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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
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Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 1 by George MacDonald (finding audrey .txt) 📖

Book online «The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 1 by George MacDonald (finding audrey .txt) 📖». Author George MacDonald



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soul,
Measuring out the labour and the grief,
Which it must bear for thy sake, not its own.
He neither chose his glory, nor devised
The burden he should bear; left all to God;
And of them both God gave to him enough.
And see the sun looks faintly through the mist;
It cometh as a messenger to me.
My soul is heavy, but I will go forth;
My days seem perishing, but God yet lives
And loves. I cannot feel, but will believe.

[ He rises and is going . LILIA enters, looking weary .]

Look, my dear Lilia, how the sun shines out!

Lilia .
Shines out indeed! Yet 'tis not bad for England.
I would I were in Italy, my own!

[ Weeps .]

Julian .
'Tis the same sun that shines in Italy.

Lilia .
But never more will shine upon us there!
It is too late; all wishing is in vain;
But would that we had not so ill deserved
As to be banished from fair Italy!

Julian .
Ah! my dear Lilia, do not, do not think
That God is angry when we suffer ill.
'Twere terrible indeed, if 'twere in anger.

Lilia .
Julian, I cannot feel as you. I wish
I felt as you feel.

Julian .
God will hear you, child,
If you will speak to him. But I must go.
Kiss me, my Lilia.

[ She kisses him mechanically. He goes with a sigh .]

Lilia .
It is plain to see
He tries to love me, but is weary of me.

[ She weeps .]

Enter LILY.

Lily .
Mother, have you been naughty? Mother, dear!

[ Pulling her hand from her face .]


SCENE VII.- Julian's room. Noon . LILIA at work ; LILY playing in a closet .

Lily
( running up to her mother ).
Sing me a little song; please, mother dear.

[LILIA, looking off her work, and thinking with
fixed eyes for a few moments, sings .]

SONG.

Once I was a child,
Oimè!
Full of frolic wild;
Oimè!
All the stars for glancing,
All the earth for dancing;
Oimè! Oimè!

When I ran about,
Oimè!
All the flowers came out,
Oimè!
Here and there like stray things,
Just to be my playthings.
Oimè! Oimè!

Mother's eyes were deep,
Oimè!
Never needing sleep.
Oimè!
Morning-they're above me!
Eventide-they love me!
Oimè! Oimè!

Father was so tall!
Oimè!
Stronger he than all!
Oimè!
On his arm he bore me,
Queen of all before me.
Oimè! Oimè!

Mother is asleep;
Oimè!
For her eyes so deep,
Oimè!
Grew so tired and aching,
They could not keep waking.
Oimè! Oimè!

Father, though so strong,
Oimè!
Laid him down along-
Oimè!
By my mother sleeping;
And they left me weeping,
Oimè! Oimè!

Now nor bird, nor bee,
Oimè!
Ever sings to me!
Oimè!
Since they left me crying,
All things have been dying.
Oimè! Oimè!

[LILY looks long in her mother's face, as if wondering
what the song could be about; then turns away to the closet.
After a little she comes running with a box in her hand .]

Lily .
O mother, mother! there's the old box I had
So long ago, and all my cups and saucers,
And the farm-house and cows.-Oh! some are broken.
Father will mend them for me, I am sure.
I'll ask him when he comes to-night-I will:
He can do everything, you know, dear mother.


SCENE VIII.- A merchants counting-house . JULIAN preparing to go home .

Julian .
I would not give these days of common toil,
This murky atmosphere that creeps and sinks
Into the very soul, and mars its hue-
Not for the evenings when with gliding keel
I cut a pale green track across the west-
Pale-green, and dashed with snowy white, and spotted
With sunset crimson; when the wind breathed low,
So low it hardly swelled my xebec's sails,
That pointed to the south, and wavered not,
Erect upon the waters.-Jesus said
His followers should have a hundred fold
Of earth's most precious things, with suffering.-
In all the labourings of a weary spirit,
I have been bless'd with gleams of glorious things.
The sights and sounds of nature touch my soul,
No more look in from far.-I never see
Such radiant, filmy clouds, gathered about
A gently opening eye into the blue,
But swells my heart, and bends my sinking knee,
Bowing in prayer. The setting sun, before,
Signed only that the hour for prayer was come,
But now it moves my inmost soul to pray.

On this same earth He walked; even thus he looked
Upon its thousand glories; read them all;
In splendour let them pass on through his soul,
And triumph in their new beatitude,
Finding a heaven of truth to take them in;
But walked on steadily through pain to death.

Better to have the poet's heart than brain,
Feeling than song; but better far than both,
To be a song, a music of God's making;
A tablet, say, on which God's finger of flame,
In words harmonious, of triumphant verse,
That mingles joy and sorrow, sets down clear,
That out of darkness he hath called the light.
It may be voice to such is after given,
To tell the mighty tale to other worlds.

Oh! I am blest in sorrows with a hope
That steeps them all in glory; as gray clouds
Are bathed in light of roses; yea, I were
Most blest of men, if I were now returning
To Lilia's heart as presence. O my God,
I can but look to thee. And then the child!-
Why should my love to her break out in tears?
Why should she be only a consolation,
And not an added joy, to fill my soul
With gladness overflowing in many voices
Of song, and prayer-and weeping only when
Words fainted 'neath the weight of utterance?


SCENE IX.-LILIA preparing to go out . LILY.

Lily .
Don't go to-night again.

Lilia .
Why, child, your father
Will soon be home; and then you will not miss me.

Lily .
Oh, but I shall though! and he looks so sad
When you're not here!

Lilia
( aside ).
He cannot look much sadder
Than when I am. I am sure 'tis a relief
To find his child alone when he returns.

Lily .
Will you go, mother? Then I'll go and cry
Till father comes. He'll take me on his knee,
And tell such lovely tales: you never do-
Nor sing me songs made all for my own self.
He does not kiss me half so many times
As you do, mother; but he loves me more.
Do you love father, too? I love him so !

Lilia
( ready ).
There's such a pretty book! Sit on the stool,
And look at the pictures till your father comes.

[ Goes .]

Lily
( putting the book down, and going to the window ).
I wish he would come home. I wish he would.

Enter JULIAN.

Oh, there he is!

[ Running up to him .]

Oh, now I am so happy!

[ Laughing .]

I had not time to watch before you came.

Julian
( taking
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