Rampolli by George MacDonald (a book to read TXT) 📖

To the lovely wonderland!


FROM GOETHE.

POEMS LEGEND THE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN


POEMS.

Poems are painted window-panes: Look from the square into the church- Gloom and dusk are all your gains! Sir Philistine is left in the lurch: Outside he stands-spies nothing or use of it, And nought is left him save the abuse of it.

But you, I pray you, just step in; Make in the chapel your obeisance: All at once 'tis a radiant pleasaunce: Device and story flash to presence; A gracious splendour works to win. This to God's children is full measure: It edifies and gives them pleasure.


LEGEND .

AFTER THE MANNER OF HANS SACHS.

While yet unknown, and very low, Our Lord on earth went to and fro; And some of his scholars his word so good Very strangely misunderstood- He much preferred to hold his court In streets and places of resort, Because under the heaven's face Words better and freer flow apace; There he gave them the highest lore Out of his holy mouth in store; Wondrously, by parable and example, Made every market-place a temple.

So faring, in his heart content, Once with them to a town he went- Saw something blinking on the way, And there a broken horse-shoe lay! He said thereon St. Peter to, "Prithee now, pick up that shoe." St. Peter was not in fitting mood: He had been dreaming all the road Some stuff about ruling of the world, Round which so many brains are twirled- For in the head it seems so easy! And with it his thoughts were often busy; Therefore the finding was much too mean; Crown and sceptre it should have been! He was not one his back to bow After half an iron-shoe! Therefore aside his head he bended, And that he had not heard pretended.

In his forbearance the Lord did stoop And lift himself the horse-shoe up; Then for the present he did wait. But when they reach the city-gate, He goes up to a blacksmith's door, Receives three pence the horse-shoe for; And as they through the market fare, Seeing for sale fine cherries there, He buys of them so few or so many As they will give for a three-penny; Which he, thereon, after his way, Up in his sleeve did quietly lay.

Now, from the other gate, they trod Through fields and meads a housless road; The path of trees was desolate, The sun shone out, the heat was great; So that one in a region such For a drink of water had given much. The Lord goes ever before them all, And as by chance lets a cherry fall: In a trice St. Peter was after it there As if a golden apple it were! Sweet to his palate was the berry. Then by and by, another cherry Down on the ground the Master sends, For which St. Peter as quickly bends. So, many a time, the Lord doth let Him bend his back a cherry to get. A long time thus He let him glean; Then said the Lord, with look serene: "If at the right time thou hadst bent, Thou hadst found it more convenient! Of little things who little doth make For lesser things must trouble take."


THE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN .

Up there, upon yonder mountain,
Stands a castle old, in the gorse, Where once, behind doors and portals,
Lurking lay knight and horse.

Burnt are the doors and the portals;
All round it is very still; Its old walls, tumbled in ruins,
I scramble about at my will.

Close hereby lay a cellar
Full of wine that was old and rare; But the cheery maid with the pitchers
No more comes down the stair;

No more in the hall, sedately
Sets the beaker before the guest; No more at the festival stately,
The flagon fills for the priest;

No more to the page so thirsty
Gives a draught in the corridor; And receives for the hurried favour
The hurried thanks no more.

For every rafter and ceiling
Long ago were to ashes burned, And stair and passage and chapel
To rubbish and ruin turned.

Yet when, with flask and cittern,
On a day in the summer's prime, Up to the rocky summit
I watched my darling climb-

Out came the old joy reviving
On the face of the ancient rest, And on went the old life driving,
In its lordliness and zest;

It seemed as for strangers distinguished
Their state-rooms they did prepare, And out of that brave time, shadowy
Came stepping a youthful pair.

And the worthy priest in his chapel
Stood already in priestly dress, And asked-Will you two take one another?
And smiling we answered-Yes;

And the hymns with deep pulsation
Stirred every heart at once; And instead of the congregation
The echo yelled response.

And when, in the gathered evening,
Profound the stillness grew, And the red-glowing sun at the broken
Gable came peering through,

Then damsel and page, in his rays, are
Grandees of the olden prime; She tastes of his cup at her leisure,
And he to thank her takes time.


FROM UHLAND.

THE LOST CHURCH THE DREAM


THE LOST CHURCH.

