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The Harvard Classics › Vol. 42

Poems

Sidney Lanier

p. 1390

Sidney Lanier

[1842-1881}

809 the Marshes of Glynn

GLOOMS of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and wovenWith intricate shades of the vines that myriad-clovenClamber the forks of the multiform boughs,—Emerald twilights,—Virginal shy lights,Wrought of the leaves to allure to the whisper of vows,When lovers pace timidly down through the green colonnadesOf the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,Of the heavenly woods and glades,That run to the radiant marginal sand-beach withinThe wide sea-marshes of Glynn;—

From Poems of Sidney Lanier. Copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D. Lanier. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons.

p. 1391Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noonday fire,—Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire,Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves,—Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves,Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood,Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good;—
O braided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the vine,While the riotous noon-day sun of the June day long did shineYe held me fast in your heart and I held you fast in mine;But now when the noon is no more, and riot is rest,And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the West,And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle doth seemLike a lane into heaven that leads from a dream,—Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak,And my heart is at ease from men, and the wearisome sound of thestrokeOf the scythe of time and the trowel of trade is low,And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know,And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within,That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the Marshes ofGlynnWill work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yoreWhen length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitternesssore,And when terror and shrinking and dreary unnamable painDrew over me out of the merciless miles of the plain,—
Oh, now, unafraid, I am fain to faceThe vast sweet visage of space.To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn,Where the gray beach glimmering runs, as a belt of the dawn,For a mete and a markTo the forest-dark:—So:Affable live-oak, leaning low,—Thus—with your favor—soft, with a reverent hand(Not lightly touching your person, Lord of the land!),Bending your beauty aside, with a step I standOn the firm-packed sand,Free[1392]By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea.Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering bandOf the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds ofthe land.Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach-lineslinger and curlAs a silver-wrought garment that clings to and follows the firmsweet limbs of a girl.Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight,Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light.
And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods standshigh?The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky!A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in theblade,Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade,Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain,To the terminal blue of the main.
Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea?Somehow my soul seems suddenly freeFrom the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin,By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes ofGlynn.
Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding andfreeYe publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea!Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun,Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily wonGod out of knowledge and good out of infinite painAnd sight out of blindness and purity out of a stain.
As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod,Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God:I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen fliesIn the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies:By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sodI will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God:Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within[1393]The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.And the sea lends large, as the marsh: lo, out of his plenty the seaPours fast: full soon the time of the flood-tide must be:Look how the grace of the sea doth goAbout and about through the intricate channels that flowHere and there,Everywhere,Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lyinglanes,And the marsh is meshed with a million veins,That like as with rosy and silvery essences flowIn the rose-and-silver evening glow.Farewell, my lord Sun!The creeks overflow: a thousand rivulets run;'Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh-grass stir;Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr;Passeth, and all is still; and the currents cease to run,And the sea and the marsh are one.
How still the plains of the waters be!The tide is in his ecstasy.The tide is at his highest height:And it is night.
And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters of sleepRoll in on the souls of men,But who will reveal to our waking kenThe forms that swim and the shapes that creepUnder the waters of sleep?And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tidecomes inOn the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn.

810 the Revenge of Hamish

IT was three slim does and a ten-tined buck in the bracken lay; And all of a sudden the sinister smell of a man,

Awaft on a wind-shift, wavered and ran

Down the hillside and sifted along through the bracken and passed

that way.

From Poems of Sidney Lanier. Copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D. Lanier. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons.

