Графични страници
PDF файл
[blocks in formation]

Give mi- that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks iiimiorl.il. those complainings

dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not

where to go."

Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far
At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbhing star
Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,—
Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind

blows Like love's nlnrum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon

hath set.

"Tig dark: quick patternh the flaw-blown

sleet: "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" "Tin dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and

pine.— Cruel! whnt traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakrst a deceived thing; A dove forlorn and lost with sick ttnpruned

wing."

"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!
Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest't
Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and ver-
meil dyed'(
Ah, silver shrine, here will I tnkc ray rest
After so many hours of toil and quest,
A famish'd pilgrim,—saved by miracle. •
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou thinkst well
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.

Hark! 'tis nn elfin-storm from facry-land, Of haggard seeming, but n boon indeed: Arise—arise! the morning is at hand;— The bloated wRKsnillt-rs will never heed:— Let us nvt iiy, my Loire, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,— Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake! arise! my Love, and fearless he, For o'er the southern moors I have u home for thee."

She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready

spears— Down the wide stairs a darkling way they

found.— In all the house was heard not human sound.

A chain-droop'd lump was nickering by act

ilmir;

The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, in

hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar: And the long carpets rose along the gist; floor.

They glide, like phantoms, into tbe wide kali. Like phantoms, to the iron porch, tbey plist Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl. With a huge empty flagon by his aide: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook »

hide. But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:Thechains liesilenton the footworn smart.The key turns, and the door upon its biap>

groans.

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the baron dreamt of many a vsr. And all his warrior-guests, with shade ut

form Of witch, and demon, and large t-offin-vom Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela tbe oU Died palsy - twitch'd , with meagre foe

deform . The beadsman, after thousand aves tout. For aye unsought for slept among his sskn

cold.

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE

My heart aches, and a drowsy

pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drat* Or emptied some dull opiate to the draia* One minute past, and lethe-wards had sast Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. But being ton happy in thine happiness.— That thou, light-winged dryad of thr lim

In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless Singest of summer in full-throated ease

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath am Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved «-art» Tasting of Flora and the country green. Dance, and Provencal song, and sonksrt:

mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm sooth. Full of the Inn-, the blushful HipporrrsWith beaded bubbles winking at tbe bn»

And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the wsr<

unseen. And with thee fadeaway into the forcslauv

[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

Away! away! for I will fly to thee.
Not charioted by Bacchus and his bards,
But on the viewless wings of poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne.
(Instil d around by all her starry fays;

But here there is no light.
Save what from heaven is with the breezes

blown Through verdurous glooms nnd winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. Nor what soft incense hangs upon the houghs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree

wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves*

And Mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine. The murmurous haunt of flies on summereves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused

rhyme.
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die.
To cease upon the midnight with no pain.
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an erstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in

vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was

heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Kuth, when, sick

for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the

foam Of perilous seas, in faery-lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like n bell
To toll me hark from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the Fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near mendows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

FANCY.

Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind's cage-door.
She'll dart forth, and clnudward soar.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Summer's joys are spoilt hy use.
And the enjoying of the spring
Fades as does its blossoming;
Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage ton,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting: what do then?
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter's night;
\\ hen the soundless earth is muffled.
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy,
To banish Even from her sky.
Sit thee there, and send abroad.
With a mind self-overaw'd,
Fancy, liigh-cnmmission'd:—send her!
She has vassals to attend her:
She will bring, in spite of frost.
Beauties that the enrtrrrmth Inst;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delight of summer-weather;
All the buds and hells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
AU the heaped Autumn's wealth.
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it:- thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn:
And, in the same moment—hark!
lis the early April-lark,

Or the rooks, with busy raw,
Foraging; for sticks and straw.
Thou Klialt. at one ■fiance, heholil
The daisy and the marigold;
Whitc-plum'd lilies, and the first
Hedge-grown primrose that hath hurst;
Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the Mid-May;
And every leaf, and every flower
Pearled with the sclf-sainu shower.
Thou shall see the field-mouse peep
Meagre from its celled sleep;
And the snake all winter-thin
Cast on sunny hank its skin;
Freckled nest-eggs thou shall see
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
When the lien-bird'a wing doth rest
Quiet on her mossy nest;
Then the hurry and alarm
When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
Acorns ripe down-pattering,
While the autumn-breezes sing.

Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;

Every thing is spoilt by use:

Where's the cheek that doth not fade.

Too much gaz'd at? where's the maid

Whose lip mature is ever new?

Where's the eye, however blue,

Doth not weary? where's the face

One would meet in every place?

Where's the voice, however soft,

One would hear so very oft?

At a touch sweet Pleasure mcltcth

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.

Let, then, winged Fancy find

Thee a mistress to thy mind:

Dnlcet-eycd as Ceres' daughter.

Ere the God of Torment taught her

How to frown and how to chide;

With a waist and with a side

White as Hebe's, when her zone

Slipt its- golden clasp, and down

Fell her kirtle to her feet.

While she held the goblet sweet,

And Jove grew languid.— Break the mesh

Of the Fancy's silken leash;

Quickly break her prison-string

And such joys as these she'll bring.—

Let the winge^Fnncy roam,

Pleasure nevern^Uiomo.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

TO THE HERB ROSEMARY.

SwEET-scE>TKn flower! wont to bloom
On January's front severe,
And o'er the wintry desert drear
To waft thy waste perfume!

Come, thou shalt form my nosegay n»»
And I will hind thee round my brnw;
And as I twine the mournful wreath.
I'll weave a melancholy song;
And sweet the strain shall be, and loop.
The melody of death!

Come, funeral flower! who lov'st to darii
With the*pale corse in lonely tomb.
And throw across the desert gloom

A sweet decaying smell!
Come, press my lips, and lie with nr
Beneath the lowly alder-tree:

And we will sleep a pleasant sleep.
And not a care shall dare intrude
To break the marble solitude.
So peaceful and so deep.

And hark! the wind-god, as he. flirt.
Moans hollow in the forest-tree*.
And, sailing on the gusty breeze.

Mysterious music dies.
Sweet flower! that requiem wild is mist.
It warns me to the lonely shrine.

The cold turf-altar of the dead: My grave shall be in yon lone spot. Where, as I lie by all forgot,

A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er m< ashes shed.

TIME.

The Night's my friend, my mistress, ns

my theme. And she shnll aid me noir to magnify The night of ages;—now when the pale n; Of star-light penetrates the studious giaam And, at my window seated, while m.uili*< Arc lock'd in sleep, I feel the frrsbeaiar

breeze Of stillness blow, while, in her saddest ttalf. Thought, like a wakeful vestnl at herahru*Assumes her wonted sway. Behold! the want Rests, and her tired inhabitants have puses' From trouble nnri turmoil. The widaw as* I Ins ceased to weep, and her twin-arpbaas b Lock'd in each arm, partakers of ber nat The man of sorrow has forgot his woes; The outcast that his head ia shelterless. His griefs unshared.—The mother leads ••

more Her daughter's dying slumbers, but i With heaviness, and sunk upon her 1)reams »f her bridals. Even the hectic lal' On Death's lean arm to rest, in visions wrapt Crowning with hope's bland wreath fc»

shuddering nam Poor victim! smiles. Silence and deep rrpar licign o'er the nations; and the warning T«sp Of Nature utters audibly within The general moral—tells na that repose.

Death-like as this, but of far longer span.
la coming on ua—that the weary crowds.
Who now enjoy a temporary calm.
Shall aoon taste lasting quiet, wrapt around
With grave-clothea; and their aching restless

heads Mouldering in holes and corners unobserved, Till the last trump shall break their sullen

sleep.

