Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RETROSPECTION, by JOHN CHALK CLARIS First Line: The bleakest pinnacle to him who long Last Line: Finis. Alternate Author Name(s): Brooke, Arthur Subject(s): Death; Past; Dead, The | ||||||||
THE bleakest pinnacle to him who long With bleeding feet hath toiled to gain the height Of some huge mountain, is a blessed spot; The luxury of repose can compensate To him for its unjoyous solitude, And as his languid limbs he stretches there, To him the hardness of his flinty couch Is sweeter than the most delicious bower That ever soothed a lover's noon-day dream. So rests my spirit now upon a point Unenviable indeed to those who ne'er Have felt the torture of unresting steps Up the ascent of life, who never knew The agony of him who while he strove With every outward ill, yet bore within The sightless load of unexpressed despair. The intermitted pang of pausing pain Not pleasure,that may hardly bloom again In bosoms that have borne a blight like mine, Is all of joy that I may claim on earth: Yet that is much to me, for whom to have deemed Though for a moment of deliverance or Exemption from the excruciating throbs That wasted my young heart, to have allowed The faintest ray from Hope's remotest star To fall upon the midnight of my grief, Would once have been such madness as before Ne'er prompted self-delusion's fond deceit. There seemed no refugethere is none e'en now So sure as the oblivion of the grave, The undisturbedsenselesseternal grave. For mine were never the delirious dreams Caught from the slave's or bigot's vengeful creed Who feign a Heaven to find their foes a hell; I hoped no ecstasies in other worlds, Feeling myself by Nature's primal law An undisseverable part of this, Where though the scale of good doubtless out-weighs, It is small solace for the sufferer's pang To think, when present being is decayed, And individual consciousness is o'er, The atoms which made up his painful frame In happier combinations may exist Through circling ages of uncounted time. Oft in seclusion's meditative hour, For by a lacerated spirit Man And his vain ways and his slow sympathies Are met with measureless disgust and hate, In the still night when happier hearts reposed Mine held communion with the mournful Muse Who taught my sighs to take the shape of song; And it became to me a sad delight To memorize in unenduring verse, And to the music of no tuneful lyre, The varying passions of each passing day. These simple strains not all-unheeded fell; Some kindred souls by suffering made quick To comprehendsharesootheanother's pain, Or framed of those benignant elements Which lend a beauty to their earthly mould, And walk the world as female loveliness, Caught on responding chords the notes of woe, And gave that echo which I pined to hear. O Love!not that blind instinct, misapplied, Which flings the stripling's inexperienced heart In base subjection at the haughty feet Of its unworthy idolnot the tame Depravity of soul which licks the dust Groveling before a tyrant who disdains, And justly, the vile homage she exacts, But thou, ethereal Spirit, Effluence bland, Soul of the universe, essential Good, Godhead of many names, centre divine Of divine attributes!Wisdom, Nature, Life, Pleasure or Virtue, what are they but thee? Thou Love that laughest at the petty sway The worldling's fiat would prescribe, thou Love That in thy wide capacity enfoldest All that is lovely! when the answering eye To asking Kindness tells the mutual tale, When undeceiving Nature blends two hearts Into one being, when the mingling pulse Of sympathy pervades two melting frames, Whene'erwhereverofttimes or but once For one or manyoh, unerring Love, Say is it not fidelity to thee To grantto give all that such hour demands? The selfish sensualist who dares profane With his polluting presence the cold charms Of purchased Beauty, loathing his embrace Though sanctioned by the mockery of a rite Called holy by his hireling priest; or he Who lures young Innocence to trust her love To his false bosom, till his brutal sense Is sated, and then flings the flower away Himself had spoiled, joining the savage cry Of hypocrites who execrate aloud A crime their odious privacy enjoys With the she-saints perhaps who o'er her fall Exulting, drive her to the loathsome haunts Of shame or to a broken-hearted grave, Because her gentle bosom was the seat Of kindliest impulses, because her blood Rolled its bland tide of genial influence Dispensing love like life through her warmed veins, Because when nature languished with the load Of sweet sensations her fond spirit drooped, (So balmy dews weigh down the lily's bell) And the dear weakness of affection sought Support, alas! in all-unworthy arms. Yes, on these haters of the holiest ties, These worst infractors of great Nature's law, The soul-less libertinethe sense-less prude Those framers of unfeeling institutes Which hold half human kind in vice or woe, Be visited the sorrow and the shame Which shroud too oft the noblest and the best For having heard, and hearing dared