Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE COURT OF THE PROFANE 179 Thus, till the monster-birth of serpent-man Linked in corruption with the serpent- woman, Slavering in lust and pain—creation’s ban. The horrible beginning of the human. The savage monkey leaping on his mate ; The upright posture for sure murder taken ; The gibberings modified to spit out hate : Struggle to manhood—surely God-for- saken. The bestial cause of Morals—fear and hate. At last the anguish-vomit of despair, The growth of reason—and its pangs abate No whit: the knife replaces the arm bare. Fear grows, and torment; and distracted pain Mist from sheer agony some respite find ; When some half-maddened miserable brain Projects a God in his detesting mind. A God who made him—to the core all evil, In his own image—and a God of Terror ; A vast foul nightmare, an impending devil ; Compact of darkness, infamy, and error. Some bestial woman, beaten by her mates, In utter fear broke down the bar reason 3 Shrieked, crawled to die ; delirium abates By some good chance her terror in its season. Iler ravings picture the cessation of Such life as she had known: her mind conceives A God of Mercy, Happiness, and Love ; Reverses life and fact : and so believes. of So man grew up; and so religion grew. Now in the cons shall not truth dissever The man = and the old through, Cast God to black oblivion for ever? Picture no longer in fallacious thought A doer for each deed ! the real Jurks Nowhere thus hidden: there is truly nought Substantial in these unsubstantial works. maker, smite lie But work thou ever! Thou who art or art not, Work that the fever of thy life abate ; Work ! though for weary ages thou depart not, At last abideth the sequestered state. Sure is the search! O seeker, as the bird, Homing through distant skies toward its rest, Shall surely find—and thou shalt speak the word At last that shall dissolve thee into rest. TO RICHARD WAGNER. O MASTER of the ring of love, O lord Of all desires, and king of all the stars, O strong magician, who with locks and bars Dost seal that kingdom silent and abhorred That stretches out and binds with iron cord The hopes and lives of men, and makes and mars ! O thou thrice noble for the deadly scars That answered vainly thy victorious sword ! Wagner ! creator of a world of light As beautiful as God’s, bend down to me, And whisper me the secrets of thy heart, That I may follow and dispel the night, And fight life through, a comrade unto thee, Under Love’s banner, with the sword of Art! THE TWO EMOTIONS. [low barren is the Valley of Delight ! Swift the gaunt hounds that nose the warm close trail Ofall my love’s content ; in vain I veil My seeret of remorse ; from their keen sight And scent my poor deception takes to flight. I borrow perfume from young loves waxed pale ; T borrow music from the nightingale. In vain: she knows me, that I hate he quite.