,,the ,,torch-,,bearers ,,watchers ,,of ,,the ,,sky ,,by ,,alfred ,,noyes ,,prefatory ,,note ,this volume1 while it is complete in itself1 is also the first of a trilogy1 the scope of which is suggested in the prologue4 ,the story of scientific discovery has its own epic unity--a unity of purpose and endeavour--the single torch passing from hand to hand through the centuries2 and the great moments of science when1 after long labour1 the pioneers saw their accumulated facts falling into a significant order--sometimes in the form of a law that revolutionised the whole world of thought--have an intense human interest1 and belong essentially to the creative imagination of poetry4 ,it is with these moments that my poem is chiefly concerned1 not with any impossible attempt to cover the whole field or to make a new poetic system1 after the ,lucretian model1 out of modern science4 ,the theme has been in my mind for a good many years2 and the first volume1 dealing with the ,watchers of the ,sky1 began to take definite shape during what was to me an unforgettable experience--the night ,i was privileged to spend on a summit of the ,sierra ,madre ,mountains1 when the first trial was made of the new #ajj-;inch telescope4 ,the prologue to this volume attempts to give a picture of that night1 and to elucidate my own purpose4 ,the first tale in this volume plunges into the middle of things1 with the revolution brought about by ,copernicus2 but1 within the tale1 partly by means of an incidental lyric1 there is an attempt to give a bird's-eye view of what had gone before4 ,the torch then passes to ,tycho ,brahe1 who1 driven into exile with his tables of the stars1 at the very point of death hands them over to a young man named ,kepler4 ,kepler1 with their help1 arrives at his own great laws1 and corresponds with ,galileo--the intensely human drama of whose life ,i have endeavoured to depict with more historical accuracy than can be attributed to much of the poetic literature that has gathered around his name4 ,too many writers have succumbed to the temptation of the cry1 e pur si muove6 ,it is1 of course1 rejected by every reliable historian1 and was first attributed to ,galileo a hundred years after his death4 ,m4 ,ponsard1 in his play on the subject1 succumbed to the extent of making his final scene end with ,galileo frappant du pied la terre1 and crying1 pourtant elle tourne4 ,galileo's recantation was a far more subtle and tragically complicated affair than that4 ,even ,landor succumbed to the easy method of making him display his entirely legendary scars to ,milton4 ,if these familiar pictures are not to be found in my poem1 it may be well for me to assure the hasty reader that it is because ,i have endeavoured to present a more just picture4 ,i have tried to suggest the complications of motive in this section by a series of letters passing between the characters chiefly concerned4 ,there was1 of course1 a certain poetic significance in the legend of e pur si muove2 and this significance ,i have endeavoured to retain without violating historical truth4 ,in the year of ,galileo's death ,newton was born1 and the subsequent sections carry the story on to the modern observatory again4 ,the form ,i have adopted is a development from that of an earlier book1 ,tales of the ,mermaid ,tavern where certain poets and discoverers of another kind were brought together round a central idea1 and their stories told in a combination of narrative and lyrical verse4 ,the ,torch-,bearers flowed all the more naturally into a similar form in view of the fact that ,tycho ,brahe1 ,kepler1 and many other pioneers of science wrote a considerable number of poems4 ,those imbedded in the works of ,kepler--whose blazing and fantastic genius was1 indeed1 primarily poetic--are of extraordinary interest4 ,i was helped1 too1 in the general scheme by those constant meetings between science and poetry1 of which the most famous and beautiful are the visit of ,sir ,henry ,wotton to ,kepler1 and the visit of ,milton to ,galileo in prison4 ,even if science and poetry were as deadly opposites as the shallow often affirm1 the method and scheme indicated above would at least make it possible to convey something of the splendour of the long battle for the light in its most human aspect4 ,poetry has its own precision of expression and1 in modern times1 it has been seeking more and more for truth1 sometimes even at the expense of beauty4 ,it may be possible to carry that quest a stage farther1 to the point where1 in the great rhythmical laws of the universe revealed by science1 truth and beauty are reunited4 ,if poetry can do this1 it will not be without some value to science itself1 and it will be playing its part in the reconstruction of a shattered world4 ,the passing of the old order of dogmatic religion has left the modern world in a strange chaos1 craving for something in which it can unfeignedly believe1 and often following will-o'-the-wisps4 ,forty years ago1 ,matthew ,arnold prophesied that it would be for poetry1 where it is worthy of its high destinies1 to help to carry on the purer fire1 and to express in new terms those eternal ideas which must ever be the only sure stay of the human race4 ,it is not within the province of science to attempt a post-,copernican justification of the ways of ,god to man2 but1 in the laws of nature revealed by science1 and in that grand sequence of events which--as ,darwin affirmed--the mind refuses to accept as the result of blind chance1 poetry may discover its own new grounds for the attempt4 ,it is easy to assume that all hope and faith are shallow4 ,it is even easier to practise a really shallow and devitalising pessimism4 ,the modern annunciation that there is a skeleton an inch beneath the skin of man is neither new nor profound4 ,neither science nor poetry can rest there2 and if1 in this poem1 an attempt is made to show that spiritual values are not diminished or overwhelmed by the fifteen hundred universes that passed in review before the telescope of ,herschel1 it is only after the opposite argument--so common and so easy to-day--has been faced2 and only after poetry has at least endeavoured to follow the torch of science to its own deep-set boundary-mark in that immense darkness of ,space and ,time4 ,,contents ,prologue ,i4 ,copernicus ,,ii4 ,tycho ,brahe ,,iii4 ,kepler ,,iv4 ,galileo ,v4 ,newton ,,vi4 ,william ,herschel ,conducts ,,vii4 ,sir ,john ,herschel ,remembers ,epilogue ,,prologue ,,the ,,observatory ,at noon1 upon the mountain's purple height1 ,above the pine-woods and the clouds it shone ,no larger than the small white dome of shell ,left by the fledgling wren when wings are born4 ,by night it joined the company of heaven1 ,and1 with its constant light1 became a star4 ,a needle-point of light1 minute1 remote1 ,it sent a subtler message through the abyss1 ,held more significance for the seeing eye ,than all the darkness that would blot it out1 ,yet could not dwarf it4 ,high in heaven it shone1 ,alive with all the thoughts1 and hopes1 and dreams ,of man's adventurous mind4 ,up there1 ,i knew ,the explorers of the sky1 the pioneers ,of science1 now made ready to attack ,that darkness once again1 and win new worlds4 ,to-morrow night they hoped to crown the toil ,of twenty years1 and turn upon the sky ,the noblest weapon ever made by man4 ,war had delayed them4 ,they had been drawn away ,designing darker weapons4 ,but no gun ,could outrange this4 ,to-morrow night--so wrote their chief--we try ,our great new telescope1 the hundred-inch4 ,your ,milton's 'optic tube' has grown in power ,since ,galileo1 famous1 blind1 and old1 ,talked with him1 in that prison1 of the sky4 ,we creep to power by inches4 ,europe trusts ,her 'giant forty' still4 ,even to-night ,our own old sixty has its work to do2 ,and now our hundred-inch 4 4 4 ,i hardly dare ,to think what this new muzzle of ours may find4 ,come up1 and spend that night among the stars ,here1 on our mountain-top4 ,if all goes well1 ,then1 at the least1 my friend1 you'll see a moon ,stranger1 but nearer1 many a thousand mile ,than earth has ever seen her1 even in dreams4 ,as for the stars1 if seeing them were all1 ,three thousand million new-found points of light ,is our rough guess4 ,but never speak of this4 ,you know our press4 ,they'd miss the one result ,to flash 'three thousand millions' round the world4 ,to-morrow night6 ,for more than twenty years1 ,they had thought and planned and worked4 ,ten years had gone1 ,one-fourth1 or more1 of man's brief working life1 ,before they made those solid tons of glass1 ,their hundred-inch reflector1 the clear pool1 ,the polished flawless pool that it must be ,to hold the perfect image of a star4 ,and1 even now1 some secret flaw--none knew ,until to-morrow's test--might waste it all4 ,where was the gambler that would stake so much1-- ,time1 patience1 treasure1 on a single throw8 ,the cost of it1--they'd not find that again1 ,either in gold or life-stuff6 ,all their youth ,was fuel to the flame of this one work4 ,once in a lifetime to the man of science1 ,despite what fools believe his ice-cooled blood1 ,there comes this drama4 ,if he fails1 he fails ,utterly4 ,he at least will have no time ,for fresh beginnings4 ,other men1 no doubt1 ,years hence1 will use the footholes that he cut ,in those precipitous cliffs1 and reach the height1 ,but he will never see it4 ,so for me1 ,the light words of that letter seemed to hide ,the passion of a lifetime1 and ,i shared ,the crowning moment of its hope and fear4 ,next day1 through whispering aisles of palm we rode ,up to the foot-hills1 dreaming desert-hills ,that to assuage their own delicious drought ,had set each tawny sun-kissed slope ablaze ,with peach and orange orchards4 ,up and up1 ,along the thin white trail that wound and climbed ,and zig-zagged through the grey-green mountain sage1 ,the car went crawling1 till the shining plain ,below it1 like an airman's map1 unrolled4 ,houses and orchards dwindled to white specks ,in midget cubes and squares of tufted green4 ,once1 as we rounded one steep curve1 that made ,the head swim at the canyoned gulf below1 ,we saw through thirty miles of lucid air ,elvishly small1 sharp as a crumpled petal ,blown from the stem1 a yard away1 a sail ,lazily drifting on the warm blue sea4 ,up for nine miles along that spiral trail ,slowly we wound to reach the lucid height ,above the clouds1 where that white dome of shell1 ,no wren's now1 but an eagle's1 took the flush ,of dying day4 ,the sage-brush all died out1 ,and all the southern growths1 and round us now1 ,firs of the north1 and strong1 storm-rooted pines ,exhaled a keener fragrance2 till1 at last1 ,reversing all the laws of lesser hills1 ,they towered like giants round us4 ,darkness fell ,before we reached the mountain's naked height4 ,over us1 like some great cathedral dome1 ,the observatory loomed against the sky2 ,and the dark mountain with its headlong gulfs ,had lost all memory of the world below2 ,for all those cloudless throngs of glittering stars ,and all those glimmerings where the abyss of space ,is powdered with a milky dust1 each grain ,a burning sun1 and every sun the lord ,of its own darkling planets1--all those lights ,met1 in a darker deep1 the lights of earth1 ,lights on the sea1 lights of invisible towns1 ,trembling and indistinguishable from stars1 ,in those black gulfs around the mountain's feet4 ,then1 into the glimmering dome1 with bated breath1 ,we entered1 and1 above us1 in the gloom ,saw that majestic weapon of the light ,uptowering like the shaft of some huge gun ,through one arched rift of sky4 ,dark at its base ,with naked arms1 the crew that all day long ,had sweated to make ready for this night ,waited their captain's word4 ,the switchboard shone ,with elfin lamps of white and red1 and keys ,whence1 at a finger's touch1 that monstrous tube ,moved like a creature dowered with life and will1 ,to peer from deep to deep4 ,below it pulsed ,the clock-machine that slowly1 throb by throb1 ,timed to the pace of the revolving earth1 ,drove the titanic muzzle on and on1 ,fixed to the chosen star that else would glide ,out of its field of vision4 ,so1 set free ,balanced against the wheel of time1 it swung1 ,or rested1 while1 to find new realms of sky ,the dome that housed it1 like a moon revolved1 ,so smoothly that the watchers hardly knew ,they moved within2 till1 through the glimmering doors1 ,they saw the dark procession of the pines ,like ,indian warriors1 quietly stealing by4 ,then1 at a word1 the mighty weapon dipped ,its muzzle and aimed at one small point of light ,one seeming insignificant star4 ,the chief1 ,mounting the ladder1 while we held our breath1 ,looked through the eye-piece4 ,then we heard him laugh ,his thanks to ,god1 and hide it in a jest4 ,a prominence on ,jupiter6-- ,they laughed1 ,what do you mean8--,it's moving1 cried the chief1 ,they laughed again1 and watched his glimmering face ,high overhead against that moving tower4 ,come up and see1 then6 ,one by one they went1 ,and1 though each laughed as he returned to earth1 ,their souls were in their eyes4 ,then ,i1 too1 looked1 ,and saw that insignificant spark of light ,touched with new meaning1 beautifully reborn1 ,a swimming world1 a perfect rounded pearl1 ,poised in the violet sky2 and1 as ,i gazed1 ,i saw a miracle1--right on its upmost edge ,a tiny mound of white that slowly rose1 ,then1 like an exquisite seed-pearl1 swung quite clear ,and swam in heaven above its parent world ,to greet its three bright sister-moons4 ,a moon1 ,of ,jupiter1 no more1 but clearer far ,than mortal eyes had seen before from earth1 ,o1 beautiful and clear beyond all dreams ,was that one silver phrase of the starry tune ,which ,galileo's old discoverer first ,dimly revealed1 dissolving into clouds ,the imagined fabric of our universe4 ,jupiter stands in heaven and will stand ,though all the sycophants bark at him1 he cried1 ,hailing the truth before he1 too1 went down1 ,whelmed in the cloudy wreckage of that dream4 ,so one by one we looked1 the men who served ,urania1 and the men from ,vulcan's forge4 ,a beautiful eagerness in the darkness lit ,the swarthy faces that too long had missed ,a meaning in the dull mechanic maze ,of labour on this blind earth1 but found it now4 ,though only a moment's wandering melody ,hopelessly far above1 it gave their toil ,its only consecration and its joy4 ,there1 with dark-smouldering eyes and naked throats1 ,blue-dungareed1 red-shirted1 grimed and smeared ,with engine-grease and sweat1 they gathered round ,the foot of that dim ladder2 each muttering low ,as he came down1 his wonder at what he saw ,to those who waited1--a picture for the brush ,of ,rembrandt1 lighted only by the rift ,above them1 where the giant muzzle thrust ,out through the dim arched roof1 and slowly throbbed1 ,against the slowly moving wheel of the earth1 ,holding their chosen star4 ,there1 like an elf1 ,perched on the side of that dark slanting tower ,the ,italian mechanician watched the moons1 ,that ,italy discovered4 ,one by one1 ,american1 ,english1 ,french1 and ,dutch1 they climbed ,to see the wonder that their own blind hands ,had helped to achieve4 ,at midnight while they paused ,to adjust the clock-machine1 ,i wandered out ,alone1 into the silence of the night4 ,the silence8 ,on that lonely height ,i heard ,eternal voices2 ,for1 as ,i looked into the gulf beneath1 ,whence almost all the lights had vanished now1 ,the whole dark mountain seemed to have lost its earth ,and to be sailing like a ship through heaven4 ,all round it surged the mighty sea-like sound ,of soughing pine-woods1 one vast ebb and flow ,of absolute peace1 aloof from all earth's pain1 ,so calm1 so quiet1 it seemed the cradle-song1 ,the deep soft breathing of the universe ,over its youngest child1 the soul of man4 ,and1 as ,i listened1 that ,aeolian voice ,became an invocation and a prayer3 ,o you1 that on your loftier mountain dwell ,and move like light in light among the thoughts ,of heaven1 translating our mortality ,into immortal song1 is there not one ,among you that can turn to music now ,this long dark fight for truth8 ,not one to touch ,with beauty this long battle for the light1 ,this little victory of the spirit of man ,doomed to defeat--for what was all we saw ,to that which neither eyes nor soul could see8-- ,doomed to defeat and yet unconquerable1 ,climbing its nine miles nearer to the stars4 ,wars we have sung4 ,the blind1 blood-boltered kings ,move with an epic music to their thrones4 ,have you no song1 then1 of that nobler war8 ,of those who strove for light1 but could not dream ,even of this victory that they helped to win1 ,silent discoverers1 lonely pioneers1 ,prisoners and exiles1 martyrs of the truth ,who handed on the fire1 from age to age2 ,of those who1 step by step1 drove back the night ,and struggled1 year on year1 for one more glimpse ,among the stars1 of sovran law1 their guide2 ,of those who searching inward1 saw the rocks ,dissolving into a new abyss1 and saw ,those planetary systems far within1 ,atoms1 electrons1 whirling on their way ,to build and to unbuild our solid world2 ,of those who conquered1 inch by difficult inch1 ,the freedom of this realm of law for man2 ,dreamers of dreams1 the builders of our hope1 ,the healers and the binders up of wounds1 ,who1 while the dynasts drenched the world with blood1 ,would in the still small circle of a lamp ,wrestle with death like ,heracles of old ,to save one stricken child4 ,is there no song ,to touch this moving universe of law ,with ultimate light1 the glimmer of that great dawn ,which over our ruined altars yet shall break ,in purer splendour1 and restore mankind ,from darker dreams than even ,lucretius knew ,to vision of that one ,power which guides the world4 ,how should men find it8 ,only through those doors ,which1 opening inward1 in each separate soul ,give each man access to that ,soul of all ,living within each life1 not to be found ,or known1 till1 looking inward1 each alone ,meets the unknowable and eternal ,god4 ,and there was one that moved like light in light ,before me there1--,love1 human and divine1 ,that can exalt all weakness into power1-- ,whispering1 ,take this deathless torch of song444 ,whispering1 but with such faith1 that even ,i ,was humbled into thinking this might be ,through love1 though all the wisdom of the world ,account it folly4 ,let my breast be bared ,to every shaft1 then1 so that ,love be still ,my one celestial guide the while ,i sing ,of those who caught the pure ,promethean fire ,one from another1 each crying as he went down ,to one that waited1 crowned with youth and joy1-- ,take thou the splendour1 carry it out of sight ,into the great new age ,i must not know1 ,into the great new realm ,i must not tread4 ,i ,,copernicus ,the neighbours gossiped idly at the door4 ,copernicus lay dying overhead4 ,his little throng of friends1 with startled eyes1 ,whispered together1 in that dark house of dreams1 ,from which by one dim crevice in the wall ,he used to watch the stars4 ,his book has come ,from ,nuremberg at last2 but who would dare ,to let him see it now8-- ,they have altered it6 ,though ,rome approved in full1 this preface1 look1 ,declares that his discoveries are a dream6-- ,he has asked a thousand times if it has come2 ,could we tear out those pages8-- ,he'd suspect4-- ,what shall be done1 then8-- ,hold it back awhile4 ,that was the priest's voice in the room above4 ,he may forget it4 ,those last sacraments ,may set his mind at rest1 and bring him peace4-- ,then1 stealing quietly to that upper door1 ,they opened it a little1 and saw within ,the lean white deathbed of ,copernicus ,who made our world a world without an end4 ,there1 in that narrow room1 they saw his face ,grey1 seamed with thought1 lit by a single lamp2 ,they saw those glorious eyes ,closing1 that once had looked beyond the spheres ,and seen our ancient firmaments dissolve ,into a boundless night4 ,beside him knelt ,two women1 like bowed shadows4 ,at his feet1 ,an old physician watched him4 ,at his head1 ,the cowled ,franciscan murmured1 while the light ,shone faintly on the chalice4 ,all grew still4 ,the fragrance of the wine was like faint flowers1 ,the first breath of those far celestial fields4444 ,then1 like a dying soldier1 that must leave ,his last command to others1 while the fight ,is yet uncertain1 and the victory far1 ,copernicus whispered1 in a fevered dream1 ,yes1 it is ,death4 ,but you must hold him back1 ,there1 in the doorway1 for a little while1 ,until ,i know the work is rightly done4 ,use all your weapons1 doctor4 ,i must live ,to see and touch one copy of my book4 ,have they not brought it yet8 ,they promised me ,it should be here by nightfall4 ,one of you go ,and hasten it4 ,i can hold back ,death till dawn4 ,have they not brought it yet8--from ,nuremberg4 ,do not deceive me4 ,i must know it safe1 ,printed and safe1 for other men to use4 ,i could die then4 ,my use would be fulfilled4 ,what has delayed them8 ,will not some one go ,and tell them that my strength is running out8 ,tell them that book would be an angel's hand ,in mine1 an easier pillow for my head1 ,a little lantern in the engulfing dark4 ,you see1 ,i hid its struggling light so long ,under too small a bushel1 and ,i fear ,it may go out forever4 ,in the noon ,of life's brief day1 ,i could not see the need ,as now ,i see it1 when the night shuts down4 ,i was afraid1 perhaps1 it might confuse ,the lights that guide us for the souls of men4 ,but now ,i see three stages in our life4 ,at first1 we bask contented in our sun ,and take what daylight shows us for the truth4 ,then we discover1 in some midnight grief1 ,how all day long the sunlight blinded us ,to depths beyond1 where all our knowledge dies4 ,that's where men shrink1 and lose their way in doubt4 ,then1 last1 as death draws nearer1 comes a night ,in whose majestic shadow men see ,god1 ,absolute ,knowledge1 reconciling all4 ,so1 all my life ,i pondered on that scheme ,which makes this earth the centre of all worlds1 ,lighted and wheeled around by sun and moon ,and that great crystal sphere wherein men thought ,myriads of lesser stars were fixed like lamps1 ,each in its place1--one mighty glittering wheel ,revolving round this dark abode of man4 ,night after night1 with even pace they moved4 ,year after year1 not altering by one point1 ,their order1 or their stations1 those fixed stars ,in that revolving firmament4 ,the ,plough ,still pointed to the ,pole4 ,fixed in their sphere1 ,how else explain that vast unchanging wheel8 ,how1 but by thinking all those lesser lights ,were huger suns1 divided from our earth ,by so immense a gulf that1 if they moved ,ten thousand leagues an hour among themselves1 ,it would not seem one hair's-breadth to our eyes4 ,utterly inconceivable1 ,i know2 ,and yet we daily kneel to