From earth I seem to wing my flight,And sun myself in Heaven's pure light,When thy sweet gaze meets mineI dream I quaff ethereal dew,When my own form I mirrored viewIn those blue eyes divine!
Blest notes from Paradise afar,Or strains from some benignant starEnchant my ravished ear:My Muse feels then the shepherd's hourWhen silvery tones of magic powerEscape those lips so dear!
Young Loves around thee fan their wings—Behind, the maddened fir-tree springs,As when by Orpheus fired:The poles whirl round with swifter motion,When in the dance, like waves o'er Ocean,Thy footsteps float untired!
Thy look, if it but beam with love,Could make the lifeless marble move,And hearts in rocks enshrine:My visions to realityWill turn, if, Laura, in thine eyeI read—that thou art mine!
Who and what gave to me the wish to woo thee—Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee?Who made thy glances to my soul the link—Who bade me burn thy very breath to drink—My life in thine to sink?As from the conqueror's unresisted glaive,Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave—So, when to life's unguarded fort, I seeThy gaze draw near and near triumphantly—Yields not my soul to thee?Why from its lord doth thus my soul depart?—Is it because its native home thou art?Or were they brothers in the days of yore,Twin-bound both souls, and in the link they boreSigh to be bound once more?Were once our beings blent and intertwining,And therefore still my heart for thine is pining?Knew we the light of some extinguished sun—The joys remote of some bright realm undone,Where once our souls were ONE?Yes, it is so!—And thou wert bound to meIn the long-vanish'd Eld eternally!In the dark troubled tablets which enrollThe Past—my Muse beheld this blessed scroll—"One with thy love my soul!"Oh yes, I learned in awe, when gazing there,How once one bright inseparate life we were,How once, one glorious essence as a God,Unmeasured space our chainless footsteps trod—All Nature our abode!Round us, in waters of delight, foreverVoluptuous flowed the heavenly Nectar river;We were the master of the seal of things,And where the sunshine bathed Truth's mountain-springsQuivered our glancing wings.Weep for the godlike life we lost afar—Weep!—thou and I its scattered fragments are;And still the unconquered yearning we retain—Sigh to restore the rapture and the reign,And grow divine again.And therefore came to me the wish to woo thee—Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee;This made thy glances to my soul the link—This made me burn thy very breath to drink—My life in thine to sink;And therefore, as before the conqueror's glaive,Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave,So, when to life's unguarded fort, I seeThy gaze draw near and near triumphantly—Yieldeth my soul to thee!Therefore my soul doth from its lord depart,Because, beloved, its native home thou art;Because the twins recall the links they bore,And soul with soul, in the sweet kiss of yore,Meets and unites once more!Thou, too—Ah, there thy gaze upon me dwells,And thy young blush the tender answer tells;Yes! with the dear relation still we thrill,Both lives—though exiles from the homeward hill—One life—all glowing still!
Laura! a sunrise seems to breakWhere'er thy happy looks may glow.Joy sheds its roses o'er thy cheek,Thy tears themselves do but bespeakThe rapture whence they flow;Blest youth to whom those tears are given—The tears that change his earth to heaven;His best reward those melting eyes—For him new suns are in the skies!
Thy soul—a crystal river passing,Silver-clear, and sunbeam-glassing,Mays into bloom sad Autumn by thee;Night and desert, if they spy thee,To gardens laugh—with daylight shine,Lit by those happy smiles of thine!Dark with cloud the future farGoldens itself beneath thy star.Smilest thou to see the harmonyOf charm the laws of Nature keep?Alas! to me the harmonyBrings only cause to weep!
Holds not Hades its domainUnderneath this earth of ours?Under palace, under fame,Underneath the cloud-capped towers?Stately cities soar and spreadO'er your mouldering bones, ye dead!From corruption, from decay,Springs yon clove-pink's fragrant bloom;Yon gay waters wind their wayFrom the hollows of a tomb.
From the planets thou mayest knowAll the change that shifts below,Fled—beneath that zone of rays,Fled to night a thousand Mays;Thrones a thousand—rising—sinking,Earth from thousand slaughters drinkingBlood profusely poured as water;—Of the sceptre—of the slaughter—Wouldst thou know what trace remaineth?Seek them where the dark king reigneth!
Scarce thine eye can ope and closeEre life's dying sunset glows;Sinking sudden from its prideInto death—the Lethe tide.Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise?Boastest thou those radiant eyes?—Or that cheek in roses dyed?All their beauty (thought of sorrow!)From the brittle mould they borrow.Heavy interest in the tombFor the brief loan of the bloom,For the beauty of the day,Death the usurer, thou must pay,In the long to-morrow!
Maiden!—Death's too strong for scorn;In the cheek the fairest, HeBut the fairest throne doth seeThough the roses of the mornWeave the veil by beauty worn—Aye, beneath that broidered curtain,Stands the Archer stern and certain!Maid—thy Visionary hear—Trust the wild one as the sear,When he tells thee that thine eye,While it beckons to the wooer,Only lureth yet more nighDeath, the dark undoer!
Every ray shed from thy beautyWastes the life-lamp while it beams,And the pulse's playful duty,And the blue veins' merry streams,Sport and run into the pall—Creatures of the Tyrant, all!As the wind the rainbow shatters,Death thy bright smiles rends and scatters,Smile and rainbow leave no traces;—From the spring-time's laughing graces,From all life, as from its germ,Grows the revel of the worm!
Woe, I see the wild wind wreakIts wrath upon thy rosy bloom,Winter plough thy rounded cheek,Cloud and darkness close in gloom;Blackening over, and forever,Youth's serene and silver river!Love alike and beauty o'er,Lovely and beloved no more!
