Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill, [1]

Complain no more; for these, O heart, Direct the random of the will As rhymes direct the rage of art.

The lute's fixt fret, that runs athwart The strain and purpose of the string, For governance and nice consort Doth bar his willful wavering.

The dark hath many dear avails; The dark distils divinest dews; The dark is rich with nightingales, [11]

With dreams, and with the heavenly Muse.

Bleeding with thorns of petty strife, I'll ease (as lovers do) my smart With sonnets to my lady Life Writ red in issues from the heart.

What grace may lie within the chill Of favor frozen fast in scorn!

When Good's a-freeze, we call it Ill!

This rosy Time is glacier-born.

Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill, [21]

Complain thou not, O heart; for these Bank-in the current of the will To uses, arts, and charities.

____ Baltimore, 1879-80.

Notes: Opposition

As an introduction to this poem I quote a sentence from Dr. Gates's excellent essay: "As we look at the circ.u.mstances of his life, let us carry with us the strains of this poem, which interprets the use of crosses, interferences, and attempted thwartings of one's purpose; for the ethical value of Lanier's life and writings can be fully understood only by remembering how much he overcame and how heroically he persisted in manly work in his chosen art through years of such broken health as would have driven most men to the inert, self-indulgent life of an invalid.

The superb power of will which he displayed is a lesson as valuable as the n.o.ble poems which it ill.u.s.trates and enforces."

Marsh Song -- At Sunset

Over the monstrous shambling sea, [1]

Over the Caliban sea, Bright Ariel-cloud, thou lingerest: Oh wait, oh wait, in the warm red West, -- Thy Prospero I'll be.

Over the humped and fishy sea, Over the Caliban sea, O cloud in the West, like a thought in the heart Of pardon, loose thy wing, and start, And do a grace for me.

Over the huge and huddling sea, [11]

Over the Caliban sea, Bring hither my brother Antonio, -- Man, -- My injurer: night breaks the ban; Brother, I pardon thee.

____ Baltimore, 1879-80.

Notes: Marsh Song -- At Sunset

At the first reading, no doubt, this song appears indistinct, though poetical.

On a second reading, however, with Shakespeare's 'Tempest' fresh in mind, it seems, as it is, highly artistic; and we wonder at the happy use made of the Shakespearean characters: the gracious, forgiving Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan; Antonio, his usurping brother, forgiven notwithstanding; Caliban, the savage, deformed, fish-like slave; and Ariel, the ministering spirit of the air.

With 'At Sunset' compare Lanier's 'Evening Song', another and a more agreeable sunset picture.

A Ballad of Trees and the Master

Into the woods my Master went, [1]

Clean forspent, forspent.

Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame.

But the olives they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him: The thorn-tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content.

Out of the woods my Master came, [11]

Content with death and shame.

When Death and Shame would woo Him last, From under the trees they drew Him last: 'Twas on a tree they slew Him -- last When out of the woods He came.

____ Baltimore, November, 1880.

Notes: A Ballad of Trees and the Master

In the 'Introduction' (p. x.x.xi ff. [Part III]) I have tried to show the intensity and the breadth of Lanier's love of nature in general.

President Gates gives a separate section to Lanier's love of trees and plant-life; and, after quoting some lines on the soothing and inspiring companionship of trees, thus speaks of our Ballad: "This ministration of trees to a mind and heart 'forspent with shame and grief' finds its culmination in the pathetic lines upon that olive-garden near Jerusalem, which to those of us who have sat within its shade must always seem the most sacred spot on earth.

The almost mystic exaltation of the power of poetic sympathy which inspired these intense lines, 'Into the Woods my Master went', may impair their religious effect for many devout souls.

But to many others this short poem will express most wonderfully that essential human-heartedness in the Son of Man, our Divine Saviour, which made Him one with us in His need of the quiet, sympathetic ministrations of nature -- perhaps the heart of the reason why this olive-grove was 'the place where He was wont to go' for prayer."

See St. Luke 22:39.

For Lanier's other poems on Christ see 'Introduction', p. x.x.xvii f. [Part III].

Sunrise

In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain [1]

Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.

The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting, Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep.

Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep, Upstarted, by twos and by threes a.s.sembling: The gates of sleep fell a-trembling [11]

Like as the lips of a lady that forth falter "yes", Shaken with happiness: The gates of sleep stood wide.