They said; this is no human foe !-Nor less Of wonder filled the Spaniards, when they saw How flight and terror went before his way, And slaughter in his path. Behold, cries one, With what command and knightly ease he sits The intrepid steed, and deals from side to side His dreadful blows! Not Roderick in his power
Bestrode with such command and majesty That noble war-horse. His loose robe this day Is death's black banner, shaking from its folds Dismay and ruin. Of no mortal mould Is he, who, in that garb of peace, affronts Whole hosts, and sees them scatter where he turns!
Beneath, the tide with idle fury raves To undermine it through a thousand caves; Rent from its roof, though thundering frag-
Plunge to the gulf, immoveable aloft, From age to age, in air, o'er sea, on land, Its turrets heighten and its piers expand. Midnight hath told his hour; the moon, yet
Hangs in the argent west her bow unstrung; Larger and fairer, as her lustre fades, Sparkle the stars amidst the deepening shades; Jewels more rich than night's regalia gem The distant Ice-Blink's spangled diadem ; Like a new morn from orient darkness, there
Auspicious Heaven beholds us, and some saint Phosphoric splendors kindle in mid air, Revisits earth!
§ 168. Ice-Blink and Aurora Borealis. MONTGOMERY.
"Tis sunset to the firmament serene The Atlantic wave reflects a gorgeous scene: Broad in the cloudless west, a belt of gold Girds the blue hemisphere; above unroll'd The keen, clear air grows palpable to sight, Imbodied in a flush of crimson light, Through which the evening star, with milder gleam,
Descends to meet her image in the stream. Far in the east, what spectacle unknown Allures the eye to gaze on it alone? -Amidst black rocks, that lift on either hand Their countless peaks, and mark receding land; Amidst a tortuous labyrinth of seas, That shine around the arctic Cyclades; Amidst a coast of dreariest continent, In many a shapeless promontory rent; -O'er rocks, seas, islands, promontories,
As though from heaven's self-opening portals Legions of spirits in an orb of flame, [came -Flame, that from every point an arrow sends, Far as the concave firmament extends: Spun with the tissue of a million lines, Glistening like gossamer, the welkin shines The constellations in their pride look pale Through the quick trembling brilliance of that veil :
Then, suddenly converged, the meteors rush O'er the wide south; one deep vermilion blush O'erspreads Orion glaring on the flood, And rabid Sirius foams through fire and blood; Again the circuit of the pole they range, Motion and figure every moment change, Through all the colors of the rainbow run, Or blaze like wrecks of a dissolving sun; Wide ether burns with glory, conflict, flight, And the glad ocean dances in the light.
§ 169. Azim visits the Haram of Mokanna. MOORE.
Now, through the Haram chambers, moving
While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue The finger's ends with a bright roseate hue, So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream; To give that long, dark languish to the eye, And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye, Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull
From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful!
All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls Are shining every where:-some younger girls Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds, To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads. Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful, 'tis
How each prefers a garland from that tree
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent| About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;
And the dear fields and friendships far away. The maid of India, blest again to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, Her little play-mates scattered many a bud Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream; While the young Arab, haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell;- The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopy- Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents,
The well, the camels, and her father's tents; Sighs for the home she left with little pain, And wishes even its sorrows back again!
Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount, is heard around, Young Azim roams bewilder'd,-nor can guess What means this maze of light and loneliness. Here the way leads, o'er tesselated floors Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns, Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns; And spicy rods, such as illume at night The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light. Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road For some pure spirit to its blest abode !- And here, at once, the glittering saloon
Peeping like stars through the blue evening Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair That sat so still and melancholy there — And now the curtains fly apart, and in From the cool air, mid showers of jessamine, Which those without fling after them in play, Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they
Who live in th' air on odours, and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
Chase one another, in a varying dance Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit :— While she, who sang so gently to the lute Her dream of home, steals timidly away, Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,- But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, Creatures of light we never see again!
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers: And the mosaic floor beneath shines through The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.
