Schiller’s Works Illustrated by Great German Artists, Vol. 1

HECTOR’S FAREWELL.

AMALIA.

• • ANGEL-FAIR, Walhalla’s charms displaying,
  • Fairer than all mortal youths was he;
  • Mild his look, as May-day sunbeams straying
  • Gently o’er the blue and glassy sea.
• • And his kisses!—what ecstatic feeling!
  • Like two flames that lovingly entwine,
  • Like the harp’s soft tones together stealing
  • Into one sweet harmony divine,—
• • Soul and soul embraced, commingled, blended,
  • Lips and cheeks with trembling passion burn’d,
  • Heav’n and Earth, in pristine chaos ended,
  • Round the blissful Lovers madly turn’d.
• • He is gone—and, ah! with bitter anguish
  • Vainly now I breathe my mournful sighs;
  • He is gone—in hopeless grief I languish,
  • Earthly joys I ne’er again can prize!

A FUNERAL PHANTASY.

• • LO! on high the moon, her lustre dead,
  • O’er the death-like grove uplifts her head,
  • Sighing flits the spectre through the gloom—
  • Misty clouds are shivering,
  • Pallid stars are quivering,
  • Looking down, like lamps within a tomb.
  • Spirit-like, all silent, pale, and wan,
  • Marshall’d in procession dark and sad,
  • To the sepulchre a crowd moves on,
  • In the grave-night’s dismal emblems clad.
• • Who is he, who, trembling on his crutch,
  • Walks with gloomy and averted eye,
  • And bow’d down by Destiny’s harsh touch,
  • Vents his sorrow in a mournful sigh
  • O’er the coffin borne in silence by?
  • Was it “Father!” from the youth’s lips came?
  • Soon a damp and fearful shudder flies
  • Through his grief-emaciated frame,
  • And his silv’ry hairs on end uprise.
• • All his fiery wounds now bleed anew!
  • Thro’ his soul, hell’s bitter torments run!
  • “Father!” ’twas that from the youth’s lips flew,
  • And the Father’s heart hath whisper’d, “Son!”
  • Ice-cold, ice-cold, in his shroud he lies,—
  • By thy dream, so sweet and golden erst,
  • Sweet and golden, Father, thou art curst!
  • Ice-cold, ice-cold, in his shroud he lies,
  • Who was once thy joy, thy Paradise!
• • Mild, as when, fann’d by Elysian gale,
  • Flora’s son over the verdant plain skips,
  • Girded with roses that fragrance exhale,
  • When from the arms of Aurora he slips,—
  • Onward he sped o’er the sweet-smelling field,
  • Mirror’d below in the silvery flood;
  • Rapturous flames in his kiss were conceal’d,
  • Chasing the maidens in amorous mood.
• • Boldly he sprang ’mid the stir of mankind,
  • As o’er the mountains a youthful roe springs;
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• • Heav’nward ascended his wish unconfin’d,
  • High as the eagle his daring flight wings.
  • Proud as the steeds that in passion their manes,
  • Foaming and champing, toss round in wild waves,
  • Rearing in majesty under the reins,
  • Stood he alike before monarchs and slaves.
• • Bright as a spring-day, his life’s joyous round
  • Fleeted in Hesperus’ glory away;
  • Sighs in the grape’s juice all golden he drown’d,
  • Sorrow he still’d in the dance light and gay.
  • Worlds were asleep in the promising boy,
  • Ha! when he once as a man shall be ripe,—
  • Father, rejoice—in thy promising boy,
  • Soon as the slumbering germ shall be ripe!
• • Not so, Father—hark! the churchyard gates
  • Groan, and lo, the iron hinges creak!—
  • See the dreaded tomb its prey awaits!—
  • Not so—let the tears course down thy cheek!
  • Tow’rd Perfection, lov’d one, hasten on,
  • In the sun’s bright path with joy proceed!
  • Quench thy noble thirst for bliss alone
  • In Walhalla’s peace, from sorrow freed!
• • Ye will meet—oh, thought of rapture full!—
  • Yonder, at the gate of Paradise!
  • Hark! the coffin sinks with echo dull;
  • As it re-ascends the death-rope sighs!
  • Then, with sorrow drunk, we madly roll’d,
  • Lips were silent, but the mute eye spoke—
  • Stay, oh, stay!—we grudg’d the tomb so cold;
  • But soon warmer tears in torrents broke.
• • Lo! on high the moon, her lustre dead,
  • O’er the deathlike grove uplifts her head,
  • Sighing flits the spectre through the gloom,
  • Misty clouds are shivering,
  • Pallid stars are quivering,
  • Looking down, like lamps within a tomb.
  • Dully o’er the coffin earth-flakes rise,—
  • All the wealth of earth for one look more!
  • Now the grave barr’d up for ever lies;
  • Duller, duller o’er the coffin earth-flakes rise
  • Never will the grave its prey restore!

PHANTASY.

• TO LAURA.

• • NAME, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling
  • Bodies to unite in one blest whole—
  • Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic
  • By which soul rejoins its kindred soul!
• • See! it teaches yonder roving Planets
  • Round the sun to fly in endless race;
  • And as children play around their mother,
  • Checker’d circles round the orb to trace.
• • Every rolling star, by thirst tormented,
  • Drinks with joy its bright and golden rain—
  • Drinks refreshment from its fiery chalice,
  • As the limbs are nourish’d by the brain.
• • ’Tis through Love that atom pairs with atom,
  • In a harmony eternal, sure;
  • And ’tis Love that links the spheres together—
  • Through her only, systems can endure.
• • Were she but effaced from Nature’s clockwork,
  • Into dust would fly the mighty world;
  • O’er thy systems thou wouldst weep, great Newton,
  • When with giant force to Chaos hurl’d!
• • Blot the goddess from the Spirit Order,
  • It would sink in death, and ne’er arise.
  • Were Love absent, spring would glad us never;
  • Were Love absent, none their God would prize!
• • What is that, which, when my Laura kisses,
  • Dyes my cheek with flames of purple hue,
  • Bids my bosom bound with swifter motion,
  • Like a fever wild my veins runs through?
• • Ev’ry nerve from out its barriers rises,
  • O’er its banks the blood begins to flow;
  • Body seeks to join itself to Body,
  • Spirits kindle in one blissful glow.
• • Powerful as in the dead creations
  • That eternal impulses obey,
  • O’er the web Arachne-like of Nature,—
  • Living Nature,—Love exerts her sway.
• • Laura, see how Joyousness embraces
  • E’en the overflow of sorrows wild!
  • How e’en rigid desperation kindles
  • On the loving breast of Hope so mild.
• • Sisterly and blissful rapture softens
  • Gloomy Melancholy’s fearful night,
  • And, delivered of its golden Children,
  • Lo, the eye pours forth its radiance bright!
• • Does not awful Sympathy rule over
  • E’en the realms that Evil calls its own?
  • For ’tis Hell our crimes are ever wooing,
  • While they bear a grudge ’gainst heaven alone!
• • Shame, Repentance, pair Eumenides-like,
  • Weave round Sin their fearful serpent-coils;
  • While around the eagle-wings of Greatness
  • Treach’rous danger winds its dreaded toils.
• • Ruin oft with Pride is wont to trifle,
  • Envy upon Fortune loves to cling;
  • On her brother, Death, with arms extended,
  • Lust, his sister, oft is wont to spring.
• • On the wings of Love the Future hastens
  • In the arms of ages past to lie;
  • And Saturnus, as he onward speeds him,
  • Long has sought his bride—Eternity!
• • Soon Saturnus will his bride discover,—
  • So the mighty Oracle hath said;
  • Blazing worlds will turn to marriage torches
  • When Eternity with Time shall wed!
• • Then a fairer, far more beauteous morning,
  • Laura, on our love shall also shine,
  • Long as their blest bridal-night enduring:—
  • So rejoice thee, Laura—Laura mine!

TO LAURA AT THE HARPSICHORD.

• • WHEN o’er the chords thy fingers stray,
  • My spirit leaves its mortal clay,
  • A statue there I stand;
  • Thy spell controls e’en life and death,
  • As when the nerves a living breath
  • Receive by Love’s command!
• • More gently Zephyr sighs along
  • To listen to thy magic song:
  • The systems formed by heav’nly love
  • To sing for ever as they move,
  • Pause in their endless-whirling round
  • To catch the rapture-teeming sound;
  • ’Tis for thy strains they worship thee,—
  • Thy look, enchantress, fetters me!
• • From yonder chords fast-thronging come
  • Soul-breathing notes with rapturous speed,
  • As when from out their heav’nly home
  • The new-born seraphim proceed;
  • The strains pour forth their magic might,
  • As glitt’ring suns burst through the night,
  • When, by Creation’s storm awoke,
  • From Chaos’ giant-arm they broke.
• • Now sweet, as when the silv’ry wave
  • Delights the pebbly beach to lave;
  • And now majestic as the sound
  • Of rolling thunder gath’ring round;
  • Now pealing more loudly, as when from yon height
  • Descends the mad mountain-stream, foaming and bright;
• • Now in a song of love
  • Dying away,
  • As thro’ the aspen grove
  • Soft zephyrs play;
• • Now heavier and more mournful seems the strain,
  • As when across the desert, death-like plain,
  • Whence whispers dread and yells despairing rise,
  • Cocytus’ sluggish, wailing current sighs.
• • Maiden fair, oh, answer me!
  • Are not spirits leagued with thee?
  • Speak they in the realms of bliss
  • Other language e’er than this?

RAPTURE.

• TO LAURA.

• • FROM earth I seem to wing my flight,
  • And sun myself in Heaven’s pure light,
  • When thy sweet gaze meets mine
  • I dream I quaff ethereal dew,
  • When mine own form I mirror’d view
  • In those blue eyes divine!
• • Blest notes from Paradise afar,
  • Or strains from some benignant star
  • Enchant my ravish’d ear;
  • My muse feels then the shepherd’s hour
  • When silv’ry tones of magic power
  • Escape those lips so dear!
• • Young loves around thee fan their wings—
  • Behind, the madden’d fir-tree springs,
  • As when by Orpheus fir’d;
  • The poles whirl round with swifter motion,
  • When in the dance, like waves o’er ocean,
  • Thy footsteps float untir’d!
• • Thy look, if it but beam with love,
  • Could make the lifeless marble move,
  • And hearts in rocks enshrine;
  • My visions to reality
  • Will turn, if, Laura, in thine eye
  • I read—that thou art mine!

THE SECRET OF REMINISCENCE.

• TO LAURA.

