IV. THERE sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' Said Ida; let us down and rest' and we And blissful palpitations in the blood, Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. But when we planted level feet, and dipt Beneath the satin dome and enter'd in, There leaning deep in broider'd down we sank Our elbows on a tripod in the midst F A fragrant flame rose, and before us glow'd Fruit, viand, blossom, and amber wine and gold. Then she 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move and a maid, The minutes fledged with music : 66 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, And thinking of the days that are no more. 66 Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 66 Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. "Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; O Death in Life, the days that are no more." She ended with such passion that the tear, She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl Lost in her bosom: but with some disdain Answer'd the Princess If indeed there haunt About the moulder'd lodges of the Past So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men, Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool And so pace by : but thine are fancies hatch'd In silken-folded idleness; nor is it Wiser to weep a true occasion gone, But trim our sails, and let the old proverb serve To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, Throne after throne, and molten on the waste Their cancell❜d Babels: tho' the rough kex break The starr'd mosaic, and the wild goat hang Upon the pillar, and the wild figtree split Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear A trumpet in the distance pealing news Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns Of promise; not a death's-head at the wine.' Then I remember'd one myself had made What time I watch'd the swallow winging south From mine own land, part made long since, and part Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far As I could ape their treble, did I sing. O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, 'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. 'O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. |