boundless ,power ,and build our hope on that ,infinitude4 ,this did not daunt me1 then4 ,indeed1 ,i saw ,light upon chaos4 ,many discordant dreams ,began to move in lucid music now4 ,for what could be more baffling than the thought ,that those enormous heavens must circle earth ,diurnally--a journey that would need ,swiftness to which the lightning flash would seem ,a white slug creeping on the walls of night2 ,while1 if earth softly on her axle spun ,one quiet revolution answered all4 ,it was our moving selves that made the sky ,seem to revolve4 ,have not all ages seen ,a like illusion baffling half mankind ,in life1 thought1 art8 ,men think1 at every turn ,of their own souls1 the very heavens have moved4 ,light upon chaos1 light1 and yet more light2 ,for--as ,i watched the planets--,venus1 ,mars1 ,appeared to wax and wane from month to month ,as though they moved1 now near1 now far1 from earth4 ,earth could not be their centre4 ,was the sun ,their sovran lord then1 as ,pythagoras held8 ,was this great earth1 so 'stablished1 so secure1 ,a planet also8 ,did it also move ,around the sun8 ,if this were true1 my friends1 ,no revolution in this world's affairs1 ,not that blind maelstrom where imperial ,rome ,went down into the dark1 could so engulf ,all that we thought we knew4 ,we who believed ,in our own majesty1 we who walked with gods ,as younger sons on this proud central stage1 ,round which the whole bright firmament revolved ,for our especial glory1 must we creep ,like ants upon our midget ball of dust ,lost in immensity8 ,i could not take ,that darkness lightly4 ,i withheld my book ,for many a year1 until ,i clearly saw1 ,and ,rome approved me--have they not brought it yet8-- ,that this tremendous music could not drown ,the still supernal music of the soul1 ,or quench the light that shone when ,christ was born4 ,for who1 if one lost star could lead the kings ,to ,god's own ,son1 would shrink from following these ,to ,his eternal throne8 ,this at the least ,we know1 the soul of man can soar through heaven4 ,it is our own wild wings that dwarf the world ,to nothingness beneath us4 ,let the soul ,take courage1 then4 ,if its own thought be true1 ,not all the immensities of little minds ,can ever quench its own celestial fire4 ,no4 ,this new night was needed1 that the soul ,might conquer its own kingdom and arise ,to its full stature4 ,so1 in face of death1 ,i saw that ,i must speak the truth ,i knew4 ,have they not brought it8 ,what delays my book8 ,i am afraid4 ,tell me the truth1 my friends4 ,at this last hour1 the ,church may yet withhold ,her sanction4 ,not the ,church1 but those who think ,a little darkness helps her4 ,were this true1 ,they would do well4 ,if the poor light we win ,confuse or blind us1 to the ,light of lights1 ,let all our wisdom perish4 ,i affirm ,a greater ,darkness1 where the one true ,church ,shall after all her agonies of loss ,and many an age of doubt1 perhaps1 to come1 ,see this processional host of splendours burn ,like tapers round her altar4 ,so ,i speak ,not for myself1 but for the age unborn4 ,i caught the fire from those who went before1 ,the bearers of the torch who could not see ,the goal to which they strained4 ,i caught their fire1 ,and carried it1 only a little way beyond2 ,but there are those that wait for it1 ,i know1 ,those who will carry it on to victory4 ,i dare not fail them4 ,looking back1 ,i see ,those others1--fallen1 with their arms outstretched ,dead1 pointing to the future4 ,far1 far back1 ,before the ,egyptians built their pyramids ,with those dark funnels pointing to the north1 ,through which the ,pharaohs from their desert tombs ,gaze all night long upon the ,polar ,star1 ,some wandering ,arab crept from death to life ,led by the ,plough across those wastes of pearl4444 ,long1 long ago--have they not brought it yet8 ,my book8--,i finished it one summer's night1 ,and felt my blood all beating into song4 ,i meant to print those verses in my book1 ,a prelude1 hinting at that deeper night ,which darkens all our knowledge4 ,then ,i thought ,the measure moved too lightly4 ,do you recall ,those verses1 ,elsa8 ,they would pass the time4 ,how happy ,i was the night ,i wrote that song6 ,then1 one of those bowed shadows raised her head ,and1 like a mother crooning to her child1 ,murmured the words he wrote1 so long ago4 ,in old ,cathay1 in far ,cathay1 ,before the western world began1 ,they saw the moving fount of day ,eclipsed1 as by a shadowy fan2 ,they stood upon their ,chinese wall4 ,they saw his fire to ashes fade1 ,and felt the deeper slumber fall ,on domes of pearl and towers of jade4 ,with slim brown hands1 in ,araby1 ,they traced1 upon the desert sand1 ,their ,rams and ,scorpions of the sky1 ,and strove--and failed--to understand4 ,before their footprints were effaced ,the shifting sand forgot their rune2 ,their hieroglyphs were all erased1 ,their desert naked to the moon4 ,in ,bagdad of the purple nights1 ,haroun ,al ,raschid built a tower1 ,where sages watched a thousand lights ,and read their legends1 for an hour4 ,the tower is down1 the ,caliph dead1 ,their astrolabes are wrecked with rust4 ,orion glitters overhead1 ,aladdin's lamp is in the dust4 ,in ,babylon1 in ,babylon1 ,they baked their tablets of the clay2 ,and1 year by year1 inscribed thereon ,the dark eclipses of their day2 ,they saw the moving finger write ,its ,mene1 ,mene1 on their sun4 ,a mightier shadow cloaks their light1 ,and clay is clay in ,babylon4 ,a shadow moved towards him from the door4 ,copernicus1 with a cry1 upraised his head4 ,the book1 ,i cannot see it1 let me feel ,the lettering on the cover4 ,it is here6 ,put out the lamp1 now4 ,draw those curtains back1 ,and let me die with starlight on my face4 ,an angel's hand in mine 4 4 4 yes2 ,i can say ,my nunc dimittis now 4 4 4 light1 and more light ,in that pure realm whose darkness is our peace4 ,,ii ,,tycho ,,brahe ,i ,they thought him a magician1 ,tycho ,brahe1 ,who lived on that strange island in the ,sound1 ,nine miles from ,elsinore4 ,his legend reached ,the ,mermaid ,inn the year that ,shakespeare died4 ,fynes ,moryson had brought his travellers' tales ,of ,wheen1 the heart-shaped isle where ,tycho made ,his great discoveries1 and1 with ,jeppe1 his dwarf1 ,and flaxen-haired ,christine1 the peasant girl1 ,dreamed his great dreams for five-and-twenty years4 ,for there he lit that lanthorn of the law1 ,uraniborg2 that fortress of the truth1 ,with ,pegasus flying above its loftiest tower1 ,while1 in its roofs1 like wide enchanted eyes ,watching1 the brightest windows in the world1 ,opened upon the stars4 ,nine miles from ,elsinore1 with all those ghosts1 ,there's magic enough in that6 ,but white-cliffed ,wheen1 ,six miles in girth1 with crowds of hunchback waves ,crawling all round it1 and those moonstruck windows1 ,held its own magic1 too2 for ,tycho ,brahe ,by his mysterious alchemy of dreams ,had so enriched the soil1 that when the king ,of ,england wished to buy it1 ,denmark asked ,a price too great for any king on earth4 ,give us1 they said1 in scarlet cardinal's cloth ,enough to cover it1 and1 at every corner1 ,of every piece1 a right rose-noble too2 ,then all that kings can buy of ,wheen is yours4 ,only1 said they1 a merchant bought it once2 ,and1 when he came to claim it1 goblins flocked ,all round him1 from its forty goblin farms1 ,and mocked him1 bidding him take away the stones ,that he had bought1 for nothing else was his4 ,these things were fables4 ,they were also true4 ,they thought him a magician1 ,tycho ,brahe1 ,the astrologer1 who wore the mask of gold4 ,perhaps he was4 ,there's magic in the truth2 ,and only those who find and follow its laws ,can work its miracles4 ,tycho sought the truth ,from that strange year in boyhood when he heard ,the great eclipse foretold2 and1 on the day ,appointed1 at the very minute even1 ,beheld the weirdly punctual shadow creep ,across the sun1 bewildering all the birds ,with thoughts of evening4 ,picture him1 on that day1 ,the boy at ,copenhagen1 with his mane ,of thick red hair1 thrusting his freckled face ,out of his upper window1 holding the piece ,of glass he blackened above his candle-flame ,to watch that orange ember in the sky ,wane into smouldering ash4 ,he whispered there1 ,so it is true4 ,by searching in the heavens1 ,men can foretell the future4 ,in the street ,below him1 throngs were babbling of the plague ,that might or might not follow4 ,he resolved ,to make himself the master of that deep art ,and know what might be known4 ,he bought the books ,of ,stadius1 with his tables of the stars4 ,night after night1 among the gabled roofs1 ,climbing and creeping through a world unknown ,save to the roosting stork1 he learned to find ,the constellations1 ,cassiopeia's throne1 ,the ,plough still pointing to the ,polar ,star1 ,the sword-belt of ,orion4 ,there he watched ,the movements of the planets1 hours on hours1 ,and wondered at the mystery of it all4 ,all this he did in secret1 for his birth ,was noble1 and such wonderings were a sign ,of low estate1 when ,tycho ,brahe was young2 ,and all his kinsmen hoped that ,tycho ,brahe ,would live1 serene as they1 among his dogs ,and horses2 or1 if honour must be won1 ,let the superfluous glory flow from fields ,where blood might still be shed2 or from those courts ,where statesmen lie4 ,but ,tycho sought the truth4 ,so1 when they sent him in his tutor's charge ,to ,leipzig1 for such studies as they held ,more worthy of his princely blood1 he searched ,the ,almagest2 and1 while his tutor slept1 ,measured the delicate angles of the stars1 ,out of his window1 with his compasses1 ,his only instrument4 ,even with this rude aid ,he found so many an ancient record wrong ,that more and more he burned to find the truth4 ,one night at home1 as ,tycho searched the sky1 ,out of his window1 compasses in hand1 ,fixing one point upon a planet1 one ,upon some loftier star1 a ripple of laughter ,startled him1 from the garden walk below4 ,he lowered his compass1 peered into the dark ,and saw--,christine1 the blue-eyed peasant girl1 ,with bare brown feet1 standing among the flowers4 ,she held what seemed an apple in her hand2 ,and1 in a voice that ,aprilled all his blood1 ,the low soft voice of earth1 drawing him down ,from those cold heights to that warm breast of ,spring1 ,a natural voice that had not learned to use ,the false tones of the world1 simple and clear ,as a bird's voice1 out of the fragrant darkness called1 ,i saw it falling from your window-ledge6 ,i thought it was an apple1 till it rolled ,over my foot4 ,it's heavy4 ,shall ,i try ,to throw it back to you8 ,tycho saw a stain ,of purple across one small arched glistening foot4 ,your foot ,is bruised1 he cried4 ,o no1 she laughed1 ,and plucked the stain off4 ,only a petal1 see4 ,she showed it to him4 ,but this--,i wonder now ,if ,i can throw it4 ,twice she tried and failed2 ,or ,tycho failed to catch that slippery sphere4 ,he saw the supple body swaying below1 ,the ripe red lips that parted as she laughed1 ,and those deep eyes where all the stars were drowned4 ,at the third time he caught it2 and she vanished1 ,waving her hand1 a little floating moth1 ,between the pine-trees1 into the warm dark night4 ,he turned into his room1 and quickly thrust ,under his pillow that forbidden fruit2 ,for the door opened1 and the hot red face ,of ,otto ,brahe1 his father1 glowered at him4 ,what's this8 ,what's this8 ,the furious-eyed old man ,limped to the bedside1 pulled the mystery out1 ,and stared upon the strangest apple of ,eve ,that ever troubled ,eden1--heavy as bronze1 ,and delicately enchased with silver stars1 ,the small celestial globe that ,tycho bought ,in ,leipzig4 ,then the storm burst on his head6 ,this moon-struck 'pothecary's-prentice work1 ,these cheap-jack calendar-maker's gypsy tricks ,would damn the mother of any ,knutsdorp squire1 ,and crown his father like a stag of ten4 ,quarrel on quarrel followed from that night1 ,till ,tycho sickened of his ancient name2 ,and1 wandering through the woods about his home1 ,found on a hill-top1 ringed with fragrant pines1 ,a little open glade of whispering ferns4 ,thither1 at night1 he stole to watch the stars2 ,and there he told the oldest tale on earth ,to one that watched beside him1 one whose eyes ,shone with true love1 more beautiful than the stars1 ,a daughter of earth1 the peasant-girl1 ,christine4 ,they met there1 in the dusk1 on his last night ,at home1 before he went to ,wittenberg4 ,they stood knee-deep among the whispering ferns1 ,and said good-bye4 ,i shall return1 he said1 ,and shame them for their folly1 who would set ,their pride above the stars1 ,christine1 and you4 ,at ,wittenberg or ,rostoch ,i shall find ,more chances and more knowledge4 ,all those worlds ,are still to conquer4 ,we know nothing yet2 ,the books are crammed with fables4 ,they foretell ,here an eclipse1 and there a dawning moon1 ,but most of them were out a month or more ,on ,jupiter and ,saturn4 ,there's one way1 ,and only one1 to knowledge of the law ,whereby the stars are steered1 and so to read ,the future1 even perhaps the destinies ,of men and nations1--only one sure way1 ,and that's to watch them1 watch them1 and record ,the truth we know1 and not the lies we dream4 ,dear1 while ,i watch them1 though the hills and sea ,divide us1 every night our eyes can meet ,among those constant glories4 ,every night ,your eyes and mine1 upraised to that bright realm1 ,can1 in one moment1 speak across the world4 ,i shall come back with knowledge and with power1 ,and you--will wait for me8 ,she answered him ,in silence1 with the starlight of her eyes4 ,,ii ,he watched the skies at ,wittenberg4 ,the plague ,drove him to ,rostoch1 and he watched them there2 ,but1 even there1 the plague of little minds ,beset him4 ,at a wedding-feast he met ,his noble countryman1 ,manderup1 who asked1 ,with mocking courtesy1 whether ,tycho ,brahe ,was ready yet to practise his black art ,at country fairs4 ,the guests1 and ,tycho1 laughed2 ,whereat the swaggering ,junker blandly sneered1 ,if fortune-telling fail1 ,christine will dance1 ,thus--tambourine on hip1 he struck a pose4 ,her pretty feet will pack that booth of yours4 ,they fought1 at midnight1 in a wood1 with swords4 ,and not a spark of light but those that leapt ,blue from the clashing blades4 ,tycho had lost ,his moon and stars awhile1 almost his life2 ,for1 in one furious bout1 his enemy's blade ,dashed like a scribble of lightning into the face ,of ,tycho ,brahe1 and left him spluttering blood1 ,groping through that dark wood with outstretched hands1 ,to fall in a death-black swoon4 ,they carried him back ,to ,rostoch2 and when ,tycho saw at last ,that mirrored patch of mutilated flesh1 ,seared as by fire1 between the frank blue eyes ,and firm young mouth where1 like a living flower ,upon some stricken tree1 youth lingered still1 ,he'd but one thought1 ,christine would shrink from him ,in fear1 or worse1 in pity4 ,an end had come ,worse than old age1 to all the glory of youth4 ,urania would not let her lover stray ,into a mortal's arms4 ,he must remain ,her own1 for ever2 and for ever1 alone4 ,yet1 as the days went by1 to face the world1 ,he made himself a delicate mask of gold ,and silver1 shaped like those that minstrels wear ,at carnival in ,venice1 or when love1 ,disguising its disguise of mortal flesh1 ,wooes as a nameless prince from far away4 ,and when this world's day1 with its blaze and coil ,was ended1 and the first white star awoke ,in that pure realm where all our tumults die1 ,his eyes and hers1 meeting on ,hesperus1 ,renewed their troth4 ,he seemed to see ,christine1 ,ringed by the pine-trees on that distant hill1 ,a small white figure1 lost in space and time1 ,yet gazing at the sky1 and conquering all1 ,height1 depth1 and heaven itself1 by the sheer power ,of love at one with everlasting laws1 ,a love that shared the constancy of heaven1 ,and spoke to him across1 above1 the world4 ,,iii ,not till he crossed the ,danube did he find ,among the fountains and the storied eaves ,of ,augsburg1 one to share his task with him4 ,paul ,hainzel1 of that city1 greatly loved ,to talk with ,tycho of the strange new dreams ,copernicus had kindled4 ,did this earth ,move8 ,was the sun the centre of our scheme8 ,and ,tycho told him1 there is but one way ,to know the truth1 and that's to sweep aside ,all the dark cobwebs of old sophistry1 ,and watch and learn that moving alphabet1 ,each smallest silver character inscribed ,upon the skies themselves1 noting them down1 ,till on a day we find them taking shape ,in phrases1 with a meaning2 and1 at last1 ,the hard-won beauty of that celestial book ,with all its epic harmonies unfold ,like some great poet's universal song4 ,he was a great magician1 ,tycho ,brahe4 ,hainzel1 he said1 we have no magic wand1 ,but what the truth can give us4 ,if we find ,even with a compass1 through a bedroom window1 ,that half the glittering ,almagest is wrong1 ,think you1 what noble conquests might be ours1 ,had we but nobler instruments4 ,he showed ,quivering with eagerness1 his first rude plan ,for that great quadrant1--not the wooden toy ,of old ,scultetus1 but a kingly weapon1 ,huge as a ,roman battering-ram1 and fine ,in its divisions as any goldsmith's work4 ,it could be built1 said ,tycho1 but the cost ,would buy a dozen culverin for your wars4 ,then ,hainzel1 fired by ,tycho's burning brain1 ,answered1 ,we'll make it4 ,we've a war to wage ,on ,chaos1 and his kingdoms of the night4 ,they chose the cunningest artists of the town1 ,clock-makers1 jewellers1 carpenters1 and smiths1 ,and1 setting them all afire with ,tycho's dream1 ,within a month his dream was oak and brass4 ,its beams were fourteen cubits1 solid oak1 ,banded with iron4 ,its arch was polished brass ,whereon five thousand exquisite divisions ,were marked to show the minutes of degrees4 ,so huge and heavy it was1 a score of men1 ,could hardly drag and fix it to its place ,in ,hainzel's garden4 ,many a shining night1 ,tycho and ,hainzel1 out of that maze of flowers1 ,charted the stars1 discovering point by point1 ,how all the records erred1 until the fame ,of this new master1 hovering above the schools ,like a strange hawk1 threatened the creeping dreams ,of all the ,aristotelians1 and began ,to set their mouse-holes twittering ,tycho ,brahe6 ,then ,tycho ,brahe came home1 to find ,christine4 ,up to that whispering glade of ferns he sped1 ,at the first wink of ,hesperus4 ,he stood ,in shadow1 under the darkest pine1 to hide ,the little golden mask upon his face4 ,he wondered1 will she shrink from me in fear ,or loathing8 ,will she even come at all8 ,and1 as he wondered1 like a light she moved ,before him4 ,is it you8-- ,christine6 ,christine1 ,he whispered1 ,it is ,i1 the mountebank1 ,playing a jest upon you4 ,it's only a mask6 ,do not be frightened4 ,i am here behind it4 ,her red lips parted1 and between them shone1 ,the little teeth like white pomegranate seeds4 ,he saw her frightened eyes4 ,then1 with a cry1 ,her arms went round him1 and her eyelids closed4 ,lying against his heart1 she set her lips ,against his lips1 and claimed him for her own4 ,,iv ,one frosty night1 as ,tycho bent his way ,home to the dark old abbey1 he upraised ,his eyes1 and saw a portent in the sky4 ,there1 in its most familiar patch of blue1 ,where ,cassiopeia's five-fold glory burned1 ,an unknown brilliance quivered1 a huge star ,unseen before1 a strange new visitant ,to heavens unchangeable1 as the world believed1 ,since the creation4 ,could new stars be born8 ,night after night he watched that miracle ,growing and changing colour as it grew2 ,white at the first1 and large as ,jupiter2 ,and1 in the third month1 yellow1 and larger yet2 ,red in the fifth month1 like ,aldebaran1 ,and larger even than ,lyra4 ,in the seventh1 ,bluish like ,saturn2 whence it dulled and dwined ,little by little1 till after eight months more ,into the dark abysmal blue of night1 ,whence it arose1 the wonder died away4 ,but1 while it blazed above him1 ,tycho brought ,those delicate records of two hundred nights ,to ,copenhagen4 ,there1 in his golden mask1 ,at supper with ,pratensis1 who believed ,only what old books told him1 ,tycho met ,dancey1 the ,french ,ambassador1 rainbow-gay ,in satin hose and doublet1 supple and thin1 ,brown-eyed1 and bearded with a soft black tuft ,neat as a blackbird's wing1--a spirit as keen ,and swift as ,france on all the starry trails ,of thought4 ,he saw the deep and simple fire1 ,the mystery of all genius in those eyes ,above that golden wizard4 ,tycho raised ,his wine-cup1 brimming--they thought--with purple dreams2 ,and bade them drink to their triumphant ,queen ,of all the ,muses1 to their ,lady of ,light ,urania1 and the great new star4 ,they laughed1 ,thinking the young astrologer's golden mask ,hid a sardonic jest4 ,the skies are clear1 ,said ,tycho ,brahe1 and we have eyes to see4 ,put out your candles4 ,open those windows there6 ,the colder darkness breathed upon their brows1 ,and ,tycho pointed1 into the deep blue night4 ,there1 in their most immutable height of heaven1 ,in ipso caelo1 in the ethereal realm1 ,beyond all planets1 red as ,mars it burned1 ,the one impossible glory4 ,but it's true6 ,pratensis gasped2 then1 clutching the first straw1 ,now ,i recall how ,pliny the ,elder said1 ,hipparchus also saw a strange new star1 ,not where the comets1 not where the ,rosae bloom ,and fade1 but in that solid crystal sphere ,where nothing changes4 ,tycho smiled1 and showed ,the record of his watchings4 ,but the world ,must know all this1 cried ,dancey4 ,you must print it4 ,print it8 said ,tycho1 turning that golden mask ,on both his friends4 ,could ,i1 a noble1 print ,this trafficking with ,urania in a book8 ,they'd hound me out of ,denmark6 ,this disgrace ,of work1 with hands or brain1 no matter why1 ,no matter how1 in one who ought to dwell ,fixed to the solid upper sphere1 my friends1 ,would never be forgiven4 ,dancey stared ,in mute amazement1 but that mask of gold ,outstared him1 sphinx-like1 and inscrutable4 ,soon through all ,europe1 like the blinded moths1 ,roused by a lantern in old palaces ,among the mouldering tapestries of thought1 ,weird fables woke and fluttered to and fro1 ,and wild-eyed sages hunted them for truth4 ,the ,italian1 ,frangipani1 thought the star ,the lost ,electra1 that had left her throne ,among the ,pleiads1 and plunged into the night ,like a veiled mourner1 when ,troy town was burned4 ,the ,german painter1 ,busch1 of ,erfurt1 wrote1 ,it was a comet1 made of mortal sins2 ,a poisonous mist1 touched by the wrath of ,god ,to fire2 from which there would descend on earth ,all manner of evil--plagues and sudden death1 ,frenchmen and famine4 ,preachers thumped and raved4 ,theodore ,beza in ,calvin's pulpit tore ,his grim black gown1 and vowed it was the ,star ,that led the ,magi4 ,it had now returned ,to mark