Here, too, he traces the kind visitings Of woman's love in those fair, living things Of land and wave, whose fate-in bondage thrown
For their weak loveliness-is like her own! On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes shine, Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;- While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in With odoriferous woods of Comorin, Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;- Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between The crimson blossoms of the coral tree In the warm isles of India's sunny sea: Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush, At evening, from the tall Pagoda's top ;- Those golden birds that, in the spice time drop
Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore; While, from their long, dark tresses, in a fall Of curls descending, bells, as musical
As those that, on the golden-shafted trees Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, Rang round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet. At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd [breath'd Within each other's arms; while soft there Through the cool casement, mingled with the
His breath is the soul of flowers like these, And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble Blue water-lilies, when the breeze
Is making the stream around them tremble! Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling Power! Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, [this. And there never was moonlight so sweet as
By the fair and brave, Who, blushing, unite, Like the sun and wave, When they meet at night! By the tear that shows When passion is nigh, As the rain-drop flows From the heat of the sky!
By the first love-beat
Of the youthful heart, By the bliss to meet, And the pain to part! By all that thou hast
To mortals given, Which-oh! could it last,
This earth were heaven!
We call thee hither, entrancing Power!
Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!
Of citron, honeysuckle, and jessamine, With orange, whose warm leaves so finely suit, And look as if they 'd shade a golden fruit! And midst the flowers, turfed round beneath a shade
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, [this. And 'twixt their shafts you saw the water bright, Of circling pines, a babbling fountain played,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as
Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, midst all that the young heart
Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up, and turn'd away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay, To muse upon the pictures that hung round,Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views, like vistas into fairy ground.
Which through the darksome tops glimmered with showering light.
So now you walked beside an odorous bed Of gorgeous hues, white, azure, golden, red; And now turned off into a leafy walk, Close and continuous, fit for lovers' talk; And now pursued the stream, and, as you trod Onward and onward o'er the velvet sod, Felt on your face an air, watery and sweet, And a new sense in your soft-lighting feet; And then, perhaps, you entered upon shades,
But here again new spells came o'er his Pillowed with dells and uplands 'twixt the
glades, Through which the distant palace, now and Looked lordly forth with many-windowed ken; A land of trees, which, reaching round about, In shady blessing stretched their old arms out, With spots of sunny opening, and with nooks, To lie and read in, sloping into brooks, Where at her drink you started the slim deer, Retreating lightly with a lovely fear. And, all about, the birds kept leafy house, And sung and sparkled in and out the boughs; And all about, a lovely sky of blue Clearly was felt, or down the leaves laughed through;
And here and there, in every part, were seats, Some in the open walks, some in retreats; With bowering leaves o'erhead, to which the
Looked up half sweetly and half awfully,Places of nestling green, for poets made, Where, when the sunshine struck a yellow shade
While their forgotten urns, lying about In the green herbage, let the water out. Never, be sure, before or since, was seen A summer-house so fine in such a nest of green. All the green garden, flower-bed, shade, and plot,
Francesca loved, but most of all this spot. Whenever she walked forth, wherever went About the grounds, to this at last she bent: Here she had brought a lute and a few books; Here would she lie for hours with grateful looks,
Thanking at heart the sunshine and the leaves, The summer rain-drops counting from the
And all that promising, calm smile we see [bowers; In nature's face, when we look patiently. Then would she think of heaven; and you might hear,
Heaped towards the centre, and with citron And, in the midst of all, clustered about With bay and myrtle, and just gleaming out, Lurked a pavilion,-a delicious sight, Small, marble, well-proportioned, mellowy white, more, With yellow vine-leaves sprinkled, but no And a young orange either side the door. The door was to the wood, forward, and square, The rest was domed at top, and circular; And through the dome the only light came in, Tinged, as it entered, with the vine leaves thin.
It was a beauteous piece of ancient skill, Spared from the rage of war, and perfect
[clear, Sometimes, when every thing was hushed and Her gentle voice from out those shades emerging,
Singing the evening anthem to the Virgin. The gardeners and the rest, who served the place,
And blest whenever they beheld her face, Knelt when they heard it, bowing and uncovered,
And felt as if in air some sainted beauty hovered.
