A curse! a curse! the beautiful pale wingOf a sea-bird was worn with wandering,And, on a sunny rock beside the shore,It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er;And they were heaving a brown amber flowOf weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below.It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hallOf heaven rose up on pillars magicalOf living silver, shafting the fair skyBetween dark time and great eternity.They rose upon their pedestal of sun,A line of snowy columns! and anonWere lost in the rich tracery of cloudThat hung along, magnificently proud,Predicting the pure star-light, that beyondThe east was armouring in diamondAbout the camp of twilight, and was soonTo marshal under the fair champion moon,That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist,Toward her citadel of amethyst.A curse! a curse! a lonely man is thereBy the deep waters, with a burden fairClasp'd in his wearied arms—'Tis he; 'tis heThe brain-struck Julio, and Agathè!His cowl is back—flung back upon the breeze,His lofty brow is haggard with disease,As if a wild libation had been pour'dOf lightning on those temples, and they shower'dA dismal perspiration, like a rain,Shook by the thunder and the hurricane!He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed,Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste,The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild,Strange words, about a mother, and no child."And I shall wed thee, Agathè! althoughOurs be no God-blest bridal—even so!"And from the sand he took a silver shell,That had been wasted by the fall and swellOf many a moon-borne tide into a ring—A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing,Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died,In ages far away. "Thou art a bride,Sweet Agathè! Wake up; we must not linger."He press'd the ring upon her chilly finger,And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone,Shouted, "Pale priest! thou liest all aloneUpon thy ocean altar, rise awayTo our glad bridal!" and its wings of grayAll lazily it spread, and hover'd byWith a wild shriek—a melancholy cry!Then swooping slowly o'er the heaving breastOf the blue ocean, vanish'd in the west.And Julio is chanting to his bride,A merry song of his wild heart, that diedOn the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea,All rustling in their beauty gladsomely.
A curse! a curse! the beautiful pale wingOf a sea-bird was worn with wandering,And, on a sunny rock beside the shore,It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er;And they were heaving a brown amber flowOf weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below.
It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hallOf heaven rose up on pillars magicalOf living silver, shafting the fair skyBetween dark time and great eternity.They rose upon their pedestal of sun,A line of snowy columns! and anonWere lost in the rich tracery of cloudThat hung along, magnificently proud,Predicting the pure star-light, that beyondThe east was armouring in diamondAbout the camp of twilight, and was soonTo marshal under the fair champion moon,That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist,Toward her citadel of amethyst.
A curse! a curse! a lonely man is thereBy the deep waters, with a burden fairClasp'd in his wearied arms—'Tis he; 'tis heThe brain-struck Julio, and Agathè!His cowl is back—flung back upon the breeze,His lofty brow is haggard with disease,As if a wild libation had been pour'dOf lightning on those temples, and they shower'dA dismal perspiration, like a rain,Shook by the thunder and the hurricane!
He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed,Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste,The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild,Strange words, about a mother, and no child."And I shall wed thee, Agathè! althoughOurs be no God-blest bridal—even so!"And from the sand he took a silver shell,That had been wasted by the fall and swellOf many a moon-borne tide into a ring—A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing,Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died,In ages far away. "Thou art a bride,Sweet Agathè! Wake up; we must not linger."He press'd the ring upon her chilly finger,And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone,Shouted, "Pale priest! thou liest all aloneUpon thy ocean altar, rise awayTo our glad bridal!" and its wings of grayAll lazily it spread, and hover'd byWith a wild shriek—a melancholy cry!Then swooping slowly o'er the heaving breastOf the blue ocean, vanish'd in the west.
And Julio is chanting to his bride,A merry song of his wild heart, that diedOn the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea,All rustling in their beauty gladsomely.
A rosary of stars, love! we'll count them as we goUpon the laughing waters, that are wandering below,And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea,In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee!A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide,And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide!And we'll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen,With shells of silver sown in radiancy between.A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be,Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea;Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go,Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below!He lifted the dead girl, and is awayTo where a light boat, in its moorings lay,Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hushOf the nurse waters. With a frantic rushO'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped,And through the shoaling waves that fell and fledUpon the furrow'd beach.The snowy sailIs hoisted to the gladly gushing gale,That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breastOf silver, looking lovely to the west;And at the helm there sits the wither'd one,Gazing and gazing on the sister nun,With her fair tresses floating on his knee—The beautiful, death-stricken Agathè!Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stoodOut toward the great heaving solitude,That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breathWent through its lungs, of agony and death!The sun is lost within the labyrinthOf clouds of purple and pale hyacinth,That are the frontlet of the sister SkyKissing her brother Ocean; and they lieBathing in blushes, till the rival queenNight, with her starry tiar, floateth in—A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth drawOver the light of love a shade of aweMost strange, that parts our wonder not the lessBetween her mystery and loveliness!And she is there, that is a pyramidWhereon the stars, the statues of the dead,Are imaged over the eternal hall,A group of radiances majestical!And Julio looks up, and there they be,And Agathè, and all the waste of Sea,That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroudOf night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proudAmid its azure pulses; and againHe dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strainOf mirth upon the ladye:—Agathè!Sweet bride! be thou a queen, and I will layA crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow;And I will twine these tresses, that are nowFloating beside me, to a diadem;And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem,And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queenOf the unpeopled waters, sadly seenBy star-light, till the yet unrisen moonIssue, unveiled, from her anderoon,To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say,"Hail—hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathè!"The warrior world was lifting to the bentOf his eternal brow magnificent,The fiery moon, that in her blazonryShone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing seaFelt fever on his azure arteries,That shadow'd them with crimson, while the breezeFell faster on the