George MacDonald

“ On the earth why such a droning?
In the air the lark is singing;
On the earth the wind is moaning.
"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!"
"Sad am I: the world lies groaning!"
In the sky the lark kept singing;
On the earth the wind kept moaning.
A DEAD HOUSE. When the clock hath ceased to tick
Soul-like in the gloomy hall;
When the latch no more doth click
Tongue-like in the red peach-wall;
When no more come sounds of play,
Mice nor children romping roam,
Then looks down the eye of day
On a dead house, not a home!
But when, like an old sun's ghost,
Haunts her vault the spectral moon ”

“ The black mouth swallows it like a wolf!
Who brings me the cup again, whoever,
It is his own—he may keep it for ever!"
'Tis the king who speaks. He flings from the brow
Of the cliff, that, rugged and steep,
Hangs out o'er the endless sea below,
The cup in the whirlpool's howling heap:—
"Again I ask, what hero will follow,
What hero plunge into yon dark hollow?"
The knights and the squires the king about
Hear, and dumbly stare
Into the wild sea's tumbling rout;
To win the beaker they hardly care!
The king, for the third time, round him glaring—
"Not one soul of you has the daring?" ”

“ Out of the moon and out of my brain,
That the light may fall shadowless in again!
VIII. But, alas, then the ghost
O'er mountain and coast
Would go roaming, roaming! and never was swine
That, grubbing and talking with snork and whine
On Gadarene mountains, had taken him in
But would rush to the lake to unhouse the sin!
For any charnel
This ghost is too carnal;
There is no volcano, burnt out and cold,
Whose very ashes are gray and old,
But would cast him forth in reviving flame
To blister the sky with a smudge of shame!
IX. Is there no help? ”

“ Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!"
The lady rose up, withholding her word,
And led to the terrace her wondering lord,
Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain,
Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain:
"The battle was raging, he raging worse;
I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse."
"Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine!
The arm of the battle, it also was thine?
Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet:
For the lord of the fight are fetters meet?
If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar:
Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!" ”

“ O Father, I am thine; I shall not die,
But I shall sleep at length!
SONG-SERMON. Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs,
For as his work thou giv'st the man.
From us, not thee, come all our wrongs;
Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs:
With small-cord whips and scorpion thongs
Thou lay'st on every ill thy ban.
Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs,
For as his work thou giv'st the man.
A DREAM-SONG. The stars are spinning their threads,
And the clouds are the dust that flies,
And the suns are weaving them up
For the day when the sleepers arise. ”

“ Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own;
Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide,
Cry, Now I know I never was alone!
MOTES IN THE SUN. ANGELS. Came of old to houses lonely
Men with wings, but did not show them:
Angels come to our house, only,
For their wings, they do not know them!
THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS. 'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray;
The children in thy bosom laugh and play.
A BIRTHDAY-WISH. Who know thee, love: thy life be such
That, ere the year be o'er,
Each one who loves thee now so much,
Even God, may love thee more! ”