p. 1394Then Nan got a-tremble at nostril; she was the daintiest doe;In the print of her velvet flank on the velvet fernShe reared, and rounded her ears in turn.Then the buck leapt up, and his head as a king's to a crown did go
Full high in the breeze, and he stood as if Death had the form of adeer;And the two slim does long lazily stretching arose,For their day-dream slowlier came to a close,Till they woke and were still, breath-bound with waiting andwonder and fear.
Then Alan the huntsman sprang over the hillock, the houndsshot by,The does and the ten-tined buck made a marvellous bound,The hounds swept after with never a sound,But Alan loud winded his horn in sign that the quarry was nigh.
For at dawn of that day proud Maclean of Lochbuy to the hunt hadwaxed wild,And he cursed at old Alan till Alan fared off with the houndsFor to drive him the deer to the lower glen-grounds:'I will kill a red deer,' quoth Maclean, 'in the sight of the wife andthe child.'
So gayly he paced with the wife and the child to his chosen stand;But he hurried tall Hamish the henchman ahead: 'Go turn,'—Cried Maclean,—'if the deer seek to cross to the burn,Do thou turn them to me: nor fail, lest thy back be red as thyhand.'
Now hard-fortuned Hamish, half blown of his breath with theheight of the hill,Was white in the face when the ten-tined buck and the doesDrew leaping to burn-ward; huskily roseHis shouts, and his nether lip twitched, and his legs were o'er-weakfor his will.
So the deer darted lightly by Hamish and bounded away to theburn.But Maclean never bating his watch tarried waiting below;[1395]Still Hamish hung heavy with fear for to goAll the space of an hour, then he went, and his face was greenishand stern,
And his eye sat back in the socket, and shrunken the eyeballs shone,As withdrawn from a vision of deeds it were shame to see.'Now, now, grim henchman, what is't with thee?'Brake Maclean, and his wrath rose red as a beacon the wind hathupblown.
'Three does and a ten-tined buck made out,' spoke Hamish, fullmild,'And I ran for to turn, but my breath it was blown, and theypassed;I was weak, for ye called ere I broke me my fast.'Cried Maclean: 'Now a ten-tined buck in the sight of the wife andthe child
'I had killed if the gluttonous kern had not wrought me a snail'sown wrong!'Then he sounded, and down came kinsmen and clansmen all:'Ten blows, for ten tine, on his back let fall,And reckon no stroke if the blood follow not at the bite of thong!'
So Hamish made bare, and took him his strokes; at the last hesmiled.'Now I'll to the burn,' quoth Maclean, 'for it still may be,If a slimmer-paunched henchman will hurry with me,I shall kill me the ten-tined buck for a gift to the wife and thechild!'
Then the clansmen departed, by this path and that; and over thehillSped Maclean with an outward wrath for an inward shame;And that place of the lashing full quiet became;And the wife and the child stood sad; and bloody-backed Hamishsat still.
But look! red Hamish has risen; quick about and about turns he.'There is none betwixt me and the crag-top!' he screams underbreath.[1396]Then, livid as Lazarus lately from death,He snatches the child from the mother, and clambers the cragtoward the sea.
Now the mother drops breath; she is dumb, and her heart goesdead for a space,Till the motherhood, mistress of death, shrieks, shrieks throughthe glen,And that place of the lashing is live with men,And Maclean, and the gillie that told him, dash up in a desperaterace.
Not a breath's time for asking; an eye-glance reveals all the taleuntold.They follow mad Hamish afar up the crag toward the sea,And the lady cries: 'Clansmen, run for a fee!Yon castle and lands to the two first hands that shall hook him andhold
'Fast Hamish back from the brink!'—and ever she flies up the steep,And the clansmen pant, and they sweat, and they jostle andstrain.But, mother, 'tis vain; but, father, 'tis vain;Stern Hamish stands bold on the brink, and dangles the child o'erthe deep.
Now a faintness falls on the men that run, and they all stand still.And the wife prays Hamish as if he were God, on her knees,Crying: 'Hamish! O Hamish! but please, but pleaseFor to spare him!' and Hamish still dangles the child, with awavering will.
On a sudden he turns; with a sea-hawk scream, and a gibe, and asong,Cries: 'So; I will spare ye the child if, in sight of ye all,Ten blows on Maclean's bare back shall fall,And ye reckon no stroke if the blood follow not at the bite of thethong!"
Then Maclean he set hardly his tooth to his lip that his tooth wasred,Breathed short for a space, said: 'Nay, but it never shall be![1397]Let me hurl oft the damnable hound in the sea!'But the wife: 'Can Hamish go fish us the child from the sea, ifdead?
'Say yea!—Let them lash me, Hamish?'—'Nay!'—'Husband, thelashing will heal;But, oh, who will heal me the bonny sweet bairn in his grave?Could ye cure me my heart with the death of a knave?Quick! Love! I will bare thee—so—kneel!' Then Maclean 'ganslowly to kneel
With never a word, till presently downward he jerked to the earth.Then the henchman—he that smote Hamish—would trembleand lag;'Strike, hard!' quoth Hamish, full stern, from the crag;Then he struck him, and 'One!' sang Hamish, and danced with thechild in his mirth.
And no man spake beside Hamish; he counted each stroke with asong.When the last stroke fell, then he moved him a pace down theheight,And he held forth the child in the heart-aching sightOf the mother, and looked all pitiful grave, as repenting a wrong.
And there as the motherly arms stretched out with the thanksgiving prayer—And there as the mother crept up with a fearful swift pace,Till her finger nigh felt of the bairnie's face—In a flash fierce Hamish turned round and lifted the child in theair,
And sprang with the child in his arms from the horrible height inthe sea,Shrill screeching, 'Revenge!' in the wind-rush; and pallidMaclean,Age-feeble with anger and impotent pain,Crawled up on the crag, and lay flat, and locked hold of dead rootsof a tree,[1398]And gazed hungrily o'er, and the blood from his back drip-drippedin the brine,And a sea-hawk flung down a skeleton fish as he flew,And the mother stared white on the waste of blue,And the wind drove a cloud to seaward, and the sun began to shine.