• • WHAT unveils to me the yearning glow
  • Fix’d for ever to thy lips to grow?
  • What the longing wish thy breath to drink,—
  • In thy being blest, in death to sink
  • When thy look steals o’er me?
• • As when slaves without resistance yield
  • To the victor in the battle-field,
  • So my senses in the moment fly
  • O’er the bridge of life tumultuously
  • When thou stand’st before me!
• • Speak! why should they from their master roam?
  • Do my senses yonder seek their home?
  • Or do sever’d brethren meet again,
  • Casting off the body’s heavy chain,
  • Where thy foot hath lighted?
• • Were our beings once together twin’d?
  • Was it therefore that our bosoms pin’d?
  • Were we in the light of suns now dead,
  • In the days of rapture long since fled,
  • Into one united?
• • Aye! we were so! thou wert link’d with me,
  • In Æone that has ceas’d to be;
  • On the mournful page of vanish’d time,
  • By my muse were read these words sublime:
  • Nought thy love can sever!
• • And in being closely twin’d and fair,
  • I, too, wondering saw it written there,—
  • We were then a life, a Deity,—
  • And the world seem’d order’d then to lie
  • ’Neath our sway for ever.
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• • And, to meet us, nectar-fountains still
  • Pour’d for ever forth their blissful rill;
  • Forcibly we broke the seal of Things,
  • And to Truth’s bright sunny hill our wings
  • Joyously were soaring.
• • Laura, weep!—this Deity hath flown,—
  • Thou and I his ruins are alone;
  • By a thirst unquenchable we’re driven
  • Our lost Being to embrace;—tow’rd Heaven
  • Turns our gaze imploring.
• • Therefore, Laura, is this yearning glow
  • Fix’d for ever to thy lips to grow,
  • And the longing wish thy breath to drink,
  • In thy Being blest, in death to sink
  • When thy look steals o’er me!
• • And as Slaves without resistance yield,
  • To the Victor in the battle-field,
  • Therefore do my ravish’d Senses fly
  • O’er the bridge of Life tumultuously,
  • When thou stand’st before me!
• • Therefore do they from their Master roam!
  • Therefore do my Senses seek their home!
  • Casting off the Body’s heavy chain,
  • Those long-sever’d brethren kiss again,
  • Hush’d is all their sighing!
• • And thou, too—when on me fell thine eye,
  • What disclos’d thy cheek’s deep-purple dye?
  • Tow’rd each other, like relations dear,
  • As an exile to his home draws near,
  • Were we not then flying?

MELANCHOLY.

• TO LAURA.

• • LAURA,—in thy golden gaze
  • Burns the morning sunbeam’s glow,
  • In thy cheek the red blood plays,
  • And thy tears, that pearl-like flow,
  • Rapture as their Mother know—
  • He whom those fair drops bedew,
  • Who therein a God can view,
  • Ah, the youth who thus rewarded sighs,
  • Sees new suns begin to rise!
• • And thy Spirit, bright and clear,
  • As the glassy waves appear,
  • Turns to May the Autumn sad;
  • Deserts wild, inspiring fear,
  • In thy genial rays are glad.
  • Distant Future, gloomy, cold,
  • In thy star is turn’d to gold;
  • Smil’st thou at the Graces’ harmony?
  • I must weep those charms to see!
• • Have not Night’s all-dreaded Powers
  • Undermin’d Earth’s fastness long?
  • Yes! our proudly-soaring towers,
  • And our cities, stately, strong,
  • All on mould’ring bones repose;
  • From Decay their fragrant bloom
  • Drink thy flowers; thy current flows
  • From the hollow of a—tomb!
• • Laura, yonder floating planets see!
  • Let them of their Worlds discourse to thee!
  • ’Neath their magic Circle’s sway,
  • Thousand springs have pass’d away,
  • Thousand thrones the skies have sought,
  • Thousand fearful fights been fought.
  • Wouldst thou find their trace again,
  • Seek it on the iron plain!
  • Earlier, later, ripe to pass
  • To the grave,—the wheels, alas,
  • Of the Planets clogg’d remain!
• • Thrice look round,—and lo! the sun’s bright rays
  • In the death-night’s Ocean quench their blaze;
  • Ask me how thy beams are fann’d to flame!
  • Dost thou boast thy sparkling eye,
  • Or thy cheek’s fresh purple dye,
  • That from crumbling Mould first came?
  • For the hues he lent to thee,
  • Maiden, Death with usury
  • Heavy interest soon will claim!
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• • Maiden, do not scorn that mighty one!
  • On the cheek a fairer, brighter dye
  • Is, alas! but Death’s more beauteous throne;
  • From behind that flow’ry tapestry
  • Marks his prey the Spoiler for his own.
  • Laura—in thy Worshipper confide!
  • ’Tis tow’rd Death alone thine eyes now strain;
  • And thy beaming glances only drain
  • Life’s frail lamp so niggardly supplied.
  • “Yet my pulses,” boastest thou,
  • “Throb in joyous youthful play”—
  • Ah! the Tyrant’s creatures now
  • Are but hast’ning tow’rds Decay.
• • And this smile the blast of Death
  • Scatters, as the zephyr’s breath
  • Scatters rainbow-colored foam.
  • Vain thou seek’st to find its trace,
  • E’en from Nature’s spring-like grace,
  • E’en from Life, as from his home,
  • Sallies the Destroyer base!
• • Stripp’d of leaves I see thy lifeless roses,
  • Pale and dead thy mouth so sweet of yore,
  • And thy cheek, that dimples soft discloses,
  • By the wintry tempest furrow’d o’er.
  • Gloomy years will, gathering blacker, stronger,
  • Cloud the silver-spring of Infancy—
  • Then will Laura—Laura love no longer,
  • Then will Laura lovely cease to be!
• • Maiden! as an oak thy Bard still rears his head;
  • Blunt against my rock-like youthful might
  • Falls the death-spear’s shaft, its vigor fled;
  • And my glances,—burning as the light
  • Of yon Heaven,—my Soul more fiercely glowing
  • Than the light of yon eternal Heaven,
  • O’er its own World’s heaving Ocean driven,
  • Piling rocks and overthrowing;
  • Boldly through the world my thoughts are steering,
  • Nothing save their barriers fearing!
• • Glow’st thou, Laura?—Swells thy haughty breast?
  • Learn then, Maiden, that this drink so blest,
  • That this cup of god-like seeming,
  • Laura, is with Poison teeming!
  • Hapless they who ever trust
  • Sparks divine to forge from dust!
  • Ah! the boldest Harmony
  • ’Mongst the notes but discord breeds,
  • Genius, glowing Spark from high,
  • On Life’s glimm’ring lamp but feeds.
• • Lur’d from Life’s bright throne away,
  • Ev’ry Gaoler marks him as his prey!
  • Ah! e’en now, with shameless passion fir’d,
  • ’Gainst me all my Spirits have conspir’d!
  • Let—I feel it—two short springs fleet by,
  • Laura—and this tott’ring house of clay
  • Will with fearful ruin on me lie,
  • Quenching me in my self-kindled ray!—
• • Weep’st thou, Laura?—Be that tear denied
  • Which as Age’s penance is supplied!
  • Hence! away! thou tear, thou sinner mean!
  • Wouldst thou, Laura, that my strength should sink?—
  • That I trembling from that Sun should shrink
  • Who the stripling’s eagle-course hath seen?
  • That my bosom’s heav’nly flame so bright
  • ’Neath a frozen heart’s cold touch should perish?—
  • That my Spirit should be reft of sight?—
  • Must I curse the Sins that most I cherish?
  • No! away! thou tear, thou sinner mean!
  • Break the flow’ret in its fairest bloom!
  • Quench, O Youth, with that deep look of gloom,
  • Quench with bitter tears my torch’s ray!
  • As when o’er the scene that most enthrals
  • On the tragic stage, the curtain falls
  • Though each shadow flies,—the crowds all-breathless stay!

THE INFANTICIDE.

• • HARK!—the bells are tolling mournfully,
  • And the dial’s hand hath run its race.
  • In the name of God, so let it be!
  • Grave-attendants,—to the fatal place!
  • Take, O World, this last departing kiss!
  • Take, O World, these bitter tears away!
  • Yet thy poison had a taste of bliss!—
  • Bosom-poisoner, we are quit to-day!
• • Fare thee well, thou happiness of Earth,
  • Now to be exchang’d for crumbling mould!
  • Fare ye well, ye days of rosy birth,
  • That the maiden revell’d in of old!
  • Fare ye well, ye gold-embroider’d dreams,
  • Heaven-descended Phantasies so bright!
  • Ah, they perish’d in their morning beams,
  • Ne’er again to blossom to the light!
• • I was deck’d with rosy ribbons fair,
  • Clad in Innocence’s swan-like dress,
  • And my bright and loosely flowing hair
  • Rosebuds sweet then carelessly did press.
  • Woe, oh woe! though garments white still grace
  • Her who now is Hell’s sad sacrifice,
  • Yet, alas, those rosy ribbons’ place
  • Now the fillet black of Death supplies!
• • Weep for me, oh, ye who never fell!
  • Ye for whom the guileless lily blows,—
  • On whose gentle bosoms as they swell
  • Nature her heroic strength bestows!
  • Woe!—this heart has felt frail passion’s charms,
  • Feeling now my judgment-sword must be!
  • Woe!—encircl’d in the False One’s arms,
  • Slept my Virtue,—ah, too easily!
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• • Ah, forgetting me, that serpent heart
  • Makes Another now perchance its prey,—
  • Overflows, when I to Death depart,
  • At her toilet in some amorous play!—
  • Sports, it may be, with his Maiden’s hair,
  • Drinks the kiss that she responsive brings,
  • When upon the death-block spurting there,
  • From my body, high the life-blood springs!
• • Joseph! Joseph! many a weary mile
  • May Louisa’s death-song follow thee!
  • And the belfry’s hollow peal the while
  • On thy startled ear strike fearfully!
  • When Love’s soft and murmuring tones may swell
  • Tow’rd thee from some Maiden’s tender lips,
  • Sudden let them plant a Wound from Hell,
  • Where Joy’s rosy form its Being sips!
• • Traitor! heed’st thou not Louisa’s smart?—
  • Not, thou Cruel one, a Woman’s shame?—
  • Not the unborn Life beneath my heart?—
  • Not what e’en the tiger fierce would tame?
  • See! his sails now proudly leave this land,
  • Sadly after them is turn’d mine eye,
  • While around the Maids on Seine’s far strand,
  • Breathes he forth his false and treach’rous sigh!
• • And my baby,—wrapp’d in soft repose—
  • Calmly lay it on its mother’s breast;
  • In the beauty of the morning rose
  • Sweetly on me smil’d the infant blest.
  • Deadly-lovely was each feature fair
  • Of its blissful image tow’rd me bent;
  • While by Love and visions of Despair
  • Was its mother’s tortured bosom rent.
• • “Woman, where’s my Father?”—Thus it spoke
  • In its innocent mute thunder-tone;
  • “Woman, where’s thy Spouse?”—responsive broke
  • From my inmost heart, with heavy groan.
  • Him who now may other children kiss,
  • Orphan, thou, alas, wilt seek in vain!
  • Thou wilt curse the moment of our bliss,
  • When the Bastard’s name inflicts its stain.
• • And thy mother—in her heart is Hell!
  • Lonely sits she in wide Nature’s All,
  • Thirsting ever at the blissful well,
  • Which thy sight converts to bitter gall.
  • Ah! with ev’ry sound from thee arise
  • Madden’d feelings of departed joy,
  • And Death’s bitter arrow ’gainst me flies,
  • From the smiling glances of my Boy.
• • Hell surrounds me when thy form I miss;
  • Hell, whene’er mine eyes thy form behold!
  • And the Furies’ lash is now thy kiss,
  • That from his lips ravish’d me of old!
  • From the Grave his Oath still thunders back,
  • Ever does his Perjury kill on—
  • Here around me twined the Hydra black,
  • And the work of Murder soon was done!
• • Joseph! Joseph! many a weary mile
  • May the phantom dread thy steps pursue,
  • Catch thee in its ice-cold arms the while,
  • From thy dream of rapture wake thee, too!
  • May thine infant’s dying gaze so sad
  • Glare down from the softly glimm’ring star,
  • Meet thee in its bloody vesture clad,
  • Scourge thee back from Paradise afar!
• • See! there lay it lifeless at my feet,—
  • Coldly staring-with a mind confus’d
  • Saw I then its Life-blood’s current fleet,
  • And my own Life with that current ooz’d;—
  • Fearfully the messengers of doom
  • Knock e’en now,—more fearfully my heart!
  • Gladly haste I, in the chilly tomb
  • Evermore to quench my burning smart.
• • Joseph! thou may’st pardon’d be by Heaven,
  • Thou art pardon’d by the Sinner, too!
  • To the Earth my wrongs be henceforth given!
  • Rake, ye Flames, the Death-pile thro’ and thro’!
  • Joy! oh, Joy! His letters burn on high,
  • And a conquering flame his oath devours,
  • While his kisses upwards blazing fly!—
  • Yet was aught so dear in happier hours!
• • Sisters, trust your youthful roses ne’er,
  • Trust them ne’er to false Man’s treach’rous vow!
  • Beauty for my Virtue laid its snare,—
  • On the Place of Death I curse it now!
  • Tears?—From stranglers’ eyes can tears, then, gush?
  • Let my face the bandage quickly veil.
  • Hangman, canst not thou a lily crush?
  • Do not tremble, Hangman pale!