solitary sail.But the red moon grew loftier and pale,And the great ocean, like the holy hall,Where slept a seraph host maritimal,Was gorgeous, with wings of diamondFann'd over it, and millions beyondOf tiny waves were playing to and fro,All musical, with an incessant flowOf cadences, innumerably heardBetween the shrill notes of a hermit bird,That held a solemn paean to the moon.A few devotional fair clouds were soonBreathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven,And under the great galaxies were drivenOf stars that group'd together, and they wentLike voyagers along the firmament,And grew to silver in the blessed lightOf the moon alchymist. It was not night,Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'erThe eye-lid like a curse, but far beforeIn splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom,In many a myriad gushes, that do comeDirect from the eternal stars beyond,Like holy fountains pouring diamond!A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail!And be not bending to thy trances pale.But he is gazing on the moonlit browOf his dead Agathè, and fondly now,The light is silvering her bloodless faceAnd the cold grave-clothes. There is lovelinessAs in a marble image, very bright!But stricken with a phantasy of lightThat is not given to the mortal hue,To life and breathing beauty: and she tooIs more of the expressless lineament,Than of the golden thoughts that came and wentOver her features like a living tideNo while before.A sail is on the wideAnd moving waters, and it draweth nighLike a sea-cloud. The elfin billows flyBefore it, in their armories enthrall'dOf radiant and moon-breasted emerald;And many is the mariner that seesThe lone boat in the melancholy breeze,Waving her snowy canvass, and anonTheir stately vessel with a gallant runCrowds by in all her glory; but the cheerOf men is pass'd into a sudden fear,And whisperings, and shakings of the head—The moon was streaming on a virgin dead,And Julio sat over her insane,Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again,Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stoodFar out into the murmuring solitude!But Julio saw not; he only heardA rushing, like the passing of a bird,And felt him heaving on the foam, that flewAlong the startled billows; and he knewOf a strange sail, by broken oaths that fellBeside him, on the coming of the swell.They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride!And made obeisance at thy holy side.They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bringFair worshippers, and many a poet-king,To utter music at thy pearly feet.—Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet,To visit in thy temple of the sea;Thy sister moon is watching over thee!And she is spreading a fair mantle ofPure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!—Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof,In solitude, below the starry roof;And on its dewy plume there is a lightOf palest splendour, o'er the blessed night.Thy spirit, Agathè!—and yet, thou artBeside me, and my solitary heartIs throbbing near to thee: I must not feelThe sweet notes of thy holy music stealInto my feverous and burning brain,—So wake not! and I'll hush thee with a strainOf my wild fancy, till thou dream of me,And I be loved as I have loved thee:—
A rosary of stars, love! we'll count them as we goUpon the laughing waters, that are wandering below,And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea,In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee!
A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide,And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide!And we'll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen,With shells of silver sown in radiancy between.
A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be,Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea;Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go,Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below!
He lifted the dead girl, and is awayTo where a light boat, in its moorings lay,Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hushOf the nurse waters. With a frantic rushO'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped,And through the shoaling waves that fell and fledUpon the furrow'd beach.
The snowy sailIs hoisted to the gladly gushing gale,That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breastOf silver, looking lovely to the west;And at the helm there sits the wither'd one,Gazing and gazing on the sister nun,With her fair tresses floating on his knee—The beautiful, death-stricken Agathè!
Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stoodOut toward the great heaving solitude,That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breathWent through its lungs, of agony and death!
The sun is lost within the labyrinthOf clouds of purple and pale hyacinth,That are the frontlet of the sister SkyKissing her brother Ocean; and they lieBathing in blushes, till the rival queenNight, with her starry tiar, floateth in—A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth drawOver the light of love a shade of aweMost strange, that parts our wonder not the lessBetween her mystery and loveliness!
And she is there, that is a pyramidWhereon the stars, the statues of the dead,Are imaged over the eternal hall,A group of radiances majestical!And Julio looks up, and there they be,And Agathè, and all the waste of Sea,That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroudOf night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proudAmid its azure pulses; and againHe dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strainOf mirth upon the ladye:—Agathè!Sweet bride! be thou a queen, and I will layA crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow;And I will twine these tresses, that are nowFloating beside me, to a diadem;And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem,And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queenOf the unpeopled waters, sadly seenBy star-light, till the yet unrisen moonIssue, unveiled, from her anderoon,To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say,"Hail—hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathè!"
The warrior world was lifting to the bentOf his eternal brow magnificent,The fiery moon, that in her blazonryShone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing seaFelt fever on his azure arteries,That shadow'd them with crimson, while the breezeFell faster on the solitary sail.But the red moon grew loftier and pale,And the great ocean, like the holy hall,Where slept a seraph host maritimal,Was gorgeous, with wings of diamondFann'd over it, and millions beyondOf tiny waves were playing to and fro,All musical, with an incessant flowOf cadences, innumerably heardBetween the shrill notes of a hermit bird,That held a solemn paean to the moon.
A few devotional fair clouds were soonBreathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven,And under the great galaxies were drivenOf stars that group'd together, and they wentLike voyagers along the firmament,And grew to silver in the blessed lightOf the moon alchymist. It was not night,Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'erThe eye-lid like a curse, but far beforeIn splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom,In many a myriad gushes, that do comeDirect from the eternal stars beyond,Like holy fountains pouring diamond!
A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail!And be not bending to thy trances pale.But he is gazing on the moonlit browOf his dead Agathè, and fondly now,The light is silvering her bloodless faceAnd the cold grave-clothes. There is lovelinessAs in a marble image, very bright!But stricken with a phantasy of lightThat is not given to the mortal hue,To life and breathing beauty: and she tooIs more of the expressless lineament,Than of the golden thoughts that came and wentOver her features like a living tideNo while before.
