He stood grey with age in the robe of a Dervise,
As a King awe-compelling,
And the cold of his eye like the diamond was bright,
As if years from the hardness had fashioned the light:
'A draught from thy spring for the way-weary Dervise,
And rest in thy dwelling.'
And my herds gave the milk and my tent gave the shelter;
And the stranger spell bound me
With his tales, all the night of the far world of wonder,
Of the ocean of Oman with pearls gleaming under;
And I thought, 'O how mean are the tents' simple shelter
And the valleys around me!'
I seized as I listened, in fancy, the treasures
Scared the serpents that watch in the ruins afar
O'er the hoards of the Persian in lost Chil-Menar;—
Alas! till that night happy youth had more treasures
Than Ormus can yield.
Morn came, and I went with my guest thro' the gorges
In the rock hollow'd;
The flocks bleated low as I passed them ungrieving,
The almond-buds strewed the sweet earth I was leaving;
Slowly went Age thro' the gloom of the gorges,
We won thro' the Pass-the Unknown lay before me,
Sun-lighted and wide;
Then I turned to my guest, but how languid his tread,
And the awe I had felt in his presence was fled,
And I cried, 'Can thy age in the journey before me
Still keep by my side?'
'Hope and Wisdom soon part; be it so,' said the Dervise, 'My mission is done.'
As he spoke, came the gleam of the crescent and spear, Chimed the bells of the camel more sweet and more near;'Go and march with the caravan, youth,' sighed the Dervise, 'Fare thee well!'-he was gone.
What profits to speak of the wastes I have traversed
Since that early time?
One by one the procession, replacing the guide,
Have dropped on the sands or have strayed from
And I hear never more in the solitudes traversed
The camel-bell's chime.
How oft I have yearned for the old happy valley,
But the sands have no track;
He who scorned what is near must advance to the far, Who forsaketh the landmark must march by the star And the steps that once part from the peace of the valley Can never come back.
So on, ever on, spreads the path of the Desert,
Sand, ever sand—not a gleam of the fountain;
Sun, ever sun-not a shade from the mountain;
As a sea on a sea, flows the width of the Desert,
Drearily, drearily.
How narrow content, and how infinite knowledge!
Lost vale and lost maiden!
Enclosed in the garden the mortal was blest;
A world with its wonders lay round him unguest;
That world was his own when he tasted of knowledge-
A Pilgrim o'er a waste and barren way,
Thro' devious paths my friendless footsteps stray:
With aching heart and weary feet I roam;
Father, in heaven! my Father! take me home.
No bright enchantments now perplex my view,
All is unlovely, rugged, cold and true;
Life has no charm to tempt my feet to roam,
Have pity, Lord! and guide thy pilgrim home!
Wild are the storms which gather round my head,
Dark is the onward path which I must tread;
"Tis awful, Lord! to tread that way alone,
Without thy aid! O Father! guide me home.
O'er the level plains, where mountains greet me as I go,
O'er the desert waste, where fountains at my bidding flow,
On the boundless beam by day, on the cloud by night,
I am riding hence away: who will chain my flight?
War his weary watch was keeping,—I have crushed his spear;
Grief within her bower was weeping,—I have dried her tear ;
Pleasure caught a minute's hold,—then I hurried by,
Leaving all her banquet cold and her goblet dry.
Power had won a throne of glory: where is now his fame? Genius said "I live in story:" who hath heard his name? Love beneath a myrtle bough, whispered " Why so fast ?" And the roses on his brow withered as I past.
I have heard the heifer lowing o'er the wild wave's bed;
I have seen the billow flowing where the cattle fed;
Where began my wanderings? Memory will not say!
Where will rest my weary wings? Science turns away:
We sow the glebe, we reap the corn,
We build the house where we may rest,
And then, at moments, suddenly,
We look up to the great wide sky,
Enquiring wherefore we were born-
For earnest or for jest?
The senses folding thick and dark
About the stifled soul within,
We guess diviner things beyond,
And yearn to them with yearning fond;
We strike out blindly to the mark
Believed in, but not seen.
We vibrate to the pant and thrill
Wherewith Eternity has curled
In serpent-twine about God's seat;
While freshening upward to His feet,
In gradual growth His full-leaved will
Expands from world to world.
And in the tumult and excess
Of act and passion under sun,
We sometimes hear-oh, soft and far,
As silver star did touch with star,
The kiss of Peace and Righteousness
Through all things that are done.
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