the world's end and the ,judgment ,day4 ,then1 in this hubbub1 ,dancey told the king ,of ,denmark1 ,there is one who knows the truth-- ,your subject ,tycho ,brahe1 who1 night by night1 ,watched and recorded all that truth could see4 ,it would bring honour to all ,denmark1 sire1 ,if ,tycho could forget his rank awhile1 ,and print these great discoveries in a book1 ,for all the world to read4 ,so ,tycho ,brahe ,received a letter in the king's own hand1 ,urging him1 ,truth is the one pure fountain-head ,of all nobility4 ,pray forget your rank4 ,his noble kinsmen echoed1 ,if you wish ,to please ,his ,majesty and ourselves1 forget ,your rank4 ,i will1 said ,tycho ,brahe2 ,your reasoning has convinced me4 ,i will print ,my book1 ',de ,nova ,stella4' ,and to prove ,all you have said concerning temporal rank ,and this eternal truth you love so well1 ,i marry1 to-day1--they foamed1 but all their mouths ,were stopped and stuffed and sealed with their own words1-- ,i marry to-day my own true love1 ,christine4 ,v ,they thought him a magician1 ,tycho ,brahe4 ,perhaps he was4 ,there's magic all around us ,in rocks and trees1 and in the minds of men1 ,deep hidden springs of magic4 ,he that strikes ,the rock aright1 may find them where he will4 ,and ,tycho tasted happiness in his hour4 ,there was a prince in ,denmark in those days2 ,and1 when he heard how other kings desired ,the secrets of this new astrology1 ,he said1 ,this man1 in after years1 will bring ,glory to ,denmark1 honour to her prince4 ,he is a ,dane4 ,give him this isle of ,wheen1 ,and let him make his great discoveries there4 ,let him have gold to buy his instruments1 ,and build his house and his observatory4 ,so ,tycho set this island where he lived ,whispering with wizardry2 and1 in its heart1 ,he lighted that strange lanthorn of the law1 ,and built himself that wonder of the world1 ,uraniborg1 a fortress for the truth1 ,a city of the heavens4 ,around it ran ,a mighty rampart twenty-two feet high1 ,and twenty feet in thickness at the base4 ,its angles pointed north1 south1 east and west1 ,with gates and turrets2 and1 within this wall1 ,were fruitful orchards1 apple1 and cherry1 and pear2 ,and1 sheltered in their midst from all but sun1 ,a garden1 warm and busy with singing bees4 ,there1 many an hour1 his flaxen-haired ,christine1 ,sang to her child1 her first-born1 ,magdalen1 ,or watched her playing1 a flower among the flowers4 ,dark in the centre of that zone of bliss ,arose the magic towers of ,tycho ,brahe4 ,two of them had great windows in their roofs ,opening upon the sky where'er he willed1 ,and under these observatories he made ,a library of many a golden book2 ,poets and sages of old ,greece and ,rome1 ,and many a mellow legend1 many a dream ,of dawning truth in ,egypt1 or the dusk ,of ,araby4 ,under all of these he made ,a subterranean crypt for alchemy1 ,with sixteen furnaces2 and1 under this1 ,he sank a well1 so deep1 that ,jeppe declared ,he had tapped the central fountains of the world1 ,and drew his magic from those cold clear springs4 ,this was the very well1 said ,jeppe1 the dwarf1 ,where ,truth was hidden2 but1 by ,tycho ,brahe ,and his weird skill1 the magic water flowed1 ,through pipes1 uphill1 to all the house above3 ,the kitchen where his cooks could broil a trout ,for sages or prepare a feast for kings2 ,the garrets for the students in the roof2 ,the guest-rooms1 and the red room to the north1 ,the study and the blue room to the south2 ,the small octagonal yellow room that held ,the sunlight like a jewel all day long1 ,and ,magdalen1 with her happy dreams1 at night2 ,then1 facing to the west1 one long green room1 ,the ceiling painted like the bower of ,eve ,with flowers and leaves1 the windows opening wide ,through which ,christine and ,tycho ,brahe at dawn ,could see the white sails drifting on the ,sound ,like petals from their orchard4 ,to the north1 ,he built a printing house for noble books1 ,poems1 and those deep legends of the sky1 ,still to be born at his ,uraniborg4 ,beyond the rampart to the north arose ,a workshop for his instruments4 ,to the south ,a low thatched farm-house rambled round a yard ,alive with clucking hens2 and1 further yet ,to southward on another hill1 he made ,a great house for his larger instruments1 ,and called it ,stiernborg1 mountain of the stars4 ,and1 on his towers and turrets1 ,tycho set ,statues with golden verses in the praise ,of famous men1 the bearers of the torch1 ,from ,ptolemy to the new ,copernicus4 ,then1 in that storm-proof mountain of the stars1 ,he set in all their splendour of new-made brass ,his armouries for the assault of heaven1-- ,circles in azimuth1 armillary spheres1 ,revolving zodiacs with great brazen rings2 ,quadrants of solid brass1 ten cubits broad1 ,brass parallactic rules1 made to revolve ,in azimuth2 clocks with wheels2 an astrolabe2 ,and that large globe strengthened by oaken beams ,he made at ,augsburg4 ,all his gold he spent2 ,but ,denmark had a prince in those great days2 ,and1 in his brain1 the dreams of ,tycho ,brahe ,kindled a thirst for glory4 ,so he made ,tycho the ,lord of sundry lands and rents1 ,and ,keeper of the ,chapel where the kings ,of ,oldenburg were buried2 for he said ,to whom could all these kings entrust their bones ,more fitly than to him who read the stars1 ,and though a mortal1 knew immortal laws2 ,and paced1 at night1 the silent halls of heaven4 ,,vi ,he was a great magician1 ,tycho ,brahe4 ,there1 on his island1 for a score of years1 ,he watched the skies1 recording star on star1 ,for future ages1 and1 by patient toil1 ,perfected his great tables of the sun1 ,the moon1 the planets4 ,there1 too happy far ,for any history1 sons and daughters rose1 ,a little clan of love1 around ,christine2 ,and ,tycho thought1 when ,i am dead1 my sons ,will rule and work in my ,uraniborg4 ,and yet a doubt would trouble him1 for he knew ,the children of ,christine would still be held ,ignoble1 by the world4 ,disciples came1 ,young-eyed and swift1 the bearers of the torch ,from many a city to ,uraniborg1 ,and ,tycho ,brahe received them like a king1 ,and bade them light their torches at his fire4 ,the ,king of ,scotland came1 with all his court1 ,and dwelt eight days in ,tycho ,brahe's domain1 ,asking him many a riddle1 deep and dark1 ,whose answer1 none the less1 a king should know4 ,what boots it on this earth to be a king1 ,to rule a part of earth1 and not to know ,the worth of his own realm1 whether he rule ,as ,god's vice-gerent1 and his realm be still ,the centre of the centre of all worlds2 ,or whether1 as ,copernicus proclaimed1 ,this earth itself be moving1 a lost grain ,of dust among the innumerable stars8 ,for this would dwarf all glory but the soul1 ,in king or peasant1 that can hail the truth1 ,though truth should slay it4 ,so to ,tycho ,brahe1 ,the king became a subject for eight days4 ,but1 in the crowded hall1 when he had gone1 ,jeppe raised his matted head1 with a chuckle of glee1 ,quiet as the gurgle of joy in a dark rock-pool1 ,when the first ripple and wash of the first spring-tide ,flows bubbling under the dry sun-blackened fringe ,of seaweed1 setting it all afloat again1 ,in magical colours1 like a merman's hair4 ,jeppe has a thought1 the gay young students cried1 ,thronging him round1 for all believed that ,jeppe ,was fey1 and had strange visions of the truth4 ,what is the thought1 ,jeppe8 ,i can think no thoughts1 ,croaked ,jeppe4 ,but ,i have made myself a song4 ,silence1 they cried1 for ,jeppe the nightingale6 ,sing1 ,jeppe6 ,and1 wagging his great head to and fro ,before the fire1 with deep dark eyes1 he crooned3 ,,the ,,song ,,of ,,jeppe ,what6 said the king1 ,is earth a bird or bee8 ,can this uncharted boundless realm of ours ,drone thro' the sky1 with leagues of struggling sea1 ,forests1 and hills1 and towns1 and palace-towers8 ,ay1 said the dwarf1 ,i have watched from ,stiernborg's crown ,her far dark rim uplift against the sky2 ,but1 while earth soars1 men say the stars go down2 ,and1 while earth sails1 men say the stars go by4 ,an elvish tale6 ,ask ,jeppe1 the dwarf6 ,he knows4 ,that's why his eyes look fey2 for1 chuckling deep1 ,heels over head amongst the stars he goes1 ,as all men go2 but most are sound asleep4 ,king1 saint1 sage1 ,even those that count it true1 ,act as this miracle touched them not at all4 ,they are borne1 undizzied1 thro' the rushing blue1 ,and build their empires on a sky-tossed ball4 ,then said the king1 ,if earth so lightly move1 ,what of my realm8 ,o1 what shall now stand sure8 ,naught1 said the dwarf1 in all this world1 but love4 ,all else is dream-stuff and shall not endure4 ',tis nearer now6 ,our universe hath no centre1 ,our shadowy earth and fleeting heavens no stay1 ,but that deep inward realm which each can enter1 ,even ,jeppe1 the dwarf1 by his own secret way4 ,where8 said the king1 ,o1 where8 ,i have not found it6 ,here1 said the dwarf1 and music echoed here4 ,this infinite circle hath no line to bound it2 ,therefore that deep strange centre is everywhere4 ,let the earth soar thro' heaven1 that centre abideth2 ,or plunge to the pit1 ,his covenant still holds true4 ,in the heart of a dying bird1 the ,master hideth2 ,in the soul of a king1 said the dwarf1 and in my soul1 too4 ,,vii ,princes and courtiers came1 a few to seek ,a little knowledge1 many more to gape ,in wonder at ,tycho's gold and silver mask2 ,or when they saw the beauty of his towers1 ,envy and hate him for them4 ,thus arose ,the small grey cloud upon the distant sky1 ,that broke in storm at last4 ,beware1 croaked ,jeppe1 ,lifting his shaggy head beside the fire1 ,when guests like these had gone1 ,master1 beware6 ,and ,tycho of the frank blue eyes would laugh4 ,even when he found ,witichius playing him false ,his anger1 like a momentary breeze1 ,died on the dreaming deep2 for ,tycho ,brahe ,turned to a nobler riddle1--,have you thought1 ,he asked his young disciples1 how the sea ,is moved to that strange rhythm we call the tides8 ,he that can answer this shall have his name ,honoured among the bearers of the torch ,while ,pegasus flies above ,uraniborg4 ,i was delayed three hours or more to-day ,by the neap-tide4 ,the fishermen on the coast ,are never wrong4 ,they time it by the moon4 ,post hoc1 perhaps1 not propter hoc2 and yet ,through all the changes of the sky and sea ,that old white clock of ours with the battered face ,does seem infallible4 ,there's a love-song too1 ,the sailors on the coast of ,sweden sing1 ,i have often pondered it4 ,your courtly poets ,upbraid the inconstant moon4 ,but these men know ,the moon and sea are lovers1 and they move ,in a most constant measure4 ,hear the words ,and tell me1 if you can1 what silver chains ,bind them together4 ,then1 in a voice as low ,and rhythmical as the sea1 he spoke that song3 ,,the ,,shepherdess ,,of ,,the ,,sea ,reproach not yet our sails' delay2 ,you cannot see the shoaling bay1 ,the banks of sand1 the fretful bars1 ,that ebb left naked to the stars4 ,the sea's white shepherdess1 the moon1 ,shall lead us into harbour soon4 ,dear1 when you see her glory shine ,between your fragrant boughs of pine1 ,know there is but one hour to wait ,before her hands unlock the gate1 ,and the full flood of singing foam ,follow her lovely footsteps home4 ,then waves like flocks of silver sheep ,come rustling inland from the deep1 ,and into rambling valleys press ,behind their heavenly shepherdess4 ,you cannot see them8 ,lift your eyes ,and see their mistress in the skies4 ,she rises with her silver bow4 ,i feel the tide begin to flow2 ,and every thought and hope and dream ,follow her call1 and homeward stream4 ,borne on the universal tide1 ,the wanderer hastens to his bride4 ,the sea's white shepherdess1 the moon1 ,shall lead him into harbour1 soon4 ,,viii ,he was a great magician1 ,tycho ,brahe1 ,but not so great that he could read the heart ,or rule the hand of princes4 ,when his friend ,king ,frederick died1 the young ,prince ,christian reigned2 ,and1 round him1 fool and knave made common cause ,against the magic that could pour their gold ,into a gulf of stars4 ,this ,tycho ,brahe ,had grown too proud4 ,he held them in contempt1 ,so they believed2 for1 when he spoke1 their thoughts ,crept at his feet like spaniels4 ,junkerdom ,felt it was foolish1 for he towered above it1 ,and so it hated him4 ,did he not spend ,gold that a fool could spend as quickly as he8 ,were there not great estates bestowed upon him ,in wisdom's name1 that from the dawn of time ,had been the natural right of ,junkerdom8 ,and would he not bequeath them to his heirs1 ,the children of ,christine1 an unfree woman8 ,why you1 sire1 even you1 they told the king1 ,he has made a laughing-stock4 ,that horoscope ,he read for you1 the night when you were born1 ,printed1 and bound it in green velvet1 too1-- ,read it ,the whole world laughs at it4 ,he said ,that ,venus was the star that ruled your fate1 ,and ,venus would destroy you4 ,tycho ,brahe ,inspired your royal father with the fear ,that kept your youth so long in leading-strings1 ,the fear that every pretty hedgerow flower ,would be your ,circe4 ,so he thought to avenge ,our mockery of this peasant-girl ,christine1 ,to whom1 indeed1 he plays the faithful swine1 ,knowing full well his gold and silver nose ,would never win another4 ,thus the sky ,darkened above ,uraniborg1 and those ,who dwelt within it1 till one evil day1 ,one seeming happy day1 when ,tycho marked ,the seven-hundredth star upon his chart1 ,two pompous officers from ,walchendorp1 ,the chancellor1 knocked at ,tycho's eastern gate4 ,we are sent1 they said1 to see and to report ,what use you make of these estates of yours4 ,your alchemy has turned more gold to lead ,than ,denmark can approve4 ,the uses now6 ,show us the uses of this work of yours4 ,then ,tycho showed his tables of the stars1 ,seven hundred stars1 each noted in its place ,with exquisite precision1 the result ,of watching heaven for five-and-twenty years4 ,and is this all8 they said4 ,they sought to invent ,some ground for damning him4 ,the truth alone ,would serve them1 as it seemed4 ,for these were men ,who could not understand4 ,not all1 ,i hope1 ,said ,tycho1 for ,i think1 before ,i die1 ,i shall have marked a thousand4 ,to what end8 ,when shall we reap the fruits of all this toil8 ,show us its uses4 ,in the time to come1 ,said ,tycho ,brahe1 perhaps a hundred years1 ,perhaps a thousand1 when our own poor names ,are quite forgotten1 and our kingdoms dust1 ,on one sure certain day1 the torch-bearers ,will1 at some point of contact1 see a light ,moving upon this chaos4 ,though our eyes ,be shut for ever in an iron sleep1 ,their eyes shall see the kingdom of the law1 ,our undiscovered cosmos4 ,they shall see it-- ,a new creation rising from the deep1 ,beautiful1 whole4 ,we are like men that hear ,disjointed notes of some supernal choir4 ,year after year1 we patiently record ,all we can gather4 ,in that far-off time1 ,a people that we have not known shall hear them1 ,moving like music to a single end4 ,they could not understand3 this life that sought ,only to bear the torch and hand it on2 ,and so they made report that all the dreams ,of ,tycho ,brahe were fruitless2 perilous1 too1 ,since he avowed that any fruit they bore ,would fall1 in distant years1 to alien hands4 ,little by little1 ,walchendorp withdrew ,his rents from ,tycho ,brahe1 accusing him ,of gross neglects4 ,the ,chapel at ,roskilde ,was falling into ruin4 ,tycho ,brahe ,was ,keeper of the ,bones of ,oldenburg4 ,he must rebuild the ,chapel4 ,all the gifts ,that ,frederick gave to help him in his task1 ,were turned to stumbling-blocks2 till1 one dark day1 ,he called his young disciples round him there1 ,and in that mellow library of dreams1 ,lit by the dying sunset1 poured his heart ,and mind before them1 bidding them farewell4 ,through the wide-open windows as he spoke ,they heard the sorrowful whisper of the sea ,ebbing and flowing around ,uraniborg4 ,an end has come1 he said1 to all we planned4 ,uraniborg has drained her treasury dry4 ,your ,alma ,mater now must close her gates ,on you1 her guests2 on me2 and1 worst of all1 ,on one most dear1 who made this place my home4 ,for you are young1 your homes are all to win1 ,and you would all have gone your separate ways ,in a brief while2 and1 though ,i think you love ,your college of the skies1 it could not mean ,all that it meant to those who called it 'home4' ,you that have worked with me1 for one brief year1 ,will never quite forget ,uraniborg4 ,this room1 the sunset gilding all those books1 ,the star-charts and that old celestial globe1 ,the long bright evenings by the winter fire1 ,of ,tycho ,brahe were fruitless2 perilous ,the talk that opened heaven1 the songs you sung1 ,yes1 even1 ,i think1 the tricks you played with ,jeppe1 ,will somehow1 when yourselves are growing old1 ,be hallowed into beauty1 touched with tears1 ,for you will wish they might be yours again4 ,these have been mine for five-and-twenty years1 ,and more than these1--the work1 the dreams ,i shared ,with you1 and others here4 ,my heart will break ,to leave them4 ,but the appointed time has come ,as it must come to all men4 ,you and ,i ,have watched too many constant stars to dream ,that heaven or earth1 the destinies of men ,or nations1 are the sport of chance4 ,an end ,comes to us all through blindness1 age1 or death4 ,if mine must come in exile1 it stall find me ,bearing the torch as far as ,i can bear it1 ,until ,i fall at the feet of the young runner1 ,who takes it from me1 and carries it out of sight1 ,into the great new age ,i shall not know1 ,into the great new realms ,i must not tread4 ,come1 then1 swift-footed1 let me see you stand ,waiting before me1 crowned with youth and joy1 ,at the next turning4 ,take it from my hand1 ,for ,i am almost ready now to fall4 ,something ,i have achieved1 yes1 though ,i say it1 ,i have not loitered on that fiery way4 ,and if ,i front the judgment of the wise ,in centuries to come1 with more of dread ,than my destroyers1 it is because this work ,will be of use1 remembered and appraised1 ,when all their hate is dead4 ,i say the work1 ,not the blind rumour1 the glory or fame of it4 ,these observations of seven hundred stars ,are little enough in sight of those great hosts ,which nightly wheel around us1 though ,i hope1 ,yes1 ,i still hope1 in some more generous land ,to make my thousand up before ,i die4 ,little enough1 ,i know1--a midget's work6 ,the men that follow me1 with more delicate art ,may add their tens of thousands2 yet my sum ,will save them just that five-and-twenty years ,of patience1 bring them sooner to their goal1 ,that kingdom of the law ,i shall not see4 ,we are on the verge of great discoveries4 ,i feel them as a dreamer feels the dawn ,before his eyes are opened4 ,many of you ,will see them4 ,in that day you will recall ,this1 our last meeting at ,uraniborg1 ,and how ,i told you that this work of ours ,would lead to victories for the coming age4 ,the victors may forget us4 ,what of that8 ,theirs be the palms1 the shouting1 and the praise4 ,ours be the fathers' glory in the sons4 ,ours the delight of giving1 the deep joy ,of labouring1 on the cliff's face1 all night long1 ,cutting them foot-holes in the solid rock1 ,whereby they climb so gaily to the heights1 ,and gaze upon their new-discovered worlds4 ,you will not find me there4 ,when you descend1 ,look for me in the darkness at the foot ,of those high cliffs1 under the drifted leaves4 ,that's where we hide at last1 we pioneers1 ,for we are very proud1 and must be sought ,before the world can find us1 in our graves4 ,there have been compensations4 ,i have seen ,in darkness1 more perhaps than eyes can see ,when sunlight blinds them on the mountain-tops2 ,guessed at a glory past our mortal range1 ,and only mine because the night was mine4 ,of those three systems of the universe1 ,the ,ptolemaic1 held by all the schools1 ,may yet be proven false4 ,we yet may find ,this earth of ours is not the sovran lord ,of all those wheeling spheres4 ,ourselves have marked ,movements among the planets that forbid ,acceptance of it wholly4 ,some of these ,are moving round the sun1 if we can trust ,our years of watching4 ,there are stranger dreams4 ,this radical1 ,copernicus1 the priest1 ,of whom ,i often talked with you1 declares ,ail of these movements can be reconciled1 ,if--a hypothesis only--we should take ,the sun itself for centre1 and assume ,that this huge earth1 so 'stablished1 so secure ,in its foundations1 is a planet also1 ,and moves around the sun4 ,i cannot think it4 ,this leap of thought is yet too great for me4 ,i have no doubt that ,ptolemy was wrong4 ,some of his planets move around the sun4 ,copernicus is nearer to the truth ,in some things4 ,but the planets we have watched ,still wander from the course that he assigned4 ,therefore1 my system1 which includes the best ,of both1 ,i hold may yet be proven true4 ,this earth of ours1 as ,jeppe declared one day1 ,so simply that we laughed1 is 'much too big ,to move1' so let it be the centre still1 ,and let the planets move around their sun2 ,but let the sun with all its planets move ,around our central earth4 ,this at the least ,accords with all we know1 and saves mankind ,from that enormous plunge into the night2 ,saves them from voyaging for ten thousand years ,through boundless darkness without sight of land2 ,saves them from all that agony of loss1 ,as one by one the beacon-fires of faith ,are drowned in blackness4 ,i beseech you1 then1 ,let me be proven wrong1 before you take ,that darkness lightly4 ,if at last you find ,the proven facts against me1 take the plunge4 ,launch out into that darkness4 ,let the lamps ,of heaven1 the glowing hearth-fires that we knew ,die out behind you1 while the freshening wind ,blows on your brows1 and overhead you see ,the stars of truth that lead you from your home4 ,i love this island1--every little glen1 ,hazel-wood1 brook1 and fish-pond2 every bough ,and blossom in that garden2 and ,i hoped ,to die here4 ,but it is not chance1 ,i know1 ,that sends me wandering through the world again4 ,my use perhaps is ended2 and the power ,that made me1 breaks me4 ,as he spoke1 they saw ,the tears upon his face4 ,he bowed his head ,and left them silent in the darkened room4 ,they saw his face no more4 ,the self-same hour1 ,tycho1 ,christine1 and all their children1 left ,their island-home for even ,in their ship ,they took a few of the smaller instruments1 ,and that most precious record of the stars1 ,his legacy to the future4 ,into the night ,they vanished1 leaving on the ghostly cliffs ,only one dark1 distorted1 dog-like shape ,to watch them1 sobbing1 under its matted hair1 ,master1 have you forgotten ,jeppe1 your dwarf8 ,,ix ,he was a great magician1 ,tycho ,brahe1 ,and yet his magic1 under changing skies1 ,could never change his heart1 or touch the hills ,of those