Classic Audiobook Collection - Rampolli by George MacDonald ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Starting point is 00:00:00 rampoli by george mcdonald preface i think every man who can should help his people to inherit the earth by bringing into his own of the wealth of other tongues in the flower-pots of translation i offer these few exotics with no little labour taught to exist i hope to breathe in english air such labour is to me no less serious than delightful for to do a man's work in the process of carrying over more injury than must be is a serious wrong i have endeavoured first of all to give the spirits of the poetry next i have sought to retain each individual meaning that goes to form the matter of the poem third i have aimed at preserving the peculiar mode the aroma of the poet's style so far as i could do it without offence to the translating english fourth both rhythm and rhyme being essential elements of every poem in which they are used i have sought to respect them rigorously fifth spirit matter and form truly represented the more literal the translation the more satisfactory will be the result. After all, translation is but a continuous effort after the impossible. There is in it a general difficulty whose root has a thousand ramifications,

Starting point is 00:01:42 the whole affair being but an accommodation of difficulties, and a perfect translation from one language into another, a thing that cannot be effected. One is even tempted to say that in the whole range of speech, there is no such thing as a synonym. Much difficulty arises from the comparative paucity in English of double or feminine rhymes, but I can remember only one case in which, yielding to impossibility, I have sacrificed the feminine rhyme. Where one thing or another must go, the less valuable must be the victim. But sometimes, a whole pattern, but sometimes a whole pattern. A whole has had to suffer that a specially poetic line might retain its character with regard to the hymns to the knight and the spiritual songs of friedrich von hardenburg commonly called novalis it is desirable to mention that they were written when the shadow of the death of his betrothed had begun to thin before the approaching dawn of his own new life he died in eighteen 2001 at the age of 29. His parents belonged to the sect called Moravians, but he had become a Roman Catholic.

Starting point is 00:03:07 In the few poems from the Italian, I have found the representation of the feminine rhymes so frequent in that language and impossibility. End of Preface, read by Alan Mapstone. Hymns to the Knight from novalis part one by george mcdonald read for liverybox dot org by allan mapstone before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him what living sentient thing loves not the all joyous light with its colours its rays and undulations its gentle omnipresence in the the form of the waking day the giant world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life and floats dancing in its azure flood the sparkling ever-tranquil stone the thoughtful imbibing plant and the wild burning multiform beast world inhales it but more than all the lordly stranger with the meaning eyes the swaying walk and the sweetly closed melodious lips like a king over earthly nature it rouses every force to countless transformations binds and unbinds innumerable alliances hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance its presence

Starting point is 00:04:53 its presence alone reveals the marvellous splendour of the kingdoms of the world aside i turn to the holy unspeakable mysterious night afar lies the world sunk in a deep grave waste and lonely is its place in the cords of the bosom blows a deep sadness i am ready to sink away in drops of dew and mingle with the ashes the distances of memory the wishes of youth the dreams of childhood the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life-lorned arising grey garments like an evening vapour after the sunset in other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents what if it should never return to its children who wait for it with the faith of innocence what springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my heart and stills the soft air of sadness dost thou also take a pleasure in us dusky night what holdest thou under thy mantle that with hidden power affects my soul precious balm drips from thy hand out of its bundle of poppies thou upliftest the heavy laden pinions of the soul. Darkly and inexpressibly

Starting point is 00:06:31 are we moved, joy startled, I see a grave countenance that, tender and worshipful, inclines towards me, and, amid manifold, entangled locks, reveals the youthful loveliness

Starting point is 00:06:48 of the mother. How poor and childish a thing seems to me now the light. How joyous and welcome the departure of the day. Didst thou not only, therefore, because the knight turns away from thee thy servants, strew in the gulfs of space those flashing globes, to proclaim, in seasons of thy absence, thy omnipotence, and thy return. More heavenly than those glittering stars, we hold the eternal eyes which the knight hath opened within us further they see than the palest of those countless hosts needing no aid from the light they penetrate the depths of a loving soul that fills a loftier region with bliss ineffable glory to the queen of the world to the great prophetess of holier worlds to the foster-mother of blissful love she sent

Starting point is 00:07:55 thee to me thou tenderly beloved the gracious son of the knight now am i awake for now am i thine and mine thou hast made me know the knight and brought her to me to be my life thou hast made of me a man consume my body with the ardour of my soul that i turn to finer air may mingle more closely with thee and then our bridal knight endure for ever end of poem this recording is in the public domain hymns to the knight from novalis part two by george mcdonald Read for Libbybox.org by Alan Mapstone Must the morning always return? Will the despotism of the earthly never cease? Unholy activity consumes the angel visit of the night. Will the time never come when love's hidden sacrifice shall burn eternally?

Starting point is 00:09:18 To the light a season was set, but ever. lasting and boundless is the dominion of the night endless is the duration of sleep holy sleep gladden not too seldom in this earthly day labour the devoted servant of the night fools alone mistake thee knowing naught of sleep but the shadow which in the glooming of the real night thou pitifully castes over us they feel thee not in the golden flood of the grapes in the magic oil of the almond tree and the brown juice of the poppy they know not that it is thou who haunted the bosom of the tender maiden and makest a heaven of her lap never suspect it is thou the portress of heaven that stepest to meet them out of ancient stories bearing the key to the dwellings of the blessed, silent messenger of secrets infinite. End of poem.

Starting point is 00:10:30 This recording is in the public domain. Hymns to the Night from Novalis. Part 3 by George MacDonald. Read for Liprovox.org by Sandra. 3. Once, when I was shedding bitter tears, When dissolved in pain, my hope was melting away, and I stood alone by the barren hillock, which in its narrow dark bosom hid the vanished form of my life. Lonely as never yet was,

Starting point is 00:11:06 lonely man, driven by anguish, unspeakable, powerless, and no longer ought but a conscious misery. As there I looked about me for help, unable to go on or to turn back, and clung to the fleeting, extinguished life with an endless longing. Then, out of the blue distances, from the hills of my ancient bliss, came a shiver of twilight, and at once snapped the bond of birth, the fetter of the light.

Starting point is 00:11:35 Away fled the glory of the world, and with it, my morning, the sadness flowed together into a new, unfathomable world. Thou, soul of the night, heavenly slumber, didst come upon me. The region gently

Starting point is 00:11:50 upheaved itself and over it hovered my unbound newborn spirit. The hillock became a cloud of dust, and through the cloud I saw the glorified face of my beloved. In her eyes, eternity reposed. I laid hold of her hands and the tears became a sparkling chain that could not be broken. Into the distance, swept by like a tempest thousands of years. On her neck I welcomed the new life with ecstatic tears. Never was such another dream. Then first and ever since I hold fast an eternal, unchangeable faith in the heaven of the night and its son, the beloved. End of Section 3. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Hymns to the Night from Novalis Part 4 by George MacDonald. Read for Librevox.org by Sandra.

Starting point is 00:12:51 4. Now I know when will come the last morning, when the light no more scares away night and love, when sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion, long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the hillock against whose foot breaks the flood of the world. He who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of the world and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the night, barely he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the light in ceaseless unrest. On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles, tabernacles of peace, there longs and loves and

Starting point is 00:13:47 gazes across until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the waters of the spring. A float above remains what is earthly and is swept back in storms, but what became holy by the touch of love runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond, where like odours it mingles with love asleep. Still wakeest thou cheerful light, the weary man, to his labour, and into me pour'st's gladsome life. But thou wildest me not away from memory's moss-grown monument. Gladly will I bestir the deedy hands, everywhere behold where thou hast need of me. Be praise the rich pomp of thy splendor. Pursue unwearied, the lovely harmonies of thy skilled handicraft. Gladly contemplate the thoughtful pace of thy mighty radiant clock. Explore the balance of the forces and the laws of the

Starting point is 00:14:45 wondrous play of countless worlds and their seasons. But true to the night remains my secret heart, and to creative love, her daughter, canst thou show me a heart eternally true? Has thy son friendly eyes that know me? Do thy stars lay hold of my longing hand? Do they return me, the tender, pressure, and the caressing word? Was it thou didst bedek them with colours and a flickering outline? Or was it she who gave to thy jewels a higher, a dearer significance? What delight? What pleasure offers thy life to outweigh the transports of death? Where's not everything that in spirits us the livery of the night? Thy mother, it is she who brings thee forth, and to her thou owest all thy glory. Thou wouldst vanish into thyself. Thou wouldst dissipate in boundless space if she did not hold thee fast,

Starting point is 00:15:43 if she swaddled thee not, so that thou grewest warm and flaming gaveest birth to the universe. Farily, I was before thou wast. The mother sent me with my sisters to inhabit thy world, to sanctify it with love that it might be an ever-present memorial, to plant it with flowers unfading. As yet they have not ripened, these thoughts divine, as yet is their small trace of our coming apocalypse. One day thy clock will point to the end of time,

Starting point is 00:16:15 and then thou shalt be as one of us, and shall full of ardent longing, be extinguished and die. I feel in me the close of thy activity. I taste heavenly freedom and happy restoration. With wild pangs I recognize thy distance from our home, thy feud with the ancient lordly heaven. Thy rage and thy raving are in vain.

Starting point is 00:16:40 Inconsumable stands. the cross, victory flag of our race. Over, I pilgrim, where every pained zest only of pleasure shall one day remain. Yet a few moments, then, free am I, and intoxicated in love's lap, lie. Life everlasting lifts, wave-like at me. I gaze from its summit down after thee. O sun, thou must vanish, yon hillock beneath. A shadow will bring thee thy cooling wreath.

Starting point is 00:17:11 Oh, draw at my hard love, draw till I'm gone, That fallen asleep I still may love on. I feel the flow of death's youth-giving flood to balsam and ether. It changes my blood. I live all the daytime, in faith and in might, In holy rapture I die every night. End of a poem. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:17:46 Hymns to the night. From Novalis, Part 5 by George MacDonald. Read for Lipervox.org by Sandra. In ancient times, an iron fate lorded it with dumb force over the widespread families of men. A gloomy oppression swast their anxious souls. The earth was boundless, the abode of the gods and their home. From eternal ages stood its mysterious structure. Beyond the red hills of the morning, in the same.

