AND the Child was become happy and joyful, and breathed freely again, and
thought no more of returning to his hut, for he saw that nothing returned
inwards, but rather that all strove outwards into the free air; the rosy
apple blossoms from their narrow buds, and the gurgling notes from the
narrow breast of the lark. The germs burst open the folding doors of the
seeds, and broke through the heavy pressure of the earth in order to get
at the light; the grasses tore asunder their bands, and their slender
blades sprung upward. Even the rocks were become gentle, and allowed
little mosses to peep out from their sides, as a sign that they would not
remain impenetrably closed for ever. And the flowers sent out colour and
fragrance into the whole world, for they kept not their best for
themselves, but would imitate the sun and the stars, which poured their
warmth and radiance over the spring. And many a little gnat and beetle
burst the narrow cell in which it was enclosed and crept out slowly, and,
half asleep, unfolded and shook its tender wings, and soon gained
strength, and flew off to untried delights. And as the butterflies came
forth from their chrysalids in all their gaiety and splendour, so did
every humbled and suppressed aspiration and hope free itself, and boldly
launch into the open and flowing sea of spring.
HYMNS TO NIGHT.
(_Translated from the German of Novalis_.)
I.
WHO that has life and intelligence, loves not, before all the surrounding
miracles of space, ever-joyous light with its tints, its beams, and its
waves, its mild omnipresence, when it comes as the waking day. Like the
inmost soul of life, it is inhaled by the giant universe of gleaming
stars, that dance as they swim in its blue flood; it is inhaled by the
glittering, eternally motionless stone, by the living plant that drinks
it in, by the wild and impetuous beast in its many forms; but above all,
by the glorious stranger, with eyes of intellect, majestic step, with
lips melodious, and gently closed. As a king over earthly nature, it
calls forth to countless changes every power, binds and loosens bonds
unnumbered, and hangs around every earthly being its heavenly picture.
Alone its presence declares the wondrous glory of the kingdoms the world.
I turn aside to the holy, the inexpressible, the mysterious Night. Afar
off lies the world, buried in some deep chasm: desolate and lonely is the
spot it filled. Through the chords of the breast sighs deepest sorrow.
I will sink down into the dewdrops, and with ashes will I be commingled.
The distant lines of memory, desires of youth, the dreams of childhood, a
whole life’s short joys and hopes vain, unfulfilled, come clothed in
grey, like evening mists, when the sun’s glory has departed. Elsewhere
has the light broken upon habitations of gladness. What, should it never
return again to its children, who with the faith of innocence await its
coming?
What fount is thus suddenly opened within the heart, so full of
forethought, that destroys the soft breath of sorrow? Thou also—dost
thou love us, gloomy Night? What holdest thou concealed beneath thy
mantle that draws my soul towards thee with such mysterious power?
Costly balsam raineth from thy hand; from thy horn pourest thou out
manna; the heavy wings of the spirit liftest thou. Darkly and
inexpressibly do we feel ourselves moved: a solemn countenance I behold
with glad alarm, that bends towards me in gentle contemplation,
displaying, among endless allurements of the mother, lovely youth! How
poor and childish does the light now seem! How joyous and how hallowed
is the day’s departure!—Therefore then only, because Night dismissed thy
vassals, hast thou sown in the infinity of space those shining balls to
declare thine almighty power, and thy return in the season of absence?
More heavenly than those glittering stars seem the unnumbered eyes that
Night has opened within us. Farther can they see than beyond the palest
of that countless host; without need of light can they pierce the depths
of a spirit of love, that fills a yet more glorious space with joy beyond
expression. Glory to the world’s Queen, the high declarer of spheres of
holiness, the nurse of hallowed love! Thee, thou tenderly beloved one,
doth she send to me—thee, lovely sun of the Night. Now I awaken, for I
am thine and mine: the Night hast thou given as a sign of life, and made
me man. Devour with glowing spiritual fire this earthly body, that I
ethereal may abide with thee in union yet more perfect, and then may the
bridal Night endure for ever.
II.
