Elfin Land.PART II.
But far the greatest miracleWhich Elfin land can show,A hostel is, like that which stoodIn Eastcheap long ago.Before the entrance, in the blastThere swings a tusky sign;And when at night the Elfin moonAnd constellations shine,A ruddy glow illumes the panes,And looking through you see,With merry faces seated round,A famous company.Prince Hal the royal wassailer,And that great fount of fun,Diana’s portly forester,The merry knight Sir John,With all their losel servitors,Mirth-shaken cheek by cheek;Cambysean Pistol, Peto, Poins,And Bardolph’s fiery beak.A grove there is in Elfin land,Where closely intertwineThe Grecian myrtle’s branches lightWith Gothic oak sublime.Beneath its canopy of shade,Their temples bound with bays,Are grouped the minstrels, that adornThe mediæval days.The laurelled Ghibelline, who sawThe Stygian abyss,The fiery mosques and walls, that girdThe capital of Dis;The realms of penance, and the ringsOf constellated light,Whose luminous pavilions holdThe righteous robed in white;Uranian groves and spheral vales,Saturnian academes,Where sainted theologues abide,Discoursing mystic themes;The Paradisal stream, that windsThrough Heaven’s unfading bowers,And on its banks the beauteous maid,Who culled celestial flowers.Him next the sweet Vauclusian swan,Love’s Laureate, appears,Who bathed his mistress’ widowed urnWith Heliconian tears;Certaldo’s storied sage,—a bard,Though round his genius rareThe golden manacles of verseHe did not choose to wear.Those rosy morns, that usher inEach festal-gladdened day,His prose depicts in hues as brightAs could the poet’s lay.His ultramontane brother, bornIn Albion’s shady isle;Dan Chaucer, of his tameless raceApollo’s eldest child;The Medecean banqueter,Whose Fescennines unfoldThe deeds of heathen AnakimRestored to Peter’s fold;Ferrara’s Melesigenes,Who o’er a wide domainOf haunted forests, mounts, and seas,Exerts his magic reign;A glowing Mœnad, with her locksDishevelled in the wind,His fancy wantons far and near,From Thule unto Ind;Now from her griffin steed alightsAlcina’s palace near,Now in the Patmian prophet’s carAscends the lunar sphere;Or with Rinaldo wanders throughThe Caledonian wood,Amid whose shades and coverts greenHeroic trophies glowed;Or paints the mighty PaladinTransformed to monster gross,Whose mistress drank in Ardennes loneThe lymph of Anterōs.Next hapless Tasso, pale and wan,Released from dungeon grates;The sacred legions of the crossHis genius celebrates;Armida’s mountain paradiseAmid the western seas;Her dragon-yoke, whose nimble hoovesCould run upon the breeze.The sombre forest, where encampedDark Eblis’ minions lay,With shapes evoked from Orcus’ gloomTo fright his foes away.Lo, marble pontifices spring,To arch illusive streams,And swans and nightingales rehearseTheir moist melodious threnes!The centuried trees are cloven wide,And forth from every plantA maiden steps, whose tears might meltA heart of adamant.A sudden darkness veils the sky,And fortresses of fire,With ruddy towers of pillared flame,Above the woods aspire.Transfigured in the morning beam.On Zion’s holy heightRinaldo puts the dusky swarmsOf Erebus to flight.Nor absent from the shining throngThat dainty bard, I ween,Who hung the maiden empress throneWith garlands ever green.The Elfin Court’s Demodocus,His lay he carols light,His fancy’s unexhausted urnsStill brimmed with waters bright.Far distant from the minstrel’s bower,Another group is seen,Who ruled of yore a sylvan raceIn western forests green.Manhattan’s sleepy potentates—Of ox-like girth are they;In ages gone the Hudson rolledBeneath their gentle sway.A hazynimbussleeps aboutTheir smooth unwrinkled brows;Like ripened melon through its foldsEach mottled visage glows.The ponderous Twiller dozes still,Benignant, voiceless, deep;His council-board, rotund and grave,Unbroken silence keep.And still Van Winkle snores and dreamsUpon the mountain side,Unwakened by the ebbless flowOf time’s unwearied tide.And Sleepy Hollow’s pedagogue,In smoky autumn air,Lies musing of his faithless love,His Katarina fair.Those knights are here who wandered throughThe forests of the south,And vast savannas green and lone,To find the fount of youth.The towers and fanes they likewise soughtOf Eldorado bright;Amid magnolian woods and palmsUprose its turrets light.Glittered its roofs with golden tiles—All things of gold were wrought;Its burghers wore a jaundiced hueFrom yellow pavements caught.But who shall number all that hauntKing Oberon’s domains?His lieges are the airy shapesConceived in poet’s brains.Their limbs are cast in fairer mouldThan those of common earth;Their ladies are more beautifulThan dames of mortal birth.This work-day world perchance will show,In epochs yet to be,As goodly men and lovely maidsAs those in Faërie.
