Forest and Cavern

Spirit sublime, thou gav’st me, gav’st me allFor which I prayed. Not unto me in vainHast thou thy countenance revealed in fire.Thou gav’st me Nature as a kingdom grand,With power to feel and to enjoy it. ThouNot only cold, amazed acquaintance yield’st,But grantest, that in her profoundest breastI gaze, as in the bosom of a friend.The ranks of living creatures thou dost leadBefore me, teaching me to know my brothersIn air and water and the silent wood.And when the storm in forests roars and grinds,The giant firs, in falling, neighbor boughsAnd neighbor trunks with crushing weight bear down,And falling, fill the hills with hollow thunders,—Then to the cave secure thou leadest me,Then show’st me mine own self, and in my breastThe deep, mysterious miracles unfold.And when the perfect moon before my gazeComes up with soothing light, around me floatFrom every precipice and thicket dampThe silvery phantoms of the ages past,And temper the austere delight of thought.

That nothing can be perfect unto ManI now am conscious. With this ecstasy,Which brings me near and nearer to the Gods,Thou gav’st the comrade, whom I now no moreCan do without, though, cold and scornful, heDemeans me to myself, and with a breath,A word, transforms thy gifts to nothingness.Within my breast he fans a lawless fire,Unwearied, for that fair and lovely form:Thus in desire I hasten to enjoyment,And in enjoyment pine to feel desire.

Have you not led this life quite long enough?How can a further test delight you?’Tis very well, that once one tries the stuff,But something new must then requite you.

Would there were other work for thee!To plague my day auspicious thou returnest.

Well! I’ll engage to let thee be:Thou darest not tell me so in earnest.The loss of thee were truly very slight,—comrade crazy, rude, repelling:

One has one’s hands full all the day and night;If what one does, or leaves undone, is right,From such a face as thine there is no telling.

There is, again, thy proper tone!—That thou hast bored me, I must thankful be!

Poor Son of Earth, how couldst thou thus aloneHave led thy life, bereft of me?I, for a time, at least, have worked thy cure;Thy fancy’s rickets plague thee not at all:Had I not been, so hadst thou, sure,Walked thyself off this earthly ballWhy here to caverns, rocky hollows slinking,Sit’st thou, as ’twere an owl a-blinking?Why suck’st, from sodden moss and dripping stone,Toad-like, thy nourishment alone?A fine way, this, thy time to fill!The Doctor’s in thy body still.

What fresh and vital forces, canst thou guess,Spring from my commerce with the wilderness?But, if thou hadst the power of guessing,Thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge my soul the blessing.

A blessing drawn from supernatural fountains!In night and dew to lie upon the mountains;All Heaven and Earth in rapture penetrating;Thyself to Godhood haughtily inflating;To grub with yearning force through Earth’s dark marrow,Compress the six days’ work within thy bosom narrow,—To taste, I know not what, in haughty power,Thine own ecstatic life on all things shower,Thine earthly self behind thee cast,And then the lofty instinct, thus—

Yes, thou findest that unpleasant!Thou hast the moral right to cry me “shame!” at present.One dares not that before chaste ears declare,Which chaste hearts, notwithstanding, cannot spare;And, once for all, I grudge thee not the pleasureOf lying to thyself in moderate measure.But such a course thou wilt not long endure;Already art thou o’er-excited,And, if it last, wilt soon be plightedTo madness and to horror, sure.Enough of that! Thy love sits lonely yonder,By all things saddened and oppressed;Her thoughts and yearnings seek thee, tenderer, fonder,—mighty love is in her breast.First came thy passion’s flood and poured around herAs when from melted snow a streamlet overflows;Thou hast therewith so filled and drowned her,That now thy stream all shallow shows.Methinks, instead of in the forests lording,The noble Sir should find it good,The love of this young silly bloodAt once to set about rewarding.Her time is miserably long;She haunts her window, watching clouds that strayO’er the old city-wall, and far away.“Were I a little bird!” so runs her song,Day long, and half night long.Now she is lively, mostly sad,Now, wept beyond her tears;Then again quiet she appears,—Alwayslove-mad.

Get thee away with thine offences,Reprobate! Name not that fairest thing,Nor the desire for her sweet body bringAgain before my half-distracted senses!

What wouldst thou, then? She thinks that thou art flown;And half and half thou art, I own.

Yet am I near, and love keeps watch and ward;Though I were ne’er so far, it cannot falter:I envy even the Body of the LordThe touching of her lips, before the altar.

You rail, and it is fun to me.The God, who fashioned youth and maid,Perceived the noblest purpose of His trade,And also made their opportunity.Go on! It is a woe profound!’Tis for your sweetheart’s room you’re bound,And not for death, indeed.

What are, within her arms, the heavenly blisses?Though I be glowing with her kisses,Do I not always share her need?I am the fugitive, all houseless roaming,The monster without air or rest,That like a cataract, down rocks and gorges foaming,Leaps, maddened, into the abyss’s breast!And side-wards she, with young unwakened senses,Within her cabin on the Alpine fieldHer simple, homely life commences,Her little world therein concealed.And I, God’s hate flung o’er me,Had not enough, to thrustThe stubborn rocks before meAnd strike them into dust!She and her peace I yet must undermine:Help, Devil! through the coming pangs to push me;What must be, let it quickly be!Let fall on me her fate, and also crush me,—One ruin whelm both her and me!

Again it seethes, again it glows!Thou fool, go in and comfort her!When such a head as thine no outlet knows,It thinks the end must soon occur.Hail him, who keeps a steadfast mind!Thou, else, dost well the devil-nature wear:Naught so insipid in the world I findAs is a devil in despair.