The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1

Автор

George MacDonald

Жанр

Зарубежная классика

Год написания книги

2018

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Robert (turning over the things in the chest).
Here, put
this coat on. Ah! take that thing too.
No more such head-gear! Have you not a hat,

[Going to the chest again.]

Or something for your head? There's such a hubbub
Got up about you! The Abbot comes to-morrow.

Julian.
Ah, well! I need not ask. I know it all.

Robert.
No, you do not. Nor is there time to tell you.
Ten minutes more, they will be round to bar
The outer doors; and then—good-bye, poor Julian!

[JULIAN has been rapidly changing his clothes.]

Julian.
Now I am ready, Robert. Thank you, friend.
Farewell! God bless you! We shall meet again.

Robert.
Farewell, dear friend! Keep far away from this.

[Goes.]

[JULIAN follows him out of the cell, steps along a narrow passage to a door, which he opens slowly. He goes out, and closes the door behind him.]

SCENE IV.—Night. The court of a country-inn. The Abbot, while his horse is brought out

Abbot.
Now for a shrine to house this rich Madonna,
Within the holiest of the holy place!
I'll have it made in fashion as a stable,
With porphyry pillars to a marble stall;
And odorous woods, shaved fine like shaken hay,
Shall fill the silver manger for a bed,
Whereon shall lie the ivory Infant carved
By shepherd hands on plains of Bethlehem.
And over him shall bend the Mother mild,
In silken white and coroneted gems.
Glorious! But wherewithal I see not now—
The Mammon of unrighteousness is scant;
Nor know I any nests of money-bees
That could yield half-contentment to my need.
Yet will I trust and hope; for never yet
In journeying through this vale of tears have I
Projected pomp that did not blaze anon.

SCENE V.—After midnight. JULIAN seated under a tree by the roadside

Julian.
So lies my journey—on into the dark!
Without my will I find myself alive,
And must go forward. Is it God that draws
Magnetic all the souls unto their home,
Travelling, they know not how, but unto God?
It matters little what may come to me
Of outward circumstance, as hunger, thirst,
Social condition, yea, or love or hate;
But what shall I be, fifty summers hence?
My life, my being, all that meaneth me,
Goes darkling forward into something—what?
O God, thou knowest. It is not my care.
If thou wert less than truth, or less than love,
It were a fearful thing to be and grow
We know not what. My God, take care of me;
Pardon and swathe me in an infinite love,
Pervading and inspiring me, thy child.
And let thy own design in me work on,
Unfolding the ideal man in me;
Which being greater far than I have grown,
I cannot comprehend. I am thine, not mine.
One day, completed unto thine intent,
I shall be able to discourse with thee;
For thy Idea, gifted with a self,
Must be of one with the mind where it sprang,
And fit to talk with thee about thy thoughts.
Lead me, O Father, holding by thy hand;
I ask not whither, for it must be on.

This road will lead me to the hills, I think;
And there I am in safety and at home.

SCENE VI.—The Abbot's room. The Abbot and one of the Monks

Abbot.
Did she say Julian? Did she say the name?

Monk.
She did.

Abbot.
What did she call the lady? What?

Monk.