A Modern Faust THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES »/OMXiM V^^T' SELECTIONS FROM THE NOTICES OF THE HON. RODEN NOEL'S WORKS. ESSAYS ON POETRY AND POETS. Demy %vo. \2s. " It is very pleasant to read a book about books which is critically informing as well as enthusiastic. . . . ' Essays on Poetry and Poets ' is a book which insists on being read with care, and well repays it ; for Mr. Noel writes about poets with the insight of a fellow-crafts- man, and would be well worth listening to even if he did not say what he does say admirably. . . . Mr. Noel has done well to collect these most suggestive essays. It is difficult to lay them aside with- out regret." — Academy. "A hearty and ungrudging catholicity of appreciation is one of the most prominent merits of this interesting volume. Mr. Noel . . . very wisely, as it seems to us, writes only of poets whose work he really admires and loves. . . . ' A Sketch of a Holiday in Cornwall,' which comes at the end of the book, is a thoroughly enjoyable piece of descriptive writing, and is instinct with that intense sympathy with the passion of Nature (it is impossible to escape from the ■ pathetic fallacy') which makes some of Mr. Noel's lyrical Nature- poems so impressive and fascinating." — Spectator. " It is some time since I read a book of criticism at once so wide and so sympathetic in its choice and in its treatment of its subjects." — Truth. A LITTLE CHILD'S MONUMENT. Third Editio}i. Small crown ^vo. '^s. 6d. " Very lovely in form are many of the poems . . . wliile all are exquisite in feeling." — Contemporary Revieiv. "It is rare to meet with poetry so spontaneous and genuine as that which Mr. Roden Noel has just published. ... In form and melody these poems are perhaps the most perfect Mr. Noel has yet produced. " — Academy. ' ' Sweetness and pathos, a keen sense of the beauty of nature, made more intense by the moving contrast between it and human sorrow. " — Spectator. " We do not know where, in all the range of English poetry, to look for so forcible an expression of utter grief as is presented in some of the poems." — Scotsman. a /'^ THE HOUSE OF RAVENSBURG : A DRAMA. Neiv Edition. Small croivn 'ivo. 65. " The story is much more powerful than appears in the foregoing narrative, and, in its presentation of vague terror, recalls the famous verses of Dobell — ' O Keith of Ravelston, the sorrows of thy line.' Portions of the treatment are fine, we might almost say splendid, from the poetical standpoint."— ^//z^^^ww. "Taken as a whole, the picture of Sigismund, both before and after death — Mr. Noel assumes Shakespeare's licence, and brings Sigismund back to us from the other world, and, even bolder than Shakespeare, undertakes to show us his character still undergoing change in that world — seems to us one of very considerable power." — Spectator. THE RED FLAG, AND OTHER POEMS. Ne'u Edition. Small crown Zvo. ()s. "Mr. Noel's new volume marks a decided advance both in clear- ness of form and in melody of expression upon his earlier collection. He has succeeded in working out more unity of style, in harmonizing his thought and feeling, and in producing more sustained effects of music in verse without sacrificing individuality." — Academy. " The writer has more than that love of nature which spends itself on llie beauty of form and colour ; he is alive to that more spiritual emotion which connects the aspects of outward nature with the aspirations of the human soul. . . . He is capable on occasion of writing noble passages." — Spectator. SONGS OF THE HEIGHTS AND DEEPS. Croiun ^vo. 6s. " There is in all Mr. Roden Noel's work, when fully representative of his powers, peculiar individuality. It is always marked by great and very obvious earnestness and sincerity, and is entirely free from any affectation or trick." — Saturday Review. " He is among the few who write verse to express emotion stirred by the sufferings of man and the terrible riddle of his destiny . and is one of a still smaller band of poets whose views of the present and the hereafter are not tinged with either fatalism or idealism." — Academy. ' ' ' The Temple of Sorrow ' — a poem so profoundly and perma- nently impressive that in writing for those to whom it is unknown, it is difficult to choose phrases that shall not seem unmeasured and exaggerated. ' ' — Manchester Examiner. LONDON ; KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO. A MODERN FAUST AND OTHER POEMS MAD MOTHER. Modern Fa?isi, /. 146. A MODERN FAUST AND OTHER POEMS BY HON. RODEN NOEL AUTHOR OF A I.ITTI.E child's MONUMENT," "HOUSE OF RAVENSIiURG,'' ETC. LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1888 ,., Ay' A-- //p sill TO MY DEAR FKIENI> HORATIO FORBES BROWN I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 626112 CONTENTS. PACE A Modern Faust ... ... ... ... i To MY Mother ... ... ... ... 213 FOWEY ... ... ... ... ... ... 218 The Merry-go-round ... ... ... 224 "Ah! love ye one another well ! " ... ... 226 "Lost Angel" ... ... ... ... 227 "I Love you, dear!" ... ... ... ... 230 '■Hands that wander" ... ... ... 231 The Little Imbecile ... ... ... ... 233 Arise ! ... ... ... ... ... 236 A Casual Song ... ... ... .. ... 239 The Child's Journey ... ... ... 240 The True King... ... ... ... ... 242 The Month of the Nightingale ..~. ... 244 Returning Thanks ... ... ... ... 247 The Polish Mother... ... ... .. 