Poems (Jackson)/Two Comrades

by Helen Hunt Jackson

TWO COMRADES.

 

to O. W. and H. de K.

S when in some green forest's depth we find
The spot to which with idle, tinkling feet,
Two brooks have danced all unawares to meet
Each other, where at sight they interwind
Their shining arms, and loving, trusting, bind
Themselves for life, and with a louder song

And in a wider channel glide along;
As when in some great symphony we trace,
Through deep and underlying harmonies,
How all the notes of melody uprise,
Lifted by answering notes in distant place,
Fulfilling each in each the final grace,
But shielding, keeping each from each

The separate voices through the blended speech;
So when we see two human souls by fate
Held in life's restless current side by side,
And in their deepest nature so allied
That each, but for the other, life's estate
Must smaller find, a sense of joy, too great
Almost for speech, thrills earnest souls who heed.
Their fellowship and long to say "God-speed!"

Two comrades such as these I know,—young, fair;
So fair, that choice cannot find right to choose;
So fair, that wish can nothing miss or lose
In either face; so young, their eyes still wear
The looks with which young children trust and dare;
So young, the womanhood of each warm heart
As yet finds love enough in love of Art.

One, silent,—with a silence whose quick speech
By subtler eloquence than any word,
Reveals when deepest depths are touched and stirred,—
Reveals by color tides which mount and reach
Her broad, white brow, as on some magic beach,
Where only spotless, peaceful snows resist,
Might break a crimson sea through veiling mist.

Silent, with silence which might often make
Dull ears believe the answer unexpressed
Meant an assent, or acquiescent rest;
Silence whose earnestness dull souls mistake;
But silence out of which words leap and break,
As from their sheaths swords leap and flash in sun,
When comes the time for swords, and truce is done;

Silence which to all finer spirits is
Full of such revelation and delight
As Nature's lovers find and feel in sight
Of her most sacred, subtle silences;
Silence of mountain lake, untouched by breeze;
Silence of lily's heart, cool, white, and pure;
Silence of crystal growths, patient and sure.

The other, earnest equally, but born
With veins made for a tropic current's flow;
Intolerant if fate seem cold, seem slow;
Full of a noble, restless, dauntless scorn;
Unjust to night, for eager love of morn;
Unjust to small things for the love of great;
Too faithless of all good which tarries late.

But yet through all this tropic current's heat,
Through all this scorn of failures and delays,
Lives faithfulness which never disobeys
The smallest law of patience, and, more sweet
Than patience' self, works on to its complete
Fulfilling, wresting thus from alien powers
A double guerdon for the conquered hours.

In vain among all rich and beauteous things
With which the realms of beauteous Nature teems
I look for one which fair and fitting seems
As simile for her swift soul, which wings
Itself more swift than bird can fly, which springs
And soars like fountain, but finds no content
At levels whence its own bright waters went.

Only one thing there is whose name is name
Also for her: swift, restless, patient fire,
Which, burning always, loses no desire;
Which leaps and soars and blazes all the same,
If spices or dull fagots feed its flame;
Swift, restless, patient fire, which saves and turns
Into more precious things all things it burns.

O comrades, sweet to know and hear and see,
Whom I have dared to paint, each empty phrase
But mocks my thought; no dreamy singer's praise,
No flattering voice of hope and prophecy
Of what the future years shall bring and be,
No stranger's recognition do ye need!
Ah! comrades, sweet to hear and see, "God-speed!"