But far the greatest miracleWhich Elfin land can show,A hostel is, like that which stoodIn Eastcheap long ago.Before the entrance, in the blastThere swings a tusky sign;And when at night the Elfin moonAnd constellations shine,A ruddy glow illumes the panes,And looking through you see,With merry faces seated round,A famous company.Prince Hal the royal wassailer,And that great fount of fun,Diana’s portly forester,The merry knight Sir John,With all their losel servitors,Mirth-shaken cheek by cheek;Cambysean Pistol, Peto, Poins,And Bardolph’s fiery beak.A grove there is in Elfin land,Where closely intertwineThe Grecian myrtle’s branches lightWith Gothic oak sublime.Beneath its canopy of shade,Their temples bound with bays,Are grouped the minstrels, that adornThe mediæval days.The laurelled Ghibelline, who sawThe Stygian abyss,The fiery mosques and walls, that girdThe capital of Dis;The realms of penance, and the ringsOf constellated light,Whose luminous pavilions holdThe righteous robed in white;Uranian groves and spheral vales,Saturnian academes,Where sainted theologues abide,Discoursing mystic themes;The Paradisal stream, that windsThrough Heaven’s unfading bowers,And on its banks the beauteous maid,Who culled celestial flowers.Him next the sweet Vauclusian swan,Love’s Laureate, appears,Who bathed his mistress’ widowed urnWith Heliconian tears;Certaldo’s storied sage,—a bard,Though round his genius rareThe golden manacles of verseHe did not choose to wear.Those rosy morns, that usher inEach festal-gladdened day,His prose depicts in hues as brightAs could the poet’s lay.His ultramontane brother, bornIn Albion’s shady isle;Dan Chaucer, of his tameless raceApollo’s eldest child;The Medecean banqueter,Whose Fescennines unfoldThe deeds of heathen AnakimRestored to Peter’s fold;Ferrara’s Melesigenes,Who o’er a wide domainOf haunted forests, mounts, and seas,Exerts his magic reign;A glowing Mœnad, with her locksDishevelled in the wind,His fancy wantons far and near,From Thule unto Ind;Now from her griffin steed alightsAlcina’s palace near,Now in the Patmian prophet’s carAscends the lunar sphere;Or with Rinaldo wanders throughThe Caledonian wood,Amid whose shades and coverts greenHeroic trophies glowed;Or paints the mighty PaladinTransformed to monster gross,Whose mistress drank in Ardennes loneThe lymph of Anterōs.Next hapless Tasso, pale and wan,Released from dungeon grates;The sacred legions of the crossHis genius celebrates;Armida’s mountain paradiseAmid the western seas;Her dragon-yoke, whose nimble hoovesCould run upon the breeze.The sombre forest, where encampedDark Eblis’ minions lay,With shapes evoked from Orcus’ gloomTo fright his foes away.Lo, marble pontifices spring,To arch illusive streams,And swans and nightingales rehearseTheir moist melodious threnes!The centuried trees are cloven wide,And forth from every plantA maiden steps, whose tears might meltA heart of adamant.A sudden darkness veils the sky,And fortresses of fire,With ruddy towers of pillared flame,Above the woods aspire.Transfigured in the morning beam.On Zion’s holy heightRinaldo puts the dusky swarmsOf Erebus to flight.Nor absent from the shining throngThat dainty bard, I ween,Who hung the maiden empress throneWith garlands ever green.The Elfin Court’s Demodocus,His lay he carols light,His fancy’s unexhausted urnsStill brimmed with waters bright.Far distant from the minstrel’s bower,Another group is seen,Who ruled of yore a sylvan raceIn western forests green.Manhattan’s sleepy potentates—Of ox-like girth are they;In ages gone the Hudson rolledBeneath their