2-19 A MODERN FAUST. PREFACE. It has naturally been with no presumptuous desire to enter into any kind of competition with the great Eh'zabethan, or the great German Master that I have given to my poem the name of " A Modern Faust."' But, seeking to pourtray a denizen of our modern world with nature and aspirations some- what similar to those of that semi-mythical and representative Personage, I thought it not unfitting to give him the same name. For there exists a cycle of Christian mythus, semi-historical, semi-legendary, which embodies certain ideas and ideals especially pertaining to the Christian era, and which may, as it appears to me, advantageously furnish such a quarry of material for the Christian poet as the grand, familiar stories belonging to the Heroic Age of Greece — the Tale of Troy Divine, of Pelops' Line, the House of Laius, and Prometheus — furnished to successive poets in Greece. These may be handled (within certain XIV PREFACE. limits) according to the idiosyncrasy of the writer and the special requirements of his own day, their subject matter being essentially human and per- manent. To this order of Christian mythus belong the cycle of Arthurian romance, Faust, Tannhauser, and Don Juan. My own object, however, has been to write a poem dealing w'ith conditions and prob- lems which must press, in one way or another, upon the most sympathetic, thoughtful, and sensitive among ourselves ; to pourtray a sorely tried and divided nature, keenly alive to human suffering, as well as to the speculative difficulties peculiar to our day and generation, arising from the conflict betw^een science and accepted creeds ; unable, moreover, to acquiesce in current solutions or panaceas, confidently pro- pounded for the ills that afflict humanity — a nature itself disorganized and enfeebled by internal dis- sensions, through the w-arfare of higher and lower selves. I have likewise endeavoured to suggest a certain reconciliation and harmony ultimately attained by him. It has, therefore, been with realities, rather than titles, that I have been concerned ; yet to such a delineation the familiar name of Faust seemed not altogether inappropriate. Though considering its now formidable literary associations, remembering PREFACE. XV Marlowe and Goethe, who can repress a certain feel- ing of trepidation in thus invoking so venerable a name, lest he should be overtaken by the fate that was said to have befallen rash and presumptuous magicians, torn in pieces by the potent spirit whom they could summon, but not control? In the generation immediately preceding ours, it would have been plainly impossible to introduce that supernatural element essential to the " Faust" legend, and yet make the hero a modern. Upon this neither Goethe ventured, nor Byron in Jiis Faust, which is Manfred. Even Hamlet is assumed to pertain to a very remote age, though he actually belongs to Elizabethan England. But the recent revival of in- terest among ourselves in what is termed " occult lore " has rendered such a representation perhaps less shocking and incongruous than it would have seemed formerly. My Satan, however, is chiefly, though not entirely, the man's own worse self. And those who are still certain that there is nothing in heaven or earth undreamed of in their philosophy may chari- tably reflect that, after all, the whole phantasmagory is intended to pass in a dream ! * * The incidents embodied in the section "Earth's Torture- Chamber," I am sorry to say, really happened, though, to soften XVI PREFACE. the honor, I have modified them in detail. They were cases deaU with by the excellent Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Some other incidents also, illustrative of mischance and suffering, are founded upon fact. I have used prose where it seemed appropriate to my subject-matter. SUM M A R Y . PROLOGUE. BOOK I.— INNOCENCE. Religion. BOOK II.— DOUBT. Adventure, Love, Loss — Lost Laml). BOOK III.— DISORDER. Caxio L — Earth's Torture-Chamber — The Moly Innocents — My Little Ones. Canto IL — The Flesh — Triumph of Bacchus — Siren Song — Pan. Canto IIL — The Ascetic Life — Devotion — Speculation — Lyric of Thought. BOOK IV.— DISORDER. Prose Interlude — The World; or, The Xew Walpurgis Night — The World in the Church — The Palace of Art — Good Society — Respectability — Babel, and Will-o'-the-Wisp — Ragnarok^ .Stump Oratory — Bewilderment. xviii SUMMARY. BOOK v.— DISORDER. Canto I. — Nature — The Sea, and the Living Creatures. Canto II. — Misfortune — Advocatus Diaboli — Mad Mother. Canto II r. — Satan, BOOK VI.— ORDER. Canto I. — Heaven — Fountain Song. Canio II. — Heaven's Ministry. Canto HI. — Faith. Canto IV. — Human Service — Songs of Golden Deeds : — Charity ; Gordon ; The Lifeboat ; Sea Kings ; The Isle oj Lepers; " JFeah Things of the World" ; World-Progress; Mother's Loi'e ; Jubilee, and the Good Emperor. Canio V. — Wisdom and Work — Caged l.ark. A MODERN FAUST. PROLOGUE. The vision of a Pilgrimage Made in this our modern Age By one who went from faith to doubt, Through all the evil rabble rout Of mad disorder, and new lore, That saps foundations firm before. Many men, and many lands He wandered over ; mind expands ; The heart by loving learns to love, And more by losing ; darkly throve Foreboding also, when the rod He saw the oppressor wield, who trod On human hearts, the doubt of God. Yet, charging all on man, he goes, In part for solace, to the shows Of world-illusion, by fair sense Held captive ; when delivered thence, Suffereth for that offence B A MODERN FAUST. In cloister!}-, devout seclusion. Him the importunate confusion Following, hales from meditation. Where, fal' from earthly tribulation, He lies, A\ith action closely furled, Pondering the riddle of the world. Involved in pensive solitude The hermit may no longer brood ; Wave-washed from his rock-island home, Once more affronts the wandering foam. A pretty boudoir of toy Art Surveys, but only to depart. World's indifference he tries, Behind respectabilities, ^^'hich are as walls built thick and high To ward offence from ear and eye. And yet his heart obeys the lure Of sundry, who propound their cure For social sickness ; curious mind Blindest leader of the blind Will follow ; but, alas ! no goal Crowns who yield to their control ; Long builded order fades away From these, who to the desert stray ; Nor hoped oasis beams upon their way. Then, finding refuge in lone Nature, He, wearying of her mystic stature, Returns where poor Humanity I A MODERN FAUST. Doth agonize, do evil, die, On icy heights, amid the scorn Of gods and demons, vulture-torn ! Learns at length that not alone Fault of ours hath wrought our moan. Whence cometh evil, who shall say. In man, the creature of a day ? The dumb Sphinx-Nature dooms no less Than men, though ne'er so pitiless ; Turns her thumbs down, votes for death. The whole creation travaileth With conflict, suffering, and care ! . . . Spirits