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.