Genesis XXIV

Who is this man
        that walketh in the field,
O Eleazar,
        steward to my lord?

And Eleazar
        answered her and said,
Daughter of Bethuel,
        it is other none
But my lord Isaac,
        son unto my lord,
Who, as his wont is,
        walketh in the field,
In the hour of evening,
        meditating there.

Therefore Rebekah
        basted where she sat,
And from her camel
        lighting to the earth,
Sought for a veil
        and put it on her face.

But Isaac also,
        walking in the field,
Saw from afar
        a company that came,
Camels, and a seat
        as where a woman sat;
Wherefore he came
        and met them on the way.

Whom, when Rebekah
        saw, she came before,
Saying, Behold
        the handmaid of my lord;
Who, for my lords sake,
        travel from my land.

But he said, O
        thou blessed of our God,
Come, for the tent
        is eager for thy face.
Shall not thy husband,
        be unto thee more than
Hundreds of kinsmen
        living in thy land?

And Eleazar answered,
        Thus and thus,
Even according
        as thy father bade,
Did we; and thus and
        thus it came to pass:
Lo! is not this
        Rebekah, Bethuels child.

And, as he ended,
        Isaac spoke and said,
Surely my heart
        went with you on the way,
When with the beasts
        ye came unto the place.

Truly, O child
        of Nahor, I was there,
When to thy mother
        and thy mothers son
Thou madest answer,
        saying, I will go.
And Isaac brought her
        to his mothers tent.

Arthur Hugh Clough

Arthur Hugh Clough was born on January 1, 1819, in Liverpool, England. He was a prominent Victorian poet known for his thoughtful and somewhat unconventional works. Clough was educated at Rugby School and later at Balliol College, Oxford, where he became closely associated with the intellectual reformist circles of the time. His poetry often explored themes of doubt, faith, and societal conventions. Despite his relatively short life, Clough made a significant impact on English literature and remains a respected figure of the Victorian literary scene. He passed away on November 13, 1861.

Arthur Hugh Clough

An Evening Walk In Spring

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Wen Gott betrügt, ist wohl betrogen.

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Two Moods

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Arthur Hugh Clough, Simple Poetry

English

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These are the words of Jacobs wives, the words
Which Leah spake and Rachel to his ears,
When, in the shade at eventide, he sat
By the tent door, a palm-tree overhead,
A spring beside him, and the sheep around.

And Rachel spake and said, The nightfall comes
Night, which all day I wait for, and for thee.

And Leah also spake, The day is done;
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And Rachel said, Come, O my Jacob, come;
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And Leah said, Come, Israel, unto me;
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Jacob

My sons, and ye the children of my sons,
Jacob your father goes upon his way,
His pilgrimage is being accomplished.
Come near and hear him ere his words are oer.
Not as my fathers or his fathers days,
As Isaacs days or Abrahams, have been mine;
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Walked at the eventide to meditate,
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They communed, Israel wrestled with the Lord.
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My sons, have been Jacob your fathers days,
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As a man with his friend, walked they with God,
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The Desert Spring

"Oh, no, my lord, she cannot stay;
Cast out this bond maid with her mocking child,
For they cannot be heirs with thine and mine."
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Because he sprang from thee."

Then Abraham rose
At early dawn, and lading Egypt's child
With water and with bread, sent her grief-worn
With Ishmael to wander lone within
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Was cool, and nature locked in the embrace
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Said one who led the spears of swarthy Gad,
To Jesses mighty son: My Lord, O King,
I, halting hard by Gibeons bleak-blown hill
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In dripping sackcloth, pace with naked feet
The flinty rock where lie unburied yet
The sons of her and Saul; and he whose post
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Got up, and spake unto thy servant here
Concerning her yea, even unto me:
Behold, he said, the woman seeks not rest,
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Abideth, like a wild thing, with the slain,
And watcheth them, lest evil wing or paw
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In The Night

As to her child a mother calls,
"Come to me, child; come near!"
Calling, in silent intervals,
The Master's voice I hear.

But does he call me verily?
To have me does he care?
Why should he seek my poverty,
My selfishness so bare?

The dear voice makes his gladness brim,
But not a child can know
Why that large woman cares for him,
Why she should love him so!

Lord, to thy call of me I bow,
Obey like Abraham:
Thou lov'st me because thou art thou,
And I am what I am!

Doubt whispers, Thou art such a blot
He cannot love poor thee:
If what I am he loveth not,
He loves what I shall be.

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O happy mother! while the man wayworn
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O happy mother! while thy husband sleeps,
Art privileged, O blessed one, to see
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And visible angels waiting on thy child.

Take, O young soul, O infant heaven-desired,
Take and fear not the cates, although of earth,
Which to thy hands celestial hands extend,
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Thy spirit lips no more must scorn to pass;
The seeming ill, contaminating joys,
Thy sense divine no more be loth to allow;
The pleasures as the pains of our strange life
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