Starting point is 00:18:17 sacred bosom of the sea dwelt the sun, the all-enkindling, live luminary. An aged giant upbore the happy world. Prisoned beneath mountains lay the first-born sons of Mother Earth, helpless in their destroying fury against the new, glorious race of gods, and their kindred, glad-hearted men. Ocean's dusky, green abyss was the lap of a goddess. In the crystal grottoes reveled a wanton folk. Rivers, trees, flowers, and beasts had human wits. Sweeter tasted the wine, poured out by youth impersonated. A god was in the grape clusters, a loving motherly goddess, upgrew in the full golden sheaves. Love's sacred carousel was a sweet worship of the fairest of the goddesses. Life reveled through the centuries like one springtime, an ever-variegated festival of the

Starting point is 00:19:13 children of heaven and the dwellers on the earth. All races, childlike, adored the ethereal thousand-fold flame as the one sublimest thing in the world. It was but a fancy, a horrible dream shape. That fearsome to the merry tables strode and wrapped the spirit in wild consternation. The gods themselves here counsel knew, nor showed to fill the stifling heart with consolation. mysterious was the monster's pathless road, whose rage would heed no prayer and no oblation. T'was death who broke the banquet up with fears, with anguish, with dire pain and bitter tears.

Starting point is 00:19:56 Eternally from all things here disparted that sway the heart with pleasure's joyous flow, divided from the loved whom broken-hearted, vain longing tosses and unceasing woe, in a dull dream to struggle, faint, and thwarted, it seemed all was granted to the dead below broke lay the merry wave of human glory on death's inevitable promontory with daring flight aloft thoughts pinions sweep the horrid thing with beauty's rogue men cover a gentle youth puts out his torch to sleep sweet comes the end like moaning lute of lover cool shadow floods o'er melting memory creep so sang the song For misery was the mover. Still undeciphered lay the endless night,

Starting point is 00:20:47 the solemn symbol of a far-off might. The old world began to decline. The pleasure garden of the young race withered away, up into opener regions and desolate, forsaking his childhood, struggled the growing man. The gods vanished with their retinue. Nature still alone and lifeless. Dry number and rigid measure bound her with iron.

Starting point is 00:21:12 chains, as into dust and air the priceless blossoms of life fell away in words obscure. Gone was wonder-working faith, and the all-transforming, all-uniting angel comrade, the imagination. A cold north wind blew unkindly over the torpid plain, and the wonderland first froze, then evaporated into ether. The far depths of heaven, filled with flashing worlds, into the deeper sea, sanctuary, into the more exalted region of the mind, the soul of the world retired with all her powers, there to rule until the dawn should break of the glory universal. No longer was the light, the abode of the gods, and the heavenly token of their presence. They cast over them the veil of the night.

Starting point is 00:22:02 The night became the mighty womb of revelations. Into it the gods went back and fell asleep, to go abroad in new and more glorious shapes over the transfigured world. Among the people, which, untimely ripe, was become of all the most scornful and insolently hostile to the blessed innocence of youth, appeared the new world, in guise never seen before, in the song-favouring hut of poverty, a son of the first maid and mother, the eternal fruit of mysterious embrace. The foreseeing, rich blossoming wisdom of the east at once recognized the beginning of the new age. A star showed it the way to the lowly cradle of the king. In the name of the far-reaching future, they did him homage with lustre and odor,

Starting point is 00:22:52 the highest wonders of nature. In solitude, the heavenly heart unfolded itself to a flower chalice of almighty love, upturned to the supreme face of the father, and resting on the bliss-boding bosom of the sweetly solemn mother. with deifying fervor the prophetic eye of the blooming child beheld the years to come foresaw untroubled over the earthly lot of his own days the beloved offspring of his divine stem ere long the most childlike souls by true love marvellously possessed gathered about him like flowers sprang up a new strange life in his presence words inexhaustible in tidings the most joyful fell like sparks of a divine spirit from his friendly lips. From a far shore came a singer, born under the clear sky of Hellas, to Palestine, and gave up his whole heart to the marvellous child. The youth art thou who ages long hast stood upon our graves, lost in a maze of weaning, sign in the darkness of God's tidings good, whence hints of growth humanity is gleaning. For that we long, on that we sweetly

Starting point is 00:24:07 brood, which erced in woe had lost all life and meaning. In everlasting life, death found its goal, for thou art death, and thou first makest us whole. Filled with joy, the singer went on to Indusan, his heart intoxicated with sweetest love, and poured it out in fiery songs under that tender sky, so that a thousand hearts bowed to him, and the good news sprang up with a thousand branches. Soon after the singer's departure, his precious life was made a sacrifice for the deep fall of man. He died in his youth, torn away from his loved world, from his weeping mother, and his trembling friends. His lovely mouth emptied the dark cup of unspeakable wrongs. In horrible anguish, the birth of the new world drew near. Hard, he wrestled with the terrors of old death.

Starting point is 00:25:00 Heavy lay the weight of the old world upon him. Yet once more he looked kindly at his mother. Then came the releasing hand of the love eternal, and he fell asleep. Only a few days hung a deep veil over the roaring sea, over the quaking land. Countless tears wept his loved ones. The mystery was unsealed. Heavenly spirits heaved the ancient stone from the gloomy grave. Angels sat by the sleeper, sweetly outbodied from his dreams,

Starting point is 00:25:31 Awaked in new godlike glory He clombed the apex of the newborn world Buried with his own hand the old corpse In the forsaken cavity And with hand almighty laid upon it The stone which no power shall again upheve Yet weep thy loved ones Over thy grave

Starting point is 00:25:51 Tears of joy, tears of emotion Tears of endless thanksgiving Ever afresh with joyous start See thee rise again and themselves with thee, behold thee weep with soft fervor on the blessed bosom of thy mother. Walk in thoughtful communion with thy friends, uttering words plucked as from the tree of life, see thee hasten full of longing into thy father's arms, bearing with thee youthful humanity and the inexhaustible cup of the golden future.

Starting point is 00:26:22 Soon the mother hastened after the in heavenly triumph. She was the first with thee in the new home. since then long ages have flowed past and in splendour ever increasing hath bestirred itself thy new creation and thousands have out of pangs and tortures followed thee filled with faith and longing and truth and are walking about with thee and the heavenly virgin in the kingdom of love minister in the temple of heavenly death and are forever thine uplifted is the stone and all mankind is risen we all remain thine thyne own, and vanished is our prison. All troubles flee away before thy golden cup, for earth nor life can stay when with our Lord we sup. To the marriage death doth call. No virgin hold us back. The lamps burn lustrous all. Of oil, there is no lack. Would thy far feet were waking the echoes of our street, and that the stars were making signal with voices sweet. To thee, O mother maiden, thousand hearts aspire. In this life sorrow-laden, thee only they desire. In thee they hope for healing,

Starting point is 00:27:36 in thee expect true rest, when thou their safety-sealing shall clasp them to thy breast. With disappointment burning, who made in hell their bed, at last from this world turning, to thee have looked and fled. Helpful thou hast appeared to us in many a pain, now to thy home we're near it not to go out again now at no grave are weeping such as do love and pray the gift that love is keeping from none is taken away to soothe and quiet or longing night comes and stills the smart heaven's children round us thronging now watch and ward our heart courage for life is striding to endless life along the sense in love abiding grows clearer and more strong. One day the stars down dripping shall flow in golden wine. We of that nectar sipping as living stars shall shine. Free from the tomb emerges love to die never more. Fulfilled life heaves and surges the sea without a shore. All night, all blissful leisure,

Starting point is 00:28:50 one jubilating ode, and the sun of all our pleasure, the countenance of our pleasure, the countenance of God. End of poem. The Slipper Fox recording is in the public domain. Hymns to the Knight from Novalis Part 6, Longing After Death, by George MacDonald, read for Librivox.org by Alan Mapstone. Into the bosom of the earth, out of the light's dominions, death's pains are by the bursting forth of glad departures pinions swift in the narrow little boat swift to the heavenly shore we float blessed be the everlasting night and bless the endless slumber we are heated with the day too bright and withered up with cumber we're weary of that life abroad come we will now go home to god why longer in this world abide why love and truth here cherish that which is old is set aside for us the new may perish alone he stands and saw down cast who loves with pious warmth the past

Starting point is 00:30:20 the past where yet the human spirit in lofty flames did rise where men the father did inherit his countenance recognize and in simplicity made ripe many grew like their archetype the past wherein still rich in bloom old stems did burgeon glorious and children for the world to come sought pain and death victorious and though both life and pleasure spake yet many a heart for love did break the past where to the glow of youth god yet himself declare ed and early death in loving truth the young beheld and dared anguish and torture patient bore to prove they loved him as of yore with anxious yearning now we see that past in darkness drenched with this world's water never we shall find our hot-thirst quenched to our old home we have to go that blessed time again to know what yet doth hinder our return since long repose are precious their grave is of our life the born we shrink from times ungracious by not a hope are we decoyed the heart is full the world is void infinite and mysterious thrills through me a sweet trembling as if from far there echoed thus a sigh our grief resembling the dear ones long as well as i and send to me their waiting sigh down to the sweet bride and away to the beloved jesus courage the evening shades grow gray of all our griefs to ease us a dream will dash our chains apart and lay us on the father's heart

Starting point is 00:32:38 end of poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navallus number one by george macdonald read for librovocs dot org by larry wilson without thee what were life or being without thee what had i not grown from fear and anguish vainly fleeing i in the world had stood alone for all i loved could trust no shelter the future a dim gulf had lain, and when my heart in tears did welter, to whom had I poured out my pain? Consumed in love and longing lonely, each day had worn the night's dull face. With hot tears I had followed only a far life's wildly rushing race. Low rest for me, tumultuous driven, a hopeless sorrow by the hearth, who that had not a friend in heaven, could to the end hold out on earth but if his heart once jesus beareth an eye of him right sure can be how soon a living glory scarlet the bottomless obscurity manhood in him first man attaineth his fate in him transfigured glows on freezing iceland india gaineth and round the loved one blooms and blows

Starting point is 00:34:08 life grows a twilight softly stealing the world speaks all of love and glee for every wound grows herb of healing and every heart beats full and free ay his ten thousand gifts receiving humble like him his knees embrace sure that we share his presence living when two are gathered in one place forth forth to all highways and hedges compel the one to come in stretch out the hand that good will pledges and gladly call them to their ken see heaven high over earth up dawning in faith we see it rise and spread to all with us one spirit owning to them with us tis open it an ancient heavy guilt illusion haunted our hearts a changeless doom blindly we strayed in night's confusion gladness and grief alike consume whate'er we did some law was broken mankind appeared god's enemy and if we thought the heavens had spoken they spoke but death and misery the heart of life the fountain swelling an evil creature lay therein if more light shone into our dwelling more unrest only did we win down to the earth an iron fetter fast held us trembling captive crew fear of laws soared grim death the wetter did swallow up hope's residue then came a saviour to deliver a son of man in love and might a holy fire of life all giver he and our hearts was fanned alight then the first heaven opened and no fable our own old fatherland we trod to hope and trust we straight were able and knew ourselves akin to god then vanish sins old spectre dismal our every step grew glad and brave

