  Plus ne suis ce que j'ai ÉtÉ, Et ne le sÇaurois jamais Être. Marot. Non dubito, quin titulus libri nostri raritate sua quamplurimos alliciat ad legendum: inter quos nonnulli obliquÆ opinionis, mente languidi, multi etiam maligni, et in ingenium nostrum ingrati accedent, qui temeraria sua ignorantia, vix conspecto titulo clamabunt. Nos vetita docere, hÆresium semina jacere: piis auribus offendiculo, prÆclaris ingeniis scandalo esse: ... adeo conscientiÆ suÆ consulentes, ut nec Apollo, nec MusÆ omnes, neque Angelus de coelo me ab illorum execratione vindicare queant: quibus et ego nunc consulo, ne scripta nostra legant, nec intelligant, nec meminerint: nam noxia sunt, venenosa sunt: Acherontis ostium est in hoc libro, lapides loquitur, caveant, ne cerebrum illis excutiat. Vos autem, qui Æqua mente ad legendum venitis, si tantam prudentiÆ discretionem adhibueritis, quantam in melle legendo apes, jam securi legite. Puto namque vos et utilitatis haud parum et voluptatis plurimum accepturos. Quod si qua repereritis, quÆ vobis non placeant, mittite illa, nec utimini. Nam et ego vobis illa non Probo, sed Narro. CÆtera tamen propterea non respuite ... Ideo, si quid liberius dictum sit, ignoscite adolescentiÆ nostrÆ, qui minor quam adolescens hoc opus composui.—Hen. Corn. Agrippa, De Occult. Philosoph. in PrÆfat. London: January, 1833.
My powers were greater: as some temple seemed My soul, where naught is changed and incense rolls Around the altar, only God is gone And some dark spirit sitteth in his seat. So, I passed through the temple and to me Knelt troops of shadows, and they cried, "Hail, king! We serve thee now and thou shalt serve no more! Call on us, prove us, let us worship thee!" And I said, "Are ye strong? Let fancy bear me Far from the past!" And I was borne away, As Arab birds float sleeping in the wind, O'er deserts, towers and forests, I being calm. And I said, "I have nursed up energies, They will prey on me." And a band knelt low And cried, "Lord, we are here and we will make Safe way for thee in thine appointed life! But look on us!" And I said, "Ye will worship Me; should my heart not worship too?" They shouted, "Thyself, thou art our king!" So, I stood there Smiling—oh, vanity of vanities! For buoyant and rejoicing was the spirit With which I looked out how to end my course; I felt once more myself, my powers—all mine; I knew while youth and health so lifted me That, spite of all life's nothingness, no grief Came nigh me, I must ever be light-hearted; And that this knowledge was the only veil Betwixt joy and despair: so, if age came, I should be left—a wreck linked to a soul Yet fluttering, or mind-broken and aware Of my decay. So a long summer morn Found me; and ere noon came, I had resolved No age should come on me ere youth was spent, For I would wear myself out, like that morn Which wasted not a sunbeam; every hour I would make mine, and die. And thus I sought To chain my spirit down which erst I freed For flights to fame: I said, "The troubled life Of genius, seen so gay when working forth Some trusted end, grows sad when all proves vain— How sad when men have parted with truth's peace For falsest fancy's sake, which waited first As an obedient spirit when delight Came without fancy's call: but alters soon, Comes darkened, seldom, hastens to depart, Leaving a heavy darkness and warm tears. But I shall never lose her; she will live Dearer for such seclusion. I but catch A hue, a glance of what I sing: so, pain Is linked with pleasure, for I ne'er may tell Half the bright sights which dazzle me; but now Mine shall be all the radiance: let them fade Untold—others shall rise as fair, as fast! And when all's done, the few dim gleams transferred,"— (For a new thought sprang up how well it were, Discarding shadowy hope, to weave such lays As straight encircle men with praise and love, So, I should not die utterly,—should bring One branch from the gold forest, like the knight Of old tales, witnessing I had been there)— "And when all's done, how vain seems e'en success— The vaunted influence poets have o'er men! 'Tis a fine thing that one weak as myself Should sit in his lone room, knowing the words He utters in his solitude shall move Men like a swift wind—that though dead and gone, New eyes shall glisten when his beauteous dreams Of love come true in happier frames than his. Ay, the still night brings thoughts like these, but morn Comes and the mockery again laughs out At hollow praises, smiles allied to sneers; And my soul's idol ever whispers me To dwell with him and his unhonored song: And I foreknow my spirit, that would press First in the struggle, fail again to make All bow enslaved, and I again should sink. "And then know that this curse will come on us, To see our idols perish; we may wither, No marvel, we are clay, but our low fate Should not extend to those whom trustingly We sent before into time's yawning gulf To face what dread may lurk in darkness there. To find the painter's glory pass, and feel Music can move us not as once, or, worst, To weep decaying wits ere the frail body Decays! Naught makes me trust some love is true, But the delight of the contented lowness With which I gaze on him I keep forever Above me; I to rise and rival him? Feed his fame rather from my heart's best blood, Wither unseen that he may flourish still." Pauline, my soul's friend, thou dost pity yet How this mood swayed me when that soul found thine, When I had set myself to live this life, Defying all past glory. Ere thou