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Ranolf and Amohia

IX

IX.

So to that Spirit erect and pure, he next
Resorted (with these fancied failures vexed)
The march majestic and the genuine ring
Of whose high eloquence on one high theme,
How best aloft the expanded soul may wing
Her way, and best sustain her flight supreme—
Had all the warranty a life could bring.
The faithful mirror of his faith—sublime
In self-dependent stateliness severe,
And steadfast single eminence of aim:—
Fichte—whose name recalls a dearer Fame—
A trenchant towering Spirit as grand and true!
Of those who think, profoundest and the prime;
He whose capacious soul's ascending Sphere
Oft looms obscure while flashing brightness through
Dull mists it kindles till they disappear;
Who, rolling back the ponderous stone of Time,
Makes the dead Past, up starting from the gloom,
In Truth's rough Poesy lightning-bathed, out bloom
The living Present, whose loud shams—with might
page 41 And hammer like his own white-knuckled Thor's,
And love that for the culprit's sake abhors
The crime,—his prophet-hand was sent to smite!—
Fichte—great voice to rouse, great heart to cheer!
This greater could not hear it and not leap
In unison, "Deep calling unto Deep"—
Could not from such a credence and career
Withhold the dower of his undying praise;
Which saw therein the far-reflected gleam
Of high-end eavouring old illustrious days—
Heard solemn echoes or the etherial flow
Of Attic pacings of the Portico
And whispers from the groves of Academe,
Where Truth alone by sages world-renowned
Was sought, and made Life's rule at once when found;—
Fichte struck out once more for truths that shine
Instinctive and immediately divine.
In consciousness is all of God we know;
But consciousness proclaims him; neither dim
Nor doubtful He; all Being's source and stream;
Nature exists in us, and we in Him.
For "Me'" and "Not-Me"—Universe and Soul
Are one—not two—and Consciousness the whole:
I its passive, Soul its active side;
In Consciousness are both contained—allied;
And from the Soul though Nature takes its rise,
It limits none the less and modifies
I worker, whose material it supplies;
Spirit is all—and Matter there is none
But part and product of the Soul alone.
And what ideal does Consciousness proclaim
As all we know of Him whom "God" we name?—
That active principle, which clearly seen
page 42 Is working out, whatever intervene,
The triumph in the universe and Man,
Of all that's useful, beautiful, and good;
Thai Force which forwards its consummate plan
Of progress endless towards the perfect Day
of moral Order's universal sway;
And to the Soul above all tumuli cries
Of one high Duly sill to be pursued,
With that "Divine Idea" to harmonise
The Will, and all its faculties subdued
Into devout co operative mood,
Press forward freely to the ennobling prize

High thought: yet haply Hindu still; so like
The course—nor much unlike the goal—to those
The later Bud the soul propose
Dropping the dreary nihilistic phases
Of Sakya's faith too purely insane to strike
The fancy of the myriads, else its foes;
Backsliding into healthier dreams and brighter,
In Burmah or Nepaul: or such as lie
Obscurely hidden in the mystic cry,
The shaveling in red robes and yellow mitre,
In snowy Thibetan devoutly raises
At Lama-ridden Lhassa, when he phrases
In one short shibboleth his prayers and praises:
"Gem in the Lotus-flower. Amen!" whereby
He breathes his aspiration to proceed—
His soul's intense desire to wing its flight
Through A-Lons of blest Being—height o'er height,
Till evermore suffused with purer light
It merge—from death, disease, old age and need.
And all the griefs of gross existence freed,—
page 43 Perfect, in Buddha's Soul—its boundless meed—
Absorbed in that All-perfect Infinite!
A heterodox "Nirvana," worthier far
By ages of vast virtue to be won;
No' taper flame blown out'—a blissful star
Lost in the splendour of the noonday sun.

"True," thought the lad, "this Man was true, indeed;
A noble Teacher of a noble Creed!
But should a sage so lofty laps gain
Towards pure assumption's unassured domain?
Revert to doubtful regions long resigned,
Basing our Berkeley's Universe of Mind
On Common Sense—though of a nobler kind
Than puzzled Reid could for poor Matter find?
'What must be, must'—' It is because it is'—
Is proud Philosophy reduced to this?
Yet, to persuade us how the Soul may climb
Triumphant o'er material Space and Time,
Stronger than all that dialectic strife.
His most convincing logic was his life;
Of truths the stern philosopher had taught
Proof most profound, perhaps, the patriot brought,
When, finishing his last great fight for God,
And many a rapt impassioned period,
Down from his desk the mighty Master came,
Unmoved by murmur low, or plaudit loud,
Or fervent blessing from the student-crowd;
And left the loved arena of his fame
With shouldered musket in the ranks to stand,
And fall or conquer for his Father-land."