot .
Heaven and hell! It shall not be, I swear!
There is a plot in this! You, sir, have lied!
Some one is in his confidence!-who is it?
Go rouse the convent.

[Monk goes .]

He must be followed, found.
Hunt's up, friend Julian! First your heels, old stag!
But by and by your horns, and then your side!
'Tis venison much too good for the world's eating.
I'll go and sift this business to the bran.
Robert and him I have sometimes seen together!-God's
curse! it shall fare ill with any man
That has connived at this, if I detect him.


SCENE VII.- Afternoon. The mountains . JULIAN.

Julian .
Once more I tread thy courts, O God of heaven!
I lay my hand upon a rock, whose peak
Is miles away, and high amid the clouds.
Perchance I touch the mountain whose blue summit,
With the fantastic rock upon its side,
Stops the eye's flight from that high chamber-window
Where, when a boy, I used to sit and gaze
With wondering awe upon the mighty thing,
Terribly calm, alone, self-satisfied,
The hitherto of my child-thoughts. Beyond,
A sea might roar around its base. Beyond,