Starting point is 00:36:12 best natal gift in right baptismal their own faith men that their children gave wholly in him life since hath floated a happy dream through every heart we to his love and joy devoted scarce know the moment we depart still standeth in his wondrous glory the holy loved one with his own his crown of thorns his faithful stories still move our hearts still make us groan us so from deadly sleep will waken and grasp his hand of sacrifice into his heart with us is taken to ripen a fruit of paradise end a poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from nevallis number two by george mcdonald read from librovocs dot horg by larry wilson dawn far eastward on the mountain gray old times are growing young. From the flashing color fountain I will quaff it deep and long. Granted Boone to longings long privation, sweet love in divine transfiguration. Comes at last our old earth's native, all heavens one child, simple, kind. Blows again in song creative round the earth a living wind. Blows to clear new flames that rush together, sparks extinguished long by

Starting point is 00:37:42 earthly weather everywhere from graves up springing rises new-born life new blood endless peace up to us bringing dives he underneath life's flood stands in midst with full hands eyes caressing hardly waits the prayer to grant the blessing let his mild looks of invading deep into thy spirit go by his blessedness unfading thou thy heart possessed shalt know hearts of hearts of all men spirits all and senses mingle and a new glad dance commences grasp his hands with boldness yearning stamp his face thy heart upon turning toward him ever turning thou the flower must face thy son who to him his hearts last fold unfoldeth true as wife's his heart forever holdeth ours is now that godhead splendour at whose name we used to quake south the north its breathings tender heavenly germs at once awake let us then in god's full guard and labor and to every bud and bloom be neighbor end of poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from nevallus number three by george macdonald read for lepravrovox dot org by larry wilson who in his chamber sitteth lonely and weepeth heavy bitter tears to whom in gullful colors only of want and woe the world appears who of the past gulf-like receding would search with questing eyes the core down into which a sweet woe pleading wiles him from all sides evermore as if a treasure past believing lay there below for him high piled after whose lock with bosom heaving he breathless grasps in longing wild he sees the future waste and and arid in hideous length before him stretch about he roams alone and harried and seeks himself poor restless wretch i fall upon his bosom tearful i once like thee with woe was won but i grew well am strong and cheerful and know the eternal rest of man thou too must find the one consoler who only loved endured and died

Starting point is 00:40:14 even for them that rod his doler with thousandfold rejoicing died he died and yet fresh each to-morrow his love and him thy heart doth hold thou mayst consoled for every sorrow him in thy arms with ardor fold new blood shall from his heart be driven through by dead bones like living wine and once thy heart to him is given then is his heart for ever thine what thou didst lose he keeps it for thee with him thy lost love thou shalt find and what his hand doth once restore thee that hand to thee will changeless bind into poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navarre's number four by george macdonald read for librovocs dot org by larry wilson of the thousand hours me meeting and with gladsome promised greeting one alone hath kept its faith one wherein ah sorely grieved in my heart i first perceived who for us did die the death all to dust my world was beaten as a worm had through them eaten withered in me bud and flower all my life had sought or cherished in the grave had sunk and perished pain sat in my ruined bower while i thus in silent sighing ever wept on death still crying still to sad delusions tied all at once the night was cloven from my grave the stone was hoven and my inner doors thrown wide whom i saw and who the other ask me not or friend or brother sight seen once and evermore lone in all life's eaves and morrows this hour only like marsarows ever shines my eyes before

Starting point is 00:42:15 end of poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from novelis number five by george macdonald read for libervox dot org by larry wilson if i him but have if he be but mine if my heart hence to the grave near forgets his love divine know i not of sadness feel i not but worship love and gladness if i him but have please from all i part follow on my pilgrim staff none but him with honest heart leave the rest not sane on broad bright and crowded highway strain if i him but have gladdened highway strain if i him but have glad to sleep i sink from his heart the flood he gave shall to mine be food and drink and with sweet compelling mine shall soften deep throughout it dwelling if i him but have mind the world i hail happy like a cherub grave holding back the virgin's veil i deep sunk in gazing here no more the earth o'er its poor praising where i have but him is my father land every gift a precious gem come to me from his own hand brothers long deplored lo and his disciples all restored end a poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from novelus number six by george macdonald read for librovocs dot org by larry wilson my faith to thee i break not if all should faithless be that gratitude forsake not the world eternal for my sake death did sting thee with anguish keen and sore therefore with joy i bring thee this heart for evermore

Starting point is 00:44:19 oft weep i like a river that thou art dead and yet so many of thine thee giver of life life long forget by love alone possess'd such great things thou hast done but thou art dead o blessed and no one thinks thereon thou stand'st with love and shame ever by every man and if by all forsaken art still the faithful one such love must win the wrestle at last thy love they'll see weep bitterly and nestle like children to thy knee thou with thy love hast found me o do not let me go keep me where thou hast bound me till one with thee i grow my brothers yet will waken one look to heaven will dart then sink down love o'ert taken and fall upon thy heart end of poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from nevalis number seven hymn by george macdonald read for librivox dot org by larry wilson few understand the mystery of love no insatiableness and thirst eternal of the last supper the divine meaning is to the earthly senses a riddle but he that ever from warm beloved lips dream breath of life, in whom the holy glow ever melted the heart in trembling waves, whose eye ever opened so as to fathom the bottomless deeps of heaven, will eat of his body and drink of his blood everlastingly. Who of the earthly body has divined the lofty sense? Who can say that he

Starting point is 00:46:04 understands the blood? One day all is body, one body, in heavenly blood swims the blissful tomb. that the ocean were even now flushing and in odorous flesh the rock were up swelling never endeth the sweet repast never doth love satisfy itself never enough never enough its own can it have the beloved by ever tenderer lips transformed the partaken grows deeper grows nearer pleasure more ardent thrills through the soul thirstier and hungrier becomes the heart and so endureth love's delight from everlasting to everlasting had the refraining tasted but once all had they left to set themselves down with us to the table of longing which will never be bare then had they known love's infinite fulness and commended the sustenance of body and blood end a poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navales number eight by george macdonald read for librivox dot org by larry wilson weep i must my heart runs over would he once himself discover if but once from far away holy sorrow still prevailing and my weeping is my wailing would that i were turned to clay evermore i hear him crying to his father see him dying will this heart for ever beat will my eyes in death close never weeping all into a river were a bliss for me too sweet

Starting point is 00:47:57 here i none but me bewailing dies his name and echo failing is the world at once struck dead shall i from his eyes ah never more drink love and life for ever more-and-life for ever is he now for for always dead dead what means that sound a dollar tell me tell me thou a scholar what it means that word so grim he is silent all turn from me no one on the earth will show me where my heart may look for him earth no more whate'er befall me can to any gladness call me she is but one dream of woe i too am with him departed would i lay with him still hearted in the region down below hear me hear his and my father my dead bones i pray thee gather unto his and soon i pray grass his hillock soon will cover soon the wind will wander over soon his form will fade away if his love they once perceived soon all men had believed letting all things else go by lord of love him only owning all would weep with me bemoaning and in bitter woe would die end the poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from nevallis number nine by george macdonald read for librivox dot org by larry wilson he lives he's risen from the dead to every man i shout his presence over us is spread goes with us in and out to each i say each apace his comrades telleth to that straight will dawn in every place the heavenly kingdom new now to the new mind first appears the world of fatherland a new life men receive with tears of rapture from his hand

Starting point is 00:50:04 down into deepest gulfs of sea grim death hath sunk away and now each man with holy glee can face his coming day the darkson road that he hath gone leads out on heaven's floor who heeds the counsel of the sun enters the father's door down here weeps no one any more for a friend that shuts his eyes for soon or late the parting sore will change to glad surprise and now to every friendly deed each one any more each friend that shuts his eyes for soon or late the parting sore will change to glad surprise and now to every friendly deed each one each heart will warmer glow for many a fold the fresh-sown seed and lovelier fields will blow he lives will sit beside our hearths the greatest with the least therefore this day shall be our earth's glad renovation feast end of poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navillas number ten by george macdonald recorded for librivox dot org by larry wilson the times are all so wretched the heart so full of cares the future far outstretched a spectral horror wears wild terrors creep and hover with foot so ghastly soft our souls black midnights cover with mountains piled aloft firm props like reeds are waving for trust is left no stay our thoughts like whirlpool raving no more the will obey. Frenzy with eye resistless decoys from truth's defense. Life's pulses flagging listless, and dull is every sense. Who hath the cross upheavid to shelter every soul? Who lives on high

Starting point is 00:51:54 received to make the wounded whole? Go to the tree of wonder. Give silent longing room. Issuing flames asunder thy bad dream will consume. Draws thee inane. angel tender in safety to the strand lo at thy feet in splendor lie spread the promised land in the poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navales number eleven by george macdonald read for librovocs dot org by larry wilson i know not what were left to draw me had i but him who is my bliss if still his eye with pleasure saw me and dwelling with me me would be miss so many search round all ways going with face distorted anxious eye who call themselves the wise and knowing yet ever pass this treasure by one man believes that he has found it and what he has is not but gold one takes the world by sailing round it the deed recorded all is told one man runs well to gain the laurel another in victory's fain and this by different shows in bright apparel all are befooled not one made rich hath he not then to you appeared have ye forgot him turning wan who sighed for love of us with spirit the scorned rejected son of man of him have you not read the story heard one poor word upon the wind what heavenly goodness was his glory or what a gift he left behind how he descended from the father of lovelies mother in

Starting point is 00:53:42 and grand what word the nations from him gather how many bless his healing hand all thereto urge by mere love wholly he gave himself to us away and down an earth foundation lowly first stone of god's new city lay can such news fail to touch us mortals is not to know the man pure bliss will you not open all your portals to him who close for you the abyss will you not let the world go fearing, for him your dearest wish deny. To him alone your heart keep bearing, who you has shown such favor high. Hero of love, oh, take me, take me, thou art my life, my world, my gold. Should every earthly thing forsake me, I know who will me scathless hold. I see thee my lost loves restoring. True evermore to me thou art, low at thy feet heaven sinks adoring, and yet thou dwellest in my heart in the poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navallus number twelve by george macdonald read for librovocs dot org by larry wilson earth's consolation why so slow thy inn is ready long ago each lifts to thee his hungering eyes and open to thy blessing lies o father pour him forth with might

Starting point is 00:55:19 out of thine arms o yield him quite shyness alone sweet shame i know kept him from coming long ago haste him from thine heart into our arm to take him with thy breath yet warm thick clouds around the baby rap and let him down into our lap in the cool streams send him to us in flames let him glow tremulous in air and oil in sound and dew let him pierce all earth's structure through true so shall the holy fight be fought so come the rage of hell to naught at never blooming dawn again the ancient paradise of men earth stirs once more grows green and live full of the spirit all things strive to clasp with love the saviour guest and offer him the mother breast winter gives way a year new-born stands at the manger's altar-horn tis the first year of that new earth claimed by the child in right of birth our eyes they see the saviour well yet in them doth the saviour dwell with flowers his head is wreathed about from every flower himself smiles out he is the star he is the sun life's well that evermore will run from herb stone sea and light's expanse glimmers his childish countenance his childlike labor things to mend his ardent love will never end. He nestles with

Starting point is 00:56:51 unconscious art divinely fast to every heart. To us a God, to himself a child. He loves us all self undefiled. Becomes our drink, becomes our food. His dearest thanks a heart that's good. The misery grows

Starting point is 00:57:08 yet more and more. A gloomy grief afflicts us sore. Keep him no longer, father thus. He will come home again with us. In the poem, This recording is in the public domain. Spiritual Songs from Navalis number 13 by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org by Larry Wilson.

