Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A SOUL THAT OUT OF NATURE'S DEEP, by FREDERICK GODDARD TUCKERMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A SOUL THAT OUT OF NATURE'S DEEP, by                     Poet's Biography
Last Line: As well as where it is
Subject(s): Worship; Children; Nature


I.

A SOUL that out of Nature's deep
''aFrom inner fires had birth;
Yet not as rocks or rosebuds peep:
''aNor came it to the earth
II.

A drop of rain at random blown;
''aA star-point burning high,
Lit in the dark, and as alone
''aAs Lyra in the sky:
III.

Nor ushered in with stormy air,
''aSea-shock, or earthquake-jars;
Nor born to fame beneath some rare
''aConspiracy of stars;
IV.

Nor fortune-crowned with benefits:
''aThe life was larger lent,
Made up of many opposites
''aIn contradiction blent:''"
V.

A nature affable and grand,
''aYet cold as headland snow,
Large-handed, liberal to demand,
''aThough still to proffer slow;
VI.

That shunned to share the roaring cup,
''aThe toast, and cheerings nine,
Nor cared to sit alone to sup
''aThe pleasure of the wine;
VII.

Yet genial oft by flash and fit;
''aHigh manners, courage mild,''"
God gave him these, and savage wit
''aAs to an Indian child:
VIII.

And gave him more than this indeed,''"
''aThe wisdom to descry
A weathercock in the waving weed,
''aA clock-face in the sky.
IX.

But he, amid these bowers and dales
''aA larger life-breath drew,
Beneath more cordial sunshine, gales,
''aAnd skies of sounder blue,
X.

Than wait on all. Beside the brook,
''aWith far forgetful eye,
Or toward the deep hills, would he look,
''aWatching the glory die;
XI.

Brooding in dim solicitude
''aOn earlier, other times,
And yon dark-purple wing of wood
''aThat o'er the mountain climbs;
XII.

And fancies thick like flower-buds bright;
''aRare thoughts in affluence rank,
Came at the onset of the light,
''aNor with the sunset sank.
XIII.

He slept not, but the dream had way,
''aAnd his watch abroad was cast
With the earliest light of the earliest day;
''aAnd, when the light fell fast,
XIV.

He stood in the river-solitudes
''aTo mark the daylight go;
And low in the dusk of the wailing woods
''aHe heard the night-hawk blow.
XV.

The night-hawk, and the whippoorwill
''aAcross the plashes dim,
Calling her mate from bower and hill,
''aMade prophecy for him:
XVI.

The night-hawk and the bird bereaved,
''aHis airy calendars,
He stood; till night had, unperceived,
''aSurrounded him with stars.
XVII.

Oh! dear the look of upward eyes
''aLifted with pleading might,
A smile to bless and humanize,
''aA hand to fold aright;
XVIII.

A silver voice to lead and lull;
''aSlight step, and streamy hair,''"
But, oh! she was too beautiful
''aThat he should call her fair.
XIX.

A love to pay, a life to give,
''aWas hers,''"for this she strove;
And he, too, loved, and would not live
''aTo live out of her love.
XX.

And childhood came his smile beneath,
''aAnd lingered hour on hour,
With sweepy lids, and innocent breath
''aLike the grape-hyacinth flower.
XXI.

For this, for all, his heart was full;
''aYet, to the deeper mind,
All outward passion seemed to dull
''aThat inmost sense refined
XXII.

That broods and feeds where few have trod;
''aAnd seeks to pass apart,
Imaging nature, man, and God,
''aIn silence in the heart.
XXIII.

He saw''"for to that secret eye
''aGod's hidden things were spread''"
The wiser world in darkness lie,
''aAnd Faith by Falsehood led.
XXIV.

Virtue and Envy, side by side;
''aBlind Will that walks alone;
And mighty throngs that come and glide,
''aUnknowing and unknown;
XXV.

Great lights! but quenched; strength, foresight, skill,
''aGone without deed or name;
And happy accidents that still
''aMisplace the wreaths of fame;
XXVI.

Religion, but a bruited word
''a'Twixt foes who difference view
Between our Saviour, God the Lord,
''aAnd Jesus Christ the Jew!
XXVII.

Yet unto all, one wall and fold;
''aOne bed that all must share,''"
The miser brooding holy gold,
''aThe fool, and spendthrift heir;
XXVIII.

