Chapter III: Part II: 152 (2)

The Rabbis, who devise strange dooms of wrath and ill, For them who knew not here God’s perfect law and will, Yet these have told how they, as many as with true And faithful heart fulfilled and loved the good they knew, The Righteous of the world shall once delivered be From darkness, and brought in God’s countenance to see: Which thing they thus recount:—It shall befall one day In those eternal courts where it is day alway, Before him will the Just sit ranged in order meet, The holy Angels all will stand upon their feet, And while they hymn the praise, the glory and the worth Of him who by a word created heaven and earth, Will ever high and higher be borne and swept along Heaven’s azure-vaulted roofs the full concent of song: Then will that mighty voice of jubilee be heard, Until from end to end the spacious world is stirred, Until even those that lie excluded from his face, The Righteous of the world who knew not of his grace And law, while living—now will triumph in his name, And with their loud Amen will join the glad acclaim.

Then he who knoweth all, yet purposing to show His goodness, will demand from whence these voices grow. The ministering angels then will answer and will say, The while they veil for awe their faces—“These are they Who did not know thy law while living, and for this They lie in hell remote from glory and from bliss; They cry Amen from thence.”—But he will of his grace Compassion take on them and on their mournful case, Will give the golden key from heaven’s crystal floors, Which opens with a touch hell’s forty thousand doors, To Michael, mighty prince:—but he will fly amain, On mercy’s errand swift, with all the angelic train. Hell’s forty thousand gates will open at his word, Its narrow chambers deep with expectation stirred. And as a man draws up his neighbour from a pit, When he shall have therein through evil hap alit, The prisoners he will draw from dungeons where they lay, And extricating lift from the deep and miry clay,— Will wash and cleanse their wounds where they have plaguèd been, And clothe in garments white, and beautiful and clean; And taking by the hand, will lead them to the gate Of Paradise, where they must for a moment wait. Till there with leave brought in, they fall upon their face, And worship God, and praise and magnify his grace: While all that had before their places round the throne, Will give new thanks for this new mercy he has shown, And by new voices swelled, and higher and more strong, Ring through the vaults of heaven the full concent of song.

MAXIMS.

I.

“Who truly strives?” they asked.—Then one replied, “The man who owns no other goal, beside The throne of God, and till he there arrives Allows himself no rest, he truly strives.”

II.

Honour each thing for that it once may be, In bud the rose, in egg the chicken see: Bright butterfly behold in hideous worm, And trust that man enfolds an angel form.

III.

Aye let humility thy garment be, Which never suffer to be drawn from thee, Although a Chosroes’ mantle in its stead By Fortune’s hand to thee were offerèd.

IV.

A pebble thrown into the mighty sea Sinks and disturbs not its tranquillity— No ocean, but a shallow pool, the man, Whom every little wrong disquiet can.

V.

THE TRUE FRIEND.

He is a friend who, treated as a foe, Now even more friendly than before doth show: Who to his brother still remains a shield, Although a sword for him his brother wield; Who of the very stones against him cast, Builds friendship’s altar higher and more fast.

VI.

PRIDE.

With needle’s point more easily you will Uproot and quite unfasten a huge hill, Than from the bosom you will dig up pride; And the ant’s footfall sooner is descried, On black earth moving in the darkest night, Than are pride’s secret movements brought to light.

THE FALCON’S REWARD.

I.

Beneath the fiery cope of middle day
The youthful Prince, his train left all behind
With eager ken gazed round him every way,
If springing well he anywhere might find.

II.

His favourite falcon, from long aëry flight
Returning, and from quarry struck at last,
Told of the chase, which with its keen delight
Had thus allured him on so far and fast,—

III.

Till gladly he had welcomed in his drought
The dullest pool that gathered in the rain—
But such, or fount of clearer wave, he sought
Long through that land of barrenness in vain.

IV.

What pleasure when, slow stealing o’er a rock,
He spied the glittering of a little rill,
Which yet, as if his burning thirst to mock,
Did its rare treasures drop by drop distil.

V.

A golden goblet from his saddle-bow
He loosed, and from his steed alighted down,
To wait until that fountain, trickling slow,
Shall in the end his golden goblet crown.