THE GREATNESS OF THE WORLD.

• • THROUGH the world which the Spirit creative and kind
  • First form’d out of Chaos, I fly like the wind,
  • Until on the strand
  • Of 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 play
  • Seek their goal far away,—
  • For a moment my fugitive gaze wander’d on,
  • I look’d 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 drear
  • The dim Heavens appear,
  • While embryo systems and seas at their source
  • Are whirling around the Sun - Wanderer’s course.
• • When sudden a Pilgrim I see drawing near
  • Along the lone path,—“Stay! What seekest thou here?”
  • “My bark, tempest-tost,
  • “Seeks the world’s distant coast,
  • “I sail tow’rd 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!”

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG MAN.

• • 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,
  • Gather’d 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 grey 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 greybeard, who on haughty Deeds
  • As on billows, seeks Perfection’s height?
  • Boasts the Hero, whom his Prowess leads
  • Up to future Glory’s Temple bright?
  • If the gnawing worms the flow’ret 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 glad
  • Danced along, in rosy garb beclad,
  • And the world, the world was then so sweet!
  • And how kindly, how enchantingly
  • Smiled the Future,—with what golden eye
  • Did Life’s Paradise his moments greet!
  • While the tear his Mother’s eye escap’d,
  • Under him the Realm of Shadows gap’d,
  • And the Fates his thread began to sever,—
  • Earth and Heaven then vanish’d 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-slack’ning race
  • All 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,
  • Ne’er wilt thou embrace thy blooming bride,
  • Not e’en though our tears in torrents roll’d—
  • Death must now thine eye for ever hide!
• • Yet ’tis well!—for precious is thy 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 thee wrangle on the Pharisee,
  • Murd’rous 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 labour teeming o’er,
  • Brother!—to this Heaven with Devils fraught,
  • Now thine eyes have closed for evermore.
• • Fare thee well, oh, thou to memory dear,
  • By our blessings lull’d 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-encumber’d hills,—
  • Till God’s storm-wind, bursting through the bounds
  • Placed 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 dreamt of by the Wise,
  • Not in Heavens, as sung in Poets’ song,
  • Not in e’en the People’s Paradise—
  • Yet we shall o’ertake thee, and ere long.
• • Is that true which cheer’d the Pilgrims’ gloom?
  • Is it true that Thoughts can yonder be?
  • True, that Virtue guides us o’er the tomb?
  • That ’tis more than empty Phantasy?
  • All these riddles are to thee unveil’d!
  • Truth thy Soul ecstatic now drinks up,
  • Truth in radiance thousandfold exhal’d
  • From 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 thro’ 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!

THE BATTLE.

• • STORM-CLOUD like, overhead,
  • With a dull, heavy tread,
  • Moves the march through the wide plain so green;
  • And the field for the strife,
  • Where the stake is man’s life,
  • In its boundless expanse is now seen.
  • Tow’rd the ground every eye is uneasily cast,
  • And each warrior’s heart ’gainst his ribs beateth fast.
  • To the front now the Major with thundering pace
  • Gallops on past each pallid and death-lighted face—
  • Halt!
  • And the regiments obey that stern word of command,
  • While in silence unbroken the front takes its stand.
• • Glittering in the morning beam,
  • See ye on yon hill the gleam?
  • Is’t the banner of the foe?
  • Yes, their waving flag we know!
  • Wife and children of my love,
  • God protect ye from above!
• • Now merrily, merrily rise on the ear
  • The roll of the drum and the fife’s note so clear;
  • Oh! hark to the wildly harmonious tone,
  • How it thrills through the marrow and thrills through the bone!
• • God be with ye, comrades brave,—
  • We shall meet beyond the grave!
• • Soon the vivid lightning flashes,
  • Soon the rolling thunder crashes
  • From the fierce artillery;
  • Eyelids quiver,—loud are heard
  • Fearful sounds,—the signal word
  • Through each rank runs rapidly.
  • In God’s name, so let it be!—
  • Every breast now breathes more free.
• • Death is loose, the din grows louder,—
  • Sharper rings the musketry;
  • Driven by the deadly powder
  • Iron bullets fill the sky.
• • Almost touching each other the armies now stand,—
  • From platoon to platoon runs the word of command:
  • “Make ready!” with thundering roar;
  • And sudden the foremost on knee sinking low,
  • Their death-laden weapons discharge on the foe;
  • But many, alas! rise no more.
  • By the grapeshot resistless whole ranks are o’erthrown;
  • But as fast as the ranks in the front are mown down,
  • O’er their bodies the hinder ranks pour.
• • Devastation spreads around,
  • Whole battalions bite the ground.
• • The sun now sinks to rest,—hot burns the fight,
  • While o’er the armies broods the murky night.
• • God be with ye, comrades brave,—
  • We shall meet beyond the grave!
• • The life-blood in torrents spurts high as the head,
  • The living confusedly mix with the dead;
  • The foot as it moves stumbles over the slain.
  • While the conflict ’gins raging more wildly again.
  • “What, Frank! And thou, too?”—“Kiss my Charlotte for me!”
  • “Aye, Friend, that I will! . . . Good God! Comrades, see, see,
  • “How the grapeshot bursts full on our rear!
  • “. . . I will kiss her for thee! Now in peace slumber on,
  • “While I, left, alas! in the world all-alone,
  • “Seek the fast-falling balls without fear.”

• • Now hither, and now thither bends the fight,
  • Still murkier o’er the armies broods the night.
• • God be with ye comrades brave—
  • We shall meet beyond the grave.
• • What means this sudden trampling sound?
  • The Adjutants are flying round,
  • Dragoons are rattling ’gainst the foe,
  • Whose thund’ring guns are lying low,
  • While they in all directions fly,—
  • Hurrah, my Comrades, Victory!
• • Their coward limbs in terror shrink,
  • And down their boasting banners sink!
• • Decided is the fearful fight,
  • The day gleams brightly through the night!
  • And hark, how triumphantly rise on the ear,
  • The roll of the drum and the fife’s note so clear!
• • Farewell, ye perish’d comrades brave—
  • Oh, we shall meet beyond the grave!

ROUSSEAU.

• MONUMENT of our own Age’s shame,
• On thy Country casting endless blame,
• Rousseau’s Grave, how dear thou art to me!
• Calm repose be to thy ashes blest!
• In thy life thou vainly sought’st for rest,
• But at length ’twas here obtain’d by thee!
• When will ancient wounds be cover’d o’er?
• Wise men died in heathen days of yore;
• Now ’tis lighter—yet they die again.
• Socrates was kill’d by Sophists vile,
• Rousseau meets his death through Christians’ wile,—
• Rousseau—who would fain make Christians men!

FRIENDSHIP.
From the “Letters of Julius to Raphael;” an unpublished Romance.

• • TEMPERATE is the Being - Ruler, Friend!—
  • On those Thinkers mean let Shame attend
  • Who so anxiously seek Laws to solve!
  • Living-Worlds, and Regions of the Soul
  • On one Flywheel, tow’rd their limit roll;
  • Here my Newton saw that Wheel revolve!
• • Spheres,—the slaves of but one rein,—it tells
  • Round the mighty World’s heart, as it swells,
  • Labyrinthine paths to cause to rise—
  • Spirits, in entwining Systems laced,
  • Tow’rd the mighty Spirit-Sun to haste,
  • As the stream to join the ocean flies.
• • Was’t not this Machinery divine,
  • That compell’d our Bosoms to entwine
  • In the blest and endless bonds of Love?
  • Raphael, on thine Arm—oh, ecstasy!
  • Tow’rd that mighty Spirit-Sun, e’en I
  • On Perfection’s path would gladly rove.
• • Joy, oh, Joy! Thou now art found by me!
  • I, of millions, have embraced but thee,
  • And, of millions, mine art thou alone—
  • Let this World in Chaos still be lost,
  • Atoms in confusion wild be tost,
  • Into one our Hearts for aye have flown!
• • Must not I, from out thy flaming gaze,
  • Of my Rapture seek the answering rays?
  • ’Tis in thee alone myself I view—
  • Fairer still appears the earth so fair,
  • Brighter in the Loved One’s features there
  • Heaven is mirror’d,—of more dazzling hue.
• • Sweeter from the Passions’ storm to rest,
  • Melancholy casts upon Love’s breast
  • All the burden of her tearful gloom;
  • Does not e’en tormenting Rapture seek,
  • In thine eyes that eloquently speak,
  • Eagerly to find a blissful tomb?
• • Stood I in Creation all alone,
  • Spirits I would dream into each stone,
  • And their forms with kisses then would greet,—
  • When my wailings echoed far and wide,
  • Would be happy, if the Rocks replied,
  • Fool, enough! to Sympathy so sweet.
• • Lifeless groups are we, if hate we prove,
  • Gods—if we embrace in kindly love!
  • While we languish for the Fetters blest—
  • Upwards through the thousand-varying scale
  • Of unnumber’d Souls that nought avail,
  • Does this godlike impulse raise the breast.
• • Arm in arm, tow’rd some still higher sphere,
  • From the Mongol to the Grecian seer,
  • Who is with the last of seraphs bound,
  • Roam we on, in dancing orbit bright,
  • Till in yonder Sea of endless light
  • Time and Measure evermore are drown’d!
• • Friendless was the Mighty Lord of Earth,
  • Felt a Want—so gave the Spirit birth,
  • Mirror blest where His own glories shine!—
  • Ne’er his Like has found that Being high,—
  • Nought e’er gushes—save Infinity—
  • From the Spirit-Region’s Cup Divine!

GROUP FROM TARTARUS.

• • HARK! Like the sea in wrath the Heav’ns assailing,
  • Or like a brook through rocky basin wailing,
  • Comes from below, in groaning agony,
  • A heavy, vacant, torment-breathing sigh!
• • Their faces marks of bitter torture wear,
  • While from their lips burst curses of despair;
  • Their eyes are hollow, and full of woe.
  • And their looks with heartfelt anguish
• • Seek Cocytus’ stream that runs wailing below,
  • For the bridge o’er its waters they languish.
• • And they say to each other in accents of fear,
  • “Oh, when will the time of Fulfilment appear?”
  • High over them boundless Eternity quivers,
  • And the scythe of Saturnus all-ruthlessly shivers!

