The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ me, on a rocky slope, some seated, each on his own crag, some reclining between the fragments, I saw a hundred majestic forms, as of men who had striven and conquered. Then I heard one say: 'What wouldst thou sing unto us, young man?' A youthful voice replied, tremblingly: 'A song which I have made for my singing.' 'Come, then, and I will lead thee to the hole in the rock: enter and sing.' From the assembly came forth one whose countenance was calm unto awfulness; but whose eyes looked in love, mingled with doubt, on the face of a youth whom he led by the hand toward the spot where I lay. The features of the youth I could not discern: either it was the indistinctness of a dream, or I was not permitted to behold them. And, Lo! behind me was a great hole in the rock, narrow at the entrance, but deep and wide within; and when I looked into it, I shuddered; for I thought I saw, far down, the glimmer of a star. The youth entered and vanished. His guide strode back to his seat; and I lay in terror near the mouth of the vast cavern. When I looked up once more, I saw all the men leaning forward, with head aside, as if listening intently to a far-off sound. I likewise listened; but, though much nearer than they, I heard nothing. But I could see their faces change like waters in a windy and half-cloudy day. Sometimes, though I heard nought, it seemed to me as if one sighed and prayed beside me; and once I heard a clang of music triumphant in hope; but I looked up, and, Lo! it was the listeners who stood on their feet and sang. They ceased, sat down, and listened as before. At last one approached me, and I ventured to question him. 'Sir,' I said, 'wilt thou tell me what it means?' And he answered me thus: 'The youth desired to sing to the Immortals. It is a law with us that no one shall sing a song who cannot be the hero of his tale—who cannot live the song that he sings; for what right hath he else to devise great things, and to take holy deeds in his mouth? Therefore he enters the cavern where God weaves the garments of souls; and there he lives in the forms of his own tale; for God gives them being that he may be tried. The sighs which thou didst hear were his longings after his own Ideal; and thou didst hear him praying for the Truth he beheld, but could not reach. We sang, because, in his first great battle, he strove well and overcame. We await the next.' A deep sleep seemed to fall upon me; and when I awoke, I saw the Immortals standing with their eyes fixed on the mouth of the cavern. I arose and turned toward it likewise. The youth came forth. His face was worn and pale, as that of the dead man before me; but his eyes were open, and tears trembled within them. Yet not the less was it the same face, the face of my son, I tell thee; and in joy and fear I gazed upon him. With a weary step he approached the Immortals. But he who had led him to the cave hastened to meet him, spread forth his arms, and embraced him, and said unto him: 'Thou hast told a noble tale; sing to us now what songs thou wilt.' Therefore said I, as I gazed on my son: 'He hath told his tale to the Immortals.'"

      [He puts the book down; meditates awhile; then rises and walks up and down the room.]

      And so five years have poured their silent streams,

       Flowing from fountains in eternity,

       Into my soul, which, as an infinite gulf,

       Hath swallowed them; whose living caves they feed;

       And time to spirit grows, transformed and kept.

       And now the day draws nigh when Christ was born;

       The day that showed how like to God himself

       Man had been made, since God could be revealed

       By one that was a man with men, and still

       Was one with God the Father; that men might

       By drawing nigh to him draw nigh to God,

       Who had come near to them in tenderness.

       O God! I thank thee for the friendly eye

       That oft hath opened on me these five years;

       Thank thee for those enlightenings of my spirit

       That let me know thy thought was toward me;

       Those moments fore-enjoyed from future years,

       Telling what converse I should hold with God.

       I thank thee for the sorrow and the care,

       Through which they gleamed, bright phosphorescent sparks

       Crushed from the troubled waters, borne on which

       Through mist and dark my soul draws nigh to thee.

       Five years ago, I prayed in agony

       That thou wouldst speak to me. Thou wouldst not then,

       With that close speech I craved so hungrily.

       Thy inmost speech is heart embracing heart;

       And thou wast all the time instructing me

       To know the language of thy inmost speech.

       I thought thou didst refuse, when every hour

       Thou spakest every word my heart could hear,

       Though oft I did not know it was thy voice.

       My prayer arose from lonely wastes of soul;

       As if a world far-off in depths of space,

       Chaotic, had implored that it might shine

       Straightway in sunlight as the morning star.

       My soul must be more pure ere it could hold

       With thee communion. 'Tis the pure in heart

       That shall see God. As if a well that lay

       Unvisited, till water-weeds had grown

       Up from its depths, and woven a thick mass

       Over its surface, could give back the sun!

       Or, dug from ancient battle-plain, a shield

       Could be a mirror to the stars of heaven!

       And though I am not yet come near to him,

       I know I am more nigh; and am content

       To walk a long and weary road to find

       My father's house once more. Well may it be

       A long and weary—I had wandered far.

       My God, I thank thee, thou dost care for me.

       I am content, rejoicing to go on,

       Even when my home seems very far away;

       For over grief, and aching emptiness,

       And fading hopes, a higher joy arises.

       In cloudiest nights, one lonely spot is bright,

       High overhead, through folds and folds of space;

       It is the earnest-star of all my heavens;

       And tremulous in the deep well of my being

       Its image answers, gazing eagerly.

      Alas, my Lilia!—But I'll think of Jesus,

       Not of thee now; him who hath led my soul

       СКАЧАТЬ