Arthur Hugh Clough
¶[1819-1861]
¶693 SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NAUGHT AVAILETH
¶SAY not the struggle naught availeth,The labour and the wounds are vain,The enemy faints not, nor faileth,And as things have been they remain.
¶If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,And, but for you, possess the field.[1120]For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,Seem here no painful inch to gain,Far back, through creeks and inlets making,Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
¶And not by eastern windows only,When daylight comes, comes in the light;In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!But westward, look, the land is bright!
694 the Stream of Life
¶O STREAM descending to the sea,Thy mossy banks between,The flowerets blow, the grasses grow,The leafy trees are green.
¶In garden plots the children play,The fields the labourers till,And houses stand on either hand,And thou descendest still.
¶O life descending into death,Our waking eyes behold,Parent and friend thy lapse attend,Companions young and old.
¶Strong purposes our minds possess,Our hearts affections fill,We toil and earn, we seek and learn,And thou descendest still.
¶O end to which our currents tend,Inevitable sea,To which we flow, what do we know,What shall we guess of thee?
¶A roar we hear upon thy shore,As we our course fulfil;Scarce we divine a sun will shineAnd be above us still.
In a London Square
¶PUT forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,East wind and frost are safely gone;With zephyr mild and balmy rainThe summer comes serenely on;Earth, air, and sun and skies combineTo promise all that's kind and fair;—But thou, O human heart of mine,Be still, contain thyself, and bear.
¶December days were brief and chill,The winds of March were wild and drear,And, nearing and receding still,Spring never would, we thought, be here.The leaves that burst, the suns that shine,Had, not the less, their certain date;—And thou, O human heart of mine,Be still, refrain thyself, and wait.
Qua Cursum Ventus
¶As ships, becalmed at eve, that layWith canvas drooping, side by side,Two towers of sail at dawn of dayAre scarce long leagues apart descried;
¶When fell the night, upsprung the breeze,And all the darkling hours they plied,Nor dreamt but each the self-same seasBy each was cleaving, side by side:
¶E'en so—but why the tale revealOf those, whom year by year unchanged,Brief absence joined anew to feel,Astounded, soul from soul estranged?
¶At dead of night their sails were filled,And onward each rejoicing steered—Ah, neither blame, for neither willed,Or wist, what first with dawn appeared![1122]To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,Brave barks! In light, in darkness too,Through winds and tides one compass guides:To that, and your own selves, be true.
¶But O blithe breeze; and O great seas,Though ne'er, that earliest parting past,On your wide plain they join again,Together lead them home at last.
¶One port, methought, alike they sought,One purpose hold where'er they fare,—O bounding breeze, O rushing seas!At last, at last, unite them there!
697 Where Lies the Land?
¶WHERE lies the land to which the ship would go?Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.And where the land she travels from? Away,Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
¶On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth faceLinked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace;Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch belowThe foaming wake far widening as we go.
¶On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave,How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!The dripping sailor on the reeling mastExults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.
¶Where lies the land to which the ship would go?Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.And where the land she travels from ? Away,Far, far behind, is all that they can say.