Chapter 2

And either slept not through the live-long night, Or slept in fitful trances, with a bright, Fair dream upon their eyelids: but they rose In sorrow from the pallet of repose; For the dark thought of their sad destiny Came o'er them, like a chasm of the deep sea, That was to rend their fortunes; and at eve They met again, but, silent, took their leave, As they did yesterday: another night, And neither spake awhile--A pure delight Had chasten'd love's first blushes: silently Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathè-- At length, "Fair Nun!"--She started, and held fast Her bright hand on her lip--"the past, the past, And the pale future! There be some that lie Under those marble urns--I know not why, But I were better in that only calm, Than be as I have been, perhaps, and am. The past!--ay! it hath perish'd; never, never, Would I recall it to be blest for ever: The future it must come--I have a vow"-- And his cold hand rose trembling to his brow. "True, true, I have a vow. Is not the moon Abroad, fair Nun?"--"Indeed! so very soon?" Said Agathè, and "I must then away."-- "Stay, love! 'tis early yet; stay, angel, stay!" But she was gone:--yet they met many a time In the lone chapel, after vesper chime-- They met in love and fear.

One weary day, And Julio saw not his loved Agathè; She was not in the choir of sisterhood That sang the evening anthem, and he stood Like one that listen'd breathlessly awhile; But stranger voices chanted through the aisle. She was not there; and, after all were gone, He linger'd: the stars came--he linger'd on, Like a dark fun'ral image on the tomb Of a lost hope. He felt a world of gloom Upon his heart--a solitude--a chill. The pale morn rose, and still, he linger'd still. And the next vesper toll'd; nor yet, nor yet-- "Can Agathè be faithless, and forget?"

It was the third sad eve, he heard it said, "Poor Julio! thy Agathè is dead," And started. He had loiter'd in the train That bore her to the grave: he saw her lain In the cold earth, and heard a requiem Sung over her--To him it was a dream! A marble stone stood by the sepulchre; He look'd, and saw, and started--she was there! And Agathè had died; she that was bright-- She that was in her beauty! a cold blight Fell over the young blossom of her brow. And the life-blood grew chill--She is not, now.

She died, like zephyr falling amid flowers! Like to a star within the twilight hours Of morning--and she was not! Some have thought The Lady Abbess gave her a mad draught, That stole into her heart, and sadly rent The fine chords of that holy instrument, Until its music falter'd fast away, And she--she died,--the lovely Agathè!

Again, and through the arras of the gloom Are the pale breezes moaning: by her tomb Bends Julio, like a phantom, and his eye Is fallen, as the moon-borne tides, that lie At ebb within the sea. Oh! he is wan, As winter skies are wan, like ages gone, And stars unseen for paleness; it is cast, As foliage in the raving of the blast, All his fair bloom of thoughts! Is the moon chill, That in the dark clouds she is mantled still? And over its proud arch hath Heaven flung A scarf of darkness? Agathè was young! And there should be the virgin silver there, The snow-white fringes delicately fair!

He wields a heavy mattock in his hands, And over him a lonely lanthorn stands On a near niche, shedding a sickly fall Of light upon a marble pedestal, Whereon is chisel'd rudely, the essay Of untaught tool, "Hic jacet Agathè!" And Julio hath bent him down in speed, Like one that doeth an unholy deed.

There is a flagstone lieth heavily Over the ladye's grave; I wist of three That bore it, of a blessed verity! But he hath lifted it in his pure madness, As it were lightsome as a summer gladness, And from the carved niche hath ta'en the lamp, And hung it by the marble flagstone damp.

And he is flinging the dark, chilly mould Over the gorgeous pavement: 'tis a cold, Sad grave, and there is many a relic there Of chalky bones, which, in the wasting air, Fell smouldering away; and he would dash His mattock through them, with a cursed clash, That made the lone aisle echo. But anon He fell upon a skull,--a haggard one, With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye Revolving darkness, like eternity-- And in his hand he held it, till it grew To have the fleshy features and the hue Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became Like to his Agathè--all, all the same! He drew it nearer,--the cold, bony thing!-- To kiss the worm-wet lips. "Ay! let me cling-- Cling to thee now, for ever!" but a breath Of rank corruption from its jaws of death Went to his nostrils, and he madly laugh'd, And dash'd it over on the altar shaft, Which the new risen moon, in her gray light, Had fondly flooded, beautifully bright!

