Chapter 587

Angelic love that stoops with heavenly lips To meet its earthly mate; Heroic love that to its sphere's eclipse Can dare to join its fate With one beloved devoted human heart, And share with it the passion and the smart, The undying bliss Of its most fleeting kiss; The fading grace Of its most sweet embrace:- Angelic love, heroic love! Whose birth can only be above, Whose wandering must be on earth, Whose haven where it first had birth! Love that can part with all but its own worth, And joy in every sacrifice That beautifies its Paradise! And gently, like a golden-fruited vine, With earnest tenderness itself consign, And creeping up deliriously entwine Its dear delicious arms Round the beloved being! With fair unfolded charms, All-trusting, and all-seeing, - Grape-laden with full bunches of young wine! While to the panting heart's dry yearning drouth Buds the rich dewy mouth - Tenderly uplifted, Like two rose-leaves drifted Down in a long warm sigh of the sweet South! Such love, such love is thine, Such heart is mine, O thou of mortal visions most divine!

TWILIGHT MUSIC

Know you the low pervading breeze That softly sings In the trembling leaves of twilight trees, As if the wind were dreaming on its wings? And have you marked their still degrees Of ebbing melody, like the strings Of a silver harp swept by a spirit's hand In some strange glimmering land, 'Mid gushing springs, And glistenings Of waters and of planets, wild and grand! And have you marked in that still time The chariots of those shining cars Brighten upon the hushing dark, And bent to hark That Voice, amid the poplar and the lime, Pause in the dilating lustre Of the spheral cluster; Pause but to renew its sweetness, deep As dreams of heaven to souls that sleep! And felt, despite earth's jarring wars, When day is done And dead the sun, Still a voice divine can sing, Still is there sympathy can bring A whisper from the stars! Ah, with this sentience quickly will you know How like a tree I tremble to the tones Of your sweet voice! How keenly I rejoice When in me with sweet motions slow The spiritual music ebbs and moans - Lives in the lustre of those heavenly eyes, Dies in the light of its own paradise, - Dies, and relives eternal from its death, Immortal melodies in each deep breath; Sweeps thro' my being, bearing up to thee Myself, the weight of its eternity; Till, nerved to life from its ordeal fire, It marries music with the human lyre, Blending divine delight with loveliest desire.

REQUIEM

Where faces are hueless, where eyelids are dewless, Where passion is silent and hearts never crave; Where thought hath no theme, and where sleep hath no dream, In patience and peace thou art gone--to thy grave! Gone where no warning can wake thee to morning, Dead tho' a thousand hands stretch'd out to save.

Thou cam'st to us sighing, and singing and dying, How could it be otherwise, fair as thou wert? Placidly fading, and sinking and shading At last to that shadow, the latest desert; Wasting and waning, but still, still remaining. Alas for the hand that could deal the death-hurt!

The Summer that brightens, the Winter that whitens, The world and its voices, the sea and the sky, The bloom of creation, the tie of relation, All--all is a blank to thine ear and thine eye; The ear may not listen, the eye may not glisten, Nevermore waked by a smile or a sigh.

The tree that is rootless must ever be fruitless; And thou art alone in thy death and thy birth; No last loving token of wedded love broken, No sign of thy singleness, sweetness and worth; Lost as the flower that is drowned in the shower, Fall'n like a snowflake to melt in the earth.

THE FLOWER OF THE RUINS

Take thy lute and sing By the ruined castle walls, Where the torrent-foam falls, And long weeds wave: Take thy lute and sing, O'er the grey ancestral grave! Daughter of a King, Tune thy string.

Sing of happy hours, In the roar of rushing time; Till all the echoes chime To the days gone by; Sing of passing hours To the ever-present sky; - Weep--and let the showers Wake thy flowers.

Sing of glories gone:- No more the blazoned fold From the banner is unrolled; The gold sun is set. Sing his glory gone, For thy voice may charm him yet; Daughter of the dawn, He is gone!

