I.Oh, to see in the night in a May moon's lightA nymph from siren caves,With a crown of pearl, sea-gems in each curlDance down white, star-stained waves!Oh, to list in the gloam by the pearly foamOf a sad, far-sounding shoreThe strain of the shell of an ocean belleFrom caves where the waters roar!With a hollow shell drift up in the moonTo sigh in my ears this ocean tune:—II."Wilt follow, wilt follow to caverns hollow,That echo the tumbling spry?Wilt follow thy queen to islands green,Vague islands of witchery?O follow, follow to grottoes hollow,And isles in a purple sea,Where rich roses twine and the lush woodbineWeaves a musky canopy!"III.Oh, to float in the gloam on the bubbly foamWith her lily face above!Oh, to lie in a barque and a wild song hark,And a billow-nymph to love!I'd lie at her feet and my heart should beatTo the music of her sighs;But the stars in her face my passion should trace,Unseen all the stars of the skies.IV.Away, away with the witch of sprayTo her Aidenn islands far;And the blue above, drunk-mad with love,Dance down each singing star.Leave, leave to the heaven its morning starIn a cloud of bolted snow,To laugh at the world and herald farOur wedlock and joy below.
I.
Oh, to see in the night in a May moon's lightA nymph from siren caves,With a crown of pearl, sea-gems in each curlDance down white, star-stained waves!Oh, to list in the gloam by the pearly foamOf a sad, far-sounding shoreThe strain of the shell of an ocean belleFrom caves where the waters roar!With a hollow shell drift up in the moonTo sigh in my ears this ocean tune:—
II.
"Wilt follow, wilt follow to caverns hollow,That echo the tumbling spry?Wilt follow thy queen to islands green,Vague islands of witchery?O follow, follow to grottoes hollow,And isles in a purple sea,Where rich roses twine and the lush woodbineWeaves a musky canopy!"
III.
Oh, to float in the gloam on the bubbly foamWith her lily face above!Oh, to lie in a barque and a wild song hark,And a billow-nymph to love!I'd lie at her feet and my heart should beatTo the music of her sighs;But the stars in her face my passion should trace,Unseen all the stars of the skies.
IV.
Away, away with the witch of sprayTo her Aidenn islands far;And the blue above, drunk-mad with love,Dance down each singing star.Leave, leave to the heaven its morning starIn a cloud of bolted snow,To laugh at the world and herald farOur wedlock and joy below.
The night is hung above us, love,With heavy stars that love us, love,With clouds that curl in purple and pearl,And winds that whisper of us, love:On burly hills and valleys, that lie dimmer,The amber foot-falls of the moon-sylphs glimmer.The moon is still a crescent, love;And here with thee 'tis pleasant, love,To sit and dream in its thin gleam,And list thy sighs liquescent, love:To see thy eyes and fondle thy dark tresses,Set on warm lips imperishable kisses.The sudden-glaring fire-fliesSwim o'er the hollow gyre-wise,And spurt and shine like jostled wineAt lips on which desire lies:Or like the out-flashed hair of elf or fairyIn rapid morrice whirling feat and airy.Up,—all the blue West sundering,—A creamy cloud comes blunderingO'er star and steep, and opening deepGrows gold with silent thundering:Gold flooding crystal crags immeasurable,Lost Avalons of old Romance and Fable.The bee dreams in the cherry bloomThat sways above the berry bloom;The katydid grates where she's hidIn leafy deeps of dreary gloom:The forming dew is globing on the grasses,Like rich spilled gems of some dark queen that passes.The mere brief gusts are wrinkling;A thousand ripples twinklingHave caught the stars on polished sparsTheir rustling ridges sprinkling:And all the shadow lurking in its bosomIs touched and bursten into golden blossom.Stoop! and my being flatter, love;With sudden starlight scatter, love,From the starry grace of thy rare face,Whose might can make or shatter, love!Come, raiment love in love's own radiant garments.And kindle all my soul to rapturous torments!Bow all thy beauty to me, love,Lips, eyes, and hair to woo me, love,As bows and blows some satin roseSnow-soft and tame, that knew thee, love.Unto the common grass, that worshiping cowers,Dowering its love with all her musk of flowers.
The night is hung above us, love,With heavy stars that love us, love,With clouds that curl in purple and pearl,And winds that whisper of us, love:On burly hills and valleys, that lie dimmer,The amber foot-falls of the moon-sylphs glimmer.
The moon is still a crescent, love;And here with thee 'tis pleasant, love,To sit and dream in its thin gleam,And list thy sighs liquescent, love:To see thy eyes and fondle thy dark tresses,Set on warm lips imperishable kisses.
The sudden-glaring fire-fliesSwim o'er the hollow gyre-wise,And spurt and shine like jostled wineAt lips on which desire lies:Or like the out-flashed hair of elf or fairyIn rapid morrice whirling feat and airy.
Up,—all the blue West sundering,—A creamy cloud comes blunderingO'er star and steep, and opening deepGrows gold with silent thundering:Gold flooding crystal crags immeasurable,Lost Avalons of old Romance and Fable.
The bee dreams in the cherry bloomThat sways above the berry bloom;The katydid grates where she's hidIn leafy deeps of dreary gloom:The forming dew is globing on the grasses,Like rich spilled gems of some dark queen that passes.
The mere brief gusts are wrinkling;A thousand ripples twinklingHave caught the stars on polished sparsTheir rustling ridges sprinkling:And all the shadow lurking in its bosomIs touched and bursten into golden blossom.
