Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Beyond waking, dreaming and deep sleep is Turya. Here there is a complete change of condition; the knowledge formerly sought in the external world is now present within the consciousness; the ideations of universal mind are manifest in spiritual intuitions. The entrance to this state is through Jagrata, Svapna, and Sushupti, and here that spiritual unity is realized, the longing for which draws the soul upwards through the shadowy worlds of dreaming and deep sleep. I have thought it necessary to supplement the brief statement made in the previous number by some further remarks upon concentration, for the term applied without reference to the Turya state is liable to be misunderstood and a false impression might arise that the spiritual is something to be sought for outside ourselves. The waking, dreaming and deep sleep states correspond to objective worlds, while Turya is subjective, including in itself all ideals. If this is so, we can never seek for the true beyond ourselves; the things we suppose we shall come sometime realize in spiritual consciousness must be present in it now, for to spirit all things are eternally present. Advance to this state is measured by the realization of moods: we are on the path when there surges up in the innermost recesses of our being the cry of the long imprisoned souls of men; we are then on our way to unity.

The Bhagavad-Gita which is a treatise on Raj Yoga, gives prominence to three aspects of concentration. Liberation is attained by means of action, by devotion, by spiritual discernment; these aspects correspond respectively to three qualities in man and nature, known as Tamas, Rajas and Satva. The Tamas is the gross, material or dark quality; Rajas is active and passional; the attributes of Satva are light, peace, happiness, wisdom. No one while in the body can escape from the action of the three qualities, for they are brought about by nature which is compounded of them. We have to recognize this, and to continue action, aspiration and thought, impersonally or with some universal motive, in the manner nature accomplishes these things. Not one of these methods can be laid aside or ignored, for the Spirit moveth within all, these are its works, and we have to learn to identify ourselves with the moving forces of nature.

Having always this idea of brotherhood or unity in mind, by action-- which we may interpret as service in some humanitarian movement-- we purify the Tamas.

By a pure motive, which is the Philosopher's Stone, a potent force in the alchemy of nature, we change the gross into the subtle, we initiate that evolution which shall finally make the vesture of the soul of the rare, long-sought-for, primordial substance. Devotion is the highest possibility for the Rajas; that quality which is ever attracted and seduced by the beautiful mayas of fame, wealth and power, should be directed to that which it really seeks for, the eternal universal life; the channels through which it must flow outwards are the souls of other men, it reaches the One Life through the many. Spiritual discernment should be the aim of the Satva, "there is not anything, whether animate or inanimate which is without me," says Krishna, and we should seek for the traces of THAT in all things, looking upon it as the cause of the alchemical changes in the Tamas, as that which widens the outflowing love of the Rajas. By a continued persistence of this subtle analytic faculty, we begin gradually to perceive that those things which we formerly thought were causes, are in reality not causes at all; that there is but one cause for everything, "The Atma by which this universe is pervaded. By reason of its proximity alone the body, the organs, Manas and Buddhi apply themselves to their proper objects as if applied (by some one else)." (The Crest Jewel of Wisdom). By uniting these three moods, action, devotion and spiritual discernment, into one mood, and keeping it continuously alight, we are accompanying the movements of spirit to some extent. This harmonious action of all the qualities of our nature, for universal purposes without personal motive, is in synchronous vibration with that higher state spoken of at the beginning of the paper; therefore we are at one with it. "When the wise man perceiveth that the only agents of action are these qualities, and comprehends that which is superior to the qualities of goodness, action and indifference--which are co-existent with the body, it is released from rebirth and death, old age and pain, and drinketh of the water of immortality."

--February 15, 1893

Verse by AE in the "Irish Theosophist"

Contents:

1--"While the yellow constellations...." (untitled) 2--Om 3--Krishna 4--Pain 5--Three Councelors 6--Dusk 7--Dawn 8--Desire 9--Deep Sleep 10--Day 11--To A Poet 12--The Place of Rest 13--Comfort 14--H.P.B. (In Memoriam.) 15--By the Margin of the Great Deep 16--The Secret 17--Dust 18--Magic 19--Immortality 20--The Man to the Angel 21--The Robing of the King 22--Brotherhood 23--In the Womb 24--In the Garden of God 25--The Breath of Light 26--The Free 27--The Magi 28--W.Q.J. (?) 29--From the Book of the Eagle 30--The Protest of Love 31--The King Initiate 32--The Dream of the Children 33--The Chiefs of the Air 34--The Palaces of the Sidhe 35--The Voice of the Wise 36--A Dawn Song 37--The Fountain of Shadowy Beauty 38--A New Earth 39--Duality

While the yellow constellations shine with pale and tender glory, In the lilac-scented stillness, let us listen to Earth's story. All the flow'rs like moths a-flutter glimmer rich with dusky hues, Everywhere around us seem to fall from nowhere the sweet dews. Through the drowsy lull, the murmur, stir of leaf and sleep hum We can feel a gay heart beating, hear a magic singing come. Ah, I think that as we linger lighting at Earth's olden fire Fitful gleams in clay that perish, little sparks that soon expire, So the mother brims her gladness from a life beyond her own, From whose darkness as a fountain up the fiery days are thrown Starry worlds which wheel in splendour, sunny systems, histories, Vast and nebulous traditions told in the eternities: And our list'ning mother whispers through her children all the story: Come, the yellow constellations shine with pale and tender glory!

--October 15, 1892

Om

Faint grew the yellow buds of light
Far flickering beyond the snows,
As leaning o'er the shadowy white
Morn glimmered like a pale primrose.

Within an Indian vale below
A child said "Om" with tender heart,
Watching with loving eyes the glow
In dayshine fade and night depart.