VI.

When set beside the promise of that draught,
How poor had seemed to him the costliest wine,
That ever with its beaded bubbles laughed,—
When set beside that nectar more divine.

VII.

The brimming vessel to his lips at last
He raised, when, lo! the falcon on his hand,
With beak’s and pinion’s sudden impulse, cast
That cup’s rare treasure all upon the sand.

VIII.

Long was it ere that fountain, pulsing slow,
Caused once again that chalice to run o’er;
When, thinking no like hindrance now to know,
He raised it to his parchèd lips once more:

IX.

Once more, as if to cross his purpose bent,
The watchful bird,—as if on this one thing,
That drink he should not of that stream, intent,—
Struck from his hand the cup with eager wing.

X.

But when this new defeat his purpose found,
Swift penalty this time the bird must pay;
Hurled down with angry force upon the ground,
Before her master’s feet in death she lay:

XI.

And he, twice baffled, did meanwhile again
From that scant rill to slake his thirst prepare;
When, down the crags descending, of his train
One cried, “O Monarch, for thy life forbear!

XII.

“Coiled in these waters at their fountain head,
And causing them so feebly to distil,
A poisonous snake of hugest growth lies dead,
And doth with venom all the streamlet fill.”

XIII.

Dropped from his hand the cup;—one look he cast
Upon the faithful bird before his feet,
Whose dying struggles now were almost past,
For whom a better guerdon had been meet;

XIV.

Then homeward rode in silence many a mile:—
But if such thoughts did in his bosom grow,
As did in mine the painfulness beguile
Of that his falcon’s end, what man can know?

XV.

I said, “Such chalices the world fills up
For us, and bright and without bale they seem—
A sparkling potion in a jewelled cup,
Nor know we drawn from what infected stream.

XVI.

“Our spirit’s thirst they promise to assuage,
And we those cups unto our death had quaffed,
If Heaven did not in dearest love engage
To dash the chalice down, and mar the draught.

XVII.

“Alas for us, if we that love are fain
With wrath and blind impatience to repay,
Which nothing but our weakness doth restrain,—
As he repaid his faithful bird that day;

XVIII.

“If an indignant eye we lift above,
To lose some sparkling goblet ill content,
Which, but for that keen watchfulness of love,
Swift certain poison through our veins had sent.”

THE CONVERSION OF ABRAHAM.

Fond heart, when learnest thou to say, I love not pomps that fade away, Nor glories that decay and wane, Nor lights that rise to set again? When wilt thou turn where Abraham turned, And learn the lesson Abraham learned? Beyond the river while he dwelt, He with his kin to idols knelt, And nightly gazing on the sky, Worshipped the starry host on high. But when he saw their splendours fail, And that bright multitude grow pale, He left them, and adored the moon; But she too wanly wanèd soon. Baffled, he knelt unto the sun; But when _his_ race of light was done, He cried, “To such no vows I bring— I worship not the perishing!” And turned him to the God, whose hand Made sun, and moon, and starry band— An everlasting Light, in whom Decrease and shadow find no room.

SONNET.

What child of dust with glory was arrayed Like Solomon?—his bidding, while he stood In his obedience and first state of good, The upper and the under worlds obeyed— All spirits, good and evil; yea, he made Hell’s concourse and involuntary brood Do drudging work for him—hew stones, bring wood, And in the rearing of God’s temple aid. But when he fell from God, the self-same hour They fell from him—against him dared to turn, Defied his might, his ring, his seal of power; Made him the subject of their mock and scorn; While before them he now must crouch and cower, Of strength and wisdom, as of goodness, shorn.

THE DEAD DOG.

For the man whose heart and eye Are made wise by charity, Something will appear always That may have his honest praise; There will glimmer points of light In the darkest, saddest night. Thus a crowd once gathered round The dead carcase of an hound; Flung upon the open way, In the market-place it lay; And the idle multitude, Vulture-like, around it stood, One exclaiming, “I declare That he poisons quite the air:” But the next, “He is not worth Pains of putting under earth;” And against the poor dead thing Each in turn his stone must fling: Till one wiser passing by, Just exclaimed, while eagerly They were venting each his spite,— “See his teeth, how pearly white!” Straight the others, with self-blame, Shrunk away in silent shame.