Stoop! and my being flatter, love;With sudden starlight scatter, love,From the starry grace of thy rare face,Whose might can make or shatter, love!Come, raiment love in love's own radiant garments.And kindle all my soul to rapturous torments!
Bow all thy beauty to me, love,Lips, eyes, and hair to woo me, love,As bows and blows some satin roseSnow-soft and tame, that knew thee, love.Unto the common grass, that worshiping cowers,Dowering its love with all her musk of flowers.
My dream was such:It seemed the afternoonOf some deep tropic day, and yet a moonStood round and full with largeness of white gleamsHigh in a Heaven that knew not a sun's beams;A vast, still Heaven of unremembered dreams.Long, lawny lengths of perishable cloudHung in a West o'er rolling forests bowed;Clouds raining colors, gold and violetThat, opening, seemed from hidden worlds to letDown hints of mystic beauty and old charmsWrought of frail creatures fair with silvery forms.And all about me fruited orchards grewOf quince and peach and dusty plums of blue;Wan apricots and apples red with fire,Kissed into ripeness by some sun's desire,And big with juice; and on far, fading hills,Down which it seemed a hundred torrent rillsFlashed leaping silver, vines and vines and vinesOf purple vintage swollen with cool wines;Pale pleasant wines and fragrant as the June,Their delicate life robbed from the foam-fair moon.And from the clouds o'er this sweet world there dripp'dAn odorous music strange and feverish lipped,That swung and swooned and panted in mad sighs,Invoking at each wave sad rapturous eyesOf limpid, willowy beings fair as night,Decked spangly with crisp flower-like stars of white;Dim honeyed booming of the boisterous beeIn purple myriads of faint fleurs-de-lis;Of surf far-foaming on forgotten strandsOf immemorial seas in fairy landsOf melting passion, who, with crimson lipsOf many shells laid to each swell that dips,Sigh secret hope of unrequited loveIn murmurous language to wan winds above.
My dream was such:It seemed the afternoonOf some deep tropic day, and yet a moonStood round and full with largeness of white gleamsHigh in a Heaven that knew not a sun's beams;A vast, still Heaven of unremembered dreams.Long, lawny lengths of perishable cloudHung in a West o'er rolling forests bowed;Clouds raining colors, gold and violetThat, opening, seemed from hidden worlds to letDown hints of mystic beauty and old charmsWrought of frail creatures fair with silvery forms.And all about me fruited orchards grewOf quince and peach and dusty plums of blue;Wan apricots and apples red with fire,Kissed into ripeness by some sun's desire,And big with juice; and on far, fading hills,Down which it seemed a hundred torrent rillsFlashed leaping silver, vines and vines and vinesOf purple vintage swollen with cool wines;Pale pleasant wines and fragrant as the June,Their delicate life robbed from the foam-fair moon.And from the clouds o'er this sweet world there dripp'dAn odorous music strange and feverish lipped,That swung and swooned and panted in mad sighs,Invoking at each wave sad rapturous eyesOf limpid, willowy beings fair as night,Decked spangly with crisp flower-like stars of white;Dim honeyed booming of the boisterous beeIn purple myriads of faint fleurs-de-lis;Of surf far-foaming on forgotten strandsOf immemorial seas in fairy landsOf melting passion, who, with crimson lipsOf many shells laid to each swell that dips,Sigh secret hope of unrequited loveIn murmurous language to wan winds above.
I.I see them still, when poring o'erOld volumes of romantic lore,Ride forth to hawk in days of yore,By woods and promontories;Knights in gold lace, plumes and gems,Maidens crowned with anadems,—Whose falcons on round wrists of milkSit in jesses green of silk,—From bannered Miraflores.II.The laughing earth is young with dew;The deeps above are violet blue;And in the East a cloud or twoEmpearled with airy glories:And with laughter, jest and singing,Silver bells of falcons ringing,Hawkers, rosy with the dawn,Gayly ride o'er hill and lawnFrom courtly Miraflores.III.The torrents silver down the crags;Down dim-green vistas browse the stags;And from wet beds of reeds and flagsThe frightened lapwing hurries;And the brawny wild-boar peerethAt the cavalcade that neareth;Oft his shaggy-throated gruntBrings the king and court to huntAt royal Miraflores.IV.The May itself in soft sea-greenIs Oriana, Spring's high queen,And Amadis beside her seenSome prince of Fairy stones:Where her castle's ivied towersDrowse above her budded bowers,Flaps the heron thro' the sky,And the wild swan gives a cryBy woody Miraflores.
I.
I see them still, when poring o'erOld volumes of romantic lore,Ride forth to hawk in days of yore,By woods and promontories;Knights in gold lace, plumes and gems,Maidens crowned with anadems,—Whose falcons on round wrists of milkSit in jesses green of silk,—From bannered Miraflores.
II.
The laughing earth is young with dew;The deeps above are violet blue;And in the East a cloud or twoEmpearled with airy glories:And with laughter, jest and singing,Silver bells of falcons ringing,Hawkers, rosy with the dawn,Gayly ride o'er hill and lawnFrom courtly Miraflores.
III.
The torrents silver down the crags;Down dim-green vistas browse the stags;And from wet beds of reeds and flagsThe frightened lapwing hurries;And the brawny wild-boar peerethAt the cavalcade that neareth;Oft his shaggy-throated gruntBrings the king and court to huntAt royal Miraflores.