Starting point is 00:57:37 When in hours of fear and failing, all but quite our heart despairs, when with sickness driven to wailing, anguish at our bosom tears, then our loved ones we remember, all their grief and trouble rue, clouds close in on our December, and no beam of hope shines through.

Starting point is 00:57:59 Oh, but then God bends him o'er us. Then his love comes very nearer. Long we heavenward then, before us, lo, His angel standing clear. Life's cup fresh to us he reaches, Whispers comfort, courage new, Nor in vain our prayer beseeches, Rest for our beloved ones, too.

Starting point is 00:58:21 End a poem. This recording is in the public domain. spiritual songs from navales number fourteen by george macdonald read for librivox dot org by larry wilson who once hath seen thee mother fair destruction him shall never snare his fear is from thee to be parted he loves thee ever more true-hearted thy grace remembered is the source where out springs hence his spirit's highest force my heart is very true to thee my every failure to thee my every failure thou dost see let me sweet mother yet essay thee give me one happy sign i pray thee my whole existence rests in thee one moment only one but thou with me i used to see thee in my dreams so fair so full of tenderest beams the little god in thine arm's line took pity on his playmate crying but thou with high look me didst thou and into clouds of glory didst withdraw what have i done to thee poor wretch to thee my longing arms i stretch are not thy holy chapels ever my resting-spots in life's endeavour o queen of saints and angels blessed this heart and life take up into thy rest thou knowest that i beloved queen all thine and only thine have been have i not now years of long made

Starting point is 00:59:53 in silence learned thy grace to treasure while to myself yet scarce confessed even then i drew milk from thy holy breast o countless times thou stoodst by me i merry child looked up to thee his hands thy little infant gave me in sign that one day he would save me thou smiled this full of tenderness and then didst kiss me o the heavenly bliss afar stands now that gladness brief long have i come in need with grief restless i stray outside the garden have i then sinned beyond thy pardon childlike thy garments him i pull awake me from this dream so weariful if only children see thy face and confident may trust thy grace from ages bonds o me deliver and make me thine own child forever the love and truth of childhood's prime dwell in me yet from that same golden time end a poem this recording is in the public domain spiritual songs from navarre's number fifteen by george macdonald read for librovocs dot org by larry wilson in countless pictures i behold thee o mary lovelily expressed but of them all none can unfold thee as i have seen thee in my breast i only know the world's loud splendour since then is like a dream or blown and that a heaven for words too tender my quieted spirit fills alone end a poem this recording is in the public domain A parable from Novalus by George MacDonald

Starting point is 01:01:51 Read for Libbyrox.org by AlgaePug Long ago there lived far to the west a very young man, good but extremely odd. He tormented himself continually about this nothing and that nothing, always walked in silence and straight before him, sat down alone when the others were at their sports and merry-makings, and brooded over straight. things. Caves and woods were his dearest haunts, and there he talked on and on with beasts and

Starting point is 01:02:24 birds, with trees and rocks. Of course, not one rational word, but mere idiotic stuff to make one laugh to death. He continued, however, always moody and serious, in spite of the utmost pains that the squirrel, the monkey, the parrot, and the bullfinch could take to divert him, and set him in the right way. The goose told stories. The brook jingled a ballad between, a great thick stone cut ridiculous capers, the rose stole lovingly about him from behind, and crept through his locks, while the ivy stroked his troubled brow. But his melancholy in gravity were stubborn. His parents were much troubled, and did not know what to do. He was in good health, and ate well enough. They had never caused him any offence, and until a few years ago he had been the liveliest and merriest of them all,

Starting point is 01:03:24 foremost in all their games, and a favourite with all the maidens. He was very handsome, looked like a picture, and danced like an angel. Amongst the maidens was one, a charming and beautiful creature who looked like wax, had hair like golden silk, and cherry red lips, was a doll for size and had coal-black, yes, raven-black eyes. Whoever saw her was ready to swoon, she was so lovely. Now Rosebud, for that was her name, was heartily fond of the handsome hyacinth, for that was his name, and he loved her fit to die. The other children knew nothing of it. A violet told them of it first. The little housecats had been quite aware of it, for the houses of their parents lay near each other. So when Hyacinth stood at night by his window

Starting point is 01:04:22 and Rosebud at hers, and the cats ran past mouse-hunting, they saw the two standing there, and often laughed and titted so loud that they heard it and were offended. The violet told it in conference to the strawberry, and she told it to her friend the raspberry, who never ceased rasping when Hy-Sinth came along. so that by and by the whole garden and wood were in the secret and when hyacinth went out he heard on all sides the cry little rosy is my posy this vexed him but the next moment he could not help laughing from the bottom of his heart when the little lizard came slipping along sat down on a warm stone waggled his tail and sang little rosebud good and wise all at once has lost her eyes, taking high scyth for her mother, round his neck her arms she flings, then perceiving tis another, starts with terror? No, but clings. Think of that, fast as before,

Starting point is 01:05:32 only kissing all the more. Alas, how soon was the grand time over? There came a man out of strange lands, who had travelled wondrous far and wide, had a long, beard, deep eyes, frightful eyebrows, and a strange garment with many folds, and in woven with curious figures. He seated himself before the house of High Synth's parents. Hyacinth at once became very inquisitive, and sat down beside him, and brought him bread and wine. Then parted he his white beard and told stories deep into the night, and Hyacinth never stirred

Starting point is 01:06:13 or tired of listening. This much they learned afterward that he talked a great deal about strange lands, unknown countries, and amazingly wonderful things, stopped there three days and crept with high synth down into deep shafts. Little Rosebud execrated the old sorcerer pretty thoroughly, for Hyacinth was altogether absorbed in his conversation, and paid no heed to anything else, hardly even to the swallowing of a mouthful of food. at length the man took his departure but left with hyacinth a little book which no man could read hyacinth gave him fruit and bread and wine to take with him and accompanied him a long way then he came back sunk in thought and thereafter took up a quite new mode of life rosebud was in a very sad way about him for from that time forward he made little of her and kept himself always to himself But he came to pass that one day he came home and was like one born again. He fell on his parents' neck and wept. I must away to a foreign land, he said.

Starting point is 01:07:29 The strange old woman in the wood has told me what I must do to get well. She has thrown the book into the fire and has made me come to you to ask your blessing. Perhaps I shall be back soon. Perhaps never more. Say goodbye to Rosebud for me. me. I should have been glad to have a talk with her. I do not know what has come to me. I must go. When I would think to recall old times, immediately come thoughts more potent in between. My rest is gone, and my heart and love with it, and I must go, find them. I would gladly tell you

Starting point is 01:08:06 whither, but do not myself know. It is where dwells the mother of things, the virgin with the veil. For her my spirit is on fire. farewell. He tore himself from them and went out. His parents lamented and shed tears. Rosebud kept her chamber and wept bitterly. High Synth now ran as fast as he could through valleys and wildernesses over mountains and streams toward the land of mystery. Everywhere he inquired of men and beasts, of rocks and trees, after the sacred. goddess Isis. Many laughed. Many held their peace. Nowhere did he get an answer. At first he passed through a rugged, wild country. Mists and clouds threw themselves in his way,

Starting point is 01:09:00 but he rushed on impetuously. Then he came to boundless deserts of sand, mere glowing dust. And as he went, his mood changed also. The time became tedious to him and his inward unrest abated. He grew gentler, and the stormy impulse in him passed by degrees into a mild, yet powerful attraction, wherein his whole spirit was dissolved. It seemed as if many years lay behind him. And now the country became again richer and more varied, the air, soft and blue, the way smoother. Green bushes enticed him with their pleasant shadows, but he did not understand their speech. They seemed indeed not to speak, and yet they filled his heart with their green hues, and their cool still presence. Ever higher in him waxed that same sweet longing,

Starting point is 01:09:59 and ever broader and juicier grew the leaves, ever louder and more jockoned, the birds and beasts, balmy of the fruits, darker the heavenly blue, warmer the air, and more ardent his love. The time went ever faster, as if it knew itself near the goal. One day he met a crystal rivulet and a multitude of flowers coming down into the valley between dark columnar cliffs. They greeted him friendily with familiar words. Dear country folk, said he, where shall I find the sacred dwelling of ISIS? Hereabouts it must be, and here, I guess, you are more at home than I. We also are but passing through, replied the flowers,

Starting point is 01:10:48 A spirit family is on its travels, and we are preparing for them their road and quarters. A little way back, however, we passed through a country where we heard her name mentioned. Only go up, where we came down, and thou wilt soon learn more. The flowers and the brooks smiled as they said it, offered him a cool draught, and went on their way.

Starting point is 01:11:13 Hyacinth followed their counsel, kept asking, and came at last to that dwelling he had sought so long, which lay hid among palms and other rare plants. His heart beat with an infinite longing, and the sweetest apprehension thrilled him in this abode of the eternal seasons. Amid heavenly odors he fell asleep, for dream alone could lead him into the holy of holies. In marvellous mode, dream conducted him through endless rooms full of strange things by means of witching sounds and changeful harmonies. All seemed to him so familiar, and yet strange, with an unknown splendor. Then vanished the last film of the perishable, as if melted into air, and he stood before the celestial virgin. Then he lifted the thin, glistening veil, and...