Pour forth all thy grief! Passionately sweep the chords, Wed them quivering to thy words; Wild words of wail! Shed thy withered grief - But hold not Autumn to thy bale; The eddy of the leaf Must be brief!

Sing up to the night: Hard it is for streaming tears To read the calmness of the spheres; Coldly they shine; Sing up to their light; They have views thou may'st divine - Gain prophetic sight From their light!

On the windy hills Lo, the little harebell leans On the spire-grass that it queens, With bonnet blue; Trusting love instils Love and subject reverence true; Learn what love instils On the hills!

By the bare wayside Placid snowdrops hang their cheeks, Softly touch'd with pale green streaks, Soon, soon, to die; On the clothed hedgeside Bands of rosy beauties vie, In their prophesied Summer pride.

From the snowdrop learn; Not in her pale life lives she, But in her blushing prophecy. Thus be thy hopes, Living but to yearn Upwards to the hidden scopes; - Even within the urn Let them burn!

Heroes of thy race - Warriors with golden crowns, Ghostly shapes with marbled frowns Stare thee to stone; Matrons of thy race Pass before thee making moan; Full of solemn grace Is their pace.

Piteous their despair! Piteous their looks forlorn! Terrible their ghostly scorn! Still hold thou fast; - Heed not their despair! - Thou art thy future, not thy past; Let them glance and glare Thro' the air.

Thou the ruin's bud, Be not that moist rich-smelling weed With its arras-sembled brede, And ruin-haunting stalk; Thou the ruin's bud, Be still the rose that lights the walk, Mix thy fragrant blood With the flood!

THE RAPE OF AURORA

Never, O never, Since dewy sweet Flora Was ravished by Zephyr, Was such a thing heard In the valleys so hollow! Till rosy Aurora, Uprising as ever, Bright Phosphor to follow, Pale Phoebe to sever, Was caught like a bird To the breast of Apollo!

Wildly she flutters, And flushes all over With passionate mutters Of shame to the hush Of his amorous whispers: But O such a lover Must win when he utters, Thro' rosy red lispers, The pains that discover The wishes that gush From the torches of Hesperus.

One finger just touching The Orient chamber, Unflooded the gushing Of light that illumed All her lustrous unveiling. On clouds of glow amber, Her limbs richly blushing, She lay sweetly wailing, In odours that gloomed On the God as he bloomed O'er her loveliness paling.

Great Pan in his covert Beheld the rare glistening, The cry of the love-hurt, The sigh and the kiss Of the latest close mingling; But love, thought he, listening, Will not do a dove hurt, I know,--and a tingling, Latent with bliss, Prickt thro' him, I wis, For the Nymph he was singling.

SOUTH-WEST WIND IN THE WOODLAND

The silence of preluded song - AEolian silence charms the woods; Each tree a harp, whose foliaged strings Are waiting for the master's touch To sweep them into storms of joy, Stands mute and whispers not; the birds Brood dumb in their foreboding nests, Save here and there a chirp or tweet, That utters fear or anxious love, Or when the ouzel sends a swift Half warble, shrinking back again His golden bill, or when aloud The storm-cock warns the dusking hills And villages and valleys round: For lo, beneath those ragged clouds That skirt the opening west, a stream Of yellow light and windy flame Spreads lengthening southward, and the sky Begins to gloom, and o'er the ground A moan of coming blasts creeps low And rustles in the crisping grass; Till suddenly with mighty arms Outspread, that reach the horizon round, The great South-West drives o'er the earth, And loosens all his roaring robes Behind him, over heath and moor. He comes upon the neck of night, Like one that leaps a fiery steed Whose keen black haunches quivering shine With eagerness and haste, that needs No spur to make the dark leagues fly! Whose eyes are meteors of speed; Whose mane is as a flashing foam; Whose hoofs are travelling thunder-shocks; - He comes, and while his growing gusts, Wild couriers of his reckless course, Are whistling from the daggered gorse, And hurrying over fern and broom, Midway, far off, he feigns to halt And gather in his streaming train.

