Fringilla: Some Tales in Verse by Richard Doddridge Blackmore (black books to read TXT) 📖

woe,
To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
With every living thing their foe--
The fire of God above, the river
Of death below.

Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
It is the destiny of man
To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
And hide from his own theft!

II

The father of a world unborn--
Who hath begotten death, ere life--
In sullen silence plods forlorn;
His love and pride in his fair wife
Are rage and scorn.

Instead of Angel ministers,
What hath he now but fiends devouring;
Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
In lieu of manna, crab and souring--
By whose fault? Hers!

Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
New penance waits thee; since--when thus
Thou shouldst have wept for all of us--
Thou mournest thine own ease I

III

The mother of all loving wives
(Condemned unborn to many a tear)
Is fain to take his hand, and strives
In sorrow to be doubly dear--
But shame deprives.

The shame, the woe, the black surprise,
That love's first dream should have such ending,
To weep, and wipe neglected eyes I
Oh loss of true love, far transcending
Lost Paradise!

For is it faith, that cannot live
One gloomy hour, and soar above
The clouds of fate? And is it love,
That will not e'en forgive?

IV

The houseless monarch of the earth
Hath quickly found what empire means;
For while he scoffs with bitter mirth,
And curses, after Eden's scenes,
This dreary dearth.

A snake, that twined in playful zeal,
But yester morn, around his ankle,
Now driven along the dust to steal,
Steals up, and leaves its venom'd rankle
Deep in his heel.

He groans awhile. He seeks anon
For comfort to this first of pain,
Where all his sons to-day are fain;
He seeks--but Eve is gone!

PART I--ADAM

O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
He pours the sorrow no one hears;
Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
Some ease of heart in toil of mind.

I

"YE mountains, that forbid the day,
Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
How long amid you must I stray,
Deserted, banished from God's sight,
And castaway?

"Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
Ye beasts, to my good-will committed--
Although your trust hath been betrayed--
Not long ago ye would have pitied
Your old comrade.

"Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
Albeit I love your outward part;
The nature that enthrals my heart
Must be more like my own.

II

"The Maker once appointed me--
I know not, and I care not why--
The lord of everything I see,
Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
Whate'er they be.

"And all the earth whereon they dwell,
And all the heavens they are inhaling,
And powers, whereof I cannot tell--
Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
Until I fell.

"Twas good and glorious to believe;
But now mv majesty is o'er;
And I would give it all, and more,
For one sweet glimpse of Eve.

III

"For what is glory, what is power?
And what the pride of standing first?
A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
A sun-scorched flower.

"God grant the men who spring from me,
As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
To find a loftier pedigree
Than any by the Lord intended--
Frog, slug, or tree!

"So shall they live, without the grief
Of having womankind to love,
Find nought below, and less above,
And be their own belief.

IV

"So weak was I, so poorly taught,
By any but my Maker's voice,
Too happy to indulge in thought,
Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
And ends in nought.

"But now and then, my path grows clear,
My mind casts off its grim confusion,
When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
Then happiness seems no delusion,
Even down here.

"With love and faith, to bless the curse,
To heal the mind by touch of heart,
To make me feel my better part,
And fight against the worse.

V

"It may be that I did o'erprize,
Above the Giver, that rare gift,
Ungird my will for softer ties,
And hold my manhood little thrift
To woman's eyes.

"So far she was, so full of grace,
So innocent with coy caresses,
So proud to step at my own pace,
So rosy through her golden tresses;
And such a face!

"Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
A thought against my faithful Eve;
Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
That it was one, to love.

VI

"Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
Or better made by Him, who made
That pair in vain.

"Shall any know, as we have known,
Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
Crowning of reason, and upsetting
Of reason's throne?

"Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
Or crimson sting from creamy rose--
Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
Thy venom from our fall."

Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
Had made a drought of vocal flow;
When hungry, weary, desolate,
A fox crept home to his defis gate.
The sight brought Adam's memory back,
And touched him with a keener lack.

VII