ELYSIUM.

• • THOSE groans of deep anguish no longer resound,
  • Each accent of sorrow, each sigh, is now drown’d
  • In Elysium’s banquets so bright;
  • In bliss never-ending, in rapturous song,
  • As when thro’ the meadows a brook sings along,
  • Elysium’s days take their flight.
• • A May-day enduring, a ne’er changing spring
  • All gently its youthful and balm-laden wing
  • Waves over the sweet smiling plain;
  • In visions ecstatic the days fleet apace,
  • The Spirit expands through the wide realms of space,
  • And Truth rends the Cov’ring in twain.
• • ’Tis here that the bosom is swelling alone,
  • With rapture eternal and free from alloy;
  • The name of affliction is here e’er unknown,
  • And sorrow means nought but a more tranquil joy.
• • The pilgrim beneath these cool shades lays to rest
  • His feverish limbs by long wand’ring opprest,
  • His burden behind him forever he leaves;
  • The sickle escapes from the hand of the reaper,
  • And, lull’d by the harp’s strains seraphic, the sleeper
  • Beholds in his vision the harvest’s ripe sheaves
• • He whose banner war’s fierce thunder woke,
  • On whose ears the din of slaughter broke,
  • ’Neath whose foot the mountain quak’d in fear,
  • Slumbers calmly by the streamlet’s side,
  • While its silv’ry waters onward glide,
  • And forgets his wildly-clanging spear.
• • Here all faithful lovers meet again,
  • Kiss each other on the verdant plain,
  • Scented by the balmy zephyr’s breath;
  • Love here finds once more his crown of gold
  • ’Gins his endless marriage-feast to hold,
  • Safe for ever from the stroke of Death!

THE FUGITIVE.

• • THE air is perfum’d 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 ray
  • Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;
  • With hues silver-tinged
  • The Meadows are fringed,
  • And numberless suns in the dewdrop reveal’d.
• • Young Nature invades
  • The 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 blend
  • The horses and cattle;
  • The chariot-wheels rattle
  • As down to the valley they take their mad way;
  • And even the forest with life seems to move,
  • The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,
  • And flutter their pinions in Heaven’s bright ray.
• • In search of repose
  • From 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 fling
  • O’er plain and o’er forest thy purple-dyed beams!
  • Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing
  • In melody soft to the world as it dreams!
• • Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest
  • Thy purple-dyed beams o’er the grave of the past!
  • Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest
  • To one whose deep slumbers for ever must last!

THE FLOWERS.

• • 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 splendor
  • Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,
  • And clothed ye in a garb of light;
  • Spring’s lovely children, weep for ever,
  • For living Souls she gave ye never,
  • And ye must dwell in endless night!
• • The nightingale and lark still sing
  • In your tranced ears the bliss of love;
  • The toying sylphs, on airy wing,
  • Around your fragrant bosoms rove.
  • Of yore, Dione’s daughter twining
  • In garlands sweet your cup so shining,
  • A pillow form’d where Love might rest!
  • Spring’s gentle children, mourn for ever,
  • The joys of Love she gave ye never,
  • Ne’er let ye know that feeling blest!
• • But when ye’re gather’d by my hand,
  • A token of my love to be,
  • Now that her mother’s harsh command
  • From Nanny’s sight has banish’d me,—
  • E’en from that passing touch ye borrow
  • Those 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

ODE TO SPRING.

• • THOU’RT welcome, lovely stripling!
  • Thou Nature’s fond delight!
  • With thy basket fill’d with flowers,
  • Thou’rt welcome to my sight!
• • Huzza! once more we greet thee!
  • How fair and sweet thou art!
  • To usher in thy presence
  • We haste with joyful heart!
• • Remember’st thou my Maiden?
  • Thou never canst forget!
  • My Maiden lov’d me dearly,—
  • My Maiden loves me yet!
• • For my Maiden many a flow’ret
  • I begg’d of yore from thee—
  • Once more I make entreaty,
  • And thou?—thou giv’st them me!
• • Thou’rt welcome, lovely stripling!
  • Thou Nature’s fond delight!
  • With thy basket fill’d with flowers,
  • Thou’rt welcome to my sight!

TO MINNA.

• • AM I dreaming? Is mine eye
  • Dimm’d by some deceiving ray?
  • Is’t my Minna passing by,
  • Turning her cold look away?
  • She, who vain of each fair charm,
  • Fans herself so haughtily,
  • Leaning on some fopling’s arm,—
  • Is’t my Minna?—’Tis not she!
• • On her light hat, feathers proud,
  • Once my gift, are waving yet;
  • While her breast-knots cry aloud,
  • Saying: “Minna, ne’er forget!”
  • Flowers still grace her breast, her brow,
  • Foster’d by my loving care;
  • Ah, that breast is faithless now,—
  • Yet those flowers still blossom there!
• • Go! Ador’d by empty wits,
  • Go! Without a thought of me!
  • Prey to venal hypocrites—
  • Scorn is all I feel for thee!
  • Go! for thee once throbb’d a heart
  • Fill’d with stainless purity,
  • Great enough to bear the smart
  • That it throbb’d for such as thee!
• • ’Tis by beauty thou’rt betray’d—
  • By thy features, shameless one!
  • But their roses soon will fade,
  • Soon their transient charms be gone!
  • Swallows that in spring-time play,
  • Fly when north winds cold return;
  • Age will scare thy wooers gay,
  • Yet a friend thou now canst spurn!
• • Ah! methinks I hear thee sigh,
  • Wreck of what thou once hast been,
  • Looking back with streaming eye
  • To thy May-day’s flowery scene.
  • They who once thy kisses sought,
  • On the wings of rapture borne,
  • Make thy vanish’d youth their sport,
  • Laugh thy winter sad to scorn.
• • ’Tis by beauty thou’rt betray’d—
  • By thy features, shameless one!
  • But their roses soon will fade,
  • Soon thy transient charms be gone!
  • How I then will scoff and jeer!—
  • Scoff! Great Heavens! oh, pardon me!
  • I will weep full many a tear—
  • Tears of anguish weep for thee!

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.
A HYMN.

• • SURE Love doth bless the Gods on high!
  • Frail man becomes a Deity
  • When love to him is given;
  • ’Tis Love that makes the Heavens shine
  • With hues more radiant, more divine,
  • And turns dull Earth to Heaven!
• • In Pyrrha’s rear (so poets sang
  • In 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 Heav’n so bright
  • Its glow could ne’er impart.
• • Young Loves, all gently hov’ring round,
  • Their souls as yet had never bound
  • In soft and rosy chains;
  • No feeling Muse had sought to raise
  • Their bosoms with ennobling lays,
  • Or sweet, harmonious strains.
• • Around each other lovingly
  • No garlands then entwin’d;
  • The sorrowing Springs fled tow’rd the sky,
  • And left the Earth behind.
• • From out the sea Aurora rose
  • With none to hail her then;
  • The sun unhail’d, 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 pin’d not for the stars on high,
  • With yearning for a Deity
  • No tears in torrents broke.
  • * * * * *
• • But see! from out the deep-blue Ocean
  • Fair Venus springs with gentle motion;
  • The graceful Naiad’s smiling band
  • Conveys her to the gladden’d strand.
• • A May-like, youthful, Magic power
  • Entwines, 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 bloom
  • Across the forest’s midnight gloom;
  • Narcissuses, their balm distilling,
  • The path her footstep treads are filling.
• • A song of Love sweet Philomel
  • Soon caroll’d through the grove;
  • The streamlet, as it murmuring fell,
  • Discours’d of nought 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 Deity
  • When Love to him is given;
  • ’Tis Love that makes the Heavens shine
  • With hues more radiant, more divine,
  • And turns dull Earth to Heaven!
  • * * * * *
• • The Gods their days forever spend
  • In banquets bright that have no end,—
  • In one voluptuous morning-dream,
  • And quaff the Nectar’s golden stream.
• • Enthron’d in awful majesty,
  • Kronion wields the bolt on high:
  • In abject fear Olympus rocks
  • When wrathfully he shakes his locks.
26
• • To other Gods he leaves his throne,
  • And fills, disguis’d as Earth’s frail son,
  • The grove with mournful numbers;
  • The thunders rest beneath his feet,
  • And lull’d by Leda’s kisses sweet,
  • The Giant-Slayer slumbers.
• • Through the boundless realms of light
  • Phœbus’ golden reins so bright,
  • Guide his horses white as snow,
  • While his darts lay Nations low.
  • But when Love and Harmony
  • Fill his breast, how willingly
  • Ceases Phœbus then to heed
  • Rattling dart and snow-white steed!
• • See! Before Kronion’s spouse
  • Every great Immortal bows;
  • Proudly soar the peacock pair
  • As her chariot throne they bear,
  • While she decks with crown of might
  • Her ambrosial tresses bright.
• • Beauteous Princess, ah! with fear
  • Quakes, before thy splendor, Love,
  • Seeking, as he ventures near,
  • With his power thy breast to move!
• • Soon from her immortal throne
  • Heaven’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 Deity
  • When Love to him is given;
  • ’Tis Love that makes the Heavens shine
  • With 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 spell:
  • All-kindly looks the King of Hell
  • At 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 pass’d,
  • While down his cheeks the tears cours’d fast,
  • And e’en around Megæra’s face
• • The serpents twin’d in fond embrace,
  • The lashes’ work seemed done.
  • Driven by Orpheus’ lyre away,
  • The Vulture left his Giant-prey;
  • With gentler motion roll’d along
  • Dark Lethe and Cocytus’ River,
  • Enraptur’d, Thracian, by thy song,—
  • And Love its burden was for ever!
  • * * * * *
• • By Love are blest the Gods on high,
  • Frail man becomes a Deity
  • When Love to him is given;
  • ’Tis Love that makes the Heavens shine
  • With 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 gleams
  • Upon me in the moon’s soft beams,
  • In sun-lit hill or river,—
  • If ’twere not Venus smiles on me
  • From yonder bright and starry sea,
  • Not stars, not sun, not moonbeams sweet
  • Could make my heart with rapture beat.
  • ’Tis Love alone that smilingly
  • Peers forth from Nature’s blissful eye,
  • As from a mirror ever!
• • Love bids the silv’ry streamlet roll
  • More gently as it sighs along,
  • And breathes a living, feeling Soul
  • In Philomel’s sweet plaintive song;
  • ’Tis Love alone that fills the air
  • With strains 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 climb
  • The steep, but starry path sublime,
  • And reach the seats Immortal?
  • Who rent the mystic Veil in twain,
  • And showed thee the Elysian plain
  • Beyond Death’s gloomy portal?
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• • If Love had beckon’d not from high,
  • Had we gain’d Immortality?
  • If Love had not inflam’d each thought,
  • Had we the Master Spirit sought?
  • ’Tis Love that guides the Soul alone
  • To Nature’s Father’s heavenly throne!
• • By Love are blest the Gods on high,
  • Frail man becomes a Deity
  • When Love to him is given;
  • ’Tis Love that makes the Heavens shine
  • With hues more radiant, more divine,
  • And turns dull Earth to Heaven!

FORTUNE AND WISDOM.

• • 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 laugh’d,—the prudent elf!—
  • And wip’d her brow, with moisture hot:
  • “There runs thy friend to hang himself,—
  • “Be reconcil’d—I need thee not!”