Now, whirring like an eagle's wing Preparing for a wide blue flight; Now, flapping like a sail that tacks And chides the wet bewildered mast; Now, screaming like an anguish'd thing Chased close by some down-breathing beak; Now, wailing like a breaking heart, That will not wholly break, but hopes With hope that knows itself in vain; Now, threatening like a storm-charged cloud; Now, cooing like a woodland dove; Now, up again in roar and wrath High soaring and wide sweeping; now, With sudden fury dashing down Full-force on the awaiting woods.

Long waited there, for aspens frail That tinkle with a silver bell, To warn the Zephyr of their love, When danger is at hand, and wake The neighbouring boughs, surrendering all Their prophet harmony of leaves, Had caught his earliest windward thought, And told it trembling; naked birk Down showering her dishevelled hair, And like a beauty yielding up Her fate to all the elements, Had swayed in answer; hazels close, Thick brambles and dark brushwood tufts, And briared brakes that line the dells With shaggy beetling brows, had sung Shrill music, while the tattered flaws Tore over them, and now the whole Tumultuous concords, seized at once With savage inspiration,--pine, And larch, and beech, and fir, and thorn, And ash, and oak, and oakling, rave And shriek, and shout, and whirl, and toss, And stretch their arms, and split, and crack, And bend their stems, and bow their heads, And grind, and groan, and lion-like Roar to the echo-peopled hills And ravenous wilds, and crake-like cry With harsh delight, and cave-like call With hollow mouth, and harp-like thrill With mighty melodies, sublime, From clumps of column'd pines that wave A lofty anthem to the sky, Fit music for a prophet's soul - And like an ocean gathering power, And murmuring deep, while down below Reigns calm profound;--not trembling now The aspens, but like freshening waves That fall upon a shingly beach; - And round the oak a solemn roll Of organ harmony ascends, And in the upper foliage sounds

A symphony of distant seas. The voice of nature is abroad This night; she fills the air with balm; Her mystery is o'er the land; And who that hears her now and yields His being to her yearning tones, And seats his soul upon her wings, And broadens o'er the wind-swept world With her, will gather in the flight More knowledge of her secret, more Delight in her beneficence, Than hours of musing, or the lore That lives with men could ever give! Nor will it pass away when morn Shall look upon the lulling leaves, And woodland sunshine, Eden-sweet, Dreams o'er the paths of peaceful shade; - For every elemental power Is kindred to our hearts, and once Acknowledged, wedded, once embraced, Once taken to the unfettered sense, Once claspt into the naked life, The union is eternal.

WILL O' THE WISP

Follow me, follow me, Over brake and under tree, Thro' the bosky tanglery, Brushwood and bramble! Follow me, follow me, Laugh and leap and scramble! Follow, follow, Hill and hollow, Fosse and burrow, Fen and furrow, Down into the bulrush beds, 'Midst the reeds and osier heads, In the rushy soaking damps, Where the vapours pitch their camps, Follow me, follow me, For a midnight ramble! O! what a mighty fog, What a merry night O ho! Follow, follow, nigher, nigher - Over bank, and pond, and briar, Down into the croaking ditches, Rotten log, Spotted frog, Beetle bright With crawling light, What a joy O ho! Deep into the purple bog - What a joy O ho! Where like hosts of puckered witches All the shivering agues sit Warming hands and chafing feet, By the blue marsh-hovering oils: O the fools for all their moans! Not a forest mad with fire Could still their teeth, or warm their bones, Or loose them from their chilly coils. What a clatter, How they chatter! Shrink and huddle, All a muddle! What a joy O ho! Down we go, down we go, What a joy O ho! Soon shall I be down below, Plunging with a grey fat friar, Hither, thither, to and fro, Breathing mists and whisking lamps, Plashing in the shiny swamps; While my cousin Lantern Jack, With cook ears and cunning eyes, Turns him round upon his back, Daubs him oozy green and black, Sits upon his rolling size, Where he lies, where he lies, Groaning full of sack - Staring with his great round eyes! What a joy O ho! Sits upon him in the swamps Breathing mists and whisking lamps! What a joy O ho! Such a lad is Lantern Jack, When he rides the black nightmare Through the fens, and puts a glare In the friar's track. Such a frolic lad, good lack! To turn a friar on his back, Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him. Lay him sprawling, smack! Such a lad is Lantern Jack! Such a tricksy lad, good lack! What a joy O ho! Follow me, follow me, Where he sits, and you shall see!

