EPODE I. a. I STOOD within the city disinterred:+ The listening soul in my suspended blood; A plane of light between two Heavens of azure : As in the sculptor's thought; and there Because the crystal silence of the air Weighed on their life; even as the Power divine Which then lulled all things, brooded upon mine. The Author has connected many recollections of his visit to Pompeii and Baie with the enthusiasm excited by the intelligence of the proclamation of a Constitutional Government at Naples. This has gi ven a tinge of picturesque and descriptive imagery to the introductory Epodes which depicture these scenes, and some of the majestic feelings permanently connected with the scene of this animating event.Author's Note. + Pompeii. EPODE II. a. Then gentle winds arose With many a mingled close Of wild Eolian sound and mountain odour keen; Welters with airlike motion Within, above, around its bowers of starry green, It bore me like an Angel o'er the waves A spirit of deep emotion Of the dead kings of Melody.* Shadowy Aornos darkened o'er the helm There streamed a sunlike vapour, like the standard Whilst from all the coast, Louder and louder, gathering round, there wandered Over the oracular woods and divine sea Prophesyings which grew articulate They seize me-I must speak them-be they fate! Homer and Virgil. He came like a dream in the dawn of life, And for my sake Make answer the while my heart shall break! But heart has a music which Echo's lips, On my desolate path Cast the darkness of absence, worse than death! Indian. And if my grief should still be dearer tom? Than all the pleasure in the world beside, Why would you lighten it ?— Lady. I offer only That which I seek, some human sympathy In this mysterious island. My sister, my beloved! What do I say? My brain is dizzy, and I scarce know whether The passing wind which heals the brow at noon, Or long soothe could it linger. But you said Lady. Loved! Oh, I love. Methinks This word of love is fit for all the world, And that for gentle hearts another name Would speak of gentler thoughts than the world owns. I have loved. The Indian. And thou lovest not? If so Young as thou art, thou canst afford to weep. Lady. Oh! would that I could claim exemption I loved, I love, and when I love no more While the musk-rose leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, Showered on us, and the dove mourned in the pine, Indian. Your breath is like soft music, your words ar The echoes of a voice which on my heart Sleeps like a melody of early days. But as you said Lady. He was so awful, yet So beautiful in mystery and terror, Calming me as the loveliness of heaven And much more need that there should be found one To share remorse, and scorn, and solitude, And all the ills that wait on those who do The tasks of ruin in the world of life. February, 1822. |