The word which Brahma at his dawn
Outbreathes and endeth at his night;
Whose tide of sound so rolling on
Gives birth to orbs of golden light;

And beauty, wisdom, love, and youth,
By its enchantment, gathered grow
In age-long wandering to the truth,
Through many a cycle's ebb and flow.

And here all lower life was stilled,
The child was lifted to the Wise:
A strange delight his spirit filled,
And Brahm looked from his shining eyes.

--December 15, 1892

Krishna

The East was crowned with snow-cold bloom
And hung with veils of pearly fleece;
They died away into the gloom,
Vistas of peace, and deeper peace.

And earth and air and wave and fire
In awe and breathless silence stood,
For One who passed into their choir
Linked them in mystic brotherhood.

Twilight of amethyst, amid
The few strange stars that lit the heights,
Where was the secret spirit hid,
Where was Thy place, O Light of Lights?

The flame of Beauty far in space--
When rose the fire, in Thee? in Me?
Which bowed the elemental race
To adoration silently.

--February 15, 1893

Pain

Men have made them gods of love, Sun gods, givers of the rain, Deities of hill and grove, I have made a god of Pain.

Of my god I know this much, And in singing I repeat, Though there's anguish in his touch Yet his soul within is sweet.

--March 15, 1893

Three Counselors

It was the fairy of the place
Moving within a little light,
Who touched with dim and shadowy grace
The conflict at its fever height.

It seemed to whisper "quietness,"
Then quietly itself was gone;
Yet echoes of its mute caress
Still rippled as the years flowed on.

It was the Warrior within
Who called "Awake! prepare for fight,
"Yet lose not memory in the din;
"Make of thy gentleness thy might.

"Make of thy silence words to shake
"The long-enthroned kings of earth;
"Make of thy will the force to break
"Their towers of wantonness and mirth."

It was the wise all-seeing soul
Who counseled neither war nor peace
"Only be thou thyself that goal
"In which the wars of time shall cease."

--April 15, 1893

Dusk

Dusk wraps the village in its dim caress; Each chimney's vapour, like a thin grey rod, Mounting aloft through miles of quietness, Pillars the skies of God.

Far up they break or seem to break their line, Mingling their nebulous crests that bow and nod Under the light of those fierce stars that shine Out of the house of God.

Only in clouds and dreams I felt those souls In the abyss, each fire hid in its clod, From which in clouds and dreams the spirit rolls Into the vast of God.

--May 15, 1893

Dawn

Still as the holy of holies breathes the vast, Within its crystal depths the stars grow dim, Fire on the altar of the hills at last Burns on the shadowy rim.

Moment that holds all moments, white upon The verge it trembles; then like mists of flowers Break from the fairy fountain of the dawn The hues of many hours.

Thrown downward from that high companionship Of dreaming inmost heart with inmost heart, Into the common daily ways I slip My fire from theirs apart.

--June 15, 1893

Desire

With Thee a moment! then what dreams have play! Traditions of eternal toil arise, Search for the high, austere and lonely way, Where Brahma treads through the eternities. Ah, in the soul what memories arise!

And with what yearning inexpressible, Rising from long forgetfulness I turn To Thee, invisible, unrumoured, still: White for Thy whiteness all desires burn! Ah, with what longing once again I turn!

--August 15, 1893

Deep Sleep

Heart-hidden from the outer things I rose, The spirit woke anew in nightly birth Into the vastness where forever glows The star-soul of the earth.

There all alone in primal ecstasy, Within her depths where revels never tire, The olden Beauty shines; each thought of me Is veined through with its fire.

And all my thoughts are throngs of living souls; They breath in me, heart unto heart allied With joy undimmed, though when the morning tolls The planets may divide.

--September 15, 1893

Day

In day from some titanic past it seems As if a thread divine of memory runs; Born ere the Mighty One began his dreams, Or yet were stars and suns.

But here an iron will has fixed the bars; Forgetfulness falls on earth's myriad races, No image of the proud and morning stars Looks at us from their faces.

Yet yearning still to reach to those dim heights, Each dream remembered is a burning-glass, Where through to darkness from the light of lights Its rays in splendour pass.

--September 15, 1893

To A Poet

Oh, be not led away.
Lured by the colour of the sun-rich day.
The gay romances of song
Unto the spirit-life doth not belong.
Though far-between the hours
In which the Master of Angelic Powers
Lightens the dusk within
The Holy of Holies; be it thine to win
Rare vistas of white light,
Half-parted lips, through which the Infinite
Murmurs her ancient story;
Hearkening to whom the wandering planets hoary
Waken primeval fires,
With deeper rapture in celestial choirs
Breathe, and with fleeter motion
Wheel in their orbits through the surgeless ocean.
So, hearken thou like these,
Intent on her, mounting by slow degrees,
Until thy song's elation
Echoes her multitudinous meditation.

--November 15, 1893

The Place of Rest

--The soul is its own witness and its own refuge.

Unto the deep the deep heart goes.
It lays its sadness nigh the breast:
Only the mighty mother knows
The wounds that quiver unconfessed.

It seeks a deeper silence still;
It folds itself around with peace,
Where thoughts alike of good or ill
In quietness unfostered, cease.

It feels in the unwounding vast
For comfort for its hopes and fears:
The mighty mother bows at last;
She listens to her children's tears.

Where the last anguish deepens--there--
The fire of beauty smites through pain,
A glory moves amid despair,
The Mother takes her child again.

--December 15, 1893

Comfort

Dark head by the fireside brooding,
Sad upon your ears
Whirlwinds of the earth intruding
Sound in wrath and tears:

Tender-hearted, in your lonely
Sorrow I would fain
Comfort you, and say that only
Gods could feel such pain.