MAN’S DIGNITY.

• • I AM a man!—Let ev’ry one
  • Who is a man too, spring
  • With joy beneath God’s shining sun,
  • And leap on high, and sing!
• • To God’s own image fair on earth
  • Its stamp I’ve power to show;
  • Down to the font, where heaven has birth
  • With boldness I dare go.
• • ’Tis well that I both dare and can!
  • When I a maiden see,
  • A voice exclaims: thou art a man!
  • I kiss her tenderly.
• • And redder then the maiden grows,
  • Her bodice seems too tight—
  • That I’m a man the maiden knows,
  • Her bodice therefore’s tight.
• • Will she, perchance, for pity cry,
  • If unawares she’s caught?
  • She finds that I’m a man—then, why
  • By her is pity sought?
• • I am a man; and if alone
  • She sees me drawing near,
  • I make the emperor’s daughter run,
  • Though ragged I appear.
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• • This golden watchword wins the smile
  • Of many a princess fair;
  • They call—ye’d best look out the while,
  • Ye gold-laced fellows there!
• • That I’m a man is fully shown
  • Whene’er my lyre I sweep;
  • It thunders out a glorious tone—
  • It otherwise would creep.
• • The spirit that my veins now hold,
  • My manhood calls its brother!
  • And both command, like lions bold,
  • And fondly greet each other.
• • From out this same creative flood
  • From which we men have birth,
  • Both godlike strength and genius bud,
  • And ev’ry thing of worth.
• • My talisman all tyrants hates,
  • And strikes them to the ground;
  • Or guides us gladly through life’s gates
  • To where the dead are found.
• • E’en Pompey, at Pharsalia’s fight,
  • My talisman o’erthrew;
  • On German sand it hurl’d with might
  • Rome’s sensual children too.
• • Didst see the Roman, proud and stern,
  • Sitting on Afric’s shore?
  • His eyes like Hecla seem to burn,
  • And fiery flames outpour.
• • Then comes a frank and merry knave,
  • And spreads it through the land:
  • “Tell them that thou on Carthage’ grave
  • Hast seen great Marius stand!”
• • Thus speaks the son of Rome with pride,
  • Still mighty in his fall;
  • He is a man, and nought beside,—
  • Before him tremble all.
• • His grandsons afterwards began
  • Their portions to o’erthrow,
  • And thought it well that ev’ry man
  • Should learn with grace to crow.
• • For shame, for shame,—once more for shame!
  • The wretched ones!—they’ve even
  • Squander’d the tokens of their fame,
  • The choicest gifts of Heaven.
• • God’s counterfeit has sinfully
  • Disgrac’d his form divine,
  • And in his vile humanity
  • Has wallow’d like the swine.
• • The face of earth each vainly treads,
  • Like gourds, that boys in sport
  • Have hollow’d out to human heads,
  • With skulls, whose brains are—nought
• • Like wine that by a chemist’s art
  • Is through retorts refin’d,
  • Their spirits to the deuce depart,
  • The phlegma’s left behind.
• • From ev’ry woman’s face they fly,
  • Its very aspect dread,—
  • And if they dar’d—and could not—why,
  • ’Twere better they were dead.
  • * * * * *
  • They shun all worthies when they can,
  • Grief at their joy they prove—
  • The man who cannot make a man,
  • A man can never love!
• • The world I proudly wander o’er,
  • And plume myself and sing:
  • I am a man!—Whoe’er is more?
  • Then leap on high and spring!

TO A MORALIST

• • WHY teach that Love is nought but
  • Trifling vain?—
  • Why cavil at our youthful joyous play?
  • Thou art benumb’d in Winter’s icy chain,
  • And yet canst view with scorn the golden May!
• • When erst thou didst assail the Nymph’s bright charms,
  • A Hero of the Carnival,—didst trip
  • In German Waltz,—held’st Heaven within thine arms,
  • And from the lips of Maidens balm didst sip,—
• • Ha, Seladon! if then Earth’s pond’rous ball
  • Had from its axis slipp’d with mighty groan,
  • Thine ears would not have heard the heavy fall,
  • In Love-knot twin’d with Julia into one!
• • Oh, look back now upon thy rosy days!
  • Learn that Philosophy degenerates,
  • E’en as the pulse with feebler motion plays;
  • Thy knowledge, man Immortal ne’er creates.
• • ’Tis well when, through the ice of Sense refin’d
  • The fervent blood more fiercely can expand!
  • What ne’er can be accomplish’d by mankind,
  • Leave to the inmates of a better Land!
• • And yet in prison walls the Guide of Earth
  • Confines the Soul whose life in Heaven began;
  • He will not let me rise to Angel-worth,—
  • I fain would follow him, to be a Man!

COUNT EBERHARD, THE GROANER OF WÜRTEMBURG.
A WAR SONG.

• • NOW hearken, ye who take delight
  • In boasting of your worth!
  • To many a man, to many a knight,
  • Belov’d 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 lov’d 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 reveal’d:
  • And, 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 fill’d his father’s eye,
  • And made the youthful warrior fly,
  • And tears of anguish shed.
• • Now, rascals, quake!—This griev’d him sore,
  • And rankled in his brain;
  • And by his father’s beard he swore,
  • With many a craven townsman’s gore
  • To wash out this foul stain.
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• • Ere long the feud raged fierce and loud,—
  • Then hasten’d steed and man
  • To Döffingen in thronging crowd,
  • While joy inspir’d the youngster proud,—
  • And soon the strife began.
• • Our army’s signal-word that day
  • Was the disastrous fight;
  • It spurr’d us on like lightning’s ray,
  • And plunged us deep in bloody fray,
  • And in the spears’ black night.
• • The youthful Count his pond’rous mace
  • With lion’s rage swung round;
  • Destruction stalk’d before his face,
  • While groans and howlings fill’d the place,
  • And hundreds bit the ground.
• • Woe! Woe! A heavy sabre-stroke
  • Upon 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,
  • Check’d was the victor’s glow;
  • The Count cheer’d thus his Knights again—
  • “My Son is like all other men,—
  • “March, children, ’gainst the Foe!”
• • With greater fury whizz’d each lance,
  • Revenge inflam’d the blood;
  • O’er corpses mov’d the fearful dance—
  • The townsmen fled in random chance
  • O’er mountain, vale and flood.

• • Then back to camp, with trumpets’ 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 woefully
  • He 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 delight
  • In boasting of your worth!
  • To many a man, to many a knight,
  • Belov’d in peace, and brave in fight,
  • The Swabian land gives birth!

HYMN TO JOY.

• • FILLED with rapture, to the portal
  • Of thy holy fane we come,
  • Joy, thou Goddess, fair, immortal,
  • Offspring of Elysium!
  • Fashion’s laws, indeed, may sever,
  • But thy magic joins again;
  • All mankind are brethren ever
  • ’Neath thy mild and gentle reign.

• • CHORUS.

  • Welcome, all ye myriad creatures!
  • Brethren, take the kiss of love!
  • Yes, the starry realms above
  • Hide a father’s smiling features!
  • * * *
• • He, that noble prize possessing—
  • He that boasts a friend that’s true,
  • He whom woman’s love is blessing,
  • Let him join the chorus too!
  • Aye, and he who but one spirit
  • On this earth can call his own!—
  • He who no such bliss can merit,
  • Let him mourn his fate alone!

• • CHORUS.

  • All who nature’s tribes are swelling
  • Homage pay to Sympathy;
  • For she guides us up on high,
  • Where the Unknown has his dwelling.
  • * * *
• • From the breasts of kindly Nature
  • All of Joy imbibe the dew;
  • Good and bad alike, each creature
  • Would her roseate path pursue.
• • ’Tis through her the wine-cup maddens
  • Love and friends to man she gives!
  • Bliss the meanest reptile gladdens,—
  • Near God’s throne the Cherub lives!

• • CHORUS.

  • Bow before him, all creation!
  • Mortals, own the God of love!
  • Seek him high the stars above,—
  • Yonder is his habitation!
  • * * *
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• • Joy, in Nature’s wide dominion,
  • Mightiest cause of all is found;
  • And ’tis Joy that moves the pinion,
  • When the wheel of time goes round;
  • From the bud she lures the flower—
  • Suns from out their orbs of light;
  • Distant spheres obey her power,
  • Far beyond all mortal sight.

• • CHORUS.

  • As through Heaven’s expanse so glorious,
  • In their orbits suns roll on,
  • Brethren, thus your proud race run,
  • Glad as warriors all-victorious!
• • Joy from Truth’s own glass of fire
  • Sweetly on the Searcher smiles;
  • Lest on Virtue’s steeps he tire,
  • Joy the tedious path beguiles.
  • High on Faith’s bright hill before us,
  • See her banner proudly wave!
  • Joy, too, swells the Angels’ chorus,—
  • Bursts the bondage of the grave!

• • CHORUS.

  • Mortals, meekly wait for Heaven!
  • Suffer on in patient love!
  • In the starry realms above,
  • Bright rewards by God are given.
  • * * *
• • To the Gods we ne’er can render
  • Praise for every good they grant;
  • Let us, with devotion tender,
  • Minister to Grief and Want.
  • Quench’d be hate and wrath for ever,
  • Pardon’d be our mortal foe—
  • May our tears upbraid him never,
  • No repentance bring him low!

• • CHORUS.

  • Sense of wrongs forget to treasure—
  • Brethren, live in perfect love!
  • In the starry realms above,
  • God will mete as we may measure.
  • * * *
• • Joy within the goblet flushes,
  • For the golden nectar, wine,
  • Ev’ry fierce emotion hushes,—
  • Fills the breast with fire divine.
  • Brethren, thus in rapture meeting,
  • Send ye round the brimming cup,—
  • Yonder kindly Spirit greeting,
  • While the foam to Heaven mounts up!

• • CHORUS.

  • He whom Seraphs worship ever,
  • Whom the stars praise as they roll,
  • Yes—to Him now drain the bowl—
  • Mortal eye can see Him never!
  • * * *
• • Courage, ne’er by sorrow broken!
  • Aid where tears of virtue flow;
  • Faith to keep each promise spoken!
  • Truth alike to friend and foe!
  • ’Neath kings’ frowns a manly spirit!—
  • Brethren, noble is the prize—
  • Honor due to ev’ry merit!
  • Death to all the brood of lies!

• • CHORUS.

  • Draw the sacred circle closer!
  • By this bright wine plight your troth
  • To be faithful to your oath!
  • Swear it by the Star-Disposer!
  • * * *
• • Safety from the Tyrant’s power!
  • Mercy e’en to traitors base!
  • Hope in death’s last solemn hour!
  • Pardon when before His face!
  • Lo, the dead shall rise to Heaven!
  • Brethren hail the blest decree:
  • Ev’ry sin shall be forgiven,
  • Hell forever cease to be!

• • CHORUS.

  • When the golden bowl is broken,
  • Gentle sleep within the tomb!
  • Brethren, may a gracious doom
  • By the Judge of Man be spoken!

THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA.