IV.
The May itself in soft sea-greenIs Oriana, Spring's high queen,And Amadis beside her seenSome prince of Fairy stones:Where her castle's ivied towersDrowse above her budded bowers,Flaps the heron thro' the sky,And the wild swan gives a cryBy woody Miraflores.
I.With bloodshot eyes the morning roseUpon a world of gloom and tears;A kindred glance queen Isoud shows—Come night, come morn, cease not her fears.The fog-clouds whiten all the vale,The sunlight draws them to its love;The diamond dews wash ev'ry dale,Where bays the hunt within the grove.Her lute—the one her touch he taughtTo wake beneath the stars a songOf swan-caught music—is as naughtAnd on yon damask lounge is flung.Down o'er her cheeks her hair she drawsIn golden rays 'twixt lily tips,And gazes sad on gloomy shaws'Neath which had often touched their lips.II.With irised eyes, from morn to noon.And noon to middle night she stoopsFrom her high lattice 'neath the moon,Hoping to see him 'mid the groupsOf mail-swathed braves come jingling by.And once there came a dame in weftAll pearl besprent, as when the skyA springtide day hath wept and leftA stormy eve one flash of gems."'Mid neatherds he's a naked waifUnwitted," said she, lipping scorn:And shook deep curls with a weak laughTib clinked the gold thick in them worn.III."How long to wait!" and far she bentFrom her tall casement toward the lawn;A prospect of a wide extentGlassed in her eyes and hateful shown.Along the white lake windy cragsBlue with coarse brakes and ragged pines;A bandit keep with trembling flags;And barren scars, and waste marsh lines,And now a palfried dame and knight.Deep deer-behaunted forests old,Whose sinewy boughs dark blocked the caveOf Heav'n o'er Earth; a blasted hold'Mid livid fields; a torrent's wave.And o'er the bridge whose marble archedThe torrent's foam, dim in the dewOf morning, one all glimmering marchedIn glittering steel from helm to shoe,With lance whose fang smote back the dawn.IV.Selled on a barb whose trappings shoneRed brass,—a morning star of joustsUpon the dawning beaming loneBurst from the hills' empurpled crusts.A lying star, whose double tongueWas slave to gold: "I saw him die!—'Tis ruth, for he was brave and young,—I saw him in the close clay lie."Then passed he rattling from the court....So grief in furrows ploughed her front'sSmooth surface wan, and toward the eve,—The bloodshot eve upon the mounts,Who o'er day's flow'ry bier did grieveAnd bow her melancholy star,—O'er teenful eyes she bent the lightOf her crown-crescent's gem, and farShe lingered till the full-mooned nightShowered ripple-stars the gray mere o'er.V."And I'm like her who trims a flameOf sickly color, bowing lowTo balk the wind; in wanton gameOne stoops in secret toward her browWith wind-bulged cheeks, a quick breath sends—And then the world is blind with gloom,And filled with phantoms and with fiends,That strain huge eyes and jibe her doom."Thus thought Isoud in her despair,Of Launcelot then thoughts grew on,And Arthur's lovely queen awayIn castled courts of Caerleon,And all their joy and dalliance gay.Until she could have thawed the sparsOf her clear-fountained eyes to tears,And gush wild grief long-seared by warsOf passionate anguish and great fears:"Oh Tristram gone! oh death in life!"Soft down below in the thick darkA fountain throbbed monotonous foam,Unseen within the starlit park,Deep in the tower's shadowed dome."And thus my heart drums frigid lifeIn hateful gloom of fear and woe!One flood of sorrow, cataract-rife,My full-flush heart streams come and goSince Tristram's gone and I'm alone!"VI.Then sunk the moon, and far away,Beside the bickering lake, the towersOf bandit braves shone tall and gray,Like specters in her lonely hours.And 'twixt the nodding grove and lakeA glimmering fawn stalked thro' the night;And with full brow the musks did take,Then bowed to drink—she veiled her sightAnd moaning said, "Death is but life!The fawn 'mid lilies from the mereSucks genial draughts to dull its thirsts;O fondest spirit, art thou near?Draw to thy soul this soul that bursts!The vivid lilies to the starsClasp their white eyes and sink to sleep:O anguish, to thy burning warsLock my sad heart and drag it deep!"—Albeit she slept, she dreamed in grief.
I.
With bloodshot eyes the morning roseUpon a world of gloom and tears;A kindred glance queen Isoud shows—Come night, come morn, cease not her fears.The fog-clouds whiten all the vale,The sunlight draws them to its love;The diamond dews wash ev'ry dale,Where bays the hunt within the grove.Her lute—the one her touch he taughtTo wake beneath the stars a songOf swan-caught music—is as naughtAnd on yon damask lounge is flung.Down o'er her cheeks her hair she drawsIn golden rays 'twixt lily tips,And gazes sad on gloomy shaws'Neath which had often touched their lips.
II.
With irised eyes, from morn to noon.And noon to middle night she stoopsFrom her high lattice 'neath the moon,Hoping to see him 'mid the groupsOf mail-swathed braves come jingling by.And once there came a dame in weftAll pearl besprent, as when the skyA springtide day hath wept and leftA stormy eve one flash of gems."'Mid neatherds he's a naked waifUnwitted," said she, lipping scorn:And shook deep curls with a weak laughTib clinked the gold thick in them worn.