in the murk of air Wail and whisper doubt, despair; Whom angels answer, to dispel Inner night that o'er him fell. He dared the invisible invoke, And so the mirthful scorn provoke Of latter day omniscience, That doth all knowledge, save through sense, Prohibit ; yet he deemed there spoke Voices verily to him, And forms unearthly, fair, or grim. Came palpable, now pale and dim ; Yet often hard to be divined He found it, if to his own mind Or theirs a thought should be assigned, Believing he the problem solved A MODERN FAUST. By holding both aUke involved . . . Last, Devil-driven to end all, Enveloped in Despair's bleak pall, Love plucks him from the final fall ; Offers hope and mercy mild, In guise of a dear little child ; With olive-leaf from forth the dark, A dove taps at life's vvildered ark. And so the prodigal comes home, Though not to where he wandered from. Scarce may any wanderer find The very place he left behind. But he returns to faithful labour ; In Art reflecting Nature, neighbour, And a soul whereover lay Brooding problems of to-day, As in a lonely mountain lake Mirrored vapours roll and break, Sullenly involved, unravel. Murmur tempest while they travel. Apollo with the Python wages Awful warfare of the ages ! It may be the All draw^eth breath From good and evil, life and death. A dream of childly happiness, A dream of children's dire distress ; A vision, fain to reconcile Powerful oppressions of the vile. A MODERN FAUST. And what appears a casual slaughter By elements of fire or water, With Love and Righteousness, which are More than earth, or moon, or star, Orander than the night and day, World-foundation old and grey. If aught more real lie below. It is not less than these, we know ; May only complemental lie To their sublime eternity. i i BOOK I. INNOCENCE. A MODERN FAUST. BOOK I. INNOCENCE. Religion. A SUMMER morn, a church among the trees, A mulUoned hall ancestral, and by these Low rural homes ; a river gently flows Through green demesnes ; wide, antlered woods half close Upon a village church among the leaves. Grey-towered, grove-embowered, calm and cool ; Thereof a vision to my memory cleaves, How rare and radiant, pure and beautiful ! Before the rustic ritual began With music, or the priest, white-raimented. And choir entered, glad surprise there ran Through me to note, where shado\vy arches wed, A cherub form advancing all alone, With golden-curled head, unashamed young face, lO A MODERN FAUST. And air that wakes the passive cold grey stone To silent benediction on the grace Of moving innocence, half bold, half shy, Advancing like a sunbeam from the porch, With timid reverence and a laughing eye. He glides among the monumental marbles, Reposing warriors of his ancient line, Stone feet upon the lion ; old time garbles Their graven story ! play, war, women, wine. Church, statecraft held, who want not, nor repine. He looked athwart dim spaces of the church To where his gathered folk awaiting sat, With linked looks of encouragement. Perchance, In the fair gardened home at hand made late By some mishappening light circumstance, Dubiously laughing, he resolved to dare The long way uncompanioned. The child Seemed rather born from the pure atmosphere Of all the prayers and praises undefiled Heart-offered here through centuries ; so clear His eyes and colour, his rich locks a mist Of fountained gold ; the sun loves nestling there ; Rude congregated men and women blest Their heavenly visitant ; the chaste cool air Among grey spaces cherished the fair guest. Yea, and more watchers than dull eyes behold. From whom ethereal consecration flows, Clothed him in armour of enchanted gold, 1 A MODERN FAUST. II Molten in Love's fire, mined in hearts of those Who face the Father. Then low music woke Within the bosom of the calm abode ; The hushed wave of rapt adoration broke ; A boy's clear tones peal forth pure faith in God. From a more affluent lot in life he comes, The darling ; but in many humbler homes Have I not found a mother, Hke Madonna, The cherished burthen of her child upon her, Or beautiful, or homely, hollow-eyed. Pale with privation, toil-worn for her pride. Her joy, the little ones for whom she wears Out soul and body, shedding but few tears— Where is the leisure for them ? — o'er the pillow Of some sick infant, unremoving willow. Bent day and night, how eager to fulfil The meanest function for one lying ill ! While well-loved kindly father loves to carry His little bare-foot Jane, or crippled Harry ; And tiny folk will frolic in dim alley As were it purple hill, or dewy valley ; Will play their blithe life-drama in a mean, Poor, walled-in, soiled apology for green, As were it lovely park, or forest scene. They to the monkey-crowned street-organ dance More gay, more fair than all fine folk in Franc-, At court superb of their grand monarch met, To languish through the stately minuet. 12 A MODERN FAUST. Such homes are blessed, even when cruel want Invades, though shelter, food, and clothes be scant. I joy to know the children's joy as common As kindness for them among men and women. BOOK II DOUBT. A MODERN FAUST. 1 5 BOOK 11. DOUBT. Adventure, Love, Loss. The boy, a youth now, roved in foreign lands, By palm and temple, over burning sands, On camels and on horses, noting men And manners many ; mountain, forest, glen, Populous human hives, and alien Taste, habit, ethnic custom, ethnic creed, Whereby, as by the late-born Lore, a seed Was sown of gradually matured misgiving, If circumscribing faiths exhaust the living Spirit of universal God indeed ? Their niggard nourishment may hardly feed The hunger of the human ; whose wide heart Revolts from putting for the whole the part, From an All-Father, who hath favourites. Vainglory, pride, and arbitrary spites. 