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not brook.

      May, 1855.

      WITHIN AND WITHOUT

      PART I.

       Table of Contents

      Go thou into thy closet; shut thy door;

       And pray to Him in secret: He will hear.

       But think not thou, by one wild bound, to clear

       The numberless ascensions, more and more,

       Of starry stairs that must be climbed, before

       Thou comest to the Father's likeness near,

       And bendest down to kiss the feet so dear

       That, step by step, their mounting flights passed o'er.

       Be thou content if on thy weary need

       There falls a sense of showers and of the spring;

       A hope that makes it possible to fling

       Sickness aside, and go and do the deed;

       For highest aspiration will not lead

       Unto the calm beyond all questioning.

      SCENE I.—A cell in a convent. JULIAN alone.

      Julian. Evening again slow creeping like a death! And the red sunbeams fading from the wall, On which they flung a sky, with streaks and bars Of the poor window-pane that let them in, For clouds and shadings of the mimic heaven! Soul of my cell, they part, no more to come. But what is light to me, while I am dark! And yet they strangely draw me, those faint hues, Reflected flushes from the Evening's face, Which as a bride, with glowing arms outstretched, Takes to her blushing heaven him who has left His chamber in the dim deserted east. Through walls and hills I see it! The rosy sea! The radiant head half-sunk! A pool of light, As the blue globe had by a blow been broken, And the insphered glory bubbled forth! Or the sun were a splendid water-bird, That flying furrowed with its golden feet A flashing wake over the waves, and home! Lo there!—Alas, the dull blank wall!—High up, The window-pane a dead gray eye! and night Come on me like a thief!—Ah, well! the sun Has always made me sad! I'll go and pray: The terror of the night begins with prayer.

      (Vesper bell.) Call them that need thee; I need not thy summons; My knees would not so pain me when I kneel, If only at thy voice my prayer awoke. I will not to the chapel. When I find Him, Then will I praise him from the heights of peace; But now my soul is as a speck of life Cast on the deserts of eternity; A hungering and a thirsting, nothing more. I am as a child new-born, its mother dead, Its father far away beyond the seas. Blindly I stretch my arms and seek for him: He goeth by me, and I see him not. I cry to him: as if I sprinkled ashes, My prayers fall back in dust upon my soul.

      (Choir and organ-music.) I bless you, sweet sounds, for your visiting. What friends I have! Prismatic harmonies Have just departed in the sun's bright coach, And fair, convolved sounds troop in to me, Stealing my soul with faint deliciousness. Would they took shapes! What levees I should hold! How should my cell be filled with wavering forms! Louder they grow, each swelling higher, higher; Trembling and hesitating to float off, As bright air-bubbles linger, that a boy Blows, with their interchanging, wood-dove-hues, Just throbbing to their flight, like them to die. —Gone now! Gone to the Hades of dead loves! Is it for this that I have left the world?— Left what, poor fool? Is this, then, all that comes Of that night when the closing door fell dumb On music and on voices, and I went Forth from the ordered tumult of the dance, Under the clear cope of the moonless night, Wandering away without the city-walls, Between the silent meadows and the stars, Till something woke in me, and moved my spirit, And of themselves my thoughts turned toward God; When straight within my soul I felt as if An eye was opened; but I knew not whether 'Twas I that saw, or God that looked on me? It closed again, and darkness fell; but not To hide the memory; that, in many failings Of spirit and of purpose, still returned; And I came here at last to search for God. Would I could find him! Oh, what quiet content Would then absorb my heart, yet leave it free!

      A knock at the door. Enter Brother ROBERT with a light.

      Robert. Head in your hands as usual! You will fret Your life out, sitting moping in the dark. Come, it is supper-time.

      Julian. I will not sup to-night.

      Robert. Not sup? You'll never live to be a saint.

      Julian. A saint! The devil has me by the heel.

      Robert. So has he all saints; as a boy his kite, Which ever struggles higher for his hold. It is a silly devil to gripe so hard;— He should let go his hold, and then he has you. If you'll not come, I'll leave the light with you. Hark to the chorus! Brother Stephen sings.

      Chorus. Always merry, and never drunk. That's the life of the jolly monk.

      SONG.

      They say the first monks were lonely men,

       Praying each in his lonely den,

       Rising up to kneel again,

       Each a skinny male Magdalene,

       Peeping scared from out his hole

       Like a burrowing rabbit or a mole;

       But years ring changes as they roll—

      Cho. Now always merry, &c.

      When the moon gets up with her big round face,

       Like Mistress Poll's in the market-place,

       Down to the village below we pace;—

       We know a supper that wants a grace:

       Past the curtsying women we go,

       Past the smithy, all a glow,

       To the snug little houses at top of the row—

      Cho. For always merry, &c.

      And there we find, among the ale,

       The fragments of a floating tale:

       To piece them together we never fail;

       And we fit them rightly, I'll go bail.

       And so we have them all in hand,

       The lads and lasses throughout the land,

       And we are the masters,—you understand?

      Cho. So always merry, &c.

      Last night we had such a game of play

       With the nephews and nieces over the way,

       All for the gold that belonged to the clay

       That lies in lead till the judgment-day!

       The old man's soul they'd leave in the lurch,

       But we saved her share for old Mamma Church.

       How they eyed the bag as they stood in the porch!

      Cho. Oh! always merry, and never drunk. That's the life of the jolly monk!

      Robert. The song is hardly to your taste, I see! Where shall I set the light?

      Julian. I do not need it.

      Robert. Come, come! The dark is a hot-bed for fancies. I wish you were at table, were it only To stop the talking of the men about you. You in the dark are talked of in the light.

      Julian. Well, brother, let them talk; it hurts not me.

      Robert. No; but it hurts your friend to hear them say, You would be thought a saint without the trouble; You do no penance that they can discover. You keep shut up, say some, eating your heart, Possessed with a bad conscience, the worst demon. You are a prince, say others, hiding here, Till circumstance that bound you, set you free. To-night, there

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