gentle sway.A hazynimbussleeps aboutTheir smooth unwrinkled brows;Like ripened melon through its foldsEach mottled visage glows.The ponderous Twiller dozes still,Benignant, voiceless, deep;His council-board, rotund and grave,Unbroken silence keep.And still Van Winkle snores and dreamsUpon the mountain side,Unwakened by the ebbless flowOf time’s unwearied tide.And Sleepy Hollow’s pedagogue,In smoky autumn air,Lies musing of his faithless love,His Katarina fair.Those knights are here who wandered throughThe forests of the south,And vast savannas green and lone,To find the fount of youth.The towers and fanes they likewise soughtOf Eldorado bright;Amid magnolian woods and palmsUprose its turrets light.Glittered its roofs with golden tiles—All things of gold were wrought;Its burghers wore a jaundiced hueFrom yellow pavements caught.But who shall number all that hauntKing Oberon’s domains?His lieges are the airy shapesConceived in poet’s brains.Their limbs are cast in fairer mouldThan those of common earth;Their ladies are more beautifulThan dames of mortal birth.This work-day world perchance will show,In epochs yet to be,As goodly men and lovely maidsAs those in Faërie.
But far the greatest miracleWhich Elfin land can show,A hostel is, like that which stoodIn Eastcheap long ago.
But far the greatest miracle
Which Elfin land can show,
A hostel is, like that which stood
In Eastcheap long ago.
Before the entrance, in the blastThere swings a tusky sign;And when at night the Elfin moonAnd constellations shine,
Before the entrance, in the blast
There swings a tusky sign;
And when at night the Elfin moon
And constellations shine,
A ruddy glow illumes the panes,And looking through you see,With merry faces seated round,A famous company.
A ruddy glow illumes the panes,
And looking through you see,
With merry faces seated round,
A famous company.
Prince Hal the royal wassailer,And that great fount of fun,Diana’s portly forester,The merry knight Sir John,
Prince Hal the royal wassailer,
And that great fount of fun,
Diana’s portly forester,
The merry knight Sir John,
With all their losel servitors,Mirth-shaken cheek by cheek;Cambysean Pistol, Peto, Poins,And Bardolph’s fiery beak.
With all their losel servitors,
Mirth-shaken cheek by cheek;
Cambysean Pistol, Peto, Poins,
And Bardolph’s fiery beak.
A grove there is in Elfin land,Where closely intertwineThe Grecian myrtle’s branches lightWith Gothic oak sublime.
A grove there is in Elfin land,
Where closely intertwine
The Grecian myrtle’s branches light
With Gothic oak sublime.
Beneath its canopy of shade,Their temples bound with bays,Are grouped the minstrels, that adornThe mediæval days.
Beneath its canopy of shade,
Their temples bound with bays,
Are grouped the minstrels, that adorn
The mediæval days.
The laurelled Ghibelline, who sawThe Stygian abyss,The fiery mosques and walls, that girdThe capital of Dis;
The laurelled Ghibelline, who saw
The Stygian abyss,
The fiery mosques and walls, that gird
The capital of Dis;
The realms of penance, and the ringsOf constellated light,Whose luminous pavilions holdThe righteous robed in white;
The realms of penance, and the rings
Of constellated light,
Whose luminous pavilions hold
The righteous robed in white;
Uranian groves and spheral vales,Saturnian academes,Where sainted theologues abide,Discoursing mystic themes;
Uranian groves and spheral vales,
Saturnian academes,
Where sainted theologues abide,
Discoursing mystic themes;
The Paradisal stream, that windsThrough Heaven’s unfading bowers,And on its banks the beauteous maid,Who culled celestial flowers.