1 6 A MODERN FAUST. Revengeful jealousy ! how many bands Are loosened while the growing soul expands ! Some wholesome, dear, familiar ; wars engage The upheaved, rent spirit, awful wars to wage ! A lone, long conflict, doubt, and grief, and rage ! In holy lands, in homes, of ancient faith, He journeyed, where our sacred story saith The dear Lord lived and died for us ; he mused Among the fallen pillars of disused Shrines around Hermon or Mount Lebanon, Whence all the worshippers and faiths are gone ; Or in the golden-columned Parthenon, The hills of olive near Jerusalem, Far, fair Palmyra, holy Bethlehem ; Where silent and serene Egyptian Nile Engirdleth Philge, palm, and peristyle, Nourishing Thebes and Memphis ; floating long With moonlit sail, and oft a weird wild song From dusky crews, where gorgeous eves illume Sphinx, flame-y-pointing pyramid or tomb, Storied with old-world mystic hieroglyph ; There kings lie jewelled in the fiery cliff; Solemn and silent in the chambered echoing cliff. Then rude and strange adventures him befel With lithe and swarthy sons of Ishmael, Full-vestmented in rainbow hues, fierce-eyed, In Arab tents, or where dark men abide. In marble fountained courts by Abanar : A MODERN FAUST. 1/ Behind fine lacework of the lattice are Gazelle-hmbed beauties ; realms of myrrh and musk, Where in the warmth of an enchanted dusk The minareted Muezzin calls to prayer, Thrillingly waking a clear starlit air, And one from Europe, wondering to be there. And now beneath the whispering young palm, Enjoying dewy evening's hushed calm, He whispered with a beautiful lithe maid, Who wore red flowers in her hair's dark braid ; The girl had limpid eyes, a mellow tone ; Her body girdled with the enchanted zone Of Venus queen ; clear orbs came one by one Through darkening ether, found them dallying on ; At intervals they may behold them rise ; Only they pore on heavenlier gleams in eyes Of one another ; youth, and early love ! But Fate, with flaming sword, asunder drove, And shut them out of Paradise. Afar, Beyond the wave, beneath a northern star, Once more I found him with a blonder fere, His faithful, helpful life-companion, dear And beautiful ; who smoothed his fevered pillow, Plucked with devoted hand from death's dim billow ; Saved him, moreover, from a direr death. Wherein sense robs of our Diviner breath. Who saith the heart loves once, and never more ? c 1 8 A MODERN FAUST. The youth loved twice, and both for evermore His heart holds ; yea, the clinging tendrils twine Round others fondly, passionately incline To many a comrade, male or feminine. Unto these later lovers was there born A perfect child, fair, breezy like the morn, All laughter, light, affection, health, and song, Who, like a rill, danced near their path along, But unaware fell into some abyss. And left life songless, shadowed, reft of bliss. Inventive leader in the nursery games. Tender, considerate of alien claims, Full wonderful to witness in a child ! Reflection budding in the leafage wild Of his luxuriant joy ; the parents said, " A glorious manhood when we both have fled, One may divine for him ; our staff and stay. When our own buoyant strength of life gives way. Our son shall prove to us." In one brief year Their living sunbeam shone no longer here ! He was no more ; the wild fate-sunken twain Were left to wail, and yearn for him with pain Immense, deep, unassuageable, and vain. If ever shadowy difference involved, His young life-shining all the cloud dissolved ; And now their marriage-bond more binding grew Over a little grave poor grief well knew. A MODERN FAUST. 1 9 Lost Lamb. He is gone, he is gone, The beautiful child ! He is gone, he is gone, And the mother went wild. Babble all silent. Warm heart is cold ; All that remains now The hair's living gold ! Summer hath faded Out of his eyes, On his mouth ne'er a ripple Of melodies ! O where will be joy now, To-morrow, to-day ? where is our boy now ? Far, far away ! Light is but darkness, Unshining from him ; Sound is but silence, And all the world dim ! Spring's in the air ! 1 feel him to-day, Spring's in the air, He's on his way 1 20 A MODERN FAUST. Warmth in the air, Cold in my heart, Winter is there, Never to part ! Snowdrop asleep in the Loosening mould, Crocus apeep with thy Flame-tip of gold, Lark song who leapest Aloft, young and bold. My heart groweth old, for Joy lieth cold ! So lisped be the sweet alphabet of love ; The lesson will be fully learned above. A gentle saintly mother, through her blood, Him with the germ of heavenly birth imbued ; Later with warm and holy influence Cherished the pure life her dear veins dispense ; So learned he love ; fair maidens taught him now ; Many were very kind to him, I trow. Better he learns yet from the eternal tie True marriage, soul and body, may supply, And from young children ; chiefly from the love That through life-loss well nigh to madness drove : They feared the child extinguished, and the doubt, With tears rebellious, all light put out. And yet I deem them sent to sorrow's school A MODERN FAUST. 21 Only for love-lore wide and plentiful. l)Ut in that youth ancestral spirits fought To wrest for wickedness, and bring to nought ; He was a battle-ground for good and evil, Like him for whom bright Michael with the devil Contended. Ah ! sweet Heaven, a parlous fate ! And who, save God, may know the final state ? BOOK III. DISORDER. A MODERN FAUST. 2$ BOOK III. DISORDER. After, the youth, to manhood grown, related The stations of a life-experience. In guise of vision ; fact, or parable ; Momentous hours, firm chisel blozvs whereby A character assumed decisive mould For good or evil ; he began to tell His proper story from the poijit where I Relinquish notv ; the whole in guise of dream. Scenes pregnant with a life-compelling poiver, Or symbolizing steps in a career ; And these the well-remembered words he spake. Canto I. — Earth's Torture-Chamber; the Holy Innocents. He said, "The vision before all will show AVhat branded deep into my heart world-woe. . . . 