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Title: Retrospection
Author: Walter R. Cassels [
More Titles by Cassels]
Oh, my heart throbs ever wildly, half in joy and half in scorning,
As the course of my life's story dimly flits across my mind,
Now that fate seems clear and steady, and the mist that veil'd its morning
Has resolved into bright sunshine with the azure heaven behind.
And I cry with exultation--"Bless he who feeling in him
Precepts of pure grace and beauty guiding on his willing soul,
Yields himself unto their teaching, nor lets toil nor danger win him
To forsake the race he runneth till he resteth at the goal."
I was sprung, from lineage noble, with a spirit inly burning
To uphold my name and honor taintless from the blast of shame,
I was born to be a freeman, by my birthright therefore spurning
All the gilded chains of fashion that make freedom but a name.
From the forms and outward emblems of the deep-lored spirit Nature
Drew I inspiration early for the moulding of my thought,
Gath'ring strength from her o'erflowing, till I grew unto the stature
Of a man nerved to accomplish all the good her wisdom taught.
So when years had ripen'd on me, and the world's great portals yawning,
Bid me enter the enchanted palace of youth's mystic life,
Eager, breathless to explore it, at each step new wonders dawning,
I went on with stedfast courage, arm'd alike for peace or strife.
And I loved, that I might ever in my bosom bear a treasure
Strong to ransom life from sorrow, strong to furnish it with joy;
So I sought with keenest insight--neither small nor scant the measure
To content my requisition--purest gold without alloy.
And I found it lying lowly, far beneath my proud line's dreaming,
Who if they perchance had seen it, would with scorn have turn'd away,
But I sought it with soul-gladness, e'en with pride, for to my seeming
A pure gem is worth the lifting though it lie amongst the clay.
She was fair, a lumin'd beauty rippling o'er each chisell'd feature,
Changing ever like the sunshine playing on the summer sea,
Revelations of God's spirit permeating through his creature,
Making loveliness all perfect by infused divinity.
What to me though all her dow'ry were the wealth of love and kindness,
And a heart full fraught with feelings vein'd with gentleness and grace?
Which the worldling holds as nothing, smitten with judicial blindness,
But which I o'er all things prizing, wed her in the weak world's face.
Scared my kinsmen were and bitter for the shame and the dishonour,
Said they, I had brought upon them and the noble name I bore;
And my sire with passion burning launch'd his deepest curses on her,
And as though I were a felon, drove me fiercely from his door.
I was destined for some puppet, some gold image of his choosing,
Doubtless, who was made to worship like the golden calf of old,
With no merit but her riches, but such shame my soul refusing,
I was cast forth without blessing, poor and guideless from the fold.
Poor?--Not poor, for she went with me, pouring still with patient spirit
Balm upon my wounded feelings, peace upon my burning soul;
So that though man's love was reft me, 'twas the better to inherit
That which far transcends man's favour,--sentience of Heaven's sweetest dole.
Words of scorn and deep contemning gave I back for their reviling,
For my soul waxed wroth within me to be judged by such as they,
Fools so sage in their great folly, that they shake their bells, and smiling
With an imbecile self-blindness, sneer the wise of heart away.
Let them wear their masking purple, threadbare now with vilest uses,
All the ancient gloss and brightness faded from it through their stains,
They may be disgraced, degraded, but true nobleness, ne'er loses
By relinquishing its trappings, whilst the spirit still remains.
Did I shame them that I ceded all the forms and false adorning
That doth deck them for their stations heedless of the stuff within,
And stood forth in my own fashion, such as God had made me, scorning
To be made a man of tinsel, to be honoured for my kin.
Did I shame them that rejoicing in the freedom of my spirit
I asserted all its fulness, spite of prejudice and pride;
Whilst they, slaves of wealth and fashion, trembling cowards did not dare it,
Would not risk a pointed finger e'en to gain an angel bride.
Was the noble name they cited but the badge of slaves and vassals,
Bound beyond emancipation to obey another's mood?
Better far to be a peasant 'neath the shadow of their castles,
Than debase the soul within me to such brutish servitude.
What were they with all their lordship, all their riches, measured duly,
That they looked with scorn upon her in her unadorned worth?
Ashy fruit with surface golden, she with goodness leavened throughly,
All her wealth by heaven imparted, their's derived alone from Earth.
Oh! I felt a high compassion for their warp'd and narrow feelings
As I press'd my bride unto me, and read o'er her gentle eyes,
Gaining deeper insight daily, meeting ever new revealings
Of the grace of woman's spirit, and her holy sympathies.
So we pilgrim'd on together, buffeting the ills about us,
Sharing hope, and joy, and sorrow, as we shared our daily bread,
Keeping still a pleasaunce scathless in our hearts, though all without us
Might be cheerless desolation, and the sky with clouds o'erspread.
Through much toil and tribulation, we attain'd at last to honour
With no succour from my kindred, I upreared my house alone,
And I see my cherish'd maiden, with admiring gazes on her,
Glide amid the high and noble with a grace beyond their own.
And those proud ones now are gracious, bowing fawningly before her,
Whilst she with her true eyes calmly takes the measure of their hearts,
Weighs aright the honied speeches, and the praise they heap upon her,
Her own innocence instinctively disarming all their arts.
For she knows their tongues are venal, sold to flatter wealth and power,
And to crouch with serpent homage in the dust at Fortune's shrine,
Ready to revile and slander if calamity should lower,
And to flout as base, deceitful, what they late had termed divine.
Thus unmask'd and sifted throughly let them stoop and fawn at pleasure,
Little reck I to revenge me better for their former spite
As I mark their degradation falling on them in full measure
When they humble themselves vilely, thus, to one who reads them right.
[The end]
Walter R. Cassels's poem: Retrospection
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