Again he went To his wild work, beside the monument. "Ha! leave, thou moon! where thy footfall hath been In sorrow amid heaven! there is sin Under thy shadow, lying like a dew; So come thou, from thy awful arch of blue, Where thou art even as a silver throne For some pale spectre-king; come thou alone, Or bring a solitary orphan star Under thy wings! afar, afar, afar, To gaze upon this girl of radiancy, In her deep slumbers--Wake thee, Agathè!"

And Julio hath stolen the dark chest Where the fair nun lay coffin'd, in the rest That wakes not up at morning: she is there, An image of cold calm! One tress of hair Lingereth lonely on her snowy brow; But the bright eyes are closed in darkness now; And their long lashes delicately rest On the pale cheek, like sun-rays in the west, That fall upon a colourless, sad cloud. Humility lies rudely on the proud, But she was never proud; and there she is, A yet unwither'd flower the autumn breeze Hath blown from its green stem! 'T is pale, 't is pale, But still unfaded, like the twilight veil That falleth after sunset; like a stream That bears the burden of a silver gleam Upon its waters; and is even so,-- Chill, melancholy, lustreless, and low!

Beauty in death! a tenderness upon The rude and silent relics, where alone Sat the destroyer! Beauty on the dead! The look of being where the breath is fled! The unwarming sun still joyous in its light! A time--a time without a day or night! Death cradled upon Beauty, like a bee Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly!-- Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness, Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness!

And there she is; and Julio bends o'er The sleeping girl,--a willow on the shore Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its far bough Into the bitter waters,--even now Taking a foretaste of the awful trance That was to pass on his own countenance!

Yes! yes! and he is holding his pale lips Over her brow; the shade of an eclipse Is passing to his heart, and to his eye, That is not tearful; but the light will die, Leaving it like a moon within a mist,-- The vision of a spell-bound visionist!

He breathed a cold kiss on her ashy cheek, That left no trace--no flush--no crimson streak, But was as bloodless as a marble stone, Susceptible of silent waste alone. And on her brow a crucifix he laid-- A jewel'd crucifix, the virgin maid Had given him before she died. The moon Shed light upon her visage--clouded soon, Then briefly breaking from its airy veil, Like warrior lifting up his aventayle.

But Julio gazed on, and never lifted Himself to see the broken clouds, that drifted One after one, like infant elves at play Amid the night-winds, in their lonely way-- Some whistling and some moaning, some asleep, And dreaming dismal dreams, and sighing deep Over their couches of green moss and flowers, And solitary fern, and heather bowers.

The heavy bell toll'd two, and, as it toll'd, Julio started, and the fresh-turn'd mould He flung into the empty chasm with speed, And o'er it dropt the flagstone. One could read That Agathè lay there; but still the girl Lay by him, like a precious and pale pearl, That from the deep sea-waters had been rent-- Like a star fallen from the firmament! He hides the grave-tools in an aged porch, To westward of the solitary church; And he hath clasp'd around the melting waist The beautiful, dead girl: his cheek is press'd To hers--Life warming the cold chill of Death! And over his pale palsy breathing breath His eye is sunk upon her--"Thou must leave The worm to waste for love of thee, and grieve Without thee, as I may not. Thou must go, My sweet betrothed, with me--but not below, Where there is darkness, dream, and solitude, But where is light, and life, and one to brood Above thee till thou wakest--Ha! I fear Thou wilt not wake for ever, sleeping here, Where there are none but winds to visit thee, And convent fathers, and a choristry Of sisters, saying, 'Hush!'--But I will sing Rare songs to thy pure spirit, wandering Down on the dews to hear me; I will tune The instrument of the ethereal moon, And all the choir of stars, to rise and fall In harmony and beauty musical."

He is away--and still the sickly lamp Is burning next the altar; there's a damp, Thin mould upon the pavement; and, at morn, The monks do cross them in their blessed scorn And mutter deep anathemas, because Of the unholy sacrilege, that was Within the sainted chapel,--for they guess'd, By many a vestige sad, how the dark rest Of Agathè was broken,--and anon They sought for Julio. The summer sun Arose and and set, with his imperial disc Toward the ocean-waters, heaving brisk Before the winds,--but Julio came never: He that was frantic as a foaming river-- Mad as the fall of leaves upon the tide Of a great tempest, that have fought and died Along the forest ramparts, and doth still In its death-struggle desperately reel Round with the fallen foliage--he was gone, And none knew whither. Still were chanted on Sad masses, by pale sisters, many a day, And holy requiems sung for Agathè!

