The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2

THE THANKLESS LADY

It is May, and the moon leans down at night   Over a blossomy land; Leans from her window a lady white,   With her cheek upon her hand. "Oh, why in the blue so misty, moon?   Why so dull in the sky? Thou look'st like one that is ready to swoon   Because her tear-well is dry. "Enough, enough of longing and wail!   Oh, bird, I pray thee, be glad! Sing to me once, dear nightingale,   The old song, merry mad. "Hold, hold with thy blossoming, colourless, cold,   Apple-tree white as woe! Blossom yet once with the blossom of old,   Let the roses shine through the snow!" The moon and the blossoms they gloomily gleam,   The bird will not be glad: The dead never speak when the mournful dream,   They are too weak and sad. Listened she listless till night grew late,   Bound by a weary spell; Then clanked the latch of the garden-gate,   And a wondrous thing befell: Out burst the gladness, up dawned the love.   In the song, in the waiting show; Grew silver the moon in the sky above.   Blushed rosy the blossom below. But the merry bird, nor the silvery moon,   Nor the blossoms that flushed the night Had one poor thanks for the granted boon:   The lady forgot them quite!

LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN

Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand   And lord of the billowy sea; Lord of the sea and lord of the land,   He might have let maidens be! A maiden he met with locks of gold,   Straying beside the sea: Maidens listened in days of old,   And repented grievously. Wiser he left her in evil wiles,   Went sailing over the sea; Came to the lord of the Western Isles:   Give me thy daughter, said he. The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said:   Only a king of the sea May think the Maid of the Isles to wed,   And such, men call not thee! Hold thine own three nights and days   In yon whirlpool of the sea, Or turn thy prow and go thy ways   And let the isle-maiden be. Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow   To Denmark over the sea: Wise women, he said, now tell me how   In yon whirlpool to anchor me. Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool   And a cable of maidens' hair, And hie thee back to the roaring pool   And anchor in safety there. The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,   Will forge three anchors rare; The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool,   And the maidens will bring their hair. Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand,   Of the hair that is raven another; Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band   To bind the one to the other! The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,   They forged three anchors rare; The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool,   And the maidens brought their hair. He twisted the brown hair for one strand,   The raven hair for another; He twined the golden hair in a band   To bind the one to the other. He took the cables of hemp and wool.   He took the cable of hair, He hied him back to the roaring pool,   He cast the three anchors there. The whirlpool roared, and the day went by,   And night came down on the sea; But or ever the morning broke the sky   The hemp was broken in three. The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran,   The wind it fiercely blew; And or ever the second morning began   The wool it parted in two. The storm it roared all day the third,   The whirlpool wallowed about, The night came down like a wild black bird,   But the cable of hair held out. Round and round with a giddy swing   Went the sea-king through the dark; Round went the rope in the swivel-ring,   Round reeled the straining bark. Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow,   A lantern in his hand: Blest be the maidens of Denmark now,   By them shall Denmark stand! He watched the rope through the tempest black   A lantern in his hold: Out, out, alack! one strand will crack!   It is the strand of gold! The third morn clear and calm came out:   No anchored ship was there! The golden strand in the cable stout   Was not all of maidens' hair.

THE DEAD HAND

The witch lady walked along the strand,   Heard a roaring of the sea, On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand,   Good thing for a witch lady! Lightly she stepped across the rocks,   Came where the dead man lay: Now pretty maid with your merry mocks,   Now I shall have my way! On a finger shone a sapphire blue   In the heart of six rubies red: Come back to me, my promise true,   Come back, my ring, she said. She took the dead hand in the live,   And at the ring drew she; The dead hand closed its fingers five,   And it held the witch lady. She swore the storm was not her deed,   Dark spells she backward spoke; If the dead man heard he took no heed,   But held like a cloven oak. Deathly cold, crept up the tide,   Sure of her, made no haste; Crept up to her knees, crept up each side,   Crept up to her wicked waist. Over the blue sea sailed the bride   In her love's own sailing ship, And the witch she saw them across the tide   As it rose to her lying lip. Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead   Are strong hasps they to hold! Fled the true dove with the kite's new love,   And left the false kite with the old.