In the far forest, overhead,
A bell is often heard obscurely; How long since first, no one can tell-
Nor can report explain it surely: From the lost church, the rumour hath,
Out on the winds the ringing goeth; Once full of pilgrims was the path-
Now where to find it, no one knoweth.

Deep in the wood I lately went
Where no foot-trodden way is lying; From times corrupt, on evil bent,
My heart to God went out in sighing: There, in the wild wood's deep repose,
I heard the ringing somewhat nearer; The higher that my longing rose
Its peal grew fuller and came clearer.

My thoughts upon themselves did brood;
My sense was with the sound so busy That I have never understood
How I did climb that steep so dizzy. It seemed more than a hundred years
Had passed me over, dreaming, sighing- When far above the clouds appears
An open space in sunlight lying.

Dark-blue the heavens above it bowed;
The sun was radiant, large, and glowing; And, see, a minister's structure proud
Stood in the rich light, golden showing. The clouds around it, sunny-clear,
Seemed bearing it aloft like pinions; Its spire-point seemed to disappear,
Slow vanishing in heaven's dominions.

The bell's clear tones, of rapture full,
Boomed in the tower and made it quiver; No mortal hand that rope did pull-
A dumb storm made it swing and shiver. It seemed to heave my throbbing breast,
That heavenly storm with torrent blended: With wavering step, yet hopeful quest,
Into the church my way I wended.

What met me there as in I trode
With syllables cannot be painted; Darksome yet clear, the windows glowed
With forms of all the martyrs sainted. Then saw I, radiantly unfurled,
Form swell to life and break its barriers; I looked abroad into a world
Of holy women and God's warriors.

Down at the alter I kneeled soft,
With love and prayer my heart allegiant: Upon the ceiling, far aloft,
Was painted Heaven's resplendent pageant; But when again I lift mine eyes,
Lo, the high vault has flown asunder! The upward gate wide open lies,
And every veil unveils a wonder.

What gloriousness I then beheld
With silent worship, speechless wonder; What blessed sounds upon me swelled,
Like organs' and like trumpets' thunder- No human words could ever tell!-
But who for such is sighing sorest, Let him give heed unto the bell
That dimly soundeth in the forest.


THE DREAM .

In a garden sweet went walking
Two lovers hand in hand; Two pallid figures, low talking,
They sat in the flowery land.

They kissed on the cheek one another,
And they kissed upon the mouth; They held in their arms each the other,
And back came their health and youth.

Two little bells rang shrilly-
And the lovely dream was dead! She lay in the cloister chilly;
He afar on his dungeon-bed.


FROM HEINE.

LIEDER, IV. LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO, XXXVIII.
" " XLI.
" " XLV.
" " LXIV. DIE HEIMKEHR, LX.
" LXII. DIE NORDSEE, FIRST CYCLE, XII.


LIEDER.

IV.

Thy little hand lay on my bosom, dear: What a knocking in that little chamber!-dost hear? There dwelleth a carpenter evil, and he Is hard at work on a coffin for me.

He hammers and knocks by night and by day; 'Tis long since he drove all my sleep away: Ah, haste thee, carpenter, busy keep, That I the sooner may go to sleep!


LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

XXXVIII.

The phantoms of times forgotten
Arise from out their grave, And show me how once in thy presence
I lived the life it gave.

In the day I wandered dreaming,
Through the streets with unsteady foot; The people looked at me in wonder,
I was so mournful and mute.

At night, then it was better,
For empty was the town; I and my shadow together
Walked speechless up and down.

My way, with echoing footstep,
Over the bridge I took; The moon broke out of the waters,
And gave me a meaning look.

I stopped before thy dwelling,
And gazed, and gazed again- Stood staring up at thy window,
My heart was in such pain.

I know that thou from thy window
Didst often look downward-and Sawest me, there in the moonlight,
A motionless pillar stand.


LYRISCHES INTERMEZZO.

XLI.

I dreamt of the daughter of a king,
With white cheeks tear-bewetted; We sat 'neath the lime tree's leavy ring,
In love's embraces netted.

"I would not have thy father's throne,
His crown or his golden sceptre; I want my lovely princess alone-
From Fate that so long hath kept her."

"That cannot be," she said to me:
"I lie in the grave uncheerly; And only