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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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On the wide silent ocean, silent winds,
And see what she must see, I could not tell.
By sounding mighty chords I strove to wake
The sleeping music of her poet-soul:
We read together many magic words;
Gazed on the forms and hues of ancient art;
Sent forth our souls on the same tide of sound;
Worshipped beneath the same high temple-roofs;
And evermore I talked. I was too proud,
Too confident of power to waken life,
Believing in my might upon her heart,
Not trusting in the strength of living truth.
Unhappy saviour, who by force of self
Would save from selfishness and narrow needs!
I have not been a saviour. She grew weary.
I began wrong. The infinitely High,
Made manifest in lowliness, had been
The first, one lesson. Had I brought her there,
And set her down by humble Mary's side,
He would have taught her all I could not teach.
Yet, O my God! why hast thou made me thus
Terribly wretched, and beyond relief?
[He looks up and sees that the child has taken the book to her corner. She peeps into it; then holds it to her ear; then rubs her hand over it; then puts her tongue on it.]
Julian (bursting into tears).
Father, I am thy child.
Forgive me this:
Thy poetry is very hard to read.
SCENE XVI.—JULIAN walking with LILY through one of the squares
Lily.
Wish we could find her somewhere. 'Tis so sad
Not to have any mother! Shall I ask
This gentleman if he knows where she is?
Julian.
No, no, my love; we'll find her by and by.
BERNARD. and another Gentleman talking together.
Bernard.
Have you seen Seaford lately?
Gentleman.
No. In fact,
He vanished somewhat oddly, days ago.
Sam saw him with a lady in his cab;
And if I hear aright, one more is missing—
Just the companion for his lordship's taste.
You've not forgot that fine Italian woman
You met there once, some months ago?
Bern.
Forgot her!
I have to try though, sometimes—hard enough:
Her husband is alive!
Lily.
Mother was Italy, father,—was she not?
Julian.
Hush, hush, my child! you must not say a word.
Gentleman.
Oh, yes; no doubt!
But what of that?—a poor half-crazy creature!
Bern.
Something quite different, I assure you, Harry.
Last week I saw him—never to forget him—
Ranging through Seaford's house, like the questing beast.
Gentleman.
Better please two than one, he thought—and wisely.
'Tis not for me to blame him: she is a prize
Worth sinning for a little more than little.
Lily
(whispering).
Why don't you ask them whether it was mother?
I am sure it was. I am quite sure of it.
Gentleman.
Look what a lovely child!
Bern.
Harry! Good heavens!
It is the Count Lamballa. Come along.
SCENE XVII.—Julian's room. JULIAN. LILY asleep
Julian.
I thank thee. Thou hast comforted me, thou,
To whom I never lift my soul, in hope
To reach thee with my thinking, but the tears
Swell up and fill my eyes from the full heart
That cannot hold the thought of thee, the thought
Of him in whom I live, who lives in me,
And see what she must see, I could not tell.
By sounding mighty chords I strove to wake
The sleeping music of her poet-soul:
We read together many magic words;
Gazed on the forms and hues of ancient art;
Sent forth our souls on the same tide of sound;
Worshipped beneath the same high temple-roofs;
And evermore I talked. I was too proud,
Too confident of power to waken life,
Believing in my might upon her heart,
Not trusting in the strength of living truth.
Unhappy saviour, who by force of self
Would save from selfishness and narrow needs!
I have not been a saviour. She grew weary.
I began wrong. The infinitely High,
Made manifest in lowliness, had been
The first, one lesson. Had I brought her there,
And set her down by humble Mary's side,
He would have taught her all I could not teach.
Yet, O my God! why hast thou made me thus
Terribly wretched, and beyond relief?
[He looks up and sees that the child has taken the book to her corner. She peeps into it; then holds it to her ear; then rubs her hand over it; then puts her tongue on it.]
Julian (bursting into tears).
Father, I am thy child.
Forgive me this:
Thy poetry is very hard to read.
SCENE XVI.—JULIAN walking with LILY through one of the squares
Lily.
Wish we could find her somewhere. 'Tis so sad
Not to have any mother! Shall I ask
This gentleman if he knows where she is?
Julian.
No, no, my love; we'll find her by and by.
BERNARD. and another Gentleman talking together.
Bernard.
Have you seen Seaford lately?
Gentleman.
No. In fact,
He vanished somewhat oddly, days ago.
Sam saw him with a lady in his cab;
And if I hear aright, one more is missing—
Just the companion for his lordship's taste.
You've not forgot that fine Italian woman
You met there once, some months ago?
Bern.
Forgot her!
I have to try though, sometimes—hard enough:
Her husband is alive!
Lily.
Mother was Italy, father,—was she not?
Julian.
Hush, hush, my child! you must not say a word.
Gentleman.
Oh, yes; no doubt!
But what of that?—a poor half-crazy creature!
Bern.
Something quite different, I assure you, Harry.
Last week I saw him—never to forget him—
Ranging through Seaford's house, like the questing beast.
Gentleman.
Better please two than one, he thought—and wisely.
'Tis not for me to blame him: she is a prize
Worth sinning for a little more than little.
Lily
(whispering).
Why don't you ask them whether it was mother?
I am sure it was. I am quite sure of it.
Gentleman.
Look what a lovely child!
Bern.
Harry! Good heavens!
It is the Count Lamballa. Come along.
SCENE XVII.—Julian's room. JULIAN. LILY asleep
Julian.
I thank thee. Thou hast comforted me, thou,
To whom I never lift my soul, in hope
To reach thee with my thinking, but the tears
Swell up and fill my eyes from the full heart
That cannot hold the thought of thee, the thought
Of him in whom I live, who lives in me,
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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