MINOR DITTIES

IN THE NIGHT

As to her child a mother calls, "Come to me, child; come near!" Calling, in silent intervals, The Master's voice I hear. But does he call me verily? To have me does he care? Why should he seek my poverty, My selfishness so bare? The dear voice makes his gladness brim, But not a child can know Why that large woman cares for him, Why she should love him so! Lord, to thy call of me I bow, Obey like Abraham: Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, And I am what I am! Doubt whispers, Thou art such a blot He cannot love poor thee: If what I am he loveth not, He loves what I shall be. Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, And turned away from ill, Is what his father made for good: He loves me, I say still!

THE GIVER

To give a thing and take again Is counted meanness among men; To take away what once is given Cannot then be the way of heaven! But human hearts are crumbly stuff, And never, never love enough, Therefore God takes and, with a smile, Puts our best things away a while. Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, Some wish they never had been born; Some humble grow at last and still, And then God gives them what they will.

FALSE PROPHETS

Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below! Smoking, smouldering Tophets Steaming hopeless plaints! Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! Mean, skin-pledging saints! Knowing not the Father What their prophecies! Grapes of such none gather, Only thorns and lies. Loving thus the brother, How the Father tell? Go without each other To your heavenly hell!

LIFE-WEARY

O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine. Doth no stray odour from its table greet, No truant beam from fire or candle shine? At his wide door the host doth stand and call; At every lattice gracious forms invite; Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall In forest sullen with the things of night! Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.— Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart.

APPROACHES

When thou turn'st away from ill, Christ is this side of thy hill. When thou turnest toward good, Christ is walking in thy wood. When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" Then the Lord is in thy garden. When stern Duty wakes to watch, Then his hand is on the latch. But when Hope thy song doth rouse, Then the Lord is in the house. When to love is all thy wit, Christ doth at thy table sit. When God's will is thy heart's pole, Then is Christ thy very soul.

TRAVELLERS' SONG

Bands of dark and bands of light Lie athwart the homeward way; Now we cross a belt of Night, Now a strip of shining Day! Now it is a month of June, Now December's shivering hour; Now rides high loved memories' Moon, Now the Dark is dense with power! Summers, winters, days, and nights, Moons, and clouds, they come and go; Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, Hope and fear, and yes and no. All is well: come, girls and boys, Not a weary mile is vain! Hark—dim laughter's radiant noise! See the windows through the rain!

LOVE IS STRENGTH

Love alone is great in might, Makes the heavy burden light, Smooths rough ways to weary feet, Makes the bitter morsel sweet: Love alone is strength! Might that is not born of Love Is not Might born from above, Has its birthplace down below Where they neither reap nor sow: Love alone is strength! Love is stronger than all force, Is its own eternal source; Might is always in decay, Love grows fresher every day: Love alone is strength! Little ones, no ill can chance; Fear ye not, but sing and dance; Though the high-heaved heaven should fall God is plenty for us all: God is Love and Strength!

COMING

When the snow is on the earth Birds and waters cease their mirth; When the sunlight is prevailing Even the night-winds drop their wailing. On the earth when deep snows lie Still the sun is in the sky, And when most we miss his fire He is ever drawing nigher. In the darkest winter day Thou, God, art not far away; When the nights grow colder, drearer, Father, thou art coming nearer! For thee coming I would watch With my hand upon the latch— Of the door, I mean, that faces Out upon the eternal spaces!

SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD

With us there is no gray fearing, With us no aching for lack! For the morn it is always nearing, And the night is at our back. At times a song will fall dumb, A thought-bell burst in a sigh, But no one says, "He will not come!" She says, "He is almost nigh!" The thing you call a sorrow Is our delight on its way: We know that the coming morrow Comes on the wheels of to-day! Our Past is a child asleep; Delay is ripening the kiss; The rising tear we will not weep Until it flow for bliss.

OBEDIENCE

Trust him in the common light; Trust him in the awesome night; Trust him when the earth doth quake: Trust him when thy heart doth ache; Trust him when thy brain doth reel And thy friend turns on his heel; Trust him when the way is rough, Cry not yet, It is enough! But obey with true endeavour, Else the salt hath lost his savour.

