Atma - A Romance

And the spacious abode of Lehna Singh had loveliness enough to veil the

sordid character of the life that was lived within its walls. Atma had

not been ignorant of his kinsman's wealth and importance; but it is one

thing to hear of wealth and to ponder in critical mood the fleeting

nature of this world's weal, and quite another to gaze with the eye on

the marvellous results of human thrift. He wandered through lofty and

spacious apartments, whose marble arches seemed ever to reveal a fairer

scene than had yet met his view. A mimic rivulet ran from room to room

in an alabaster channel, and the spray of perfumed fountains cooled the

air. Flowers bloomed, leafy vines trailed over priceless screens, and

countless mirrors repeated the joyous beauty of the place. He beheld

with admiration the gilded and fretted walls and stately domes, the new

delights of a palace charmed every sense, and, appealing to poetic

fancy, awoke a rapture whose fervency was due less to the entrancement

of his present life than to the contemplative habit of one who had first

known harmony whilst gazing on the stars, and awaked to the

consciousness of beauty among the eternal hills. The ripple of the

streamlet in these palace halls revived a half-forgotten music of the

heart that had once responded to the gurgle of a brook.

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter."

The sympathies that had once been in unison with the rustling thicket

stirred into more definite life when an artificial breeze swept by and

stirred the heavy foliage of rare plants. He had caught in other days

notes of Nature's vast melody. Stray notes were here made to beat to a

smaller measure. Thus Art interprets Nature. It was not The Song, but a

light and pleasant carol, which pleased the sense of many, and to the

ear of the few brought a haunting pain of which they did not know the

meaning. Such a one only sighed and said: "In a former birth I was great and good, and my life was sublime. The

ghost of its memory has touched me."

O melody divine, of fantasy

And frenzied mem'ry wrought, advance

From out the shades; O spectral utterance,

Untwine thy chains, thy fair autocracy

Unveil, have being, declare

Thy state and tuneful sovereignty.

Ye gifted ears,

To whom this burdened, sad creation

Sings, now in tones of exultation

Abruptly broken,

Anon in direst lamentation

Obscurely spoken,

Possess your souls in hope, the time

Is coming when th' harmonic chime

Of circling spheres in chant sublime

Will lead the music of the seas,

And call the echoes of the breeze

To one triumphal lay

Whose harmony, whose heavenly harmony

Sounding for aye

In loud and solemn benedicite,

Voices the glory of the Central Day,

And through th' illimitable realms of air

Is borne afar

In wafted echoes that the strain prolong

Through boundless space, and countless worlds among,

Meas'ring the pulsing of each lonely star,

And sounding ceaselessly from sphere to sphere

That note of immortality

That whispers in the sorrow of the sea,

And in the sunrise, and the noonday's rest,

And triumphs in the wild wind's meek surcease,

And in the sad soul's yearning unexpressed,

And unexpressive for perpetual peace.