A Spirit’s Return

“This is to be a mortal.And seek the things beyond mortality!” Manfred.

Thy voice prevails--dear friend, my gentle friend!This long-shut heart for thee shall be unseal’d;And though thy soft eye mournfully will bendOver the troubled stream, yet once reveal’dShall its freed waters flow; then rocks must closeFor evermore, above their dark repose.

Come while the gorgeous mysteries of the skyFused in the crimson sea of sunset lie;Come to the woods, where all strange wandering soundIs mingled into harmony profound;Where the leaves thrill with spirit, while the windFills with a viewless being, unconfined,The trembling reeds and fountains. Our own dell,With its green dimness and Æolian breath,Shall suit th’ unveiling of dark records well--Hear me in tenderness and silent faith!

Thou knew’st me not in life’s fresh vernal morn--I would thou hadst!--for then my heart on thineHad pour’d a worthier love; now, all o’erwornBy its deep thirst for something too divine,It hath but fitful music to bestow,Echoes of harp-strings broken long ago.

Yet even in youth companionless I stood,As a lone forest-bird midst ocean’s foam;For me the silver cords of brotherhoodWere early loosed; the voices from my homePass’d one by one, and melody and mirthLeft me a dreamer by a silent hearth.

But, with the fulness of a heart that burn’dFor the deep sympathies of mind, I turn’dFrom that unanswering spot, and fondly soughtIn all wild scenes with thrilling murmurs fraught,In every still small voice and sound of power,And flute-note of the wind through cave and bower,A perilous delight!--for then first wokeMy life’s lone passion, the mysterious questOf secret knowledge; and each tone that brokeFrom the wood-arches or the fountain’s breast,Making my quick soul vibrate as a lyre,But minister’d to that strange inborn fire.

Midst the bright silence of the mountain dells,In noontide-hours or golden summer-eves,My thoughts have burst forth as a gale that swellsInto a rushing blast, and from the leavesShakes out response. O thou rich world unseen!Thou curtain’d realm of spirits!--thus my cryHath troubled air and silence--dost thou lieSpread all around, yet by some filmy screenShut from us ever? The resounding woods,Do their depths teem with marvels?--and the floods,And the pure fountains, leading secret veinsOf quenchless melody through rock and hill,Have they bright dwellers?--are their lone domainsPeopled with beauty, which may never stillOur weary thirst of soul? Cold, weak and cold,Is earth’s vain language, piercing not one foldOf our deep being! Oh, for gifts more high!For a seer’s glance to rend mortality!For a charm’d rod, to call from each dark shrineThe oracles divine!I woke from those high fantasies, to knowMy kindred with the earth--I woke to love.O gentle friend! to love in doubt and woe,Shutting the heart the worshipp’d name above,Is to love deeply; and my spirit’s dowerWas a sad gift, a melancholy powerOf so adoring--with a buried care,And with the o’erflowing of a voiceless prayer,And with a deepening dream, that day by day,In the still shadow of its lonely sway,Folded me closer, till the world held naughtSave the one being to my centred thought.There was no music but his voice to hear,No joy but such as with his step drew near;Light was but where he look’d--life where he moved:Silently, fervently, thus, thus I loved.Oh! but such love is fearful!--and I knewIts gathering doom: the soul’s prophetic sightEven then unfolded in my breast, and threwO’er all things round a full, strong, vivid light,Too sorrowfully clear!--an under-toneWas given to Nature’s harp, for me aloneWhispering of grief. Of grief?--be strong, awake!Hath not thy love been victory, O my soul?Hath not its conflict won a voice to shakeDeath’s fastnesses?--a magic to controlWorlds far removed?--from o’er the grave to theeLove hath made answer; and thy tale should beSung like a lay of triumph! Now returnAnd take thy treasure from its bosom’d urn,And lift it once to light!

In fear, in pain,I said I loved--but yet a heavenly strainOf sweetness floated down the tearful stream,A joy flash’d through the trouble of my dream!I knew myself beloved! We breathed no vow,No mingling visions might our fate allow,As unto happy hearts; but still and deep,Like a rich jewel gleaming in a grave,Like golden sand in some dark river’s wave,So did my soul that costly knowledge keep,So jealously!--a thing o’er which to shed,When stars alone beheld the drooping head,Lone tears! yet ofttimes burden’d with the excessOf our strange nature’s quivering happiness.

But, oh! sweet friend! we dream not of love’s mightTill death has robed with soft and solemn lightThe image we enshrine! Before that hour,We have but glimpses of the o’ermastering powerWithin us laid!--then doth the spirit-flameWith sword-like lightning rend its mortal frame;The wings of that which pants to follow fastShake their clay-bars, as with a prison’d blast--The sea is in our souls!