• • SHE comes, she comes—Iberia’s proud Armada—
  • The waves beneath the heavy burden sigh;
  • Laden with bigotry and chains, the invader,
  • Charged with a thousand thunders, now draws nigh;
  • And as she sweeps along in stately motion,
  • With trembling awe is fill’d the startled Ocean.
  • Each ship a floating citadel,
  • Men call her “The Invincible!”
  • Why should she boast that haughty name?
  • The fear she spreads allows her claim.
• • With silent and majestic step advancing,
  • Affrighted Neptune bears her on his breast;
  • From ev’ry port-hole fierce destruction glancing,
  • She comes, and lo! the tempest sinks to rest.
• • And now at length the proud fleet stands before thee,
  • Thrice-happy Island, Mistress of the Sea!
  • Mighty Britannia, danger hovers o’er thee,
  • Those countless galleons threaten slavery!
  • Woe to thy freedom-nurtur’d nation!
  • Yon cloud is big with desolation!
• • How came that priceless gem in thy possession,
  • Which raised thee high above each other State?
  • Thyself it was, who, struggling ’gainst oppression,
  • Earn’d for thy sons that statute wise and great—
  • The Magna Charta—’neath whose shelt’ring wings
  • Monarchs but subjects are, and subjects kings!
  • To rule the waves, thy ships have prov’d their right,
  • Defeating each brave foe in ocean-fight.
  • All this thou ow’st,—ye nations, blush to hear it!—
  • To thy good sword alone, and dauntless spirit!
• • See where the monster comes—unhappy one!
  • Alas, thy glorious race is well-nigh run!
  • Alarm and terror fill this earthly ball,
  • The hearts of all free men are beating madly,
  • And ev’ry virtuous soul is waiting sadly
  • The hour when thy great name is doom’d to fall.
• • God the Almighty look’d down from his throne,
  • And saw thy foe’s proud “Lion-Banner” flying,
  • And saw the yawning grave before thee lying,—
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• • “What!” He exclaim’d, “shall my lov’d Albion,
  • And all her race of heroes, now so free,
  • Pine in the galling bonds of slavery?
  • Shall she, whose name with dread all tyrants hear,
  • Be swept for ever from this hemisphere?”
• • “Never,” he cried, “shall Freedom’s Eden true,
  • That bulwark of all human rights, be shatter’d!”—
  • God the Almighty blew,
  • And to the winds of heaven the fleet was scatter’d!

THE CONFLICT.

• • NO longer will I fight this conflict weary,
  • The giant fight that Duty bids me wage;
  • Why, Virtue, ask a sacrifice so dreary,
  • If thou my bosom’s pangs canst not assuage?
• • I’ve sworn it,—yes! I solemnly have sworn it,
  • Upon my passions to impose a rein;
  • Behold thy garland!—yet, though long I’ve worn it,
  • Take it back now, and let me sin again!
• • Dissolv’d be ev’ry vow between us spoken—
  • She loves me!—What is now thy crown to me?
  • Happy the man who, wrapp’d in bliss unbroken,
  • His deep, deep fall can view so tranquilly!
• • She sees the worm my youthful bloom assailing,
  • She sees my days in sorrow fleeting on;
  • And my heroic efforts gently hailing,
  • Awards the prize she deems me to have won.
• • Fair soul! mistrust this virtue angel-seeming,
  • For on to crime thy pity hurries me.
  • In the unbounded realms where life is beaming,
  • Is there another, fairer prize than thee?
• • Or than that sin so dreaded by my spirit?—
  • Oh cruel, all-relentless tyranny!
  • The only prize my virtue e’er can merit
  • Must, in the moment, see that virtue die!

RESIGNATION.

• • YES! even I was in Arcadia born,
  • And in mine infant ears,
  • A vow of Rapture was by Nature sworn;
  • Yes! even I was in Arcadia born,
  • And yet my short Spring gave me only—tears!
• • Once blooms, and only once, Life’s youthful May;
  • For me its bloom hath gone.
  • The Silent God—O Brethren, weep to-day—
  • The Silent God hath quench’d my Torch’s ray,
  • And the vain dream hath flown.
• • Upon thy darksome bridge, Eternity,
  • I stand e’en now, dread thought!
  • Take, then, these Joy-Credentials back from me!
  • Unopen’d I return them now to thee,
  • Of Happiness, alas, know nought!
• • Before thy throne my mournful cries I vent,
  • Thou Judge, conceal’d from view!
  • To yonder Star a joyous Saying went:
  • With Judgment’s scales to rule us thou art sent,
  • And call’st thyself requited, too!
• • Here,—say they,—terrors on the Bad alight,
  • And joys to greet the Virtuous spring.
  • The bosom’s windings thou’lt expose to sight,
  • Riddle of Providence wilt solve aright,
  • And reckon with the Suffering!
• • Here to the Exile be a home outspread,
  • Here end the meek man’s thorny path of strife!
  • A god-like child, whose name was Truth, they said,
  • Known but to few, from whom the many fled,
  • Restrain’d the ardent bridle of my life.
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• • “It shall be thine another Life to live,—
  • Thy youth to me surrender!
  • To thee this surety only can I give”—
  • I took the surety in that Life to live;
  • And gave to her each youthful joy so tender.
  • “Give me the woman precious to thy heart,
  • Give up to me thy Laura!
  • Beyond the grave will usury pay the smart”—
  • I wept aloud, and from my bleeding heart
  • With resignation tore her.
• • “The obligation’s drawn upon the Dead!”
  • Thus laugh’d the World in scorn;
  • “The Lying One, in league with Despots dread,
  • For Truth, a Phantom palm’d on thee instead,
  • Thou’lt be no more, when once this Dream has gone!”
• • Shamelessly scoff’d the Mockers’ serpent-band:
  • “A Dream that but Prescription can admit
  • Dost dread? Where now thy God’s protecting hand
  • (The sick world’s Saviours with such cunning plann’d),
  • Borrow’d by Human need of Human wit?
• • “What Future is’t that graves to us reveal?
  • What the Eternity of thy discourse?
  • Honor’d because dark veils its form conceal,
  • The giant-shadows of the awe we feel,
  • View’d in the hollow mirror of Remorse!
• • “An Image false of shapes of living mould,
  • (Time’s very mummy, she!)
  • Whom only Hope’s sweet balm hath power to hold
  • Within the chambers of the grave so cold,—
  • Thy fever calls this Immortality!
• • “For empty hopes,—corruption gives the lie—
  • Didst thou exchange what thou hadst surely done?
• • Six thousand years sped Death in silence by,—
  • Has corpse from out the grave e’er mounted high,
  • That mention made of the Requiting One?”
• • I saw Time fly to reach thy distant shore,
  • I saw fair Nature lie
  • A shrivell’d corpse behind him evermore,—
  • No dead from out the grave then sought to soar
  • Yet in that Oath divine still trusted I.
• • My ev’ry joy to thee I’ve sacrific’d,
  • I throw me now before thy Judgment-throne!
  • The Many’s scorn with boldness I’ve despis’d,
  • Only thy gifts by me were ever priz’d,—
  • I ask my wages now, Requiting One!
• • “With equal love I love each child of mine!”
  • A Genius hid from sight exclaim’d.
  • “Two flowers,” he cried, “ye Mortals, mark the sign,—
  • Two flowers to greet the Searcher wise entwine,—
  • Hope and Enjoyment they are nam’d.
• • “Who of these flowers plucks one, let him ne’er yearn
  • To touch the other sister’s bloom.
  • Let him enjoy, who has no faith; eterne
  • As earth, this truth!—Abstain, who faith can learn!
  • The World’s long story is the world’s own doom.
• • “Hope thou hast felt,—thy wages, then, are paid;
  • Thy Faith ’twas form’d the rapture pledg’d to thee.
  • Thou might’st have of the Wise inquiry made,—
  • The minutes thou neglectest, as they fade,
  • Are given back by no Eternity!”

THE GODS OF GREECE.

• • WHILST the smiling earth ye govern’d still,
  • And with Rapture’s soft and guiding hand
  • Let the happy Nations at your will,
  • Beauteous Beings from the Fable-land!
  • Whilst your blissful worship smil’d around,
  • Ah, how diff’rent was it in that day!
  • When the people still thy temples crown’d,
  • Venus Amathusia!
• • When the magic veil of Poesy
  • Still round Truth entwin’d its loving chain—
  • Through creation pour’d Life’s fulness free,
  • Things then felt, which ne’er can feel again.
  • Then to press her ’gainst the breast of Love,
  • They on Nature nobler power bestow’d,—
  • All, to eyes enlighten’d from above,
  • Of a God the traces show’d.
• • There, where now, as we’re by Sages told,
  • Whirls on high a soulless fiery ball,
  • Helios guided then his car of gold,
  • In his silent majesty, o’er all.
  • Oreads then these heights around us fill’d,
  • Then a Dryad dwelt in yonder tree,
  • From the Urn of loving Naiads rill’d
  • Silver streamlets foamingly.
• • Yonder Laurel once imploring wound,
  • Tantal’s daughter slumbers in this stone;
  • From yon rush rose Syrinx’ mournful sound,
  • From this thicket, Philomela’s moan.
  • Yonder brook Demeter’s tears receiv’d,
  • That she wept for her Persephone,
  • From this hill, of her lov’d friend bereav’d,
  • Cried Cythere, fruitlessly!
• • To Deucalion’s race from realms of air
  • Then the great Immortals still came down;
  • And to vanquish Pyrrha’s daughter fair,
  • Then a shepherd’s staff took Leto’s son.
  • Then ’tween Heroes, Deities and Men,
  • Was a beauteous bond by Eros twin’d,
  • And with Deities and Heroes then
  • Knelt in Cyprus’ Isle, mankind.
• • Gloomy sternness and denial sad
  • Ne’er were in your service blest descried;
  • Each heart throbb’d then with emotions glad,
  • For the Happy were with you allied.
  • Nothing then was Holy, save the Fair;
  • Of no rapture was the God asham’d,
  • When the modest Muse was blushing there,—
  • When their sway the Graces claim’d!
• • Palace-like, then smil’d your Temples all,
  • Ye were honor’d in the hero-sport
  • At the Isthmus’ crown-clad festival,
  • And the goal the thund’ring chariots sought.
  • Beauteous dances that a Spirit breath’d
  • Circled round your altars bright and fair;
  • Round your brows the crown of triumph wreath’d,
  • Garlands graced your fragrant hair.
• • Thyrsus-swingers’ loud Evoë then,
  • And the panther-team that shone afar,
  • Welcom’d Him who Rapture brought to men;
  • Fauns and Satyrs reel’d before his Car!
  • Round him sprang the Mænads’ raving crew,
  • While their dances show’d his wine’s great worth,
  • And the Host’s full cheeks of tawny hue
  • Pointed to the cup with mirth.
• • In those days, before the bed of Death
  • Stood no ghastly form. Then took away
  • From the lips a kiss the parting breath,
  • And a Genius quench’d his torch’s ray.
  • Even Orcus’ rigid judgment-scales
  • By a Mortal’s offspring once were held,
  • And the Thracian’s spirit-breathing wails
  • E’en the angry Furies quell’d.
• • Once again within Elysium’s grove
  • Met the happy Shade his joys so dear;
  • Lover faithful found his faithful Love,
  • And his path regain’d the charioteer;
  • Linus’ lute gave back each wonted strain,
  • Admet clasp’d Alcestis to his heart,
  • And Orestes found his friend again,
  • Philoctetes found his dart.

