No More Learning

The thunderous downshoot deafened him;
Half he choked in the lashing spray:
Life is sweet, and the grave is grim--
Which way? --which way?

A flash of light, a shout from the strand:
'This way--this way; here lies the land! ' 320
His phial clutched in one drowning hand;
He catches--misses--catches a rope;
His feet slip on the slipping sand:
Is there life? --is there hope?

Just saved, without pulse or breath,--
Scarcely saved from the gulp of death;
Laid where a willow shadoweth--
Laid where a swelling turf is smooth.
(O Bride! but the Bridegroom lingereth
For all thy sweet youth. ) 330

Kind hands do and undo,
Kind voices whisper and coo:
'I will chafe his hands'--'And I'--'And you
Raise his head, put his hair aside. '
(If many laugh, one well may rue:
Sleep on, thou Bride. )

So the Prince was tended with care:
One wrung foul ooze from his clustered hair;
Two chafed his hands, and did not spare;
But one held his drooping head breast-high, 340
Till his eyes oped, and at unaware
They met eye to eye.

Oh, a moon face in a shadowy place,
And a light touch and a winsome grace,
And a thrilling tender voice that says:
'Safe from waters that seek the sea--
Cold waters by rugged ways--
Safe with me. '

While overhead bird whistles to bird,
And round about plays a gamesome herd: 350
'Safe with us'--some take up the word--
'Safe with us, dear lord and friend:
All the sweeter if long deferred
Is rest in the end. '

Had he stayed to weigh and to scan,
He had been more or less than a man:
He did what a young man can,
Spoke of toil and an arduous way--
Toil to-morrow, while golden ran
The sands of to-day. 360

Slip past, slip fast,
Uncounted hours from first to last,
Many hours till the last is past,
Many hours dwindling to one--
One hour whose die is cast,
One last hour gone.
Come, gone--gone for ever--
Gone as an unreturning river--
Gone as to death the merriest liver--
Gone as the year at the dying fall-- 370
To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never--
Gone once for all.

Came at length the starting-day,
With last words, and last words to say,
With bodiless cries from far away--
Chiding wailing voices that rang
Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray;
And thus they sang:

'Is there life? --the lamp burns low;
Is there hope? --the coming is slow: 380
The promise promised so long ago,
The long promise, has not been kept.
Does she live? --does she die? --she slumbers so
Who so oft has wept.

'Does she live? --does she die? --she languisheth
As a lily drooping to death,
As a drought-worn bird with failing breath,
As a lovely vine without a stay,
As a tree whereof the owner saith,
"Hew it down to-day. "' 390

Stung by that word the Prince was fain
To start on his tedious road again.
He crossed the stream where a ford was plain,
He clomb the opposite bank though steep,
And swore to himself to strain and attain
Ere he tasted sleep.

Huge before him a mountain frowned
With foot of rock on the valley ground,
And head with snows incessant crowned,
And a cloud mantle about its strength, 400
And a path which the wild goat hath not found
In its breadth and length.

But he was strong to do and dare:
If a host had withstood him there,
He had braved a host with little care
In his lusty youth and his pride,
Tough to grapple though weak to snare.
He comes, O Bride.

Up he went where the goat scarce clings,
Up where the eagle folds her wings, 410
Past the green line of living things,
Where the sun cannot warm the cold,--
Up he went as a flame enrings
Where there seems no hold.