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

UP AND-DOWN

The sun is gone down   And the moon's in the sky But the sun will come up   And the moon be laid by. The flower is asleep.   But it is not dead, When the morning shines   It will lift its head. When winter comes   It will die! No, no, It will only hide   From the frost and snow. Sure is the summer,   Sure is the sun; The night and the winter   Away they run.

UP IN THE TREE

What would you see, if I took you up My little aerie-stair? You would see the sky like a clear blue cup Turned upside down in the air. What would you do, up my aerie-stair In my little nest on the tree? With cry upon cry you would ripple the air To get at what you would see. And what would you reach in the top of the tree To still your grasping grief? Not a star would you clutch of all you would see, You would gather just one green leaf. But when you had lost your greedy grief, Content to see from afar, Your hand it would hold a withering leaf, But your heart a shining star.

A BABY-SERMON

The lightning and thunder They go and they come: But the stars and the stillness Are always at home.

LITTLE BO-PEEP

Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep,   And will not know where to find them; They are over the height and out of sight,   Trailing their tails behind them! Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sleep,   Jump'd up and set out to find them: "The silly things! they've got no wings,   And they've left their trails behind them! "They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails,   And so I shall follow and find them!" For wherever a tail had dragged a trail   The grass lay bent behind them. She washed in the brook, and caught up her crook.   And after her sheep did run Along the trail that went up the dale   Across the grass in the sun. She ran with a will, and she came to a hill   That went up steep like a spire; On its very top the sun seemed to stop,   And burned like a flame of fire. But now she went slow, for the hill did go   Up steeper as she went higher; When she reached its crown, the sun was down,   Leaving a trail of fire. And her sheep were gone, and hope she had none.   For now was no trail behind them. Yes, there they were! long-tailed and fair!   But to see was not to find them! Golden in hue, and rosy and blue,   And white as blossom of pears, Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun,   As she had been running in theirs! After the sun like clouds they did run,   But she knew they were her sheep: She sat down to cry and look up at the sky,   But she cried herself to sleep. And as she slept the dew down wept,   And the wind did blow from the sky; And doings strange brought a lovely change:   She woke with a different cry! Nibble, nibble, crop, without a stop!   A hundred little lambs Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet   That grew in the trail of their dams! She gave one look, she caught up her crook,   Wiped away the sleep that did blind her; And nibble-nibble-crop, without a stop   The lambs came nibbling behind her. Home, home she came, both tired and lame,   With three times as large a stock; In a month or more, they'll be sheep as before,   A lovely, long-wooled flock! But what will she say, if, one fine day,   When they've got their bushiest tails, Their grown-up game should be just the same,   And again she must follow mere trails? Never weep, Bo-Peep, though you lose your sheep,   Tears will turn rainbow-laughter! In the trail of the sun if the mothers did run,   The lambs are sure to run after; But a day is coming when little feet drumming   Will wake you up to find them— All the old sheep—how your heart will leap!—   With their big little lambs behind them!