26 A MODERN FAUST. A little boy runs hurrying to school, When lo ! a toyshop very beautiful ! The broad glass front shows every kind of toy, Just fit to take the fancy of a boy. He pauses ; looks ; he sees some spinning tops : O drowsy humming when it whirls ! then flops Down after many giddy drunken reels ! How has he longed for one ! — Ah ! now he feels Two pennies in his pocket, — the school fees ! He may not buy, he knows full well, with these ! And yet withhold not your commiseration, Ye elder folk, who have yielded to temptation ! An impulse urged him, scarce controllable ; He is a little child ! be pitiful ! Unless ye ne'er yourselves have been to blame. His father, (irony bestowed the name !) Being himself without a single sin. Resolved to let all hell loose, and so win. If may be, this most evil child of his From such ineffable debaucheries. He flogs this feebleness with furious strength Of a brute's bulk full-fed, until, at length Run down, it craves recruitment from a drink Of fire at some street-corner ; see him sink, The boy, stripped bare for beating, on the bed, Moaning in anguish ! but his childhood led Him, like a fairy, to forgetfulness ; For in the interval of sharp distress, A MODERN FAUST. 2/ Diverted he may note a spider dart Down the fine web it wove with subtle art To whirl a fly within the silken toil, Where it may leisurely devour the spoil. Yea, any other trifle, that can catch The light attention, he may feebly watch. Albeit half-whimpering, for yet he feels Dull inextinguished aching of the weals. The outer scene may merciful beguile From him a tearful, poor, bewildered smile, AUuring flexile fancy from the rod. Wherewith the ' father ' plays at angry God, Enacts rehearsals of the ' love ' of Heaven, Or that Supreme Assize ; till devils seven Return with the tormentor ; at the Frown That enters the torn victim cowers down, Praying, with prayers that might have moved a stone. Forgiveness ; he will do so never more ! Yet with* red rope-thongs every bruise and sore The tyrant lashes. Then such wild wind-wails Are heard, that even dull Indifference pales, Shaking the door, though vainly ; the dread clamour Is drowned now when, with handle of a hammer, The rufiian strikes his own child on the head, Until he falls in swoon, or haply dead. And God doth not shake in the shuddering wall, To bury what must hurl to fatal fall Love, justice, mercy, here and everywhere 28 A MODERN FAUST. Swooning in dumb renouncements of despair, Or sinking to foundationless abysses Of thought-confounding chaos — where one misses At least the spectacle my soul beholds, The world-wide spectacle, alas ! that holds Fiends thronged in earth's red amphitheatre, Attentive to the sanguinary stir, And sniffing gloatingly the. cruel steam Of torture and oppression ; with fierce gleam Infernal of hot glittering eyes they watch The unending human tragedy ; to snatch Maniacal, malformed joy in some den, Where deeds, beast-banned in savage mountain-glen Assault, insult, the light by being born. Prisoned in brothels, helpless and forlorn. Ah ! God, the very babes, for worse than death, Are pinioned by tyrants, with rank breath Of moral plague infected, yea, deep dyed Their lamb-white souls and bodies ; crucified* Their clean flesh, only that they may subserve The orgasm of a flaccid satyr's nerve ; While panders whom the hoary goat can pay Batten upon Christ's little ones for prey ! Ah ! thought to turn a young man old and grey ! Their parents sell them — it is done to-day. Now while I stand within the room, And wring my hands above the piteous doom Of this poor murdered child, fallen pale and still, A MODERN FAUST. 29 A mere inanimate heap, at the curst will Of Tyranny, the vile, plague-spotted place Teems thick with shapes of manifold disgrace Ineffable ; they breathe in the murk air, Like maggots in a carcase ; coiling there Over each other, thronging like pale worms, That interlacing shake misshapen forms In horrible jubilation ; hear them hiss— ' Do you believe in God, fool I after this ? See yonder spider at his ease devour The impotent winged insect in his power ! ' And yet, I gasp in answer, white and wan, ' Charge upon all the wicked will of niaji ! ' One chuckling discord from the fearful clan Resounded, a thin, evil shadow-laughter ; I shuddered, fainted — and the scene changed after. Ah ! now I roam To a yeoman's home ; Meadow-bounded, Flower-surrounded ! From year to year Inhabit here Well-thought-of people, Anigh the steeple ; Pledged ne'er to drink. They frugal sink 30 A MODERN FAUST. In a bank for savings The yield of slavings, A hoarded thrift, And for soul-shrift Are oft at chapel; They pile the apple In yonder loft, IManure their croft, With cart in byre. With hens in mire, A horse in stable, Good food on table, And soft grey wings In a mossy roof, While robin sings On a fence aloof, A paradise, With ne'er a vice. Verily The place should be ! . . But is that cell In the gaol of hell, Where (sight appalling !) One saw crawling Babes span long. Who had done no wrong, Save to inherit Eve's demerit, I A MODERN FAUST. 3 1 And not have been Washed quite clean By Church's chrism From Serpent-schism. For as httle reason (But I talk treason !) Some babes on earth Are seared from birth With a brand of doom, To which the tomb Were mercy mild, Pure, undefiled ; Nor old divine, Nor the Florentine, Ever invented worse than this For his own, or God's own enemies ! The house is haunted By an apparition Of a little child ! . . . Hallucination ! An evil dream ! . . . And yet 'tis there ! The very semblance Of a little child Upon the stair. The bones protruding, Pale skin and bone ; His face a fever, 32 A MODERN FAUST. A famine glare In pits for eyes. The skeleton Hath a load to carry, A heavy load, Two flat irons, One half his weight : Up and down The old wooden stair, All through daylight, And half through night. Up and down The phantom flits, Tramps with a load, It scarce can carry. . . , Ah ! when to sleep ? For never rests he From that vain labour, Save to stumble. Or fainting fall, Or when a boy (One said a brother), Shares crusts with him In secrecy; Or when the woman. At ease below (The father's wife), Unlifesustaining A MODERN FAUST. 