A SONG IN THE NIGHT

I would I were an angel strong, An angel of the sun, hasting along! I would I were just come awake, A child outbursting from night's dusky brake! Or lark whose inward, upward fate Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate! Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear! Or but a glowworm: even then My light would come straight from the Light of Men! I am a dead seed, dark and slow: Father of larks and children, make me grow.

DE PROFUNDIS

When I am dead unto myself, and let, O Father, thee live on in me, Contented to do nought but pay my debt, And leave the house to thee, Then shall I be thy ransomed—from the cark Of living, from the strain for breath, From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, At hourly strife with death! Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! A buried temple of the Lord! Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! Stream out, O living Sword! When I am with thee as thou art with me, Life will be self-forgetting power; Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, Will flame in darkest hour. Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, With windows open to thy wind, Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm Soaring from heart and mind? The body of this death will melt away, And I shall know as I am known; Know thee my father, every hour and day, As thou know'st me thine own!

BLIND SORROW

"My life is drear; walking I labour sore;   The heart in me is heavy as a stone; And of my sorrows this the icy core:   Life is so wide, and I am all alone!" Thou did'st walk so, with heaven-born eyes down bent   Upon the earth's gold-rosy, radiant clay, That thou had'st seen no star in all God's tent   Had not thy tears made pools first on the way. Ah, little knowest thou the tender care   In a love-plenteous cloak around thee thrown! Full many a dim-seen, saving mountain-stair   Toiling thou climb'st—but not one step alone! Lift but thy languid head and see thy guide;   Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own; Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide,   Cry, Now I know I never was alone!

MOTES IN THE SUN

ANGELS

Came of old to houses lonely   Men with wings, but did not show them: Angels come to our house, only,   For their wings, they do not know them!

THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS

'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; The children in thy bosom laugh and play.

A BIRTHDAY-WISH

Who know thee, love: thy life be such   That, ere the year be o'er, Each one who loves thee now so much,   Even God, may love thee more!

TO ANY ONE

Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow From the dim fields of Tomorrow; Let her roam there all unheeded, She will come when she is needed; Then, when she draws near thy door, She will find God there before.

WAITING

Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud,   The farmer soon will shift thy tether; Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud,   Sun and song will come together; Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud,   He waits thy waiting with his weather.

LOST BUT SAFE

Lost the little one roams about, Pathway or shelter none can find; Blinking stars are coming out; No one is moving but the wind; It is no use to cry or shout, All the world is still as a mouse; One thing only eases her mind: "Father knows I'm not in the house!"

MUCH AND MORE

When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver,   And eternal bliss looks nearer, Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,   Is the gift or giver dearer? Love, love on; love higher, deeper;   Let love's ocean close above her; Only, love thou more love's keeper,   More, the love-creating lover.

HOPE AND PATIENCE

An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, A-dreaming of the world. Round it, for castle-wall, a shell Is guarding it well. Hope is the bird with its dim sensations; The shell that keeps it alive is Patience.

A BETTER THING

I took it for a bird of prey that soared High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; 'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored The invisibly obstructing window-pane! Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve Thee, little angel of a lower sky!

A PRISONER

The hinges are so rusty The door is fixed and fast; The windows are so dusty The sun looks in aghast: Knock out the glass, I pray, Or dash the door away, Or break the house down bodily, And let my soul go free!

TO MY LORD AND MASTER

Imagination cannot rise above thee; Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; My misery away from me I thrust it, For thy perfection I behold, and trust it.

TO ONE UNSATISFIED

When, with all the loved around thee,   Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," It is well; the truth hath found thee:   Rest is with the Father only.

TO MY GOD

Oh how oft I wake and find   I have been forgetting thee! I am never from thy mind:   Thou it is that wakest me.

TRIOLET

Oh that men would praise the Lord   For his goodness unto men! Forth he sends his saving word,   —Oh that men would praise the Lord!— And from shades of death abhorred   Lifts them up to light again: Oh that men would praise the Lord   For his goodness unto men!

THE WORD OF GOD

Where the bud has never blown   Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown   Fatal is the letter. In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,   All things we inherit, For thou art the very Word   And the very Spirit!