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The Torrent

Mathilde Blind 1841 (Mannheim) – 1896 (London)

OH torrent, roaring in thy giant fall,
And thund'ring grandly o'er th' opposing blocks,
Thy voice, far louder than the lion's call,
Through trackless forests shakes the heart of rocks,
Runs through the marrow of the earth with shocks,
Lashes the clouds with terror, for they fly
Along the high wide blue with streaming locks,
And round thee foam white dazzling flashes high
And with forked water-flames half licks the central sky.

Oh, what a storm of waters! Oh, what chasms
Of foam! what seething hills! what whirling rain!
Billows on billows press, though torn by spasms;
Wounded and bleeding, yet defying pain!
They grappled with the stones, that gnash in vain
Their cruel teeth, for smarting wounds they brave,
And toss in scorn their wildly flowing mane,
When with exulting cries big wave on wave
Rolls with a mighty sweep o'er a slain foeman's grave.

Roll on, great torrent, with triumphal song,
Through caverned cliff, through rock and mountain roll;
Force all the barriers that around thee throng,
Thou know'st th' eternal ocean for thy goal.
Hence thine impetuous rush, and roar, and roll;
Hence thy wild heavings as thou flow'st amain;
Hence thy far-reaching and tempestuous call
For stream and river, brook and rill and rain,
Thou on thy Titan breast would'st carry to the main.

Roll on! The heavens are with thee, for they fling
Their lovely rainbows round thy gleaming brow;
Rainbows, that like the crown of heroes cling
For ever round thee with their magic glow;
Or like the wondrous halo which will flow
Around the martyr's head; for those sweet hues,
They hover round thee in thy weal and woe,
Like love, that with its tender tears bedews
And heals the bitter pain of ev'ry earthly bruise!

Roll on! with a white heat upon thy way!
Lo yon, a little tiny woodland bird
Flits on wet wing through all the surf and spray,
And settles on a jagged rock unscared,
Round whose grim base a billowy din is heard;
A bright amazèd ray from its black eyes
It darts around, and listens not afeared--
Then diamond-powdered to the woods it flies,
And sings to forest ears the mighty melodies.

E'en thus thou art! for that Titanic stream
But a material symbol was of thee!
A dim reflection of thy being did seem
Thou man, high-souled as son of man can be!
Into whose mind, vast, noble, pure, and free,
Flash awful revelations light-like in:
Unveiling spiritual laws to thee;
Great central truths, that glow all life within,
That move the nations on, and make the planets spin.

Thou hero! for through prejudice's walls,
That lock up earth against the quick'ning floods,
And 'gainst the fresh regenerating falls
Of young ideas, that in sprouting mood
Seethe like new wine, stirred by the grape's hot blood,
In the old bottles; thou, oh, brave and bold!
Didst force thy way, crushing night's deathly brood,
As George the sainted, in the days of old--
The dragon, who beneath his footstep writhing roll'd.

Dragons, alas! still darken the green earth,
War with the good, the beautiful, the wise;
From gulfs of ancient night they've issued forth,
And with their shadowy wings blot out the skies;
Old creeds that gasp forth curses, tyrannies
All foul with feeding on their own decay,
Old cramping forms, and crippling social lies,
Whose venomous breathing with corruption slay,
Like loathsome rattlesnakes that glut upon their prey.

But thou assail'st them, fearless, though they spurt
Their reeking poison in thy smarting face;
And careless of thy bruises and thy hurt,
Thou still press'st on with an undaunted pace;
A bold path-finder for the coming race,
And in thy faith, strong as the morning star,
Piercing the welt'ring clouds with lucent rays;
Thy voice, a light above time's din and war,
Proclaimeth to mankind the rosy dawn afar!

Thou martyr! for the world it knows thee not,
Scoffs at thee, scorns thee, rails and laughs and sneers;
With barbèd darts embitters thy hard lot,
As oft of old to prophets and to seers;
With its bleared sight the veil it cannot pierce,
And see the future rise upon the days!
Thus persecutes with hatred blind and fierce,
And, 'stead of crowns plucked from the living bays,
It binds thy brows with thorns--thorns that will turn to rays!

Still from thy heart's vast deeps the shouts arise,
And swell along, a rushing lava stream--
A lava stream of burning melodies,
Shaking thy brethren from a sluggish dream,
To strive and be the thing they fain would seem;
With thee, false custom's cramping bounds to leap,
To trust the rising o
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

3:59 min read

Mathilde Blind

Mathilde Blind, was a German-born British poet. Her work was praised by Matthew Arnold and French politician and historian Louis Blanc. more…

All Mathilde Blind poems | Mathilde Blind Books

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