Maiden, an oak that soars on high,And scorns the whirlwind's breathBehold thy Poet's youth defyThe blunted dart of Death!His gaze as ardent as the lightThat shoots athwart the heaven,His soul yet fiercer than the lightIn the eternal heaven,Of Him, in whom as in an ocean-surgeCreation ebbs and flows—and worlds arise and merge!Through Nature steers the poet's thought to findNo fear but this—one barrier to the mind?
And dost thou glory so to think?And heaves thy bosom?—Woe!This cup, which lures him to the brink,As if divinity to drink—Has poison in its flow!Wretched, oh, wretched, they who trustTo strike the God-spark from the dust!The mightiest tone the music knows,But breaks the harp-string with the sound;And genius, still the more it glows,But wastes the lamp whose life bestowsThe light it sheds around.Soon from existence dragged away,The watchful jailer grasps his prey:Vowed on the altar of the abused fire,The spirits I raised against myself conspire!Let—yes, I feel it two short springs awayPass on their rapid flight;And life's faint spark shall, fleeting from the clay,Merge in the Fount of Light!
And weep'st thou, Laura?—be thy tears forbid;Would'st thou my lot, life's dreariest years amid,Protract and doom?—No: sinner, dry thy tears:Would'st thou, whose eyes beheld the eagle wingOf my bold youth through air's dominion spring,Mark my sad age (life's tale of glory done)—Crawl on the sod and tremble in the sun?Hear the dull frozen heart condemn the flameThat as from heaven to youth's blithe bosom came;And see the blind eyes loathing turn from allThe lovely sins age curses to recall?Let me die young!—sweet sinner, dry thy tears!Yes, let the flower be gathered in its bloom!And thou, young genius, with the brows of gloom,Quench thou life's torch, while yet the flame is strong!Even as the curtain falls; while still the sceneMost thrills the hearts which have its audience been;As fleet the shadows from the stage—and longWhen all is o'er, lingers the breathless throng!
Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,The clock's slow hand hath reached the appointed time.Well, be it so—prepare, my soul is ready,Companions of the grave—the rest for crime!Now take, O world! my last farewell—receivingMy parting kisses—in these tears they dwell!Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,Now we are quits—heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!
Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade;Farewell, farewell, thou rosy time delighted,Luring to soft desire the careless maid,Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet dreamingFancies—the children that an Eden bore!Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming,Opening in happy sunlight never more.
Swanlike the robe which innocence bestowing,Decked with the virgin favors, rosy fair,In the gay time when many a young rose glowing,Blushed through the loose train of the amber hair.Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now—The shroud-like robe hell's destined victim wears;Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow—That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!
Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring,The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue,Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring,Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few!Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling—Feeling!—my sin's avenger [3] doomed to be;Woe—for the false man's arm around me stealing,Stole the lulled virtue, charmed to sleep, from me.
Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing(Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast),Gayly, when I in the dumb grave am lying,Pour the warm wish or speed the wanton jest,Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses,Answer the kiss her lip enamored brings,When the dread block the head he cradled presses,And high the blood his kiss once fevered springs.
Thee, Francis, Francis [4], league on league, shall followThe death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear;From yonder steeple dismal, dull, and hollow,Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear.On thy fresh leman's lips when love is dawning,And the lisped music glides from that sweet well—Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning,And, in the midst of rapture, warn of hell!
Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closingTo grief—the woman-shame no art can heal—To that small life beneath my heart reposing!Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel!Proud flew the sails—receding from the land,I watched them waning from the wistful eye,Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand,Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.
And there the babe! there, on the mother's bosom,Lulled in its sweet and golden rest it lay,Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom,It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away.Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speakingIn such dear calm and beauty to my sadness,And cradled still the mother's heart, in breaking,The softening love and the despairing madness.
"Woman, where is my father?" freezing through me,Lisped the mute innocence with thunder-sound;"Woman, where is thy husband?"—called unto me,In every look, word, whisper, busying round!Alas, for thee, there is no father's kiss;—He fondleth other children on his knee.How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss,When bastard on thy name shall branded be!
Thy mother—oh, a hell her heart concealeth,Lone-sitting, lone in social nature's all!Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth,While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall.In every infant cry my soul is hearkening,The haunting happiness forever o'er,And all the bitterness of death is darkeningThe heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.
Hell, if my sight those looks a moment misses—Hell, when my sight upon those looks is turned—The avenging furies madden in thy kisses,That slept in his what time my lips they burned.Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder!The perjury stalked like murder in the sun—Forever—God!—sense, reason, soul, sunk under—The deed was done!
Francis, O Francis! league on league shall chase theeThe shadows hurrying grimly on thy flight—Still with their icy arms they shall embrace thee,And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight!
Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory,Shall look thy dead child with a ghastly stare;That shape shall haunt thee in its cerements gory,And scourge thee back from heaven—its home is there!
Lifeless—how lifeless!—see, oh see, before meIt lies cold—stiff—O God!—and with that bloodI feel, as swoops the dizzy darkness o'er meMine own life mingled—ebbing in the flood—
Hark, at the door they knock—more loud within me—More awful still—its sound the dread heart gave!Gladly I welcome the cold arms that win me—Fire, quench thy tortures in the icy grave!
Francis—a God that pardons dwells in heaven—Francis, the sinner—yes—she pardons thee—So let my wrongs unto the earth be givenFlame seize the wood!—it burns—it kindles—see!There—there his letters cast—behold are ashes—His vows—the conquering fire consumes them hereHis kisses—see—see—all are only ashes—All, all—the all that once on earth were dear!