obey, The voice of Reason, Nature, and of Love. Sweet friends! whose smiles upon my frozen heart Beamed long in vain, but whose untiring love Forgave and pitied the despairing chill That mocked awhile the warmth of your kind eyes, Which shining like the sun in vernal hours Upon the bosom of reviving earth, Wakened at last the pleasurable pulse That told me life had yet a charm for me. Dear ones! who when I stood upon the verge Of the great gulf, and more in doubt than dread Forbore to plunge, won me with Beauty's deep Resistless magic to the world again: As the fond mother who beheld her babe Play on destruction's brink, bared her sweet breast And lured him back to safety in her arms. Ye who have poured into my cup of life Whatever sweetness made that bitter draught Endurable, forgive, if o'er my soul Thoughts that ye cannot share should sometimes rise And cloud that hour which should be only Joy's. I loved; yet not alone to such delights (When from my spirit rolled the stifling cloud Which blinded it to all but its own woes) Were the freed faculties of thought applied. That Muse who stamped upon my youthful mind The magic of her undissolving spell Till Poesy became a passion twined With every changeful impulse of my heart, Pointed my aspirations to the height Where Fame's illusive meteor mocks the toil Of its vain votaries struggling up the steep With painful and ridiculous essay; While Genius soaring on majestic wing Gathers a lambent glory for his brow; Marking his flight, unhoping to attain That proud pre-eminence, I not the less Yet wooed the strings of my unheeded lyre; To leave some record howsoever rude Of what I felt, thought, suffered or enjoyed, To those to whom my memory might be dear, Was my sole aim, and the applause of some Few friendly hearts was fame enough for me. Wandering in those fair regions of the mind, Which not unaptly minstrels of old time Have pictured as a valley of sweet shades Where the bright Nine and their presiding God, Golden-haired Phœbus, tune with voice and string, Or soft pipe thrilling with melodious breath Songs of celestial harmony, amid Parnassian laurels and Castalian streams; In a remoter bower where bloomed indeed Scantly the flowers which Poesy delights To scatter o'er the pleasant path she treads, But where thick foliage of unfading green Clad the perennial boughs which sheltered her From every idle and unhallowed eye, Pale with profoundest thought, majestical As Pallas' self, PHILOSOPHY I found, Severer Sister but no less divine Of her whom now I worshipped not alone. Then were the hidden stores of knowledge spread Before me, and to my permitted steps The Temple where the Intelligences watch Their treasures, opened; and the awful veil A moment from its burning shrine withdrawn: Brief space! but mortal eye sustained no more The blinding splendors of that Glory intense. Nature, Great Parent, Arbitress supreme, Pervading Spirit of unnumbered worlds That weave their music in harmonious orbs Through inconceivable Eternity, All-comprehending and sole Deity That art at once the adorer and his God, Pardon thy feeble creature, if the might Of wonders pressed on my unequal sense Surpassed its weak perceptions; if I saw But little, and that little not aright Interpreted, forgive; this gain at least Was mine, which lightly I shall not forego, Error to hate, and, loving, seek thy Truth. I speak to thee who hearest not, my voice Is vainly poured on the deaf air, yet thus I take some weight from an o'erlabouring heart That faints not seldom with the fearful load Of thy mysterious immensities. Yet though it was not granted to explore The abstruser depths of Science, nor ascend Those altitudes from which the soul might glance At once through wide creation and trace up All forms of being to the primal fount Till the Great Cause of Causes shone revealed, Still was the knowledge of some simpler truths Closelier bound, more intimately linked With the brief interests of mortal man And his perturbed existence, not denied. I saw the green and beauteous earth o'erspread With miserable multitudes who groaned Beneath the weight of self-inflicted woes, Locked in vile bonds from which to free themselves Only to will their freedom might suffice. What guards the sceptre in the despot's hand But acquiescing millions who revere A name triumphant by their tears and blood? What desolates their bosoms with vain dread Of vengeful gods and everlasting flame, But the paid priest themselves suborn to swear His fables fetched from the degraded Heavens? Who sanctioned Tyranny and rightly bears Its worst infliction?Man, the ready slave! Who throned fell Superstition and endures Its terrors justly?Man, the willing dupe! Oh blind perversion of his boasted gift Of Reason, thus not barely to subject That proud prerogative of act and thought To these all-evil Names, (best type of those Less hideous fiends that people their feigned hell,) Content to crawl to his allotted grave The wretched tool that shapes his own despair; But, as if only plunging to the depth Of self-debasement could complete his