A sail is on the wideAnd moving waters, and it draweth nighLike a sea-cloud. The elfin billows flyBefore it, in their armories enthrall'dOf radiant and moon-breasted emerald;And many is the mariner that seesThe lone boat in the melancholy breeze,Waving her snowy canvass, and anonTheir stately vessel with a gallant runCrowds by in all her glory; but the cheerOf men is pass'd into a sudden fear,And whisperings, and shakings of the head—The moon was streaming on a virgin dead,And Julio sat over her insane,Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again,Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stoodFar out into the murmuring solitude!
But Julio saw not; he only heardA rushing, like the passing of a bird,And felt him heaving on the foam, that flewAlong the startled billows; and he knewOf a strange sail, by broken oaths that fellBeside him, on the coming of the swell.
They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride!And made obeisance at thy holy side.They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bringFair worshippers, and many a poet-king,To utter music at thy pearly feet.—Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet,To visit in thy temple of the sea;Thy sister moon is watching over thee!And she is spreading a fair mantle ofPure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!—Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof,In solitude, below the starry roof;And on its dewy plume there is a lightOf palest splendour, o'er the blessed night.Thy spirit, Agathè!—and yet, thou artBeside me, and my solitary heartIs throbbing near to thee: I must not feelThe sweet notes of thy holy music stealInto my feverous and burning brain,—So wake not! and I'll hush thee with a strainOf my wild fancy, till thou dream of me,And I be loved as I have loved thee:—
'Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair,In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there—No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart!When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art!'Tis light to love thee living, girl—to see thee ever so,With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow;And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl—Oh! true it is a lightsome thing, to love thee living, girl!But when the brow is blighted, like a star of morning tide,And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside;It is to love, as seldom love, the brightest and the best,When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest.Because of hopes, that, fallen, are changing to despair,And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there,Oh, true! 'tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee,And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me!He lifts her in his arms, and o'er and o'er,Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar,Repeats a silent kiss;—along the sideOf the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride,Until the waves do image her withinTheir bosom, like a spectre—'Tis a sinToo deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven,To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven!And bid her gaze into the startled sea,And say, "Thy image, from eternity,Hath come to meet thee, ladye!" and anon,He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one,That shook amid the waters, like the lightOf borealis in a winter night!And after, he did strain her sea-wet hairBetween his chilly fingers, with a stareOf mystery, that marvell'd how that sheHad drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea.The morning rose, with breast of living gold,Like eastern phoenix, and his plumage roll'dIn clouds of molted brilliance, very bright!And on the waste of waters floated light.—In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry barkSkimming the silver ocean, like a sharkAt play amid the beautiful sea-green,And all so sadly desolate within.And hours flew after hours, a weary length,Until the sunlight, in meridian strength,Threw burning floods upon the wasted browOf that sea-hermit mariner; and nowHe felt the fire-light feed upon his brain,And started with intensity of pain,And wash'd him in the sea; it only broughtWild reason, like a demon, and he thoughtStrange thoughts, like dreaming men—he thought how thoseWere round him he had seen, and many roseHis heart had hated; every billow threwFeatures before him, and pale faces grewOut of the sea by myriads:—the self-sameWas moulded from its image, and they cameIn groups together, and all said, like one,"Be cursed!" and vanish'd in the deep anon.Then thirst, intolerable as the breathOf Upas, fanning the wild wings of death,Crept up his very gorge,—like to a snake,That stifled him, and bade the pulses acheThrough all the boiling current of his blood.It was a thirst, that let the fever floodFall over him, and gave a ghastly hueTo his cramp'd lips, until their breathing grewWhite as a mist, and short, and like a sigh,Heaved with a struggle, till it falter'd by.And ever he did look upon the corseWith idiot visage, like the hag RemorseThat gloateth over on a nameless deedOf darkness and of dole unhistoried.And were there that might hear him, they would hearThe murmur of a prayer in deep fear,Through unbarr'd lips, escaping by the half,And all but smother'd by a maniac laugh,That follow'd it, so sudden and so shrill,That swarms of sea-birds, wandering at willUpon the wave, rose startled, and awayWent flocking, like a silver shower of spray!And aye he called for water, and the seaMock'd him with his brine surges tauntingly,And lash'd them over on his fev'rous brow,Volleying roars of curses:—"Stay thee, now,Avenger! lest I die; for I am wornFainter than star-light at the birth of morn;Stay thee, great angel! for I am not shriven,But frantic as thyself: Oh Heaven! Heaven!But thou hast made me brother of the sea,That I may tremble at his tyranny;Or am I slave? a very, very jestTo the sarcastic waters? let me breastThe base insulters, and defy them so,In this lone little skiff—I am your foe!Ye raving, lion-like, and ramping seas,That open up your nostrils to the breeze,And fain would swallow me! Do ye not fly,Pale, sick, and gurgling, as I pass you by?"Lift up! and let me see, that I may tellYe can be mad, and strange, and terrible;That ye have power, and passion, and a soundAs of the flying of an angel roundThe mighty world; that ye are one with time,And in the great primordium sublimeWere nursed together, as an infant-twain,—A glory and a wonder! I would fainHold truce, thou elder brother! for we are,In feature, as the sun is to a star,So are we like, and we are touch'd in tuneWith lunacy as music; and the moon,That setteth the tides sentinel beforeThy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore,And measures their great footsteps to and fro,Hath lifted up into my brain the flowOf this mad tide of blood.—Ay! we are likeIn foam and frenzy; the same winds do strike,The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlementOf fire! so, when I perish impotentBefore the night of death, they'll say of me,He died as mad and frantic, as the sea!"A cloud stood for the east, a cloud like night,Like a huge vulture, and the blessed lightOf the great sun grew shadow'd awfully:It seem'd to mount up from the mighty sea,Shaking the showers from its solemn wings,And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs,Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain.There fell a terrible and wizard chainOf lightning, from its black and heated forge,And the dark waters took it to their gorge,And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonderWith rival chorus to the peal of thunder,That wheel'd in many a squadron terribleThe stern black clouds, and as they rose and fellThey oozed great showers; and Julio held upHis wasted hands, in likeness of a cup,And drank the blessed waters, and they roll'dUpon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold!