| |
| I HEARD 1 the wild beasts in the woods complain; | |
| Some slept, while others wakened to sustain | |
| Through night and day the sad monotonous round, | |
| Half savage and half pitiful the sound. | |
| |
| The outcry rose to God through all the air, | 5 |
| The worship of distress, an animal prayer, | |
| Loud vehement pleadings, not unlike to those | |
| Job uttered in his agony of woes. | |
| |
| The very pauses, when they came, were rife | |
| With sickening sounds of too successful strife, | 10 |
| As, when the clash of battle dies away, | |
| The groans of night succeed the shrieks of day. | |
| |
| Man’s scent the untamed creatures scarce can bear, | |
| As if his tainted blood defiled the air; | |
| In the vast woods they fret as in a cage, | 15 |
| Or fly in fear, or gnash their teeth with rage. | |
| |
| The beasts of burden linger on their way, | |
| Like slaves who will not speak when they obey; | |
| Their faces, when their looks to us they raise, | |
| With something of reproachful patience gaze. | 20 |
| |
| All creatures round us seem to disapprove; | |
| Their eyes discomfort us with lack of love; | |
| Our very rights, with signs like these alloyed, | |
| Not without sad misgivings are enjoyed. | |
| |
| Earth seems to make a sound in places lone, | 25 |
| Sleeps through the day, but wakes at night to moan, | |
| Shunning our confidence, as if we were | |
| A guilty burden it could hardly bear. | |
| |
| The winds can never sing but they must wail; | |
| Waters lift up sad voices in the vale; | 30 |
| One mountain-hollow to another calls | |
| With broken cries of plaining waterfalls. | |
| |
| Silence itself is but a heaviness, | |
| As if the earth were fainting in distress, | |
| Like one who wakes at night in panic fears, | 35 |
| And nought but his own beating pulses hears. | |
| |
| Inanimate things can rise into despair; | |
| And, when the thunders bellow in the air | |
| Amid the mountains, Earth sends forth a cry | |
| Like dying monsters in their agony. | 40 |
| |
| The sea, unmated creature, tired and lone, | |
| Makes on its desolate sands eternal moan: | |
| Lakes on the calmest days are ever throbbing | |
| Upon their pebbly shores with petulant sobbing. | |
| |
| O’er the white waste, cold grimly overawes | 45 |
| And hushes life beneath its merciless laws; | |
| Invisible heat drops down from tropic skies, | |
| And o’er the land, like an oppression, lies. | |
| |
| The clouds in heaven their placid motions borrow | |
| From the funereal tread of men in sorrow; | 50 |
| Or, when they scud across the stormy day, | |
| Mimic the flight of hosts in disarray. | |
| |
| Mostly men’s many-featured faces wear | |
| Looks of fixed gloom, or else of restless care; | |
| The very babes, that in their cradles lie, | 55 |
| Out of the depths of unknown troubles cry. | |
| |
| Labour itself is but a sorrowful song, | |
| The protest of the weak against the strong; | |
| Over rough waters, and in obstinate fields, | |
| And from dank mines, the same sad sound it yields. | 60 |
| |
| O God! the fountain of perennial gladness! | |
| Thy whole creation overflows with sadness; | |
| Sights, sounds, are full of sorrow and alarm; | |
| Even sweet scents have but a pensive charm. | |
| |
| Doth Earth send nothing up to Thee but moans? | 65 |
| Father! canst Thou find melody in groans? | |
| Oh, can it be, that Thou, the God of bliss, | |
| Canst feed Thy glory on a world like this? | |
| |
| Ah me! that sin should have such chemic power | |
| To turn to dross the gold of Nature’s dower, | 70 |
| And straightway, of its single self, unbind | |
| The eternal vision of Thy jubilant mind! | |
| |
| Alas! of all this sorrow there is need; | |
| For us Earth weeps, for us the creatures bleed: | |
| Thou art content, if all this woe imparts | 75 |
| The sense of exile to repentant hearts. | |
| |
| Yes! it is well for us: from these alarms, | |
| Like children scared we fly into Thine arms; | |
| And pressing sorrows put our pride to rout | |
| With a swift faith which has not time to doubt. | 80 |
| |
| We cannot herd in peace with wild beasts rude; | |
| We dare not live in Nature’s solitude; | |
| In how few eyes of men can we behold | |
| Enough of love to make us calm and bold? | |
| |
| Oh, it is well for us: with angry glance | 85 |
| Life glares at us, or looks at us askance: | |
| Seek where we will,—Father! we see it now,— | |
| None love us, trust us, welcome us, but Thou. | |