Still through the years the wrinkled chuff
''aAcre to acre rolled;
And he, too, will have land enough
''aWhen his mouth is filled with mould.
XXIX.

And vaster visions did he win
''aFrom cloud, and mountain bars,
And revelations that within
''aFell like a storm of stars!
XXX.

Yet checked and crossed by doubt and night;
''aDim gulfs, and solitudes
Of the deep mind; or warmth and light
''aBroke from its shifting moods,
XXXI.

As when in many-weathered March
''aMay-buds break up through snow,
And, spilt like milk, beneath the larch
''aThe little bluets blow;
XXXII.

Beneath the lilac and the larch,
''aIn many a splash and spot;
Nor belting sea, nor heaven's blue arch,
''aBound in where these were not''"
XXXIII.

With Love and Peace: yet strangely sank
''aCold sorrow on his soul,
For human wisdom, and the blank
''aSummation of the whole.
XXXIV.

Nor seemed it fit, that one, unnerved
''aAnd faint, should rouse the earth;
Or build with those whose zeal had served
''aBut to incense his mirth.
XXXV.

Troubled to tears, he stood and gazed,''"
''aUnknowing where to weep,
To spend his cries o'er fabrics razed,
''aOr a safe silence keep;
XXXVI.

Renouncing human life and lore;
''aLove's calm, and love's excess,
Experience and allegiance, for
''aA higher passiveness.
XXXVII.

So to drink full of Nature, much
''aRecipient, still to woo
Her windy walk, where pine-trees touch
''aAgainst the ribby blue;
XXXVIII.

To find her feet by singing rills,
''aAdoring and alone,''"
O'er grassy fields, to the still hills,
''aHer solemn seat and throne!
XXXIX.

Sore struggle! yet, when passed, that seemed
''aA crowning conquest o'er
Himself and human bands: he deemed
''aThe victory more and more,
XL.

And like that warfare urged upon
''aUnkingly lust and ease,
Which the fifth Henry waged and won;
''aOr that Lydiades.
XLI.

Who left his looser life with tears,
''aAnd in the fire of youth
Lived grave and chaste, Arcadian years
''aAnd reigned;''"kings, heroes, both!
XLII.

Ah, so''"but not to him returned,
''aOur monarch, meed like this,
But sterner kin his grief had spurned,
''aAnd bitter friends were his.
XLIII.

Distrust and Fear beside him took,
''aWith Shame, their hateful stands;
And Sorrow passed, and struck the book
''aOf knowledge from his hands.
XLIV.

He saw, with absent, sorrowing heed,
''aAll that had looked so fair;
His secret walk was wild with weed,
''aHis gardens washed and bare:
XLV.

The very woods were filled with strife;
''aFierce beaks and warring wings
Clashed in his face; the heart and life
''aOf those deep-hidden springs,
XLVI.

No more his spirit cared to quaff:
''aGreat Nature lost her place,''"
Pushed from her happy heights, and half
''aDegraded of her grace.
XLVII.

And so he saw the morning white,
''aAs eyes with tears opprest,
The last heart-breaking gleam of light
''aThat dies along the West.
XLVIII.

And so he saw the opening flower
''aDry in the August sheaf,
And on green Summer's top and tower,
''aOnly the turning leaf:
XLIX.

For Summer's darkest green, explored,
''aBetrays the crimson blight;
As, in the heart of darkness cored,
''aRed sparks and seeds of light.
L.

And lightning lurk, ready to leap
''aAbroad, beyond reclaim;
To bathe a world in splendour deep,
''aOr snatch in folding flame.
LI.

He saw, with manners, age, and mode,
''aOpinion rise and sink,
The jarring clash of creed and code,
''aAnd knew not what to think;''"
LII.

Beliefs of ritual and of race;''"
''aAnd hard it was to tell
Why good should come by gift of grace,
''aAnd wrong be chargeable.
LIII.

Before him burned attainless towers!
''aBehind, a comfortless
Dim valley, waste with poison-flowers,
''aAnd weeds of barrenness.
LIV.

The early ray, the early dream,
''aHad vanished; faint and chill
Like winter, did the morning stream
''aOn woodland, house, and hill:
LV.

Yet, as of old, he ranged apart
''aBy river-bank and bed,
And mused in bitterness of heart;
''aAnd to himself he said,''"
LVI.