Starting point is 01:12:09 rosebud sank into his arms a far-off music surrounded the mysteries of love's reunion and the outpouring of their longings and shut out from the scene of their rapture everything alien to it i since lived a long time after with rosebud and his happy parents and old playmates and numberless grand children thanked the wonderful wise old woman for her counsel and her uproousing for in those days people had as many children as they pleased end of poem this recording is in a public domain the trist from shiller by george mcdonald read for librivox dot org by allan mapstone that was the sound of the wicket that was the latch as it rose no the wicket win that through the thickets of the poplars whirling goes put on thy beauty foliage-bolted roof her to receive with silent welcome grace her ye branches build a shadowy room eye proof with lovely night and stillness to embrace her ye airs caressing wake nor keep aloof in sport and gamble turn'd turning still to face her as with its load of beauty lightly borne glides in the fairy foot and dawns by what is that rustling the hedges she with her hurrying pace no a bird among the sedges startled from its hiding-place quench thy sunk torch o day steal out a peal

Starting point is 01:14:14 here dim ghostly night with dumbness us entrancing spread thy rose-purple veil about us here weave round us twigs the mystery enhancing love's rapture flees the lurking listening ear flies from the day so indiscreetly glancing hesper alone no tackling tale-tale he far gazing still her confident may be that was a voice but far distant faint like a whispering low no the swan that draws persistent through the pond his circles slow about mine ears harmonious breathings flow the fountain falls in sweetly wavering rushes the flower beneath the west wind's kiss bends slow, delight from each to everything out gushes. Great clusters beckon, peaches leering glow, and hide half in their leaves, upswelling, luscious, the air which aromatic odours streak, drinks up the glow upon my burning cheek. Here I not echoing footfalls hither adown the pleaded walk, no the over-ripened fruit falls heavy swollen from off its stalk day's flaming eye at last is quenched quite in gentle death its colours all are paling

Starting point is 01:16:01 now boldly open in the fair twilight the cups which in his blaze had long been quailing slow lifts the moon her visage calmly brights the cup's which in his blaze had long been quailing slow lifts the moon her visage calmly bright into great masses molten earth sinks failing from every charm the zone drops unaware and shrouded beauty dawns upon me bare yonder i see a white shimmer silky of robe or of shawl no it is the columns glimmer gainst the clip-use gloomy wall o longing heart no more thyself be fool flouted my fancy's loveliness unreal the empty arm no burning heart will cool no shadow joy holds place for love's ideal oh bring my live love all my heart to rule give me her hand to hold my every wheel or but the shadow of her mantle's hem, and straight my dreams shall live, and I in them.

Starting point is 01:17:20 And soft as, from hills rosy golden, the Jews of still gladness descend, so had she drawn nigh unbeholden and wakened with kisses her friend. End of poem, this recording

Starting point is 01:17:39 is in the public domain. Hope from Sheller by George MacDonald Read for Librevox.org by Sandra Men talk with their lips And dream with their soul of better days Hitherward pacing To a happy, a glorious golden goal

Starting point is 01:18:04 See them go, running and chasing. The world grows old And to youth returns, But still, for the better, man's bosom burns. It is hope leads him into life and its light, she haunts the little one Mary. The youth is inspired by her magic might, her the greybeard, cannot bury.

Starting point is 01:18:28 When he finds at the grave his ended scope, On the grave itself, he planteth hope. She was never begotten in Folly's brain, An empty illusion to flatter. In the heart she cries, aloud and plain, We are born to something better, and that which the inner voice doth say, the hoping spirit will not betray. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:19:00 The Words of Faith from Schiller by George MacDonald. Read for Librevox.org by Aaron Zimmerman. Three words, I will tell you, of meaning full. The lips of the many shout them, yet were they born, of no sect or school, the heart only knows about them, that man is of everything worth bereft, who in those three words has no faith left. Man is born free, and is free all way, even were he born in fetters. Let not the mob's cry lead you astray, or the misdeeds of frantic upsetters.

Starting point is 01:19:45 Fear not the slave when he breaks his bands. fear nothing from any free man's hands. And virtue? It is no empty sound, that a man can obey her, no folly. Even if he stumble all over the ground, he yet can follow the holy. And what never wisdom of wise man knew, a childlike spirit can simply do. And a God there is, a steadfast will. However, the human shrinketh.

Starting point is 01:20:19 High over space and time he still. The live thought doth what he thinketh. And though all things keep circling to change confined, he keeps in all changes a changeless mind. These three words cherish, of meaning full, from mouth to mouth, send them faring. For, although they spring from no sect or school, your hearts them witness are bearing, and man is never of worth be reft, while yet he has faith in those

Starting point is 01:20:55 three words left. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The words of vanity from Schiller by George MacDonald, read for Librevox.org by Sandra. Three words there are of weighty sound, and from good men's lips they are. hail us, but a tinkling symbol, a drums rebound for help, or for comfort they fail us. His life's fruit away he forfeit flings. Who catches after those shadows of things, who still believes in a golden age where the right and the good reign in splendor? The right and the good war ever must wage. Their foe will never surrender. And chokest thou him not, in the upper air, his strength he will still on the earth repair.

Starting point is 01:21:51 Who yet believes that fortune, the jilt, to the noble, will bind herself ever? Her love looks follow the man of guilt. The world to the good belongs never. He is in it a stranger. He wanders away seeking a house that will not decay. Who still believes that to human gaze, truth ever her visage discloses. Her veil no mortal hand shall raise. Man only thinks and supposes.

Starting point is 01:22:19 Thou mayest prison the spirit in sounding form, But the fetterless walks away on the storm. Then, noble spirit, from folly, break free, This heavenly faith holding and handing. What the ear never heard, what no eye can see, Is the lovely, the true, notwithstanding? Outside, the fool seeks for it evermore. The wise man finds it with closed it door.

Starting point is 01:22:46 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Metaphysician From Shidder by George MacDonald Read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone How far the world lies under me scarce can I see the men below their crawling

Starting point is 01:23:13 How high it bears me up my lofty calling How near the heavenly canopy Thus from tower roof where he doth clamber calls out the slater and with him the small big man jack metaphysicus down in his writing chamber tell me thou little great big man the tower whence thou so grand thee all things hath inspected of what is it whereon is it erected how camst thou up thyself Its height so smooth and bare, How serve they thee, But thence into the veil to stare?

Starting point is 01:24:03 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Philosophers from Schiller by George MacDonald, read for Libravox.org by Aaron Zimmerman. The principle whence everything to life and shape ascended. The pulley whereon Zeus the ring of earth, which else in shreds would spring, as carefully suspended, to genius I yield him acclaim,

Starting point is 01:24:39 who fathoms for me what its name, save I withdraw its curtain. It is, ten, not thirteen. That snow makes cold, that fire burns, That man on two feet goeth, that in the heavens the sun sojourns, this much the man who logic spurns, through his own senses knoweth, but metaphysics who has got, knows he that burneth, freezeth not, knows tis the moist that wetteth, and tis the rough that fretteth. Great Homer sings his epic high, The hero fronts his dangers, the brave his duty still doth ply,

Starting point is 01:25:29 and did it while I won't deny philosophers were strangers, but Grant by heart and brain achieved, what Locke and Descartes ne'er conceived. By them yet as behooved, it possible was proved. Strength for the right is counted still, Bold, laughs the strong hyena, who rule not, servants' parts must fill. It goes quite tolerably ill upon this world's arena, but how it would be if the plan of the universe now first began. In many a moral system, all men may read who list them.

Starting point is 01:26:15 Man needs with man must link be to reach the goal. of growing. In the hole only worketh he. Many drops go to make the sea. Much water sets mills going. Then, with the wild wolves, do not stand, but knit the state's enduring band. From doctor's chair, thus tranquil, Herr Puffendorf, and Swan Quill. But since to all what doctors say, flies not as soon, as spoken. Nature will use her mother way, see that her chain fly not in tway. The circle be not broken. Meantime, until the world's great round philosophy in one hath bound. She keeps it on the move, sir, by hunger and by love, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Confucius from Schiller by George MacDonald.

Starting point is 01:27:30 Read for Libravox.org by Aaron Zimmerman. 1. 3fold is of time the tread. Lingering comes the future pacing hither. Dart-like is the now-gone thither. Stands the past eye, moveless, foot and head. No impatience wings its idle, tread of leisurely delay, fear or doubt it cannot bridle, should it headlong run away,

Starting point is 01:28:02 no remorse, no incantation, moves the standing from its station. Wouldst thou end thy earthly journey, wise and of good fortune full, make the lingering thine attorney, thee to counsel, not thy tool, not for friend the flying take, nor thy foe the standing make. Two. Threefold is of space the way, on unresting without stay, strives the length into the distance, ceaseless pours the breadth's insistence, bottomless, the depth goes down. For a sign the three are sent thee, onward must alone content thee, weary, thou must not stand still, wouldst thou thy perfection fill, thou must spread thee wider, bigger, wouldst thou have the world take figure? To the deep the man descendeth, who existence comprehendeth,

Starting point is 01:29:09 leads persistence to the goal, leads abundance to precision, dwells in the abyss, the vision. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain epigrams from schiller by george mcdonald read for liverybox.org by allan mapstone knowledge to this man tis a goddess tall who lifts a star in circled head to that a fine cow in a stall which gives him butter to his bread my face faith which religion i profess none of which you mention make wherefore so and can't you guess for religion's sake friend and foe dear is my friend but my foe too is friendly to my good my friend the thing shows i can do my foe the thing i should expectation and fulfillment thousand masted mighty float

Starting point is 01:30:33 out to sea youth's navy goes silent in his one saved boat age into the harbour rose end of poem this recording is in the public domain The Diver from Schiller by George MacDonald read for Libervox.combe.

Starting point is 01:31:01 by Suzanne Carroll. Which of you, Knight or Squire, will dare plunge into yonder gulf? A golden beaker I fling in it, there, the black mouth swallows it like a wolf. Who brings me the cup again, whoever it is his own?

Starting point is 01:31:23 He may keep it forever. Tis the king who speaks, and he flings from the brow of the cliff That rugged and steep Hangs out o'er the endless sea below The cup and the whirlpools howling heap Again, I ask, what hero will follow? What brave heart plunge into yon dark hollow?