I.

Fair vessel hast thou seen with honey filled,
Which is no sooner opened, than descend
Upon the clammy sweets by bees distilled
A troop of flies, quick swarming without end?

II.

Yet these when one doth fan away and beat,
Such as had lighted with a fearful care
On the jar’s edge, nor cumbered wings and feet,
Lightly they mount into the upper air.

III.

But all that headlong plunged those sweets among,
No flight is theirs, in cloying sweetness bound;
The heavy toils have all around them clung,
In woful surfeiting their lives are drowned.

IV.

Such vessel is this world—fanned evermore
By death’s dark Angel with his mighty wing;
Then all that had in pleasure’s honied store
Their spirits sunk, they upward cannot spring.

V.

Only they mount who, on this vessel’s side
With heed alighting, had with extreme lip
Just ventured, there while suffered to abide,
Its sweets in measure and with fear to sip.

FRAGMENTS.

I.

THE CERTAINTY OF FAITH.

What thou of God and of thyself dost know, So know that none can force thee to forego; For oh! his knowledge is a worthless art, Which, while it forms not of himself a part, The foremost man he meets with readier skill In sleight of words, can rob him of at will. Faith feels not of _her_ lore more sure nor less, If all the world deny it or confess: Did the whole world exclaim, “Like Solomon, Thou sittest high on Wisdom’s noblest throne,” She would not, than before, be surer then, Nor draw more courage from the assent of men. Or did the whole world cry, “Oh, fond and vain! What idle dream is this which haunts thy brain?” To the whole world Faith boldly would reply, “The whole world can, but I can never, lie.”

II.

MAN’S TWOFOLD NATURE.

An hen, though such tame creatures mostly are, Yet once received a water-bird in care; Its mother-instinct drew the fledgling still To the wide ocean floods to roam at will; Its timid nurse, upon the other hand, Sought evermore to lead it back to land. O Man! thy mother, Heaven, thy nurse is Earth, And thou of both wert nurtured from thy birth; From thy true mother comes thine impulse free To launch forth boldly upon being’s sea; While aye thy nurse fears for thee, and would fain Thee to a narrow slip of dry restrain.

III.

SCIENCE AND LOVE.

Who that might watch the moon in heaven, would look At its weak image in the water-brook? Who were content, that might in presence stand Of one beloved, with letters from his hand? When thou hast learned the name, hast thou the thing? What life to thee will definitions bring? Will the four letters, R, O, S, and E, The rose’s hues and fragrance bring to thee? Feed not on husks, but these strip off and feed On the rich kernel, which is food indeed. Say, who of choice would wash in arid sand, While limpid streams were bubbling close at hand? Bare Science is dry sand;—thy spirit’s wings Bathe thou in Love’s delicious water-springs. Be thou the bee, which ever to its cell Not wax alone, but honey brings as well: Good is the wax for light, but better still What will thine hive with storèd sweetness fill.

IV.

The business of the world is child’s play mere; Too many, ah! the children playing here: Their pleasure and their woe, their loss and gain, Alike mean nothing, and alike are vain; As children’s, who, to pass the time away, Build up their booths, and buy and sell in play; But homeward hungering must at eve repair, And standing leave their booths with all their ware: So the world’s children, when _their_ night is come, With empty satchels turn them sadly home.

V.

Sage, that would’st maker of thine own God be, When made, alas! what will he profit thee? Most like art thou to children that astride On reeds or wooden horses proudly ride; And as they trail them on the ground, they cry, “This is the lightning, and its Lord am I!” Yet, while they deem their horses them upbear, Themselves the bearers of their horses are; And when they grow aweary of their course, They find no strength in them, no help, no force. How otherwise they fare—how fresh, how strong, Not of themselves, but borne of God along! How jubilant to him they lift their head, Till the ninth heaven shakes underneath their tread!

VI.