CHIMERA II

A curse! a curse! the beautiful pale wing Of a sea-bird was worn with wandering, And, on a sunny rock beside the shore, It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er; And they were heaving a brown amber flow Of weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below.

It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hall Of heaven rose up on pillars magical Of living silver, shafting the fair sky Between dark time and great eternity. They rose upon their pedestal of sun, A line of snowy columns! and anon Were lost in the rich tracery of cloud That hung along, magnificently proud, Predicting the pure star-light, that beyond The east was armouring in diamond About the camp of twilight, and was soon To marshal under the fair champion moon, That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist, Toward her citadel of amethyst.

A curse! a curse! a lonely man is there By the deep waters, with a burden fair Clasp'd in his wearied arms--'Tis he; 'tis he The brain-struck Julio, and Agathè! His cowl is back--flung back upon the breeze, His lofty brow is haggard with disease, As if a wild libation had been pour'd Of lightning on those temples, and they shower'd A dismal perspiration, like a rain, Shook by the thunder and the hurricane!

He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed, Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste, The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild, Strange words, about a mother, and no child. "And I shall wed thee, Agathè! although Ours be no God-blest bridal--even so!" And from the sand he took a silver shell, That had been wasted by the fall and swell Of many a moon-borne tide into a ring-- A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing, Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died, In ages far away. "Thou art a bride, Sweet Agathè! Wake up; we must not linger." He press'd the ring upon her chilly finger, And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone, Shouted, "Pale priest! thou liest all alone Upon thy ocean altar, rise away To our glad bridal!" and its wings of gray All lazily it spread, and hover'd by With a wild shriek--a melancholy cry! Then swooping slowly o'er the heaving breast Of the blue ocean, vanish'd in the west.

And Julio is chanting to his bride, A merry song of his wild heart, that died On the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea, All rustling in their beauty gladsomely.

SONG

A rosary of stars, love! we'll count them as we go Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below, And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea, In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee!

A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide, And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide! And we'll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen, With shells of silver sown in radiancy between.

A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be, Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea; Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go, Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below!

He lifted the dead girl, and is away To where a light boat, in its moorings lay, Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hush Of the nurse waters. With a frantic rush O'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped, And through the shoaling waves that fell and fled Upon the furrow'd beach.

The snowy sail Is hoisted to the gladly gushing gale, That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breast Of silver, looking lovely to the west; And at the helm there sits the wither'd one, Gazing and gazing on the sister nun, With her fair tresses floating on his knee-- The beautiful, death-stricken Agathè!

Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stood Out toward the great heaving solitude, That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breath Went through its lungs, of agony and death!

The sun is lost within the labyrinth Of clouds of purple and pale hyacinth, That are the frontlet of the sister Sky Kissing her brother Ocean; and they lie Bathing in blushes, till the rival queen Night, with her starry tiar, floateth in-- A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth draw Over the light of love a shade of awe Most strange, that parts our wonder not the less Between her mystery and loveliness!

And she is there, that is a pyramid Whereon the stars, the statues of the dead, Are imaged over the eternal hall, A group of radiances majestical! And Julio looks up, and there they be, And Agathè, and all the waste of Sea, That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroud Of night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proud Amid its azure pulses; and again He dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strain Of mirth upon the ladye:--Agathè! Sweet bride! be thou a queen, and I will lay A crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow; And I will twine these tresses, that are now Floating beside me, to a diadem; And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem, And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queen Of the unpeopled waters, sadly seen By star-light, till the yet unrisen moon Issue, unveiled, from her anderoon, To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say, "Hail--hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathè!"

The warrior world was lifting to the bent Of his eternal brow magnificent, The fiery moon, that in her blazonry Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea Felt fever on his azure arteries, That shadow'd them with crimson, while the breeze Fell faster on the solitary sail. But the red moon grew loftier and pale, And the great ocean, like the holy hall, Where slept a seraph host maritimal, Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond Fann'd over it, and millions beyond Of tiny waves were playing to and fro, All musical, with an incessant flow Of cadences, innumerably heard Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird, That held a solemn paean to the moon.