Trust not the roses which your youth enjoyeth,Sisters, to man's faith, changeful as the moon!Beauty to me brought guilt—its bloom destroyethLo, in the judgment court I curse the boonTears in the headsman's gaze—what tears?—'tis spoken!Quick, bind mine eyes—all soon shall be forgot—Doomsman—the lily hast thou never broken?Pale Doomsman—tremble not!
Through the world which the Spirit creative and kindFirst formed out of chaos, I fly like the wind,Until on the strandOf its billows I land,My anchor cast forth where the breeze blows no more,And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore.I saw infant stars into being arise,For thousands of years to roll on through the skies;I saw them in playSeek their goal far away,—For a moment my fugitive gaze wandered on,—I looked round me, and lo!—all those bright stars had flown!
Madly yearning to reach the dark kingdom of night.I boldly steer on with the speed of the light;All misty and drearThe dim heavens appear,While embryo systems and seas at their sourceAre whirling around the sun-wanderer's course.
When sudden a pilgrim I see drawing nearAlong the lone path,—"Stay! What seekest thou here?""My bark, tempest-tossed,I sail toward the land where the breeze blows no more,And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore."
"Stay, thou sailest in vain! 'Tis INFINITY yonder!"—"'Tis INFINITY, too, where thou, pilgrim, wouldst wander!Eagle-thoughts that aspire,Let your proud pinions tire!For 'tis here that sweet phantasy, bold to the last,Her anchor in hopeless dejection must cast!"
Enraged against a quondam friend,To Wisdom once proud Fortune said"I'll give thee treasures without end,If thou wilt be my friend instead."
"My choicest gifts to him I gave,And ever blest him with my smile;And yet he ceases not to crave,And calls me niggard all the while."
"Come, sister, let us friendship vow!So take the money, nothing loth;Why always labor at the plough?Here is enough I'm sure for both!"
Sage wisdom laughed,—the prudent elf!—And wiped her brow, with moisture hot:"There runs thy friend to hang himself,—Be reconciled—I need thee not!"
Mournful groans, as when a tempest lowers,Echo from the dreary house of woe;Death-notes rise from yonder minster's towers!Bearing out a youth, they slowly go;Yes! a youth—unripe yet for the bier,Gathered in the spring-time of his days,Thrilling yet with pulses strong and clear,With the flame that in his bright eye plays—Yes, a son—the idol of his mother,(Oh, her mournful sigh shows that too well!)Yes! my bosom-friend,—alas my brother!—Up! each man the sad procession swell!
Do ye boast, ye pines, so gray and old,Storms to brave, with thunderbolts to sport?And, ye hills, that ye the heavens uphold?And, ye heavens, that ye the suns support!Boasts the graybeard, who on haughty deedsAs on billows, seeks perfection's height?Boasts the hero, whom his prowess leadsUp to future glory's temple bright!If the gnawing worms the floweret blast,Who can madly think he'll ne'er decay?Who above, below, can hope to last,If the young man's life thus fleets away?
Joyously his days of youth so gladDanced along, in rosy garb beclad,And the world, the world was then so sweet!And how kindly, how enchantinglySmiled the future,—with what golden eyeDid life's paradise his moments greet!While the tear his mother's eye escaped,Under him the realm of shadows gapedAnd the fates his thread began to sever,—Earth and Heaven then vanished from his sight.From the grave-thought shrank he in affright—Sweet the world is to the dying ever!
Dumb and deaf 'tis in that narrow place,Deep the slumbers of the buried one!Brother! Ah, in ever-slackening raceAll thy hopes their circuit cease to run!Sunbeams oft thy native hill still lave,But their glow thou never more canst feel;O'er its flowers the zephyr's pinions wave,O'er thine ear its murmur ne'er can steal;Love will never tinge thine eye with gold,Never wilt thou embrace thy blooming bride,Not e'en though our tears in torrents rolled—Death must now thine eye forever hide!
Yet 'tis well!—for precious is the rest,In that narrow house the sleep is calm;There, with rapture sorrow leaves the breast,—Man's afflictions there no longer harm.Slander now may wildly rave o'er thee,And temptation vomit poison fell,O'er the wrangle on the Pharisee,Murderous bigots banish thee to hell!Rogues beneath apostle-masks may leer,And the bastard child of justice play,As it were with dice, with mankind here,And so on, until the judgment day!
O'er thee fortune still may juggle on,For her minions blindly look around,—Man now totter on his staggering throne,And in dreary puddles now be found!Blest art thou, within thy narrow cell!To this stir of tragi-comedy,To these fortune-waves that madly swell,To this vain and childish lottery,To this busy crowd effecting naught,To this rest with labor teeming o'er,Brother!—to this heaven with devils—fraught,Now thine eyes have closed forevermore.
Fare thee well, oh, thou to memory dear,By our blessings lulled to slumbers sweet!Sleep on calmly in thy prison drear,—Sleep on calmly till again we meet!Till the loud Almighty trumpet sounds,Echoing through these corpse-encumbered hills,Till God's storm-wind, bursting through the boundsPlaced by death, with life those corpses fills—Till, impregnate with Jehovah's blast,Graves bring forth, and at His menace dread,In the smoke of planets melting fast,Once again the tombs give up their dead!
Not in worlds, as dreamed of by the wise,Not in heavens, as sung in poet's song,Not in e'en the people's paradise—Yet we shall o'ertake thee, and ere long.Is that true which cheered the pilgrim's gloom?Is it true that thoughts can yonder beTrue, that virtue guides us o'er the tomb?That 'tis more than empty phantasy?All these riddles are to thee unveiled!Truth thy soul ecstatic now drinks up,Truth in radiance thousandfold exhaledFrom the mighty Father's blissful cup.