—'Twas very strange to look on Agathè!How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play,Stream'd pale upon her features, and they wereSickly, like tapers in a sepulchre!The ship! that self same ship, that Julio knewHad pass'd him, with her panic-stricken crew,She gleams amid the storm, a shatter'd thingOf pride and lordly beauty: her fair wingOf sail is wounded—the proud pennon gone:Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, onThrough waters that are battling to and fro,And tossing their great giant shrouds of snowOver her deck. Ahead, and there is seenA black, strange line of breakers, down betweenThe awful surges, lifting up their manes,Like great sea lions. Quick and high she strainsHer foaming keel—that solitary ship!As if, in all her frenzy, she would leapThe cursed barrier; forward, fast and fast—Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mastSplit in a thousand shivers! A white springOf the exulted sea rose banteringOver her ruin; and the mighty crew,That mann'd her decks, were seen, a straggling few,Far scatter'd on the surges. Julio feltThe impulse of that hour, and low he knelt,Within his own light bark—a prayful man!And clasp'd his lifeless bride; and to her wan,Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.—"Save thou a mariner!" He starteth nowTo hear that dying cry; and there is one,All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon,Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea,A fair hair'd mariner! But suddenlyHe saw the pale dead ladye, by a flameOf blue and livid lightning, and there cameOver his features blindness, and the powerOf his strong hands grew weak,—a giant showerOf foam rose up, and swept him far along;And Julio saw him buffeting the throngOf the great eddying waters, till they wentOver him—a wind-shaken cerement!Then terribly he laugh'd, and rose aboveHis soul-less bride—the ladye of his loveLifting him up, in all his wizard glee;And he did wave, before the frantic sea,His wasted arm. "Adieu! adieu! adieu!Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too,Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrineOf my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine.And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foamAnd music-murmurs, to thy blessed home—Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that sheSleeps in her holy beauty, tranquilly;And when the fair and floating vision breaksFrom her pure brow, and Agathè awakes—Till then, we meet not; so adieu, adieu!"Still on before the sullen tempest flew,Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark:And Julio bent over to the dark,The solitary sea, for close besideFloated the stringed harp of one that diedIn that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home,With madness, to his bosom: the white foamWas o'er its strings; and on the streaming sailHe wiped them, running, with his fingers pale,Along the tuneless notes, that only gaveSeldom responses to his wandering stave!
'Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair,In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there—No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart!When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art!
'Tis light to love thee living, girl—to see thee ever so,With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow;And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl—Oh! true it is a lightsome thing, to love thee living, girl!
But when the brow is blighted, like a star of morning tide,And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside;It is to love, as seldom love, the brightest and the best,When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest.
Because of hopes, that, fallen, are changing to despair,And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there,Oh, true! 'tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee,And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me!
He lifts her in his arms, and o'er and o'er,Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar,Repeats a silent kiss;—along the sideOf the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride,Until the waves do image her withinTheir bosom, like a spectre—'Tis a sinToo deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven,To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven!And bid her gaze into the startled sea,And say, "Thy image, from eternity,Hath come to meet thee, ladye!" and anon,He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one,That shook amid the waters, like the lightOf borealis in a winter night!
And after, he did strain her sea-wet hairBetween his chilly fingers, with a stareOf mystery, that marvell'd how that sheHad drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea.The morning rose, with breast of living gold,Like eastern phoenix, and his plumage roll'dIn clouds of molted brilliance, very bright!And on the waste of waters floated light.—
In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry barkSkimming the silver ocean, like a sharkAt play amid the beautiful sea-green,And all so sadly desolate within.
And hours flew after hours, a weary length,Until the sunlight, in meridian strength,Threw burning floods upon the wasted browOf that sea-hermit mariner; and nowHe felt the fire-light feed upon his brain,And started with intensity of pain,And wash'd him in the sea; it only broughtWild reason, like a demon, and he thoughtStrange thoughts, like dreaming men—he thought how thoseWere round him he had seen, and many roseHis heart had hated; every billow threwFeatures before him, and pale faces grewOut of the sea by myriads:—the self-sameWas moulded from its image, and they cameIn groups together, and all said, like one,"Be cursed!" and vanish'd in the deep anon.Then thirst, intolerable as the breathOf Upas, fanning the wild wings of death,Crept up his very gorge,—like to a snake,That stifled him, and bade the pulses acheThrough all the boiling current of his blood.It was a thirst, that let the fever floodFall over him, and gave a ghastly hueTo his cramp'd lips, until their breathing grewWhite as a mist, and short, and like a sigh,Heaved with a struggle, till it falter'd by.
And ever he did look upon the corseWith idiot visage, like the hag RemorseThat gloateth over on a nameless deedOf darkness and of dole unhistoried.And were there that might hear him, they would hearThe murmur of a prayer in deep fear,Through unbarr'd lips, escaping by the half,And all but smother'd by a maniac laugh,That follow'd it, so sudden and so shrill,That swarms of sea-birds, wandering at willUpon the wave, rose startled, and awayWent flocking, like a silver shower of spray!And aye he called for water, and the seaMock'd him with his brine surges tauntingly,And lash'd them over on his fev'rous brow,Volleying roars of curses:—"Stay thee, now,Avenger! lest I die; for I am wornFainter than star-light at the birth of morn;Stay thee, great angel! for I am not shriven,But frantic as thyself: Oh Heaven! Heaven!But thou hast made me brother of the sea,That I may tremble at his tyranny;Or am I slave? a very, very jestTo the sarcastic waters? let me breastThe base insulters, and defy them so,In this lone little skiff—I am your foe!Ye raving, lion-like, and ramping seas,That open up your nostrils to the breeze,And fain would swallow me! Do ye not fly,Pale, sick, and gurgling, as I pass you by?