Man, the caged bird that owned an higher nest, Is here awhile detained, reluctant guest, Who beak and plumage shatters in his rage, And with his prison doth vain war engage: For him the falcon watches, and his snare The bloody fowler doth for him prepare. Exiled from home, he here doth sadly sing, In spring lacks autumn, and in autumn spring. Far from his nest, he shivers on a wall, Where blows on him of rude misfortune fall— His head with weight of misery sore bowed down, His pinion clogged with dust, his courage gone. Then from his nest in heaven is heard a cry, And straight he spreads his wings divine on high: Lift him, O Lord, unto the Lotus tree, No meaner pitch may with his birth agree; Grant him a pinion of such lofty flight, That he may on the Lotus tree alight: In thy bright palaces his nest prepare;— Oh, happy, happy bird that nesteth there!

NOTES

TO

THE POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES.

Page 3.

ALEXANDER AT THE GATES OF PARADISE.

See Eisenmenger’s “Entdecktes Judenthum,” v. ii. p. 321, with whom I trust that my readers will not agree, for he has scarcely patience to finish this “narrische Talmudische Fabel,” as he styles it. It reappears, slightly modified, in the Persian tradition, according to which Alexander, having conquered the world, determined to seek out the fountain of life. See the following note. In like manner, in the Christian poems of the middle ages, Alexander is made to recognise at last the vanity and emptiness of all the glory which he has won, and is hardly turned from his purpose of going forth at last in search of the lost Paradise. See Rosenkranz “Gesch. d. Deutschen Poesie in Mittelalter,” p. 367. Very notable is this making of Alexander, and no other—the man from whom the confession comes, that the world has not that which can truly satisfy man’s spirit, but that he still yearns for something beyond. It is like, in the Scripture, the same confession coming from the lips of Solomon; for in each case the experiment has been made under the most favourable circumstances: so that in one case, as in the other, it may be asked, “What can the man do that cometh after the king?”

P. 11.

CHIDHER’S WELL.

Of Chidher’s Well, the Eastern λουτρον παλιγγενεσιας, Von Hammer, in his very interesting introduction to his “History of Persian Poetry,” gives a good account. Among other things he says, “Cotemporary with Moses lived the Prophet Chiser, of whom some hold that he is the same with Elias, while others altogether distinguish them. He is one of the chief personages of Eastern Mythology, the ever-ready helper of the oppressed, the Genius of spring, the deliverer in peril, the admonisher of princes, the avenger of unrighteousness, the guide through the wilderness of the world, and, finally, the ever-youthful guardian of the fountain of life. As such he revives the youth of men, and beasts, and plants, gives back lost beauty, and in spring arrays the dead earth with its fresh garments of green. His fountain bestows on whosoever drinks it eternal beauty, youth, and wisdom. What wonder then that all mortals with burning desire seek it, though as yet not one, not even Alexander, the conqueror of the world, who, in quest of it, undertook an expedition into the land of darkness, has found it!” Probably this, his journey through the land of darkness, is but a mythic form of his expedition through the Libyan desert to the temple of Jupiter Ammon.

On this poem I may observe, that it is the first of several in the volume written with an arrangement of rhyme hardly familiar to the English reader, which yet is that of a great part, as I believe, of the lyric poetry of the East, and which may not, perhaps, be unworthy of a place among us. According to the laws of the Ghazel,—for poems in this metre are so entitled,—the two first lines must rhyme, and then this rhyme repeats itself in the second line of each succeeding couplet, which is, in fact, a new stanza, till the end of the poem,—the termination of the first line in each of these following couplets being left free. This single rule of the one repeated rhyme being observed, the Ghazel admits otherwise of the greatest possible variety; it may be composed, as is this present, in short trochaics, in longer or shorter iambics, or, in fact, in lines of whatsoever length or arrangement of syllables the poet will. In Germany, the Ghazel has been perfectly domesticated. Rückert and Count Platen are, I believe, considered to have cultivated it with the greatest success.

P. 14.

THE BANISHED KINGS.

See Rükert’s “Brahmanische Erzählungen,” p. 5. I am not aware whether the Parable is of his own constructing, or whether it be, as the name of the volume would intimate, derived from an Indian source.