III.
"How long to wait!" and far she bentFrom her tall casement toward the lawn;A prospect of a wide extentGlassed in her eyes and hateful shown.Along the white lake windy cragsBlue with coarse brakes and ragged pines;A bandit keep with trembling flags;And barren scars, and waste marsh lines,And now a palfried dame and knight.Deep deer-behaunted forests old,Whose sinewy boughs dark blocked the caveOf Heav'n o'er Earth; a blasted hold'Mid livid fields; a torrent's wave.And o'er the bridge whose marble archedThe torrent's foam, dim in the dewOf morning, one all glimmering marchedIn glittering steel from helm to shoe,With lance whose fang smote back the dawn.
IV.
Selled on a barb whose trappings shoneRed brass,—a morning star of joustsUpon the dawning beaming loneBurst from the hills' empurpled crusts.A lying star, whose double tongueWas slave to gold: "I saw him die!—'Tis ruth, for he was brave and young,—I saw him in the close clay lie."Then passed he rattling from the court....So grief in furrows ploughed her front'sSmooth surface wan, and toward the eve,—The bloodshot eve upon the mounts,Who o'er day's flow'ry bier did grieveAnd bow her melancholy star,—O'er teenful eyes she bent the lightOf her crown-crescent's gem, and farShe lingered till the full-mooned nightShowered ripple-stars the gray mere o'er.
V.
"And I'm like her who trims a flameOf sickly color, bowing lowTo balk the wind; in wanton gameOne stoops in secret toward her browWith wind-bulged cheeks, a quick breath sends—And then the world is blind with gloom,And filled with phantoms and with fiends,That strain huge eyes and jibe her doom."Thus thought Isoud in her despair,Of Launcelot then thoughts grew on,And Arthur's lovely queen awayIn castled courts of Caerleon,And all their joy and dalliance gay.Until she could have thawed the sparsOf her clear-fountained eyes to tears,And gush wild grief long-seared by warsOf passionate anguish and great fears:"Oh Tristram gone! oh death in life!"Soft down below in the thick darkA fountain throbbed monotonous foam,Unseen within the starlit park,Deep in the tower's shadowed dome."And thus my heart drums frigid lifeIn hateful gloom of fear and woe!One flood of sorrow, cataract-rife,My full-flush heart streams come and goSince Tristram's gone and I'm alone!"
VI.
Then sunk the moon, and far away,Beside the bickering lake, the towersOf bandit braves shone tall and gray,Like specters in her lonely hours.And 'twixt the nodding grove and lakeA glimmering fawn stalked thro' the night;And with full brow the musks did take,Then bowed to drink—she veiled her sightAnd moaning said, "Death is but life!The fawn 'mid lilies from the mereSucks genial draughts to dull its thirsts;O fondest spirit, art thou near?Draw to thy soul this soul that bursts!The vivid lilies to the starsClasp their white eyes and sink to sleep:O anguish, to thy burning warsLock my sad heart and drag it deep!"—Albeit she slept, she dreamed in grief.
I.The quickening East climbs to yon star,That, cradled, rocks herself in morn;The liquid silver broad'ning farDawn drencheth cliff, holt, down and tarn.The trembling splendors gild the sky,Breath'd from her tawny champion's lips;The clear green dews above me lie,Their lustre the dark eyelash tipsOf Oriana sitting by.The crested cock 'mid his stout damesCrows from the purple-clover hill;His glossy coat the morn enflames,And all his leaping heart doth thrill.His curving tail sickles the plumeThat rosy nods against his eye.Laughs from deep beds of twinkling bloomThe lilied East when wand'reth nighMy Oriana in the gloom.The rooks swarm clatt'ring 'round the tow'rs;The falcon jingles in the air;The bursting dawn around him show'rsA clinging glory of wan glare.From the green knoll the shouting huntWith swollen cheeks clangs his alarms;Mayhap I hear the bristler's grunt:But where my Oriana charmsThe wood, hushed is its ev'ry haunt.The willowed lake is cool with cloudBreaking and dimming into shreds,Which gauze the azure, thinly crowdThe mist-pink West with hazy threads.A wild swan ruffles o'er the mereSoft as the drifting of a soul;A double swan she doth appearIn mirage fixed 'twixt pole and poleWhen Oriana singeth near.II.Spring high into the shuddering stars,O florid sunset, burning gold!Flash on our eyeballs lurid barsTo beam them with air-fires cold!The blowing dingles soak with light,The purple coppice hang with blaze;But where we stand a meeker whiteBloom on us thro' the hill's soft haze,For Oriana stars the night!Float from the East, O silver world,Unto the ocean of the West;And the foam-sparkles upward hurled,That fringe the twilight's surging crest,Snatch up and gather 'round thy browIn lustrous twine of rosy heat,And rain on us its starry glow,—O fragment of the evetide's sheet,—And Oriana's eyes o'erflow.O courting cricket, with thy pipeNow shrill true love thro' the warm grainO feathered buds, that nodding stripeThe blue glen's night, sigh love again!Thou glimmering bird, that aye doth wailFrom some wind-wavered branch of snow,Sweep down the moonlit, hay-sweet daleThy bubbled anguish, swooning low,For Oriana walks the vale!The moon comes sowing all the eveWith myriad star-grains of her light;The torrent on the crag doth grieve;The glittering lake is smooth with night.O mellow lights that o'er us slide,O wrinkled woods that ridge the steep,O bearded stems that billowing glide,With laughing night-dews happy weep,For Oriana'll be my bride!
