Poems of Henry Timrod [34]
celestial things.
Dreams
Who first said "false as dreams"? Not one who saw Into the wild and wondrous world they sway; No thinker who hath read their mystic law; No Poet who hath weaved them in his lay.
Else had he known that through the human breast Cross and recross a thousand fleeting gleams, That, passed unnoticed in the day's unrest, Come out at night, like stars, in shining dreams;
That minds too busy or too dull to mark The dim suggestion of the noisier hours, By dreams in the deep silence of the dark, Are roused at midnight with their folded powers.
Like that old fount beneath Dodona's oaks, That, dry and voiceless in the garish noon, When the calm night arose with modest looks, Caught with full wave the sparkle of the moon.
If, now and then, a ghastly shape glide in, And fright us with its horrid gloom or glee, It is the ghost of some forgotten sin We failed to exorcise on bended knee.
And that sweet face which only yesternight Came to thy solace, dreamer (didst thou read The blessing in its eyes of tearful light?), Was but the spirit of some gentle deed.
Each has its lesson; for our dreams in sooth, Come they in shape of demons, gods, or elves, Are allegories with deep hearts of truth That tell us solemn secrets of ourselves.
The Arctic Voyager
Shall I desist, twice baffled? Once by land, And once by sea, I fought and strove with storms, All shades of danger, tides, and weary calms; Head-currents, cold and famine, savage beasts, And men more savage; all the while my face Looked northward toward the pole; if mortal strength Could have sustained me, I had never turned Till I had seen the star which never sets Freeze in the Arctic zenith. That I failed To solve the mysteries of the ice-bound world, Was not because I faltered in the quest. Witness those pathless forests which conceal The bones of perished comrades, that long march, Blood-tracked o'er flint and snow, and one dread night By Athabasca, when a cherished life Flowed to give life to others. This, and worse, I suffered -- let it pass -- it has not tamed My spirit nor the faith which was my strength. Despite of waning years, despite the world Which doubts, the few who dare, I purpose now -- A purpose long and thoughtfully resolved, Through all its grounds of reasonable hope -- To seek beyond the ice which guards the Pole, A sea of open water; for I hold, Not without proofs, that such a sea exists, And may be reached, though since this earth was made No keel hath ploughed it, and to mortal ear No wind hath told its secrets. . . . With this tide I sail; if all be well, this very moon Shall see my ship beyond the southern cape Of Greenland, and far up the bay through which, With diamond spire and gorgeous pinnacle, The fleets of winter pass to warmer seas. Whether, my hardy shipmates! we shall reach Our bourne, and come with tales of wonder back, Or whether we shall lose the precious time, Locked in thick ice, or whether some strange fate Shall end us all, I know not; but I know A lofty hope, if earnestly pursued, Is its own crown, and never in this life Is labor wholly fruitless. In this faith I shall not count the chances -- sure that all A prudent foresight asks we shall not want, And all that bold and patient hearts can do Ye will not leave undone. The rest is God's!
Dramatic Fragment
Let the boy have his will! I tell thee, brother, We treat these little ones too much like flowers, Training them, in blind selfishness, to deck Sticks of our poor setting, when they might, If left to clamber where themselves incline, Find nobler props to cling to, fitter place, And sweeter air to bloom in. It is wrong -- Thou striv'st to sow with feelings all thine own, With thoughts and hopes, anxieties and aims, Born of thine own peculiar self, and fed Upon a certain round of circumstance, A soul as different and distinct from thine As love of goodness is from love of glory, Or noble poesy from noble prose. I could forgive thee, if thou wast of them Who do their fated parts in this world's
Dreams
Who first said "false as dreams"? Not one who saw Into the wild and wondrous world they sway; No thinker who hath read their mystic law; No Poet who hath weaved them in his lay.
Else had he known that through the human breast Cross and recross a thousand fleeting gleams, That, passed unnoticed in the day's unrest, Come out at night, like stars, in shining dreams;
That minds too busy or too dull to mark The dim suggestion of the noisier hours, By dreams in the deep silence of the dark, Are roused at midnight with their folded powers.
Like that old fount beneath Dodona's oaks, That, dry and voiceless in the garish noon, When the calm night arose with modest looks, Caught with full wave the sparkle of the moon.
If, now and then, a ghastly shape glide in, And fright us with its horrid gloom or glee, It is the ghost of some forgotten sin We failed to exorcise on bended knee.
And that sweet face which only yesternight Came to thy solace, dreamer (didst thou read The blessing in its eyes of tearful light?), Was but the spirit of some gentle deed.
Each has its lesson; for our dreams in sooth, Come they in shape of demons, gods, or elves, Are allegories with deep hearts of truth That tell us solemn secrets of ourselves.
The Arctic Voyager
Shall I desist, twice baffled? Once by land, And once by sea, I fought and strove with storms, All shades of danger, tides, and weary calms; Head-currents, cold and famine, savage beasts, And men more savage; all the while my face Looked northward toward the pole; if mortal strength Could have sustained me, I had never turned Till I had seen the star which never sets Freeze in the Arctic zenith. That I failed To solve the mysteries of the ice-bound world, Was not because I faltered in the quest. Witness those pathless forests which conceal The bones of perished comrades, that long march, Blood-tracked o'er flint and snow, and one dread night By Athabasca, when a cherished life Flowed to give life to others. This, and worse, I suffered -- let it pass -- it has not tamed My spirit nor the faith which was my strength. Despite of waning years, despite the world Which doubts, the few who dare, I purpose now -- A purpose long and thoughtfully resolved, Through all its grounds of reasonable hope -- To seek beyond the ice which guards the Pole, A sea of open water; for I hold, Not without proofs, that such a sea exists, And may be reached, though since this earth was made No keel hath ploughed it, and to mortal ear No wind hath told its secrets. . . . With this tide I sail; if all be well, this very moon Shall see my ship beyond the southern cape Of Greenland, and far up the bay through which, With diamond spire and gorgeous pinnacle, The fleets of winter pass to warmer seas. Whether, my hardy shipmates! we shall reach Our bourne, and come with tales of wonder back, Or whether we shall lose the precious time, Locked in thick ice, or whether some strange fate Shall end us all, I know not; but I know A lofty hope, if earnestly pursued, Is its own crown, and never in this life Is labor wholly fruitless. In this faith I shall not count the chances -- sure that all A prudent foresight asks we shall not want, And all that bold and patient hearts can do Ye will not leave undone. The rest is God's!
Dramatic Fragment
Let the boy have his will! I tell thee, brother, We treat these little ones too much like flowers, Training them, in blind selfishness, to deck Sticks of our poor setting, when they might, If left to clamber where themselves incline, Find nobler props to cling to, fitter place, And sweeter air to bloom in. It is wrong -- Thou striv'st to sow with feelings all thine own, With thoughts and hopes, anxieties and aims, Born of thine own peculiar self, and fed Upon a certain round of circumstance, A soul as different and distinct from thine As love of goodness is from love of glory, Or noble poesy from noble prose. I could forgive thee, if thou wast of them Who do their fated parts in this world's