Only spirits know such longing
For the far away;
And the fiery fancies thronging
Rise not out of clay.

Keep the secret sense celestial
Of the starry birth;
Though about you call the bestial
Voices of the earth.

If a thousand ages since
Hurled us from the throne:
Then a thousand ages wins
Back again our own.

Sad one, dry away your tears:
Sceptred you shall rise,
Equal mid the crystal spheres
With seraphs kingly wise.

--February, 1894

H. P. B. (In Memoriam.)

Though swift the days flow from her day,
No one has left her day unnamed:
We know what light broke from her ray
On us, who in the truth proclaimed

Grew brother with the stars and powers
That stretch away--away to light,
And fade within the primal hours,
And in the wondrous First unite.

We lose with her the right to scorn
The voices scornful of her truth:
With her a deeper love was born
For those who filled her days with ruth.

To her they were not sordid things:
In them sometimes--her wisdom said--
The Bird of Paradise had wings;
It only dreams, it is not dead.

We cannot for forgetfulness
Forego the reverence due to them,
Who wear at times they do not guess
The sceptre and the diadem.

With wisdom of the olden time
She made the hearts of dust to flame;
And fired us with the hope sublime
Our ancient heritage to claim;

That turning from the visible,
By vastness unappalled nor stayed,
Our wills might rule beside that Will
By which the tribal stars are swayed;

And entering the heroic strife,
Tread in the way their feet have trod
Who move within a vaster life,
Sparks in the Fire--Gods amid God.

--August 15, 1894

By the Margin of the Great Deep

When the breath of twilight blows to flame the misty skies,
All its vapourous sapphire, violet glow and silver gleam
With their magic flood me through the gateway of the eyes;
I am one with the twilight's dream.

When the trees and skies and fields are one in dusky mood,
Every heart of man is rapt within the mother's breast:
Full of peace and sleep and dreams in the vasty quietude,
I am one with their hearts at rest.

From our immemorial joys of hearth and home and love,
Strayed away along the margin of the unknown tide,
All its reach of soundless calm can thrill me far above
Word or touch from the lips beside.

Aye, and deep, and deep, and deeper let me drink and draw
From the olden Fountain more than light or peace or dream,
Such primeval being as o'erfills the heart with awe,
Growing one with its silent stream.

--March 15, 1894

The Secret

One thing in all things have I seen:
One thought has haunted earth and air;
Clangour and silence both have been
Its palace chambers. Everywhere

I saw the mystic vision flow,
And live in men, and woods, and streams,
Until I could no longer know
The dream of life from my own dreams.

Sometimes it rose like fire in me,
Within the depths of my own mind,
And spreading to infinity,
It took the voices of the wind.

It scrawled the human mystery,
Dim heraldry--on light and air;
Wavering along the starry sea,
I saw the flying vision there.

Each fire that in God's temple lit
Burns fierce before the inner shrine,
Dimmed as my fire grew near to it,
And darkened at the light of mine.

At last, at last, the meaning caught:
When spirit wears its diadem,
It shakes its wondrous plumes of thought,
And trails the stars along with them.

--April 15, 1894

Dust

I heard them in their sadness say,
"The earth rebukes the thought of God:
We are but embers wrapt in clay
A little nobler than the sod."

But I have touched the lips of clay--
Mother, thy rudest sod to me
Is thrilled with fire of hidden day,
And haunted by all mystery.

--May 15, 1894

Magic --After reading the Upanishads

Out of the dusky chamber of the brain Flows the imperial will through dream on dream; The fires of life around it tempt and gleam; The lights of earth behind it fade and wane.

Passed beyond beauty tempting dream on dream, The pure will seeks the hearthold of the light; Sounds the deep "OM," the mystic word of might; Forth from the hearthold breaks the living stream.

Passed out beyond the deep heart music-filled, The kingly Will sits on the ancient throne, Wielding the sceptre, fearless, free, alone, Knowing in Brahma all it dared and willed.

--June 15, 1894

Immortality

We must pass like smoke, or live within the spirits' fire;
For we can no more than smoke unto the flame return.
If our thought has changed to dream, or will into desire,
As smoke we vanish o'er the fires that burn.

Lights of infinite pity star the grey dusk of our days;
Surely here is soul; with it we have eternal breath;
In the fire of love we live or pass by many ways,
By unnumbered ways of dream to death.

--July 15, 1894

The Man to the Angel

I have wept a million tears;
Pure and proud one, where are thine?
What the gain of all your years
That undimmed in beauty shine?

All your beauty cannot win
Truth we learn in pain and sighs;
You can never enter in
To the Circle of the Wise.

They are but the slaves of light
Who have never known the gloom,
And between the dark and bright
Willed in freedom their own doom.

Think not in your pureness there
That our pain but follows sin;
There are fires for those who dare
Seek the Throne of Might to win.

Pure one, from your pride refrain;
Dark and lost amid the strife,
I am myriad years of pain
Nearer to the fount of life.

When defiance fierce is thrown
At the God to whom you bow,
Rest the lips of the Unknown
Tenderest upon the brow.

--September 15, 1894

Songs of Olden Magic--II.