shame, Be ever armed and eager to inflict With folly's bigot and ferocious zeal Vengeance upon the nobler few who strive To tear the veil from his deluded eyes And teach him Freedom, Happiness, and Truth! Bear witness He, the lofty and the pure Admonitor, who willing to unbar For man the gates of his domestic hell, Straightway was greeted by the obstreperous howl Of curses from the slanderous crew within! Bear witness ye whom every age has seen For like endeavour like requital find, Contempt, or calumny, or chains, or death, Pain measured by the largeness of your love And its kind daring for your torturers' weal. Does not the dungeon and the scaffold boast Names brighter than e'er graced the gaudy throne? Did not the Athenian drain the envenomed cup And Christ despairing on the cross expire? And hence, alas! how many an ardent heart And generous spirit whose exalted aim Was once to free their fellows from the yoke That bowed them lower than the enduring brute, Have turned disgusted from the thankless task Of liberating things that would be slaves. Yet not for this should they whose breasts are touched, Touched truly by the flame of human love By sacred Genius heightened and refined, They to whose hands the mighty that have passed Entrust the still transmitted torch of Truth Which must not be extinguished, they should not "Abate one jot of heart or hope," nor faint To see the temporary triumphs gained By strong-armed Evil o'er the wise and good. They should proceed in their unswerving course Through "good report and ill," scattering the seeds Of Knowledge wide o'er the receiving soil; And what shall be the harvest, ages now Labouring for birth in time's dark womb shall tell. This consciousness, for their prophetic glance Pierces futurity's dim veil, should cheer The labourers at their glorious toil and be, Whate'er meanwhile befal, their high reward; In this assurance, which, unless the frame Of the dissolving globe with ruin dire Rush into formless chaos, cannot fail, In the prospection of that hastening hour When FreedomVirtueWisdomshall be one, They can endure, ye tyrants! more than you In your despairing wrath have power to inflict! On earthly ground I tread with waking sense: This is no vision rising to beguile The lone enthusiast at his evening dream Or Poet wooing the fantastic Muse; This hope is built on the unshaken base Of Reason, and abides her sternest test. Heed not the querulous mistrust of Age, Who shaking his grey locks with brain infirm As the weak limbs that lead him to his grave, Laments the lapse of these degenerate days And fancies with himself the world outworn. Turn back the historic page, survey the flood Of time where issuing from the misty depths Of far antiquity the curious eye Tracks unimpeded its recorded course. Scarce peering through the obscurity of years Pass we the records of the earlier East (Though intellectual day rose with its sun); The mystic annals of old Egypt leave (Though of our later lore Parent confessed); And on the classic boast,immortal Greece, Gaze, if we may, undazzled by the lights That live along the story of her fame, Bardssageschiefsmatchless in arts or arms! Then turn and mark her mighty rivalShe Whose empire was a worldall-conquering Rome! Weigh well their claims, with scrutiny severe Their proud pretensions sift, their institutes, Habits, opinions, passions, feelings, all That learning gleans of those who are no more, Dispassionately judge, compare with what Is round us now, and joy in the result. Joy in the knowledge that e'en we with all Our errors are o'er them advanced as far As those to come we trust o'er us shall be. Not that the growth of individual powers Was then less vigorous or luxuriant, no, Genius and Virtue ever are the same, And none surpass, or shall, the giant names Which tower above their else-forgotten age; But that a juster feeling of the rights, Duties and dignity of social Man, In its diviner sense, Humanity, More widely spread and better understood, Aided by all that Science has achieved, Shaming the miracles of saints and gods In folly's legends,to the mass of mind Have given an impulse which has lifted it To heights that leave past efforts far below, And shall conduct it with progression sure And gradual elevation till it reach Its lofty station in Perfection's heaven. If such from the beginning has not been The consequential tendency of things, Subject alone to temporary check From accident of mortal chance and change; If every day's experience did not add Momentum to improvement's onward roll, Yet to what causes are in later times Its more immediate energies resolved, Is scarce a question to the sceptic's doubt. Greece and her glories were no more: Great Rome Dragged from the pinnacle of power, o'erwhelmed By her own majesty, in ruin sighed: Freedom and Wisdom wandered homeless; while The Genius of the World despairing slept: Dark brooded Superstition's blighting cloud O'er Europe and benumbed the souls of men. When like the Sun that magic art arose, Which multiplying all that wisest minds Had meditated, every sacred