The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)
Home - George MacDonald - The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)IX.
I know not if for days many or few
Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun, Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through,
Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun,
Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade. No life was there--not even a spider spun.
At length we came into a sky-roofed glade,
An open level, in a circle shut By solemn trees that stood aside and made
Large room and lonely for a little hut
By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. 'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut
When those great trees no larger by them stood;
Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude,
Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-prone.
To its low door my brother led me. "There Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown
Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer,
And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come, Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where
Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb,
And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?" With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some
Conflicting motions of his kingly head,
He pointed to the open-standing door. I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led!
I turned: his countenance shone like lightning hoar!
Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow, Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more;
With voice nor hand said, Farewell, I must go!
But drew the clinging door hard to the post. No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no
Footfalls came back from the departing ghost.
He was no more. I laid me down and wept; I dared not follow him, restrained the most
By fear I should not see him if I leapt
Out after him with cries of pleading love. Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept;
There cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above.