The Robing of the King --"His candle shined upon my head, and by his light I walked through darkness."--Job, xxix. 3

On the bird of air blue-breasted
glint the rays of gold,
And a shadowy fleece above us
waves the forest old,
Far through rumorous leagues of midnight
stirred by breezes warm.
See the old ascetic yonder,
Ah, poor withered form!
Where he crouches wrinkled over
by unnumbered years
Through the leaves the flakes of moonfire
fall like phantom tears.
At the dawn a kingly hunter
passed proud disdain,
Like a rainbow-torrent scattered
flashed his royal train.
Now the lonely one unheeded
seeks earth's caverns dim,
Never king or princes will robe them
radiantly as him.
Mid the deep enfolding darkness,
follow him, oh seer,
While the arrow will is piercing
fiery sphere on sphere.
Through the blackness leaps and sparkles
gold and amethyst,
Curling, jetting and dissolving
in a rainbow mist.
In the jewel glow and lunar
radiance rise there
One, a morning star in beauty,
young, immortal, fair.
Sealed in heavy sleep, the spirit
leaves its faded dress,
Unto fiery youth returning
out of weariness.
Music as for one departing,
joy as for a king,
Sound and swell, and hark! above him
cymbals triumphing.
Fire an aureole encircling
suns his brow with gold
Like to one who hails the morning
on the mountains old.
Open mightier vistas changing
human loves to scorns,
And the spears of glory pierce him
like a Crown of Thorns.
As the sparry rays dilating
o'er his forehead climb
Once again he knows the Dragon
Wisdom of the prime.
High and yet more high to freedom
as a bird he springs,
And the aureole outbreathing,
gold and silver wings
Plume the brow and crown the seraph.
Soon his journey done
He will pass our eyes that follow,
sped beyond the sun.
None may know the darker radiance,
King, will there be thine.
Rapt above the Light and hidden
in the Dark Divine.

--September 15, 1895

Brotherhood

Twilight a blossom grey in shadowy valleys dwells: Under the radiant dark the deep blue-tinted bells In quietness reimage heaven within their blooms, Sapphire and gold and mystery. What strange perfumes, Out of what deeps arising, all the flower-bells fling, Unknowing the enchanted odorous song they sing! Oh, never was an eve so living yet: the wood Stirs not but breathes enraptured quietude. Here in these shades the Ancient knows itself, the Soul, And out of slumber waking starts unto the goal. What bright companions nod and go along with it! Out of the teeming dark what dusky creatures flit, That through the long leagues of the island night above Come wandering by me, whispering and beseeching love,-- As in the twilight children gather close and press Nigh and more nigh with shadowy tenderness, Feeling they know not what, with noiseless footsteps glide Seeking familiar lips or hearts to dream beside. Oh, voices, I would go with you, with you, away, Facing once more the radiant gateways of the day; With you, with you, what memories arise, and nigh Trampling the crowded figures of the dawn go by; Dread deities, the giant powers that warred on men Grow tender brothers and gay children once again; Fades every hate away before the Mother's breast Where all the exiles of the heart return to rest.

--July 15, 1895

In the Womb

Still rests the heavy share on the dark soil:
Upon the dull black mould the dew-damp lies:
The horse waits patient: from his lonely toil
The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes.

The unbudding hedgerows, dark against day's fires,
Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim
Over the unregarding city's spires
The lonely beauty shines alone for him.

And day by day the dawn or dark enfolds,
And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see
How in her womb the Mighty Mother moulds
The infant spirit for Eternity.

--January 15, 1895

In the Garden of God

Within the iron cities
One walked unknown for years,
In his heart the pity of pities
That grew for human tears

When love and grief were ended
The flower of pity grew;
By unseen hands 'twas tended
And fed with holy dew.

Though in his heart were barred in
The blooms of beauty blown;
Yet he who grew the garden
Could call no flower his own.

For by the hands that watered,
The blooms that opened fair
Through frost and pain were scattered
To sweeten the dull air.

--February 15, 1895

The Breath of Light

From the cool and dark-lipped furrows
breathes a dim delight
Aureoles of joy encircle
every blade of grass
Where the dew-fed creatures silent
and enraptured pass:
And the restless ploughman pauses,
turns, and wondering
Deep beneath his rustic habit
finds himself a king;
For a fiery moment looking
with the eyes of God
Over fields a slave at morning
bowed him to the sod.
Blind and dense with revelation
every moment flies,
And unto the Mighty Mother
gay, eternal, rise
All the hopes we hold, the gladness,
dreams of things to be.
One of all they generations,
Mother, hails to thee!
Hail! and hail! and hail for ever:
though I turn again
For they joy unto the human
vestures of pain.
I, thy child, who went forth radiant
in the golden prime
Find thee still the mother-hearted
through my night in time;
Find in thee the old enchantment,
there behind the veil
Where the Gods my brothers linger,
Hail! for ever, Hail!

--May 15, 1895

The Free

They bathed in the fire-flooded fountains;
Life girdled them round and about;
They slept in the clefts of the mountains:
The stars called them forth with a shout.

They prayed, but their worship was only
The wonder at nights and at days,
As still as the lips of the lonely
Though burning with dumbness of praise.

No sadness of earth ever captured
Their spirits who bowed at the shrine;
They fled to the Lonely enraptured
And hid in the Darkness Divine.

At twilight as children may gather
They met at the doorway of death,
The smile of the dark hidden Father
The Mother with magical breath.

Untold of in song or in story,
In days long forgotten of men,
Their eyes were yet blind with a glory
Time will not remember again.