• • Nobler prizes then the wrestler crown’d,
  • Who the arduous path of Virtue press’d;
  • Glorious workers then of deeds renown’d
  • Clamber’d up to join the Spirits blest.
  • All the Band of Silent Gods the while
  • Bow’d to Him who summon’d back the Dead;
  • From Olympus’ height the twin-stars’ smile
  • O’er the waves the Pilot led.
• • Beauteous World, where art thou gone? Oh, thou,
  • Nature’s blooming youth, return once more!
  • Ah, but in Song’s fairy region now
  • Lives thy fabled trace so dear of yore!
  • Cold and perish’d, sorrow now the plains,
  • Not one Godhead greets my longing sight;
  • Ah, the Shadow only now remains
  • Of yon living Image bright!
• • All those lovely blossoms now are gone,
  • Scatter’d by the North-wind’s piercing breath;
  • To enrich, amongst the whole, but one,
  • All this God-like world was doom’d to death.
  • Sadly turn I to the stars on high—
  • Thou, Selene, canst not there be found!
  • Through the forest, through the waves I cry—
  • Ah, they echo back no sound!
• • Feeling not the joy she bids me share,
  • Ne’er entranced by her own majesty,
  • Knowing her own guiding spirit ne’er,
  • Ne’er made happy by my ecstasy,
  • Senseless even to her Maker’s praise,
  • Like the pendule-clock’s dead, hollow tone,
  • Nature Gravitation’s law obeys
  • Servilely,—her Godhead flown.
• • That to-morrow she herself may free,
  • She prepares her sepulchre to-day;
  • And on spindle balanced equally,
  • Up and down the Moons alternate play.
  • Idly homeward to the Poet-land
  • Go the Gods—a world they’d serve in vain,
  • That’s upheld by its own motive hand,
  • Casting off the guiding-rein.
• • Aye! they homeward go,—and they have flown,
  • All that’s bright and fair they’ve taken too,
  • Ev’ry color, ev’ry living tone,—
  • And a soulless world is all we view.
  • Borne off by the Time-flood’s current strong,
  • They on Pindus’ height have safety found:
  • All that is to live in endless song,
  • Must in Life-time first be drown’d!

THE CELEBRATED WOMAN.
A LETTER FROM ONE HUSBAND TO ANOTHER.

• • SHALL I lament thy lot? Dost curse thy marriage vows,
  • With tears of grief and rage combin’d?
  • And why? Because thy faithless Spouse
  • Seeks in another’s arms to find
  • What she no more obtains from thee?—
  • Friend, hearken to Another’s cares,
  • And bear thine own more easily!
• • It pains thee that a Second shares
  • Thy rights?—How truly enviable thy case!
  • My wife belongs to the whole human race.
  • E’en from the Belt to the Moselle,
  • To Apennine’s high walls as well,
  • Even in fashion’s native city,
  • She is exposed for sale in ev’ry shop,
  • And may be handled (more’s the pity!)
  • By ev’ry pedant, ev’ry silly fop
  • On board the packet, on the coach’s top,—
• • Beneath the cockney’s stare must patient be,
  • And, as each dirty critic may desire,
  • Must walk on flowers or coals of fire
  • To the Pantheon or the pillory.
  • A Leipzig fellow—may the rascal meet his due!—
  • As of a fortress, takes her topographic measure,
  • And parts for sale he offers to the public view,
  • Which none but I should know about, had I my pleasure!
• • Thy wife,—thanks to the canon law, ’tis true,—
  • The name of consort holds all-duly priz’d;
  • She knows its meaning and its practice too.
  • As Ninon’s husband I’m but recogniz’d.
  • Thou’rt grieved that at the Faro-table, in the Pit,
38
• • When thou appear’st, each tongue exerts its wit?
  • Oh, happy man! How fortunate is he
  • Who can say that! Good brother, as for me,
  • A whey-cure purchased me, at length, the honor
  • At her left side to humbly wait upon her.
  • Me no one sees, and ev’ry look is thrown
  • Upon my haughty spouse alone.
• • The veil of night is scarcely rent,
  • When lo! the staircase swarms with blue and yellow coats,
  • With unpaid letters, packages and notes,
  • To “The Illustrious Lady” sent.
• • How sweet her sleep!—to wake her though’s my duty:
  • “Madam, the last Berlin and Jena News!”
  • Sudden her eyelids opes the sleeping Beauty;
  • The first thing that they meet are—the Reviews.
  • Her fair blue eye for me has not one look,
  • A trump’ry Paper’s all that it can brook.
  • Soon from the nursery comes a roaring cry,
  • And, asking for her little ones, she lays it by.
• • Her dressing-table now is set,
  • But half-looks only on her glass she flings;
  • A grumbling and impatient threat
  • To her affrighted Maid gives wings.
  • The Graces all have fled from her toilette,
  • And in the place of Cupids young and fair,
  • Furies upon her wait to dress her hair.
• • The sound of carriage-wheels has now begun,
  • And nimble lacqueys from behind dismount,
  • To crave an audience with the Famous One:
  • First for the scented Abbé, then the Count,
  • Or Englishman, who German scorns to know,
  • Grossing and Son, or Messrs. So and So.
  • A thing that in the corner meekly takes its place,—
  • A Husband call’d,—is star’d at in the face.
• • Here may the dullest fool, the poorest wight (And this thy rival surely would not do),
  • Express his admiration at her sight,—
  • Express it in my presence, too!
  • And I, for fear of being thought uncivil,
  • Must beg he’ll stop to dine—(the devil!)
• • At table, Friend, begins my misery,
  • Quickly each flask’s contents are dried!
  • With Burgundy, that Doctors strictly keep from me,
  • Her flatterers’ throats I needs must keep supplied.
  • The meat that I so hardly earn’d at first
  • Her hungry parasites’ lean-paunches lines;
• • This fatal immortality accurs’d
  • Has been the death of all my choicest wines—
  • The plague take every hand that dares to print!
  • What, think’st thou, are my thanks? A scornful hint,
  • A gesture or a rude and vulgar sneer,—
  • Dost guess the meaning? Oh, ’tis very clear?
  • That any woman, who is such a jewel,
  • Should be possess’d by such a clown, seems cruel!
• • The spring-time comes. O’er meadow and o’er plain
  • Nature now throws her carpet, many-hued;
  • The flowers are clothed in smiling green again—
  • Sweet sings the lark, with life teems ev’ry wood.
  • —To her no joy does spring impart,
  • The songstress of the feelings blest of love,
  • The witness of our sports—the beauteous grove,—
  • Appeal no longer to her heart.
  • The nightingales have never learned to read—
  • The lilies never to admire.
  • The joyous choruses all creatures lead,
  • In her—an Epigram inspire!
  • But no!—The season’s fine for travelling—
  • How very crowded Pyrmont now must be!
  • And all in Carlsbad’s praises, too, agree.
• • Presto, she’s there!—Amongst that honor’d ring,
  • Where lords and sages are combining,—
  • All kinds of folk, in fact, of note,
  • Lovingly pair’d, as if in Charon’s boat,
  • All at one board together dining;
  • Where, from a distance thither lur’d,
  • The bleeding virtues of their wounds are cur’d,
  • And others—for temptation praying are,
  • That they may ward it off with more éclat.
  • There, Friend,—Oh, bless thy happier lot in life!
  • Leaving me seven young Orphans,—goes my wife.
• • Oh, happy golden time of love’s young day!
  • How soon,—alas, how soon thou’rt flown away!
  • A Woman who no equal has, or had—
  • A very Goddess, in her graces glad,
  • With radiant spirit, with a mind clear-sighted,
  • And feelings soft, to pity open wide,—
  • I saw her thus, while each heart she delighted,
  • Like a fair May-day sporting by my side;
  • Her beauteous eyes appear’d to falter
  • The blissful words: I love thee well!

• • And so I led her to the altar;
  • My rapture then, oh, who could tell!
  • Of enviable years a blooming field
  • From out this mirror sweetly on me smil’d;
  • A perfect heaven was then to me reveal’d.
  • Soon round me sported many a lovely child;
  • Amongst them all, the fairest She;
  • The happiest, She, amid the throng;
  • And Mine by spirit-harmony,
  • By heart-alliance, firm and strong.
  • But now,—Oh, may he be accurs’d!—appear’d
  • A Great Man, aye, a Shining Spirit, too.
  • The Great Man did a deed!—and overthrew
  • The house of cards that I tow’rd heaven had rear’d.
• • What have I now?—What sad exchange is this?—
  • Awaken’d from my madd’ning dream of bliss,
  • What of this Angel now remains to me?
  • A spirit strong within a body weak,
  • Hermaphroditic, so to speak;
  • Alike unfit for love or mystery—
  • A child, who with a giant’s weapons rages,
  • A cross between baboons and sages!
  • One that has fled the fairer race,
  • To gain among the stronger a vain place,
  • Hurl’d headlong from a throne eternal,
  • Flying the mysteries by Charm controll’d—
  • Eras’d from Cytherea’s Book of Gold,
  • To gain a corner—in a Journal.

VERSES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A YOUNG LADY.

• • E’EN yet, the world, like some fair infant blest,
  • Radiant with sportive grace, around thee plays;
  • Still ’tis not as depicted in thy breast—
  • Not as within thy soul’s fair glass, its rays
  • Are mirror’d. The respectful fealty
  • That my heart’s nobleness hath won for thee,
  • The miracles thou workest ev’rywhere,
  • The charms thy being to this life first lent,—
  • To it, mere charms to reckon thou’rt content,
  • To us, they seem humanity so fair.
  • The witchery sweet of ne’er-polluted youth,
  • The talisman of innocence and truth—
  • Him I would see, who these to scorn can dare!
• • Thou revellest joyously in telling o’er
  • The blooming flowers that round thy path are strown,—
  • The glad, whom thou hast made so evermore,—
  • The souls that thou hast conquer’d for thine own.
  • In thy deceit so blissful be thou glad!
  • Ne’er let a waking disenchantment sad
  • Hurl thee despairing from thy dream’s proud flight!
  • Like the fair flow’rets that thy beds perfume,
  • Observe them, but ne’er touch them as they bloom,—
  • Plant them, but only for the distant sight.
  • Created only to enchant the eye,
  • In faded beauty at thy feet they’ll lie,
  • The nearer thee, the nearer their long night!

THE ARTISTS.

• • WITH graceful mien, O Man, and green palm-bough,
  • Upon the waning Century standest thou,
  • In proud and noble manhood’s prime,
  • With unlock’d Senses, with a Spirit freed,
  • Of Firmness mild,—though silent, rich in deed,
  • The ripest son of Time,
  • Through meekness great, through precepts strong,
  • Through treasures rich, that time had long
  • Hid in thy bosom, and through Reason free,—
  • Master of Nature, who thy fetters loves,
  • And who thy strength in thousand conflicts proves,
  • And from the Desert soar’d in pride with thee!
• • Flush’d with the glow of Victory,
  • Never forget to prize the hand
  • That found the weeping Orphan child
  • Deserted on Life’s barren strand,
  • And left a prey to hazzard wild,—
  • That, ere thy Spirit-honor saw the day,
  • Thy youthful heart watch’d over silently,
  • And from thy tender bosom turn’d away
  • Each thought that might have stain’d its purity;
• • That kind One ne’er forget who, as in sport,
  • Thy youth to noble aspirations train’d,
  • And who to thee in easy riddles taught
  • The secret how each Virtue might be gain’d;
  • Who, to receive him back more perfect still,
  • E’en into strangers’ arms her favorite gave—
  • Oh, may’st thou never with degenerate will,
  • Humble thyself to be her abject slave!
  • In Industry, the Bee the palm may bear;
  • In Skill, the Worm a lesson may impart;
  • With Spirits blest thy Knowledge thou dost share,
  • But thou, O Man, alone hast Art!
• • Only through Beauty’s morning gate
  • Didst thou the land of Knowledge find.
  • To merit a more glorious fate,
  • In Graces trains itself the Mind.
  • What thrill’d thee through with trembling blest,
  • When erst the Muses swept the chord,
  • That Power created in thy breast,
  • Which to the mighty Spirit soar’d.
• • What first was seen by doting Reason’s ken,
  • When many a thousand years had pass’d away,
  • A Symbol of the Fair and Great e’en then.
  • Before the childlike Mind uncovered lay.