The Paradisal stream, that winds
Through Heaven’s unfading bowers,
And on its banks the beauteous maid,
Who culled celestial flowers.
Him next the sweet Vauclusian swan,Love’s Laureate, appears,Who bathed his mistress’ widowed urnWith Heliconian tears;
Him next the sweet Vauclusian swan,
Love’s Laureate, appears,
Who bathed his mistress’ widowed urn
With Heliconian tears;
Certaldo’s storied sage,—a bard,Though round his genius rareThe golden manacles of verseHe did not choose to wear.
Certaldo’s storied sage,—a bard,
Though round his genius rare
The golden manacles of verse
He did not choose to wear.
Those rosy morns, that usher inEach festal-gladdened day,His prose depicts in hues as brightAs could the poet’s lay.
Those rosy morns, that usher in
Each festal-gladdened day,
His prose depicts in hues as bright
As could the poet’s lay.
His ultramontane brother, bornIn Albion’s shady isle;Dan Chaucer, of his tameless raceApollo’s eldest child;
His ultramontane brother, born
In Albion’s shady isle;
Dan Chaucer, of his tameless race
Apollo’s eldest child;
The Medecean banqueter,Whose Fescennines unfoldThe deeds of heathen AnakimRestored to Peter’s fold;
The Medecean banqueter,
Whose Fescennines unfold
The deeds of heathen Anakim
Restored to Peter’s fold;
Ferrara’s Melesigenes,Who o’er a wide domainOf haunted forests, mounts, and seas,Exerts his magic reign;
Ferrara’s Melesigenes,
Who o’er a wide domain
Of haunted forests, mounts, and seas,
Exerts his magic reign;
A glowing Mœnad, with her locksDishevelled in the wind,His fancy wantons far and near,From Thule unto Ind;
A glowing Mœnad, with her locks
Dishevelled in the wind,
His fancy wantons far and near,
From Thule unto Ind;
Now from her griffin steed alightsAlcina’s palace near,Now in the Patmian prophet’s carAscends the lunar sphere;
Now from her griffin steed alights
Alcina’s palace near,
Now in the Patmian prophet’s car
Ascends the lunar sphere;
Or with Rinaldo wanders throughThe Caledonian wood,Amid whose shades and coverts greenHeroic trophies glowed;
Or with Rinaldo wanders through
The Caledonian wood,
Amid whose shades and coverts green
Heroic trophies glowed;
Or paints the mighty PaladinTransformed to monster gross,Whose mistress drank in Ardennes loneThe lymph of Anterōs.
Or paints the mighty Paladin
Transformed to monster gross,
Whose mistress drank in Ardennes lone
The lymph of Anterōs.
Next hapless Tasso, pale and wan,Released from dungeon grates;The sacred legions of the crossHis genius celebrates;
Next hapless Tasso, pale and wan,
Released from dungeon grates;
The sacred legions of the cross
His genius celebrates;
Armida’s mountain paradiseAmid the western seas;Her dragon-yoke, whose nimble hoovesCould run upon the breeze.
Armida’s mountain paradise
Amid the western seas;
Her dragon-yoke, whose nimble hooves
Could run upon the breeze.
The sombre forest, where encampedDark Eblis’ minions lay,With shapes evoked from Orcus’ gloomTo fright his foes away.
The sombre forest, where encamped
Dark Eblis’ minions lay,
With shapes evoked from Orcus’ gloom
To fright his foes away.
Lo, marble pontifices spring,To arch illusive streams,And swans and nightingales rehearseTheir moist melodious threnes!
Lo, marble pontifices spring,
To arch illusive streams,
And swans and nightingales rehearse
Their moist melodious threnes!
The centuried trees are cloven wide,And forth from every plantA maiden steps, whose tears might meltA heart of adamant.