Starting point is 01:31:48 The knights and the squires, the king about, Hear him and dumbly stare into the wild seas' tumbling route. But to win the beaker, they hardly care. The king, for the third time, round him glaring, Not a soul of you has the daring? Speechless all, as before, they stand. When a vassal, bold, gentle, and gay, steps out from his comrade's shrinking band,

Starting point is 01:32:22 flinging his girdle and cloak away, and all the women and men that surrounded gazed on the grand-looking youth, astounded. And when he stepped to the rock's rough brow, looking down on the gulf so black, the waters which it had swallowed, now caribus bellowing, rendered back, and with a roar as of distant thunder, foaming they burst from the dark lap under, It wallows, seeds, hisses, enraging rout, as when water wrestles with fire, till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout, And flood upon flood keeps mounting higher, It will never its endless coil unravel, As the sea with another sea were in travail. But at last, slow sinks the writhing spasm, And black through the foaming,

Starting point is 01:33:21 white, downward gapes a yawning chasm, bottomless, cloven to hell's wide night, and, sucked up, see the billows roaring, down through the whirling funnel pouring. Then, in haste, ere the outrage return again, the youth to his God doth pray, and ascends a cry of horror and pain, already the vortex. hath swept him away, and o'er the bold swimmer, in darkness eternal, closed the great jaws of the gulf infernal. Then the water above grows smooth as glass, well below dull roaring's ply, and trembling they hear the murmur pass,

Starting point is 01:34:12 high-hearted youth, farewell, goodbye. And hollower still comes the howl affraying, till their hearts are sick with the frightful delaying. If the crown itself thou in should fling, and say, Who back with it hies, Himself shall wear it, and shall be king? I should not covet the precious prize.

Starting point is 01:34:40 What ocean hides in that howling hell of it, Live soul will never come back to tell of it. Ships many, caught in that whirling surge, shot sheer to their dismal doom. Keel and mast only did ever emerge, shattered from out the old gulping tomb. Like the bluster of tempest, clearer and clearer comes its roaring nearer and ever nearer. It wallows, seethes, hisses, enraging rout as when water wrestles with fire, till to heaven the year. Yeasty tongues they spout, wave upon waves back mounting higher, and as with the rumble of distant thunder, bellowing it bursts from the dark lap under. And see from its bosom, flowing dark,

Starting point is 01:35:37 something heave up, swan white, an arm and a shiny neck they mark, and it rose with unrelaxing might. It is he, and aloft in his left hand holding, he swings, recovered the beaker golden. With long, deep breaths, his path he plowed, glad greeting the heavenly day. Jubilant shouted the gazing crowd. He lives. He is free. He has burst his way. Out of the grave, the whirlpool uproarious, the hero hath rescued his life victorious. He comes. They surround him with shouts of glee at the king's feet. he sinks on the sod and hands him the beaker upon his knee. To his lovely daughter, the king gives a nod. She fills it brimful of wine, sparkling and rain, and then to the monarch, the youth turned, saying,

Starting point is 01:36:37 Long live the king, how well doth he fair who breathes in this rosy light! For frightful, yea horrible is it down there, and man ought not to tell. the heavenly might or long to see with prying unwholesome what he graciously covers with darkness dulcum it tore me down as on lightning's wing when a shaft and a rock outpours wild rushing against me a torrent spring its conflict seized me with raging force and like a top with giddy twisting spun me about, there was no resisting. Then God did show me, sore beseeching in deepest, frightfulest need. Up from the bottom a rock ledge reaching. At it I caught, and from death was freed. And behold, on spiked corals the beaker suspended, which had else to the very abyss descended.

Starting point is 01:37:42 For below me, it lay yet mountain deep, the purple. darksome maw, and, though to the ear it was dead asleep, the gasted eye, downstaring, saw how with dragons, lizards, salamanders crawling, the hell jaws horrible were sprawling. Black swarming in medley miscreate, in masses lumped hideously, wallowed the conjure, the thorny skate, the lobster's grisly deformity, and bearing its teeth with cruel sheen, a terrible shark, the sea's hyena. So there I hung,

Starting point is 01:38:28 and shuddering knew that human help was none, one thinking soul mid the horrid crew in the ghastly desert I was alone. Deeper than human speech ere sounded, by the sad waste dismal monsters surrounded. Thus, thought I, and shivered, then as something crept near upon legs with a hundred joints, it snaps at me suddenly, frantic with fear,

Starting point is 01:38:58 I lost my grasp of the coral points, away the whirl in its raging tore me, but it was my salvation, and upward bore me. The king at the tail is filled with, with a maze. The beaker well won is thine, and this ring I will give thee too, he says, precious with gems that are more than fine, if thou dare it yet once, and bring me the story of what's in the sea's lowest repertory. His daughter, she hears him with tender dismay, and with sweet words swasive doth plead. Father, enough of this cruel play! For

Starting point is 01:39:41 For you he has done an unheard-of deed. If you may not master your heart's desire, Tis the knight's turn now to shame the squire. The king sudden snatches and hurls the cup into the swirling pool. If thou bring me once more that beaker up, thou art best of my knights, the most worshipful. And this very day, to thy home thou shalt lead her, who stands there,

Starting point is 01:40:09 for thee such a pitiful pleader. A passion divine his being invades, his eyes dart a lightning ray. He sees of her blushes the changeful shades. He sees her grow pallid and sink away. Determination thorough hymn flashes, and downward for life or for death he dashes. They hear the dull roar. Tis returning again,

Starting point is 01:40:38 announced by the thunderous brawl. Downward they bend with loving strain. They come. They are coming. The waters all. They rush up. They rush down. They rush ever and ever. The youth to the daylight rises. Never. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Schiller by George MacDonald read for liverybox.org by Alan Matstone. True love, night, as to a brother, yield I you again. Ask me not for any other, for it gives me pain. Calmly, I behold, you come in, calm behold you go. Your sad eyes, the weeping dumb in. i nor read nor know and he hears her uncomplaining tears him free by force to his heart but once her straining flings him on his horse sends to all his vassals merry in old switzerland to the holy grave they hurry white-crossed pilgrim band

Starting point is 01:42:11 mighty deeds the foe out braving works their hero arm from their helms the plumes float waving mid the heathen swarm still his togumberg up waking frays the muscle man but his heart its grievous aching quiet never can one whole year he did endure it then his patience lost peace he never could secure it and forsakes the host sees a ship by jopper's entry at her cable saw sails him home to that dear country where she breath doth draw at the gate her castle under pilgrim sad he knocked straight as with a word of thunder was the gate unlock she you seek with rites most solemn is betroth to heaven yesterday beneath that column she to christ was given then the halls he leaves for ever of his ancestors shield or sword sets eyes on never or his faithful horse down from togemberg he fareth none to see or care on his noble limbs he weareth sackcloth made of hair and himself a hovel buildeth that same cloister nigh where the lime-tree thicket yieldeth cover whence to spy there from morning's earliest traces till red evening shone thither turned his hoping faces there he sits alone on the wall so high above him his eyes waiting hang waiting though she would not love him for her lattice clang waiting till the love should send her glance into the veil and unthinking toward it bend her visage angel pale

Starting point is 01:44:28 then he laid him sadness scorning comforted to sleep quietly joyous till the morning out again should pious should and so sat he in years o many years without a pang waiting without murmur any till her window rang for the lovely one to send her glance into the veil and unseeing towards him bend her angel visage pale and thus sat he staring wanly his last morning there towards him bend her angel visage pale and thus sat he staring wanly his last morning there Toward her window still the manly, silent face did stare. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Longing From Schiller by George MacDonald

Starting point is 01:45:30 Read for Libbybox.org by Algeypag. Ah, from out this valley hollow, by cold fogs always oppressed, could I but the outpath follow? Ah, how were my spirit, blessed. Hills I see there, glad dominions, ever young, and green for I. Had I wings, oh, had I pinions, to the hills where I away. Harmonies I hear there ringing, tones of sweetest heavenly rest, and the gentle winds are bringing balmy odours to my breast. Golden fruits peep out there,

Starting point is 01:46:11 glowing through the leaves to Zephyr's play, and the gentle winds are bringing, barmy odors to my breast, and the the flowers that there are blowing will become no winter's prey. Oh, what happy things are meeting there, in endless sunshine free, and the airs on those hills greeting, how reviving must they be. But, mechecks, yon raving river, that betwixt doth chafe and roll, and its dark waves rising ever strike a horror to my soul. See a skiff on wild, wave heaving, but no sailor walks the mole, quick into it, firm believing, for its sails they have a soul. Thou must trust, nor wait to ponder. God will give no pledge in hand, naught but miracle bears yonder to the lovely wonderland. End of poem. This recording is in the

Starting point is 01:47:10 Public Domain Poems from Gerta by George MacDonald Read for Libribox.org by Alan Mapstone Poems are painted window panes Look from the square into the church Gloom and dusk are all your gains Sir Philistine is left in the lurch

Starting point is 01:47:41 Outside he stands spies nothing or use of it, and naught is left him save the abuse of it. But you, I pray you, just step in, making the chapel your obeisance. All at once, tis a radiant pleasance. Device and story flash to presence. A gracious splendor works to win. This to God's Children is full measure. It edifies and gives them pleasure. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Legend from Gerta by George MacDonald. Read for Libbyrox.org by Algae Pag.

Starting point is 01:48:36 Legend, after the manor of Hans Zach's. While yet unknown and very low, our Lord on earth went to and fro, and some of his scholars, his words so good, very strangely misunderstood. He much preferred to hold his court in streets and places of resort, because, under the heaven's face, words better and freer flow apace.

Starting point is 01:49:04 There he gave them the highest law out of his holy mouth in store. Wonderously, by parable and example, made every marketplace a temple. So faring, in his heart, content, Once with them to a town he went, Saw something blinking on the way, And there a broken horseshoe lay. He said thereon, St. Peter too,

Starting point is 01:49:31 Prithee now, pick up that shoe. St. Peter was not in fitting mood. He had been dreaming all the road Some stuff about ruling of the world, round which so many brains are twirled, for in the head it seems so easy, and with it his thoughts were often busy. Therefore the finding was much too mean,

Starting point is 01:49:54 crown and scepter it should have been. He was not the one his back to bow, after half an iron shoe. Therefore aside his head he bended, and that he had not heard, pretended. In his forbearance, the Lord did stoop and lift himself the horse shoe up, then for the present he did wait.

