15. Symphonies
Meanwhile with Vine there, Clarel stood
Aside in friendly neighborhood, And felt a flattering pleasure stir At words--nor in equivocal tone Freakish, or leaving to infer, Such as beforetime he had known-- Breathed now by that exceptional one In unconstraint: "'Tis very much The cold fastidious heart to touch This way; nor is it mere address That so could move one's silver chord. How he transfigured Ungar's sword! Delusive is this earnestness Which holds him in its passion pale-- Tenant of melancholy's dale Of mirage? To interpret him, Perhaps it needs a swallow-skim Over distant time. Migrate with me Across the years, across the sea.-- How like a Poor Clare in her cheer (Grave Sister of his order sad) Showed nature to that Cordelier Who, roving in the Mexic glade, Saw in a bud of happy dower Whose stalk entwined the tropic tree, Emblems of Christ's last agony:
In anthers, style, and fibers torn, The five wounds, nails, and crown of thorn; And named it so the passion-flower. What beauty in that sad conceit! Such charm, the title still we meet. Our guide, methinks, where'er he turns For him this passion-flower burns; And all the world is elegy. A green knoll is to you and me But pastoral, and little more: To him 'tis even Calvary Where feeds the Lamb. This passion-flower-- But list!" Hid organ-pipes unclose A timid rill of slender sound, Which gains in volume--grows, and flows Gladsome in amplitude of bound. Low murmurs creep. From either side Tenor and treble interpose, And talk across the expanding tide: Debate, which in confusion merges-- Din and clamor, discord's hight: Countering surges--paeans--dirges-- Mocks, and laughter light. But rolled in long ground-swell persistent, A tone, an under-tone assails
And overpowers all near and distant; Earnest and sternest, it prevails. Then terror, horror--wind and rain-- Accents of undetermined fear, And voices as in shipwreck drear: A sea, a sea of spirits in pain! The suppliant cries decrease-- The voices in their ferment cease: One wave rolls over all and whelms to peace.
But hark--oh, hark! Whence, whence this stir, this whirr of wings? Numbers numberless convening--
Harps and child-like carolings
In happy holiday of meaning:
To God be glory in the hight, For tidings glad we bring; Good will to men, and peace on earth We children-cherubs sing!
To God be glory in the depth, As in the hight be praise; He who shall break the gates of death A babe in manger rays.
Ye people all in every land, Embrace, embrace, be kin: Immanuel's born in Bethlehem, And gracious years begin!
It dies; and, half around the heavenly sphere, Like silvery lances lightly touched aloft-- Like Northern Lights appealing to the ear, An elfin melody chimes low and soft. That also dies, that last strange fairy-thrill: Slowly it dies away, and all is sweetly still.