The centuried trees are cloven wide,
And forth from every plant
A maiden steps, whose tears might melt
A heart of adamant.
A sudden darkness veils the sky,And fortresses of fire,With ruddy towers of pillared flame,Above the woods aspire.
A sudden darkness veils the sky,
And fortresses of fire,
With ruddy towers of pillared flame,
Above the woods aspire.
Transfigured in the morning beam.On Zion’s holy heightRinaldo puts the dusky swarmsOf Erebus to flight.
Transfigured in the morning beam.
On Zion’s holy height
Rinaldo puts the dusky swarms
Of Erebus to flight.
Nor absent from the shining throngThat dainty bard, I ween,Who hung the maiden empress throneWith garlands ever green.
Nor absent from the shining throng
That dainty bard, I ween,
Who hung the maiden empress throne
With garlands ever green.
The Elfin Court’s Demodocus,His lay he carols light,His fancy’s unexhausted urnsStill brimmed with waters bright.
The Elfin Court’s Demodocus,
His lay he carols light,
His fancy’s unexhausted urns
Still brimmed with waters bright.
Far distant from the minstrel’s bower,Another group is seen,Who ruled of yore a sylvan raceIn western forests green.
Far distant from the minstrel’s bower,
Another group is seen,
Who ruled of yore a sylvan race
In western forests green.
Manhattan’s sleepy potentates—Of ox-like girth are they;In ages gone the Hudson rolledBeneath their gentle sway.
Manhattan’s sleepy potentates—
Of ox-like girth are they;
In ages gone the Hudson rolled
Beneath their gentle sway.
A hazynimbussleeps aboutTheir smooth unwrinkled brows;Like ripened melon through its foldsEach mottled visage glows.
A hazynimbussleeps about
Their smooth unwrinkled brows;
Like ripened melon through its folds
Each mottled visage glows.
The ponderous Twiller dozes still,Benignant, voiceless, deep;His council-board, rotund and grave,Unbroken silence keep.
The ponderous Twiller dozes still,
Benignant, voiceless, deep;
His council-board, rotund and grave,
Unbroken silence keep.
And still Van Winkle snores and dreamsUpon the mountain side,Unwakened by the ebbless flowOf time’s unwearied tide.
And still Van Winkle snores and dreams
Upon the mountain side,
Unwakened by the ebbless flow
Of time’s unwearied tide.
And Sleepy Hollow’s pedagogue,In smoky autumn air,Lies musing of his faithless love,His Katarina fair.
And Sleepy Hollow’s pedagogue,
In smoky autumn air,
Lies musing of his faithless love,
His Katarina fair.
Those knights are here who wandered throughThe forests of the south,And vast savannas green and lone,To find the fount of youth.
Those knights are here who wandered through
The forests of the south,
And vast savannas green and lone,
To find the fount of youth.
The towers and fanes they likewise soughtOf Eldorado bright;Amid magnolian woods and palmsUprose its turrets light.
The towers and fanes they likewise sought
Of Eldorado bright;
Amid magnolian woods and palms
Uprose its turrets light.
Glittered its roofs with golden tiles—All things of gold were wrought;Its burghers wore a jaundiced hueFrom yellow pavements caught.
Glittered its roofs with golden tiles—
All things of gold were wrought;
Its burghers wore a jaundiced hue
From yellow pavements caught.
But who shall number all that hauntKing Oberon’s domains?His lieges are the airy shapesConceived in poet’s brains.
But who shall number all that haunt
King Oberon’s domains?
His lieges are the airy shapes
Conceived in poet’s brains.
Their limbs are cast in fairer mouldThan those of common earth;Their ladies are more beautifulThan dames of mortal birth.
Their limbs are cast in fairer mould
Than those of common earth;
Their ladies are more beautiful
Than dames of mortal birth.
This work-day world perchance will show,In epochs yet to be,As goodly men and lovely maidsAs those in Faërie.
This work-day world perchance will show,
In epochs yet to be,
As goodly men and lovely maids
As those in Faërie.