Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (130 page)

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

Hark,
said the dying man
,
and sighed
,

To that complaining tone—

Like sprite condemned, each eventide,

To walk the world alone.

At sunset, when the air is still,

I hear it creep from yonder hill:

It breathes upon me, dead and chill,

A moment, and is gone.

My son, it minds me of a day

Left half a life behind,

That I have prayed to put away

For ever from my mind.

But bitter memory will not die:

It haunts my soul when none is nigh:

I hear its whisper in the sigh

Of that complaining wind.

And now in death my soul is fain

To tell the tale of fear

That hidden in my breast hath lain

Through many a weary year:

Yet time would fail to utter all—

The evil spells that held me thrall,

And thrust my life from fall to fall,

Thou needest not to hear.

The spells that bound me with a chain,

Sin’s stern behests to do,

Till Pleasure’s self, invoked in vain,

A heavy burden grew—

Till from my spirit’s fevered eye,

A hunted thing, I seemed to fly

Through the dark woods that underlie

Yon mountain-range of blue.

Deep in those woods I found a vale

No sunlight visiteth,

Nor star, nor wandering moonbeam pale;

Where never comes the breath

Of summer-breeze—there in mine ear,

Even as I lingered half in fear,

I heard a whisper, cold and clear,

“This is the gate of Death.

“O bitter is it to abide

In weariness alway:

At dawn to sigh for eventide,

At eventide for day.

Thy noon hath fled: thy sun hath shone.

The brightness of thy day is gone:

What need to lag and linger on

Till life be cold and gray?

“O well,” it said, “beneath yon pool,

In some still cavern deep,

The fevered brain might slumber cool,

The eyes forget to weep:

Within that goblet’s mystic rim

Are draughts of healing, stored for him

Whose heart is sick, whose sight is dim,

Who prayeth but to sleep!”

The evening-breeze went moaning by,

Like mourner for the dead,

And stirred, with shrill complaining sigh,

The tree-tops overhead:

My guardian-angel seemed to stand

And mutely wave a warning hand—

With sudden terror all unmanned,

I turned myself and fled!

A cottage-gate stood open wide:

Soft fell the dying ray

On two fair children, side by side,

That rested from their play—

Together bent the earnest head,

As ever and anon they read

From one dear Book: the words they said

Come back to me to-day.

Like twin cascades on mountain-stair

Together wandered down

The ripples of the golden hair,

The ripples of the brown:

While, through the tangled silken haze,

Blue eyes looked forth in eager gaze,

More starlike than the gems that blaze

About a monarch’s crown.

My son, there comes to each an hour

When sinks the spirit’s pride—

When weary hands forget their power

The strokes of death to guide:

In such a moment, warriors say,

A word the panic-rout may stay,

A sudden charge redeem the day

And turn the living tide.

I could not see, for blinding tears,

The glories of the west:

A heavenly music filled mine ears,

A heavenly peace my breast.

“Come unto Me, come unto Me—

All ye that labour, unto Me—

Ye heavy-laden, come to Me—

And I will give you rest.”

The night drew onward: thin and blue

The evening mists arise

To bathe the thirsty land in dew,

As erst in Paradise—

While, over silent field and town,

The deep blue vault of heaven looked down;

Not, as of old, in angry frown,

But bright with angels’ eyes.

Blest day!
Then first I heard the voice

That since hath oft beguiled

These eyes from tears, and bid rejoice

This heart with anguish wild—

Thy mother, boy, thou hast not known;

So soon she left me here to moan—

Left me to weep and watch, alone,

Our one beloved child.

Though, parted from my aching sight,

Like homeward-speeding dove,

She passed into the perfect light

That floods the world above;

Yet our twin spirits, well I know—

Though one abide in pain below—

Love, as in summers long ago,

And evermore shall love.

So with a glad and patient heart

I move toward mine end:

The streams, that flow awhile apart,

Shall both in ocean blend.

I dare not weep: I can but bless

The Love that pitied my distress,

And lent me, in Life’s wilderness,

So sweet and true a friend.

But if there be—O if there be

A truth in what they say,

That angel-forms we cannot see

Go with us on our way;

Then surely she is with me here,

I dimly feel her spirit near—

The morning-mists grow thin and clear,

And Death brings in the Day.

April, 1868.
 

SOLITUDE.

I love the stillness of the wood:

I love the music of the rill:

I love to couch in pensive mood

Upon some silent hill.

Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,

The silver-crested ripples pass;

And, like a mimic brook, the breeze

Whispers among the grass.

Here from the world I win release,

Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,

Break in to mar the holy peace

Of this great solitude.

Here may the silent tears I weep

Lull the vexed spirit into rest,

As infants sob themselves to sleep

Upon a mother’s breast.

But when the bitter hour is gone,

And the keen throbbing pangs are still,

Oh sweetest then to couch alone

Upon some silent hill!

To live in joys that once have been,

To put the cold world out of sight,

And deck life’s drear and barren scene

With hues of rainbow-light.

For what to man the gift of breath,

If sorrow be his lot below;

If all the day that ends in death

Be dark with clouds of woe?

Shall the poor transport of an hour

Repay long years of sore distress—

The fragrance of a lonely flower

Make glad the wilderness?

Ye golden hours of Life’s young spring,

Of innocence, of love and truth!

Bright, beyond all imagining,

Thou fairy-dream of youth!

I’d give all wealth that years have piled,

The slow result of Life’s decay,

To be once more a little child

For one bright summer-day.

March 16, 1853.

FAR AWAY.

He stept so lightly to the land,

All in his manly pride:

He kissed her cheek, he clasped her hand;

Yet still she glanced aside.

“Too gay he seems,” she darkly dreams,

“Too gallant and too gay,

To think of me—poor simple me—

When he is far away!”

“I bring my Love this goodly pearl

Across the seas,” he said:

“A gem to deck the dearest girl

That ever sailor wed!”

She holds it tight: her eyes are bright:

Her throbbing heart would say

“He thought of me—he thought of me—

When he was far away!”

The ship has sailed into the West:

Her ocean-bird is flown:

A dull dead pain is in her breast,

And she is weak and lone:

But there’s a smile upon her face,

A smile that seems to say

“He’ll think of me—he’ll think of me—

When he is far away!

“Though waters wide between us glide,

Our lives are warm and near:

No distance parts two faithful hearts—

Two hearts that love so dear:

And I will trust my sailor-lad,

For ever and a day,

To think of me—to think of me—

When he is far away!”