LITTLE BOY BLUE

Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood—   Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey: He said, "I would not go back if I could,   It's all so jolly and funny!" He sang, "This wood is all my own—   Apples and cherries, roses and honey! Here I will sit, a king on my throne,   All so jolly and funny!" A little snake crept out of a tree—   Apples and cherries, roses and honey: "Lie down at my feet, little snake," said he—   All so jolly and funny! A little bird sang in the tree overhead—   "Apples and cherries, roses and honey:" "Come and sing your song on my finger," he said,   All so jolly and funny. Up coiled the snake; the bird came down, And sang him the song of Birdie Brown. But little Boy Blue found it tiresome to sit Though it was on a throne: he would walk a bit! He took up his horn, and he blew a blast: "Snake, you go first, and, birdie, come last." Waves of green snake o'er the yellow leaves went; The snake led the way, and he knew what he meant: But by Boy Blue's head, with flutter and dart, Flew Birdie Brown, her song in her heart. Boy Blue came where apples grew fair and sweet: "Tree, drop me an apple down at my feet." He came where cherries hung plump and red: "Come to my mouth, sweet kisses," he said. And the boughs bow down, and the apples they dapple The grass, too many for him to grapple; And the cheeriest cherries, with never a miss, Fall to his mouth, each a full-grown kiss. He met a little brook singing a song: "Little brook," he said, "you are going wrong, "You must follow me, follow me, follow, I say, Do as I tell you, and come this way." And the song-singing, sing-songing forest brook Leapt from its bed and after him took; And the dead leaves rustled, yellow and wan, As over their beds the water ran. He called every bird that sat on a bough; He called every creature with poop and prow— I mean, with two ends, that is, nose and tail: With legs or without, they followed full sail; Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack, Each his own on his little brown humpy back; Snails that drew their own caravans, Poking out their own eyes on the point of a lance, And houseless slugs, white, black, and red— Snails too lazy to build a shed; And butterflies, flutterbys, weasels, and larks, And owls, and shrew-mice, and harkydarks, Cockchafers, henchafers, cockioli-birds, Cockroaches, henroaches, cuckoos in herds; The dappled fawns fawning, the fallow-deer following; The swallows and flies, flying and swallowing— All went flitting, and sailing, and flowing After the merry boy running and blowing. The spider forgot, and followed him spinning, And lost all his thread from end to beginning; The gay wasp forgot his rings and his waist— He never had made such undignified haste! The dragon-flies melted to mist with their hurrying; The mole forsook his harrowing and burrowing; The bees went buzzing, not busy but beesy, And the midges in columns, upright and easy. But Little Boy Blue was not content, Calling for followers still as he went, Blowing his horn, and beating his drum, And crying aloud, "Come all of you, come!" He said to the shadows, "Come after me;" And the shadows began to flicker and flee, And away through the wood went flattering and fluttering, Shaking and quivering, quavering and muttering. He said to the wind, "Come, follow; come, follow With whistle and pipe, with rustle and hollo;" And the wind wound round at his desire, As if Boy had been the gold cock on the spire; And the cock itself flew down from the church And left the farmers all in the lurch. Everything, everything, all and sum, They run and they fly, they creep and they come; The very trees they tugged at their roots, Only their feet were too fast in their boots— After him leaning and straining and bending, As on through their boles the army kept wending, Till out of the wood Boy burst on a lea, Shouting and calling, "Come after me," And then they rose with a leafy hiss And stood as if nothing had been amiss. Little Boy Blue sat down on a stone, And the creatures came round him every one. He said to the clouds, "I want you there!" And down they sank through the thin blue air. He said to the sunset far in the west, "Come here; I want you; 'tis my behest!" And the sunset came and stood up on the wold, And burned and glowed in purple and gold. Then Little Boy Blue began to ponder: "What's to be done with them all, I wonder!" He thought a while, then he said, quite low, "What to do with you all, I am sure I don't know!" The clouds clodded down till dismal it grew; The snake sneaked close; round Birdie Brown flew; The brook, like a cobra, rose on its tail, And the wind sank down with a what-will-you wail, And all the creatures sat and stared; The mole opened the eyes that he hadn't, and glared; And for rats and bats, and the world and his wife Little Boy Blue was afraid of his life. Then Birdie Brown began to sing, And what he sang was the very thing: "Little Boy Blue, you have brought us all hither: Pray, are we to sit and grow old together?" "Go away; go away," said Little Boy Blue; "I'm sure I don't want you! get away—do." "No, no; no, no; no, yes, and no, no," Sang Birdie Brown, "it mustn't be so! "If we've come for no good, we can't go away. Give us reason for going, or here we stay!" They covered the earth, they darkened the air, They hovered, they sat, with a countless stare. "If I do not give them something to do, They will stare me up!" said Little Boy Blue. "Oh dear! oh dear!" he began to cry, "They're an awful crew, and I feel so shy!" All of a sudden he thought of a thing, And up he stood, and spoke like a king: "You're the plague of my life! have done with your bother! Off with you all: take me back to my mother!" The sunset went back to the gates of the west. "Follow me" sang Birdie, "I know the way best!" "I am going the same way as fast as I can!" Said the brook, as it sank and turned and ran. To the wood fled the shadows, like scared black ghosts: "If we stay, we shall all be missed from our posts!" Said the wind, with a voice that had changed its cheer, "I was just going there when you brought me here!" "That's where I live," said the sack-backed squirrel, And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl. Said the gold weather-cock, "I'm the churchwarden!" Said the mole, "I live in the parson's garden!" Said they all, "If that's where you want us to steer for, What on earth or in air did you bring us here for?" "You are none the worse!" said Boy. "If you won't Do as I tell you, why, then, don't; "I'll leave you behind, and go home without you; And it's time I did: I begin to doubt you!" He jumped to his feet. The snake rose on his tail, And hissed three times, a hiss full of bale, And shot out his tongue at Boy Blue to scare him, And stared at him, out of his courage to stare him. "You ugly snake," Little Boy Blue said, "Get out of my way, or I'll break your head!" The snake would not move, but glared at him glum; Boy Blue hit him hard with the stick of his drum. The snake fell down as if he was dead. Little Boy Blue set his foot on his head. "Hurrah!" cried the creatures, "hurray! hurrah! Little Boy Blue, your will is a law!" And away they went, marching before him, And marshalled him home with a high cockolorum. And Birdie Brown sang, "Twirrr twitter, twirrr twee! In the rosiest rose-bush a rare nest! Twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrrrr tweeeee! In the fun he has found the earnest!"