spark Which knowledge shed from her uplifted torch Reflecting with innumerable lights Through the astonished nations, rent the veil Which Ignorance had wrapped around her prey. Man in the mirror of another's thoughts Beheld his own deformity; beheld The hideous impress ages of blind faith And slavery had stamped upon his brow. This was no false enchanter's juggling spell, This was that veritable wand of power Which tyranny in all her spectral shapes, By Error and Ill custom sanctified, Still dreads the most, and must at last obey. This, wielded by the bold and vigorous hand Of Luther, struck Imposture's grosser mask From the curst Hierarchy of King-like priests, Pampered and bloody and rapacious:Woe, That yet, though shorn of half its powers of ill And hasting to its end, the monster lives! The spirit thus awakened o'er the earth Spread like infectious fire, with secret train, Through hearts that inly burned with the keen sense Of wrongs inflicted and of rights withheld, Now waiting but the hour, the atoning hour, When with volcanic burst their gathered wrath Should shower destruction on the oppressor's head. This England felt; and shrines and thrones have bowed Before an outraged people's just rebuke. The tide of time rolled on: War and its woes Wasted the nations at each despot's will: War, the barbarian and bloody game, The sport of princely homicides who dupe Their miserable victims with the tale Of Glory gained from all that most degrades And dare to call the brutal butchery fame! Man groaned and bled; the wretched pittance wrung From life-consuming toil was snatched to swell The treasures and supply the boundless lusts And luxuries of his imperious lord, Monarch or priest or courtly parasite! He murmured not nor dared:but in his soul Treasured each pang.The tide of time rolled on. But whence that wild and multitudinous shout That like an earthquake rocked the astounded world, While "Freedom! Freedom!" echoed back from heaven? Lo, France upspringing like a tigress lashed To madness, turned upon her tyrants; rage Rolled through her veins its liquid fires:Who speaks Of mercy or forbearance? Bid him stop The rushing of the headlong cataract Or bind the lightning as it cleaves the storm! Deep as her wrongs, so ruthless her revenge, While centuries of recollected shame And suffering goaded on her blind career. Dire were the deeds as retribution filled Her cup to overflowing! Draw the veil Lest the heart sicken at the tragic scene. For many a mournful tale of woes and death Pity demanded tears, and tears were given, While curses on the workers of such woes Exhausted execration.Be it so: All must deplore such errors, all be touched Wherever lights affliction; but avaunt The sycophantic whine of those who feel No sympathies but such as flatter pomp And its exclusive privilege to wreak Applauded vengeance on its humbler foes. They can affect fit horror when the stern Tribunal of successful treason dooms Once in an age some tyrant to the block, But not a tear have they, no pity find For all who perished to uphold the pride Which girt him long on his ancestral throne, For all who rotting in the dungeon's damp Or stretched upon the agonizing wheel, Paid the dread penalty which Kings exact From such as question their paternal sway. I stood triumphant on the ruined site Of Slavery's citadelthe dread Bastile! I stood triumphant, for the cause was mine Was man's, which won its first bright Victory here. Hallowed for ever be the auspicious hour That saw its frowning battlements decline In dust, its massy walls, groan-proof, fall flat Before the rending blast of Freedom's trump; O ye her pilgrims! here behold the shrine Where Liberty, divinest Liberty, As on a throne sits smiling o'er the wreck Of the fallen fortress of her despot foe! These scattered stones the trophies of the might She ever breathes in her united sons; A monument that shall not pass away Of what when she leads on they dare and do! What though upon these ruins should arise Another dungeon, as the increasing fears Of other despots urge them to o'erstep The limits of a power restricted now By wisdom gained in the reverseful years Which taught unwilling Tyranny its claims No more might pass unquestioned or unchecked By those whom once it well might callits slaves. Let them intrench their tolerated thrones With palaces and prisons (in the eye Of Liberty twin structures); let the dream Of past supremacy delude their pride To exercise once more its sanguine will. Lo, with a breath Opinion, which has felt, And made them feel too, its omnipotence, Can dissipate in dust the ponderous piles Of cruelty and pomp, while crowns and chains Crushed into nothing shall be known no more. Small triumph for the "mighty of the earth," (Those petty men that plod for ever in The narrow round of their contracted souls) Small triumph that their banded horde of slaves And savages in "holy" league, hath thrust The bloated carcass of Legitimacy, The dregs of an exploded dynasty, Upon a nation wasted and outworn By the gigantic errors of their chief, Before whose frown these