"Lift up! and let me see, that I may tellYe can be mad, and strange, and terrible;That ye have power, and passion, and a soundAs of the flying of an angel roundThe mighty world; that ye are one with time,And in the great primordium sublimeWere nursed together, as an infant-twain,—A glory and a wonder! I would fainHold truce, thou elder brother! for we are,In feature, as the sun is to a star,So are we like, and we are touch'd in tuneWith lunacy as music; and the moon,That setteth the tides sentinel beforeThy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore,And measures their great footsteps to and fro,Hath lifted up into my brain the flowOf this mad tide of blood.—Ay! we are likeIn foam and frenzy; the same winds do strike,The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlementOf fire! so, when I perish impotentBefore the night of death, they'll say of me,He died as mad and frantic, as the sea!"
A cloud stood for the east, a cloud like night,Like a huge vulture, and the blessed lightOf the great sun grew shadow'd awfully:It seem'd to mount up from the mighty sea,Shaking the showers from its solemn wings,And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs,Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain.There fell a terrible and wizard chainOf lightning, from its black and heated forge,And the dark waters took it to their gorge,And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonderWith rival chorus to the peal of thunder,That wheel'd in many a squadron terribleThe stern black clouds, and as they rose and fellThey oozed great showers; and Julio held upHis wasted hands, in likeness of a cup,And drank the blessed waters, and they roll'dUpon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold!—'Twas very strange to look on Agathè!How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play,Stream'd pale upon her features, and they wereSickly, like tapers in a sepulchre!
The ship! that self same ship, that Julio knewHad pass'd him, with her panic-stricken crew,She gleams amid the storm, a shatter'd thingOf pride and lordly beauty: her fair wingOf sail is wounded—the proud pennon gone:Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, onThrough waters that are battling to and fro,And tossing their great giant shrouds of snowOver her deck. Ahead, and there is seenA black, strange line of breakers, down betweenThe awful surges, lifting up their manes,Like great sea lions. Quick and high she strainsHer foaming keel—that solitary ship!As if, in all her frenzy, she would leapThe cursed barrier; forward, fast and fast—Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mastSplit in a thousand shivers! A white springOf the exulted sea rose banteringOver her ruin; and the mighty crew,That mann'd her decks, were seen, a straggling few,Far scatter'd on the surges. Julio feltThe impulse of that hour, and low he knelt,Within his own light bark—a prayful man!And clasp'd his lifeless bride; and to her wan,Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.—"Save thou a mariner!" He starteth nowTo hear that dying cry; and there is one,All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon,Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea,A fair hair'd mariner! But suddenlyHe saw the pale dead ladye, by a flameOf blue and livid lightning, and there cameOver his features blindness, and the powerOf his strong hands grew weak,—a giant showerOf foam rose up, and swept him far along;And Julio saw him buffeting the throngOf the great eddying waters, till they wentOver him—a wind-shaken cerement!
Then terribly he laugh'd, and rose aboveHis soul-less bride—the ladye of his loveLifting him up, in all his wizard glee;And he did wave, before the frantic sea,His wasted arm. "Adieu! adieu! adieu!Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too,Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrineOf my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine.And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foamAnd music-murmurs, to thy blessed home—Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that sheSleeps in her holy beauty, tranquilly;And when the fair and floating vision breaksFrom her pure brow, and Agathè awakes—Till then, we meet not; so adieu, adieu!"Still on before the sullen tempest flew,Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark:And Julio bent over to the dark,The solitary sea, for close besideFloated the stringed harp of one that diedIn that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home,With madness, to his bosom: the white foamWas o'er its strings; and on the streaming sailHe wiped them, running, with his fingers pale,Along the tuneless notes, that only gaveSeldom responses to his wandering stave!