--November 15, 1895

Songs of Olden Magic--IV

The Magi

"The mountain was filled with the hosts of the Tuatha de Dannan." --Old Celtic Poem

See where the auras from the olden fountain
Starward aspire;
The sacred sign upon the holy mountain
Shines in white fire:
Waving and flaming yonder o'er the snows
The diamond light
Melts into silver or to sapphire glows
Night beyond night;
And from the heaven of heavens descends on earth
A dew divine.
Come, let us mingle in the starry mirth
Around the shrine!
Enchantress, mighty mother, to our home
In thee we press,
Thrilled by the fiery breath and wrapt in some
Vast tenderness
The homeward birds uncertain o'er their nest
Wheel in the dome,
Fraught with dim dreams of more enraptured rest,
Wheel in the dome,
But gather ye to whose undarkened eyes
The night is day:
Leap forth, Immortals, Birds of Paradise,
In bright array
Robed like the shining tresses of the sun;
And by his name
Call from his haunt divine the ancient one
Our Father Flame.
Aye, from the wonder-light that wraps the star,
Come now, come now;
Sun-breathing Dragon, ray thy lights afar,
Thy children bow;
Hush with more awe the breath; the bright-browed races
Are nothing worth
By those dread gods from out whose awful faces
The earth looks forth
Infinite pity, set in calm; their vision cast
Adown the years
Beholds how beauty burns away at last
Their children's tears.
Now while our hearts the ancient quietness
Floods with its tide,
The things of air and fire and height no less
In it abide;
And from their wanderings over sea and shore
They rise as one
Unto the vastness and with us adore
The midnight sun;
And enter the innumerable All,
And shine like gold,
And starlike gleam in the immortals' hall,
The heavenly fold,
And drink the sun-breaths from the mother's lips
Awhile--and then
Fail from the light and drop in dark eclipse
To earth again,
Roaming along by heaven-hid promontory
And valley dim.
Weaving a phantom image of the glory
They knew in Him.
Out of the fulness flow the winds, their son
Is heard no more,
Or hardly breathes a mystic sound along
The dreamy shore:
Blindly they move unknowing as in trance,
Their wandering
Is half with us, and half an inner dance
Led by the King.

--January 15, 1896

W. Q. J. *

O hero of the iron age, Upon thy grave we will not weep, Nor yet consume away in rage For thee and thy untimely sleep. Our hearts a burning silence keep.

O martyr, in these iron days One fate was sure for soul like thine: Well you foreknew but went your ways. The crucifixion is the sign, The meed of all the kingly line.

We may not mourn--though such a night Has fallen on our earthly spheres Bereft of love and truth and light As never since the dawn of years;-- For tears give birth alone to tears.

One wreath upon they grave we lay (The silence of our bitter thought, Words that would scorch their hearts of clay), And turn to learn what thou has taught, To shape our lives as thine was wrought.

--April 15, 1896

[* This is unsigned but is very possibly G.W. Russell's. It was a memoriam to William Quan Judge (W.Q.J), the leader of the American and European Theosophical Societies at the time, one of the original founders of the Theosophical Society, and close co-worker with H.P. Blavatsky.]

Fron the Book of the Eagle --[St. John, i. 1-33]

In the mighty Mother's bosom was the Wise With the mystic Father in aeonian night; Aye, for ever one with them though it arise Going forth to sound its hymn of light.

At its incantation rose the starry fane; At its magic thronged the myriad race of men; Life awoke that in the womb so long had lain To its cyclic labours once again.

'Tis the soul of fire within the heart of life; From its fiery fountain spring the will and thought; All the strength of man for deeds of love or strife, Though the darkness comprehend it not.

In the mystery written here John is but the life, the seer; Outcast from the life of light, Inly with reverted sight Still he scans with eager eyes The celestial mysteries. Poet of all far-seen things At his word the soul has wings, Revelations, symbols, dreams Of the inmost light which gleams.

The winds, the stars, and the skies though wrought By the one Fire-Self still know it not; And man who moves in the twilight dim Feels not the love that encircles him, Though in heart, on bosom, and eyelids press Lips of an infinite tenderness, He turns away through the dark to roam Nor heeds the fire in his hearth and home.

They whose wisdom everywhere Sees as through a crystal air The lamp by which the world is lit, And themselves as one with it; In whom the eye of vision swells, Who have in entranced hours Caught the word whose might compels All the elemental powers; They arise as Gods from men Like the morning stars again. They who seek the place of rest Quench the blood-heat of the breast, Grow ascetic, inward turning Trample down the lust from burning, Silence in the self the will For a power diviner still; To the fire-born Self alone The ancestral spheres are known.

Unto the poor dead shadows came Wisdom mantled about with flame; We had eyes that could see the light Born of the mystic Father's might. Glory radiant with powers untold And the breath of God around it rolled.

Life that moved in the deeps below Felt the fire in its bosom glow; Life awoke with the Light allied, Grew divinely stirred, and cried: "This is the Ancient of Days within, Light that is ere our days begin.

"Every power in the spirit's ken Springs anew in our lives again. We had but dreams of the heart's desire Beauty thrilled with the mystic fire. The white-fire breath whence springs the power Flows alone in the spirit's hour."

Man arose the earth he trod, Grew divine as he gazed on God: Light in a fiery whirlwind broke Out of the dark divine and spoke: Man went forth through the vast to tread By the spirit of wisdom charioted.

There came the learned of the schools Who measure heavenly things by rules, The sceptic, doubter, the logician, Who in all sacred things precision, Would mark the limit, fix the scope, "Art thou the Christ for whom we hope? Art thou a magian, or in thee Has the divine eye power to see?" He answered low to those who came, "Not this, nor this, nor this I claim. More than the yearning of the heart I have no wisdom to impart. I am the voice that cries in him Whose heart is dead, whose eyes are dim, 'Make pure the paths where through may run The light-streams from that golden one, The Self who lives within the sun.' As spake the seer of ancient days." The voices from the earthly ways Questioned him still: "What dost thou here, If neither prophet, king nor seer? What power is kindled by they might?" "I flow before the feet of Light: I am the purifying stream. But One of whom ye have no dream, Whose footsteps move among you still, Though dark, divine, invisible. Impelled by Him, before His ways I journey, though I dare not raise Even from the ground these eyes so dim Or look upon the feet of Him."