Dark and silent bearers draw, then, nigh!To the slayer serve the feast the while!Cease, ye mourners, cease your wailing cry!Dust on dust upon the body pile!Where's the man who God to tempt presumes?Where the eye that through the gulf can see?Holy, holy, holy art thou, God of tombs!We, with awful trembling, worship Thee!Dust may back to native dust be ground,From its crumbling house the spirit fly,And the storm its ashes strew around,—But its love, its love shall never die!
Heavy and solemn,A cloudy column,Through the green plain they marching came!Measure less spread, like a table dread,For the wild grim dice of the iron game.The looks are bent on the shaking ground,And the heart beats loud with a knelling sound;Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt,Gallops the major along the front—"Halt!"And fettered they stand at the stark command,And the warriors, silent, halt!
Proud in the blush of morning glowing,What on the hill-top shines in flowing,"See you the foeman's banners waving?""We see the foeman's banners waving!""God be with ye—children and wife!"Hark to the music—the trump and the fife,How they ring through the ranks which they rouse to the strife!Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone,Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone!Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er,In the life to come that we meet once more!
See the smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder!Hark the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunder!From host to host, with kindling sound,The shouting signal circles round,Ay, shout it forth to life or death—Freer already breathes the breath!The war is waging, slaughter raging,And heavy through the reeking pall,The iron death-dice fall!Nearer they close—foes upon foes"Ready!"—From square to square it goes,Down on the knee they sank,And fire comes sharp from the foremost rank.Many a man to the earth it sent,Many a gap by the balls is rent—O'er the corpse before springs the hinder man,That the line may not fail to the fearless van,To the right, to the left, and around and around,Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground.God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight,Over the hosts falls a brooding night!Brothers, God grant when this life is o'erIn the life to come that we meet once more!
The dead men lie bathed in the weltering bloodAnd the living are blent in the slippery flood,And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go,Stumble still on the corpses that sleep below."What, Francis!" "Give Charlotte my last farewell."As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell—"I'll give—Oh God! are their guns so near?Ho! comrades!—yon volley!—look sharp to the rear!—I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell,Sleep soft! where death thickest descendeth in rain,The friend thou forsakest thy side shall regain!"Hitherward—thitherward reels the fight,Dark and more darkly day glooms into night—Brothers, God grant when this life is o'erIn the life to come that we meet once more!
Hark to the hoofs that galloping go!The adjutant flying,—The horsemen press hard on the panting foe,Their thunder booms in dying—Victory!The terror has seized on the dastards all,And their colors fall!Victory!Closed is the brunt of the glorious fightAnd the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night,Trumpet and fife swelling choral along,The triumph already sweeps marching in song.Farewell, fallen brothers, though this life be o'er,There's another, in which we shall meet you once more!
Monument of our own age's shame,On thy country casting endless blame,Rousseau's grave, how dear thou art to meCalm repose be to thy ashes blest!In thy life thou vainly sought'st for rest,But at length 'twas here obtained by thee!
When will ancient wounds be covered o'er?Wise men died in heathen days of yore;Now 'tis lighter—yet they die again.Socrates was killed by sophists vile,Rousseau meets his death through Christians' wile,—Rousseau—who would fain make Christians men!
[From "Letters of Julius to Raphael," an unpublished Novel.]
Friend!—the Great Ruler, easily content,Needs not the laws it has laborious beenThe task of small professors to invent;A single wheel impels the whole machineMatter and spirit;—yea, that simple law,Pervading nature, which our Newton saw.
This taught the spheres, slaves to one golden rein,Their radiant labyrinths to weave aroundCreation's mighty hearts: this made the chain,Which into interwoven systems boundAll spirits streaming to the spiritual sunAs brooks that ever into ocean run!
Did not the same strong mainspring urge and guideOur hearts to meet in love's eternal bond?Linked to thine arm, O Raphael, by thy sideMight I aspire to reach to souls beyondOur earth, and bid the bright ambition goTo that perfection which the angels know!
Happy, O happy—I have found thee—IHave out of millions found thee, and embraced;Thou, out of millions, mine!—Let earth and skyReturn to darkness, and the antique waste—To chaos shocked, let warring atoms be,Still shall each heart unto the other flee!
Do I not find within thy radiant eyesFairer reflections of all joys most fair?In thee I marvel at myself—the dyesOf lovely earth seem lovelier painted there,And in the bright looks of the friend is givenA heavenlier mirror even of the heaven!
Sadness casts off its load, and gayly goesFrom the intolerant storm to rest awhile,In love's true heart, sure haven of repose;Does not pain's veriest transports learn to smileFrom that bright eloquence affection gaveTo friendly looks?—there, finds not pain a grave?
In all creation did I stand alone,Still to the rocks my dreams a soul should find,Mine arms should wreathe themselves around the stone,My griefs should feel a listener in the wind;My joy—its echo in the caves should be!Fool, if ye will—Fool, for sweet sympathy!
We are dead groups of matter when we hate;But when we love we are as gods!—UntoThe gentle fetters yearning, through each stateAnd shade of being multiform, and throughAll countless spirits (save of all the sire)—Moves, breathes, and blends, the one divine desire.
Lo! arm in arm, through every upward grade,From the rude mongrel to the starry Greek,Who the fine link between the mortal made,And heaven's last seraph—everywhere we seekUnion and bond—till in one sea sublimeOf love be merged all measure and all time!
Friendless ruled God His solitary sky;He felt the want, and therefore souls were made,The blessed mirrors of his bliss!—His eyeNo equal in His loftiest works surveyed;And from the source whence souls are quickened, HeCalled His companion forth—ETERNITY!
