How Love Looked for Hell.

"To heal his heart of long-time pain     One day Prince Love for to travel was fain     With Ministers Mind and Sense.     `Now what to thee most strange may be?'     Quoth Mind and Sense. `All things above,     One curious thing I first would see -     Hell,' quoth Love.     "Then Mind rode in and Sense rode out:     They searched the ways of man about.     First frightfully groaneth Sense.     `'Tis here, 'tis here,' and spurreth in fear     To the top of the hill that hangeth above     And plucketh the Prince: `Come, come, 'tis here - '     `Where?' quoth Love -     "`Not far, not far,' said shivering Sense     As they rode on. `A short way hence,      - But seventy paces hence:     Look, King, dost see where suddenly     This road doth dip from the height above?     Cold blew a mouldy wind by me'     (`Cold?' quoth Love)     "`As I rode down, and the River was black,     And yon-side, lo! an endless wrack     And rabble of souls,' sighed Sense,     `Their eyes upturned and begged and burned     In brimstone lakes, and a Hand above     Beat back the hands that upward yearned - '     `Nay!' quoth Love -     "`Yea, yea, sweet Prince; thyself shalt see,     Wilt thou but down this slope with me;     'Tis palpable,' whispered Sense.      - At the foot of the hill a living rill     Shone, and the lilies shone white above;     `But now 'twas black, 'twas a river, this rill,'     (`Black?' quoth Love)     "`Ay, black, but lo! the lilies grow,     And yon-side where was woe, was woe,      - Where the rabble of souls,' cried Sense,     `Did shrivel and turn and beg and burn,     Thrust back in the brimstone from above -     Is banked of violet, rose, and fern:'     `How?' quoth Love:     "`For lakes of pain, yon pleasant plain     Of woods and grass and yellow grain     Doth ravish the soul and sense:     And never a sigh beneath the sky,     And folk that smile and gaze above - '     `But saw'st thou here, with thine own eye,     Hell?' quoth Love.     "`I saw true hell with mine own eye,     True hell, or light hath told a lie,     True, verily,' quoth stout Sense.     Then Love rode round and searched the ground,     The caves below, the hills above;     `But I cannot find where thou hast found     Hell,' quoth Love.     "There, while they stood in a green wood     And marvelled still on Ill and Good,     Came suddenly Minister Mind.     `In the heart of sin doth hell begin:     'Tis not below, 'tis not above,     It lieth within, it lieth within:'     (`Where?' quoth Love)     "`I saw a man sit by a corse;     `Hell's in the murderer's breast: remorse!'     Thus clamored his mind to his mind:     Not fleshly dole is the sinner's goal,     Hell's not below, nor yet above,     'Tis fixed in the ever-damned soul - '     `Fixed?' quoth Love -     "`Fixed: follow me, would'st thou but see:     He weepeth under yon willow tree,     Fast chained to his corse,' quoth Mind.     Full soon they passed, for they rode fast,     Where the piteous willow bent above.     `Now shall I see at last, at last,     Hell,' quoth Love.     "There when they came Mind suffered shame:     `These be the same and not the same,'     A-wondering whispered Mind.     Lo, face by face two spirits pace     Where the blissful willow waves above:     One saith: `Do me a friendly grace - '     (`Grace!' quoth Love)     "`Read me two Dreams that linger long,     Dim as returns of old-time song     That flicker about the mind.     I dreamed (how deep in mortal sleep!)     I struck thee dead, then stood above,     With tears that none but dreamers weep;'     `Dreams,' quoth Love;     "`In dreams, again, I plucked a flower     That clung with pain and stung with power,     Yea, nettled me, body and mind.'     `'Twas the nettle of sin, 'twas medicine;     No need nor seed of it here Above;     In dreams of hate true loves begin.'     `True,' quoth Love.     "`Now strange,' quoth Sense, and `Strange,' quoth Mind,     `We saw it, and yet 'tis hard to find,      - But we saw it,' quoth Sense and Mind.     Stretched on the ground, beautiful-crowned     Of the piteous willow that wreathed above,     `But I cannot find where ye have found     Hell,' quoth Love."     Baltimore, 1878-9.