Starting point is 01:50:17 But when they reach the city gate, he goes up to a blacksmith's door, receives threepence the horseshoe for, and as they threw the market fair, seeing for sale, find cherries there, he buys of them so few or so many as they will give for a threepenny, which he thereon, after his way,

Starting point is 01:50:39 up his sleeve did quietly lay. Now, from the other gate they trod, through fields and meads, a houseless road. The path of trees was desolate, the sun shone out, the heat was great, so that one in a region such

Starting point is 01:50:56 for a drink of water had given much. The Lord goes ever before them all, and as by chance, let's a cherry fall. In the trice, St. Peter was after it there, as if a golden apple it were. Sweet to his palate was the berry. Then, by and by, another cherry, down on the ground the master sends, for which St. Peter as quickly bends. So, many a time, the Lord doth let him bend his back a cherry to get. A long time thus he let him

Starting point is 01:51:32 clean. Then said the Lord, with look serene, if at the right time thou hadst to bend, though hadst found it more convenient of little things who little doth make for lesser things must trouble take End of poem This recording is in the public domain The Castle on the Mountain

Starting point is 01:52:00 From Gerta By George MacDonald Read for liverybox.org By Alan Mapstone Up there Upon yonder mountain stands a castle old in the gorse where once behind doors and portals lurking lay knights and horse burnt are the doors and the portals all around it is very still its old walls tumbled in ruins i scramble about at my will close hereby lay a cellar full of wine that was old and rare

Starting point is 01:52:43 but the cheery made with the pitchers no more comes down the stair no more in the hall sedately sets the beaker before the guest no more at the festival stately the flagon fills for the priest no more to the page so thirsty gives a draught in the corridor and receives for the hurried favour the hurried thanks no more for every rafter and ceiling long ago were to ashes burned and stair and passage and chapel to rubbish and ruin turned yet when with flask and sittern on a day in the summer's prime up to the rocky summit i watched my darling climb out came the old joy reviving on the face of the ancient rest and on went the old life driving in its lordliness and zest it seemed as for strangers distinguished their staterooms they did prepare and out of their state-rooms they did prepare and out of the that brave time shadowy, came stepping a youthful pair. And the worthy priest in his chapel stood already in priestly dress, and asked, will you two take one another? And smiling, we answered, Yes. And the hymns with deep pulsation stirred every heart at once, and instead of the congregation,

Starting point is 01:54:21 the echo yelled response and when in the gathering evening profound the stillness grew and the red-glowing sun at the broken gable came peering through then damsel and page in his rays are grandees of the olden prime she tastes of his cup at her leisure and he to thank her takes time End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Lost Church, from Uland by George MacDonald, read for liberbox.org by Sandra. The Lost Church In the far forest overhead a bell is often heard obscurely. How long since first no one can tell, nor can report, explain it surely. From the lost church, the rumor hath, out on the wall.

Starting point is 01:55:26 winds the ringing goeth. Once full of pilgrims was the path. Now where to find it, no one knoweth. Deep in the wood I lately went, where no foot-trodden way is lying. From times corrupt, on evil bent, my heart to God went out in sighing. There in the wild woods deep repose, I heard the ringing, somewhat nearer. The higher that my longing rose, its peal grew fuller and became clearer. My thoughts upon themselves did brood. My sense was with the sound so busy that I have never understood how I did climb that steep so dizzy.

Starting point is 01:56:03 It seemed more than a hundred years had passed me over, dreaming, sighing, when far above the clouds appears an open space in sunlight lying. Dark blue, the heavens above it bowed. The sun was radiant, large and glowing. And see a minister's structure, proud, stood in the rich light, golden showing. The clouds around it, sunny clear, seemed bearing it aloft like pinions. Its spire point seemed to disappear, slow vanishing in heaven's dominions. The bell's clear tones

Starting point is 01:56:37 of rapture full, boomed in the tower and made it quiver. No mortal hand that rope did pull. A dumb storm made it swing and shiver. It seemed to heave my throbbing breast, that heavenly storm with torrent blended, with wavering step yet hopeful quest, into the church my way I wended. What met me there, as in I trod, with syllables cannot be painted, darksome yet clear, the windows glowed with forms of all the martyrs sainted. Then saw I radiantly unfurled, form, swell to life, and break its barriers. I looked abroad into a world of holy women and God's warriors. Down at the The altar I kneeled soft, with love and prayer my heart, allegiant. Upon the ceiling, far aloft, was painted heaven's resplendent pageant.

Starting point is 01:57:30 But when again I lift mine eyes, lo, the high vault has flown asunder. The upward gate wide open lies, and every veil unveils a wonder. What gloriousness I then beheld with silent worship, speechless wonder, what blessed sounds upon me swelled, like organs and like trumpets, thunder. No human words could ever tell, but who, for such is sighing sorest? Let him give heed unto the bell that dimly sound us in the forest. End of poem. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. The Dream from Uland by George MacDonald, read for libravox.org by Sandra, Nova Scotia in a garden sweet went walking two lovers hand in hand two pallid figures low talking they sat in the

Starting point is 01:58:31 flowery land they kissed on the cheek one another and they kissed upon the mouth they held in their arms each the other and back came their health and youth two little bells rang shrilly and the lovely dream was dead she lay in the cloister chill he afar on his dungeon bed. End of poem. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Leader 4. From Hainey by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org by Sandra, Nova Scotia,

Starting point is 01:59:13 2023. Thy little hand lay on my bosom, dear. What a knocking in that little chamber, dust here. There dwelleth a carpenter, evil, and he's hard at work on a coffin for me. He hammers and knocks by night and by day. Tis long since he drove all my sleep away.

Starting point is 01:59:34 Ah, hasty carpenter, busy keep, that I the sooner may go to sleep. End of poem. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Leolish's Intermitso from Hine by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org. by Aaron Zimmerman 38

Starting point is 02:00:03 The phantoms of times forgotten arise from out their grave and show me how once in thy presence I lived the life it gave. In the day I wandered dreaming through the streets with unsteady foot. The people looked at me in wonder. I was so mournful and mute.

Starting point is 02:00:28 At night, then, it was better, for empty was the town. I and my shadow together walked speechless, up and down. My way, with echoing footstep over the bridge I took. The moon broke out of the waters and gave me a meaning look. I stopped before thy dwelling, and gazed and gazed again, stood staring up at thy window, my heart was in such pain. I know that thou from thy window didst often look downward and sawest me, there in the moonlight, a motionless pillar stand. I dreamt of the daughter of a king, with white cheeks, tear bewetted. We sat neath the lime-tree's levy ring, in love's embraces, netting.

Starting point is 02:01:26 I would not have thy father's throne, his crown or his golden scepter. I want my lovely princess alone from fate that so long hath kept her. That cannot be, she said to me. I lie in the grave uncheerly, and only at night I come to thee, because I love thee so dearly. 45 In the summer sunny morning, into the garden, I come. The flowers are whispering and talking, but for me I wander dumb. The flowers are whispering and talking, they pity my look so wan.

Starting point is 02:02:10 Thou must not be cross with our sister, thou sorrowful, pale-faced man. Forty-four Night lay upon mine I am. On my mouth lay lead. With rigid brain and bosom I lay among the dead. How long it was, I know not, that sleep oblivion gave. I wakened up, and listening heard a knocking at my grave. Tis time to rise up, Henry, the eternal day draws on. The dead are all arisen. The eternal joys begun. My love, I cannot raise me, for I have lost my sight.

Starting point is 02:02:56 My eyes, with bitter weeping, they are extinguished quite. From thy dear eyelids, Henry, I'll kiss the night away. Thou shalt behold the angels and heaven's superb display. My love, I cannot raise me, still bleeds my bosom gourd, where thou heart deep didst stab me, with a greg, keen pointed word. Soft, I will lay it, Henry, my hand soft on thy heart, and that will stop its bleeding, and sooth at once the smart. My love, I cannot raise me, my head is bleeding too. When thou wast stolen from me, I shot it through and through. I, with my tresses, Henry,

Starting point is 02:03:49 stop the fountain, red, press back again, the bloodstream, and heal thy wounded head. She begged so sweetly, dearly, I could no more say no, I tried, I strove to raise me, and to my darling go. Then the wounds again burst open, with torrent force, outbreak, from head and breast the bloodstream, and lo, I came away. W. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. De Hymcare from Hine by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org by Aaron Zimmerman. 60. They have company this evening, and the house is full of light. Up there, at the shining window, moves a shadowy form in white. Thou seest me not.

Starting point is 02:04:54 In the darkness I stand here, below, apart, yet less, ah, less thou seest, into my gloomy heart. My gloomy heart, it loves thee, loves thee in every spot, it breaks, it bleeds, it shudders, but into it thou seest not. 62 Diamonds hast thou, and pearls, and all by which men lay store, and of thy. eyes, thou hast the fairest, darling, what wouldst thou more? Upon thine eyes, so lovely, have I a whole army corpse, of undying songs composed, dearest, what wouldst thou more?

Starting point is 02:05:42 And with thine eyes so lovely, thou hast tortured me very sore, and hast ruined me altogether, Darling, what wouldst thou more? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Nordzei, from Hina, by George MacDonald. Read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone. First cycle, twelve, peace. High in heaven the sun was glowing, white,

Starting point is 02:06:26 cloud waves were round him flowing the sea was still and grey thinking in dreams by the helm i lay half waking half in slumber then saw i christ the saviour of men in undulating garments white he walked in giant shape and height over land and sea high in the heaven up-towered his head his hands in blessing forth he spread over land and sea and for a heart in his breast he bore the sun there did it rest the red flaming heart of the lord out of its gracious radiance poured its fair and love caressing light with illuminating and warming might over land and sea sounds of solemn bells that go through the air to and fro drew like swans in rosy traces with soft solemn stately graces the gliding ship to the green shore peopled for many a century whore by men who dwell at rest in a mighty far-spreading and high-towered city o wonder of peace how still was the town. The hollow tumult

Starting point is 02:08:00 had all gone down of the babbling and the stifling trades, and through each clean and echoing street, walked men and women and youths and maids, white clothes wearing, palm branches

Starting point is 02:08:16 bearing, and ever and always when two did meet, they gazed with eyes that plain did tell, they understood each other well and trembling in self-renouncements and love each a kiss on the other's forehead laid and looked up to the saviour's sun-heart above which in joyful atoning its red blood raid down upon all and the people said from hearts with threefold gladness blessed lord it be jesus christ End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The grave from Vaughn Silas Seawas by George MacDonald.