IJewel! that lay before the heartOf some romantic boy,And startled music in her home,Of mystery and joy!IIThe image of his love was there;And, with her golden wings,She swept her tone of sorrow fromThy melancholy strings!IIIWe drew thee, as an orphan one,From waters that had castNo music round thee, as they wentIn their pale beauty past.IVNo music but the changeless sigh—That murmur of their own,That loves not blending in the thrillOf thine aerial tone.VThe girl that slumbers at our sideWill dream how they are bent,That love her even as they loveThy blessed instrument.VIAnd music, like a flood, will breakUpon the fairy throneOf her pure heart, all glowing, likeA morning star, alone!VIIAlone, but for the song of himThat waketh by her side,And strikes thy chords of silver toHis fair and sea-borne bride.VIIIJewel! that hung before the heartOf some romantic boy;Like him, I sweep thee with a stormOf music and of joy!And Julio placed the trembling harp beforeThe ladye, till the minstrel winds came o'erIts moisten'd strings, and tuned them with a sigh."I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by,In music and in love. Oh Agathè!Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will sayThat seek thee,—'She is dead—she is no more!'But thou art cold, and I will throw beforeThy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet."And he did lift it from her marble feet,The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silentlyOver her brow—the brow of Agathè!But, as a passion from the mooded mind,The storm had died, and wearily the windFell fast asleep at evening, like oneThat hath been toiling in the fiery sun.And the white sail dropt downward, as the wingOf wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuringUnto the mast. It was a deathly calm,And holy stillness, like a shadow, swamAll over the wide sea, and the boat stood.Like her of Sodom, in the solitude,A snowy pillar, looking on the waste.And there was nothing but the azure breastOf ocean and the sky—the sea and sky,And the lone bark; no clouds were floating byWhere the sun set, but his great seraph light,Went down alone, in majesty and might;And the stars came again, a silver troop,Until, in shame, the coward shadows droopBefore the radiance of these holy gems,That bear the images of diadems!And Julio fancied of a form that roseBefore him from the desolate reposeOf the deep waters—a huge ghastly form,As of one lightning-stricken in a storm;And leprosy cadaverous was hungBefore his brow, and awful terror flungAround him like a pall—a solemn shroud!—A drapery of darkness and of cloud!And agony was writhing on his lip,Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep,Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain,And ague, and the palsy of the brain—A wierd and yellow spectre! And his eyesWere orbless and unpupil'd, as the skiesWithout the sun, or moon, or any star:And he was like the wreck of what men are,—A wasted skeleton, that held the crestOf Time, and bore his motto on his breast!There came a group before of maladies,And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,—A double monster, with a gloating leerFix'd on his other half. They drew them near,One after one, led onward by Despair,That like the last of winter glimmer'd there,—A dismal prologue to his brother Death,Which was behind, and, with the horrid breathOf his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on.And often as they saw the skeletonGrisly beside them, the wild phantasiesGrew mad and howl'd; the fever of diseaseBecame wild frenzy—very terrible!And, for a hell of agony—a hellOf rage, was there, that fed on misty things,On dreams, ideas, and imaginings.And some were raving on philosophy,And some on love, and some on jealousy,And some upon the moon; and these were theyThat were the wildest; and anon alwayJulio knew them by a something dimAbout their wasted features like to him!But Death was by, like shell of pyramidAmong old obelisks, and his eyeless headShook o'er the wiery ribs, where darkness layThe image of a heart—He is away!And Julio is watching, like Remorse,Over the pale and solitary corse!Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dewFrom your eternal blossoms! and thou, too,Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen!That hast a slave and votary withinThe great rock-fetter'd deeps, and hearest cryTo thee the hungry surges, rushing byLike a vast herd of wolves,—fall full and fairOn Julio as he sleepeth, even there,Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!—Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed kneeWith hush and whisper lull the troubled brainOf this death-lover?—Still the eyes do strainTheir orbs on Agathè—those raven eyes!All earnest on the ladye as she liesIn her white shroud. They see not, though they areAs if they saw; no splendour like a starIs under their dark lashes: they are fullOf dream and slumber—melancholy, dull!A wide, wide sea! and on its rear and vanAmid the stars, the silent meteors ranAll that still night, and Julio with a cryWoke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by.Full three times three, its awful veil of nightHath Heaven hung before the blessed light;And a fair breeze falls o'er the sleeping sea,Where Julio is watching Agathè!By sun and darkness hath he bent him over—A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover!And hardly hath he tasted, night or day,Of drink or food, because of Agathè!He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood,Like statue in a ruin'd solitude,Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shadeOver the marble of some colonnade.The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hueUpon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grewLuxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness,That once were floating in the pure recessOf her bright soul. These are not as they were,But are as weeds above a sepulchre,Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are nowSunk deeply under the discolour'd brow,That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue,Unnaturally blending. The same hueIs on her cheek: it is the early breathOf cold Corruption, the ban dog of Death,Falling upon her features.—Let it be,And gaze awhile on Julio, as heIs gazing on the corse of Agathè!In truth, he seemeth like no living one,But is the image of a skeleton:A fearful portrait from the artist toolOf Madness—terrible and wonderful!There was no passion there—no feeling tracedUnder those eyelids, where had run to waste,All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright;A very cloud was cast upon their light,That gave to them the heavy hue of lead;And they were lorn, and lustreless, and dead!He sate like vulture from the mountains gray,Unsated, that had flown full many a dayO'er distant land and sea, and was in prideAlighted by the lonely ladye's side.He sate like winter o'er the wasted year—Like melancholy winter, drawing nearTo its own death.—"Oh me! the worm, at last,Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blastHowl by!—Where?—where?—there is no worm to creepAmid the waters of the lonely deep;But I will take me Agathè uponThis sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon,Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go,Unepitaph'd, to cities far below;Where the sea triton, with his winding shell,Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwellWith many a mariner in his pearly home,In bowers of amber weed and silver foam,Amid the crimson corals; we shall beTogether, Agathè! fair Agathè!—But thou art sickly, ladye—thou art sad;And I am weary, ladye—I am mad!They bring no food to feed us, and I feelA frost upon my vitals, very chill,Like winter breaking on the golden yearOf life. This bark shall be our floating bier,And the dark waves our mourners; and the white,Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking brightOn some far isle, shall sorrowfully pourTheir wail of melancholy o'er and o'er,At evening, on the waters of the sea,—While, with its solemn burden, silently,Floats forward our lone bark.