SONG

Fair and false! No dawn will greet Thy waking beauty as of old; The little flower beneath thy feet Is alien to thy smile so cold; The merry bird flown up to meet Young morning from his nest i' the wheat Scatters his joy to wood and wold, But scorns the arrogance of gold.

False and fair! I scarce know why, But standing in the lonely air, And underneath the blessed sky, I plead for thee in my despair; - For thee cut off, both heart and eye From living truth; thy spring quite dry; For thee, that heaven my thought may share, Forget--how false! and think--how fair!

SONG

Two wedded lovers watched the rising moon, That with her strange mysterious beauty glowing, Over misty hills and waters flowing, Crowned the long twilight loveliness of June: And thus in me, and thus in me, they spake, The solemn secret of fist love did wake.

Above the hills the blushing orb arose; Her shape encircled by a radiant bower, In which the nightingale with charmed power Poured forth enchantment o'er the dark repose: And thus in me, and thus in me, they said, Earth's mists did with the sweet new spirit wed.

Far up the sky with ever purer beam, Upon the throne of night the moon was seated, And down the valley glens the shades retreated, And silver light was on the open stream. And thus in me, and thus in me, they sighed, Aspiring Love has hallowed Passion's tide.

SONG

I cannot lose thee for a day, But like a bird with restless wing My heart will find thee far away, And on thy bosom fall and sing, My nest is here, my rest is here; - And in the lull of wind and rain, Fresh voices make a sweet refrain, 'His rest is there, his nest is there.'

With thee the wind and sky are fair, But parted, both are strange and dark; And treacherous the quiet air That holds me singing like a lark, O shield my love, strong arm above! Till in the hush of wind and rain, Fresh voices make a rich refrain, 'The arm above will shield thy love.'

DAPHNE

Musing on the fate of Daphne, Many feelings urged my breast, For the God so keen desiring, And the Nymph so deep distrest.

Never flashed thro' sylvan valley Visions so divinely fair! He with early ardour glowing, She with rosy anguish rare.

Only still more sweet and lovely For those terrors on her brows, Those swift glances wild and brilliant, Those delicious panting vows.

Timidly the timid shoulders Shrinking from the fervid hand! Dark the tide of hair back-flowing From the blue-veined temples bland!

Lovely, too, divine Apollo In the speed of his pursuit; With his eye an azure lustre, And his voice a summer lute!

Looking like some burnished eagle Hovering o'er a fluttered bird; Not unseen of silver Naiad, And of wistful Dryad heard!

Many a morn the naked beauty Saw her bright reflection drown In the flowing smooth-faced river, While the god came sheening down.

Down from Pindus bright Peneus Tells its muse-melodious source; Sacred is its fountained birthplace, And the Orient floods its course.

Many a morn the sunny darling Saw the rising chariot-rays, From the winding river-reaches, Mellowing in amber haze.

Thro' the flaming mountain gorges Lo, the River leaps the plain; Like a wild god-stridden courser, Tossing high its foamy mane.

Then he swims thro' laurelled sunlight, Full of all sensations sweet, Misty with his morning incense, To the mirrored maiden's feet!

Wet and bright the dinting pebbles Shine where oft she paused and stood; All her dreamy warmth revolving, While the chilly waters wooed.

Like to rosy-born Aurora, Glowing freshly into view, When her doubtful foot she ventures On the first cold morning blue.

White as that Thessalian lily, Fairest Tempe's fairest flower, Lo, the tall Peneian virgin Stands beneath her bathing bower.