He died--he diedOn whom my lone devotedness was cast!I might not keep one vigil by his side,I, whose wrung heart watch’d with him to the last!I might not once his fainting head sustain,Nor bathe his parch’d lips in the hour of pain,Nor say to him, “Farewell!” He pass’d away--Oh! had my love been there, its conquering swayHad won him back from death! But thus removed,Borne o’er th’ abyss no sounding line hath proved,Join’d with the unknown, the viewless--he becameUnto my thoughts another, yet the same--Changed--hallow’d--glorified!--and his low graveSeem’d a bright mournful altar--mine, all mine:Brother and friend soon left me that sole shrine,The birthright of the faithful!--their world’s waveSoon swept them from its brink. Oh! deem thou notThat on the sad and consecrated spotMy soul grew weak! I tell thee that a powerThere kindled heart and lip--a fiery showerMy words were made--a might was given to prayer,And a strong grasp to passionate despair,And a dread triumph! Know’st thou what I sought?For what high boon my struggling spirit wrought?--Communion with the dead! I sent a cryThrough the veil’d empires of eternity--A voice to cleave them! By the mournful truth,By the lost promise of my blighted youth.By the strong chain a mighty love can bindOn the beloved, the spell of mind o’er mind;By words, which in themselves are magic high,Armed, and inspired, and wing’d with agony;By tears, which comfort not, but burn, and seemTo bear the heart’s blood in their passion-stream;I summon’d, I adjured!--with quicken’d sense,With the keen vigil of a life intense.I watch’d, an answer from the winds to wring,I listen’d, if perchance the stream might bringToken from worlds afar; I taught one soundUnto a thousand echoes--one profoundImploring accent to the tomb, the sky--One prayer to night--“Awake! appear! reply!”Hast thou been told that from the viewless bourneThe dark way never hath allow’d return?That all, which tears can move, with life is fled--That earthly love is powerless on the dead?Believe it not!--There is a large lone starNow burning o’er yon western hill afar,And under its clear light there lies a spotWhich well might utter forth--Believe it not!

I sat beneath that planet. I had weptMy woe to stillness; every night-wind slept;A hush was on the hills; the very streamsWent by like clouds, or noiseless founts in dreams;And the dark tree o’ershadowing me that hour,Stood motionless, even as the gray church-towerWhereon I gazed unconsciously. There cameA low sound, like the tremor of a flame,Or like the light quick shiver of a wing,Flitting through twilight woods, across the air;And I look’d up! Oh! for strong words to bringConviction o’er thy thought! Before me there,He, the departed, stood! Ay, face to face,So near, and yet how far! His form, his mien,Gave to remembrance back each burning traceWithin:--Yet something awfully serene,Pure, sculpture-like, on the pale brow, that woreOf the once beating heart no token more;And stillness on the lip--and o’er the hairA gleam, that trembled through the breathless air;And an unfathom’d calm, that seem’d to lieIn the grave sweetness of th’ illumined eye,Told of the gulfs between our being set,And, as that unsheath’d spirit-glance I met,Made my soul faint:--with fear? Oh! not with fear!With the sick feeling that in his far sphereMy love could be as nothing! But he spoke--How shall I tell thee of the startling thrillIn that low voice, whose breezy tones could fillMy bosom’s infinite? O friend! I wokeThen first to heavenly life! Soft, solemn, clear,Breathed the mysterious accents on mine ear,Yet strangely seem’d as if the while they roseFrom depths of distance, o’er the wide reposeOf slumbering waters wafted, or the dellsOf mountains, hollow with sweet echo-cells.But, as they murmur’d on, the mortal chillPass’d from me, like a mist before the morn;And, to that glorious intercourse upborneBy slow degrees, a calm, divinely still,Possess’d my frame. I sought that lighted eye--From its intense and searching purityI drank in soul!--I question’d of the dead--Of the hush’d, starry shores their footsteps tread,And I was answer’d. If remembrance thereWith dreamy whispers fill the immortal air;If thought, here piled from many a jewel-heap,Be treasure in that pensive land to keep;If love, o’ersweeping change, and blight, and blast,Find there the music of his home at last:I ask’d, and I was answer’d. Full and highWas that communion with eternity--Too rich for aught so fleeting! Like a knellSwept o’er my sense its closing words, “Farewell!On earth we meet no more!” And all was gone--The pale, bright settled brow--the thrilling tone,The still and shining eye! and never moreMay twilight gloom or midnight hush restoreThat radiant guest! One full-fraught hour of heaven,To earthly passion’s wild implorings given,Was made my own--the ethereal fire hath shiver’dThe fragile censer in whose mould it quiver’d,Brightly, consumingly! What now is left?A faded world, of glory’s hues bereft--A void, a chain! I dwell midst throngs, apart,In the cold silence of the stranger’s heart;A fix’d immortal shadow stands betweenMy spirit and life’s fast-receding scene;A gift hath sever’d me from human ties,A power is gone from all earth’s melodies,Which never may return: their chords are broken,The music of another land hath spoken--No after-sound is sweet! This weary thirst!And I have heard celestial fountains burst!What here shall quench it?

Dost thou not rejoice,When the spring sends forth an awakening voiceThrough the young woods? Thou dost! And in that birthOf early leaves, and flowers, and songs of mirth,Thousands, like thee, find gladness! Couldst thou knowHow every breeze then summons me to go!How all the light of love and beauty shedBy those rich hours, but woos me to the dead!The only beautiful that change no more--The only loved!--the dwellers on the shoreOf spring fulfill’d! The dead! whom call we so?They that breathe purer air, that feel, that knowThings wrapt from us! Away! within me pent,That which is barr’d from its own elementStill droops or struggles! But the day will come--Over the deep the free bird finds its home;And the stream lingers midst the rocks, yet greetsThe sea at last; and the wing’d flower-seed meetsA soil to rest in: shall not I, too, be,My spirit-love! upborne to dwell with thee?Yes! by the power whose conquering anguish stirr’dThe tomb, whose cry beyond the stars was heard,Whose agony of triumph won thee backThrough the dim pass no mortal step may track,Yet shall we meet! that glimpse of joy divineProved thee for ever and for ever mine!