I.
The quickening East climbs to yon star,That, cradled, rocks herself in morn;The liquid silver broad'ning farDawn drencheth cliff, holt, down and tarn.The trembling splendors gild the sky,Breath'd from her tawny champion's lips;The clear green dews above me lie,Their lustre the dark eyelash tipsOf Oriana sitting by.
The crested cock 'mid his stout damesCrows from the purple-clover hill;His glossy coat the morn enflames,And all his leaping heart doth thrill.His curving tail sickles the plumeThat rosy nods against his eye.Laughs from deep beds of twinkling bloomThe lilied East when wand'reth nighMy Oriana in the gloom.
The rooks swarm clatt'ring 'round the tow'rs;The falcon jingles in the air;The bursting dawn around him show'rsA clinging glory of wan glare.From the green knoll the shouting huntWith swollen cheeks clangs his alarms;Mayhap I hear the bristler's grunt:But where my Oriana charmsThe wood, hushed is its ev'ry haunt.
The willowed lake is cool with cloudBreaking and dimming into shreds,Which gauze the azure, thinly crowdThe mist-pink West with hazy threads.A wild swan ruffles o'er the mereSoft as the drifting of a soul;A double swan she doth appearIn mirage fixed 'twixt pole and poleWhen Oriana singeth near.
II.
Spring high into the shuddering stars,O florid sunset, burning gold!Flash on our eyeballs lurid barsTo beam them with air-fires cold!The blowing dingles soak with light,The purple coppice hang with blaze;But where we stand a meeker whiteBloom on us thro' the hill's soft haze,For Oriana stars the night!
Float from the East, O silver world,Unto the ocean of the West;And the foam-sparkles upward hurled,That fringe the twilight's surging crest,Snatch up and gather 'round thy browIn lustrous twine of rosy heat,And rain on us its starry glow,—O fragment of the evetide's sheet,—And Oriana's eyes o'erflow.
O courting cricket, with thy pipeNow shrill true love thro' the warm grainO feathered buds, that nodding stripeThe blue glen's night, sigh love again!Thou glimmering bird, that aye doth wailFrom some wind-wavered branch of snow,Sweep down the moonlit, hay-sweet daleThy bubbled anguish, swooning low,For Oriana walks the vale!
The moon comes sowing all the eveWith myriad star-grains of her light;The torrent on the crag doth grieve;The glittering lake is smooth with night.O mellow lights that o'er us slide,O wrinkled woods that ridge the steep,O bearded stems that billowing glide,With laughing night-dews happy weep,For Oriana'll be my bride!
Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old,A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream,With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold,And features like a dream.Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet,A silver poniard chased with imageriesHung at a buckled belt, while at thy feetThe gasping heron dies.Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keepA maiden in chaste samite, and her mienLike that of loved ones visiting our sleep,Or of a fairy queen.She, where the cushioned ivy dangling hoarDisturbs the quiet of her sable hair,Pores o'er a volume of romantic lore,Or hums an olden air.Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just,Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn,At heathen castles, demons' dens of lust,Winding her bugle horn.Just as stern Artegal; in chastityA second Britomart; in hardihoodLike him who 'mid King Charles' chivalryA pillared sunbeam stood.Or one in Avalon's deep-dingled bowers,On which old yellow stars and waneless moonsLook softly, while white downy-lippèd flowersLisp faint and fragrant tunes.Where haze-like creatures with smooth houri formsStoop thro' the curling clouds and float and smile,While calm as hope in all her dreamy charmsSleeps the enchanted isle.And where cool, heavy bow'rs unstirred entwine,Upon a headland breasting purple seas,A crystal castle like a thought divineRises in mysteries.And there a sorceress full beautifulLooks down the surgeless reaches of the deep,And, bubbling from her lily throat, songs lullThe languid air to sleep.About her brow a diadem of spars,At her fair casement seated fleecy whiteHeark'ning wild sirens choiring to the starsThro' all the raven night.And when she bends above the glow-lit wavesShe sees the sea-king's templed city oldWrought from huge shells and labyrinthine cavesRibbed red with rusty gold.But nor the sirens' nor the ocean king'sLove will she heed, but still sits yearning thereTo have the secret bird that vaguely singsHer aching heart to share.
Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old,A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream,With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold,And features like a dream.
Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet,A silver poniard chased with imageriesHung at a buckled belt, while at thy feetThe gasping heron dies.
Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keepA maiden in chaste samite, and her mienLike that of loved ones visiting our sleep,Or of a fairy queen.
She, where the cushioned ivy dangling hoarDisturbs the quiet of her sable hair,Pores o'er a volume of romantic lore,Or hums an olden air.
Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just,Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn,At heathen castles, demons' dens of lust,Winding her bugle horn.
Just as stern Artegal; in chastityA second Britomart; in hardihoodLike him who 'mid King Charles' chivalryA pillared sunbeam stood.
Or one in Avalon's deep-dingled bowers,On which old yellow stars and waneless moonsLook softly, while white downy-lippèd flowersLisp faint and fragrant tunes.
Where haze-like creatures with smooth houri formsStoop thro' the curling clouds and float and smile,While calm as hope in all her dreamy charmsSleeps the enchanted isle.
And where cool, heavy bow'rs unstirred entwine,Upon a headland breasting purple seas,A crystal castle like a thought divineRises in mysteries.