There the laurell'd wreaths o'erarching Crown'd the dainty shuddering maid; There the dark prophetic laurel Kiss'd her with its sister shade.

There the young green glistening leaflets Hush'd with love their breezy peal; There the little opening flowerets Blush'd beneath her vermeil heel!

There among the conscious arbours Sounds of soft tumultuous wail, Mysteries of love, melodious, Came upon the lyric gale!

Breathings of a deep enchantment, Effluence of immortal grace, Flitted round her faltering footstep, Spread a balm about her face!

Witless of the enamour'd presence, Like a dreamy lotus bud From its drowsy stem down-drooping, Gazed she in the glowing flood.

Softly sweet with fluttering presage, Felt she that ethereal sense, Drinking charms of love delirious, Reaping bliss of love intense!

All the air was thrill'd with sunrise, Birds made music of her name, And the god-impregnate water Claspt her image ere she came.

Richer for that glance unconscious! Dearer for that soft dismay! And the sudden self-possession! And the smile as bright as day!

Plunging 'mid her scattered tresses, With her blue invoking eyes; See her like a star descending! Like a rosebud see her rise!

Like a rosebud in the morning Dashing off its jewell'd dews, Ere unfolding all its fragrance It is gathered by the muse!

Beauteous in the foamy laughter Bubbling round her shrinking waist, Lo! from locks and lips and eyelids Rain the glittering pearl-drops chaste!

And about the maiden rapture Still the ruddy ripples play'd, Ebbing round in startled circlets When her arms began to wade;

Flowing in like tides attracted To the glowing crescent shine! Clasping her ambrosial whiteness Like an Autumn-tinted vine!

Sinking low with love's emotion! Levying with look and tone All love's rosy arts to mimic Cytherea's magic zone!

Trembling up with adoration To the crimson daisy tip Budding from the snowy bosom - Fainter than the rose-red lip!

Rising in a storm of wavelets, That for shelter, feigning fright, Prest to those twin-heaving havens, Harbour'd there beneath her light;

Gleaming in a whirl of eddies Round her lucid throat and neck; Eddying in a gleam of dimples Up against her bloomy cheek;

Bribing all the breezy water With rich warmth, the nymph to keep In a self-imprison'd plaisance, Tempting her from deep to deep.

Till at last delirious passion Thrill'd the god to wild excess, And the fervour of a moment Made divinity confess;

And he stood in all his glory! But so radiant, being near, That her eyes were frozen on him In a fascinated fear!

All with orient splendour shining, All with roseate birth aglow, Gleam'd the golden god before her, With his golden crescent bow.

Soon the dazzled light subsided, And he seem'd a beauteous youth, Form'd to gain the maiden's murmurs, And to pledge the vows of truth.

Ah! that thus he had continued! O, that such for her had been! Graceful with all godlike beauty, But so humanly serene!

Cheeks, and mouth, and mellow ringlets, Bounteous as the mid-day beam; Pleading looks and wistful tremour, Tender as a maiden's dream!

Palms that like a bird's throbb'd bosom Palpitate with eagerness, Lips, the bridals of the roses, Dewy sweet from the caress!

Lips and limbs, and eyes and ringlets, Swaying, praying to one prayer, Like a lyre, swept by a spirit, In the still, enraptur'd air.

Like a lyre in some far valley, Uttering ravishments divine! All its strings to viewless fingers Yearning, modulations fine!

Yearning with melodious fervour! Like a beauteous maiden flower, When the young beloved three paces Hovers from the bridal bower.

Throbbing thro' the dawning stillness! As a heart within a breast, When the young beloved is stepping Radiant to the nuptial nest.

O for Daphne! gentle Daphne Ever warmer by degrees Whispers full of hopes and visions Throng her ears like honey bees!

Never yet was lonely blossom Woo'd with such delicious voice! Never since hath mortal maiden Dwelt on such celestial choice!

Love-suffused she quivers, falters - Falters, sighs, but never speaks, All her rosy blood up-gushing Overflows her ripe young cheeks.