When the dead or dreamy hours
Like a mantle fall away,
Wakes the eye of gnostic powers
To the light of hidden day,

And the yearning heart within
Seeks the true, the only friend,
He who burdened with our sin
Loves and loves unto the end.

Ah, the martyr of the world,
With a face of steadfast peace
Round whose brow the light is curled:
'Tis the Lamb with golden fleece.

So they called of old the shining,
Such a face the sons of men
See, and all its life divining
Wake primeval fires again.

Such a face and such a glory
Passed before the eyes of John,
With a breath of olden story
Blown from ages long agone

Who would know the God in man. Deeper still must be his glance. Veil on veil his eye must scan For the mystic signs which tell If the fire electric fell On the seer in his trance: As his way he upward wings From all time-encircled things, Flames the glory round his head Like a bird with wings outspread. Gold and silver plumes at rest: Such a shadowy shining crest Round the hero's head reveals him To the soul that would adore, As the master-power that heals him And the fount of secret lore. Nature such a diadem Places on her royal line, Every eye that looks on them Knows the Sons of the Divine.

--April 15, 1896

The Protest of Love
"Those who there take refuge nevermore return."--Bhagavad Gita

Ere I lose myself in the vastness and drowse myself with the peace, While I gaze on the light and beauty afar from the dim homes of men, May I still feel the heart-pang and pity, love-ties that I would not release, May the voices of sorrow appealing call me back to their succour again.

Ere I storm with the tempest of power the thrones and dominions
of old,
Ere the ancient enchantment allures me to roam through the star-
misty skies,
I would go forth as one who has reaped well what harvest the earth
may unfold:
May my heart be o'erbrimmed with compassion, on my brow be the
crown of the wise.

I would go as the dove from the ark sent forth with wishes and prayers To return with the paradise-blossoms that bloom in the eden of light: When the deep star-chant of the seraphs I hear in the mystical airs May I capture one tone of their joy for the sad ones discrowned in the night.

Not alone, not alone would I go to my rest in the Heart of the Love: Were I tranced in the innermost beauty, the flame of its tenderest breath, I would still hear the plaint of the fallen recalling me back from above To go down to the side of the mourners who weep in the shadow of death.

--May 15, 1896

The King Initiate
"They took Iesous and scourged him."--St. John

Age after age the world has wept A joy supreme--I saw the hands Whose fiery radiations swept And burned away his earthly bands: And where they smote the living dyes Flashed like the plumes of paradise.

Their joys the heavy nations hush-- A form of purple glory rose Crowned with such rays of light as flush The white peaks on their towering snows: It held the magic wand that gave Rule over earth, air, fire and wave.

What sorrow makes the white cheeks wet: The mystic cross looms shadowy dim-- There where the fourfold powers have met And poured their living tides through him, The Son who hides his radiant crest To the dark Father's bosom pressed.

--June 15, 1896

The Dream of the Children

The children awoke in their dreaming
While earth lay dewy and still:
They followed the rill in its gleaming
To the heart-light of the hill.

Its sounds and sights were forsaking
The world as they faded in sleep,
When they heard a music breaking
Out from the heart-light deep.

It ran where the rill in its flowing
Under the star-light gay
With wonderful colour was glowing
Like the bubbles they blew in their play.

From the misty mountain under
Shot gleams of an opal star:
Its pathways of rainbow wonder
Rayed to their feet from afar.

From their feet as they strayed in the meadow
It led through caverned aisles,
Filled with purple and green light and shadow
For mystic miles on miles.

The children were glad; it was lonely
To play on the hill-side by day.
"But now," they said, "we have only
To go where the good people stray."

For all the hill-side was haunted
By the faery folk come again;
And down in the heart-light enchanted
Were opal-coloured men.

They moved like kings unattended
Without a squire or dame,
But they wore tiaras splendid
With feathers of starlight flame.

They laughed at the children over
And called them into the heart:
"Come down here, each sleepless rover:
We will show you some of our art."

And down through the cool of the mountain
The children sank at the call,
And stood in a blazing fountain
And never a mountain at all.

The lights were coming and going
In many a shining strand,
For the opal fire-kings were blowing
The darkness out of the land.

This golden breath was a madness
To set a poet on fire,
And this was a cure for sadness,
And that the ease of desire.

And all night long over Eri
They fought with the wand of light
And love that never grew weary
The evil things of night.

They said, as dawn glimmered hoary,
"We will show yourselves for an hour;"
And the children were changed to a glory
By the beautiful magic of power.

The fire-kings smiled on their faces
And called them by olden names,
Till they towered like the starry races
All plumed with the twilight flames.

They talked for a while together,
How the toil of ages oppressed;
And of how they best could weather
The ship of the world to its rest.

The dawn in the room was straying:
The children began to blink,
When they heard a far voice saying,
"You can grow like that if you think!"

The sun came in yellow and gay light:
They tumbled out of the cot,
And half of the dream went with daylight
And half was never forgot.

--July 15, 1896

The Chiefs of the Air

Their wise little heads with scorning
They laid the covers between:
"Do they think we stay here till morning?"
Said Rory and Aileen.

When out their bright eyes came peeping
The room was no longer there,
And they fled from the dark world creeping
Up a twilight cave of air.

They wore each one a gay dress,
In sleep, if you understand,
When earth puts off its grey dress
To robe it in faeryland.

Then loud o'erhead was a humming
As clear as the wood wind rings;
And here were the air-boats coming
And here the airy kings.

The magic barks were gleaming
And swift as the feathered throng:
With wonder-lights out-streaming
They blew themselves along.