Past the despairing wail—And the bright banquets of the Elysian valeMelt every care away!Delight, that breathes and moves forever,Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river!Elysian life survey!There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads,His merry west-winds blithely leadsThe ever-blooming May!Through gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the hours,In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers,And truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day.And joy to-day and joy to-morrow,But wafts the airy soul aloft;The very name is lost to sorrow,And pain is rapture tuned more exquisitely soft.
Here the pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb,And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim,The load he shall bear never more;Here the mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams,Lulled with harp-strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams,The fields, when the harvest is o'er.Here, he, whose ears drank in the battle roar,Whose banners streamed upon the startled windA thunder-storm,—before whose thunder treadThe mountains trembled,—in soft sleep reclined,By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bedIn silver plays, and murmurs to the shore,Hears the stern clangor of wild spears no more!Here the true spouse the lost-beloved regains,And on the enamelled couch of summer-plainsMingles sweet kisses with the zephyr's breath.Here, crowned at last, love never knows decay,Living through ages its one bridal day,Safe from the stroke of death!
The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.
With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain,The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun,Who glows in the arms of Aurora again,And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.
All hail, light of day!Thy sweet gushing rayPours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;With hues silver-tingedThe meadows are fringed,And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.
Young Nature invadesThe whispering shades,Displaying each ravishing charm;The soft zephyr blows,And kisses the rose,The plain is sweet-scented with balm.
How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blendThe horses and cattle;The chariot-wheels rattle,As down to the valley they take their mad way;And even the forest where life seems to move,The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.
In search of reposeFrom my heart-rending woes,Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee?The earth's smiling face,With its sweet youthful grace,A tomb must, alas, be for me!
Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and flingO'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly singIn melody soft to the world as it dreams!
Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingestThy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singestTo one whose deep slumbers forever must last!
Do I dream? can I trust to my eye?My sight sure some vapor must cover?Or, there, did my Minna pass by—My Minna—and knew not her lover?On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed,Well the fan might its zephyr bestow;Herself in her vanity lost,That wanton my Minna?—Ah, no!
In the gifts of my love she was dressed,My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver;The ribbons that flaunt in her breastMight bid her—remember the giver!And still do they bloom on thy bosom,The flowerets I gathered for thee!Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom,'Tis the heart that has faded from me!
Go and take, then, the incense they tender;Go, the one that adored thee forget!Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender,In my scorn is my comforter yet!Go, for thee with what trust and beliefThere beat not ignobly a heartThat has strength yet to strive with the griefTo have worshipped the trifler thou art!
Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed—Thy beauty—shame, Minna, to thee!To-morrow its glory will fade,And its roses all withered will be!The swallows that swarm in the sunWill fly when the north winds awaken,The false ones thine autumn will shun,For whom thou the true hast forsaken!
'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December,I see thee alone in decay,And each spring shall but bid thee rememberHow brief for thyself was the May!Then they who so wantonly flockTo the rapture thy kiss can impart,Shall scoff at thy winter, and mockThy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!
Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed—Thy beauty—shame, Minna, to theeTo-morrow its glory will fade—And its roses all withered will be!O, what scorn for thy desolate yearsShall I feel!—God forbid it in me!How bitter will then be the tearsShed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!
Ye offspring of the morning sun,Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,In Nature's love unchanged remain.With hues of bright and godlike splendorSweet Flora graced your forms so tender,And clothed ye in a garb of light;Spring's lovely children weep forever,For living souls she gave ye never,And ye must dwell in endless night?
The nightingale and lark still singIn your tranced ears the bliss of love;The toying sylphs, on airy wing,Around your fragrant bosoms rove,Of yore, Dione's daughter [6] twiningIn garlands sweet your cup-so shining,A pillow formed where love might rest!Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,The joys of love she gave ye never,Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!
But when ye're gathered by my hand,A token of my love to be,Now that her mother's harsh commandFrom Nanny's [7] sight has banished me—E'en from that passing touch ye borrowThose heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,Life, language, hearts and souls divine;And to your silent leaves 'tis given,By Him who mightiest is in heaven,His glorious Godhead to enshrine.
By love are blest the gods on high,Frail man becomes a deityWhen love to him is given;'Tis love that makes the heavens shineWith hues more radiant, more divine,And turns dull earth to heaven!
In Pyrrha's rear (so poets sangIn ages past and gone),The world from rocky fragments sprang—Mankind from lifeless stone.
Their soul was but a thing of night,Like stone and rock their heart;The flaming torch of heaven so brightIts glow could ne'er impart.
Young loves, all gently hovering round,Their souls as yet had never boundIn soft and rosy chains;No feeling muse had sought to raiseTheir bosoms with ennobling lays,Or sweet, harmonious strains.
Around each other lovinglyNo garlands then entwined;The sorrowing springs fled toward the sky,And left the earth behind.
From out the sea Aurora roseWith none to hail her then;The sun unhailed, at daylight's close,In ocean sank again.
In forests wild, man went astray,Misled by Luna's cloudy ray—He bore an iron yoke;He pined not for the stars on high,With yearning for a deityNo tears in torrents broke.
. . . . .
But see! from out the deep-blue oceanFair Venus springs with gentle motionThe graceful Naiad's smiling bandConveys her to the gladdened strand,
A May-like, youthful, magic powerEntwines, like morning's twilight hour,Around that form of godlike birth,The charms of air, sea, heaven, and earth.
The day's sweet eye begins to bloomAcross the forest's midnight gloom;Narcissuses, their balm distilling,The path her footstep treads are filling.
A song of love, sweet Philomel,Soon carolled through the grove;The streamlet, as it murmuring fell,Discoursed of naught but love,
Pygmalion! Happy one! Behold!Life's glow pervades thy marble cold!Oh, LOVE, thou conqueror all-divine,Embrace each happy child of thine!