far countries with the tints of home4 ,and1 after many a month of wandering1 ,he came to ,prague2 and1 though with open hands ,rodolphe received him1 like an exiled king1 ,a new ,aeneas1 exiled for the truth 7,for so they called him71 none could heal the wounds ,that bled within1 or lull his grief to sleep ,with that familiar whisper of the waves1 ,ebbing and flowing around ,uraniborg4 ,doggedly still he laboured2 point by point1 ,crept on1 with aching heart and burning brain1 ,until his table of the stars had reached ,the thousand that he hoped1 to crown his toil4 ,but ,christine heard him murmuring in the night1 ,the work1 the work6 ,not to have lived in vain6 ,into whose hands can ,i entrust it all8 ,i thought to find him standing by the way1 ,waiting to seize the splendour from my hand1 ,the swift1 young-eyed runner with the torch4 ,let me not live in vain1 let me not fall ,before ,i yield it to the appointed soul4 ,and yet the ,power that made and broke him heard3 ,for1 on a certain day1 to ,tycho came ,another exile1 guided through the dark ,of ,europe by the starlight in his eyes1 ,or that invisible hand which guides the world4 ,he asked him1 as the runner with the torch ,alone could ask1 asked as a natural right ,for ,tycho's hard-won life-work1 those results1 ,his tables of the stars4 ,he gave his name ,almost as one who told him1 ,it is ,i2 ,and yet unconscious that he told2 a name ,not famous yet1 though truth had marked him out ,already1 by his exile1 as her own1-- ,the name of ,johann ,kepler4 ,it was strange1 ,wrote ,kepler1 not long after1 for ,i asked ,unheard-of things1 and yet he gave them to me ,as if ,i were his son4 ,when first ,i saw him1 ,we seemed to have known each other years ago ,in some forgotten world4 ,i could not guess ,that ,tycho ,brahe was dying4 ,he was quick ,of temper1 and we quarrelled now and then1 ,only to find ourselves more closely bound ,than ever4 ,i believe that ,tycho died ,simply of heartache for his native land4 ,for though he always met me with a smile1 ,or jest upon his lips1 he could not sleep ,or work1 and often unawares ,i caught ,odd little whispered phrases on his lips ,as if he talked to himself1 in a kind of dream4 ,yet ,i believe the clouds dispersed a little ,around his death-bed1 and with that strange joy ,which comes in death1 he saw the unchanging stars4 ,christine was there4 ,she held him in her arms4 ,i think1 too1 that he knew his work was safe4 ,an hour before he died1 he smiled at me1 ,and whispered1--what he meant ,i hardly know-- ,perhaps a broken echo from the past1 ,a fragment of some old familiar thought1 ,and yet ,i seemed to know4 ,it haunts me still3 ',come then1 swift-footed1 let me see you stand1 ,waiting before me1 crowned with youth and joy2 ,this is the turning4 ,take it from my hand4 ,for ,i am ready1 ready now1 to fall4' ,,iii ,,kepler ,john ,kepler1 from the chimney corner1 watched ,his wife ,susannah1 with her sleeves rolled back ,making a salad in a big blue bowl4 ,the thick tufts of his black rebellious hair ,brushed into sleek submission2 his trim beard ,snug as the soft round body of a thrush ,between the white wings of his fan-shaped ruff 7,his best1 with the fine lace border7 spoke of guests ,expected2 and his quick grey humorous eyes1 ,his firm red whimsical pleasure-loving mouth1 ,and all those elvish twinklings of his face1 ,were lit with eagerness4 ,only between his brows1 ,perplexed beneath that subtle load of dreams1 ,two delicate shadows brooded4 ,what does it mean8 ,sir ,henry ,wotton's letter breathed a hint ,that ,italy is prohibiting my book1 ,he muttered4 ,then1 if ,austria damns it too1 ,susannah mine1 we may be forced to choose ,between the truth and exile4 ,when he comes1 ,he'll tell me more4 ,ambassadors1 ,i suppose1 ,can only write in cipher1 while our world ,is steered to heaven by murderers and thieves2 ,but1 if he'd wrapped his friendly warnings up ,in a verse or two1 ,i might have done more work ,these last three days1 eh1 ,sue8 ,look1 ,john1 said she1 ,what beautiful hearts of lettuce6 ,tell me now ,how shall ,i mix it8 ,will your ,english guest ,turn up his nose at dandelion leaves ,as crisp and young as these8 ,they've just the tang ,of bitterness in their milk that gives a relish ,and makes all sweet2 and that's philosophy1 ,john4 ,now--these spring onions6 ,would his ,excellency ,like sugared rose-leaves better8 ,he's a poet1 ,not an ambassador only1 so ,i think ,he'll like a cottage salad4 ,a poet1 ,john6 ,i hate their arrogant little insect ways6 ,i'll put a toadstool in4 ,poets1 dear heart1 ,can be divided into two clear kinds1-- ,one that1 by virtue of a half-grown brain1 ,lives in a silly world of his own making1 ,a bubble1 blown by himself1 in which he flits ,and dizzily bombinates1 chanting ',i1 ,i1 ,i1' ,for there is nothing in the heavens above ,or the earth1 or hell beneath1 but goes to swell ,his personal pronoun4 ,bring him some dreadful news ,his dearest friend is burned to death1--,you'll see ,the monstrous insect strike an attitude ,and shape himself into one capital ,i1 ,a rubric1 with red eyes4 ,you'll see him use ,the coffin for his pedestal1 hear him mouth ,his ',i1 ,i1 ,i' instructing haggard grief ,concerning his odd ego4 ,does he chirp ,of love1 it's ',i1 ,i1 ,i' ,narcissus1 love1 ,myself1 ,narcissus1 imaged in those eyes2 ,for all the love-notes that he sounds are made ,after the fashion of passionate grasshoppers1 ,by grating one hind-leg across another4 ,nor does he learn to sound that mellower ',you1' ,until his bubble bursts and leaves him drowned1 ,an insect in a soap-sud4 ,but there's another kind1 whose mind still moves ,in vital concord with the soul of things2 ,so that it thinks in music1 and its thoughts ,pulse into natural song4 ,a separate voice1 ,and yet caught up by the surrounding choirs1 ,there1 in the harmonies of the ,universe1 ,losing himself1 he saves his soul alive4 ,john1 ,i'm afraid6-- ,afraid of what1 ,susannah8-- ,afraid to put those ,ducklings on to roast4 ,your friend may miss his road2 and1 if he's late1 ,my little part of the music will be spoiled4-- ,he won't1 ,susannah4 ,bad poets are always late4 ,good poets1 at times1 delay a note or two2 ,but all the great are punctual as the sun4 ,what's that8 ,he's early6 ,that's his knock1 ,i think6-- ,the ,lord have mercy1 ,john1 there's nothing ready6 ,take him into your study and talk to him1 ,talk hard4 ,he's come an hour before his time2 ,and ,i've to change my dress4 ,i'll into the kitchen6 ,then1 in a moment1 all the cottage rang ,with greetings2 hand grasped hand2 his ,excellency ,forgot the careful prologue he'd prepared1 ,and made an end of mystery4 ,he had brought ,a message from his wisdom-loving king ,who1 hearing of new menaces to the light ,in ,europe1 urged the illustrious ,kepler now ,to make his home in ,england4 ,there1 his thought ,and speech would both be free4 ,my friend1 said ,wotton1 ,i have moved in those old strongholds of the night1 ,and heard strange mutterings4 ,it is not many years ,since ,bruno burned4 ,there's trouble brewing too1 ,for one you know1 ,i think1--the ,florentine ,who made that curious optic tube4-- ,you mean ,the man at ,padua1 ,galileo8-- ,yes4 ,they will not dare or need4 ,proof or disproof ,rests with their eyes4-- ,kepler1 have you not heard ,of those who1 fifteen hundred years ago1 ,had eyes and would not see8 ,eyes quickly close ,when souls prefer the dark4-- ,so be it4 ,other and younger eyes will see4 ,perhaps that's why ,god gave the young a spice ,of devilry4 ,they'll go look1 while elders gasp2 ,and1 when the ,devil and ,truth go hand in hand1 ,god help their enemies4 ,you will send my thanks1 ,my grateful thanks1 ,sir ,henry1 to your king4 ,to-day ,i cannot answer you4 ,i must think4 ,it would be very difficult ,my wife ,would find it hard to leave her native land4 ,say nothing yet before her4 ,then1 to hide ,their secret from ,susannah1 ,kepler poured ,his mind out1 and the world's dead branches bloomed4 ,for1 when he talked1 another spring began ,to which our ,may was winter2 and1 in the boughs ,of his delicious thoughts1 like feathered choirs1 ,bits of old rhyme1 scraps from the ,sabine farm1 ,celestial phrases from the ,shepherd ,king1 ,and fluttering morsels from ,catullus sang4 ,much was fantastic4 ,all was touched with light ,that only genius knows to steal from heaven4 ,he spoke of poetry1 as the flowering time ,of knowledge1 called it thought in passionate tune ,with those great rhythms that steer the moon and sun2 ,thought in such concord with the soul of things ,that it can only move1 like tides and stars1 ,and man's own beating heart1 and the wings of birds1 ,in law1 whose service only sets them free4 ,therefore it often leaps to the truth we seek1 ,clasping it1 as a lover clasps his bride ,in darkness1 ere the sage can light his lamp4 ,and so1 in music1 men might find the road ,to truth1 at many a point1 where sages grope4 ,one day1 a greater ,plato would arise ,to write a new philosophy1 he said1 ,showing how music is the golden clue ,to all the windings of the world's dark maze4 ,himself had used it1 partly proved it1 too1 ,in his own book1--the ,harmonies of the ,world4 ',all that the years discover points one way ,to this great ordered harmony1 he said1 ,revealed on earth by music4 ,planets move ,in subtle accord like notes of one great song ,audible only to the ,artificer1 ,the ,eternal ,artist4 ,there's no grief1 no pain1 ,but music--follow it simply as a clue1 ,a microcosmic pattern of the whole-- ,can show you1 somewhere in its golden scheme1 ,the use of all such discords2 and1 at last1 ,their exquisite solution4 ,then darkness breaks ,into diviner light1 love's agony climbs ,through death to life1 and evil builds up heaven4 ,have you not heard1 in some great symphony1 ,those golden mathematics making clear ,the victory of the soul8 ,have you not heard ,the very heavens opening8 ,do those fools ,who thought me an infidel then1 still smile at me ,for trying to read the stars in terms of song1 ,discern their orbits1 measure their distances1 ,by musical proportions8 ,let them smile1 ,my folly at least revealed those three great laws2 ,gave me the golden vases of the ,egyptians1 ,to set in the great new temple of my ,god ,beyond the bounds of ,egypt4 ,they will forget ,my methods1 doubtless1 as the years go by1 ,and the world's wisdom shuts its music out4 ,the dust will gather on all my harmonies2 ,or scholars turn my pages listlessly1 ,glance at the musical phrases1 and pass on1 ,not troubling even to read one ,latin page4 ,yet they'll accept those great results as mine4 ,i call them mine4 ,how can ,i help exulting1 ,who climbed my ladder of music to the skies ,and found1 by accident1 let them call it so1 ,or by the inspiration of that ,power ,which built ,his world of music1 those three laws3-- ,first1 how the speed of planets round the sun ,bears a proportion1 beautifully precise ,as music1 to their silver distances2 ,next1 that although they seem to swerve aside ,from those plain circles of old ,copernicus ,their paths were not less rhythmical and exact1 ,but followed always that most exquisite curve ,in its most perfect form1 the pure ellipse2 ,third1 that although their speed from point to point ,appeared to change1 their radii always moved ,through equal fields of space in equal times4 ,was this my infidelity1 was this ,less full of beauty1 less divine in truth1 ,than their dull chaos8 ,you1 the poet will know ,how1 as those dark perplexities grew clear1 ,and old anomalous discords changed to song1 ,my whole soul bowed and cried1 ,almighty ,god ,these are ,thy thoughts1 ,i am thinking after ,thee6 ,i hope that ,tycho knows4 ,i owed so much ,to ,tycho ,brahe2 for it was he who built ,the towers from which ,i hailed those three great laws4 ,how strange and far away it all seems now4 ,the thistles grow upon that little isle ,where ,tycho's great ,uraniborg once was4 ,yet1 for a few sad years1 before it fell ,into decay and ruin1 there was one ,who crept about its crumbling corridors1 ,and lit the fire of memory on its hearth4-- ,wotton looked quickly up1 ,i think ,i have heard ,something of that4 ,you mean poor ,jeppe1 his dwarf4 ,fynes ,moryson1 at the ,mermaid ,inn one night ,showed a most curious manuscript1 a scrawl ,on yellow parchment1 crusted here and there ,with sea-salt1 or the salt of those thick tears ,creatures like ,jeppe1 the crooked dwarf1 could weep4 ,it had been found1 clasped in a crooked hand1 ,under the cliffs of ,wheen1 a crooked hand ,that many a time had beckoned to passing ships1 ,hoping to find some voyager who would take ,a letter to its master4 ,the sailors laughed ,and jeered at him1 till ,jeppe threw stones at them4 ,and now ,jeppe1 too1 was dead1 and one who knew ,fynes ,moryson1 had found him1 and brought home ,that curious crooked scrawl4 ,fynes ,englished it ,out of its barbarous ,danish4 ,thus it ran3 ',master1 have you forgotten ,jeppe1 your dwarf1 ,who used to lie beside the big log-fire ,and feed from your own hand8 ,the hall is dark1 ,there are no voices now1--only the wind ,and the sea-gulls crying round ,uraniborg4 ,i too am crying1 ,master1 even ,i1 ,because there is no fire upon the hearth1 ,no light in any window4 ,it is night1 ,and all the faces that ,i knew are gone4 ,master1 ,i watched you leaving us4 ,i saw ,the white sails dwindling into sea-gull's wings1 ,then melting into foam1 and all was dark4 ,i lay among the wild flowers on the cliff ,and dug my nails into the stiff white chalk ,and called you1 ,tycho ,brahe4 ,you did not hear2 ,but gulls and jackdaws1 wheeling round my head1 ,mocked me with ,tycho ,brahe1 and ,tycho ,brahe6 ,you were a great magician1 ,tycho ,brahe2 ,and1 now that they have driven you away1 ,i1 that am only ,jeppe1--the crooked dwarf1 ,you used to laugh at for his matted hair1 ,and head too big and heavy--take your pen ,here in your study4 ,i will write it down ,and send it by a sailor to the ,king ,of ,scotland1 and who knows1 the mouse that gnawed ,the lion free1 may save you1 ,tycho ,brahe4' ,he is free now1 said ,kepler1 had he lived ,he would have sent for ,jeppe to join him there ,at ,prague4 ,but death forestalled him1 and your ,king4 ,the years in which he watched that planet ,mars1 ,his patient notes and records1 all were mine2 ,and1 mark you1 had he clipped or trimmed one fact ,by even a hair's-breadth1 so that his results ,made a pure circle of that planet's path ,it might have baffled us for an age and drowned ,all our new light in darkness4 ,but he held ,to what he saw4 ,he might so easily1 ,so comfortably have said1 ',my instruments ,are crude and fallible4 ,in so fine a point ,eyes may have erred1 too4 ,why not acquiesce8 ,why mar the tune1 why dislocate a world1 ,for one slight clash of seeming fact with faith8' ,but no1 though stars might swerve1 he held his course1 ,recording only what his eyes could see ,until death closed them4 ,then1 to his results1 ,i added mine and saw1 in one wild gleam1 ,strange as the light of day to one born blind1 ,a subtler concord ruling them and heard ,profounder tones of harmony resolve ,those broken melodies into song again4-- ,faintly and far away1 ,i1 too1 have seen ,in music1 and in verse1 that golden clue ,whereof you speak1 said ,wotton4 ,in all true song1 ,there is a hidden logic4 ,even the rhyme ,that1 in bad poets1 wrings the neck of thought1 ,is like a subtle calculus to the true1 ,an instrument of discovery4 ,it reveals ,new harmonies1 new analogies4 ,it links ,far things and near1 not in unnatural chains1 ,but in those true accords which still escape ,the plodding reason1 yet unify the world4 ,i caught some glimpses of this mystic power ,in verses of your own1 that elegy ,on ,tycho1 and that great quatrain of yours-- ,i cannot quite recall the ,latin words1 ,but made it roughly mine in words like these3 ',i know that ,i am dust1 and daily die2 ,yet1 as ,i trace those rhythmic spheres at night1 ,i stand before the ,thunderer's throne on high ,and feast on nectar in the halls of light4' ,my version lacks the glory of your lines ,but444 ,mine too was a version1 ,kepler laughed1 ,turned into ,latin from old ,ptolemy's ,greek2 ,for1 even in verse1 half of the joy1 ,i think1 ,is just to pass the torch from hand to hand ,an undimmed splendour4 ,but1 last night1 ,i tried ,some music all my own4 ,i had a dream ,that ,i was wandering in some distant world4 ,i have often dreamed it ,once it was the moon4 ,i wrote that down in prose4 ,when ,i am dead1 ,it may be printed4 ,this was a fairer dream3 ,for ,i was walking in a far-off spring ,upon the planet1 ,venus4 ,only verse ,could spread true wings for that delicious world2 ,and so ,i wrote it--for no eyes but mine1 ,or 'twould be seized on1 doubtless1 as fresh proof ,of poor old ,kepler's madness4-- ,let me hear1 ,madman to madman2 for ,i1 too1 write verse4 ,then ,kepler1 in a rhythmic murmur1 breathed ,his rich enchanted memories of that dream3 ,beauty burned before me ,swinging a lanthorn through that fragrant night4 ,i followed a distant singing1 ,and a dreaming light ,how she led me1 ,i cannot tell ,to that strange world afar1 ,nor how ,i walked1 in that wild glen ,upon the sunset star4 ,winged creatures floated ,under those rose-red boughs of violet bloom1 ,with delicate forms unknown on ,earth ',twixt irised plume and plume2 ,human-hearted1 angel-eyed1 ,and crowned with unknown flowers2 ,for nothing in that enchanted world ,followed the way of ours4 ,only ,i saw that ,beauty1 ,on ,hesper1 as on earth1 still held command2 ,and though1 as one in slumber1 ,i roamed that radiant land1 ,with all these earth-born senses sealed ,to what the ,hesperians knew1 ,the faithful lanthorn of her law ,was mine on ,hesper too4 ,then1 half at home with wonder1 ,i saw strange flocks of flowers like birds take flight2 ,great trees that burned like opals ,to lure their loves at night2 ,dark beings that could move in realms ,no dream of ours has known4 ,till these became as common things ,as men account their own4 ,yet1 when that lanthorn led me ,back to the world where once ,i thought me wise2 ,i saw1 on this my planet1 ,what souls1 with awful eyes4 ,hardly ,i dared to walk her fields ,as in that strange re-birth ,i looked on those wild miracles ,the birds and flowers of earth4 ,silence a moment held them1 loth to break ,the spell of that strange dream1 ,one proof the more ,said ,wotton at last1 that songs can mount and fly ,to truth2 for this fantastic vision of yours ,of life in other spheres1 awakes in me1 ,either that slumbering knowledge of ,socrates1 ,or some strange premonition that the years ,will prove it true4 ,this music leads us far ,from all our creeds1 except that faith in law4 ,your quest for knowledge--how it rests on that6 ,how sure the soul is that if truth destroy ,the temple1 in three days the truth will build ,a nobler temple2 and that order reigns ,in all things4 ,even your atheist builds his doubt ,on that strange faith2 destroys his heaven and ,god ,in absolute faith that his own thought is true ,to law1 ,god's lanthorn to our stumbling feet2 ,and so1 despite himself1 he worships ,god1 ,for where true souls are1 there are ,god and heaven4-- ,it is an ancient wisdom4 ,long ago1 ,said ,kepler1 under the glittering ,eastern sky1 ,the shepherd king looked up at those great stars1 ,those ordered hosts1 and cried ,caeli narrant ,gloriam ,dei6 ,though there be some to-day ,who'd ape ,lucretius1 and believe themselves ,epicureans1 little they know of him ,who1 even in utter darkness1 bowed his head1 ,to something nobler than the gods of ,rome ,reigning beyond the darkness4 ,they accept ,the law1 the music of these ordered worlds2 ,and straight deny the law's first postulate1 ,that out of nothingness nothing can be born1 ,nor greater things from less4 ,can music rise ,by chance from chaos1 as they said that star ,in ,serpentarius rose8 ,i told them1 then1 ,that when ,i was a boy1 with time to spare1 ,i played at anagrams4 ,out of my ,latin name ,johannes ,keplerus came that sinister phrase ,serpens in akuleo4 ,struck by this1 ,i tried again1 but trusted it to chance4 ,i took some playing cards1 and wrote on each ,one letter of my name4 ,then ,i began ,to shuffle them2 and1 at every shuffle1 ,i read ,the letters1 in their order1 as they came1 ,to see what meaning chance might give to them4 ,wotton1 the gods and goddesses must have laughed ,to see the weeks ,i lost in studying chance2 ,for had ,i scattered those cards into the black ,epicurean eternity1 ,i'll swear ,they'd still be playing at leap-frog in the dark1 ,and show no glimmer of sense4 ,and yet--to hear ,those wittols talk1 you'd think you'd but to mix ,a bushel of good ,greek letters in a sack ,and shake them roundly for an age or so1 ,to pour the ,odyssey out4 ,at last1 ,i told1 ,those disputants what my wife had said4 ,one night ,when ,i was tired and all my mind a-dust ,with pondering on their atoms1 ,i was called ,to supper1 and she placed before me there ,a most delicious salad4 ',it would appear1' ,i thought aloud1 'that if these pewter dishes1 ,green hearts of lettuce1 tarragon1 slips of thyme1 ,slices of hard boiled egg1 and grains of salt4 ,with drops of water1 vinegar and oil1 ,had in a bottomless gulf been flying about ,from all eternity1 one sure certain day ,the sweet invisible hand of ,happy ,chance ,would serve them as a salad4' ',likely enough1' ,my wife replied1 'but not so good as mine1 ,nor so well dressed4' ,they laughed4 ,susannah's voice ,broke in1 ,i've made a better one4 ,the receipt ,came from the ,golden ,lion4 ,i have dished ,ducklings and peas and all4 ,come1 ,john1 say grace4 ,,iv ,,galileo ,i 7,celeste1 in the ,convent at ,arcetri1 writes to her old lover at ,rome47 ,my friend1 my dearest friend1 my own dear love1 ,i1 who am dead to love1 and see around me ,the funeral tapers lighted1 send this cry ,out of my heart to yours1 before the end4 ,you told me once you would endure the rack ,to save my heart one pang4 ,o1 save it now6 ,last night there came a dreadful word from ,rome ,for my dear lord and father1 summoning him ,before the inquisitors there1 to take his trial ,at threescore years and ten4 ,there is a threat ,of torture1 if his lips will not deny ,the truth his eyes have seen4 ,you know my father1 ,you know me1 too4 ,you never will believe ,that he and ,i are enemies of the faith4 ,could ,i1 who put away all earthly love1 ,deny the ,cross to which ,i nailed this flesh8 ,could he1 who1 on the night when all those heavens ,opened above us1 with their circling worlds1 ,knelt with me1 crushed beneath that weight of glory1 ,forget the ,maker of that glory now8 ,you'll not believe it4 ,neither would the ,church1 ,had not his enemies poisoned all the springs ,and fountain-heads of truth4 ,it is not ,rome ,that summons him1 but ,magini1 ,sizy1 ,scheiner1 ,lorini1 all the blind1 pedantic crew ,that envy him his fame1 and hate his works ,for dwarfing theirs4 ,must such things always be ,when truth is born8 ,only five nights ago we walked together1 ,my father and ,i1 here in the ,convent garden2 ,and1 as the dusk turned everything to dreams1 ,we dreamed together of his work well done ,and happiness to be4 ,we did not dream ,that even then1 muttering above his book1 ,his enemies1 those enemies whom the truth ,stings into hate1 were plotting to destroy him4 ,yet something shadowed him4 ,i recall his words-- ,the grapes are ripening4 ,see1 ,celeste1 how black ,and heavy4 ,we shall have good wine this year1-- ,yes1 all grows ripe1 ,i said1 your life-work1 too1 ,dear father4 ,are you happy now to know ,your book is printed1 and the new world born8 ,he shook his head1 a little sadly1 ,i thought4 ,autumn's too full of endings4 ,fruits grow ripe ,and fall1 and then comes winter4 ,not for you6 ,never1 ,i said1 for those who write their names ,in heaven4 ,think1 father1 through all ages now ,no one can ever watch that starry sky ,without remembering you4 ,your fame 444 ,and there ,he stopped me1 laid his hand upon my arm1 ,and standing in the darkness with dead leaves ,drifting around him1 and his bare grey head ,bowed in complete humility1 his voice ,shaken and low1 he said like one in prayer1 ,celeste1 beware of that4 ,say truth1 not fame4 ,if there be any happiness on earth1 ,it springs from truth alone1 the truth we live ,in act and thought4 ,i have looked up there and seen ,too many worlds to talk of fame on earth4 ,fame1 on this grain of dust among the stars1 ,the trumpet of a gnat that thinks to halt ,the great sun-clusters moving on their way ,in silence6 ,yes1 that's fame1 but truth1 ,celeste1 ,truth and its laws are constant1 even up there2 ,that's where one man may face and fight the world4 ,his weakness turns to strength4 ,he is made one ,with universal forces1 and he holds ,the password to eternity4 ,gate after gate swings back through all the heavens4 ,no sentry halts him1 and no flaming sword4 ,say truth1 ,celeste1 not fame4 ,no1 for ,i'll say ,a better word1 ,i told him4 ,i'll say love4 ,he took my face between his hands and said-- ,his face all dark between me and the stars-- ,what's love1 ,celeste1 but this dear face of truth ,upturned to heaven4 ,he left me1 and ,i heard1 ,some twelve hours later1 that this man whose soul ,was dedicate to ,truth1 was threatened now ,with torture1 if his lips did not deny ,the truth he loved4 ,i tell you all these things ,because to help him1 you must understand him2 ,and even you may doubt him1 if you hear ,only those plausible outside witnesses ,who never heard his heart-beats as have ,i4 ,so let me tell you all--his quest for truth1 ,and how this hate began4 ,even from the first1 ,he made his enemies of those almost-minds ,who chanced upon some new thing in the dark ,and could not see its meaning1 for he saw1 ,always1 the law illumining it within4 ,so when he heard of that strange optic-glass ,which brought the distance near1 he thought it out ,by reason1 where that other hit upon it ,only by chance4 ,he made his telescope2 ,and ,o1 how vividly that day comes back1 ,when in their gorgeous robes the ,senate stood ,beside him on that high ,venetian tower1 ,scanning the bare blue sea that showed no speck ,of sail4 ,then1 one by one1 he bade them look2 ,and one by one they gasped1 a miracle4 ,brown sails and red1 a fleet of fishing boats1 ,see how the bright foam bursts around their bows6 ,see how the bare-legged sailors walk the decks6 ,then1 quickly looking up1 as if to catch ,the vision1 ere it tricked them1 all they saw ,was empty sea again4 ,many believed ,that all was trickery1 but he bade them note ,the colours of the boats1 and count their sails4 ,then1 in a little while1 the naked eye ,saw on the sky-line certain specks that grew1 ,took form and colour2 and1 within an hour1 ,their magic fleet came foaming into port4 ,whereat old senators1 wagging their white beards1 ,and plucking at golden chains with stiff old claws ,too feeble for the sword-hilt1 squeaked at once3 ,this glass will give us great advantages ,in time of war4 ,war1 war1 ,o ,god of love1 ,even amidst their wonder at ,thy world1 ,dazed with new beauty1 gifted with new powers1 ,these old men dreamed of blood4 ,this was the thought ,to which all else must pander1 if he hoped ,even for one hour to see those dull eyes blaze ,at his discoveries4 ,wolves1 he called them1 wolves2 ,and yet he humoured them4 ,he stooped to them4 ,promised them more advantages1 and talked ,as elders do to children4 ,you may call it ,weakness1 and yet could any man do more1 ,alone1 against a world1 with such a trust ,to guard for future ages8 ,all his life ,he has had some weanling truth to guard1 has fought ,desperately to defend it1 taking cover ,wherever he could1 behind old fallen trees ,of superstition1 or ruins of old thought4 ,he has read horoscopes to keep his work ,among the stars in favour with his prince1 ,i tell you this that you may understand ,what seems inconstant in him4 ,it may be ,that he was wrong in these things1 and must pay ,a dreadful penalty4 ,but you must explore ,his mind's great ranges1 plains and lonely peaks ,before you know him1 as ,i know him now4 ,how could he talk to children1 but in words ,that children understand8 ,have not some said ,that ,god ,himself has made ,his glory dark ,for men to bear it4 ,in his human sphere ,my father has done this4 ,war was the dream ,that filmed those old men's eyes4 ,they did not hear ,my father1 when he hinted at his hope ,of opening up the heavens for mankind ,with that new power of bringing far things near4 ,my heart burned as ,i heard him2 but they blinked ,like owls at noonday4 ,then ,i saw him turn1 ,desperately1 to humour them1 from thoughts ,of heaven to thoughts of warfare4 ,late that night ,my own dear lord and father came to me ,and whispered1 with a glory in his face ,as one who has looked on things too beautiful ,to breathe aloud1 ,come out1 ,celeste1 and see ,a miracle4 ,i followed him4 ,he showed me1 ,looking along his outstretched hand1 a star1 ,a point of light above our olive-trees4 ,it was the star called ,jupiter4 ,and then ,he bade me look again1 but through his glass4 ,i feared to look at first1 lest ,i should see ,some wonder never meant for mortal eyes4 ,he too1 had felt the same1 not fear1 but awe1 ,as if his hand were laid upon the veil ,between this world and heaven4 ,then 4 4 4 ,i1 too1 saw1 ,small as the smallest bead of mist that clings ,to a spider's thread at dawn1 the floating disk ,of what had been a star1 a planet now1 ,and near it1 with no disk that eyes could see1 ,four needle-points of light1 unseen before4 ,the moons of ,jupiter1 he whispered low1 ,i have watched them as they moved1 from night to night2 ,a system like our own1 although the world ,their fourfold lights and shadows make so strange ,must--as ,i think--be mightier than we dreamed1 ,a ,titan planet4 ,earth begins to fade ,and dwindle2 yes1 the heavens are opening now4 ,perhaps up there1 this night1 some lonely soul ,gazes at earth1 watches our dawning moon1 ,and wonders1 as we wonder4 ,in that dark ,we knelt together 4 4 4 ,very strange to see ,the vanity and fickleness of princes4 ,before his enemies had provoked the wrath ,of ,rome against him1 he had given the name ,of ,medicean stars to those four moons ,in honour of ,prince ,cosmo4 ,this aroused ,the court of ,france to seek a lasting place ,upon the map of heaven4 ,a letter came ,beseeching him to find another star ,even more brilliant1 and to call it ,henri ,after the reigning and most brilliant prince ,of ,france4 ,they did not wish the family name ,of ,bourbon4 ,this would dissipate the glory4 ,no1 they preferred his proper name of ,henri4 ,we read it together in the garden here1 ,weeping with laughter1 never dreaming then ,that this1 this1 this1 could stir the little hearts ,of men to envy4 ,o1 but afterwards1 ,the blindness of the men who thought themselves ,his enemies4 ,the men who never knew him1 ,the men that had set up a thing of straw ,and called it by his name1 and wished to burn ,their image and himself in one wild fire4 ,men8 ,were they men or children8 ,they refused ,even to look through ,galileo's glass1 ,lest seeing might persuade them4 ,even that sage1 ,that great ,aristotelian1 ,julius ,libri1 ,holding his breath there1 like a fractious child ,until his cheeks grew purple1 and the veins ,were bursting on his brow1 swore he would die ,sooner than look4 ,and that poor monstrous babe ,not long thereafter1 kept his word and died1 ,died of his own pent rage1 as ,i have heard4 ,whereat my lord and father shook his head ,and1 smiling1 somewhat sadly--oh1 you know ,that smile of his1 more deadly to the false ,than even his reasoning--murmured1 ,libri1 dead1 ,who called the moons of ,jupiter absurd6 ,he swore he would not look at them from earth1 ,i hope he saw them on his way to heaven4 ,welser in ,augsburg1 ,clavius at ,rome1 ,scoffed at the fabled moons of ,jupiter1 ,it was a trick1 they said4 ,he had made a glass ,to fool the world with false appearances4 ,perhaps the lens was flawed4 ,perhaps his wits ,were wandering4 ,anything rather than the truth ,which might disturb the mighty in their seat4 ,let ,galileo hold his own opinions4 ,i1 ,clavius1 will hold mine4 ,he wrote to ,kepler2 ,you1 ,kepler1 are the first1 whose open mind ,and lofty genius could accept for truth ,the things which ,i have seen4 ,with you for friend1 ,the abuse of the multitude will not trouble me4 ,jupiter stands in heaven and will stand1 ,though all the sycophants bark at him4 ,in ,pisa1 ,florence1 ,bologna1 ,venice1 ,padua1 ,many have seen the moons4 ,these witnesses ,are silent and uncertain4 ,do you wonder8 ,most of them could not1 even when they saw them1 ,distinguish ,mars from ,jupiter4 ,shall we side ,with ,heraclitus or ,democritus8 ,i think1 my ,kepler1 we will only laugh ,at this immeasurable stupidity4 ,picture the leaders of our college here4 ,a thousand times ,i have offered them the proof ,of their own eyes4 ,they sleep here1 like gorged snakes1 ,refusing even to look at planets1 moons1 ,or telescope4 ,they think philosophy ,is all in books1 and that the truth is found ,neither in nature1 nor the ,universe1 ,but in comparing texts4 ,how you would laugh ,had you but heard our first philosopher ,before the ,grand ,duke1 trying to tear down ,and argue the new planets out of heaven1 ,now by his own weird logic and closed eyes ,and now by magic spells4 ,how could he help ,despising them a little8 ,it's an error ,even for a giant to despise a midge2 ,for1 when the giant reels beneath some stroke ,of fate1 the buzzing clouds will swoop upon him1 ,cluster and feed upon his bleeding wounds1 ,and do what midges can to sting him blind4 ,these human midges have not missed their chance4 ,they have missed no smallest spot upon that sun4 ,my mother was not married--they have found-- ,to my dear father4 ,all his children1 then1 ,and doubtless all their thoughts are evil1 too2 ,but who that judged him ever sought to know ,whether1 as evil sometimes wears the cloak ,of virtue1 nobler virtue in this man ,might wear that outward semblance of a sin8 ,yes1 even you who love me1 may believe ,these thoughts are born of my own tainted heart2 ,and yet ,i write them1 kneeling in my cell ,and whisper them to ,one who blesses me ,here1 from ,his ,cross1 upon the bare grey wall4 ,so1 if you love me1 bless me also1 you1 ,by helping him4 ,make plain to all you meet ,what part his enemies have played in this4 ,how some one1 somehow1 altered the command ,laid on him all those years ago1 by ,rome1 ,so that it reads to-day as if he vowed ,never to think or breathe that this round earth ,moves with its sister-planets round the sun4 ',tis true he promised not to write or speak ,as if this truth were 'stablished equally ,with ,god's eternal laws2 and so he wrote ,his ,dialogues1 reasoning for it1 and against1 ,and gave the last word to ,simplicio1 ,saying that human reason must bow down ,before the power of ,god4 ,and even this ,his enemies have twisted to a sneer ,against the ,pope1 and cunningly declared ,simplicio to be ,urban4 ,why1 my friend1 ,there were three dolphins on the titlepage1 ,each with the tail of another in its mouth4 ,the censor had not seen this1 and they swore ,it held some hidden meaning4 ,then they found ,the same three dolphins sprawled on all the books ,landini printed at his ,florence press4 ,they tried another charge4 ,i am not afraid ,of any truth that they can bring against him2 ,but1 ,o1 my friend1 ,i more than fear their lies4 ,i do not fear the justice of our ,god2 ,but ,i do fear the vanity of men2 ,even of ,urban2 not ,his ,holiness1 ,but ,urban1 the weak man1 who may resent1 ,and in resentment rush half-way to meet ,this cunning lie with credence4 ,vanity6 ,o1 half the wrongs on earth arise from that6 ,greed1 and war's pomp1 all envy1 and most hate1 ,are born of that2 while one dear humble heart1 ,beating with love for man1 between two thieves1 ,proves more than all ,his wounds and miracles ,our ,crucified to be the ,son of ,god4 ,say that ,i long to see him2 that my prayers ,knock at the gates of mercy1 night and day4 ,urge him to leave the judgment now with ,god ,and strive no more4 ,if he be right1 the stars ,fight for him in their courses4 ,let him bow ,his poor1 dishonoured1 glorious1 old grey head ,before this storm1 and then come home to me4 ,o1 quickly1 or ,i fear 'twill be too late2 ,for ,i am dying4 ,do not tell him this2 ,but ,i must live to hold his hands again1 ,and know that he is safe4 ,i dare not leave him1 helpless and half blind1 ,half father and half child1 to rack and cord4 ,by all the ,christ within you1 save him1 you2 ,and1 though you may have ceased to love me now1 ,one faithful shadow in your own last hour ,shall watch beside you till all shadows die1 ,and heaven unfold to bless you where ,i failed4 ,,ii 7,scheiner writes to ,castelli1 after the ,trial47 ,what think you of your ,galileo now1 ,your hero that like ,ajax should defy ,the lightning8 ,yesterday ,i saw him stand ,trembling before our court of ,cardinals1 ,trembling before the colour of their robes ,as sheep1 before the slaughter1 at the sight ,and smell of blood4 ,his lips could hardly speak1 ,and--mark you--neither rack1 nor cord had touched him4 ,out of the ,inquisition's five degrees ,of rigor3 first1 the public threat of torture2 ,second1 the repetition of the threat ,within the torture-chamber1 where we show ,the instruments of torture to the accused2 ,third1 the undressing and the binding2 fourth1 ,laying him on the rack2 then1 fifth and last1 ,torture1 territio realis2 out of these1 ,your ,galileo reached the second only1 ,when1 clapping both his hands against his sides1 ,he whined about a rupture that forbade ,these extreme courses4 ,great heroic soul ,dropped like a cur into a sea of terror1 ,he sank right under4 ,then he came up gasping1 ,ready to swear1 deny1 abjure1 recant1 ,anything1 everything6 ,foolish1 weak1 old man1 ,who had been so proud of his discoveries1 ,and dared to teach his betters4 ,how we grinned ,to see him kneeling there and whispering1 thus1 ,through his white lips1 bending his old grey head3 ,i1 ,galileo ,galilei1 born ,a ,florentine1 now seventy years of age1 ,kneeling before you1 having before mine eyes1 ,and touching with my hands the ,holy ,gospels1 ,swear that ,i always have believed1 do now1 ,and always will believe what ,holy ,church ,has held and preached and taught me to believe2 ,and now1 whereas ,i rightly am accused1 ,of heresy1 having falsely held the sun ,to be the centre of our ,universe1 ,and also that this earth is not the centre1 ,but moves2 ,i most illogically desire ,completely to expunge this dark suspicion1 ,so reasonably conceived4 ,i now abjure1 ,detest and curse these errors2 and ,i swear ,that should ,i know another1 friend or foe1 ,holding the selfsame heresy as myself1 ,i will denounce him to the ,inquisitor ,in whatsoever place ,i chance to be4 ,so help me ,god1 and these ,his ,holy ,gospels1 ,which with my hands ,i touch6 ,you will observe ,his promise to denounce4 ,beware1 ,castelli6 ,what think you of your ,galileo now8 ,,iii 7,castelli writes1 enclosing ,schemer's letter1 to ,campanella47 ,what think ,i8 ,this1--that he has laid his hands ,like ,samson on the pillars of our world1 ,and one more trembling utterance such as this ,will overwhelm us all4 ,o1 ,campanella1 ,you know that ,i am loyal to our faith1 ,as ,galileo too has always been4 ,you know that ,i believe1 as he believes1 ,in the one ,catholic ,apostolic ,church2 ,yet there are many times when ,i could wish ,that some blind ,samson would indeed tear down ,all this proud temporal fabric1 made with hands1 ,and that1 once more1 we suffered with our ,lord1 ,were persecuted1 crucified with ,him4 ,i tell you1 ,campanella1 on that day ,when ,galileo faced our ,cardinals1 ,a veil was rent for me4 ,there1 in one flash1 ,i saw the eternal tragedy1 transformed ,into new terms4 ,i saw the ,christ once more1 ,before the court of ,pilate4 ,peter there ,denied ,him once again2 and1 as for me1 ,never has all my soul so humbly knelt ,to ,god in ,christ1 as when that sad old man ,bowed his grey head1 and knelt--at seventy years-- ,to acquiesce1 and shake the world with shame4 ,he shall not strive or cry6 ,strange1 is it not1 ,how nearly ,scheiner--even amidst his hate-- ,quoted the ,prophets8 ,do we think this world ,so greatly bettered1 that the ancient cry1 ,despised1 rejected1 hails our ,god no more8 ,,iv 7,celeste writes to her father in his imprisonment at ,siena47 ,dear father1 it will seem a thousand years ,until ,i see you home again and well4 ,i would not have you doubt that all this time ,i have prayed for you continually4 ,i saw ,a copy of your sentence4 ,i was grieved2 ,and yet it gladdened me1 for ,i found a way ,to be of use1 by taking on myself ,your penance4 ,therefore1 if you fail in this1 ,if you forget it--and indeed1 to save you ,the trouble of remembering it--your child ,will do it for you4 ,ah1 could she do more6 ,how willingly would your ,celeste endure ,a straiter prison than she lives in now ,to set you free4 ,a prison1 ,i have said2 ,and yet1 if you were here1 'twould not be so4 ,when you were pent in ,rome1 ,i used to say1 ,would he were at ,siena6 ,god fulfilled ,that wish4 ,you are at ,siena2 and ,i now say ,would he were at ,arcctri4 ,so perhaps ,little by little1 angels can be wooed ,each day1 by some new prayer of mine or yours1 ,to bring you wholly back to me1 and save ,some few of the flying days that yet remain4 ,you see1 these other ,nuns have each their friend1 ,their patron ,saint1 their ever near devoto1 ,to whom they tell their joys and griefs2 but ,i ,have only you1 dear father1 and if you ,were only near me1 ,i could want no more4 ,your garden looks as if it missed your love4 ,the unpruned branches lean against the wall ,to look for you4 ,the walks run wild with flowers4 ,even your watch-tower seems to wait for you2 ,and1 though the fruit is not so good this year 7,the vines were hurt by hail1 ,i think1 and thieves ,have climbed the wall too often for the pears71 ,the crop of peas is good1 and only waits ,your hand to gather it4 ,in the dovecote1 too1 ,you'll find some plump young pigeons4 ,we must make ,a feast for your return4 ,in my small plot1 ,here at the ,convent1 better watched than yours1 ,i raised a little harvest4 ,with the price ,i got for it1 ,i had three ,masses said ,for my dear father's sake4 ,v 7,galileo writes to his friend ,castelli1 after his return to ,arcetri47 ,castelli1 ,o ,castelli1 she is dead4 ,i found her driving death back with her soul ,till ,i should come4 ,i could not even see ,her face4--,these useless eyes had spent their power ,on distant worlds1 and lost that last faint look ,of love on earth4 ,i am in the dark1 ,castelli1 ,utterly and irreparably blind4 ,the ,universe which once these outworn eyes ,enlarged so far beyond its ancient bounds ,is henceforth shrunk into that narrow space ,which ,i myself inhabit4 ,yet ,i found ,even in the dark1 her tears against my face1 ,her thin soft childish arms around my neck1 ,and her voice whispering 444 love1 undying love2 ,asking me1 at this last1 to tell her true1 ,if we should meet again4 ,her trust in me ,had shaken her faith in what my judges held2 ,and1 as ,i felt her fingers clutch my hand1 ,like a child drowning1 ,tell me the truth1 she said1 ,before ,i lose the light of your dear face-- ,it seemed so strange that dying she could see me ,while ,i had lost her1--tell me1 before ,i go4 ,believe in ,love1 was all my soul could breathe4 ,i heard no answer4 ,only ,i felt her hand ,clasp mine and hold it tighter4 ,then she died1 ,and left me to my darkness4 ,could ,i guess ,at unseen glories1 in this deeper night1 ,make new discoveries of profounder realms1 ,within the soul8 ,o1 could ,i find ,him there1 ,rise to ,him through ,his harmonies of law ,and make ,his will my own6 ,this much1 at least1 ,i know already1 that--in some strange way-- ,his law implies ,his love2 for1 failing that ,all grows discordant1 and the primal ,power ,ignobler than ,his children4 ,so ,i trust ,one day to find her1 waiting for me still1 ,when all things are made new4 ,i raise this torch ,of knowledge4 ,it is one with my right hand1 ,and the dark sap that keeps it burning flows ,out of my heart2 and yet1 for all my faith1 ,it shows me only darkness4 ,was ,i wrong8 ,did ,i forget the subtler truth of ,rome ,and1 in my pride1 obscure the world's one light8 ,did ,i subordinate to this moving earth ,our swiftlier-moving ,god8 ,o1 my ,celeste1 ,once1 once at least1 you knew far more than ,i2 ,and she is dead1 ,castelli1 she is dead4 ,,vi 7,viviani1 many years later1 writes to a friend in ,england7 ,i was his last disciple1 as you say ,i went to him1 at seventeen years of age1 ,and offered him my hands and eyes to use1 ,when1 voicing the true mind and heart of ,rome1 ,father ,castelli1 his most faithful friend1 ,wrote1 for my master1 that compassionate plea2 ,the noblest eye that ,nature ever made ,is darkened2 one so exquisitely dowered1 ,so delicate in power that it beheld ,more than all other eyes in ages gone ,and opened the eyes of all that are to come4 ,but1 out of ,england1 even then1 there shone ,the first ethereal promise of light ,that crowns my master dead4 ,well ,i recall ,that day of days4 ,there was no faintest breath ,among his garden cypress-trees4 ,they dreamed ,dark1 on a sky too beautiful for tears1 ,and the first star was trembling overhead1 ,when1 quietly as a messenger from heaven1 ,moving unseen1 through his own purer realm1 ,amongst the shadows of our mortal world1 ,a young man1 with a strange light on his face ,knocked at the door of ,galileo's house4 ,his name was ,milton4 ,by the hand of ,god1 ,he1 the one living soul on earth with power ,to read the starry soul of this blind man1 ,was led through ,italy to his prison door4 ,he looked on ,galileo1 touched his hand 444 ,o1 dark1 dark1 dark1 amid the blaze of noon1 ,irrecoverably dark 4444 ,in after days1 ,he wrote it2 but it pulsed within him then2 ,and ,galileo rising to his feet ,and turning on him those unseeing eyes ,that had searched heaven and seen so many worlds1 ,said to him1 ,you have found me4 ,often he told me in those last sad months ,of how your grave young island poet brought ,peace to him1 with the knowledge that1 far off1 ,in other lands1 the truth he had proclaimed ,was gathering power4 ,soon after1 death unlocked ,his prison1 and the city that he loved1 ,florence1 his town of flowers1 whose gates in life ,he was forbid to pass1 received him dead4 ,you write to me from ,england1 that his name ,is now among the mightiest in the world1 ,and in his name ,i thank you4 ,i am old2 ,and ,i was very young when1 long ago1 ,i stood beside his poor dishonoured grave ,where hate denied him even an epitaph2 ,and ,i have seen1 slowly and silently1 ,his purer fame arising1 like a moon ,in marble on the twilight of those aisles ,at ,santa ,croce1 where the dread decree ,was read against him4 ,now1 against two wrongs1 ,let me defend two victims3 first1 the ,church ,whom many have vilified for my master's doom2 ,and second1 ,galileo1 whom they reproach ,because they think that in his blind old age ,he might with one great eagle's glance have cowed ,his judges1 played the hero1 raised his hands ,above his head1 and posturing like a mummer ,cried 7as one empty rumour now declares7 ,after his recantation--yet1 it moves6 ,out of this wild confusion1 fourfold wrongs ,are heaped on both sides4--,i would fain bring peace1 ,the peace of truth to both before ,i die2 ,and1 as ,i hope1 rest at my master's feet4 ,it was not ,rome that tried to murder truth2 ,but the blind hate and vanity of man4 ,had ,galileo but concealed the smile ,with which1 like ,socrates1 he answered fools1 ,they would not1 in the name of ,christ1 have mixed ,this hemlock in his chalice4 ,o pitiful ,pitiful human hearts that must deny ,their own unfolding heavens1 for one light word ,twisted by whispering malice4 ,did he mean ,simplicio1 in his dialogues1 for the ,pope8 ,doubtful enough--the name was borrowed straight ,from older dialogues4 ,if he gave one thought ,of ,urban's to ,simplicio--you know well ,how composite are all characters in books1 ,how authors find their colours here and there1 ,and paint both saints and villains from themselves4 ,no matter4 ,this was ,urban4 ,make it clear4 ,simplicio means a simpleton4 ,the saints ,are aroused by ridicule to most human wrath4 ,urban was once his friend4 ,this hint of ours ,kills all of that4 ,and so we mortals close ,the doors of ,love and ,knowledge on the world4 ,and so1 for many an age1 the name of ,christ ,has been misused by man to mask man's hate4 ,how should the ,church escape1 then8 ,i who loved ,my master1 know he had no truer friend ,than many of those true servants of the ,church1 ,fathers and priests who1 in their lowlier sphere1 ,moved nearer than her cardinals to the ,christ4 ,these were the very ,rome1 and held her keys4 ,those who charge ,rome with hatred of the light ,would charge the sun with darkness1 and accuse ,this dome of sky for all the blood-red wrongs ,that men commit beneath it4 ,art and song ,that found her once in ,europe their sole shrine ,and sanctuary absolve her from that stain4 ,but there's this other charge against my friend1 ,and master1 ,galileo4 ,it is brought ,by friends1 made sharper by their pity and grief1 ,the charge that he refused his martyrdom ,and so denied his own high faith4 ,whose faith1-- ,his friends'1 his ,protestant followers'1 or his own8 ,faced by the torture1 that sublime old man ,was still a faithful ,catholic1 and his thought ,plunged deeper than his ,protestant followers knew4 ,his aim was not to strike a blow at ,rome ,but to confound his enemies4 ,he believed ,as humbly as ,castelli or ,celeste ,that there is nothing absolute but that ,power ,with which his ,church confronted him4 ,to this ,he bowed his head1 acknowledging that his light ,was darkness2 but affirming1 all the more1 ,that ,ptolemy's light was even darker yet4 ,read your own ,protestant ,milton1 who derived ,his mighty argument from my master's lips3 ,whether the sun predominant in heaven ,rise on the earth1 or earth rise on the sun2 ,leave them to ,god above2 ,him serve and fear4 ,just as in boyhood1 when my master watched ,the swinging lamp in the cathedral there ,at ,pisa2 and1 by one finger on his pulse1 ,found that1 although the great bronze miracle swung ,through ever-shortening spaces1 yet it moved ,more slowly1 and so still swung in equal times2 ,he straight devised another boon to man1 ,those pulse-clocks which by many a fevered bed ,our doctors use2 dreamed of that timepiece1 too1 ,whose punctual swinging pendulum on earth ,measures the starry periods1 and to-day ,talks peacefully to children by the fire ,like an old grandad full of ancient tales1 ,remembering endless ages1 and foretelling ,eternities to come2 but1 all the while ,there1 in the dim cathedral1 he knew well1 ,that dreaming youngster1 with his tawny mane ,of red-gold hair1 and deep ethereal eyes1 ,what odorous clouds of incense round him rose2 ,was conscious in the dimness1 of great throngs ,kneeling around him2 shared in his own heart ,the music and the silence and the cry1 ,o1 salutaris hostia6--so now1 ,there was no mortal conflict in his mind ,between his dream-clocks and things absolute1 ,and one far voice1 most absolute of all1 ,feeble with suffering1 calling night and day ,return1 return2 the voice of his ,celeste4 ,all these things co-existed1 and the less ,were comprehended1 like the swinging lamp1 ,within that great cathedral of his soul4 ,often he bade me1 in that desolate house ,il ,giojello1 of old a jewel of light1 ,read to him one sad letter1 till he knew ,the most of it by heart1 and while he walked ,his garden1 leaning on my arm1 at times ,i think he quite forgot that ,i was there2 ,for he would quietly murmur it to himself1 ,as if she had sent it1 half an hour ago3 ,now1 with this little winter's gift of fruit ,i send you1 father1 from our southward wall1 ,our convent's rarest flower1 a ,christmas rose4 ,at this cold season1 it should please you much1 ,seeing how rare it is2 but1 with the rose1 ,you must accept its thorns1 which bring to mind ,our ,lord's own bitter ,passion4 ,its green leaves ,image the hope that through ,his ,passion we1 ,after this winter of our mortal life1 ,may find the beauty of an eternal spring ,in heaven4 ,praise me the martyr1 out of whose agonies ,some great new hope is born1 but not the fool ,who starves his heart to prove what eyes can see ,and intellect confirm throughout the world4 ,why must he follow the idiot schoolboy code1 ,torture his soul to reinforce the sight ,of those that closed their eyes and would not see4 ,to your own men of science1 fifty turns ,of the thumbscrew would not prove that earth revolved4 ,call it ,italian subtlety if you will1 ,i say his intricate cause could not be won ,by blind heroics4 ,much that his enemies challenged ,was not yet wholly proven1 though his mind ,had leapt to a certainty4 ,he must leave the rest ,to those that should come after1 swift and young1-- ,those runners with the torch for whom he longed ,as his deliverers4 ,had he chosen death ,before his hour1 his proofs had been obscured ,for many a year4 ,his respite gave him time ,to push new pawns out1 in the blindfold play ,of those last months1 and checkmate1 not the ,church ,but those that hid behind her4 ,he believed ,his truth was all harmonious with her own4 ,how could he choose between them8 ,must he die ,to affirm a discord that himself denied8 ,on many a point1 he was less sure than we3 ,but surer far of much that we forget ,the movements that he saw he could but judge ,by some fixed point in space4 ,he chose the sun4 ,could this be absolute8 ,could he then be sure ,that this great sun did not with all its worlds ,move round a deeper centre8 ,what became ,of your ,copernicus then8 ,could he be sure ,of any unchanging centre1 whence to judge ,this myriad-marching universe1 but one-- ,the absolute throne of ,god4 ,affirming this ,eternal ,rock1 his own uncertainties ,became more certain1 and although his lips ,breathed not a syllable of it1 though he stood ,silent as earth that also seemed so still1 ,the very silence thundered1 yet it moves6 ,he held to what he knew1 secured his work ,through feeble hands like mine1 in other lands1 ,not least in ,england1 as ,i think you know4 ,for1 partly through your poet1 as ,i believe1 ,when his great music rolled upon your skies1 ,new thoughts were kindled in the general mind4 ',twas at ,arcetri that your ,milton gained ,the first great glimpse of his celestial realm4 ,picture him1--still a prisoner of our light1 ,closing his glorious eyes--that in the dark1 ,he might behold this wheeling universe1-- ,the planets gilding their ethereal horns ,with sun-fire4 ,many a pure immortal phrase ,in his own work1 as ,i have pondered it1 ,lived first upon the lips of him whose eyes ,were darkened first1--in whom1 too1 ,milton found ,that ,samson ,agonistes1 not himself1 ,as many have thought1 but my dear master dead4 ,these are a part of ,england's memories now1 ,the music blown upon her sea-bright air ,when1 in the year of ,galileo's death1 ,newton1 the mightiest of the sons of light1 ,was born to lift the splendour of this torch ,and carry it1 as ,i heard that ,tycho said ,long since to ,kepler1 carry it out of sight1 ,into the great new age ,i must not know1 ,into the great new realm ,i must not tread4 ,v ,,newton ,i ,if ,i saw farther1 'twas because ,i stood ,on giant shoulders1 wrote the king of thought1 ,too proud of his great line to slight the toils ,of his forebears4 ,he turned to their dim past1 ,their fading victories and their fond defeats1 ,and knelt as at an altar1 drawing all ,their strengths into his own2 and so went forth ,with all their glory shining in his face1 ,to win new victories for the age to come4 ,so1 where ,copernicus had destroyed the dream ,we called our world2 where ,galileo watched ,those ancient firmaments melt1 a thin blue smoke ,into a vaster night2 where ,kepler heard ,only stray fragments1 isolated chords ,of that tremendous music which should bind ,all things anew in one1 ,newton arose ,and carried on their fire4 ,around him reeled ,through lingering fumes of hate and clouds of doubt1 ,lit by the afterglow of the ,civil ,war1 ,the dissolute throngs of that ,walpurgis night ,where all the cynical spirits that deny ,danced with the vicious lusts that drown the soul ,in flesh too gross for ,circe or her swine4 ,but1 in his heart1 he heard one instant voice4 ,on with the torch once more1 make all things new1 ,build the new heaven and earth1 and save the world4 ,ah1 but the infinite patience1 the long months ,lavished on tasks that1 to the common eye1 ,were insignificant1 never to be crowned ,with great results1 or even with earth's rewards4 ,could ,rembrandt but have painted him1 in those hours ,making his first analysis of light ,alone1 there1 in his darkened ,cambridge room ,at ,trinity6 ,could he have painted1 too1 ,the secret glow1 the mystery1 and the power1 ,the sense of all the thoughts and unseen spires ,that soared to heaven around him6 ,he stood there1 ,obscure1 unknown1 the shadow of a man ,in darkness1 like a grey dishevelled ghost1 --,bare-throated1 down at heel1 his last night's supper ,littering his desk1 untouched2 his glimmering face1 ,under his tangled hair1 intent and still1-- ,preparing our new universe4 ,he caught ,the sunbeam striking through that bullet-hole ,in his closed shutter--a round white spot of light ,upon a small dark screen4 ,he interposed ,a prism of glass4 ,he saw the sunbeam break ,and spread upon the screen its rainbow band ,of disentangled colours1 all in scale ,like notes in music2 first1 the violet ray1 ,then indigo1 trembling softly into blue2 ,then green and yellow1 quivering side by side2 ,then orange1 mellowing richly into red4 ,then1 in the screen1 he made a small1 round hole ,like to the first2 and through it passed once more ,each separate coloured ray4 ,he let it strike ,another prism of glass1 and saw each hue ,bent at a different angle from its path1 ,the red the least1 the violet ray the most2 ,but all in scale and order1 all precise ,as notes in music4 ,last1 he took a lens1 ,and1 passing through it all those coloured rays1 ,drew them together again1 remerging all ,on that dark screen1 in one white spot of light4 ,so1 watching1 testing1 proving1 he resolved ,the seeming random glories of our day ,into a constant harmony1 and found ,how in the whiteness of the sunlight sleep ,compounded1 all the colours of the world4 ,he saw how raindrops in the clouds of heaven ,breaking the light1 revealed that sevenfold arch ,of colours1 ranged as on his own dark screen1 ,though now they spanned the mountains and wild seas4 ,then1 where that old-world order had gone down ,beneath a darker deluge1 he beheld ,gleams of the great new order and recalled --,fraught with new meaning and a deeper hope-- ,that covenant which ,god made with all mankind ,throughout all generations3 ,i will set ,my bow in the cloud1 that henceforth ye may know ,how deeper than the wreckage of your dreams ,abides ,my law1 in beauty and in power4 ,,ii ,yet for that exquisite balance of the mind1 ,he1 too1 must pay the price4 ,he stood alone ,bewildered1 at the sudden assault of fools ,on this1 his first discovery4 ,i have lost ,the most substantial blessing of my quiet ,to follow a vain shadow4 ,i would fain ,attempt no more4 ,so few can understand1 ,or read one thought4 ,so many are ready at once ,to swoop and sting4 ,indeed ,i would withdraw ,for ever from philosophy4 ,so he wrote ,in grief1 the mightiest mind of that new age4 ,let those who'd stone the ,roman ,curia ,for all the griefs that ,galileo knew ,remember the dark hours that well-nigh quenched ,the splendour of that spirit4 ,he could not sleep4 ,yet1 with that patience of the ,god in man ,that still must seek the ,splendour whence it came1 ,through midnight hours of mockery and defeat1 ,in loneliness and hopelessness and tears1 ,he laboured on4 ,he had no power to see ,how1 after many years1 when he was dead1 ,out of this new discovery men should make ,an instrument to explore the farthest stars ,and1 delicately dividing their white rays1 ,divine what metals in their beauty burned1 ,extort red secrets from the heart of ,mars1 ,or measure the molten iron in the sun4 ,he bent himself to nearer1 lowlier1 tasks2 ,and seeing1 first1 that those deflected rays1 ,though it were only by the faintest bloom ,of colour1 imperceptible to our eyes1 ,must dim the vision of ,galileo's glass1 ,he made his own new weapon of the sky1-- ,that first reflecting telescope which should hold ,in its deep mirror1 as in a breathless pool ,the undistorted image of a star4 ,,iii ,in that deep night where ,galileo groped ,like a blind giant in dreams to find what power ,held moons and planets to their constant road ,through vastness1 ordered like a moving fleet2 ,what law so married them that they could not clash ,or sunder1 but still kept their rhythmic pace ,as if those ancient tales indeed were true ,and some great angel helmed each gliding sphere2 ,many had sought an answer4 ,many had caught ,gleams of the truth2 and yet1 as when a torch ,is waved above a multitude at night1 ,and shows wild streams of faces1 all confused1 ,but not the single law that knits them all ,into an ordered nation1 so our skies ,for all those fragmentary glimpses1 whirled ,in chaos1 till one eagle-spirit soared1 ,found the one law that bound them all in one1 ,and through that awful unity upraised ,the soul to ,that which made and guides them all4 ,did ,newton1 dreaming in his orchard there ,beside the dreaming ,witham1 see the moon ,burn like a huge gold apple in the boughs ,and wonder why should moons not fall like fruit8 ,or did he see as those old tales declare 7,those fairy-tales that gather form and fire ,till1 in one jewel1 they pack the whole bright world7 ,a ripe fruit fall from some immortal tree ,of knowledge1 while he wondered at what height ,would this earth-magnet lose its darkling power8 ,would not the fruit fall earthward1 though it grew ,high o'er the hills as yonder brightening cloud8 ,would not the selfsame power that plucked the fruit ,draw the white moon1 then1 sailing in the blue8 ,then1 in one flash1 as light and song are born1 ,and the soul wakes1 he saw it--this dark earth ,holding the moon that else would fly through space ,to her sure orbit1 as a stone is held ,in a whirled sling2 and1 by the selfsame power1 ,her sister planets guiding all their moons2 ,while1 exquisitely balanced and controlled ,in one vast system1 moons and planets wheeled ,around one sovran majesty1 the sun4 ,,iv ,light and more light6 ,the spark from heaven was there1 ,the flash of that reintegrating fire ,flung from heaven's altars1 where all light is born1 ,to feed the imagination of mankind ,with vision1 and reveal all worlds in one4 ,but let no dreamer dream that his great work ,sprang1 armed1 like ,pallas from the ,thunderer's brain4 ,with infinite patience he must test and prove ,his vision now1 in those clear courts of ,truth ,whose absolute laws 7bemocked by shallower minds ,as less than dreams1 less than the faithless faith ,that fears the ,truth1 lest ,truth should slay the dream7 ,are man's one guide to his transcendent heaven2 ,for there's no wandering splendour in the soul1 ,but in the highest heaven of all is one ,with absolute reality4 ,none can climb ,back to that ,fount of ,beauty but through pain4 ,long1 long he toiled1 comparing first the curves ,traced by the cannon-ball as it soared and fell ,with that great curving road across the sky ,traced by the sailing moon4 ,was earth a loadstone ,holding them to their paths by that dark force ,whose mystery men have cloaked beneath a name8 ,yet1 when he came to test and prove1 he found ,that all the great deflections of the moon1 ,her shining cadences from the path direct1 ,were utterly inharmonious with the law ,of that dark force1 at such a distance acting1 ,measured from earth's own centre4444 ,for three long years1 ,newton withheld his hope ,until that day when light was brought from ,france1 ,new light1 new hope1 in one small glistening fact1 ,clear-cut as any diamond2 and to him ,loaded with all significance1 like the point ,of light that shows where constellations burn4 ,picard in ,france--all glory to her name ,who is herself a light among all lands-- ,had measured earth's diameter once more ,with exquisite precision4 ,to the throng1 ,those few corrected ciphers1 his results1 ,were less than nothing2 yet they changed the world4 ,for ,newton seized them and1 with trembling hands1 ,began to work his problem out anew4 ,then1 then1 as on the page those figures turned ,to hieroglyphs of heaven1 and he beheld ,the moving moon1 with awful cadences ,falling into the path his law ordained1 ,even to the foot and second1 his hand shook ,and dropped the pencil4 ,work it out for me1 ,he cried to those around him2 for the weight ,of that celestial music overwhelmed him2 ,and1 on his page1 those burning hieroglyphs ,were ,thrones and ,principalities and ,powers444 ,for far beyond1 immeasurably far ,beyond our sun1 he saw that river of suns ,we call the ,milky ,way1 that glittering host ,powdering the night1 each grain of solar blaze ,divided from its neighbour by a gulf ,too wide for thought to measure2 each a sun ,huger than ours1 with its own fleet of worlds1 ,visible and invisible4 ,those bright throngs ,that seemed dispersed like a defeated host ,through blindly wandering skies1 now1 at the word ,of one great dreamer1 height o'er height revealed ,hints of a vaster order1 and moved on ,in boundless intricacies of harmony ,around one centre1 deeper than all suns1 ,the burning throne of ,god4 ,v ,he could not sleep4 ,that intellect1 whose wings ,dared the cold ultimate heights of ,space and ,time ,sank1 like a wounded eagle1 with dazed eyes ,back1 headlong through the clouds to throb on earth4 ,what shaft had pierced him8 ,that which also pierced ,his great forebears--the hate of little men4 ,they flocked around him1 and they flung their dust ,into the sensitive eyes and laughed to see ,how dust could blind them4 ,if one prickling grain ,could so put out his vision and so torment ,that delicate brain1 what weakness6 ,how the mind ,that seemed to dwarf us1 dwindles6 ,is he mad8 ,so buzzed the fools1 whose ponderous mental wheels ,nor dust1 nor grit1 nor stones1 nor rocks could irk ,even for an instant4 ,newton could not sleep1 ,but all that careful malice could design ,was blindly fostered by well-meaning folly1 ,and great sane folk like ,mr4 ,samuel ,pepys ,canvassed his weakness and slept sound all night4 ,for little ,samuel with his rosy face ,came chirping into a coffee-house one day ,like a plump robin1 ,sir1 the unhappy state ,of ,mr4 ,isaac ,newton grieves me much4 ,last week ,i had a letter from him1 filled ,with strange complainings1 very curious hints1 ,such as1 ,i grieve to say1 are common signs --,i have observed it often--of worse to come4 ,he said that he could neither eat nor sleep ,because of all the embroilments he was in1 ,hinting at nameless enemies4 ,then he begged ,my pardon1 very strangely4 ,i believe ,physicians would confirm me in my fears4 ',tis very sad4444 ,only last night1 ,i found ,among my papers certain lines composed ,by--whom d'you think8--,my lord of ,halifax 7,or so dear ,mrs4 ,porterhouse assured me7 ,expressing1 sir1 the uttermost satisfaction ,in ,mr4 ,newton's talent4 ,sir1 he wrote ,answering the charge that science would put out ,the light of beauty1 these very handsome lines3 ',when ,newton walked by ,witham stream ,there fell no chilling shade ,to blight the drifting naiad's dream ,or make her garland fade4 ,the mist of sun was not less bright ,that crowned ,urania's hair4 ,he robbed it of its colder light1 ,but left the rainbow there4' ,they are very neat and handsome1 you'll agree4 ,solid in sense as ,dryden at his best1 ,and smooth as ,waller1 but with something more1-- ,that touch of grace1 that airier elegance ,which only rank can give4 ',tis very sad ,that one so nobly praised should--well1 no matter6-- ,i am told1 sir1 that these troubles all began ,at ,cambridge1 when his manuscripts were burned4 ,he had been working1 in his curious way1 ,all through the night2 and1 in the morning greyness ,went down to chapel1 leaving on his desk ,a lighted candle4 ,you can imagine it1-- ,a sadly sloven altar to his ,muse1 ,littered with papers1 cups1 and greasy plates ,of untouched food4 ,i am told that he would eat ,his ,monday's breakfast1 sir1 on ,tuesday morning1 ,such was his absent way6 ,when he returned1 ,he found that ,diamond 7his little dog ,named ,diamond1 for a black patch near his tail7 ,had overturned the candle4 ,all his work ,was burned to ashes4 ,it struck him to the quick1 ,though1 when his terrier fawned about his feet1 ,he showed no anger4 ,he was heard to say1 ',o ,diamond1 ,diamond1 little do you know444' ,but1 from that hour1 ah well1 we'll say no more4 ,halley was there that day1 and spoke up sharply1 ,sir1 there are hints and hints6 ,do you mean more8 --,i do1 sir1 chirruped ,samuel1 mightily pleased ,to find all eyes1 for once1 on his fat face4 ,i fear his intellects are disordered1 sir4 --,good6 ,that's an answer6 ,i can deal with that4 ,but tell me first1 quoth ,halley1 why he wrote ,that letter1 a week ago1 to ,mr4 ,pepys4 --,why1 sir1 piped ,samuel1 innocent of the trap1 ,i had an argument in this coffee-house ,last week1 with certain gentlemen1 on the laws ,of chance1 and what fair hopes a man might have ,of throwing six at dice4 ,i happened to say ,that ,mr4 ,isaac ,newton was my friend1 ,and promised ,i would sound him4 ,sir1 said ,halley1 ,you'll pardon me1 but ,i forgot to tell you ,i heard1 a minute since1 outside these doors1 ,a very modish woman of the town1 ,or else a most delicious lady of fashion1 ,a melting creature with a bold black eye1 ,a bosom like twin doves2 and1 sir1 a mouth ,like a ,turk's dream of ,paradise4 ,she cooed1 ',is ,mr4 ,pepys within8' ,i greatly fear ,that they denied you to her6 ,off ran ,pepys6 ,a hint's a hint1 laughed ,halley1 and so to bed4 ,but1 as for ,isaac ,newton1 let me say1 ,whatever his embroilments were1 he solved ,with just one hour of thought1 not long ago ,the problem set by ,leibnitz as a challenge ,to all of ,europe4 ,he published his result ,anonymously1 but ,leibnitz1 when he saw it1 ,cried out1 at once1 old enemy as he was1 ',that's ,newton1 none but ,newton6 ,from this claw ,i know the old lion1 in his midnight lair4' ,,vi 7,sir ,isaac ,newton writes to ,mrs4 ,vincent at ,woolthorpe47 ,your letter1 on my eightieth birthday1 wakes ,memories1 like violets1 in this ,london gloom4 ,you have never failed1 for more than three-score years ,to send these annual greetings from the haunts ,where you and ,i were boy and girl together4 ,a day must come-it cannot now be far-- ,when ,i shall have no power to thank you for them1 ,so let me tell you now that1 all my life1 ,they have come to me with healing in their wings ,like birds from home1 birds from the happy woods ,above the ,witham1 where you walked with me ,when you and ,i were young4 ,do you remember ,old ,barley--how he tried to teach us drawing8 ,he found some promise1 ,i believe1 in you1 ,but quite despaired of me4 ,i treasure all ,those little sketches that you sent to me ,each ,christmas1 carrying each some glimpse of home4 ,there's one ,i love that shows the narrow lane ,behind the schoolhouse1 where ,i had that bout ,of schoolboy fisticuffs4 ,i have never known ,more pleasure1 ,i believe1 than when ,i beat ,that black-haired bully and won1 for my reward1 ,those ,april smiles from you4 ,i see you still ,standing among the fox-gloves in the hedge2 ,and just behind you1 in the field1 ,i know ,there was a patch of aromatic flowers1-- ,rest-harrow1 was it8 ,yes2 their tangled roots ,pluck at the harrow2 halt the sharp harrow of thought1 ,even in old age4 ,i never breathe their scent ,but ,i am back in boyhood1 dreaming there ,over some book1 among the diligent bees1 ,until you join me1 and we dream together4 ,they called me lazy1 then4 ,oddly enough ,it was that fight that stirred my mind to beat ,my bully at his books1 and head the school2 ,blind rivalry1 at first4 ,by such fond tricks ,the invisible ,power that shapes us--not ourselves-- ,punishes1 teaches1 leads us gently on ,like children1 all our lives1 until we grasp ,a sudden meaning and are born1 through death ,into full knowledge that our ,guide was ,love4 ,another picture shows those woods of ours1 ,around whose warm dark edges in the spring ,primroses1 knots of living sunlight1 woke2 ,and1 always1 you1 their radiant shepherdess ,from ,elfland1 lead them rambling back for me1 ,the dew still clinging to their golden fleece1 ,through these grey memory-mists4 ,another shows ,my old sun-dial4 ,you say that it is known ,as ,isaac's dial still4 ,i took great pains ,to set it rightly4 ,if it has not shifted ',twill mark the time long after ,i am gone2 ,not like those curious water-clocks ,i made4 ,do you remember8 ,they worked well at first2 ,but the least particles in the water clogged ,the holes through which it dripped2 and so1 one day1 ,we two came home so late that we were sent ,supperless to our beds2 and suffered much ,from the world's harshness1 as we thought it then4 ,would ,god that we might taste that harshness now4 ,i cannot send you what you've sent to me2 ,and so ,i wish you'll never thank me more ,for those poor gifts ,i have sent from year to year4 ,i send another1 and hope that you can use it ,to buy yourself those comforts which you need ,this ,christmas-time4 ,how strange it is to wake ,and find that half a century has gone by1 ,with all our endless youth4 ,they talk to me ,of my discoveries1 prate of undying fame ,too late to help me4 ,anything ,i achieved ,was done through work and patience2 and the men ,who sought quick roads to glory for themselves ,were capable of neither4 ,so ,i won ,their hatred1 and it often hampered me1 ,because it vexed my mind4 ,this world of ours ,would give me all1 now ,i have ceased to want it2 ,for ,i sit here1 alone1 a sad old man1 ,sipping his orange-water1 nodding to sleep1 ,not caring any more for aught they say1 ,not caring any more for praise or blame2 ,but dreaming-things we dreamed of1 long ago1 ,in childhood4 ,you and ,i had laughed away ,that boy and girl affair4 ,we were too poor ,for anything but laughter4 ,i am old2 ,and you1 twice wedded and twice widowed1 still ,retain1 through all your nearer joys and griefs1 ,the old affection4 ,vaguely our blind old hands ,grope for each other in this growing dark ,and deepening loneliness1--to say good-bye4 ,would that my words could tell you all my heart2 ,but even my words grow old4 ,perhaps these lines1 ,written not long ago1 may tell you more4 ,i have no skill in verse1 despite the praise ,your kindness gave me1 once2 but since ,i wrote ,thinking of you1 among the woods of home1 ,my heart was in them4 ,let them turn to yours3 ,give me1 for friends1 my own true folk ,who kept the very word they spoke2 ,whose quiet prayers1 from day to day1 ,have brought the heavens about my way4 ,not those whose intellectual pride ,would quench the only lights that guide2 ,confuse the lines 'twixt good and ill ,then throne their own capricious will2 ,not those whose eyes in mockery scan ,the simpler hopes and dreams of man2 ,not those keen wits1 so quick to hurt1 ,so swift to trip you in the dirt4 ,not those who'd pluck your mystery out1 ,yet never saw your last redoubt2 ,whose cleverness would kill the song ,dead at your heart1 then prove you wrong4 ,give me those eyes ,i used to know ,where thoughts like angels come and go2 --,not glittering eyes1 nor dimmed by books1 ,but eyes through which the deep soul looks4 ,give me the quiet hands and face ,that never strove for fame and place2 ,the soul whose love1 so many a day ,has brought the heavens about my way4 ,,vii ,was it a dream1 that low dim-lighted room ,with that dark periwigged phantom of ,dean ,swift ,writing1 beside a fire1 to one he loved1-- ,beautiful ,catherine ,barton1 once the light ,of ,newton's house1 and his half-sister's child8 ,yes1 ,catherine ,barton1 ,i am brave enough ,to face this pale1 unhappy1 wistful ghost ,of our departed friendship4 ,it was ,i ,savage and mad1 a snarling kennel of sins1 ,your ,holiness1 as you called me1 with that smile ,which even your ghost would quietly turn on me-- ,who raised it up4 ,it has no terrors1 dear4 ,and ,i shall never lay it while ,i live4 ,you write to me4 ,you think ,i have the power ,to shield the fame of ,newton from a lie4 ,poor little ghost6 ,you think ,i hold the keys ,not only of ,parnassus1 then1 but hell4 ,there is a tale abroad that ,newton owed ,his public office to ,lord ,halifax1 ,your secret lover4 ,coarseness1 as you know1 ,is my peculiar privilege4 ,i'll be plain1 ,and let them wince who are whispering in the dark4 ,they are hinting that he gained his public post ,through you1 his flesh and blood2 and that he knew ,you were his patron's mistress6 ,yes1 ,i know ,the coffee-house that hatched it--to be scotched1 ,nay1 killed1 before one snuff-box could say snap1 ,had not one cold malevolent face been there ,listening1--that crystal-minded lover of truth1 ,that lucid enemy of all lies1--,voltaire4 ,i am told he is doing much to spread the light ,of ,newton's great discoveries1 there1 in ,france4 ,there's little fear that ,france1 whose clear keen eyes ,have missed no morning in the realm of thought1 ,would fail to see it2 and smaller need to lift ,a brand from hell to illume the light from heaven4 ,you fear he'll print his lie4 ,no doubt of that4 ,i can foresee the phrase1 as ,halley saw ,the advent of his comet1--jolie niece1 ,assez amiable1 444 then he'll give your name ,as ,madame ,conduit1 adding just that spice ,of infidelity that the dates admit ,to none but these truth-lovers4 ,it will be best ,not to enlighten him1 or he'll change his tale ,and make an answer difficult4 ,let him print ,this truth as he conceives it1 and you'll need ,no more defence4 ,all history then shall damn his death-cold lie ,and show you for the laughing child you were ,when ,newton won his office4 ,for yourself ,you say you have no fear4 ,your only thought ,is that they'll soil his fame4 ,ah yes1 they'll try1 ,but they'll not hurt it4 ,for all time to come ,it stands there1 firm as marble and as pure4 ,they can do nothing that the sun and rain ,will not erase at last4 ,not even ,voltaire ,can hurt that noble memory4 ,think of him ,as of a viper writhing at the base ,of some great statue4 ,let the venomous tongue ,flicker against that marble as it may ,it cannot wound it4 ,i am far more grieved ,for you1 who sit there wondering now1 too late1 ,if it were some suspicion1 some dark hint ,newton had heard that robbed him of his sleep1 ,and almost broke his mind up4 ,i recall ,how the town buzzed that ,newton had gone mad4 ,you copy me that sad letter which he wrote ,to ,locke1 wherein he begs him to forgive ,the hard words he had spoken1 thinking ,locke ,had tried to embroil him1 as he says1 with women2 ,a piteous1 humble letter4 ,had he heard ,some hint of scandal that he could not breathe ,to you1 because he honoured you too well8 ,i cannot tell4 ,his mind was greatly troubled ,with other things4 ,at least1 you need not fear ,that ,newton thought it true4 ,he walked aloof1 ,treading a deeper stranger world than ours4 ,have you not told me how he would forget ,even to eat and drink1 when he was wrapt ,in those miraculous new discoveries ,and1 under this wild maze of shadow and sun ,beheld--though not the ,master ,player's hand-- ,the keys from which ,his organ music rolls1 ,those visible symphonies of wild cloud and light ,which clothe the invisible world for mortal eyes4 ,i have heard that ,leibnitz whispered to the court ,that ,newton was an atheist4 ,leibnitz knew ,his audience4 ,he could stoop to it4 ,fools have said ,that knowledge drives out wonder from the world2 ,they'll say it still1 though all the dust's ablaze ,with miracles at their feet2 while ,newton's laws ,foretell that knowledge one day shall be song1 ,and those whom ,truth has taken to her heart ,find that it beats in music4 ,even this age ,has glimmerings of it4 ,newton never saw ,his own full victory2 but at least he knew ,that all the world was linked in one again2 ,and1 if men found new worlds in years to come1 ,these too must join the universal song4 ,that's why true poets love him2 and you'll find ,their love will cancel all that hate can do4 ,they are the sentinels of the ,house of ,fame2 ,and that quick challenging couplet from the pen ,of ,alexander ,pope is answer enough ,to all those whisperers round the outer doors4 ,there's ,addison1 too4 ,the very spirit and thought ,of ,newton moved to music when he wrote ,the ,spacious ,firmament4 ,some keen-eyed age to come ,will say1 though ,newton seldom wrote a verse1 ,that music was his own and speaks his faith4 ,and1 last1 for those who doubt his faith in ,god ,and man's immortal destiny1 there remains ,the granite monument of his own great work1 ,that dark cathedral of man's intellect1 ,the vast ,principia1 pointing to the skies1 ,wherein our intellectual king proclaimed ,the task of science1--through this wilderness ,of ,time and ,space and false appearances1 ,to make the path straight from effect to cause1 ,until we come to that ,first ,cause of all1 ,the ,power1 above1 beyond the blind machine1 ,the ,primal ,power1 the originating ,power1 ,which cannot be mechanical4 ,he affirmed it ,with absolute certainty4 ,whence arises all ,this order1 this unbroken chain of law1 ,this human will1 this death-defying love8 ,whence1 but from some divine transcendent ,power1 ,not less1 but infinitely more than these1 ,because it is their ,fountain and their ,guide4 ,fools in their hearts have said1 ,whence comes this ,power1 ,why throw the riddle back this one stage more8 ,and ,newton1 from a height above all worlds ,answered and answers still3 ,this universe ,exists1 and by that one impossible fact ,declares itself a miracle2 postulates ,an infinite ,power within itself1 a ,whole ,greater than any part1 a ,unity ,sustaining all1 binding all worlds in one4 ,this is the mystery1 palpable here and now4 ',tis not the lack of links within the chain ,from cause to cause1 but that the chain exists4 ,that's the unfathomable mystery1 ,the one unquestioned miracle that we know1 ,implying every attribute of ,god1 ,the ultimate1 absolute1 omnipresent ,power1 ,in its own being1 deep and high as heaven4 ,but men still trace the greater to the less1 ,account for soul with flesh and dreams with dust1 ,forgetting in their manifold world the ,one1 ,in whom for every splendour shining here ,abides an equal power behind the veil4 ,was the eye contrived by blindly moving atoms1 ,or the still-listening ear fulfilled with music ,by forces without knowledge of sweet sounds8 ,are nerves and brain so sensitively fashioned ,that they convey these pictures of the world ,into the very substance of our life1 ,while ,that from which we came1 the ,power that made us1 ,is drowned in blank unconsciousness of all8 ,does it not from the things we know appear ,that there exists a ,being1 incorporeal1 ,living1 intelligent1 who in infinite space1 ,as in ,his infinite sensory1 perceives ,things in themselves1 by ,his immediate presence ,everywhere8 ,of which things1 we see no more ,than images only1 flashed through nerves and brain ,to our small sensories8 ,what is all science then ,but pure religion1 seeking everywhere ,the true commandments1 and through many forms ,the eternal power that binds all worlds in one8 ,it is man's age-long struggle to draw near ,his ,maker1 learn ,his thoughts1 discern ,his law1-- ,a boundless task1 in whose infinitude1 ,as in the unfolding light and law of love4 ,abides our hope1 and our eternal joy4 ,i know not how my work may seem to others-- ,so wrote our mightiest mind--,but to myself ,i seem a child that wandering all day long ,upon the sea-shore1 gathers here a shell1 ,and there a pebble1 coloured by the wave1 ,while the great ocean of truth1 from sky to sky ,stretches before him1 boundless1 unexplored4 ,he has explored it now1 and needs of me ,neither defence nor tribute4 ,his own work ,remains his monument ,he rose at last so near ,the ,power divine that none can nearer go2 ,none in this age6 ,to carry on his fire ,we must await a mightier age to come4 ,,vi ,,william ,,herschel ,,conducts ,was it a dream8--that crowded concert-room ,in ,bath2 that sea of ruffles and laced coats2 ,and ,william ,herschel1 in his powdered wig1 ,waiting upon the platform1 to conduct ,his choir and ,linley's orchestra8 ,he stood ,tapping his music-rest1 lost in his own thoughts ,and 7did ,i hear or dream them87 all were mine3 ,my periwig's askew1 my ruffle stained ,with grease from my new telescope6 ,ach1 to-morrow ,how ,caroline will be vexed1 although she grows ,almost as bad as ,i1 who cannot leave ,my work-shop for one evening4 ,i must give ,one last recital at ,st4 ,margaret's1 ,and then--farewell to music4 ,who can lead ,two lives at once8 ,yet--it has taught me much1 ,thrown curious lights upon our world1 to pass ,from one life to another4 ,much that ,i took ,for substance turns to shadow4 ,i shall see ,no throngs like this again2 wring no more praise ,out of their hearts2 forego that instant joy --,let those who have not known it count it vain-- ,when human souls at once respond to yours4 ,here1 on the brink of fortune and of fame1 ,as men account these things1 the moment comes ,when ,i must choose between them and the stars2 ,and ,i have chosen4 ,handel1 good old friend1 ,we part to-night4 ,hereafter1 ,i must watch ,that other wand1 to which the worlds keep time4 ,what has decided me8 ,that marvelous night ,when--ah1 how difficult it will be to guide1 ,with all these wonders whirling through my brain6-- ,after a ,pump-room concert ,i came home ,hot-foot1 out of the fluttering sea of fans1 ,coquelicot-ribboned belles and periwigged beaux1 ,to my ,newtonian telescope4 ,the design ,was his2 but more than half the joy my own1 ,because it was the work of my own hand1 ,a new one1 with an eye six inches wide1 ,better than even the best that ,newton made4 ,then1 as ,i turned it on the ,gemini1 ,and the deep stillness of those constant lights1 ,castor and ,pollux1 lucid pilot-stars1 ,began to calm the fever of my blood1 ,i saw1 ,o1 first of all mankind ,i saw ,the disk of my new planet gliding there ,beyond our tumults1 in that realm of peace4 ,what will they christen it8 ,ach--not ,herschel1 no6 ,nor ,georgium ,sidus1 as ,i once proposed2 ,although he scarce could lose it1 as he lost ,that world in 'seventy-six4 ,indeed1 so far ,from trying to tax it1 he has granted me ,how much8--two hundred golden pounds a year1 ,in the great name of science1--half the cost ,of one state-coach1 with all those worlds to win6 ,well--well--we must be grateful4 ,this mad king ,has done far more than all the worldly-wise1 ,who'll charge even this to madness4 ,i believe ,one day he'll have me pardoned for that444crime1 ,when ,i escaped--deserted1 some would say-- ,from those drill-sergeants in my native land2 ,deserted drill for music1 as ,i now ,desert my music for the orchestral spheres4 ,no4 ,this new planet is only new to man4 ,his majesty has done much4 ,yet1 as my friend ,declared last night1 ,never did monarch buy ,honour so cheaply2 and--he has not bought it4 ,i think that it should bear some ancient name1 ,and wear it like a crown2 some deep1 dark name1 ,like ,uranus1 known to remoter gods4 ,how strange it seems--this buzzing concert-room6 ,there's ,doctor ,burney bowing and1 behind him1 ,his fox-eyed daughter ,fanny4 ,is it a dream1 ,these crowding midgets1 dense as clustering bees ,in some great bee-skep8 ,now1 as ,i lift my wand1 ,a silence grips them1 and the strings begin1 ,throbbing4 ,the faint lights flicker in gusts of sound4 ,before me1 glimmering like a crescent moon1 ,the dim half circle of the choir awaits ,its own appointed time4 ,beside me now1 ,watching my wand1 plump and immaculate ,from buckled shoes to that white bunch of lace ,under his chin1 the midget tenor rises1 ,music in hand1 a linnet and a king4 ,the bullfinch bass1 that other emperor1 ,leans back indifferently1 and clears his throat ,as if to say1 ,this prelude leads to ,me6 ,while1 on their own proud thrones1 on either hand1 ,the sumptuously bosomed midget queens1 ,contralto and soprano1 jealously eye ,each other's plumage4 ,round me the music throbs ,with an immortal passion4 ,i grow aware ,of an appalling mystery4444 ,we1 this throng ,of midgets1 playing1 listening1 tense and still1 ,are sailing on a midget ball of dust ,we call our planet2 will have sailed through space ,ten thousand leagues before this music ends4 ,what does it mean8 ,oh1 ,god1 what can it mean8-- ,this weird hushed ant-hill with a thousand eyes2 ,these midget periwigs2 all those little blurs1 ,tier over tier1 of faces1 masks of flesh1 ,corruptible1 hiding each its hopes and dreams1 ,its tragi-comic dreams4 ,and all this throng ,will be forgotten1 mixed with dust1 crushed out1 ,before this book of music is outworn ,or that tall organ crumbles4 ,violins ,outlast their players4 ,other hands may touch ,that harpsichord2 but ere this planet makes ,another threescore journeys round its sun1 ,these breathing listeners will have vanished4 ,whither8 ,i watch my moving hands1 and they grow strange6 ,what is it moves this body8 ,what am ,i8 ,how came ,i here1 a ghost1 to hear that voice ,of infinite compassion1 far away1 ,above the throbbing strings1 hark6 ,comfort ye444 ,if music lead us to a cry like this1 ,i think ,i shall not lose it in the skies4 ,i do but follow its own secret law ,as long ago ,i sought to understand ,its golden mathematics2 taught myself ,the way to lay one stone upon another1 ,before ,i dared to dream that ,i might build ,my ,holy ,city of ,song4 ,i gave myself ,to all its branches4 ,how they stared at me1 ,those men of sensibility1 when ,i said ,that algebra1 conic sections1 fluxions1 all ,pertained to music4 ,let them stare again4 ,old ,kepler knew1 by instinct1 what ,i now ,desire to learn4 ,i have resolved to leave ,no tract of heaven unvisited4 ,to-night --,the music carries me back to it again6-- ,i see beyond this island universe1 ,beyond our sun1 and all those other suns ,that throng the ,milky ,way1 far1 far beyond1 ,a thousand little wisps1 faint nebulae1 ,luminous fans and milky streaks of fire2 ,some like soft brushes of electric mist ,streaming from one bright point2 others that spread ,and branch1 like growing systems2 others discrete1 ,keen1 ripe1 with stars in clusters2 others drawn back ,by central forces into one dense death1 ,thence to be kindled into fire1 reborn1 ,and scattered abroad once more in a delicate spray ,faint as the mist by one bright dewdrop breathed ,at dawn1 and yet a universe like our own2 ,each wisp a universe1 a vast galaxy ,wide as our night of stars4 ,the ,milky ,way ,in which our sun is drowned1 to these would seem ,less than to us their faintest drift of haze2 ,yet we1 who are