camest I seemed defiant, sweet, for old delights Had flocked like birds again; music, my life, Nourished me more than ever; then the lore Loved for itself and all it shows—that king Treading the purple calmly to his death, While round him, like the clouds of eve, all dusk, The giant shades of fate, silently flitting, Pile the dim outline of the coming doom; And him sitting alone in blood while friends Are hunting far in the sunshine; and the boy With his white breast and brow and clustering curls Streaked with his mother's blood, but striving hard To tell his story ere his reason goes. And when I loved thee as love seemed so oft, Thou lovedst me indeed: I wondering searched My heart to find some feeling like such love, Believing I was still much I had been. Too soon I found all faith had gone from me, And the late glow of life, like change on clouds, Proved not the morn-blush widening into day, But eve faint-colored by the dying sun While darkness hastens quickly. I will tell My state as though 't were none of mine—despair Cannot come near us—this it is, my state. Souls alter not, and mine must still advance; Strange that I knew not, when I flung away My youth's chief aims, their loss might lead to loss Of what few I retained, and no resource Be left me: for behold how changed is all! I cannot chain my soul: it will not rest In its clay prison, this most narrow sphere: It has strange impulse, tendency, desire, Which nowise I account for nor explain, But cannot stifle, being bound to trust All feelings equally, to hear all sides: How can my life indulge them? yet they live, Referring to some
i0">I with thee, even as a child—love's slave, Looking no farther than his liege commands. And thou hast chosen where this life shall be: The land which gave me thee shall be our home, Where nature lies all wild amid her lakes And snow-swathed mountains and vast pines begirt With ropes of snow—where nature lies all bare, Suffering none to view her but a race Or stinted or deformed, like the mute dwarfs Which wait upon a naked Indian queen. And there (the time being when the heavens are thick With storm) I'll sit with thee while thou dost sing Thy native songs, gay as a desert bird Which crieth as it flies for perfect joy, Or telling me old stories of dead knights; Or I will read great lays to thee—how she, The fair pale sister, went to her chill grave With power to love and to be loved and live: Or we will go together, like twin gods Of the infernal world, with scented lamp Over the dead, to call and to awake, Over the unshaped images which lie Within my mind's cave: only leaving all, That tells of the past doubt. So, when spring comes With sunshine back again like an old smile, And the fresh waters and awakened birds And budding woods await us, I shall be Prepared, and we will question life once more, Till its old sense shall come renewed by change, Like some clear thought which harsh words veiled before; Feeling God loves us, and that all which errs Is but a dream which death will dissipate. And then what need of longer exile? Seek My England, and, again there, calm approach All I once fled from, calmly look on those The works of my past weakness, as one views Some scene where danger met him long before. Ah that such pleasant life should be but dreamed! But whate'er come of it, and though it fade, And though ere the cold morning all be gone, As it may be;—though music wait to wile, And strange eyes and bright wine lure, laugh like sin Which steals back softly on a soul half saved, And I the first deny, decry, despise, With this avowal, these intents so fair,— Still be it all my own, this moment's pride! No less I make an end in perfect joy. E'en in my brightest time, a lurking fear Possessed me: I well knew my weak resolves, I felt the witchery that makes mind sleep Over its treasure, as one half afraid To make his riches definite: but now These feelings shall not utterly be lost, I shall not know again that nameless care Lest, leaving all undone in youth, some new And undreamed end reveal itself too late: For this song shall remain to tell forever That when I lost all hope of such a change, Suddenly beauty rose on me again. No less I make an end in perfect joy, For I, who thus again was visited, Shall doubt not many another bliss awaits, And, though this weak soul sink and darkness whelm, Some little word shall light it, raise aloft, To where I clearlier see and better love, As I again go o'er the tracts of thought Like one who has a right, and I shall live With poets, calmer, purer still each time, And beauteous shapes will come for me to seize, And unknown secrets will be trusted me Which were denied the waverer once; but now I shall be priest and prophet as of old. Sun-treader, I believe in God and truth And love; and as one just escaped from death Would bind himself in bands of friends to feel He lives indeed, so, I would lean on thee! Thou must be ever with me, most in gloom If such must come, but chiefly when I die, For I seem, dying, as one going in the dark To fight a giant: but live thou forever, And be to all what thou hast been to me! All in whom this wakes pleasant thoughts of me Know my last state is happy, free from doubt Or touch of fear. Love me and wish me well. SONNET.Mr. Gosse in his Personalia copies from the Monthly Repository the following sonnet. Three other pieces first printed in the same periodical will be found as afterward grouped in Bells and Pomegranates. |
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