'' Tear sullen Monkshood where he stands
''aTall by the garden walk;
With burning pricks and venom-glands,
''aPluck off the nettle's stalk;
LVII.

Lobelia from the rivage break,
''aWith Arum's blistering bell;
And, over all, let the bundle reek
''aWith the smilax' loathly smell;
LVIII.

Fools' parsley from the graves of fools,
''aWith deadly darnels bring;
Yew, garget, dogwood of the pools,
''aAnd the fen's unwholesome spring;
LIX.

And hemlock pull; and snatch from bees
''aHalf-drugged, the red-bud rare,
And laurel; but prick in with these
''aThe shaft of a lily fair;
LX.

And bind them up; rank blossom, sting,
''aBough, berry, poison rife,
Embodying and embleming
''aThe gleanings of a life.''
LXI.

Yet was not she, the lily-flower,
''a'Mid failings and misdeeds,
The fruit of many a scattered hour,
''aYet fairer for the weeds?
LXII.

And was she not, through shade and shower,
''aIn patient beauty drest,
Though lonely in her place and power,
''aEnough to save the rest?
LXIII.

Perhaps; yet darker gloomed the vale,
''aAnd dawned the turrets fair,
Beyond the height of ladder's scale,
''aOr any step of stair.
LXIV.

And yearned his soul for sharper change,''"
''aAnd knowledge of the light;
Yet not by station, staff, or range
''aOf human toil or flight,
LXV.

Would he ascend; choosing alone
''aWith grief to make his bed,
Like those whose godhead is their own;
''aOn whom the curse is said,''"
LXVI.

Who kindle to themselves a fire,
''aAnd in the light thereof
Walk, and are lost. But his desire
''aWas still for wiser love;
LXVII.

And sought but in the holy place;
''aAnd scarcely sought, but found
In still reception: failing this,
''aAll life in death seemed drowned.
LXVIII.

Yet sometimes, doubting, discord-tost,
''aCame voices to his side,''"
Echoes of youth, and friendships lost,
''aOr lost, or left aside.
LXIX.

Faces, wherein deep histories are,
''aBegan to float and flee,
And hover darkly, like a far
''aForgotten memory;
LXX.

Dim gardens, where a silent creek
''aStole onward, margin-mossed;
And walks, with here and there a streak
''aOf dusky odour crossed,
LXXI.

Stirring the wells of tears. He saw
''aThe vision of his youth,
With holy grief, with holy awe:
''aThe temple-towers of Truth
LXXII.

Broke nearer; like a thunder-flash
''aAgain came back the dream,
And light in many a bar and dash,
''aLike moonlight, flake, and beam,
LXXIII.

Or when wild clouds of middle air
''aThrough hurrying gaps reveal
Arcturus, or the sailing star
''aThat spurs Orion's heel;''"
LXXIV.

Heaven's lights! yet covered as we look;
''aSo, momently to view,
Came back the sparkle of the brook,
''aAnd fields his childhood knew;
LXXV.

Fair faith and love, with peace almost;
''aYet, in that ray serene,
He only saw a glory lost,
''aAnd what he might have been.
LXXVI.

The precious grains his hands had spilled
''aHad fallen to others; they
Had passed before, his place was filled,
''aAnd the world rolled away.
LXXVII.

Too late he learned that Nature's parts
''aWhereto we lean and cling,
Change, but as change our human hearts,
''aNor grow by worshipping;
LXXVIII.

And that her presence, fair or grand,
''aIn these faint fields below,
Importeth little, seen beyond
''aOur welfare, or our woe.
LXXIX.

Nor good from ill can we release,''"
''aBut weigh the world in full;
Not separate taken, part and piece,
''aBut indiscerptible.
LXXX.

In law and limit, tempests blow;
''aTides swing from shore to shore;
And so the forest-tree will grow
''aAs grew the tree before.
LXXXI.

Too late he learned by land and sea
''aThis bitter truth to glean,''"
That he who would know what shall be,
''aMust ponder what hath been;
LXXXII.

Nor unto fear or falsehood yield
''aHis strength, the good to baulk;
Nor fold his arms beside the field,
''aBut with the furrow walk,
LXXXIII.

Ready to cast his grain; and slower
''aTo faint, more credulous,
Believing well that but by our
''aOwn hands God helpeth us.
LXXXIV.

And who would find out Wisdom's grot,
''aTo make her footsteps his,''"
Must learn to look where it is not,
''aAs well as where it is.





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