. . . . .
By love are blest the gods on high,—Frail man becomes a deityWhen love to him is given;'Tis love that makes the heavens shineWith hues more radiant, more divine,And turns dull earth to heaven!
. . . . .
The gods their days forever spendIn banquets bright that have no end,In one voluptuous morning-dream,And quaff the nectar's golden stream.
Enthroned in awful majestyKronion wields the bolt on high:In abject fear Olympus rocksWhen wrathfully he shakes his locks.
To other gods he leaves his throne,And fills, disguised as earth's frail son,The grove with mournful numbers;The thunders rest beneath his feet,And lulled by Leda's kisses sweet,The Giant-Slayer slumbers.
Through the boundless realms of lightPhoebus' golden reins, so bright,Guide his horses white as snow,While his darts lay nations low.But when love and harmonyFill his breast, how willinglyCeases Phoebus then to heedRattling dart and snow-white steed!
See! Before Kronion's spouseEvery great immortal bows;Proudly soar the peacock pairAs her chariot throne they bear,While she decks with crown of mightHer ambrosial tresses bright,
Beauteous princess, ah! with fearQuakes before thy splendor, love,Seeking, as he ventures near,With his power thy breast to move!Soon from her immortal throneHeaven's great queen must fain descend,And in prayer for beauty's zone,To the heart-enchainer bend!
. . . . .
By love are blest the gods on high,Frail man becomes a deityWhen love to him is given;'Tis love that makes the heavens shineWith hues more radiant, more divine,And turns dull earth to heaven!
. . . . .
'Tis love illumes the realms of night,For Orcus dark obeys his might,And bows before his magic spellAll-kindly looks the king of hellAt Ceres' daughter's smile so bright,—Yes—love illumes the realms of night!
In hell were heard, with heavenly sound,Holding in chains its warder bound,Thy lays, O Thracian one!A gentler doom dread Minos passed,While down his cheeks the tears coursed fastAnd e'en around Megaera's faceThe serpents twined in fond embrace,The lashes' work seemed done.
Driven by Orpheus' lyre away,The vulture left his giant-prey [8];With gentler motion rolled alongDark Lethe and Cocytus' river,Enraptured Thracian, by thy song,—And love its burden was forever!
By love are blest the gods on high,Frail man becomes a deityWhen love to him is given;'Tis love that makes the heavens shineWith hues more radiant, more divine,And turns dull earth to heaven!
. . . . .
Wherever Nature's sway extends,The fragrant balm of love descends,His golden pinions quiver;If 'twere not Venus' eye that gleamsUpon me in the moon's soft beams,In sunlit hill or river,—If 'twere not Venus smiles on meFrom yonder bright and starry sea,
Not stars, not sun, not moonbeams sweet,Could make my heart with rapture beat.'Tis love alone that smilinglyPeers forth from Nature's blissful eye,As from a mirror ever!
Love bids the silvery streamlet rollMore gently as it sighs along,And breathes a living, feeling soulIn Philomel's sweet plaintive song;'Tis love alone that fills the airWith streams from Nature's lute so fair.
Thou wisdom with the glance of fire,Thou mighty goddess, now retire,Love's power thou now must feel!To victor proud, to monarch high,Thou ne'er hast knelt in slavery,—To love thou now must kneel!
Who taught thee boldly how to climbThe steep, but starry path sublime,And reach the seats immortal?Who rent the mystic veil in twain,And showed thee the Elysian plainBeyond death's gloomy portal?If love had beckoned not from high,Had we gained immortality?If love had not inflamed each thought,Had we the master spirit sought?'Tis love that guides the soul alongTo Nature's Father's heavenly throne
By love are blest the gods on high,Frail man becomes a deityWhen love to him is given;'Tis love that makes the heavens shineWith hues more radiant, more divine,And turns dull earth to heaven!
Are the sports of our youth so displeasing?Is love but the folly you say?Benumbed with the winter, and freezing,You scold at the revels of May.
For you once a nymph had her charms,And Oh! when the waltz you were wreathing,All Olympus embraced in your arms—All its nectar in Julia's breathing.
If Jove at that moment had hurledThe earth in some other rotation,Along with your Julia whirled,You had felt not the shock of creation.
Learn this—that philosophy beatsSure time with the pulse,—quick or slowAs the blood from the heyday retreats,—But it cannot make gods of us—No!
It is well icy reason should thawIn the warm blood of mirth now and then,The gods for themselves have a lawWhich they never intended for men.
The spirit is bound by the tiesOf its gaoler, the flesh;—if I canNot reach as an angel the skies,Let me feel on the earth as a man!
Now hearken, ye who take delightIn boasting of your worth!To many a man, to many a knight,Beloved in peace and brave in fight,The Swabian land gives birth.
Of Charles and Edward, Louis, Guy,And Frederick, ye may boast;Charles, Edward, Louis, Frederick, Guy—None with Sir Eberhard can vie—Himself a mighty host!
And then young Ulerick, his son,Ha! how he loved the fray!Young Ulerick, the Count's bold son,When once the battle had begun,No foot's-breadth e'er gave way.
The Reutlingers, with gnashing teeth,Saw our bright ranks revealedAnd, panting for the victor's wreath,They drew the sword from out the sheath,And sought the battle-field.
He charged the foe,—but fruitlessly,—Then, mail-clad, homeward sped;Stern anger filled his father's eye,And made the youthful warrior fly,And tears of anguish shed.
Now, rascals, quake!—This grieved him sore,And rankled in his brain;And by his father's beard he swore,With many a craven townsman's goreTo wash out this foul stain.