33 Meagre morsels Doles for food. Nay, nay, 'tis living ! And all too true ! The boy hath taken A hunch of bread ; And now she beats him With rods of thorn ; (The Lord wore thorn !) He drops the irons, Outworn at last ; (The Lord so fainted, When He bore the cross.) And now inflaming With an evil salt The old raw wounds, She flogs again. Such deeds were done In days long dead, For the glory of God, At God's command. I know ! I know ! Ineffable orgies Of the carnival Of human crime Are old as time ! Yea, uncommanded By God the Lord, D 34 A MODERN FAUST. Who doth them now ? If uncommanded By God the Lord, How do them now? The wife, recUning In a warm armchair, Darns dihgently ; Anon she feeds A sleek furred cat. The man, the father, Luxuriously Inhales, and blows The curled blue cloud. And lets her murder His only child. He sees and hears The living ghost Of his only son Tramp up and down, And sleeps at night, Nor dreams of it. The demon woman Benumbs the man, While God alloweth The vital air For a human soul, Belief in love, The love of love, A MODERN FAUST. 35 With the breath of Hfe For a human body, To be slowly drawn, Sucked forth from it. And makes no sign ! The child's dead mother Makes no sign ! Ah ! that the mother May be dead indeed, And may not know ! This is a child, sir, A child indeed, sir, Like yours, like mine ! . . . See, now he dies ; One certifies ' A natural death ! ' . . . Listen ! low convulsive laughters Awaken old worm-eaten rafters ! Some mutter, ^ Do you notv believe in God T Once more a mean room in the huge dim city ! No fire, no food, no medicine, no water. No sheet, no blanket, and no coverlid ! A sick child on a pallet left to starve Between bare walls ; the wind bites keen with frost. Alone in London ! Dismal Nights and Days, Dumb warders, alternate their kindred gloom Grimly by her death-bed, indifferent. ^6 A MODERN FAUST. — Days, long lone intervals of demi-darkness, Whose are hoarse cries, foot-trampings, and far wheels; Ah ! never any kindly voice for her, Meaningless murmurs, unconcerned for her ; Nights of ear-ringing, terrifying silence, Save for some drunken ditty of sodden harlot, A windy flare of sallow flame without — Unsoothed, untended, and, ah ! God, unloved ! Her scant frock, faded cotton ; while the pair. Whom men name 'father,' * mother,' at their fire Feed, warmly clothed, unheeding, near, beneath her ; Who cannot turn herself upon the bed, Her bones protruding, lying upon her sores. There comes no comfort, and no care, no kiss. No drop to drink, nor crumb from the full table (^f these, who want their own child buried, where An elder mouldereth, whose fate was hers. In these well-fended carcases a hollow Gapes where the tenderest of all hearts should be, A parent's heart— the devil did this for jest — Their child would love them if they would allow her ! Wealthy must they be who can toss back love, And spill, or spurn it as a common thing ! The child had one strange friend, a folded rag, Of which she made a pet for lack of dolls ; She communed with it daily, and at night Her wasted cheek lay over it ; she named It Taffo, lavished all her heart on that. A MODERN FAUST. ^ Because none other Avanted her poor heart. . And when the rude, hard undertaker came, He laid the cold, unkempt, dishevelled head Upon the small soiled fetish of a rag, Inside the coffin ; for he found it clasped In her thin hand what time he took her measure For burying ; to his mate he only said — ' Poor little thing ! we'll put this in with her ! ' His was perchance the only kindness shown her, Less orphaned in her death than in her life. Surely he gave his small cup of cold water ! . . . Ah ! God ! ah ! God ! art Thou but a fair dream Of our distracted pity ? couldst not find For solace of this child, to fill the place Of these most fearful beings, masquerading In guise of man, one common human heart ? For she was all ungirt with mystic light. That panoplies the martyred patriot. Or saint ; fair well-sustaining effluence Of the soul's inner hidden Holy of holies ; The glory that illumines the lone steep Of causes championed to the uttermost, Irradiating subterranean Dark dungeon, paling the full jewel-blaze. And cloth of gold in courts and thrones of kings. This youth is one dependence, wants our help As emptiness wants filling of the air. Parents to fail their little one ! As though ;8 A MODERN FAUST. The sun should fail the morning, or the rain Fail wellS; and rivers, and the dancing spring ! How clear the auroral atmosphere Of dewy, childly joy ! But children close their fans for fear At shadow of annoy, And you may shut them from their light With your huge bulk of ghostly night ; So soon as you withdraw your shadow, They will re-open on the meadow, And with a sunny laugh How cheerily will quaff Your newly shining smile In a very little while ! Ah ! they will kiss the very hand That dooms them to a loveless land, Or scars them with a cruel brand. What a curse that kiss will be To guilty souls, awaking in Eternity ! My Little Ones. Ah ! litde ones ! my little ones ! When will your sorrows end ? We deemed you daughters, deemed you sons Of our Eternal Friend ! Yet ever tears of blood we bleed Above your bitter mortal need ! A MODERN FAUST. 2)9 I deem that it may be your part To break, and melt the world's hard heart : And when ye know, ye will rejoice ; In Heaven, will you give your voice For earthly pain, your own free choice ? In the life that follows this, Will you, with your forgiving kiss, Pile the saving coals of fire On cruel mother, cruel sire ? Little ones, my little ones, Ah ! when will be the end ? We deemed you daughters, deemed you sons Of more than earthly Friend ! We want you fair, and hale, and strong, Full of laughter, mirth, and song ; For when we hear you weep and moan, Our Lord is shaken on His throne ! If later years be dull and sad, Leave, O leave the children glad ! Little ones, my little ones, However all may end, Earth may fail, with moons and suns, But never, Love, your friend ! For Jesus was a little child, And God Himself is meek and mild. Nay, but there came here no deliverer. No glance, no tone of kind alleviation : 40 A MODERN FAUST. The neighbours are aware of the slow murder ; And yet none knocks to save ; arrests the man. Encountered in the workshop, in the street, None shakes from him the torturer's red hand ; But loungers lounge, and merry-makers hurry ; While floors, and walls, and ceilings keep the same Abominable immobility, As when some mother's burning heart of hearts Bleeds, breaks above the interminable pain, And slow extinction of her youngest-born. The sunlight, soiled with coming to these courts, Lurid, or livid, day defiled with smoke, Faint moonlight, timid starlight, went and came ; They saw, or saw not ; went, and came unheeding ! All these contemplate with the same dull stare The widow's only son restored to her From Nairn's cold bier by Christ, and Clytemnestra, The baleful woman, with her false feigned smile, Snaring the hero in her toils for slaughter ! Then mocking spectral tones assail mine ear — ' And do you noia believe m God, good sir ? ' I sobbed, ' Charge all on the free will of man. Or on our old ill-builded polity, Social extremes, our ignorance ! ' Mine eyes Fell on the father deep in a learned book, ' On Floating Germs,' by our great physicist ; Fell also on rare coleoptera, Framed, under glass, hung spitted on the wall. A MODERN FAUST. 