Poems (Greenwell)/To the Author of Ziska
TO THE AUTHOR OF ZISKA.
Not like the Sophist, of his phosphor-light Enamoured so, that he would blot out one By one God's lofty candles, fain in night To plunge the nations, so that for a sun They come to bow before his counterfeit; And not like him—of mocking smile, the dull Cold Scorn er, ill-content the heart to cheat Of Heaven, but trampling out the Beautiful From Earth, to make life's ruin more complete,—Art Thou, oh, erring Genius! not for thee Their high emprise, to drag Humanity About the miry streets, and hold to scorn This vesture God hath fashioned, God hath worn; Dry, hopeless hearts, dry, loveless, tearless eyes! Thou Youth of lofty dreams, of generous prayers, Come out from them, and better recognise Thy place! thy lot can never be with theirs! For speaking to the Father thou hast said, "Give Thou to me, oh, give that I may share With them that need, Thought's true and living bread, Whereon the soul that feedeth hath to spare." Then turning to thy brethren, taking up Thy country's ancient war-cry, thou dost call With Him, her blind old Chief, "I claim a Cup, The Cup of freedom and of light for all;"Oh, never be thy prayer, thy claim denied Of God or Man, but as thy soul doth yearn May'st thou receive in measure far more wide Than thou dost ask! thy thirst be satisfied By waters wrung from out a fuller urn Than thou dost dream of now;
Than thou dost dream of now;Oh, goodly tree, Though set so deep within the jungle-brake. The trees that in God's garden[1] planted be Might envy thee thy beauty! yet they take A mourning up for thee, because the snake Is gliding 'twixt thy roots; with burning breath These flowers of thine, of Loveliness and Death Show forth the fearful spousals; from the Vine That hath thee in its clasp drops poison-wine. Yet dost thou struggle upwards from this lair Of doleful things, and even now the air Of open heaven hath fanned thy topmost bough. Lift higher o'er these under-growths thy brow, And look on Jacob's tents that whitening lie Within the sunshine; hearken to the cry That rises from among them: in their shout For One, a Brother and a King, thy prayer Doth meet its answer. Spirit, that through doubt Hast kept thy hold on fervent Love, come out From this dim shade, thy portion waits thee there!
- ↑ Ezekiel xxxi. 8, 9, 15.