Ere long the feud raged fierce and loud,—Then hastened steed and manTo Doeffingen in thronging crowd,While joy inspired the youngster proud,—And soon the strife began.
Our army's signal-word that dayWas the disastrous fight;It spurred us on like lightning's ray,And plunged us deep in bloody fray,And in the spears' black night.
The youthful Count his ponderous maceWith lion's rage swung round;Destruction stalked before his face,While groans and howlings filled the placeAnd hundreds bit the ground.
Woe! Woe! A heavy sabre-strokeUpon his neck descended;The sight each warrior's pity woke—In vain! In vain! No word he spoke—His course on earth was ended.
Loud wept both friend and foeman then,Checked was the victor's glow;The count cheered thus his knights again—"My son is like all other men,—March, children, 'gainst the foe!"
With greater fury whizzed each lance,Revenge inflamed the blood;O'er corpses moved the fearful danceThe townsmen fled in random chanceO'er mountain, vale, and flood.
Then back to camp, with trumpet's bray,We hied in joyful haste;And wife and child, with roundelay,With clanging cup and waltzes gay,Our glorious triumph graced.
And our old Count,—what now does he?His son lies dead before him;Within his tent all woefullyHe sits alone in agony,And drops one hot tear o'er him.
And so, with true affection warm,The Count our lord we love;Himself a mighty hero-swarm—The thunders rest within his arm—He shines like star above!
Farewell, then, ye who take delightIn boasting of your worth!To many a man, to many a knight,Beloved in peace, and brave in fight,The Swabian land gives birth!
Welcome, gentle Stripling,Nature's darling thou!With thy basket full of blossoms,A happy welcome now!Aha!—and thou returnest,Heartily we greet thee—The loving and the fair one,Merrily we meet thee!Think'st thou of my maidenIn thy heart of glee?
I love her yet, the maiden—And the maiden yet loves me!For the maiden, many a blossomI begged—and not in vain!I came again a-begging,And thou—thou givest again:Welcome, gentle Stripling,Nature's darling thou—With thy basket full of blossoms,A happy welcome now!
Dramatis Personae.
JUNO.SEMELE, Princess of Thebes.JUPITER.MERCURY.
JUNO. (Descending from her chariot, enveloped in a cloud.)Away, ye peacocks, with my winged car!Upon Cithaeron's cloud-capped summit wait![The chariot and cloud vanish.Hail, hail, thou house of my undying anger!A fearful hail to thee, thou hostile roof,Ye hated walls!—This, this, then, is the placeWhere Jupiter pollutes his marriage-bedEven before the face of modest day!'Tis here, then, that a woman, a frail mortal,A dust-created being, dares to lureThe mighty Thunderer from out mine arms,And hold him prisoner against her lips!
Juno! Juno! thought of madness!Thou all lonely and in sadness,Standest now on heaven's bright throne!Though the votive smoke ascendeth,Though each knee in homage bendeth,What are they when love has flown?
To humble, alas, each too-haughty emotionThat swelled my proud breast, from the foam of the oceanFair Venus arose, to enchant gods and men!And the Fates my still deeper abasement decreeing,Her offspring Hermione brought into being,And the bliss once mine own can ne'er glad me again!
Amongst the gods do I not reign the queen?Am I not sister of the Thunderer?Am I not wife of Zeus, the lord of all?Groans not the mighty axis of the heavensAt my command? Gleams not Olympus' crownUpon my head? Ha! now I feel myself!In my immortal veins is Kronos' blood,Right royally now swells my godlike heart.Revenge! revenge!Shall she unpunished ridicule my might?Unpunished, discord roll amongst the gods,Inviting Eris to invade the courts,The joyous courts of heaven? Vain, thoughtless one!Perish, and learn upon the Stygian streamThe difference 'twixt divine and earthly dust!The giant-armor, may it weigh thee down—Thy passion for a god to atoms crush thee!Armed with revenge, as with a coat of mail,I have descended from Olympus' heights,Devising sweet, ensnaring, flattering words;But in those words, death and destruction lurk.Hark! 'tis her footstep! she approaches now—Approaches ruin and a certain death!Veil thyself, goddess, in a mortal form! [Exit.
SEMELE. (Calling behind the scenes.)The sun is fast declining! Maidens, haste,Scatter ambrosial fragrance through the hall,Strew roses and narcissus flowers around,Forgetting not the gold-embroidered pillow.He comes not yet—the sun is fast declining—
JUNO. (hastily entering in the form of an old woman.)Praised be the deities, my dearest daughter!
SEMELE.Ha! Do I dream? Am I awake? Gods! Beroe!
JUNO.Is't possible that Semele can e'erForget her nurse?
SEMELE. 'Tis Beroe! By Zeus!Oh, let thy daughter clasp thee to her heart!Thou livest still? What can have brought thee hereFrom Epidaurus? Tell me all thy tale!Thou art my mother as of old?
JUNO. Thy mother!Time was thou call'dst me so.
SEMELE. Thou art so still,And wilt remain so, till I drink full deepOf Lethe's maddening draught.JUNO. Soon BeroeWill drink oblivion from the waves of Lethe;But Cadmus' daughter ne'er will taste that draught.
SEMELE.How, my good nurse? Thy language ne'er was wontTo be mysterious or of hidden meaning;The spirit of gray hairs 'tis speaks in thee;Thou sayest I ne'er shall taste of Lethe's draught?
JUNO.I said so, yes! But wherefore ridiculeGray hairs? 'Tis true that they, unlike fair tresses,Have ne'er been able to ensnare a god!
SEMELE.Pardon poor thoughtless me! What cause have ITo ridicule gray hairs? Can I supposeThat mine forever fair will grace my neck?But what was that I heard thee mutteringBetween thy teeth? A god?