4 1 ... So, shuddering at the loathly cachinnation, That shook the room, I reeled to outer air, My brain that teemed with burning characters, Wiped clean now to brute vacancy — perchance For respite from the horrors. . . . Canto II. — The Flesh. Triumph of Bacchus. " Then I came To a lit palace in a lordlier quarter Of this great builded province, till it seemed I, entering the vestibule, heard warbled A song, as of a siren warbling low. Who lulls, inhales, and breathes away the soul. Siren Song. " Here are bovvers In halls of pleasure, Flushed with flowers For love or leisure ; Breathes no pain here, Theirs, nor yours, All are fain here Of honeyed hours ; Here in pleasure Hide we pain, 42 A MODERN FAUST. None may measure, Nor refrain ; Beauty blooming, And flowing wine ! Yonder glooming Here Love-shine ! Breathes no pain here, Theirs nor thine, O remain here ! Low recline ! In Love's illuming Woes all wane, Of Beauty blooming All are fain ! O remain here ! Lo ! Love shining After rain ! The air faints with aroma of sweet flowers, Marrying many-tendrilled labyrinths Dew-diamonded a harmony of hues ; And some are flushed like delicate fair flesh Of smooth, soft texture ; delicate love-organs Impetalled hide, depend their fairy forms ; Rufl^led corolla, pitcher, salver, cell, Dim haunts of humming-bird, or velvet moth ; Doves pulsate with white wings, and make soft sound. A MODERN FAUST. 43 Such was the floral roof; flowers overrar\ In lovely riot ample, mounting pillars, Emergent from full bowers of greenery, Water and marble, lily, water-lily, Columns of alabaster, and soft stone. That hath the moon's name, alternating far Innumerable, feebly luminous. A mellow chime dividing the lulled hours Embroiders them with fairy tone fourfold ; And we were soothed with ever-raining sound Of fountains flying in the warm, low light Of pendent kmp, wrought silver, gold, and gern, Rich with adventure of immortal gods. Fair acolyte waved censer, whence the curled Perfume-cloud made the languid air one blue. And linen-robed priest on marble altar Made offering of fruit to Queen Astarte. Behind half-open broidery of bloom The eye won often glimpse of an alcove In floral bower, ceiled over with dim gold ; There velvet pile lay on the floor inlaid From looms of India, or Ispahan, With lace from Valenciennes, with silk or satin For coverlid ; they, with the downy pillow, Have tint of purple plums, or apricot, Of waning woods autumnal. Salvia, moth-fan, plume of orient bird. And here the storied walls luxuriant 44 ^ MODERN FAUST. Are mellow-limned ; for lo ! Pompeianwise, All the young world feigned of a wanton joy, Of Eros, lo, Hebe, Ganymede, And all the poets tell of Aphrodite, Or her who lulled Ulysses in her isle, The idle lake, the garden of Armida, And more, what grave historian hath told Of Rosamund, Antinous, Cleopatra. Here forms of youthful loveliness recline, I know not whether only tinted marble. Or breathing amorous warm flesh and blood. Now from a grove of laurel and oleander. Plum, fragrant fig, vine, myrtle, fern, pomegranate, Recalling Daphne, or Byblos, where the Queen Hath cave and fane anear the falling water, And where she wooed, won, tended her Adonis, A masque of Beauty shone ; young Dionysus He seemed, the leader of the company, Who lolled in a Chryselephantine car Upon a pillow's damson velvet pile ; An undulating form voluptuous. All one warm waved and breathing ivory, Aglow with male and female lovelihood. The yellow panther fur worn negligent Fondhng one shoulder ; stealthy-footed these That hale the chariot, one a lithe, large tiger, Blackbarred, and fulvous, eyed with furnace-flame, A tawny lion one, his mane a jungle. A MODERN FAUST. 45 The face was fair and beardless like a maid's, The soft waved hair vine-filleted ; he held Aloft with one white arm's rare symmetry A crystal brimmed with blood of grape that hath Heart like a lucid carbuncle ; some fallen Over his form envermeiled more the rose Of ample bosom, and love-moulded flank ; The fir-coned thyrsus lying along the shoulder, And listless fingered by a delicate hand, The languid eyes dim-dewy with desire. Some foam-fair, and some amber of deep tone The company to rear of him, yet nigh. Fawn-youths and maidens robed in woven wind Of that fine alien fabric, hiding only As lucid wave hides, or a vernal haze ; But some were rough and red, and rudely hewn, Goat-shagged, satyric ; all high-held the vine, (Or quaffed it reeling), and the fir-cone rod ; The fairer filleted with violet. Anemone, or rose, Adonis-flower, The rude with vine, or ivy ; syrinx, flute, Sweetly they breathed into ; anon they pause, Till Dionysus, from his car descending, Tipsily leaned on one who may have been That swart and swollen comrade, old Silenus, Fain to enfold the yielding and flushed form. Even as when the god wooed Ariadne ; So one may see them on a vase, or gem. 46 A MODERN FAUST. Then ' lo ! Evoe ! ' broke from all : And from the band one whom I deemed a girl In guise of boyhood, like some Rosalind, Came with ahungered, lustrous eyes my way ; The delicate neck, wave-bosom almond-hued Emerge from silk and svvansdown ; lucent hose Cling. to the ripe light limbs, and half disclose. Luxuriant lily with a wealth of charms Exuberant rending raiment of the sheath ; The hair, a mist of gold, went minishing Adown the nape ; thin shadow lined the dimple By vermeil cheek, and under shell-pink ear. She, folding a fair arm around me, fain. Lifts to my lips the ruby-mantling bowl, And her own mouth more crimson ; then she draws Within a shadowy nest near, an alcove For dalliance amorous, . . , After enjoyment vanishing. ... A change Was \\Tought in my surroundings ; and there dawned On me mine earlier love of southern summers, Fate-ravished from me . . . now she is another's ! A mellow, ripe, a peerless womanhood ! ' Art thou then yielded to mine arms at length,' I breathed, ' my Helen ? Helen unto me, A purer, lovelier, Helen, but another's ! ' . . . She fadeth, ere I hold her . . . then the form Of one I am bound to shield from all dishonour With spell of beauty dominant inflames. A MODERN FAUST. 