Who needs a teacher to admonish him That flesh ia grass?—that earthly thinga

are mist? What are our jnya but drenina? and what

our hopes But goodly shadows in the summer-cloud? There's not a wind that blows, but bears

with it Some rainbow promise,—not a moment flies But puts its sickle in the fields of life. And mows its thousands, with their joys

and carrs. 'Tis but as yesterday since on yon stars Which now I view, the Chaldee shepherd

gazed. In his mid-watch observant, and disposed The twinkling hosts as fancy gave them

shapes: Yet in the interim what mighty shocks Have buffeted mankind! whole nations

razed,— Cities made desolate,—the polish'd sunk To barbarism, and once barbaric states Swaying the wand nf scienre and of arts; Illustrious deeds and memorable names Blotted from record, and upon the tongue Of gray tradition voluble no more.

Where are the heroes of the ages past? Where the brave chieftaina, where the

mighty nnea Who flourish'd in the infancy of daya? All to the grave gone down. On their fall'n

fame Exultant, mocking at the pride nf man. Sits prim Forgetfulness.—The warrior's arm Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame; Hush'd is his atormy voice, and quench'd

the blaze Of his red eye-ball.—Yesterday his name Was mighty on the earth:—To-day, 'tis what? The meteor of the night of distant yeara, That flaah'd unnoticed, aare by wrinkled eld Muaing at midnight upon propheciea, Who at her lonely lattice saw the gleam Point to the mist-poised shroud, then quietly Closed her pale lips, and lock'd the secret up Safe in the eharncl's treasures. - O how weak Is mortal mnn! how trifling—how confined His scope of vision! —I'lifT'd with confidence, Hia phrase growa big with immortality, And he, poor insect of a summer's day. Dreams of eternal honours tn his name. Of endless glory, and perennial baya. He idly reasons of eternity, Aa of the train of ages,—when, alaa!

Ten thousand thousand of hia centuriea
Are, in comparison, a little point.
Too trivial for account.—O it ia strange.
'Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies:
Behold him proudly view some pompous pile,
Whosehighdomeswella to emulate the skies.
And smile and say: My name shall live with

this
Till time shall be no more;—while at his feet.
Yea, at his very feet, the crumbling dust
Of the fall'n fabric of the other day,
Preaches the solemn lesson—He should

know, That Time must conquer; that the loudest

blast That ever HUM renown's obstreperous trump, Fades in the lapse of ages, and expirea. Who lies inhumed in the terrific gloom Of the gigantic pyramid? or who Rear'd its high walls?—Oblivion laughs and

says: The prey ia mine.—They aleep, and never

more Their names shall strike upon the ear nf man; Their memory burst its fetters Where ia

Home? She lives but in the tale nf other times; Her proud pavilions arc the hermit's home; And her long colonnades, her public walks, Now faintly echo to the pilgrim's feet, Who comes tn muse in solitude, and trace. Thro' the rank moaa reveal'd, her honour'd

duat.

TO CONTEMPLATION.

Come. pen«ive sage, who lov'st to dwell
In snme retired Lapponian cell,
Where, far from noise and riot rude,
Resides scqnestcr'd Solitude.
Come, and o'er my longing soul
Throw thy dark and rusact atnle,
And open tn my duteoua eyes
The volume of thy myateriea.

I will meet thee on the hill,
Where, with printlessfooffeps still
The morning, in her ^hcin gray.
Springs upon her eastern way;
While the frolic zephyra stir,
Playing with the gossamer.
And, on ruder pinions borne.
Shake the dew-drops from the thorn.
There, as o'er the fields we pass.
Brushing with hasty feet the grass.
We will startle from her neat
The lively lark with apeekled breaat.
And hear the floating clouda among
Her gale-transported matin-song.
Or on the upland stile embower'd.
With fragrant hawthorn snowy flower'd.
Will sauntering ait, and listen atill
To the herdsman's oaten quill,

« ПредишнаНапред »