171. Paulo and Francesca. L. HUNT.
ONE day, 'twas on a summer afternoon, When airs and gurgling brooks are best in tune, And grasshoppers are loud, and day-work done, And shades have heavy outlines in the sun,The princess came to her accustomed bower To get her, if she could, a soothing hour, Trying, as she was used, to leave her cares Without, and slumberously enjoy the airs, And the low-talking leaves, and that cool light The vines let in, and all that hushing sight Of closing wood seen through the opening door, And distant plash of waters tumbling o'er, And smell of citron blooms, and fifty luxuries
As though she had been rapt since morning there.
And, snatching from the fields her thoughtful | There's apt to be, at conscious times like these, look, [book, An affectation of a bright-eyed ease, She reached o'er-head, and took her down a An air of something quite serene and sure, And fell to reading with as fixed an air As if to seem so, was to be secure : With this the lovers met, with this they spoke, With this they sat down to the self-same book; And Paulo, by degrees, gently embraced, With one permitted arm, her lovely waist; And both their cheeks, like peaches on a tree, And o'er the book they hung, and nothing said, Leaned with a touch together thrillingly; And every lingering page grew longer as they
"Twas Launcelot of the Lake, a bright ro
[first: Smiled upon Launcelot when he kissed her That touch, at last, through every fibre slid, And Paulo turned, scarce knowing what he did,
Only he felt he could no more dissemble, And kissed her, mouth to mouth, all in a trem- ble. [kiss:
That, like a trumpet, made young pulses dance, Yet had a softer note that shook still more; She had begun it but the day before, And read, with a full heart, half sweet, half sad, How old King Ban was spoiled of all he had But one fair castle: how, one summer's day, As thus they sat, and felt with leaps of heart With his fair queen and child, he went awayTheir color change, they came upon the part To ask the great King Arthur for assistance; Where fond Geneura, with her flame long How, reaching by himself a hill at distance, nurs'd, He turned to give his castle a last look, And saw its far white face: and how a smoke, As he was looking, burst in volumes forth, And good King Ban saw all that he was worth, And his fair castle, burning to the ground, So that his wearied pulse felt over-wound; And he lay down, and said a prayer apart For those he loved, and broke his poor old heart. [child, Then read she of the queen with her young How she came up, and nearly had gone wild; And how, in journeying on, in her despair, She reached a lake, and met a lady there, Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet Into her arms, when lo, with closing feet She sprang up all at once, like bird from brake, And vanished with him underneath the lake. The mother's feelings we as well may pass :- The fairy of the place that lady was, And Launcelot (so the boy was called) became Her inmate, till, in search of knightly fame, He went to Arthur's court, and played his part So rarely, and displayed so frank a heart, That, what with all his charms of look and limb,
The Queen Geneura fell in love with him :- And here, with growing interest in her reading, The princess, doubly fixed, was now proceed- ing.
Ready she sat with one hand to turn o'er The leaf, to which her thoughts ran on before, The other propping her white brow, and throw- ing
Its ringlets out, under the skylight glowing. So sat she fixed; and so observed was she Of one, who at the door stood tenderly,- Paulo,-who, from a window seeing her Go straight across the lawn, and guessing where,
[day Had thought she was in tears, and found that His usual efforts vain to keep away.
May I come in ?" said he-it made her start,
That smiling voice ;-she colored, pressed her
Sad were those hearts, and sweet was that long Sacred be love from sight, whate'er it is. The world was all forgot, the struggle o'er, Desperate the joy. That day they read no
§ 172. From Alastor: or the Spirit of Solitude. SHELLEY.
THERE was a poet, whose untimely tomb No human hands with pious reverence reared; But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness: Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid With weeping flowers, or white cypress wreath, A lovely youth,— ,—no mourning maiden decked Gentle, and brave, and generous,—no lorn The lone couch of his everlasting sleep:-
He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude. Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh; Strangers have wept to hear his passionate
And virgins, as unknown he pass'd, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those orbs has ceased to burn, And silence, too enamoured of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.
By solemn vision, and bright silver dream, His infancy was nurtured. Every sight And sound, from the vast earth and ambient air, Sent to his heart its choicest impulses The fountains of divine philosophy Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great, Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past In truth or fable consecrates, he felt And knew. When early youth had pass'd, he His cold fireside and alienated home
A moment, as for breath, and then, with free,To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands, And usual tone, said, "O yes,-certainly."
Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness
« PreviousContinue » |