And there a sorceress full beautifulLooks down the surgeless reaches of the deep,And, bubbling from her lily throat, songs lullThe languid air to sleep.
About her brow a diadem of spars,At her fair casement seated fleecy whiteHeark'ning wild sirens choiring to the starsThro' all the raven night.
And when she bends above the glow-lit wavesShe sees the sea-king's templed city oldWrought from huge shells and labyrinthine cavesRibbed red with rusty gold.
But nor the sirens' nor the ocean king'sLove will she heed, but still sits yearning thereTo have the secret bird that vaguely singsHer aching heart to share.
I.Came a spicy smell of showersOn the purple wings of night,And a pearl-encrusted crescentOn the lake looked still and white,While a sound of distant singingFrom the vales rose sad and light.II.Dripped the musk of sodden rosesFrom their million heavy sprays,And the nightingales were sobbingOf the roses amorous praiseWhere the raven down of evenCaught the moonlight's bleaching rays.III.And the turrets of the palace,From its belt of ancient trees,On the mountain rose romanticWhite as foam from troubled seas;And the murmur of an oceanSmote the chords of ev'ry breeze.IV.Where the moon shone on the terraceAnd its fountain's lisping foam;Where the bronzen urns of flowersBreathed faint perfume thro' the gloam,By the alabaster Venus'Neath the quiet stars we'd roam.V.And we stopped beside the statueOf the marble Venus thereDeeply pedestaled 'mid roses,Who their crimson hearts laid bare,Breathing out their lives in fragranceAt her naked feet and fair.VI.And we marked the purple dinglesWhere the lazy vapors lolled,Like thin, fleecy ribs of moonlightTouched with amethyst and gold;And we marked the wild deer glimmerLike dim specters where they strolled....VII.But from out those treach'rous rosesCrept a serpent and it stung,Poisoned him who'd tuned my heart-stringsTill for him alone they sung,Froze the nerves of hands that onlyFrom its chords a note had wrung.VIII.Now the nightingales in anguishTo cold, ashen roses moan;Now a sound of desolate wailingIn the darkened palace loneFrom a harp Æolian quaversBroken on an empty throne.
I.
Came a spicy smell of showersOn the purple wings of night,And a pearl-encrusted crescentOn the lake looked still and white,While a sound of distant singingFrom the vales rose sad and light.
II.
Dripped the musk of sodden rosesFrom their million heavy sprays,And the nightingales were sobbingOf the roses amorous praiseWhere the raven down of evenCaught the moonlight's bleaching rays.
III.
And the turrets of the palace,From its belt of ancient trees,On the mountain rose romanticWhite as foam from troubled seas;And the murmur of an oceanSmote the chords of ev'ry breeze.
IV.
Where the moon shone on the terraceAnd its fountain's lisping foam;Where the bronzen urns of flowersBreathed faint perfume thro' the gloam,By the alabaster Venus'Neath the quiet stars we'd roam.
V.
And we stopped beside the statueOf the marble Venus thereDeeply pedestaled 'mid roses,Who their crimson hearts laid bare,Breathing out their lives in fragranceAt her naked feet and fair.
VI.
And we marked the purple dinglesWhere the lazy vapors lolled,Like thin, fleecy ribs of moonlightTouched with amethyst and gold;And we marked the wild deer glimmerLike dim specters where they strolled....
VII.
But from out those treach'rous rosesCrept a serpent and it stung,Poisoned him who'd tuned my heart-stringsTill for him alone they sung,Froze the nerves of hands that onlyFrom its chords a note had wrung.
VIII.
Now the nightingales in anguishTo cold, ashen roses moan;Now a sound of desolate wailingIn the darkened palace loneFrom a harp Æolian quaversBroken on an empty throne.
I.In mail of black my limbs I girt,Angelica!And when the bugles clanged the charge,The rolling battle's bristling margeBeheld me a black storm of warDash on the foe;While Durindana glitt'ring farMade many a foeman mouth the dirtIn bleeding woe:—For thou didst fire me to the war'Mid many a Paynim scimetar,Angelica!II.No more the battle fires my blood,Angelica!No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles,And chivalry's charge, and beauty's smiles!I wander lone the thistly woldWhen night-snows fall,And crispy frosts the wild grass hold.Great knights go glimmering thro' the wood,The clarion's callWakes War upon his desert wold—I see the dawning breaking cold,Angelica!III.When Southern winds sowed all the skies,Angelica!With bloom-storms of the flowering May;When all the battle-field was gayWith scented garb of sainted flowers,I found a streamCold as thy heart to paramours!Deep as the depth of thy blue eyes!And like a dreamI found a grotto 'mid the flowers,Cool 'mid the sunlight-sprinkled bowers,Angelica!IV.My casque I dofft to scoop the fount,Angelica!With beaded pureness bubbling cool—It clashed into the purling pool;—Thy name lay chiseled in the rock,And underneath—And then meseemed deep night did blockMy steel-chained heart in one huge mountForeshadowing death!—Medorodeep in every rock!The Moorish name my soul did mock,Angelica!V.No more wild war my veins ensteeps,Angelica!No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles!—White wastes before me miles on milesWith one low, ruby sunset bound—Thou fleest before,I follow on: a far off soundOf oceans gnawing at dark steepsSwells to a roar.—'Mid foam thou smil'st: I spurn the ground—I sink, I swim, waves hiss around—Oh, could I sink 'neath the profound,And think of thee no more!
