Statio Sexta

Ha! snow     Upon the crags!     How slow     The winter lags     Ha, little lamb upon the crags,     How fearlessly you go!     Take care     Up there,     You little woolly atom! On and on     He goes . . . tis steep . . . Hillo!     My friend is gone,     Friend orthodoxo-logical,     He could not argue with a waterfall!     And here it is, my Aber . . . Stay!     Ill cross     This way:     The moss     Upon these stones is dripping with the spray,     And now one turn, left hand,     And I shall stand     Before the very rock: not yet . . . not yet!     O let me think ! No, no ! I dont forget     (Forget!) but this is sacred . . . peace, then, peace!     Release     From all dead things, that serve not to present     At my souls grate the lovely innocent.     He had heard some idle talk     Of how his father had great strength to walk     And climb;     And so he thought that he must lose no time,     But instantly addressed     His little breast     To that tall cliff     Smooth, perpendicular, too stiff     For cragsman from the wildest Hebrides,     But he did bend his knees,     And spread his little arms, and laid     His body to the work, and made     Such genuine effort of ascent     As though he meant     To reach the top, of course, and had no doubt     Of what he was about,     So serious, no passing whim,     O, no! Twas thus his father clomb     And he had come     To climb like him.     And is he here?     O Braddan, are you here?     O darling, have no fear!     Speak to me! breathe some fond thing in my ear     But what should Braddan know     Of me, and what I am,     And what I want, the little lamb!     What should he know,     Who four brief years ago     Knew only what a little child should     Should some kind angel, who doth teach my child,     Some angel with the love-deep eyes,     Some angel charged to keep him undefiled,     Hear my sad cries,     And bring him unto me,     Is my whole heart a thing for him to see?     Am I prepared that his sweet honesty     Should search it through and through?     O, eyes of honest blue!     O, fearless eyes!     O, mild surprise!     O, is there one, one chamber of my heart     Thats fit     For him to sit     Therein, till it is time to part?     Or could I come to him?     No matter where, Swim,     Swim the dark river, and be there?     Could a deep acquiescence     Convey me to his presence?     And if it could,     What were it after all     But as a young prince stood     Upon the city wall,     And saw his foster-father at the gate,     And wondered at his mean estate,     And made no sign     Unto the warders? But my Braddans mine!     Mine! mine! and nones beside!     O helpless men, has everything been tried?     Where does the secret bide?     Is it a simple thing perhaps?     Yea, after all, a very simple thing,     That through the lapse     Of all the ages any tide     Might bring,     Nay, every tide has brought     Up to the level of our thought?     Is the blest converse that I crave     The function of a faculty we have,     But know not how to use, being, by some dark mischance     Time-prisoned in a rooted ignorance?     A faculty which, if no God forbad it,     An accident might bring to light,     And some one, somewhere, waking in the night,     Would know he had it.     But we are cumbered with our egotisms;     A thousand prisms,     Hung round our souls, refract the single ray,     That else would show us instantly the way.     So even now, when my sad heart aspires     To height of paramount desires,     These verses mock it     With their rhyme-jangles, frustrate as a rocket,     That mounts, and breaks, and falls in coloured fading fire     A curse     Upon the impotent verse!     Yet, no!     Not so, It may be that in these     The soul shall yet win something more than ease     For song is of the essence, and who sings     Touches the central springs,     Ah, vain imaginings!     Let be! let be!     O Braddan, pity me!     Yes, yes!     I know there is another way, press, press,     And I will press, sweet Braddan.     Sink thought sink, sink     To think     Is but to madden     Stop, heart!     You have no part     In this, die, soul:     Die, die! it must be soon,     The barriers but a film; one gasp, and I shall swoon     Into his arms,     Braddan! why, Braddan! see, I keep my tryst,     O God! O Christ!     That snow     Is very slow     To disappear: how winter lags!     I see the darn     Upon the crags     But nowhere can I see the little lamb