Starting point is 02:09:09 Went for Libravox.org by Agnes Robert Baer. The grave is deep and soundless. Its brink is ghastly lone. With veil all dark and boundless, it hides a land unknown. The nightingale's sweet closes. Down there come not at all, in friendships with it roses. On the mossy hillock fall, their hands young brides forsaken, Ring bleeding there in vain, The cries of orphans waken, No answer to their pain. Yet nowhere else from mortals There in ploughed repose, Through none but those dark portals, Home to his rest, man goes.

Starting point is 02:09:55 The poor heart here forever, By storm on storm beat sore, Its true peace gaineth never, but where it beats no more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Psyche's Morning from von Salis Seawis by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org by Aaron Zimmerman. Psyche moans in deep-sunk, darksome prison. For redemption.

Starting point is 02:10:34 Ah, for light she aches. Fears, hopes, after every noise, doth list Whether fate, her bars of iron, breaks. Bound are Psyche's pinions, airy, soaring, yet high-hearted is she, groaning low, knows that under clouds whence rain is pouring, sprouts the palm that crowns the victor's brow. Knows, among the thorns, the rose yet raineth, golden flowers spring from the desert grave. She, her garland, through denial, gaineth, And her strength is steeled by winds that rave.

Starting point is 02:11:19 Tis through lack that she her blisses bieth. Sorrows dream comes true by longing long, Lest light break the sleep wherein she lieth. Round her tree of life, the shadow's throng. Psyche's wail is but a fluted sadness, heard from willows the moon silvereth. Psyche's tears are dues of morning redness, and her sighs the sweet night violet's breath.

Starting point is 02:11:51 Use o'er shade the myrtle of her probation. Much she loves, for great has been her dole. Love leads through the paths of separation. Leads her to reunion's joyous goal. She endures. bravely bears every burden dumb before the will of fate bends low lies her bliss the patient tranquil word in her one cordial feelings overflow pre-conviction ah the call the token spreading wings the darksome sky to cleave tis but boating tis but knowledge broken truths but what she truly doth believe Leave. Darkness hides the goal of Psyche's mission for the eyes that tears so often gall. Reach not to the

Starting point is 02:12:48 summit of completion where illusions vaporous veil doth fall. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Mother by the Cradle from Claudius by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org by Aaron Z. Sleep Baby Boy, Sleep sweet, secure, Thy father's very miniature, that art thou, though thy father goes, And says that thou hast not his nose. This very moment here was he, his face o'er thine, did pose, And said, Much has he sure of me, but no, tis not my nose. I think myself, it is is too small, but it is his nose after all, for if thy nose, his nose be not. Whence came the

Starting point is 02:13:53 nose that thou hast got? Sleep, boy, thy father only chose to tease me. That's his part. Never you mind about his nose, but see, you have his heart. End of poem. This recording is in the public name. Contentment from Claudius by George MacDonald. Read for libervox.org by Suzanne Carroll. I am content. In triumphs tone, my song, let people know. And many a mighty man with throne and scepter is not so.

Starting point is 02:14:42 And if he is, why then, I cry, the man is just the same as I. The mogul's gold, the sultan's show, the hero's bliss, who vexed to find no other world below, up to the moon look next. Hide none of them, for things like that are only fit for laughing at. My motto is, content with this. Gold, rank, I prize not such. That which I have, my measure is. wise men desire not much.

Starting point is 02:15:20 Men wish and wish and have their will, and wish again as hungry still. And gold or honor, though it rings, is but a brittle glass. Experience of changing things might teach a very ass. Right often many turns to none, and honor has but a short run. To do right,

Starting point is 02:15:46 to be good and clear, is more than rank and gold. Then art thou always of good cheer, and blisses hast untold. Then art thou with thyself at one, and hatest no man, fearest none. I am content, in triumph's tone my song let people know, and many a mighty man, with throne and sceptre is not so. And if he is, why then I cry, the man is just the same as I? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Three pairs and one from the Dutch of Geneste by George MacDonald, read for Librevox.org by Sandra. Three pairs and one. You have two ears and but one mouth.

Starting point is 02:16:50 Let this friend be a token. Much should be heard and not so much be spoken. You have two eyes and but one mouth. That is an indication. Much must you see, but little serves relation. You have two hands and but one mouth. Receive the hint you meet with. For labour too.

Starting point is 02:17:15 but only one to eat with. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. SIC, Lord of Splendor, twilight fills my soul with fright. Let thy countenance befriend her, shining from the halls of light. I am homesick, loving father, long years hath the pain increased. Soon, oh soon, thy children gather to the endless marriage feast. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. by George MacDonald, read for Libravox.org by Agnes Robert Baer.

Starting point is 02:18:34 I am so weary with the burden old, a foregone fault, sin power of custom base, that much I fear to perish from the ways and fall into my enemy's grimfold. True, a high friend to free me, not with gold, came of ineffable and utmost grace, then straightway vanished from before my face, so that in vain. vain I strive him to behold. But his voice it comes echoing below. O ye that labour the way open lies, come unto me lest someone shut the gate. What heavenly grace would love will or what fate the pinions of a dove on me bestow, that I may rest and from the earth arise. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 75 from Petrach by George.

Starting point is 02:19:35 George MacDonald, read for libravox.org by Sandra. Sonnet 75 The elect angels and the souls in bliss, the citizens of heaven, when that first day my lady passed from me and went their way, of marvel and pity full did round her prass. What light is this, and what new loveliness, they said among them, for such sweet display did never mount that, from the earth, earth did stray to this high dwelling all this age we guess she well content her lodging changed to find shows perfect by her peers most perfect placed and now and then half turning looks behind to see if i walk in the way she traced

Starting point is 02:20:24 hence i lift heavenward all my heart and mind because i hear her pray me to make haste and a poem this recording is in the public domain Milton's Italian poems by George MacDonald. Read for Libravox.org by Agnes Robert Baer. 1. O Lady Fair, whose honoured name doth grace, Green veil and noble ford of Reno's streams. Of all worth void the man I surely deem, from thy fair soul enamoureth not apace,

Starting point is 02:21:07 When softly self-revealed a time and space, By action sweet with which thy will doth teem, and fair gifts that love's bow and arrows seem. But are the flowers that crowned thy perfect grace. When thou dost light some talk or gladsome sing, A power to draw the hill trees, Rooted hard, the doors of eyes and ears let that man keep, Who knows himself unworthy in thy regard.

Starting point is 02:21:37 Grace from above alone him help can bring, That passion in his heart strike not to. deep. Two, as in the twilight brow, on hillside bare, Euseth the go the little shepherd made, ordering some strange fair plant, poorly displayed, ill thriving, and unwanted soil and air. Far from its native springtime's genial care, saw my ready tongue hath love assayed, in a strange speech to wick new flower and blade, while I of thee proud yet so devonair, Sing songs whose sense is to my people lost,

Starting point is 02:22:22 Yield the fair tames and the fair honor gain. Love willed it so, and I, at others' cost, Already knew love never willed in vain. But my hearts low and bosom hard were found, To him who plants from heaven so fairer ground. 3. Canzone Ladies and youth that in their favor bath, With mocking smiles come around me.

Starting point is 02:22:52 Prithee, why, why dost thou with an unknown language cope? Love, Rimming. Whence thy courage for the task? Tell us, so never frustrate be thy hope, And the best thought still to thy thinking fly. Thus me they mock, the other streams they cry, The other shores, another sea demands, Upon whose verdant strands,

Starting point is 02:23:17 are budding even this moment for thy hair immortal gurdon bays that will not die and overburden on thy back why bear song i will tell thee thou for me reply my lady saith and her word is my heart this is love's mother tongue and fits his part for diodati and i am used to tell the tale this stubborn eye that love of love those want despise, and make a laughter of his snares, unwise, am fallen, where honest feet will sometimes fail, not golden tresses nor cheek for male. Dazzle me thus, but in a new world guise, a far and fair my heart beatifies. With mean where high-souled modesty I hail, eyes softly splendid, with a darkness dear, a speech that more than one tongue vassal have, a voice that in the middle hemisphere might make the tired moon wander from her path, while from her eyes such gracious flashes shoot that stopping hard my ears were a little boot. 5.

Starting point is 02:24:42 Sir T's my lady sweet, your blessed eyes. It cannot be but that they are my son. As strong they smite me as he smites upon, the man. whose way o'er Libyan desert lies. The while of vapor-hot doth me surprise, From the side springing Where my pain doth won, perchance accustomed lovers, I am none, And no not, In their speech call such things sighs, A part shut in, sore vexed itself conceals, And shakes my bosom, Part undisciplined, breaks forth and all around to ice congeals. But that which to mine eyes the way doth find

Starting point is 02:25:28 Makes all my nights and silent showers abound Until my dawn returns with roses crowned. Six. A modest youth, in love a simpleton. When to escape myself I seek and shift. Lady, I have my heart the humble gift. vow unto thee, in trials many a one, true, brave, I found it, firm to things begun, by gracious, prudent, worthy thoughts uplift, when roars the great world in the thunder-rift,

Starting point is 02:26:07 its own self-arm or adamant it will dawn, from chance in envy as securely barred, from fears and hopes that still the crowd abuse, as inward gifts, and high worth coveting. In the resounding liar and every muse, there only wilt thou find it not so hard, where love hath fixed his ever-cureless sting.

Starting point is 02:26:36 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Dame Music From Luther by George MacDonald. Read for liverybox.org by Alan Matstone. Of all the joys earth possesses none the gladness fine surpasses which i give you with my singing and with much harmonious ringing

Starting point is 02:27:12 an evil spirit cannot dwell where companions are singing well here strife wrath envy hate are not every heartache must leave the spot greed care all things that hard oppressed troop off with great unwillingness also each man is free to this for such a joy no trespass is god himself pleasing better far than all the joys on earth that are it breaks the toils by satan spun and many a murder keeps undone of this king david is the proof who often saul hold aloof, all with his harping sweet and well, that he not into murder fell. For God's own truth in word and will, it makes the heart ready and still, that new Elisha well, I wot, when he the spirit by harping got. The best time of the year is mine, when all the little birds sing fine, fill heaven and earth full of their strain much good singing is going then the nightingale the lead she takes and everything right merry makes with her gladsome lovely song for which great thanks to her belong but more to our dear lord god much who has created the bird such a songstress of the true right sort a mistress of the true right sort a mistress of the mistress of

Starting point is 02:28:58 the music art she sings and springs both nights and days to him not weary of his praise him lording come my songs as well my everlasting thanks to tell end of poem this recording is in the public domain end of rampoli by george mcdonald

Classic Audiobook Collection - Rampolli by George MacDonald ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

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