I.
In mail of black my limbs I girt,Angelica!And when the bugles clanged the charge,The rolling battle's bristling margeBeheld me a black storm of warDash on the foe;While Durindana glitt'ring farMade many a foeman mouth the dirtIn bleeding woe:—For thou didst fire me to the war'Mid many a Paynim scimetar,Angelica!
II.
No more the battle fires my blood,Angelica!No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles,And chivalry's charge, and beauty's smiles!I wander lone the thistly woldWhen night-snows fall,And crispy frosts the wild grass hold.Great knights go glimmering thro' the wood,The clarion's callWakes War upon his desert wold—I see the dawning breaking cold,Angelica!
III.
When Southern winds sowed all the skies,Angelica!With bloom-storms of the flowering May;When all the battle-field was gayWith scented garb of sainted flowers,I found a streamCold as thy heart to paramours!Deep as the depth of thy blue eyes!And like a dreamI found a grotto 'mid the flowers,Cool 'mid the sunlight-sprinkled bowers,Angelica!
IV.
My casque I dofft to scoop the fount,Angelica!With beaded pureness bubbling cool—It clashed into the purling pool;—Thy name lay chiseled in the rock,And underneath—And then meseemed deep night did blockMy steel-chained heart in one huge mountForeshadowing death!—Medorodeep in every rock!The Moorish name my soul did mock,Angelica!
V.
No more wild war my veins ensteeps,Angelica!No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles!—White wastes before me miles on milesWith one low, ruby sunset bound—Thou fleest before,I follow on: a far off soundOf oceans gnawing at dark steepsSwells to a roar.—'Mid foam thou smil'st: I spurn the ground—I sink, I swim, waves hiss around—Oh, could I sink 'neath the profound,And think of thee no more!
Its casements' diamond disks of glassStare myriad on a terrace old,Where urns, unkempt with ragged grass,Foam o'er with frothy cold.The snow rounds o'er each stair of stone;The frozen fount is hooped with pearl;Down desolate walks, like phantoms lone,Thin, powd'ry snow-wreaths whirl.And to each rose-tree's stem that bendsWith silver snow-combs, glued with frost,It seems each summer rosebud sendsIts airy, scentless ghost.The stiff Elizabethan pileChatters with cold thro' all its panes,And rumbling down each chimney fileThe mad wind shakes his reins.* * * * * * *Lone in the Northern angle, dimWith immemorial dust, it lay,Where each gaunt casement's stony rimStared lidless to the day.Drear in the Northern angle, hungWith olden arras dusky, whereTall, shadowy Tristrams fought and sungFor shadowy Isolds fair.Lies by a dingy cabinetA tarnished lute upon the floor;A talon-footed chair is setGrotesquely by the door.A carven, testered bedstead standsWith rusty silks draped all about;And like a moon in murky landsA mirror glitters out.Dark in the Northern angle, whereIn musty arras eats and clingsThe drowsy moth; and frightened thereThe wild wind sighs and singsAdown the roomy flue and takesAnd swings the ghostly mirror tillIt shrieks and creaks, then pulls and shakesThe curtains with a will.A starving mouse forever gnawsBehind a polished panel dark,And 'long the floor its shadow drawsA poplar in the park.I have been there when blades of lightStabbed each dull, stained, and dusty pane;I have been there at dead of night,But never will again....She grew upon my vision asHeat sucked from the dry summer sod;In taffetas as green as grassSilent and faint she trod;And angry jewels winked and frownedIn serpent coils on neck and wrist,And 'round her dainty waist was woundA zone of silver mist.And icy fair as some bleak landHer pale, still face stormed o'er with nightOf raven tresses, and her handWas beautiful and white.Before the ebon mirror oldFull tearfully she made her moan,And then a cock crew far and cold;I looked and she was gone.As if had come a sullying breathAnd from the limpid mirror passed,Her presence past, like some near deathLeaving my blood aghast.Tho' I've been there when blades of lightStabbed each dull, stained, and dusty pane;Tho' I've been there at dead of night,I never will again.
Its casements' diamond disks of glassStare myriad on a terrace old,Where urns, unkempt with ragged grass,Foam o'er with frothy cold.The snow rounds o'er each stair of stone;The frozen fount is hooped with pearl;Down desolate walks, like phantoms lone,Thin, powd'ry snow-wreaths whirl.
And to each rose-tree's stem that bendsWith silver snow-combs, glued with frost,It seems each summer rosebud sendsIts airy, scentless ghost.The stiff Elizabethan pileChatters with cold thro' all its panes,And rumbling down each chimney fileThe mad wind shakes his reins.
* * * * * * *
Lone in the Northern angle, dimWith immemorial dust, it lay,Where each gaunt casement's stony rimStared lidless to the day.Drear in the Northern angle, hungWith olden arras dusky, whereTall, shadowy Tristrams fought and sungFor shadowy Isolds fair.
Lies by a dingy cabinetA tarnished lute upon the floor;A talon-footed chair is setGrotesquely by the door.A carven, testered bedstead standsWith rusty silks draped all about;And like a moon in murky landsA mirror glitters out.
Dark in the Northern angle, whereIn musty arras eats and clingsThe drowsy moth; and frightened thereThe wild wind sighs and singsAdown the roomy flue and takesAnd swings the ghostly mirror tillIt shrieks and creaks, then pulls and shakesThe curtains with a will.