MUST ever the morn return? Is there no end to the sovereignty of earth?
Unhallowed occupation breaks the heavenly pinion of the Night. Shall the
secret offering of love at no time burn for ever? To the Light is its
period allotted; but beyond time and space is the empire of the Night.
Eternal is the duration of sleep. Thou holy sleep! bless not too rarely
the Night’s dedicated son in this earth’s daily work! Fools alone
recognise thee not, and know of no sleep beyond the shadow which in that
twilight of the actual Night thou throwest in compassion over us. They
feel thee not in the vine’s golden flood, in the almond-tree’s marvel
oil, and in the brown juice of the manna; they know not that it is thou
that enhaloest the tender maiden’s breast, and makest a heaven of her
bosom; conceive not that out of histories of old thou steppest forth an
opener of heaven, and bearest the key to the abodes of the blessed, the
silent messenger of unending mysteries.
III.
ONCE, when I was shedding bitter tears, when my hope streamed away
dissolved in sorrow, and I stood alone beside the barren hill, that
concealed in narrow gloomy space the form of my existence—alone, as never
solitary yet hath been, urged by an agony beyond expression, powerless,
no more than a mere thought of sorrow; as I looked around me there for
aid, could not advance, could not retire, and hung with incessant longing
upon fleeting, failing life;—then came there from the blue distance, from
the heights of my former happiness, a thin veil of the twilight gloom,
and in a moment burst the bondage of the fetters of the birth of light.
Then fled the glories of the earth, and all my sorrow with them; sadness
melted away in a new, an unfathomable world; thou, inspiration of the
Night, slumber of heaven, camest over me; the spot whereon I stood rose
insensibly on high; above the spot soared forth my released and new-born
spirit. The hill became a cloud of dust; through the cloud I beheld the
revealed features of my beloved one. In her eyes eternity reposed; I
grasped her hands, and my tears formed a glittering, inseparable bond.
Ages were swept by like storms into the distance; on her neck I wept
tears of ecstasy for life renewed. It was my first, my only dream; and
from that time I feel an eternal and unchanging faith in the heaven of
the Night, and in its light, the Loved One.
IV.
NOW do I know when the last morn will be; when the light shall no more
give alarm to the night and to love; when the slumber shall be without
end, and there shall be but one exhaustless dream. Heavenly weariness do
I feel within me. Long and wearisome had become the pilgrimage to the
holy grave—the cross a burthen. He who hath tasted of the crystal wave
that gushes forth, unknown to common eye, in the dark bosom of that hill,
against whose foot the flood of earthly waves is dashed and broken; he
who hath stood upon the summit of the world’s mountain bounds, and hath
looked beyond them down into that new land, into the abode of Night; he,
well I ween, turns not back into the turmoil of the world—into the land
where the light, and eternal unrest, dwells.
There, above, does he erect his huts—his huts of peace; there longs and
loves, until comes the most welcome of all hours to draw him down into
that fountain’s source. Upon the surface floats all that is earthly—it
is hurried back by storms; but that which was hallowed by the breath of
love, freely streams it forth, through hidden paths, into that realm
beyond the mountain chain, and there, exhaled as incense, becomes mixed
with loves that have slept. Still, cheerful light, dost thou waken the
weary to his toil, still pourest thou glad life into my breast; but from
the mossy monument that memory has raised, thence canst thou not allure
me. Willingly will I employ my hands in industry and toil; I will look
around me at thy bidding; I will celebrate the full glory of thy
splendour; trace out, untired, the beauteous consistency of thy wondrous
work; willingly will I mark the marvellous course of thy mighty, glowing
timepiece; observe the balance of gigantic powers, and the laws of the
wondrous play of countless spaces and their periods. But true to the
Night remains my heart of hearts, and to creative Love, her daughter.
