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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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How lonely is my Lily all the day,
Till he comes home and makes her paradise!
I go to be his servant. Every word
That comes from him softer than a command,
I'll count it gain, and lay it in my heart,
And serve him better for it.—He will receive me.
SCENE XXIII.—LILY lying dead. JULIAN bending over her
Julian.
The light of setting suns be on thee, child!
Nay, nay, my child, the light of rising suns
Is on thee! Joy is with thee—God is Joy;
Peace to himself, and unto us deep joy;
Joy to himself, in the reflex of our joy.
Love be with thee! yea God, for he is Love.
Thou wilt need love, even God's, to give thee joy.
Children, they say, are born into a world
Where grief is their first portion: thou, I think,
Never hadst much of grief—thy second birth
Into the spirit-world has taught thee grief,
If, orphaned now, thou know'st thy mother's story,
And know'st thy father's hardness. O my God,
Let not my Lily turn away from me.
Now I am free to follow and find her.
Thy truer Father took thee home to him,
That he might grant my prayer, and save my wife.
I thank him for his gift of thee; for all
That thou hast taught me, blessed little child.
I love thee, dear, with an eternal love.
And now farewell!
[Kissing her.]
—no, not farewell; I come. Years hold not back, they lead me on to thee. Yes, they will also lead me on to her.
Enter a Jew.
Jew.
What is your pleasure with me? Here I am, sir.
Julian.
Walk into the next room; then look at this,
And tell me what you'll give for everything.
[Jew goes.]
My darling's death has made me almost happy.
Now, now I follow, follow. I'm young again.
When I have laid my little one to rest
Among the flowers in that same sunny spot,
Straight from her grave I'll take my pilgrim-way;
And, calling up all old forgotten skill,
Lapsed social claims, and knowledge of mankind,
I'll be a man once more in the loud world.
Revived experience in its winding ways,
Senses and wits made sharp by sleepless love,
If all the world were sworn to secrecy,
Will guide me to her, sure as questing Death.
I'll follow my wife, follow until I die.
How shall I face the Shepherd of the sheep,
Without the one ewe-lamb he gave to me?
How find her in great Hades, if not here
In this poor little round O of a world?
I'll follow my wife, follow until I find.
Re-enter Jew.
Well, how much? Name your sum. Be liberal.
Jew.
Let me see this room, too. The things are all
Old-fashioned and ill-kept. They're worth but little.
Julian.
Say what you will—only make haste and go.
Jew.
Say twenty pounds?
Julian.
Well, fetch the money at once,
And take possession. But make haste, I pray.
SCENE XXIV.—The country-churchyard. JULIAN standing by LILY'S new-filled grave. He looks very worn and ill
Julian.
Now I can leave thee safely to thy sleep;
Thou wilt not wake and miss me, my fair child!
Nor will they, for she's fair, steal this ewe-lamb
Out of this fold, while I am gone to seek
And find the wandering mother of my lamb.
I cannot weep; I know thee with me still.
Thou dost not find it very dark down there?
Would I could go to thee; I long to go;
My limbs are tired; my eyes are sleepy too;
And fain my heart would cease this beat, beat, beat.
Till he comes home and makes her paradise!
I go to be his servant. Every word
That comes from him softer than a command,
I'll count it gain, and lay it in my heart,
And serve him better for it.—He will receive me.
SCENE XXIII.—LILY lying dead. JULIAN bending over her
Julian.
The light of setting suns be on thee, child!
Nay, nay, my child, the light of rising suns
Is on thee! Joy is with thee—God is Joy;
Peace to himself, and unto us deep joy;
Joy to himself, in the reflex of our joy.
Love be with thee! yea God, for he is Love.
Thou wilt need love, even God's, to give thee joy.
Children, they say, are born into a world
Where grief is their first portion: thou, I think,
Never hadst much of grief—thy second birth
Into the spirit-world has taught thee grief,
If, orphaned now, thou know'st thy mother's story,
And know'st thy father's hardness. O my God,
Let not my Lily turn away from me.
Now I am free to follow and find her.
Thy truer Father took thee home to him,
That he might grant my prayer, and save my wife.
I thank him for his gift of thee; for all
That thou hast taught me, blessed little child.
I love thee, dear, with an eternal love.
And now farewell!
[Kissing her.]
—no, not farewell; I come. Years hold not back, they lead me on to thee. Yes, they will also lead me on to her.
Enter a Jew.
Jew.
What is your pleasure with me? Here I am, sir.
Julian.
Walk into the next room; then look at this,
And tell me what you'll give for everything.
[Jew goes.]
My darling's death has made me almost happy.
Now, now I follow, follow. I'm young again.
When I have laid my little one to rest
Among the flowers in that same sunny spot,
Straight from her grave I'll take my pilgrim-way;
And, calling up all old forgotten skill,
Lapsed social claims, and knowledge of mankind,
I'll be a man once more in the loud world.
Revived experience in its winding ways,
Senses and wits made sharp by sleepless love,
If all the world were sworn to secrecy,
Will guide me to her, sure as questing Death.
I'll follow my wife, follow until I die.
How shall I face the Shepherd of the sheep,
Without the one ewe-lamb he gave to me?
How find her in great Hades, if not here
In this poor little round O of a world?
I'll follow my wife, follow until I find.
Re-enter Jew.
Well, how much? Name your sum. Be liberal.
Jew.
Let me see this room, too. The things are all
Old-fashioned and ill-kept. They're worth but little.
Julian.
Say what you will—only make haste and go.
Jew.
Say twenty pounds?
Julian.
Well, fetch the money at once,
And take possession. But make haste, I pray.
SCENE XXIV.—The country-churchyard. JULIAN standing by LILY'S new-filled grave. He looks very worn and ill
Julian.
Now I can leave thee safely to thy sleep;
Thou wilt not wake and miss me, my fair child!
Nor will they, for she's fair, steal this ewe-lamb
Out of this fold, while I am gone to seek
And find the wandering mother of my lamb.
I cannot weep; I know thee with me still.
Thou dost not find it very dark down there?
Would I could go to thee; I long to go;
My limbs are tired; my eyes are sleepy too;
And fain my heart would cease this beat, beat, beat.
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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