—Oh, Agathè!Methinks that I shall meet thee far away,Within the awful centre of the earth,Where, earliest, we had our holy birth—In some huge cavern, arching wide below,Upon whose airy pivot, years ago,The world went round: 'tis infinitely deep,But never dismal; for above it sleep,And under it, blue waters, hung aloof,And held below,—an amethystine roof,A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun,Afar, looks through alternately, like oneThat watches round some treasure: often, too,Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through,Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously,Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea!"And there are shafted pillars, that beyond,Are ranged before a rock of diamond,Awfully heaving its eternal heights,From base of silver strewn with chrysolites;And over it are chasms of glory seen,With crimson rubies clustering between,On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl,And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl.So Agathè!—but thou art sickly sad,And tellest me, poor Julio is mad—Ay, mad!—was he not madder when he swareA vow to Heaven? was there no madness there,That he should do—for why?—a holy stringOf penances? No penances will bringThe stricken conscience to the blessed lightOf peace,—Oh! I am lost, and there is night,Despair and darkness, darkness and despair,And want, that hunts me to the lion-lairOf wild perdition: and I hear them all—All cursing me! The very sun-rays fallIn curses, and the shadow of the moon,And the pale star light, and the winds that tuneTheir voices to the music of the sea,—And thou,—yes, thou! my gentle Agathè!—All curse me!—Oh! that I were never, never!—Or but a breathless fancy, that was everAdrift upon the wilderness of Time,That knew no impulse, but was left sublimeTo play at its own will!—that I were hush'dAt night by silver cataracts, that gush'dThrough flowers of fairy hue, and then to dieAway, with all before me passing by,Like a fair vision I had lived to see,And died to see no more!—It cannot be!By this right hand! I feel it is not so,And by the beating of a heart below,That strangely feareth for eternity!"He said, and gazing on the lonely sea,Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud,To westward, a bright island, lifted proudAmid the struggling waters, and the lightOf the great sun was on its clifted height,Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror;But the gigantic billows sprung in terrorUpon its rock-built and eternal shore,With silver foams that fell in fury o'erA thousand sunny breakers. Far above,There stood a wild and solitary groveOf aged pines, all leafless but their brows,Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughsWas waving now and then, and to and fro,And the pale moss was clustering below.Then Julio saw, and bent his head awayTo the cold wasted corse of Agathè,And sigh'd; but ever he would turn againA gaze to that green island on the main.The bark is drifting through the surf, besideIts rocks of gray upon the coming tide;And lightly is it stranded on the shoreOf pure and silver shells, that lie before,Glittering in the glory of the sun;And Julio hath landed him, like oneThat aileth of some wild and weary pest;And Agathè is folded on his breast,—A faded flower! with all the vernal dewsFrom its bright blossom shaken, and the huesBecome as colourless as twilight air—I marvel much, that she was ever fair!
I
Jewel! that lay before the heartOf some romantic boy,And startled music in her home,Of mystery and joy!
II
The image of his love was there;And, with her golden wings,She swept her tone of sorrow fromThy melancholy strings!
III
We drew thee, as an orphan one,From waters that had castNo music round thee, as they wentIn their pale beauty past.
IV
No music but the changeless sigh—That murmur of their own,That loves not blending in the thrillOf thine aerial tone.
V
The girl that slumbers at our sideWill dream how they are bent,That love her even as they loveThy blessed instrument.
VI
And music, like a flood, will breakUpon the fairy throneOf her pure heart, all glowing, likeA morning star, alone!
VII
Alone, but for the song of himThat waketh by her side,And strikes thy chords of silver toHis fair and sea-borne bride.
VIII
Jewel! that hung before the heartOf some romantic boy;Like him, I sweep thee with a stormOf music and of joy!
And Julio placed the trembling harp beforeThe ladye, till the minstrel winds came o'erIts moisten'd strings, and tuned them with a sigh."I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by,In music and in love. Oh Agathè!Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will sayThat seek thee,—'She is dead—she is no more!'But thou art cold, and I will throw beforeThy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet."And he did lift it from her marble feet,The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silentlyOver her brow—the brow of Agathè!
But, as a passion from the mooded mind,The storm had died, and wearily the windFell fast asleep at evening, like oneThat hath been toiling in the fiery sun.And the white sail dropt downward, as the wingOf wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuringUnto the mast. It was a deathly calm,And holy stillness, like a shadow, swamAll over the wide sea, and the boat stood.Like her of Sodom, in the solitude,A snowy pillar, looking on the waste.And there was nothing but the azure breastOf ocean and the sky—the sea and sky,And the lone bark; no clouds were floating byWhere the sun set, but his great seraph light,Went down alone, in majesty and might;And the stars came again, a silver troop,Until, in shame, the coward shadows droopBefore the radiance of these holy gems,That bear the images of diadems!
And Julio fancied of a form that roseBefore him from the desolate reposeOf the deep waters—a huge ghastly form,As of one lightning-stricken in a storm;And leprosy cadaverous was hungBefore his brow, and awful terror flungAround him like a pall—a solemn shroud!—A drapery of darkness and of cloud!And agony was writhing on his lip,Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep,Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain,And ague, and the palsy of the brain—A wierd and yellow spectre! And his eyesWere orbless and unpupil'd, as the skiesWithout the sun, or moon, or any star:And he was like the wreck of what men are,—A wasted skeleton, that held the crestOf Time, and bore his motto on his breast!
There came a group before of maladies,And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,—A double monster, with a gloating leerFix'd on his other half. They drew them near,One after one, led onward by Despair,That like the last of winter glimmer'd there,—A dismal prologue to his brother Death,Which was behind, and, with the horrid breathOf his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on.And often as they saw the skeletonGrisly beside them, the wild phantasiesGrew mad and howl'd; the fever of diseaseBecame wild frenzy—very terrible!And, for a hell of agony—a hellOf rage, was there, that fed on misty things,On dreams, ideas, and imaginings.
And some were raving on philosophy,And some on love, and some on jealousy,And some upon the moon; and these were theyThat were the wildest; and anon alwayJulio knew them by a something dimAbout their wasted features like to him!
But Death was by, like shell of pyramidAmong old obelisks, and his eyeless headShook o'er the wiery ribs, where darkness layThe image of a heart—He is away!And Julio is watching, like Remorse,Over the pale and solitary corse!
Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dewFrom your eternal blossoms! and thou, too,Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen!That hast a slave and votary withinThe great rock-fetter'd deeps, and hearest cryTo thee the hungry surges, rushing byLike a vast herd of wolves,—fall full and fairOn Julio as he sleepeth, even there,Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!—Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed kneeWith hush and whisper lull the troubled brainOf this death-lover?—Still the eyes do strainTheir orbs on Agathè—those raven eyes!All earnest on the ladye as she liesIn her white shroud. They see not, though they areAs if they saw; no splendour like a starIs under their dark lashes: they are fullOf dream and slumber—melancholy, dull!
A wide, wide sea! and on its rear and vanAmid the stars, the silent meteors ranAll that still night, and Julio with a cryWoke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by.
Full three times three, its awful veil of nightHath Heaven hung before the blessed light;And a fair breeze falls o'er the sleeping sea,Where Julio is watching Agathè!By sun and darkness hath he bent him over—A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover!
And hardly hath he tasted, night or day,Of drink or food, because of Agathè!He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood,Like statue in a ruin'd solitude,Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shadeOver the marble of some colonnade.
The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hueUpon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grewLuxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness,That once were floating in the pure recessOf her bright soul. These are not as they were,But are as weeds above a sepulchre,Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are nowSunk deeply under the discolour'd brow,That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue,Unnaturally blending. The same hueIs on her cheek: it is the early breathOf cold Corruption, the ban dog of Death,Falling upon her features.—Let it be,And gaze awhile on Julio, as heIs gazing on the corse of Agathè!
In truth, he seemeth like no living one,But is the image of a skeleton:A fearful portrait from the artist toolOf Madness—terrible and wonderful!
There was no passion there—no feeling tracedUnder those eyelids, where had run to waste,All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright;A very cloud was cast upon their light,That gave to them the heavy hue of lead;And they were lorn, and lustreless, and dead!He sate like vulture from the mountains gray,Unsated, that had flown full many a dayO'er distant land and sea, and was in prideAlighted by the lonely ladye's side.
He sate like winter o'er the wasted year—Like melancholy winter, drawing nearTo its own death.—"Oh me! the worm, at last,Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blastHowl by!—Where?—where?—there is no worm to creepAmid the waters of the lonely deep;But I will take me Agathè uponThis sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon,Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go,Unepitaph'd, to cities far below;Where the sea triton, with his winding shell,Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwellWith many a mariner in his pearly home,In bowers of amber weed and silver foam,Amid the crimson corals; we shall beTogether, Agathè! fair Agathè!—But thou art sickly, ladye—thou art sad;And I am weary, ladye—I am mad!They bring no food to feed us, and I feelA frost upon my vitals, very chill,Like winter breaking on the golden yearOf life. This bark shall be our floating bier,And the dark waves our mourners; and the white,Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking brightOn some far isle, shall sorrowfully pourTheir wail of melancholy o'er and o'er,At evening, on the waters of the sea,—While, with its solemn burden, silently,Floats forward our lone bark.—Oh, Agathè!Methinks that I shall meet thee far away,Within the awful centre of the earth,Where, earliest, we had our holy birth—In some huge cavern, arching wide below,Upon whose airy pivot, years ago,The world went round: 'tis infinitely deep,But never dismal; for above it sleep,And under it, blue waters, hung aloof,And held below,—an amethystine roof,A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun,Afar, looks through alternately, like oneThat watches round some treasure: often, too,Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through,Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously,Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea!
"And there are shafted pillars, that beyond,Are ranged before a rock of diamond,Awfully heaving its eternal heights,From base of silver strewn with chrysolites;And over it are chasms of glory seen,With crimson rubies clustering between,On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl,And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl.So Agathè!—but thou art sickly sad,And tellest me, poor Julio is mad—Ay, mad!—was he not madder when he swareA vow to Heaven? was there no madness there,That he should do—for why?—a holy stringOf penances? No penances will bringThe stricken conscience to the blessed lightOf peace,—Oh! I am lost, and there is night,Despair and darkness, darkness and despair,And want, that hunts me to the lion-lairOf wild perdition: and I hear them all—All cursing me! The very sun-rays fallIn curses, and the shadow of the moon,And the pale star light, and the winds that tuneTheir voices to the music of the sea,—And thou,—yes, thou! my gentle Agathè!—All curse me!—Oh! that I were never, never!—Or but a breathless fancy, that was everAdrift upon the wilderness of Time,That knew no impulse, but was left sublimeTo play at its own will!—that I were hush'dAt night by silver cataracts, that gush'dThrough flowers of fairy hue, and then to dieAway, with all before me passing by,Like a fair vision I had lived to see,And died to see no more!—It cannot be!By this right hand! I feel it is not so,And by the beating of a heart below,That strangely feareth for eternity!"
He said, and gazing on the lonely sea,Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud,To westward, a bright island, lifted proudAmid the struggling waters, and the lightOf the great sun was on its clifted height,Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror;But the gigantic billows sprung in terrorUpon its rock-built and eternal shore,With silver foams that fell in fury o'erA thousand sunny breakers. Far above,There stood a wild and solitary groveOf aged pines, all leafless but their brows,Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughsWas waving now and then, and to and fro,And the pale moss was clustering below.
Then Julio saw, and bent his head awayTo the cold wasted corse of Agathè,And sigh'd; but ever he would turn againA gaze to that green island on the main.
The bark is drifting through the surf, besideIts rocks of gray upon the coming tide;And lightly is it stranded on the shoreOf pure and silver shells, that lie before,Glittering in the glory of the sun;And Julio hath landed him, like oneThat aileth of some wild and weary pest;And Agathè is folded on his breast,—A faded flower! with all the vernal dewsFrom its bright blossom shaken, and the huesBecome as colourless as twilight air—I marvel much, that she was ever fair!