Obrazy na stronie



How wonderful is Death!
Death and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon

With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn

When throned on ocean's wave

It blushes o'er the world: Yet both so passing wonderful!

Hath then the gloomy Power Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres Seized on her sinless soul? Must then that peerless form Which love and admiration cannot view Without a beating heart, those azure veins Which steal like streams along a field of snow, That lovely outline, which is fair As breathing marble, perish? Must putrefaction's breath Leave nothing of this heavenly sight

But loathsomeness and ruin?
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme,
On which the lightest heart might moralize?
Or is it only a sweet slumber

Stealing o'er sensation,
Which the breath of roseate morning
Chaseth into darkness?
Will Ianthe wake again,
And give that faithful bosom joy
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life, and rapture from her smile2.

Yes! she will wake again,
Although her glowing limbs are motionless, *

And silent those sweet lips,

Once breathing eloquence
That might have soothed a tiger's rage,
Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror.

Her dewy eyes are closed,
And on their lids, whose texture fine
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath,

The baby Sleep is pillowed:

Her golden tresses shade

The bosom's stainless pride, Curling like tendrils of the parasite

Around a marble column.

Hark! whence that rushing sound 1

'Tis like the wondrous strain
That round a lonely ruin swells,
Which, wandering on the echoing shore,
The enthusiast hears at evening:
'Tis softer than the west wind's sigh:
'Tis wilder than the unmeasured notes
Of that strange lyre whose strings
The genii of the breezes sweep:

Those lines of rainbow light

Are like the moonbeams when they fall
Through some cathedral window, but the teints
Are such as may not find
Comparison on earth.

Behold the chariot of the Fairy Queen!
Celestial coursers paw the unyielding air;
Their filmy pennons at her word they furl,
And stop obedient to the reins of light:

These the Queen of Spells drew in.

She spread a charm around the spot,
And leaning graceful from the ethereal car,

Long did she gaze, and silently,
Upon the slumbering maid.

Oh! not the visioned poet in his dreams,
When silvery clouds float through the wildered brain,
When every sight of lovely, wild, and grand
Astonishes, enraptures, elevates,

When fancy, at«a glance, combines
The wondrous and the beautiful,—
So bright, so fair, so wild a shape

Hath ever yet beheld,
As that which reined the coursers of the air,

And poured the magic of her gaze

Upon the maiden's sleep.

The broad and yellow moon

Shone dimly through her form— That form of faultless symmetry; The pearly and pellucid car

Moved not the moonlight's line:

'Twas not an earthly pageant: Those who had looked upon the sight,

Passing all human glory,

Saw not the yellow moon,

Saw not the mortal scene,

Heard not the night-wind's rush,

Heard not an earthly sound,

Saw but the fairy pageant,

Heard but the heavenly strains

That filled the lonely dwelling.

The Fairy's frame was slight, yon fibrous cloud,
That catches but the palest tinge of even,
And which the straining eye can hardly seize
When melting into eastern twilight's shadow,
Where scarce so thin, so slight; but the fair star
That gems the glittering coronet of morn,
Sheds not a light so mild so powerful,
As that which bursting from the Fairy's form,
Spread a purpureal halo round the scene,
Yet with an undulating motion,
Swayed to her outline gracefully.

From her celestial car

The Fairy Queen descended,

And thrice she waved her wand Circled with wreaths of amaranth:

Her thin and misty form

Moved with the moving air,

And the clear silver tones,

As thus she spoke, were such
As are unheard by all but gifted ear.


Stars! your balmiest influence shed!
Elements your wrath suspend!
Sleep, Ocean, in the rocky bounds
That circle thy domain!
Let not a breath be seen to stir
Around yon grass-grown ruin's height,
Let even the restless gossamer
Sleep on the moveless air!
Soul of Ianthe' thou,
Judged alone worthy of the envied boon,
That waits the good and the sincere; that waits
Those who have struggled, and with resolute will
Vanquished earth's pride and meanness, burst the chains,
The icy chains of custom, and have shone
The day-stars of their age!—Soul of Ianthe!
Awake! arise!

Sudden arose
Ianthe's soul; it stood
All beautiful in naked purity,
The perfect semblance of its bodily frame
Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace,
Each stain of earthliness
Had passed away, it re-assumed
Its native dignity, and stood
Immortal amid ruin.

Upon the couch the body lay
Wrapt in the depth of slumber;
Its features were fixed and meaningless,

Yet animal life was there,
And every organ yet performed
Its natural functions: 'twas a sight
Of wonder to behold the body and soul.
The self-same lineaments, the same
Marks of identity were there:
Yet, oh, how different! One aspires to Heaven,
Pants for its sempiternal heritage,
And ever-changing, ever-rising still,

Wantons in endless being.
The other, for a time the unwilling sport
Of circumstance and passion, struggles on;

Fleets through its sad duration rapidly: Then, like an useless and worn-out machine, Rots, perishes, and passes.


Spirit! who has dived so deep;
Spirit! who has soared so high;
Thou the fearless, thou the mild,
Accept the boon thy worth hath earned,
Ascend the car with me.


Do I dream? Is this new feeling
But a visioned ghost of slumber 1

If indeed I am a soul,
A free, a disembodied soul,

Speak again to me.


I am the Fairy Mab: to me 'tis given
The wonders of the human world to keep:
The secrets of the immeasurable past,
In the unfailing consciences of men,
Those stern, unflattering chroniclers, I find:
The future, from the causes which arise
In each event, I gather: not the sting
Which retributive memory implants
In the hard bosom of the selfish man;
Nor that extatic and exulting throb
Which virtue's votary feels when he sums up
The thoughts and actions of a well-spent day
Are unforeseen, unregistered by me:
And it is yet permitted me, to rend
The veil of mortal frailty, that the spirit
Clothed in its changeless purity, may know
How soonest to accomplish the great end
For which it hath its being, and may taste
That peace which in the end all life will share.
This is the meed of virtue; happy Soul,
Ascend the car with me!

The chains of earth's immurement
. Fell from Ianthe's spirit;

« PoprzedniaDalej »