A few devotional fair clouds were soon Breathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven, And under the great galaxies were driven Of stars that group'd together, and they went Like voyagers along the firmament, And grew to silver in the blessed light Of the moon alchymist. It was not night, Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'er The eye-lid like a curse, but far before In splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom, In many a myriad gushes, that do come Direct from the eternal stars beyond, Like holy fountains pouring diamond!

A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail! And be not bending to thy trances pale. But he is gazing on the moonlit brow Of his dead Agathè, and fondly now, The light is silvering her bloodless face And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness As in a marble image, very bright! But stricken with a phantasy of light That is not given to the mortal hue, To life and breathing beauty: and she too Is more of the expressless lineament, Than of the golden thoughts that came and went Over her features like a living tide No while before.

A sail is on the wide And moving waters, and it draweth nigh Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly Before it, in their armories enthrall'd Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald; And many is the mariner that sees The lone boat in the melancholy breeze, Waving her snowy canvass, and anon Their stately vessel with a gallant run Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer Of men is pass'd into a sudden fear, And whisperings, and shakings of the head-- The moon was streaming on a virgin dead, And Julio sat over her insane, Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again, Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stood Far out into the murmuring solitude!

But Julio saw not; he only heard A rushing, like the passing of a bird, And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew Along the startled billows; and he knew Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell Beside him, on the coming of the swell.

They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride! And made obeisance at thy holy side. They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bring Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king, To utter music at thy pearly feet.-- Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet, To visit in thy temple of the sea; Thy sister moon is watching over thee! And she is spreading a fair mantle of Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!-- Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof, In solitude, below the starry roof; And on its dewy plume there is a light Of palest splendour, o'er the blessed night. Thy spirit, Agathè!--and yet, thou art Beside me, and my solitary heart Is throbbing near to thee: I must not feel The sweet notes of thy holy music steal Into my feverous and burning brain,-- So wake not! and I'll hush thee with a strain Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me, And I be loved as I have loved thee:--

SONG

'Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair, In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there-- No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart! When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art!

'Tis light to love thee living, girl--to see thee ever so, With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow; And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl-- Oh! true it is a lightsome thing, to love thee living, girl!

But when the brow is blighted, like a star of morning tide, And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside; It is to love, as seldom love, the brightest and the best, When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest.

Because of hopes, that, fallen, are changing to despair, And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there, Oh, true! 'tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee, And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me!

He lifts her in his arms, and o'er and o'er, Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar, Repeats a silent kiss;--along the side Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride, Until the waves do image her within Their bosom, like a spectre--'Tis a sin Too deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven, To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven! And bid her gaze into the startled sea, And say, "Thy image, from eternity, Hath come to meet thee, ladye!" and anon, He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one, That shook amid the waters, like the light Of borealis in a winter night!

And after, he did strain her sea-wet hair Between his chilly fingers, with a stare Of mystery, that marvell'd how that she Had drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea. The morning rose, with breast of living gold, Like eastern phoenix, and his plumage roll'd In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright! And on the waste of waters floated light.--

In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry bark Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark At play amid the beautiful sea-green, And all so sadly desolate within.

And hours flew after hours, a weary length, Until the sunlight, in meridian strength, Threw burning floods upon the wasted brow Of that sea-hermit mariner; and now He felt the fire-light feed upon his brain, And started with intensity of pain, And wash'd him in the sea; it only brought Wild reason, like a demon, and he thought Strange thoughts, like dreaming men--he thought how those Were round him he had seen, and many rose His heart had hated; every billow threw Features before him, and pale faces grew Out of the sea by myriads:--the self-same Was moulded from its image, and they came In groups together, and all said, like one, "Be cursed!" and vanish'd in the deep anon. Then thirst, intolerable as the breath Of Upas, fanning the wild wings of death, Crept up his very gorge,--like to a snake, That stifled him, and bade the pulses ache Through all the boiling current of his blood. It was a thirst, that let the fever flood Fall over him, and gave a ghastly hue To his cramp'd lips, until their breathing grew White as a mist, and short, and like a sigh, Heaved with a struggle, till it falter'd by.