P. 20.

THE SPILT PEARLS.

This story is from the Bustan of Saadi. See Tholuck’s “Blüthensammlung aus der Morgenländischen Mystik,” p. 239. With the moral of this story we may compare the memorable words of St. Bernard, when of God he says, “Ipse retributor, ipse retributio nostra, nec jam aliud quam ipsum expectamus ab ipso.”

P. 24.

THE BARMECIDES.

The anecdote on which this poem is founded is related by Sylvestre de Sacy in his “Chrestomathie Arabe,” v. ii. See also D’Herbelot’s “Bibliotheque Orientale,” s. v. Barmekian. For the sake of those who are as ignorant as myself of the Eastern languages I would remark, that “Al Raschid” is a title signifying The Just.

P. 35.

THE FESTIVAL.

This story also is to be found in the “Chrestomathie Arabe” (v. ii. p. 3) of Sylvestre de Sacy.

P. 41.

THE EASTERN NARCISSUS.

In the attempt made by the Neo-Platonists to put a new life into the old Grecian Mythology, Narcissus falling in love with his own image in the water-brook was made the symbol of man casting himself forth into the world of shows and appearances, and expecting to find the good that would answer to his nature there, but indeed finding nothing but disappointment and death.—The fable is Feridoddin Attar’s, who, born in 1216, perished in the invasion of Dschengischan at the beginning of the next century. The account of the manner in which he was converted to the life of contemplative piety is remarkable. He was originally a rich merchant of spices. A pious dervisch entered his warehouse and craved an alms. Ferid bade him to be gone. The dervisch answered, “That can I do easily, for I possess nothing save my hood; but thou, with so many heavy sacks, how wilt thou contrive to be gone when the hour of thy departure has arrived?” These words made so deep an impression on Ferid, that, from that moment, he gave up his worldly strivings, and dedicated himself to the spiritual life.

P. 55.

MOSES AND JETHRO.

This story is one among the many remarkable extracts which Tholuck, in his “Blüthensammlung aus d. Morg. Myst.,” has given (p. 128) from the poems of the chief of the mystical writers of Persia, Dschelaleddin Rumi. In his treating of the subject, however, that indifference to all positive religion, and all fixed forms and outlines of truth, which is the very essence of the Mystic, comes so strongly out, that I have been obliged to write the story anew, seeking to bring out that which is really its valuable part—that truth which a great Christian writer expressed when he said, “Sæpe amor intrat, ubi scientia foris stat.”

P. 64.

_The good that one man flings aside._

I must acknowledge that I have only assumed from internal evidence, that this story of the Sage gathering herbs is of Eastern origin, owing it myself to Calderon, who introduces it in his famous drama, “La Vida es Sueño.” The second incident of the rebuke which the pilgrim through the desert met with for his unthankfulness and discontent is related by Saadi in his “Rosarium,” and he tells it as having come upon himself.

P. 71.

LIFE THROUGH DEATH.

See Tholuck’s “Blüthensammlung &c.” p. 69. There can be no doubt that the poet has a deeper meaning than lies on the surface: the furnace is that of self-denial, which the natural man thinks will be death, but which, if he dares to prove, he finds to be life. Being willing to lose his life, he finds it.

In relation to v. 12, it may be needful to observe, that the Mahomedans believe it was in the breath of Christ that the healing virtue lay, by which his miraculous cures were effected. It is a tradition alike Jewish and Mahomedan, that Abraham was flung into the furnace by Nimrod, for refusing to worship his false gods; whereupon the flames, instead of scorching and consuming, were turned for him into a bed of jasmine and roses.

P. 74.

_The seed must die, before the corn appears._

Compare John xii. 24, “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”

P. 75.

THE WORLD.

See Von Hammer’s “Gesch. d. schönen Redekunst Persiens,” p. 236.

P. 78.

THE MONK AND SINNER.