And up on the night-wind swimming,
With pose and dart and rise,
Away went the air fleet skimming
Through a haze of jewel skies.

One boat above them drifted
Apart from the flying bands,
And an air-chief bent and lifted
The children with mighty hands.

The children wondered greatly,
Three air-chiefs met them there,
They were tall and grave and stately
With bodies of purple air.

A pearl light with misty shimmer
Went dancing about them all,
As the dyes of the moonbow glimmer
On a trembling waterfall.

The trail of the fleet to the far lands
Was wavy along the night,
And on through the sapphire starlands
They followed the wake of light.

"Look down, Aileen," said Rory,
"The earth's as thin as a dream."
It was lit by a sun-fire glory
Outraying gleam on gleam.

They saw through the dream-world under
Its heart of rainbow flame
Where the starry people wander;
Like gods they went and came.

The children looked without talking
Till Roray spoke again,
"Are those our folk who are walking
Like little shadow men?

"They don't see what is about them,
They look like pigmies small,
The world would be full without them
And they think themselves so tall!"

The magic bark went fleeting
Like an eagle on and on;
Till over its prow came beating
The foam-light of the dawn.

The children's dream grew fainter,
Three air-chiefs still were there,
But the sun the shadow painter
Drew five on the misty air.

The dream-light whirled bewild'ring,
An air-chief said, "You know.
You are living now, my children,
Ten thousand years ago."

They looked at themselves in the old light,
And mourned the days of the new
Where naught is but darkness or cold light,
Till a bell came striking through.

"We must go," said the wise young sages:
It was five at dawn by the chimes,
And they ran through a thousand ages
From the old De Danaan Times.

--August 15, 1896

The Palaces of the Sidhe

Two small sweet lives together
From dawn till the dew falls down,
They danced over rock and heather
Away from the dusty town.

Dark eyes like stars set in pansies,
Blue eyes like a hero's bold--
Their thoughts were all pearl-light fancies,
Their hearts in the age of gold.

They crooned o'er many a fable
And longed for the bright-capped elves,
The faery folk who are able
To make us faery ourselves.

A hush on the children stealing
They stood there hand in hand,
For the elfin chimes were pealing
Aloud in the underland.

And over the grey rock sliding,
A fiery colour ran,
And out of its thickness gliding
The twinkling mist of a man--

To-day for the children had fled to
An ancient yesterday,
And the rill from its tunnelled bed too
Had turned another way.

Then down through an open hollow
The old man led with a smile:
"Come, star-hearts, my children, follow
To the elfin land awhile."

The bells above them were hanging,
Whenever the earth-breath blew
It made them go clanging, clanging,
The vasty mountain through.

But louder yet than the ringing
Came the chant of the elfin choir,
Till the mountain was mad with singing
And dense with the forms of fire.

The kings of the faery races
Sat high on the thrones of might,
And infinite years from their faces
Looked out through eyes of light.

And one in a diamond splendour
Shone brightest of all that hour,
More lofty and pure and tender,
They called him the Flower of Power.

The palace walls were glowing
Like stars together drawn,
And a fountain of air was flowing
The primrose colour of dawn.

"Ah, see!" said Aileen sighing,
With a bend of her saddened head
Where a mighty hero was lying,
He looked like one who was dead.

"He will wake," said their guide, "'tis but seeming,
And, oh, what his eyes shall see
I will know of only in dreaming
Till I lie there still as he."

They chanted the song of waking,
They breathed on him with fire,
Till the hero-spirit outbreaking,
Shot radiant above the choir.

Like a pillar of opal glory
Lit through with many a gem--
"Why, look at him now," said Rory,
"He has turned to a faery like them!"

The elfin kings ascending
Leaped up from the thrones of might,
And one with another blending
They vanished in air and light.

The rill to its bed came splashing
With rocks on the top of that:
The children awoke with a flashing
Of wonder, "What were we at?"

They groped through the reeds and clover--
"What funny old markings: look here,
They have scrawled the rocks all over:
It's just where the door was: how queer!"

--September 15, 1896

The Voice of the Wise

They sat with hearts untroubled,
The clear sky sparkled above,
And an ancient wisdom bubbled
From the lips of a youthful love.

They read in a coloured history
Of Egypt and of the Nile,
And half it seemed a mystery,
Familiar, half, the while.

Till living out of the story
Grew old Egyptian men,
And a shadow looked forth Rory
And said, "We meet again!"

And over Aileen a maiden
Looked back through the ages dim:
She laughed, and her eyes were laden
With an old-time love for him.

In a mist came temples thronging
With sphinxes seen in a row,
And the rest of the day was a longing
For their homes of long ago.

"We'd go there if they'd let us,"
They said with wounded pride:
"They never think when they pet us
We are old like that inside."

There was some one round them straying
The whole of the long day through,
Who seemed to say, "I am playing
At hide-and-seek with you."

And one thing after another
Was whispered out of the air,
How God was a big kind brother
Whose home was in everywhere.

His light like a smile come glancing
From the cool, cool winds as they pass;
From the flowers in heaven dancing
And the stars that shine in the grass,

And the clouds in deep blue wreathing,
And most from the mountains tall,
But God like a wind goes breathing
A heart-light of gold in all.

It grows like a tree and pushes
Its way through the inner gloom,
And flowers in quick little rushes
Of love to a magic bloom.

And no one need sigh now or sorrow
Whenever the heart-light flies,
For it comes again on some morrow
And nobody ever dies.

The heart of the Wise was beating
In the children's heart that day,
And many a thought came fleeting,
And fancies solemn and gay.

They were grave in a way divining
How childhood was taking wings,
And the wonder world was shining
With vast eternal things.

