I Dreamt A Dream- Arthur Hugh Clough

I Dreamt A Dream

From Dipsychus

Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861)

I dreamt a dream: till morning light
A bell rang in my head all night,
Tinkling and tinkling first, and then
Tolling and tinkling, tolling again,
So brisk and gay, and then so slow!
O joy and terror! mirth and woe!
Ting, ting, There is no God; ting, ting,
Dong, there is no God; dong,
There is no God; dong, dong.

Ting, ting, there is no God; ting, ting.
Come, dance and play, and merrily sing,
Staid Englishman, who toil and slave
From your first childhood to your grave,
And seldom spend and always save
And do your duty all your life
By your young family and wife;
Come, be ’t not said you ne’er had known
What earth can furnish you alone.
The Italian, Frenchman, German even,
Have given up all thoughts of heaven:
And you still linger oh, you fool!
Because of what you learnt at school.
You should have gone at least to college,
And got a little ampler knowledge.
Ah well, and yet dong, dong, dong:
Do as you like, as now you do;
If work’s a cheat, so’s pleasure too,
And nothing’s new and nothing’s true;
Dong, there is no God; dong.

O, in our nook unknown, unseen,
We’ll hold our fancy like a screen
Us and the dreadful fact between;
And it shall yet be long ay, long
The quiet notes of our low song
Shall keep us from that sad dong, dong.
Hark, hark, hark! O voice of fear,
It reaches us here, even here!
Dong, there is no God; dong.

Ring ding, ring ding, tara, tara,
To battle, to battle haste, haste
To battle, to battle aha, aha!
On, on, to the conqueror’s feast,
From east to west, and south and north,
Ye men of valour and of worth,
Ye mighty men of arms, come forth
And work your will, for that is just;
And in your impulse put your trust,
Beneath your feet the fools are dust.
Alas, alas! O grief and wrong,
The good are weak, the wicked strong;
And oh, my God, how long, how long!
Dong, there is no God; dong.

Ring, ting; to bow before the strong,
There is a rapture too in this;
Work for thy master, work, thou slave
He is not merciful, but brave.
Be ’t joy to serve, who free and proud
Scorns thee and all the ignoble crowd;
Take that, ’tis all thou art allowed,
Except the snaky hope that they
May sometime serve who rule to-day.
When, by hell-demons, shan’t they pay?
O wickedness, O shame and grief,
And heavy load, and no relief!
O God, O God! and which is worst,
To be the curser or the curst,
The victim or the murderer? Dong,
Dong, there is no God; dong.

Ring ding, ring ding, tara, tara,
Away, and hush that preaching fagh!
Ye vulgar dreamers about peace,
Who offer noblest hearts, to heal
The tenderest hurts honour can feel,
Paid magistrates and the police!
O peddling merchant-justice, go,
Exacter rules than yours we know;
Resentment’s rule, and that high law
Of whoso best the sword can draw.
Ah well, and yet dong, dong, dong.
Go on, my friends, as now you do;
Lawyers are villains, soldiers too;
And nothing’s new, and nothing’s true.
Dong, there is no God; dong.

I had a dream, from eve to light
A bell went sounding all the night.
Gay mirth, black woe, thin joys, huge pain
I tried to stop it, but in vain.
It ran right on, and never broke;
Only when day began to stream
Through the white curtains to my bed,
And like an angel at my head
Light stood and touched me I awoke,
And looked, and said, ‘It is a dream.’