It is difficult not to be struck with the deep moral resemblance which this story of Saadi’s bears to that related by St. Luke, ch. vii. 36-50. We have here reproduced to us the Pharisee and the woman that was a sinner, and all the deep relations of law and grace; and a reference to the original, or at least _my_ original, in Tholuck’s “Blüthensammlung &c.,” p. 251, will prove that I have not sought to throw upon it any colouring which it did not in itself already possess.

P. 81.

_What, thou askest, is the heaven_, &c.

See Tholuck’s “Blüthensammlung &c.,” p. 243.

P. 84.

THE SUPPLIANT.

See the same, p. 84. Even in the same spirit Augustine gives the reason why no true prayer can be unheard by God:—“quoniam ad ipsum redit, quod ab ipso processit.”

P. 87.

THE PANTHEIST.

The doctrine of evil as not indeed evil, but only an inferior kind of good, to which the Pantheist is of necessity driven, is wrought out with great skill and frequency by the Eastern Mystics—often comes out in their writings in its most offensive shapes. It is curious to notice how completely they have anticipated this view, which continually reappears in the philosophical systems of our own day, and is in them brought forward as some mighty discovery, as a key to all the perplexities of the actual world. See Tholuck’s “Saufismus,” p. 255, seq., and “Blüthensammlung &c.,” pp. 133, 145.

P. 91.

THE RIGHTEOUS OF THE WORLD.

See Eisenmenger’s “Entdeckt. Judenthum,” v. ii. p. 362.

P. 96.

THE FALCON’S REWARD.

This story, at its root so similar to that of Beth Gellert, is told in the “Calila and Dimna,” and I believe is to be found in many other quarters.

P. 101.

THE CONVERSION OF ABRAHAM.

See D’Herbelot’s “Biblioth. Orient.” s. v. Abraham.

P. 103.

SONNET.

See Eisenmenger’s “Entdeckt. Judenthum,” v. i. p. 355.

P. 104.

THE DEAD DOG.

See Von Hammer’s “Gesch. d. schön. Redek. Persiens,” p. 108.

P. 106.

_Fair vessel hast thou seen with honey filled._

This poem is also from the “Calila and Dimna.” With the main thought of it we may compare the beautiful lines of Prudentius:—

“Haud secus ac si olim per sudum lactea forte Lapsa columbarum nubes descendat in arvum Ruris frugiferi, laqueos ubi callidus auceps Prætendit, lentoque illevit vimina visco; Sparsit et insidias siliquis vel farre doloso. Illiciunt alias fallentia grana, gulamque Innectunt avidam tortæ retinacula setæ, Molle vel implicitas gluten circumligat alas: Ast aliæ, quas nullus amor prælectat edendi, Gressibus innocuis sterili spatiantur in herba, Suspectamque cavent oculos convertere ad escam. Mox ubi jam cœlo revolandum, pars petit æthram Libera sideream, plaudens super aëra pennis; Pars captiva jacet, laceris et saucia plumis Pugnat humi, et volucres nequicquam suspicit auras, Sic animas,” &c.

P. 113.

_Man, the caged bird that owned an higher nest._

See Von Hammer’s “Gesch. d. schön. Redek. Persiens,” p. 389.

THE STEADFAST PRINCE.

NOTE.

The subject of the following Poem was first suggested to me by Calderon’s noble drama, “El Principe Constante,” accessible not only to the Spanish, but, through Schlegel’s admirable translation, to the German scholar also: from it also I have derived the name. I am, however, much more indebted to a Life of the Prince, published at Berlin, 1827, which gives many original documents connected with the unfortunate expedition to Africa, and actual details of the captivity, and sufferings, and death of the Prince;—a little volume which strikingly exemplifies how far richer and deeper will oftentimes be the simple truth than any fiction, since all that even so great a poet as Calderon has imagined for the casting a glory round his Christian hero is weak and poor compared with the simple reality;—which, however, I may add, I have not so strictly followed but that I have felt myself at liberty to alter and modify the details as best suited my purpose.

It may be of interest to the English reader to know how much of English blood was in the veins of the Prince:—his mother, Philippa, who married John the First of Portugal, was sister to our fourth Henry.

THE STEADFAST PRINCE.

Only the best composed and worthiest hearts God sets to act the hard’st and constant’st parts.—DANIEL.