borne on one dark grain of dust ,around one indistinguishable spark ,of star-mist1 lost in one lost feather of light1 ,can by the strength of our own thought1 ascend ,through universe after universe2 trace their growth ,through boundless time1 their glory1 their decay2 ,and1 on the invisible road of law1 more firm ,than granite1 range through all their length and breadth1 ,their height and depth1 past1 present and to come4 ,so1 those who follow the great ,work-master's law ,from small things up to great1 may one day learn ,the structure of the heavens1 discern the whole ,within the part1 as men through ,love see ,god4 ,oh1 holy night1 deep night of stars1 whose peace ,descends upon the troubled mind like dew1 ,healing it with the sense of that pure reign ,of constant law1 enduring through all change2 ,shall ,i not1 one day1 after faithful years1 ,find that thy heavens are built on music1 too1 ,and hear1 once more1 above thy throbbing worlds ,this voice of all compassion1 ,comfort ye1-- ,yes--comfort ye1 my people1 saith your ,god8 ,,vii ,,sir ,,john ,,herschel ,,remembers ,true type of all1 from his own father's hand ,he caught the fire2 and1 though he carried it far ,into new regions2 and1 from southern fields ,of yellow lupin1 added host on host ,to those bright armies which his father knew1 ,surely the crowning hour of all his life ,was when1 his task accomplished1 he returned ,a lonely pilgrim to the twilit shrine ,of first beginnings and his father's youth4 ,there1 in the ,octagon ,chapel1 with bared head ,grey1 honoured for his father and himself1 ,he touched the glimmering keyboard1 touched the books ,those dear lost hands had touched so long ago4 ,strange that these poor inanimate things outlast ,the life that used them4 ,yes4 ,i should like to try ,this good old friend of his4 ,you'll leave me here ,an hour or so8 ,his hands explored the stops2 ,and1 while the music breathed what else were mute1 ,his mind through many thoughts and memories ranged4 ,picture on picture passed before him there ,in living colours1 painted on the gloom3 ,not what the world acclaimed1 the great work crowned1 ,but all that went before1 the years of toil2 ,the years of infinite patience1 hope1 despair4 ,he saw the little house where all began1 ,his father's first resolve to explore the sky1 ,his first defeat1 when telescopes were found ,too costly for a music-master's purse2 ,and then that dogged and all-conquering will ,declaring1 ,be it so4 ,i'll make my own1 ,a better than even the best that ,newton made4 ,he saw his first rude telescope--a tube ,of pasteboard1 with a lens at either end2 ,and then1--that arduous growth to size and power ,with each new instrument1 as his knowledge grew2 ,and1 to reward each growth1 a deeper heaven4 ,he saw the good ,aunt ,caroline's dismay ,when her trim drawing-room1 as by wizardry1 turned ,into a workshop1 where her brother's hands ,cut1 ground and burnished1 hour on aching hour1 ,month after month1 new mirrors of the sky4 ,yet1 while from dawn to dark her brother moved ,around some new-cut mirror1 burnishing it1 ,knowing that if he once removed his hands ,the surface would be dimmed and must forego ,its heaven for ever1 her quiet hands would raise ,food to his lips2 or1 with that musical voice ,which once--for she1 too1 offered her sacrifice-- ,had promised her fame1 she whiled away the hours ,reading how1 long ago1 ,aladdin raised ,the djinns1 by burnishing that old battered lamp2 ,or1 from ,cervantes1 how one crazy soul ,tilting at windmills1 challenged a purblind world4 ,he saw her seized at last by that same fire1 ,burning to help1 a sleepless ,vestal1 dowered ,with lightning-quickness1 rushing from desk to clock1 ,or measuring distances at dead of night ,between the lamp-micrometer and his eyes4 ,he saw her in mid-winter1 hurrying out1 ,a slim shawled figure through the drifted snow1 ,to help him2 saw her fall with a stifled cry1 ,gashing herself upon that buried hook1 ,and struggling up1 out of the blood-stained drift1 ,to greet him with a smile4 ,for any soldier1 ,this wound1 the surgeon muttered1 would have meant ,six weeks in hospital4 ,not six days for her6 ,i am glad these nights were cloudy1 and we lost ,so little1 was all she said4 ,sir ,john pulled out ,another stop4 ,a little ironical march ,of flutes began to goose-step through the gloom4 ,he saw that first success6 ,ay1 call it so6 ,the royal command1--the court desires to see ,the planet ,saturn and his marvellous rings ,on ,friday night4 ,the skies1 on ,friday night1 ,were black with clouds4 ,canute me no ,canutes1 ,muttered their new magician1 and unpacked ,his telescope4 ,you shall see what you can see4 ,he levelled it through a window2 and they saw ,wonderful6 ,marvellous6 ,glorious6 ,eh1 what1 what6 ,a planet of paper1 with a paper ring1 ,lit by a lamp1 in a hollow of ,windsor ,park1 ,among the ferns1 where ,herne the ,hunter walks1 ,and ,falstaff found that fairies live on cheese4 ,thus all were satisfied2 while1 above the clouds-- ,the thunder of the pedals reaffirmed-- ,the ,titan planet1 every minute1 rolled ,three hundred leagues upon his awful way4 ,then1 through that night1 the vox humanaspoke ,with deeper longing than ,lucretius knew ,when1 in his great third book1 the somber chant ,kindled and soared on those exultant wings1 ,praising the master's hand from which he1 too1 --,father1 discoverer1 hero--caught the fire4 ,it spoke of those vast labours1 incomplete1 ,but1 through their incompletion1 infinite ,in beauty1 and in hope2 the task bequeathed ,from dying hand to hand4 ,close to his grave ,like a memento mori stood the hulk ,of that great weapon rusted and outworn1 ,which once broke down the barriers of the sky4 ,perrupit claustra2 yes1 and bridged their gulfs2 ,for1 far beyond our solar scheme1 it showed ,the law that bound our planets binding still ,those coupled suns which year by year he watched ,around each other circling4 ,had our own ,some distant comrade1 lost among the stars8 ,should we not1 one day1 just as ,kepler drew ,his planetary music and its laws ,from all those faithful records ,tycho made1 ,discern at last what vaster music rules ,the vaster drift of stars from deep to deep2 ,around what awful ,poles1 those wisps of light ,those fifteen hundred universes move8 ,one signal1 even now1 across the dark1 ,declared their worlds confederate with our own2 ,for1 carrying many secrets1 which we now ,slowly decipher1 one swift messenger comes ,across the abyss444 ,the light that1 flashing through the immeasurable1 ,from universe to universe proclaims ,the single reign of law that binds them all4 ,we shall break up those rays and1 in their lines ,and colours1 read the history of their stars4 ,year after year1 the slow sure records grow4 ,awaiting their interpreter4 ,they shall see it1 ,our sons1 in that far day1 the swift1 the strong1 ,the triumphing young-eyed runners with the torch4 ,no deep-set boundary-mark in ,space or ,time ,shall halt or daunt them4 ,who that once has seen ,how truth leads on to truth1 shall ever dare ,to set a bound to knowledge8 ,would that he knew --,so thought the visitant at that shadowy shrine-- ,even as the maker of a song can hear ,with the soul's ear1 far off1 the unstricken chords ,to which1 by its own inner law1 it climbs1 ,would that my father knew how younger hands ,completed his own planetary tune2 ,how from the planet that his own eyes found ,the mind of man would plunge into the dark1 ,and1 blindfold1 find without the help of eyes ,a mightier planet1 in the depths beyond4 ,then1 while the reeds1 with quiet melodious pace ,followed the dream1 as in a picture passed1 ,adams1 the boy at ,cambridge1 making his vow ,by that still lamp1 alone in that deep night1 ,beneath the crumbling battlements of ,st4 ,john's1 ,to know why ,uranus1 uttermost planet known1 ,moved in a rhythm delicately astray ,from all the golden harmonies ordained ,by those known measures of its sister-worlds4 ,was there an unknown planet1 far beyond1 ,sailing through unimaginable deeps ,and drawing it from its path8 ,then challenging chords ,echoed the prophecy that ,sir ,john had made1 ,guided by his own faith in ,newton's law3 ,we have not found it1 but we feel it trembling ,along the lines of our analysis now ,as once ,columbus1 from the shores of ,spain1 ,felt the new continent4 ,then1 in swift fugues1 began ,a race between two nations for the prize ,of that new world4 ,le ,verrier in ,france1 ,adams in ,england1 each of them unaware ,of his own rival1 at the selfsame hour ,resolved to find it4 ,not by the telescope now6 ,skies might be swept for aeons ere one spark ,among those myriads were both found and seen ,to move1 at that vast distance round our sun4 ,they worked by faith in law alone4 ,they knew ,the wanderings of great ,uranus1 and they knew ,the law of ,newton4 ,by the midnight lamp1 ,pencil in hand1 shut in a four-walled room1 ,each by pure thought must work his problem out1-- ,given that law1 to find the mass and place ,of that which drew their planet from his course4 ,there were no throngs to applaud them4 ,each alone1 ,without the heat of conflict laboured on1 ,consuming brain and nerve2 for throngs applaud ,only the flash and tinsel of their day1 ,never the quiet runners with the torch4 ,night after night they laboured4 ,line on line ,of intricate figures1 moving all in law1 ,they marshalled4 ,their long columns formed and marched ,from battle to battle1 and no sound was heard ,of victory or defeat4 ,they marched through snows ,bleak as the drifts that broke ,napoleon's pride ,and through a vaster desert4 ,they drilled their hosts ,with that divine precision of the mind ,to which one second's error in a year ,were anarchy1 that precision which is felt ,throbbing through music4 ,month on month they toiled1 ,with worlds for ciphers4 ,one rich autumn night ,brooding over his figures there alone ,in ,cambridge1 ,adams found them moving all ,to one solution4 ,to the unseeing eye ,his long neat pages had no more to tell ,than any merchant's ledger1 yet they shone ,with epic splendour1 and like trumpets pealed2 ,three hundred million leagues beyond the path ,of our remotest planet1 drowned in night ,another and a mightier planet rolls2 ,in volume1 fifty times more vast than earth1 ,and of so huge an orbit that its year ,wellnigh outlasts our nations4 ,though it moves ,a thousand leagues an hour1 it has not ranged ,thrice through its seasons since ,columbus sailed1 ,or more than once since ,galileo died4 ,he took his proofs to ,greenwich4 ,sweep the skies ,within this limited region now1 he said4 ,you'll find your moving planet4 ,i'm not more ,than one degree in error4 ,he left his proofs2 ,but ,airy1 king of ,greenwich1 looked askance ,at unofficial genius in the young1 ,and pigeon-holed that music of the spheres4 ,nine months he waited till ,le ,verrier1 too1 ,pointed to that same region of the sky4 ,then ,airy1 opening his big sleepy lids1 ,bade ,challis use his telescope1--too late1 ,to make that honour all his country's own2 ,for all ,le ,verrier's proofs were now with ,galle ,who1 being ,german1 had his star-charts ready ,and1 in that region1 found one needlepoint ,had moved4 ,a monster planet6 ,honour to ,france6 ,honour to ,england1 too1 the cry began1 ,who found it also1 though she drowsed at ,greenwich4 ,so--as the ,french said1 with some sting in it-- ,we gave the name of ,neptune to our prize ,because our neighbour ,england rules the sea4 ,honour to all1 say we2 for1 in these wars1 ,whoever wins a battle wins for all4 ,but1 most of all1 honour to him who found ,the law that was a lantern to their feet1-- ,newton1 the first whose thought could soar beyond ,the bounds of human vision and declare1 ,thus saith the law of ,nature and of ,god ,concerning things invisible4 ,this new world ,what was it but one harmony the more ,in that great music which himself had heard1-- ,the chant of those reintegrated spheres ,moving around their sun1 while all things moved ,around one deeper ,light1 revealed by law1 ,beyond all vision1 past all understanding4 ,yet darkly shadowed forth for dreaming men ,on earth in music444 ,music1 all comes back ,to music in the end4 ,then1 in the gloom ,of the ,octagon ,chapel1 the dreamer lifted up ,his face1 as if to all those great forebears4 ,the quivering organ rolled upon the dusk ,his dream of that new symphony1--the sun ,chanting to all his planets on their way ,while1 stop to stop replying1 height o'er height1 ,his planets answered1 voices of a dream3 ,,the ,,sun ,light1 on the far faint planets that attend me6 ,light6 ,but for me-the fury and the fire4 ,my white-hot maelstroms1 the red storms that rend me ,can yield them still the harvest they desire1 ,i kiss with light their sunward-lifted faces4 ,with dew-drenched flowers ,i crown their dusky brows4 ,they praise me1 lightly1 from their pleasant places4 ,their birds belaud me1 lightly1 from their boughs4 ,and men1 on lute and lyre1 have breathed their pleasure4 ,they have watched ,apollo's golden chariot roll2 ,hymned his bright wheels1 but never mine that measure ,a million leagues of flame from ,pole to ,pole4 ,like harbour-lights the stars grow wide before me1 ,i draw my worlds ten thousand leagues a day4 ,their far blue seas like ,april eyes adore me4 ,they follow1 dreaming1 on my soundless way4 ,how should they know1 who wheel around my burning1 ,what torments bore them1 or what power am ,i1 ,i1 that with all those worlds around me turning1 ,sail1 every hour1 from sky to unplumbed sky8 ,my planets1 these live embers of my passion1 ,these children of my hurricanes of flame1 ,flung thro' the night1 for midnight to refashion1 ,praise1 and forget1 the splendour whence they came4 ,,the ,,earth ,was it a dream that1 in those bright dominions1 ,are other worlds that sing1 with lives like mine1 ,lives that with beating hearts and broken pinions ,aspire and fall1 half-mortal1 half-divine8 ,a grain of dust among those glittering legions-- ,am ,i1 ,i only1 touched with joy and tears8 #j1 silver sisters1 from your azure regions1 ,breathe1 once again1 your music of the spheres3-- ,,venus ,a nearer sun1 a rose of light arises1 ,to clothe my glens with richer clouds of flowers1 ,to paint my clouds with ever new surprises ,and wreathe with mist my rosier domes and towers2 ,where now1 to praise their gods1 a throng assembles ,whose hopes and dreams no sphere but mine has known4 ,on other worlds the same warm sunlight trembles2 ,but life1 love1 worship1 these are mine alone4 ,,mars ,and now1 as dewdrops in the dawn-light glisten1 ,remote and cold--see--,earth and ,venus roll4 ,we signalled them--in music6 ,did they listen8 ,could they not hear those whispers of the soul8 ,may not their flesh have sealed that fount of glory1 ,that pure ninth sense which told us of mankind8 ,can some deep sleep bereave them of our story ,as darkness hides all colours from the blind8 ,,jupiter ,i that am sailing deeper skies and dimmer1 ,twelve million leagues beyond the path of ,mars1 ,salute the sun1 that cloudy pearl1 whose glimmer ,renews my spring and steers me through the stars4 ,think not that ,i by distances am darkened4 ,my months are years2 yet light is in mine eyes4 ,mine eyes are not as yours4 ,mine ears have hearkened ,to sounds from earth4 ,five moons enchant my skies4 ,,saturn ,and deeper yet1 like molten opal shining ,my belt of rainbow glory softly streams4 ,and seven white moons around me intertwining ,hide my vast beauty in a mist of dreams4 ,huge is my orbit2 and your flickering planet ,a mote that flecks your sun1 that faint white star2 ,yet1 in my magic pools1 ,i still can scan it2 ,for ,i have ways to look on worlds afar4 ,,uranus ,and deeper yet--twelve million leagues of twilight ,divide mine empire even from ,saturn's ken4 ,is there a world whose light is not as my light1 ,a midget world of light-imprisoned men8 ,shut from this inner vision that hath found me1 ,they hunt bright shadows1 painted to betray2 ,and know not that1 because their night hath drowned me1 ,my giants walk with gods in boundless day4 ,,neptune ,plunge through immensity anew and find me4 ,though scarce ,i see your sun1--that dying spark-- ,across a myriad leagues it still can bind me ,to my sure path1 and steer me through the dark4 ,i sail through vastness1 and its rhythms hold me1 ,though threescore earths could in my volume sleep6 ,whose are the might and music that enfold me8 ,whose is the law that guides me thro' the ,deep8 ,,the ,,sun ,i hear their song4 ,they wheel around my burning6 ,i know their orbits2 but what path have ,i8 ,i that with all those worlds around me turning ,sail1 every hour1 ten thousand leagues of sky8 ,my planets1 these live embers of my passion1 ,and ,i1 too1 filled with music and with flame4 ,flung thro' the night1 for midnight to refashion1 ,praise and forget the ,splendour whence we came4 ,,epilogue ,once more upon the mountain's lonely height ,i woke1 and round me heard the sea-like sound ,of pine-woods1 as the solemn night-wind washed ,through the long canyons and precipitous gorges ,where coyotes moaned and eagles made their nest4 ,once more1 far1 far below1 ,i saw the lights ,of distant cities1 at the mountain's feet1 ,clustered like constellations44 4 ,over me1 like the dome of some strange shrine1 ,housing our great new weapon of the sky1 ,and moving on its axis like a moon ,glimmered the new ,uraniborg4 ,shadows passed ,like monks1 between it and the low grey walls ,that lodged them1 like a fortress in the rocks1 ,their monastery of thought4 ,a shadow neared me4 ,i heard1 once more1 an eager living voice3 ,year after year1 the slow sure records grow4 ,i wish that old ,copernicus could see ,how1 through his truth1 that once dispelled a dream1 ,broke the false axle-trees of heaven1 destroyed ,all central certainty in the universe1 ,and seemed to dwarf mankind1 the spirit of man ,laid hold on law1 that ,jacob's-ladder of light1 ,and mounting1 slowly1 surely1 step by step1 ,entered into its kingdom and its power4 ,for just as ,tycho's tables of the stars ,within the bound of our own galaxy ,led ,kepler to the music of his laws1 ,so1 father and son1 the ,herschels1 with their charts ,of all those fire-mists1 those faint nebulae1 ,those hosts of drifting universes1 led ,our new discoverers to yet mightier laws ,enthroned above all worlds4 ,we have not found them1 ,and yet--only the intellectual fool ,dreams in his heart that even his brain can tick ,in isolated measure1 a centre of law1 ,amidst the whirl of universal chaos4 ,for law descends from law4 ,though all the spheres ,through all the abysmal depths of ,space were blown ,like dust before a colder darker wind ,than even ,lucretius dreamed1 yet if one thought1 ,one gleam of law within the mind of man1 ,lighten our darkness1 there's a law beyond2 ,and even that tempest of destruction moves ,to a lighter music1 shatters its myriad worlds ,only to gather them up1 as a shattered wave ,is gathered again into a rhythmic sea1 ,whose ebb and flow are but the pulse of ,life1 ,in its creative passion4 ,the records grow ,unceasingly1 and each new grain of truth ,is packed1 like radium1 with whole worlds of light4 ,the eclipses timed in ,babylon help us now ,to clock that gradual quickening of the moon1 ,ten seconds in a century4 ,who that wrote ,on those clay tablets could foresee his gift ,to future ages2 dreamed that the groping mind1 ,dowered with so brief a life1 could ever range ,with that divine precision through the abyss8 ,who1 when that good ,dutch spectacle-maker set ,two lenses in a tube1 to read the time ,upon the distant clock-tower of his church1 ,could dream of this1 our hundred-inch1 that shows ,the snow upon the polar caps of ,mars ,whitening and darkening as the seasons change8 ,or who could dream when ,galileo watched ,his moons of ,jupiter1 that from their eclipses ,and from that change in their appointed times1 ,now late1 now early1 as the watching earth ,farther or nearer on its orbit rolled1 ,the immeasurable speed of light at last ,should be reduced to measure8 ,could ,newton dream ,when1 through his prism1 he broke the pure white shaft ,into that rainbow band1 how men should gather ,and disentangle ray by delicate ray ,the colours of the stars1--not only those ,that burn in heaven1 but those that long since perished1 ,those vanished suns that eyes can still behold1 ,the strange lost stars whose light still reaches earth ,although they died ten thousand years ago4 ,here1 night by night1 the innumerable heavens ,speak to an eye more sensitive than man's1 ,write on the camera's delicate retina ,a thousand messages1 lines of dark and bright ,that speak of elements unknown on earth4 ,how shall men doubt1 who thus can read the ,book ,of ,judgment1 and transcend both ,space and ,time1 ,analyse worlds that long since passed away1 ,and scan the future1 how shall they doubt ,his power ,from whom their power and all creation came8 ,i think that1 when the second ,herschel tried ,those great hexameters in our ,english tongue1 ,a nobler shield than ever ,achilles knew ,shone through the song and made his echoes live3 ,there he depicted the earth1 and the canopied sky1 and the sea-waves1 ,there the unwearied sun1 and the full-orbed moon in their courses1 ,all the configured stars that gem the circuit of heaven1 ,pleiads and ,hyads were there and the giant force of ,orion1 ,there the revolving ,bear1 which the ,wain they call1 was ensculptured1 ,circling on high1 and in all his courses regarding ,orion1 ,sole of the starry train that descends not to bathe in the ocean6 ,a nobler shield for us1 a deeper sky2 ,but even to us who know how far away ,those constellations burn1 the wonder bides ,that each vast sun can speed through the abyss ,age after age more swiftly than an eagle1 ,each on its different road1 alone like ours ,with its own satellites2 yet1 since ,homer sang1 ,their aspect has not altered6 ,all their flight ,has not yet changed the old pattern of the ,wain4 ,the sword-belt of ,orion is not sundered4 ,nor has one fugitive splendour broken yet ,from ,cassiopeia's throne4 ,a thousand years ,are but as yesterday1 even unto these4 ,how shall men doubt ,his empery over time ,whose dwelling is a deep so absolute ,that we can only find ,him in our souls4 ,for there1 despite ,copernicus1 each may find ,the centre of all things4 ,there ,he lives and reigns4 ,there infinite distance into nearness grows1 ,and infinite majesty stoops to dust again2 ,all things in little1 infinite love in man 4 4 4 ,oh1 beating wings1 descend to earth once more1 ,and hear1 reborn1 the desert singer's cry3 ,when ,i consider the heavens1 the work of ,thy fingers1 ,the sun and the moon and the stars which ,thou hast ordained1 ,though man be as dust ,i know ,thou art mindful of him2 ,and1 through ,thy law1 ,thy light still visiteth him4 ,,the ,,end