The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ his dagger, and feeling its point.]

      Whom? Her—what then?—Or him—

       What yet? Would that give back the life to me?

       There is one more—myself! Oh, peace! to feel

       The earthworms crawling through my mouldering brain!—

       But to be driven along the windy wastes—

       To hear the tempests, raving as they turn,

       Howl Lilia, Lilia—to be tossed about Beneath the stars that range themselves for ever Into the burning letters of her name— 'Twere better creep the earth down here than that, For pain's excess here sometimes deadens pain.

      [He throws the dagger on the floor.]

      Have I deserved this? Have I earned it? I?

       A pride of innocence darts through my veins.

       I stand erect. Shame cannot touch me. Ha!

       I laugh at insult. I? I am myself—

      Why starest thou at me? Well, stare thy fill;

       When devils mock, the angels lend their wings:—

       But what their wings? I have nowhere to fly.

       Lilia! my worship of thy purity!

       Hast thou forgotten—ah! thou didst not know

       How, watching by thee in thy fever-pain,

       When thy white neck and bosom were laid bare,

       I turned my eyes away, and turning drew

       With trembling hand white darkness over thee,

       Because I knew not thou didst love me then.

       Love me! O God in heaven! Is love a thing

       That can die thus? Love me! Would, for thy penance,

       Thou saw'st but once the heart which thou hast torn—

       Shaped all about thy image set within!

       But that were fearful! What rage would not, love

       Must then do for thee—in mercy I would kill thee,

       To save thee from the hell-fire of remorse.

       If blood would make thee clean, then blood should flow;

       Eager, unwilling, this hand should make thee bleed,

       Till, drop by drop, the taint should drop away.

       Clean! said I? fit to lie by me in sleep,

       My hand upon thy heart!—not fit to lie,

       For all thy bleeding, by me in the grave!

      [His eye falls on that likeness of Jesus said to be copied from an emerald engraved for Tiberius. He gazes, drops on his knees, and covers his face; remains motionless a long time; then rises very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes filled with tears.]

      O my poor Lilia! my bewildered child!

       How shall I win thee, save thee, make thee mine?

       Where art thou wandering? What words in thine ears?

       God, can she never more be clean? no more,

       Through all the terrible years? Hast thou no well

       In all thy heaven, in all thyself, that can

       Wash her soul clean? Her body will go down

       Into the friendly earth—would it were lying

       There in my arms! for there thy rains will come,

       Fresh from the sky, slow sinking through the sod,

       Summer and winter; and we two should lie

       Mouldering away together, gently washed

       Into the heart of earth; and part would float

       Forth on the sunny breezes that bear clouds

       Through the thin air. But her stained soul, my God!

       Canst thou not cleanse it? Then should we, when death

       Was gone, creep into heaven at last, and sit

       In some still place together, glory-shadowed.

       None would ask questions there. And I should be

       Content to sorrow a little, so I might

       But see her with the darling on her knees,

       And know that must be pure that dwelt within

       The circle of thy glory. Lilia! Lilia!

       I scorn the shame rushing from head to foot;

       I would endure it endlessly, to save

       One thought of thine from his polluting touch;

       Saying ever to myself: this is a part

       Of my own Lilia; and the world to me

       Is nothing since I lost the smiles of her:

       Somehow, I know not how, she faded from me,

       And this is all that's left of her. My wife!

       Soul of my soul! my oneness with myself!

       Come back to me; I will be all to thee:

       Back to my heart; and we will weep together,

       And pray to God together every hour,

       That he would show how strong he is to save.

       The one that made is able to renew—

       I know not how.—I'll hold thy heart to mine,

       So close that the defilement needs must go.

       My love shall ray thee round, and, strong as fire,

       Dart through and through thy soul, till it be cleansed.—

       But if she love him? Oh my heart—beat! beat!

       Grow not so sick with misery and life,

       For fainting will not save thee.—Oh no! no!

       She cannot love him as she must love me.

       Then if she love him not—oh horrible!—oh God!

      [He stands in a stupor for some minutes.]

      What devil whispered that vile word, unclean? I care not—loving more than that СКАЧАТЬ