pigmies crouched and wore In all humility the crowns he spared Spared to his own destruction!He has passed, Not blameless, from the earth; but he has left A spirit that survives him in all lands In which his name was known (and where not known?) That yet will make his baffled conquerors bow E'en lower than so oft to him they bowed. Spite of the weakness into which his heart Was led by false ambition, till he stooped To raise up toys himself had trampled down; Spite of the kingly vices into which His after years declined, he was the Child And Champion of that which stripped from Kings The awe and attributes of Majesty, And shewed them naked to the scoffing world. He was the chosen instrument to dart The lightnings of o'er-mastering Intellect Against the gross pretensions of the dull Tyrants who lord it o'er the indignant earth By righthis lessons taught how fardivine! He has departed with his evil deeds As King or conqueror,but the blows he struck For Freedom are a blessing that endures. He has departedbut where'er the steps Of him and his have been, a feeling lives, Breathes, moves, and kindles, ever and anon, Into a flame that frights, with no vain dread, The despot of the soil, expecting still The moment when the united minds of men Shall like the lava flood sweep down all trace Of his oppression and their own despair. And Spain has shaken off the shame of years! Waked to new life by thoughts and deeds which not The Pyrenees could shut from her; and thou Too, Italy, all beauteous Italy, Whose very name comes o'er the enamoured ear Sweetly as that of some fair mistress loved E'en from our boyhood, in thy bosom beats A heart which soon shall vindicate thy claim Of wedding freedom to thy loveliness! Far through the North myriads adore thy name, O Liberty!and Ocean's Island-queen, Fair Albion, shall not be the last to rear Thy altars o'er the ruined shrines, where yet Habitually idolatrous she bows. Americaitself a worldis free! What shall retard the advent of that hour Which pale enthusiasts, whose prophetic hearts Pined at the long delay, derided still By the blind vulgar, saw, and having told Their beauteous vision, undespairing died! Knowledge, by which alone Man shall attam Freedom and Virtue, Happiness and Power, And without which all other benefits Are, and must be, baseless and insecure; Knowledge the mighty change is working! Lo! The consummation hastens, and the clouds Of error tremble, while her glorious beams With irresistible increase from mind To mind leap on, like sunrise o'er the hills, Till the whole world will bask in her broad light And earth roll happy through the eternal heavens. To think, to feel, to utter, and to act As unsophisticated Nature prompts Or Reason dictates, is to brave the laugh Of the more kindly followers in the train Of customary ill, to tempt the scorn Of the hard worldling, to inflame the rage, The quenchless hatred of the bigot slaves Of interested error, to make life Itself a warfare till the Truth prevail (Which it shall do and at no distant day): Such struggle not declining, let me meet The sneers or frowns, neglect or obloquy Of those to whom the current of my life And thoughts, all humble as it is, may yet Oppose itself, as I have met them long: Met with, I trust, no arrogant unconcern, But patient confidence in impulses Of heart and brain, suffered to rise unchecked By cold conventional decrees of men Whose minds are but the mirror of what lies Upon the surface of their daily walk Along the beaten paths of habitude. A creed,not gathered in the formal schools Where venal sophists in starched phrase dole out Their measured morsels of such lore as may Be safely spared to the restricted use Of the starved student, duly watched and warned Lest the keen appetite of Truth should lead Beyond the limits of convenient search; A creeda code of thought, collected not In academic or monastic gloom Shut from the sun-light of humanity, But in each aspect of the shifting scene That moved before me, in the busy haunts Of selfish gain, or studious midnight cell, At Pleasure's banquet, or in Beauty's bower, By passion, action, meditation, gleaned, And as this verse in part reveals, applied, Hath been my guide and my support, and shall Direct me and sustain, whatever term May yet belong to my protracted doom. But if the strife is closingif the flame Is flickering in the exhausted lamp of life, If soon must cease the throbbings of this heart That glows, even now, with many sympathies Which suffering might obscure, but could not quench, If after a brief interval of pain The grave must close over my many griefs, O be my tomb in some sequestered spot Nigh where the music of autumnal winds Shall murmur through a melancholy grove, And may the dear ones whom in life I loved, When the high grass is gilded by the rays Of the declining sun, with pensive step The pilgrims of affectionsometimes come, I know that they will come!and bending o'er The place of my repose give one kind thought, A sigh, a tear, to him who sleeps below. 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