The solemn twilight fluttered
Like the plumes of seraphim,
And they felt what things were uttered
In the sunset voice of Him.

They lingered long, for dearer
Than home were the mountain places
Where God from the stars dropt nearer
Their pale, dreamy faces.

Their very hearts from beating
They stilled in awed delight.
For Spirit and children were meeting
In the purple, ample night.

Dusk its ash-grey blossoms sheds on violet skies Over twilight mountains where the heart-songs rise, Rise and fall and fade again from earth to air: Earth renews the music sweeter. Oh, come there. Come, ma cushla, come, as in ancient times Rings aloud and the underland with faery chimes. Down the unseen ways as strays each tinkling fleece Winding ever onward to a fold of peace, So my dreams go straying in a land more fair; Half I tread the dew-wet grasses, half wander there. Fade your glimmering eyes in a world grown cold: Come, ma cushla, with me to the mountain's fold, Where the bright ones call us waving to and fro: Come, my children, with me to the Ancient go.

--October 15, 1896

A Dawn Song

While the earth is dark and grey
How I laugh within: I know
In my breast what ardours gay
From the morning overflow.

Though the cheek be white and wet
In my heart no fear may fall:
There my chieftain leads, and yet
Ancient battle-trumpets call.

Bend on me no hasty frown
If my spirit slight your cares:
Sunlike still my joy looks down
Changing tears to beamy airs.

Think me not of fickle heart
If with joy my bosom swells
Though your ways from mine depart:
In the true are no farewells.

What I love in you I find
Everywhere. A friend I greet
In each flower and tree and wind--
Oh, but life is sweet, is sweet.

What to you are bolts and bars
Are to me the hands that guide
To the freedom of the stars
Where my golden kinsmen bide.

From my mountain top I view:
Twilight's purple flower is gone,
And I send my song to you
On the level light of dawn.

--November 15, 1896

--An Ancient Eden

Our legends tell of aery fountains upspringing in Eri, and how the people of long ago saw them not but only the Tuatha de Danaan. Some deem it was the natural outflow of water at these places which was held to be sacred; but above fountain, rill and river rose up the enchanted froth and foam of invisible rills and rivers breaking forth from Tir-na-noge, the soul of the island, and glittering in the sunlight of its mystic day. What we see here is imaged forth from that invisible soul and is a path thereto. In the heroic Epic of Cuculain Standish O'Grady writes of such a fountain, and prefixes his chapter with the verse from Genesis, "And four rivers went forth from Eden to water the garden," and what follows in reference thereto.

The Fountain of Shadowy Beauty --A Dream

I would I could weave in
The colour, the wonder,
The song I conceive in
My heart while I ponder,

And show how it came like
The magi of old
Whose chant was a flame like
The dawn's voice of gold;

Who dreams followed near them
A murmur of birds,
And ear still could hear them
Unchanted in words.

In words I can only
Reveal thee my heart,
Oh, Light of the Lonely,
The shining impart.

Between the twilight and the dark The lights danced up before my eyes: I found no sleep or peace or rest, But dreams of stars and burning skies.

I knew the faces of the day-- Dream faces, pale, with cloudy hair, I know you not nor yet your home, The Fount of Shadowy Beauty, where?

I passed a dream of gloomy ways Where ne'er did human feet intrude: It was the border of a wood, A dreadful forest solitude.

With wondrous red and fairy gold The clouds were woven o'er the ocean; The stars in fiery aether swung And danced with gay and glittering motion.

A fire leaped up within my heart When first I saw the old sea shine; As if a god were there revealed I bowed my head in awe divine;

And long beside the dim sea marge I mused until the gathering haze Veiled from me where the silver tide Ran in its thousand shadowy ways.

The black night dropped upon the sea: The silent awe came down with it: I saw fantastic vapours flit As o'er the darkness of the pit.

When, lo! from out the furthest night A speck of rose and silver light Above a boat shaped wondrously Came floating swiftly o'er the sea.

It was no human will that bore The boat so fleetly to the shore Without a sail spread or an oar.

The Pilot stood erect thereon And lifted up his ancient face, (Ancient with glad eternal youth Like one who was of starry race.)

His face was rich with dusky bloom; His eyes a bronze and golden fire; His hair in streams of silver light Hung flamelike on his strange attire

Which starred with many a mystic sign, Fell as o'er sunlit ruby glowing: His light flew o'er the waves afar In ruddy ripples on each bar Along the spiral pathways flowing.

It was a crystal boat that chased The light along the watery waste, Till caught amid the surges hoary The Pilot stayed its jewelled glory.

Oh, never such a glory was: The pale moon shot it through and through With light of lilac, white and blue: And there mid many a fairy hue Of pearl and pink and amethyst, Like lightning ran the rainbow gleams And wove around a wonder-mist.

The Pilot lifted beckoning hands; Silent I went with deep amaze To know why came this Beam of Light So far along the ocean ways Out of the vast and shadowy night.

"Make haste, make haste!" he cried. "Away! A thousand ages now are gone. Yet thou and I ere night be sped Will reck no more of eve or dawn."

Swift as the swallow to its nest I leaped: my body dropt right down: A silver star I rose and flew. A flame burned golden at his breast: I entered at the heart and knew My Brother-Self who roams the deep, Bird of the wonder-world of sleep.

The ruby body wrapped us round As twain in one: we left behind The league-long murmur of the shore And fleeted swifter than the wind.

The distance rushed upon the bark: We neared unto the mystic isles: The heavenly city we could mark, Its mountain light, its jewel dark, Its pinnacles and starry piles.

The glory brightened: "Do not fear; For we are real, though what seems So proudly built above the waves Is but one mighty spirit's dreams.