Canst thou show me a heart for ever faithful? Hath thy sun fond eyes
that know me? Do thy stars clasp my proffered hand? Do they return the
tender pressure, the caressing word? Hast thou clothed her with fair
hues and pleasing outline? Or was it she who gave thine ornament a
higher, dearer meaning? What pleasure, what enjoyment, can thy life
afford, that shall overweigh the ecstasies of death? Bears not
everything that inspires us the colours of the Night? Thee she cherishes
with a mother’s care; to her thou owest all thy majesty. Thou hadst
melted in thyself, hadst been dissolved in endless space, had she not
restrained and encircled thee, so that thou wert warm, and gavest life to
the world. Verily I was, before thou wert: the mother sent me with my
sisters to inhabit thy world, to hallow it with love, so that it might be
gazed on as a memorial for ever, to plant it with unfading flowers. As
yet they have borne no fruit, these godlike thoughts; but few as yet are
the traces of our revelation. The day shall come when thy timepiece
pointeth to the end of time, when thou shalt be even as one of us; and,
filled with longing and ardent love, be blotted out and die. Within my
soul I feel the end of thy distracted power, heavenly freedom, hailed
return. In wild sorrow I recognise thy distance from our home, thy
hostility towards the ancient glorious heaven. In vain are thy tumult
and thy rage. Indestructible remains the cross—a victorious banner of
our race.
“I wander over,
And every tear
To gem our pleasure
Will then appear.
A few more hours,
And I find my rest
In maddening bliss,
On the loved one’s breast.
Life, never ending,
Swells mighty in me;
I look from above down—
Look back upon thee.
By yonder hillock
Expires thy beam;
And comes with a shadow,
The cooling gleam.
Oh, call me, thou loved one,
With strength from above;
That I may slumber,
And wake to love.
I welcome death’s
Reviving flood;
To balm and to ether
It changes my blood.
I live through each day,
Filled with faith and desire;
And die when the Night comes
In heaven-born fire.”
V.
OVER the widely-spreading races of mankind, ruled aforetime an iron
Destiny with silent power. A dark and heavy band was around man’s
anxious soul; without end was the earth; the home of the gods and their
abode. Throughout eternities had her mysterious structure stood. Beyond
the red mountains of the morning, in the holy bosom of the sea, there
dwelt the Sun, the all-inflaming, living light. A hoary giant bare the
sacred world. Securely prisoned, beneath mountains, lay the first sons
of the mother Earth, powerless in their destructive fury against the new
and glorious race of the gods, and their kindred, joyous men. The dark,
green ocean’s depth was the bosom of a goddess. In the crystal grottoes
rioted a voluptuous tribe. Rivers, trees, flowers, and brute beasts had
human understanding. Sweeter was the wine poured forth by youth’s soft
bloom; a god in the vine’s clusters; a loving, a maternal goddess,
shooting forth among the full, golden sheaves; love’s holy flame, a
delicious service to the most beauteous of the goddesses. An ever gay
and joyous festival of heaven’s children and the dwellers upon earth,
life rustled on as a spring, through centuries. All races venerated,
like children, the tender, thousand-fold flame, as the highest of the
world; one thought only was there, one hideous vision of a dream:—
“That fearful to the joyous tables came,
And the gay soul in wild distraction shrouded.
Here could the gods themselves no counsel frame,
That might console the breast with sorrow clouded.
This monster’s path mysterious, still the same,
Unstilled his rage, though prayers on gifts were crowded.
His name was Death, who with distress of soul,
Anguish and tears, on the hour of pleasure stole.
For ever now from everything departed
That here can swell the heart with sweet delight,
Torn now from the beloved one, who, sad-hearted,
On earth could but desire and grief excite,
A feeble dream seemed to the dead imparted,
Powerless striving made man’s only right;
And broken was enjoyment’s heaving billow,
Upon the rock of endless care, its pillow.
With daring mind, as heavenly fancy glows,
Man masks the fearful shape with fair resembling:
His torch put out, a mild youth doth repose;
Soft is the end as the lyre’s mournful trembling.
Remembrance fades i’ the gloom a shadow throws:
So sang the song, a dreadful doom dissembling.
Yet undefined remained eternal Night,
The stern reminder of some distant might.”
