No More Learning

_67_

SWEET, when the great sea's water is stirred to his depths
by the storm-winds,
Standing ashore to descry one afar-off mightily struggling:
Not that a neighbour's sorrow to you yields dulcet enjoyment:
But that the sight hath a sweetness, of ills ourselves
are exempt from.
Sweet too 'tis to behold, on a broad plain mustering, war hosts
Arm them for some great battle, one's self
unscathed by the danger:--
Yet still happier this: to possess, impregnably guarded,
Those calm heights of the sages, which have for an origin Wisdom:
Thence to survey our fellows, observe them this way and that way
Wander amidst Life's path, poor stragglers seeking a highway:
Watch mind battle with mind, and escutcheon rival escutcheon:
Gaze on that untold strife, which is waged 'neath the sun
and the starlight,
Up as they toil on the surface whereon rest Riches and Empire.
O race born unto trouble! O minds all lacking of eye-sight!
'Neath what a vital darkness, amidst how terrible dangers
Move ye thro' this thing Life, this fragment! Fools that ye hear not
Nature clamour aloud for the one thing only: that, all pain
Parted and passed from the body, the mind too bask in a blissful
Dream, all fear of the future and all anxiety over!
Now as regards man's body, a few things only are needful,
(Few, tho' we sum up all), to remove all misery from him,
Aye, and to strew in his path such a lib'ral carpet of pleasures
That scarce Nature herself would at times ask happiness greater.
Statues of youth and of beauty may not gleam golden around him,
(Each in his right hand bearing a great lamp lustrously burning,
Whence to the midnight revel a light may be furnishëd always),
Silver may not shine softly, nor gold blaze bright, in his mansion,
Nor to the noise of the tabret his halls gold-cornicëd echo:--
Yet still he, with his fellow, reposed on the velvety greensward,
Near to a rippling stream, by a tall tree canopied over,
Shall, though they lack great riches, enjoy all bodily pleasure:
Chiefliest then when above them a fair sky smiles,
and the young year
Flings with a bounteous hand over each green meadow
the wild-flowers:--
Not more quickly depart from his bosom fiery fevers,
Who beneath crimson hangings and pictures cunningly broidered
Tosses about, than from him who must lie in beggarly raiment.
Therefore, since to the body avail not riches, avails not
Heraldry's utmost boast, nor the pomp and pride of an empire;
Next shall you own that the mind needs likewise
nothing of these things;
Unless--when, peradventure, your armies over the champaign
Spread with a stir and a ferment and bid War's image awaken,
Or when with stir and with ferment a fleet sails forth upon ocean--
Cowed before these brave sights, pale Superstition abandon
Straightway your mind as you gaze, Death seem no longer alarming,
Trouble vacate your bosom and Peace hold holiday in you.
But if (again) all this be a vain impossible fiction,
If of a truth men's fears and the cares which hourly beset them
Heed not the javelin's fury, regard not clashing of broad-swords,
But all boldly amongst crowned heads and the rulers of empires
Stalk, not shrinking abashed from the dazzling glare
of the red gold,
Not from the pomp of the monarch who walks forth purple-apparelled:
These things shew that at times we are bankrupt, surely, of reason:
Think too that all man's life through a great Dark laboureth onward.
For as a young boy trembles and in that mystery, Darkness,
Sees all terrible things: so do we too, ev'n in the daylight,
Ofttimes shudder at that which is not more really alarming
Than boys' fears when they waken and say some danger is o'er them.
So this panic of mind, these clouds which gather around us,
Fly not the bright sunbeam, nor the ivory shafts of the daylight:
Nature, rightly revealed, and the Reason only, dispel them.

C. S. CALVERLEY


_69_

OUT of the night, out of the blinding night
Thy beacon flashes;--hail, beloved light
Of Greece and Grecian; hail, for in the mirk
Thou dost reveal each valley and each height.
Thou art my leader and the footprints thine,
Wherein I plant my own. Thro' storm and shine
Thy love upholds me. Ne'er was rivalry
'Twixt owl and thrush, 'twixt steeds and shambling kine.

The world was thine to read, and having read,
Before thy children's eyes thou didst outspread
The fruitful page of knowledge, all the wealth
Of wisdom, all her plenty for their bread.

As honey-bees thro' flowery glades in June
Rifle the blossoms, so at our high-noon
Of life we gather in melodious glades
The golden honey of thy deathless rune.

And whoso roams benighted, on his ear,
Out of the darkness strikes an echo clear
Of thy triumphant challenge:--'Ye who quail,
Come unto me, for I have cast out fear. '

Thereat the walls o' the world fade far away
And thou, great Nature's seër, dost display
The miracle of her workings in the void:--
The night is past and reason dawns with day.

Heaven lies about us and we see the hall,
Where never storm-fiend raves nor snow-flakes fall
In webs of winter whiteness to ensnare
The golden summer. Peace is over all;

A canopy of cloudless sky, a glow
Of laughing sunshine; all the flowers that blow
Are there, and there from Nature's teeming breast
Rivers of strength and sweetness ever flow.

The veil of Acheron is rent in twain;
His phantom precincts vanish. Ne'er again
Can Earth conceal the secret:--it is ours;
And all that once was hidden is made plain.

Hail, mighty Master, hail! The world was thine,
For thou hadst read her riddle line by line,
Scroll upon scroll; and now . . . oh, ecstasy
Of awe and rapture,.