JUNO. Said I a god?The deities in truth dwell everywhere!'Tis good for earth's frail children to implore them.The gods are found where thou art—Semele!What wouldst thou ask?
SEMELE. Malicious heart! But sayWhat brings thee to this spot from Epidaurus?'Tis not because the gods delight to dwellnear Semele?
JUNO. By Jupiter, naught else!—What fire was that which mounted to thy cheeksWhen I pronounced the name of Jupiter?Naught else, my daughter! Fearfully the plagueAt Epidaurus rages; every blastIs deadly poison, every breath destroys;The son his mother burns, his bride the bridegroom;The funeral piles rear up their flaming heads,Converting even midnight to bright day,While howls of anguish ceaseless rend the air;Full to overflowing is the cup of woe!—In anger, Zeus looks down on our poor nation;In vain the victim's blood is shed, in vainBefore the altar bows the priest his knee;Deaf is his ear to all our supplications—Therefore my sorrow-stricken country nowHas sent me here to Cadmus' regal daughter,In hopes that I may move her to avertHis anger from us—"Beroe, the nurse,Has influence," thus they said, "with Semele,And Semele with Zeus"—I know no more,And understand still less what means the saying,That Semele such influence has with Zeus.
SEMELE. (Eagerly and thoughtlessly.)The plague shall cease to-morrow! Tell them soZeus loves me! Say so! It shall cease to-day!
JUNO. (Starting up in astonishment.)Ha! Is it true what fame with thousand tonguesHas spread abroad from Ida to Mount Haemus?Zeus loves thee? Zeus salutes thee in the gloryWherein the denizens of heaven regard him,When in Saturnia's arms he sinks to rest?Let, O ye gods, my gray hairs now descendTo Orcus' shades, for I have lived enough!In godlike splendor Kronos' mighty sonComes down to her,—to her, who on this breastOnce suckled—yes! to her—
SEMELE. Oh, Beroe!In youthful form he came, in lovelier guiseThan they who from Aurora's lap arise;Fairer than Hesper, breathing incense dim,—In floods of ether steeped appeared each limb;He moved with graceful and majestic motion,Like silvery billows heaving o'er the ocean,Or as Hyperion, whose bright shoulders everHis bow and arrow bear, and clanging quiver;His robe of light behind him gracefullyDanced in the breeze, his voice breathed melody,Like crystal streams with silvery murmur falling,More ravishing than Orpheus' strains enthralling.
JUNO.My daughter! Inspiration spurs thee on,Raising thy heart to flights of Helicon!If thus in strains of Delphic ecstasyAscends the short-lived blissful memoryOf his bright charms,—Oh, how divine must beHis own sweet voice,—his look how heavenly!But why of that great attributeKronion joys in most, be mute,—The majesty that hurls the thunder,And tears the fleeting clouds asunder?Wilt thou say naught of that alone?Prometheus and DeucalionMay lend the fairest charms of love,But none can wield the bolt save Jove!The thunderbolt it is aloneWhich he before thy feet laid downThat proves thy right to beauty's crown.
SEMELE.What sayest thou? What are thunder-bolts to me?
JUNO. (Smiling.)Ah, Semele! A jest becomes thee well!
SEMELE.Deucalion has no offspring so divineAs is my Zeus—of thunder naught I know.
JUNO.Mere envy! Fie!
SEMELE. No, Beroe! By Zeus!
JUNO.Thou swearest?
SEMELE. By Zeus! by mine own Zeus!
JUNO. (Shrieking.) Thou swearest?Unhappy one!
SEMELE. (In alarm.) What meanest thou, Beroe?
JUNO.Repeat the word that dooms thee to becomethe wretchedest of all on earth's wide face!—Alas, lost creature! 'Twas not Zeus!
SEMELE. Not Zeus?Oh, fearful thought!
JUNO. A cunning traitor 'twasFrom Attica, who 'neath a godlike form,Robbed thee of honor, shame, and innocence!—[SEMELE sinks to the ground.Well mayest thou fall! Ne'er mayest thou rise again!May endless night enshroud thine eyes in darkness,May endless silence round thine ears encamp!Remain forever here a lifeless mass!Oh, infamy! Enough to hurl chaste dayBack into Hecate's gloomy arms once more!Ye gods! And is it thus that BeroeFinds Cadmus' daughter, after sixteen yearsOf bitter separation! Full of joyI came from Epidaurus; but with shameTo Epidaurus must retrace my steps.—Despair I take with me. Alas, my people!E'en to the second Deluge now the plagueMay rage at will, may pile mount Oeta highWith corpses upon corpses, and may turnAll Greece into one mighty charnel-house,Ere Semele can bend the angry gods.I, thou, and Greece, and all, have been betrayed!
SEMELE. (Trembling as she rises, and extending an arm towards her.)Oh, Beroe!
JUNO. Take courage, my dear heart!Perchance 'tis Zeus! although it scarce can be!Perchance 'tis really Zeus! This we must learn!He must disclose himself to thee, or thouMust fly his sight forever, and devoteThe monster to the death-revenge of Thebes.Look up, dear daughter—look upon the faceOf thine own Beroe, who looks on theeWith sympathizing eyes—my Semele,Were it not well to try him?
SEMELE. No, by heaven!I should not find him then—
JUNO. What! Wilt thou bePerchance less wretched, if thou pinest onIn mournful doubt?—and if 'tis really he,—
SEMELE. (Hiding her face in Juno's lap.)Ah! 'tis not he!
JUNO. And if he came to theeArrayed in all the majesty whereinOlympus sees him? Semele! What then?Wouldst thou repent thee then of having tried him?