Collected Works (Vol. III)

24 WILY JESUS WEPT I would applaud thee, camel gracious-necked ! Confirm thee in thy reading of my task, Were it not foreign to the fact. Select Another favour !—this too much to ask. The boy’s exemplar deeds were but an iron mask. (‘‘ Ay! for deception!” Mrs. Sally G—d, The gawk and dowdy with the long grey teeth, Jumps to conclusion, instant, out of hand: ‘‘ There is some nasty secret underneath !” None nastier than thy name! This verse, its sheath, Thou poisonous bitch, is rotten. Fact, atone !) Such magic liquors in his veins there seethe «As, would he master, need strong order known In life’s routine, ere he may dare to be alone. So there alone he was, and like a comet, Leaps on the utmost ridges of the hills. Then, like a dog returning to his vomit, Broods in the hall on all creation’s ills ! An idle volume with mere bosh he fills ; Ee dreams and dozes, toils and flies afar, Apace—the body by a thousand wills OF fire cross-twisted, bruised, is thrust, a spar, Wreckage of some wild sea, to seas without a star. Listen, O lady, listen, reverend Abbot, Lord of the Monastery, Fort Augustus !! Hear an awakening spirit’s a. b, ab! but Let not thy medieval logic thrust us Into contempt; nor, lady, can we trust us Wholly to thy most pardonable failing, Sentiment; one will rot, the other rust us. Let us just listen to the spirit ailing :— ’Tis like a God in bliss, or like a damned soul wailing ! 2 1 This monastery is chosen because of its unpleasant proximity to Crowley's home. 2 (A word to bid you notice with what mastery Of technique that last stanza there was written, I risk a pcet's license on one cast, Ery! (Pet name for thee, Eros!) The lines are smitten Into due harmony double-rhymed, well- knitten, SCENE II.! SIR PERCY PERCIVALE (02 a@ mountain summit). No higher? No higher? All hell is my portion. My mouth is as fire ; My thought an abortion. This is the summit ? Attained is the height. Down like a plummet To blackness and night Hope goes. Not here, Not here is Desire, The ease from fear, The ice from fire. Not here—O God ! I would I were dead Under the sod! My brain is as lead. My thoughts are as smoke. My heart is a fire ; I know not what fuel Is feeding its fury ! In vain I invoke The Lord of Desire ! He is evil and cruel. The spells of Jewry Are poured in his ear In vain: he may hear not. O would I were dumb! For the pestilent fever That bites my blood Forces like fear These babblings: I near not The secret, nor come To my purpose for ever. Wherefore, to show I can repeat the effort, This verse inserted like a playful kitten To usher in the youth's c. d. e. f., ert Or inert as may be; it can’t the lucky deaf hurt.)—A, C, 1 These three soliloquies (Scenes II., III, and VI.) perhaps represent the self-torture of the poet’s own youth, much of which he spent in the Lake district.