At length the old world bowed its head. The gay gardens of the young
race were withered; beyond into the freer, desert space aspired less
childish and maturing man. The gods then vanished with their train.
Lonely and lifeless, Nature stood. The scanty number and the rigid
measure bound her with fetters of iron. As into dust and air melted the
inconceivable blossoms of life into mysterious words. Fled was the magic
faith, and phantasy the all-changing, all-uniting friend from heaven.
Over the rigid earth, unfriendly, blew a cold north wind, and the
wonder-home, now without life, was lost in ether; the recesses of the
heavens were filled with beaming worlds. Into a holier sphere, into the
mind’s far higher space, did the world draw the soul with its powers,
there to wander until the break of the world’s dawning glory. No longer
was the light the gods’ abode, their token in the heavens: the veil of
the night did they cast over them. The night was the mighty bosom of
revelations; in it the gods returned, and slumbered there, to go forth in
new and in more glorious forms over the altered world.
Among the people above all despised, too soon matured, and wilful
strangers to the blessed innocence of youth; among them, with features
hitherto unseen, the new world came, in the poet’s hut of poverty, a son
of the first virgin mother, endless fruit of a mysterious embrace. The
boding, budding wisdom of the East first recognised another Time’s
beginning; to the humble cradle of the monarch their star declared the
way. In the name of the distant future, with splendour and with incense,
did they make offering to him, the highest wonder of the world. In
solitude did the heavenly heart unfold to a flowery chalice of almighty
love, bent towards the holy countenance of the father, and resting on the
happily-expectant bosom of the lovely pensive mother. With divine ardour
did the prophetic eye of the blooming child look forth into the days of
the future, towards his beloved, the offspring of the race of God,
careless for his day’s earthly destiny. The most child-like spirits,
wondrously seized with a deep, heart-felt love, collected soon around
him; as flowers, a new and unknown life budded forth upon his path.
Words inexhaustible, the gladdest tidings fell, as sparks from a heavenly
spirit, from his friendly lips. From a distant coast, born under Hellas’
cheerful sky, a minstrel came to Palestine, and yielded his whole heart
to the wondrous child:—
“The youth art thou, who for uncounted time,
Upon our graves hast stood with hidden meaning;
In hours of darkness a consoling sign,
Of higher manhood’s joyous, hailed beginning;
That which hath made our soul so long to pine,
Now draws us hence, sweet aspirations winning.
In Death, eternal Life hath been revealed:
And thou art Death, by thee we first are healed.”
The minstrel wandered, full of joy, towards Hindostan, the heart elated
with the sweetest love, which, beneath yonder heavens, he poured forth in
fiery songs, so that a thousand hearts inclined towards him, and with a
thousand branches grew towards heaven the joyous tidings. Soon after the
minstrel’s departure, the precious life became a sacrifice to the deep
guilt of man: he died in youthful years, torn from the world he loved,
from the weeping mother and lamenting friends. His mouth of love emptied
the dark cup of inexpressible affliction. In fearful anguish approached
the hour of the new world’s birth. Deeply was he touched with the old
world’s fearful death—the weight of the old world fell heavily upon him.
Once more he gazed placidly upon the mother, then came the loosening hand
of eternal love, and he slumbered. Few days only hung a deep veil over
the swelling sea, over the quaking land; the beloved ones wept countless
tears; the mystery was unsealed: the ancient stone heavenly spirits
raised from the dark grave. Angels sat beside the slumberer, tenderly
formed out of his dreams. Awakened in the new glory of a god, he
ascended the height of the new-born world; and with his own hand buried
within the deserted sepulchre the old one’s corpse, and with almighty
hand placed over it the stone no power can raise.