811 How LOVE LOOKED FOR HELL

To heal his heart of long-time painOne day Prince Love for to travel was fainWith Ministers Mind and Sense.'Now what to thee most strange may be?'Quoth Mind and Sense. 'All things above,One curious thing I first would see—Hell,' quoth Love.
Then Mind rode in and Sense rode out:They searched the ways of man about.First frightfully groaneth Sense.' 'Tis here, 'tis here,' and spurreth in fearTo the top of the hill that hangeth aboveAnd plucketh the Prince: 'Come, come, 'tis here—''Where?' quoth Love—
'Not far, not far,' said shivering SenseAs they rode on. 'A short way hence,—But seventy paces hence:Look, King, dost see where suddenlyThis road doth dip from the height above?Cold blew a mouldy wind by me'('Cold?' quoth Love)
'As I rode down, and the River was black,And yon-side, lo! an endless wrackAnd rabble of souls,' sighed Sense,'Their eyes upturned and begged and burnedIn brimstone lakes, and a Hand aboveBeat back the hands that upward yearned—''Nay!' quoth Love—

From Poems of Sidney Lanier. Copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D. Lanier. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons.

p. 1399'Yea, yea, sweet Prince; thyself shalt see,Wilt thou but down this slope with me;'Tis palpable,' whispered Sense.At the foot of the hill a living rillShone, and the lilies shone white above;'But now 'twas black, 'twas a river, this rill,'('Black?' quoth Love)
'Ay, black, but lo! the lilies grow,And yon-side where was woe, was woe,—Where the rabble of souls,' cried Sense,'Did shrivel and turn and beg and burn,Thrust back in the brimstone from above—Is banked of violet, rose, and fern:''How?' quoth Love:
'For lakes of pain, yon pleasant plainOf woods and grass and yellow grainDoth ravish the soul and sense:And never a sigh beneath the sky,And folk that smile and gaze above—''But saw'st thou here, with thine own eye,Hell?' quoth Love.
'I saw true hell with mine own eye,True hell, or light hath told a lie,True, verily,' quoth stout Sense.Then Love rode round and searched the ground,The caves below, the hills above;'But I cannot find where thou hast foundHell,' quoth Love.
There, while they stood in a green woodAnd marvelled still on 111 and Good,Came suddenly Minister Mind.'In the heart of sin doth hell begin:'Tis not below, 'tis not above,It lieth within, it lieth within:'('Where?' quoth Love)[1400]'I saw a man sit by a corse;Hell's in the murderer's breast: remorse!Thus clamored his mind to his mind:Not fleshly dole is the sinner's goal,Hell's not below, nor yet above,'Tis fixed in the ever-damned soul—''Fixed?' quoth Love—
'Fixed: follow me, would'st thou but see:He weepeth under yon willow tree,Fast chained to his corse,' quoth Mind.Full soon they passed, for they rode fast,Where the piteous willow bent above.'Now shall I see at last, at last,Hell,' quoth Love.
There when they came Mind suffered shame:'These be the same and not the same,'A-wondering whispered Mind.Lo, face by face two spirits paceWhere the blissful willow waves above:One saith: 'Do me a friendly grace—'('Grace!' quoth Love)
'Read me two Dreams that linger long,Dim as returns of old-time songThat flicker about the mind.I dreamed (how deep in mortal sleep!)I struck thee dead, then stood above,With tears that none but dreamers weep;''Dreams,' quoth Love;
'In dreams, again, I plucked a flowerThat clung with pain and stung with power,Yea, nettled me, body and mind.'' 'Twas the nettle of sin, 'twas medicine;No need nor seed of it here Above;In dreams of hate true loves begin.''True,' quoth Love.[1401]'Now strange,' quoth Sense, and 'Strange,' quothMind,'We saw it, and yet 'tis hard to find,—But we saw it,' quoth Sense and Mind.Stretched on the ground, beautiful-crownedOf the piteous willow that wreathed above,'But I cannot find where ye have foundHell,' quoth Love.