A starving mouse forever gnawsBehind a polished panel dark,And 'long the floor its shadow drawsA poplar in the park.I have been there when blades of lightStabbed each dull, stained, and dusty pane;I have been there at dead of night,But never will again....
She grew upon my vision asHeat sucked from the dry summer sod;In taffetas as green as grassSilent and faint she trod;And angry jewels winked and frownedIn serpent coils on neck and wrist,And 'round her dainty waist was woundA zone of silver mist.
And icy fair as some bleak landHer pale, still face stormed o'er with nightOf raven tresses, and her handWas beautiful and white.Before the ebon mirror oldFull tearfully she made her moan,And then a cock crew far and cold;I looked and she was gone.
As if had come a sullying breathAnd from the limpid mirror passed,Her presence past, like some near deathLeaving my blood aghast.Tho' I've been there when blades of lightStabbed each dull, stained, and dusty pane;Tho' I've been there at dead of night,I never will again.
By the burnished laurel lineGlimmering flows the singing stream;Oily eddies crease and shineO'er white pebbles, white as cream.Richest roses bud or dieAll about the splendid park;Fountains glass a wily eyeWhere the fawns browse in the dark.Amber-belted through the nightFloats the alabaster moon,Stooping o'er th' acacia whiteWhere my mandolin I tune.By the twinkling mere I singWhere lake lilies stretch pale eyes,And a bulbul there doth flingMusic at the moon who flies.With a broken syrinx there,From enameled beds of buds,Rises Pan in hoof and hair—Moonlight his dim sculpture floods.The pale jessamines have feltThe large passion of her gaze;See! they part—their glories meltRound her in a starry haze.
By the burnished laurel lineGlimmering flows the singing stream;Oily eddies crease and shineO'er white pebbles, white as cream.
Richest roses bud or dieAll about the splendid park;Fountains glass a wily eyeWhere the fawns browse in the dark.
Amber-belted through the nightFloats the alabaster moon,Stooping o'er th' acacia whiteWhere my mandolin I tune.
By the twinkling mere I singWhere lake lilies stretch pale eyes,And a bulbul there doth flingMusic at the moon who flies.
With a broken syrinx there,From enameled beds of buds,Rises Pan in hoof and hair—Moonlight his dim sculpture floods.
The pale jessamines have feltThe large passion of her gaze;See! they part—their glories meltRound her in a starry haze.
An antique mirror this,I like it not at all,In this lonely room where the goblin gloomScowls from the arrased wall.A mystic mirror framedIn ebon, wildly carved;And the prisoned air in the crevice thereMoans like a man that's starved.A truthful mirror where,In the broad, chaste light of day,From the window's arches, like fairy torches,Red roses swing and sway.They blush and bow and gaze,Proud beauties desolate,In their tresses cold the sunlight's gold,In their hearts a jealous hate.A small green worm that gnaws,For the nightingale that lowEach eve doth rave, the passionate slaveOf the wild white rose below.The night-bird wails below;The stars creep out above;And the roses soon in the sultry moonShall palpitate with love.The night-bird sobs below;The roses blow and bloom;Thro' the diamond panes the moonlight rainsIn the dim unholy room.Ancestors grim that stareStiff, starched, and haughty downFrom the oaken wall of the noble hallPut on a sterner frown.The old, bleak castle clockBooms midnight overhead,And the rose is wan and the bird is goneWhen walk the shrouded dead.And grim ancestors gauntIn smiles and tears faint flit;By the mirror there they stand and stare,And weep and sigh to it.In rare, rich ermine earlsWith rapiers jeweled rare,With a powdered throng of courtiers longPass with stiff and stately air.With diamonds and perfumesIn ruff and golden lace,Tall ladies pass by the looking-glass,Each sighing at her face.An awful mirror this,I like it not at all,In this lonely room where the goblin gloomScowls from the arrased wall.
An antique mirror this,I like it not at all,In this lonely room where the goblin gloomScowls from the arrased wall.
A mystic mirror framedIn ebon, wildly carved;And the prisoned air in the crevice thereMoans like a man that's starved.
A truthful mirror where,In the broad, chaste light of day,From the window's arches, like fairy torches,Red roses swing and sway.
They blush and bow and gaze,Proud beauties desolate,In their tresses cold the sunlight's gold,In their hearts a jealous hate.
A small green worm that gnaws,For the nightingale that lowEach eve doth rave, the passionate slaveOf the wild white rose below.
The night-bird wails below;The stars creep out above;And the roses soon in the sultry moonShall palpitate with love.
The night-bird sobs below;The roses blow and bloom;Thro' the diamond panes the moonlight rainsIn the dim unholy room.
Ancestors grim that stareStiff, starched, and haughty downFrom the oaken wall of the noble hallPut on a sterner frown.
The old, bleak castle clockBooms midnight overhead,And the rose is wan and the bird is goneWhen walk the shrouded dead.
And grim ancestors gauntIn smiles and tears faint flit;By the mirror there they stand and stare,And weep and sigh to it.
In rare, rich ermine earlsWith rapiers jeweled rare,With a powdered throng of courtiers longPass with stiff and stately air.
With diamonds and perfumesIn ruff and golden lace,Tall ladies pass by the looking-glass,Each sighing at her face.
An awful mirror this,I like it not at all,In this lonely room where the goblin gloomScowls from the arrased wall.