Yet do thy dear ones weep rich tears of joy, tears of emotion, and of
eternal gratitude beside thy grave; even yet, with glad alarm, do they
behold thee rise, themselves with thee; behold thee weeping, with sweet
feeling, on the happy bosom of thy mother, solemnly walking with thy
friends, speaking words as if broken from the tree of life; see thee
hasten, full of longing, to thy Father’s arms, bringing the young race of
man, and the cup of a golden future, which shall never be exhausted. The
mother soon followed thee in heavenly triumph; she was the first to join
thee in the new home. Long ages have flown by since then, and ever in
yet higher glory hath thy new creation grown, and thousands from out of
pain and misery have, full of faith and longing, followed thee; roam with
thee and the heavenly virgin in the realm of love, serve in the temple of
heavenly Death, and are in eternity thine.
“Lifted is the stone,
Manhood hath arisen:
Still are we thine own,
Unharmed by bond or prison.
When earth—life—fade away
In the last meal’s solemn gladness,
Around thy cup dare stray
No trace of grief or sadness.
To the marriage, Death doth call,
The brilliant lamps are lighted;
The virgins come, invited,
And oil is with them all.
Space now to space is telling
How forth thy train hath gone,
The voice of stars is swelling
With human tongue and tone!
To thee, Maria, hallowed,
A thousand hearts are sent;
In this dark life and shadowed,
On thee their thoughts are bent:
The soul’s releasement seeing
They, longing, seek its rest;
By thee pressed, holy being,
Upon thy faithful breast.
How many who, once glowing,
Earth’s bitterness have learned,
Their souls with grief o’erflowing,
To thee have sadly turned;
Thou pitying hast appearéd,
In many an hour of pain;
We come to thee now, wearied,
There ever to remain.
By no cold grave now weepeth
A faithful love, forlorn;
Each still love’s sweet rights keepeth,
From none will they be torn.
To soften his sad longing
Her fires doth Night impart;
From heaven cherubs thronging,
Hold watch upon his heart.
Content, our life advancing
To a life that shall abide,
Each flame its worth enhancing,
The soul is glorified.
The starry host shall sink then
To bright and living wine,
The golden draught we drink then,
And stars ourselves shall shine.
Love released, lives woundless,
No separation more;
While life swells free and boundless
As a sea without a shore.
One night of glad elation,
One joy that cannot die,
And the sun of all creation
Is the face of the Most High.”
VI.
LONGING FOR DEATH.
BELOW, within the earth’s dark breast,
From realms of light departing,
There sorrow’s pang and sigh oppressed
Is signal of our starting.
In narrow boat we ferry o’er
Speedily to heaven’s shore.
To us be hallowed endless Night,
Hallowed eternal slumber!
The day hath withered us with light,
And troubles beyond number.
No more ’mong strangers would we roam;
We seek our Father, and our home.
Upon this world, what do we here,
As faithful, fond, and true men?
The Old but meets with scorn and sneer:—
What care we for the New, then?
Oh, lone is he, and sadly pines,
Who loves with zeal the olden times!
Those old times when the spirits light
To heaven as flame ascended;
The Father’s hand and features bright
When men yet comprehended;
When many a mortal, lofty-souled,
Yet bore the mark of heavenly mould.
Those olden times when budded still
The stems of ancient story,
And children, to do Heaven’s will,
In pain and death sought glory;
Those times when life and pleasure spoke,
Yet many a heart with fond love broke.
Those old times when in fires of youth
Was God himself revealéd,
And early death, in love and truth,
His sweet existence sealéd,
Who put not from him care and pain,
That dear to us he might remain.
With trembling longing these we see,
By darkness now belated,
In Time’s dominions ne’er will be
Our ardent thirsting sated.
First to our home ’tis need we go,
Seek we these holy times to know.
And our return what still can stay?
Long have the best-loved slumbered;
Their grave bounds for us life’s drear way,
Our souls with grief are cumbered.
All that we have to seek is gone,
The heart is full—the world is lone.
Unending, with mysterious flame,
O’er us sweet awe is creeping;
Methought from viewless distance came
An echo to our weeping;
The loved ones long for us on high,
And sent us back their pining sigh.
Below, to seek the tender bride,
To Jesus, whom we cherish!
Good cheer! lo, greys the even-tide,—
Love’s agonies shall perish.—
A dream—our fetters melt, at rest
We sink upon the Father’s breast.
* * * * *
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