WILLIE'S QUESTION

I

Willie speaks.

Is it wrong, the wish to be great,   For I do wish it so? I have asked already my sister Kate;   She says she does not know. Yestereve at the gate I stood   Watching the sun in the west; When I saw him look so grand and good   It swelled up in my breast. Next from the rising moon   It stole like a silver dart; In the night when the wind began his tune   It woke with a sudden start. This morning a trumpet blast   Made all the cottage quake; It came so sudden and shook so fast   It blew me wide awake. It told me I must make haste,   And some great glory win, For every day was running to waste,   And at once I must begin. I want to be great and strong,   I want to begin to-day; But if you think it very wrong   I will send the wish away. II

The Father answers.

Wrong to wish to be great?   No, Willie; it is not wrong: The child who stands at the high closed gate   Must wish to be tall and strong! If you did not wish to grow   I should be a sorry man; I should think my boy was dull and slow,   Nor worthy of his clan. You are bound to be great, my boy:   Wish, and get up, and do. Were you content to be little, my joy   Would be little enough in you.

Willie speaks.

Papa, papa! I'm so glad   That what I wish is right! I will not lose a chance to be had;   I'll begin this very night. I will work so hard at school!   I will waste no time in play; At my fingers' ends I'll have every rule,   For knowledge is power, they say. I would be a king and reign,   But I can't be that, and so Field-marshal I'll be, I think, and gain   Sharp battles and sieges slow. I shall gallop and shout and call,   Waving my shining sword: Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all   Hear and obey my word. Or admiral I will be,   Wherever the salt wave runs, Sailing, fighting over the sea,   With flashing and roaring guns. I will make myself hardy and strong;   I will never, never give in. I am so glad it is not wrong!   At once I will begin.

The Father speaks.

Fighting and shining along,   All for the show of the thing! Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong   If you pull the proper string!

Willie speaks.

But indeed I want to be great,   I should despise mere show; The thing I want is the glory-state—   Above the rest, you know!

The Father answers.

The harder you run that race,   The farther you tread that track, The greatness you fancy before your face   Is the farther behind your back. To be up in the heavens afar,   Miles above all the rest, Would make a star not the greatest star,   Only the dreariest. That book on the highest shelf   Is not the greatest book; If you would be great, it must be in yourself,   Neither by place nor look. The Highest is not high   By being higher than others; To greatness you come not a step more nigh   By getting above your brothers. III

Willie speaks.

I meant the boys at school,   I did not mean my brother. Somebody first, is there the rule—   It must be me or another.

The Father answers.

Oh, Willie, it's all the same!   They are your brothers all; For when you say, "Hallowed be thy name!"   Whose Father is it you call? Could you pray for such rule to him?   Do you think that he would hear? Must he favour one in a greedy whim   Where all are his children dear? It is right to get up and do,   But why outstrip the rest? Why should one of the many be one of the few?   Why should you think to be best?

Willie speaks.

Then how am I to be great?   I know no other way; It would be folly to sit and wait,   I must up and do, you say!

The Father answers.

I do not want you to wait,   For few before they die Have got so far as begin to be great,   The lesson is so high. I will tell you the only plan   To climb and not to fall: He who would rise and be greater than   He is, must be servant of all. Turn it each way in your mind,   Try every other plan, You may think yourself great, but at length you'll find   You are not even a man. Climb to the top of the trees,   Climb to the top of the hill, Get up on the crown of the sky if you please,   You'll be a small creature still. Be admiral, poet, or king,   Let praises fill both your ears, Your soul will be but a windmill thing   Blown round by its hopes and fears. IV

Willie speaks.

Then put me in the way,   For you, papa, are a man: What thing shall I do this very day?—   Only be sure I can. I want to know—I am willing,   Let me at least have a chance! Shall I give the monkey-boy my shilling?—   I want to serve at once.

The Father answers.

Give all your shillings you might   And hurt your brothers the more; He only can serve his fellows aright   Who goes in at the little door. We must do the thing we must   Before the thing we may; We are unfit for any trust   Till we can and do obey.

Willie speaks.

I will try more and more;   I have nothing now to ask; Obedience I know is the little door:   Now set me some hard task.

The Father answers.

No, Willie; the father of all,   Teacher and master high, Has set your task beyond recall,   Nothing can set it by.

Willie speaks.

What is it, father dear,   That he would have me do? I'd ask himself, but he's not near,   And so I must ask you!

The Father answers.

Me 'tis no use to ask,   I too am one of his boys! But he tells each boy his own plain task;   Listen, and hear his voice.

Willie speaks.

Father, I'm listening so   To hear him if I may! His voice must either be very low,   Or very far away!

The Father answers.