47 And paralyses reasonable will. . . . Now looked the mournful, dim, disordered face Of wounded Love reproachful on the storm In my wild-heaving spirit, as the moon, Pale, from a cloud, upon a troubled sea : And then, I seemed to see Love lying dead. The child, moreover, the dear child we lost Appeared in vision ; but alas ! the eyes, The eyes, more terrible than all ! were turned Away from mine, and when they fronted me, They sought the ground ; or, veiled with his dear hands, I feared they wept : I know'they met not mine ! . . . Suddenly loud, harsh, dissonant peals of laughter Startled and mocked me ! ... * Thy delirium Conjured the vision, a mere wizard-wrought, Illusive phantasy ! but now behold bare fact ! ' . . . Lo ! I am in the chill bleared street again : One spake — 'For you, Tannhauser, who have seen the Christ, Those earlier pleasure-houses are a ruin, Nor any of you may build them ! Nay, for thee, For thee in glamour of the Venusberg There hides no refuge from the modern woe ! Wander abroad again ! begone ! nor linger ! I flash my sword of cherubim before The fair wall of earth's Eden, lest returning Ye take, and eat, and live content with earth. 48 A MODERN FAUST. Ye may not quell your proud dissatisfaction, Nor feed the hunger of a highborn soul With husk of sweet illusion like to these, Nor shut your heart from any bitter cry, Lapped in a luxury of degradation, Rendering indifferent to alien loss ; Anon, even fearfully athirst for pain. And if ye dally a moment, yet beware The unholy hell of ever-enduring fire, That endeth only, if it end, in death. The spell of Circe, and her transformation. Yea, Beauty is a shadow from high Heaven ; But emblem only, not substantial ; hold not ! O queenly soul, refuse to be a slave. And drudge for Passion • fondle Beauty lightly ; Nor let her hold thee spinning with the women Immured from the free air of stalwart deed, From bracing airs of strong, heroic deed. But use her for thine own high ends, O queen, Handmaiden, and not mistress ; for remember Beauty, who flattereth poor outer sense. Blinds often the eternal eye within ! ' ' Yet am I fain to reconcile demands Both of the sense and spirit,' I replied. And then some choir invisible was heard, Whose ode appeared responsive to the songs A German, and an English poet made. A MODERN FAUST, 49 Pan. " Pan is not dead, he lives for ever ! Mere and mountain, forest, seas, Ocean, thunder, ripphng river, All are living Presences ; Yea, though alien language sever, We hold communion with these ! Hail ! ever young and fair Apollo ! Large-hearted, earth-enrapturing Sun !. Navigating night's blue hollow, Cynthia, Artemis, O Moon, Lady Earth you meekly follow, Till your radiant race be run ; Pan is not dead ! " Earth, Cybele, the crowned with towers. Lion-haled, with many a breast, Mother-Earth, dispensing powers To every creature, doth invest With life and strength, engendering showers Health, wealth, beauty, or withholds ; Till at length she gently folds Every child, and lays to rest ! Pan is not dead ! " Hearken ! rhythmic ocean-thunder ! Wind, wild anthem in the pines ! E 50 A MODERN FAUST. When the lightning rends asunder Heavens, to open gleaming mines, Vasty tones with mountains under Talk where ashy cloud inclines . . . Over hoar brows of the heights ; Ware the swiftly flaming lights ! Pan is not dead ! "Whence the ' innumerable laughter,' All the dancing, all the glees Of blithely buoyant billowed seas, If it be not a sweet wafture From joy of Oceanides ? Whence the dancing and the glees. In the boughs of woodland trees, When they clap their hands together. Hold up flowers in the warm weather ? Gentle elfins of the fur. Flowers, Venus' stomacher, Grey doves who belong to her, Singing birds, or peeping bud, Lucid lives in limpid flood. Fishes, shells, a rainbow brood, If Pan be dead ? " Naiads of the willo\vy water ! Sylvans in the warbling wood ! Oreads, many a mountain daughter A MODERN FAUST. Of the shadowy solitude ! Whence the silence of green leaves, Where young zephyr only heaves Sighs in a luxurious mood, Or a delicate whisper fell From light lips of Ariel, If Pan be dead ? "Wave-illumined ocean palaces, Musically waterpaven, W^hose are walls enchased like chalices ; Gemmed with living gems, a haven For foamy, wandering emerald, Where the waterlights are called To mazy play upon the ceiling, Thrills of some delicious feeling ! Sylph-like wonders here lie hid In dim dome of Nereid ; Tender tinted, richly hued. Fair sea-flowers disclose their feelers W' ith a pearly morn imbued, While to bather's open lid W^ater fairies float, revealers Of all the marvels in the flood, And Pan not dead ! " We are nourished upon science ; Will ye pay yourselves with words ? 52 A MODERN FAUST. Gladly ^vill we yield affiance To what grand order she affords For use, for wonder ; yet she knows No whit whence all the vision flows ! . Ah ! sister, brother, poets, ye I Thrill to a low minstrelsy, " Never any worldling heard, Ye who cherish the password, Allowing you, with babes, to go AVithin the Presence-chamber so Familiarly to meet your queen ; For she is of your kith and kin ! Ye are like him of old who heard In convent garden the white bird ; J A hundred years flew over him 1 Unheeding ! All the world was dim ; At length, unknown, he homeward came To brethren, now no more the same ; Then, at evening of that day, Two white birds heavenward flew away ; Pan is not dead !