• • Its blest form bade us honor Virtue’s cause,—
  • The honest Sense ’gainst Vice put forth its powers,
  • Before a Solon had devis’d the Laws
  • That slowly bring to light their languid flowers.
  • Before Eternity’s vast scheme
  • Was to the Thinker’s mind reveal’d,
  • Was’t not foreshadow’d in his dream,
  • Whose eyes explor’d yon starry field?
  • Urania,—the majestic dreaded One,
  • Who wears a Glory of Orions twin’d
  • Around her brow, and who is seen by none
  • Save purest Spirits, when, in splendor shrin’d,
  • She soars above the Stars in pride,
  • Ascending to her sunny throne,—
  • Her fiery chaplet lays aside,
  • And now, as Beauty, stands alone;
  • While, with the Graces’ girdle round her cast,
  • She seems a Child, by children understood;
  • For we shall recognize as truth at last,
  • What here as beauty only we have view’d.
• • When the Creator banish’d from his sight
  • Frail Man to dark Mortality’s abode,
  • And granted him a late return to Light,
  • Only by treading Reason’s arduous road,—
  • When each Immortal turn’d his face away,
  • She, the Compassionate, alone
  • Took up her dwelling in that house of clay,
  • With the deserted, banish’d One.
  • With drooping wing she hovers here
  • Around her darling, near the Senses’ land,
  • And on his prison wall so drear
  • Elysium paints with fond deceptive hand.
• • While soft Humanity still lay at rest,
  • Within her tender arms extended,
  • No flame was stirr’d by Bigot’s murderous zest,
  • No guiltless blood on high ascended.
  • The heart that she in gentle fetters binds,
  • Views Duty’s slavish escort scornfully!
  • Her path of Light, though fairer far it winds,
  • Sinks in the Sun-track of Morality.
  • Those who in her chaste service still remain,
  • No grovelling thought can tempt, no Fate affright;
  • The Spiritual Life, so free from stain,
  • Freedom’s sweet birthright, they receive again,
  • Under the mystic sway of holy Might.
• • The purest among millions, happy they
  • Whom to her service she has sanctified,
  • Whose mouths the Mighty One’s commands convey,
  • Within whose breasts she deigneth to abide;
  • Whom she ordain’d to feed her holy fire
  • Upon her altar’s ever-flaming pyre,—
  • Whose eyes alone her unveil’d Graces meet,
  • And whom she gathers round in union sweet
  • In the much-honor’d place be glad
  • Where noble Order bade ye climb,
  • For in the Spirit-world sublime,
  • Man’s loftiest rank ye’ve ever had!
• • Ere to the world Proportion ye reveal’d,
  • That ev’ry Being joyfully obeys,—
  • A boundless structure, in Night’s veil conceal’d,
  • Illum’d by nought but faint and languid rays,
  • A band of Phantoms, struggling ceaselessly,
  • Holding his mind in slavish fetters bound,
  • Unsociable and rude as he,
  • Assailing him on every side around,—
  • Thus seem’d to Man Creation in that day!
  • United to surrounding forms alone
  • By the blind chains the Passions had put on,
  • Whilst Nature’s beauteous Spirit fled away,
  • Unfelt, untasted, and unknown.
• • And, as it hover’d o’er with parting ray,
  • Ye seiz’d the shades so neighborly,
  • With silent hand, with feeling mind,
  • And taught how they might be combin’d
  • In one firm bond of Harmony.
  • The gaze, light-soaring, felt uplifted then,
  • When first the Cedar’s slender trunk it view’d,
  • And pleasingly the Ocean’s crystal flood
  • Reflected back the dancing form again.
  • Could ye mistake the look, with beauty fraught,
  • That Nature gave to help ye on your way?
  • The Image floating on the billows taught
  • The art the fleeting shadow to portray.
  • From her own Being torn apart,
  • Her Phantom, beauteous as a dream,
  • She plung’d into the silv’ry stream,
  • Surrendering to her spoiler’s art.
  • Creative power soon in your breast unfolded;
  • Too noble far, not idly to conceive,
  • The Shadow’s form in sand, in clay ye moulded,
  • And made it in the sketch its Being leave.
  • The longing thirst for Action then awoke,—
  • And from your breast the first Creation broke.
• • By Contemplation captive made,
  • Ensnar’d by your discerning eye,
  • The friendly Phantom’s soon betray’d.
  • The talisman that rous’d your ecstasy,
  • The laws of wonder-working might,
  • The stores by Beauty brought to light,
  42
  • Inventive Reason in soft union plann’d
  • To blend together ’neath your forming hand.
  • The Obelisk, the Pyramid ascended,
  • The Hermes stood, the Column sprang on high,
  • The reed pour’d forth the woodland melody,
  • Immortal Song on Victor’s deeds attended.
• • The fairest flowers that deck’d the Earth,
  • Into a nosegay with wise choice combin’d,—
  • Thus the first Art from Nature had its birth;
  • Into a garland then were nosegays twin’d,
  • And from the works that mortal hands had made,
  • A second, nobler Art was now display’d.
  • The Child of Beauty, self-sufficient now,
  • That issued from your hands to perfect day,
  • Loses the chaplet that adorn’d its brow,
  • Soon as Reality asserts its sway.
  • The Column, yielding to Proportion’s chains,
  • Must with its sisters join in friendly link,
  • The Hero in the Hero-band must sink,
  • The Muses’ harp peals forth its tuneful strains.
• • The wond’ring savages soon came
  • To view the new Creation’s plan:
  • “Behold!”—the joyous crowds exclaim,—
  • “Behold, all this is done by Man!”—
  • With jocund and more social aim,
  • The minstrel’s lyre their awe awoke,
  • Telling of Titans, and of Giant’s-frays,
  • And Lion-slayers, turning, as he spoke,
  • E’en into Heroes those who heard his lays.
  • For the first time the soul feels joy,
  • By raptures bless’d that calmer are,
  • That only greet it from afar,
  • That passions wild can ne’er destroy,
  • And that, when tasted, do not cloy.
• • And now the Spirit, free and fair,
  • Awoke from out its sensual sleep;
  • By you unchain’d, the Slave of Care
  • Into the arms of Joy could leap.
  • Each brutish barrier soon was set at nought,
  • Humanity first graced the cloudless brow,
  • And the majestic, noble stranger, thought,
  • From out the wond’ring brain sprang boldly now;
  • Man in his glory stood upright,
  • And show’d the stars his kingly face;
  • His speaking glance the Sun’s bright light
  • Bless’d in the realms sublime of space.
  • Upon the cheek now bloom’d the smile,
  • The voice’s soulful Harmony
  • Expanded into Song the while,
  • And Feeling swam in the moist eye;
  • And from the mouth, with Spirit teeming o’er,
  • Jest, sweetly link’d with Grace, began to pour.
• • Sunk in the instincts of the worm,
  • By nought but sensual lusts possess’d,
  • Ye recognis’d within his breast
  • Love-Spiritual’s noble germ;
  • And that this germ of Love so blest
  • Escap’d the senses’ abject load,
  • To the first pastoral song he ow’d.
  • Rais’d to the dignity of Thought,
  • Passions more calm to flow were taught
  • From the Bard’s mouth with melody.
  • The cheeks with dewy softness burn’d;
  • The longing that, though quench’d, still yearn’d,
  • Proclaim’d the Spirit-Harmony.
• • The Wisest’s wisdom, and the Strongest’s vigor,—
  • The Meekest’s meekness, and the Noblest’s grace,
  • By you were knit together in one Figure,
  • Wreathing a radiant Glory round the place.
  • Man at the Unknown’s sight must tremble,
  • Yet its refulgence needs must love;
  • That mighty Being to resemble,
  • Each glorious Hero madly strove;
  • The prototype of Beauty’s earliest strain
  • Ye made resound through Nature’s wide domain.
• • The Passions’ wild and headlong course,
  • The ever-varying plan of Fate,
  • Duty and Instinct’s twofold force,
  • With proving mind and guidance straight
  • Ye then conducted to their ends.
  • What Nature, as she moves along,
  • Far from each other ever rends,
  • Become upon the stage, in song,
  • Members of Order, firmly bound.
  • Awed by the Furies’ chorus dread,
  • Murder draws down upon its head
  • The doom of Death from their wild sound.
  • Long ere the wise to give a verdict dar’d,
  • An Iliad had Fate’s mysteries declar’d
  • To early Ages from afar;
  • While Providence in silence far’d
  • Into the world from Thespis’ car.
• • Yet into that world’s current so sublime
  • Your Symmetry was borne before its time.
  • When the dark hand of Destiny
  • Fail’d in your sight to part by force
  43
  • What it had fashion’d ’neath your eye,
  • In darkness Life made haste to die,
  • Ere it fulfill’d its beauteous course.
  • Then ye with bold and self-sufficient might
  • Led the arch further thro’ the Future’s night;
  • Then, too, ye plung’d, without a fear,
  • Into Avernus’ ocean black,
  • And found the vanish’d life so dear
  • Beyond the Urn, and brought it back.
  • A blooming Pollux-form appear’d now soon,
  • On Castor leaning, and enshrin’d in light—
  • The shadow that is seen upon the moon,
  • Ere she has fill’d her silv’ry circle bright!
• • Yet higher,—higher still above the Earth
  • Inventive Genius never ceas’d to rise:
  • Creations from creations had their birth,
  • And harmonies from harmonies.
  • What here alone enchants the ravish’d sight,
  • A nobler Beauty yonder must obey;
  • The graceful charms that in the Nymph unite,
  • In the divine Athenè melt away;
  • The strength with which the Wrestler is endow’d,
  • In the God’s beauty we no longer find:
  • The wonder of his time—Jove’s image proud—
  • In the Olympian temple is enshrin’d.
• • The world, transform’d by Industry’s bold hand,
  • The human heart, by newborn instincts mov’d,
  • That have in burning fights been fully prov’d,
  • Your circle of Creation now expand.
  • Advancing Man bears on his soaring pinions,
  • In gratitude, Art with him in his flight,
  • And out of Nature’s now-enrich’d dominions,
  • New worlds of beauty issue forth to light,
  • The barriers upon knowledge are o’erthrown;
  • The Spirit that, with pleasure soon-matur’d,
  • Has in your easy triumphs been inur’d
  • To hasten through an Artist-whole of graces,
  • Nature’s more distant columns duly places,
  • And overtakes her on her pathway lone.
  • He weighs her now with weights that human are,
  • Metes her with measures that she lent of old;
  • While in her beauty’s rites more practis’d far,
  • She now must let his eye her form behold.
  • With youthful and self-pleasing bliss,
  • He lends the spheres his harmony,
  • And, if he praise earth’s edifice,
  • ’Tis for its wondrous symmetry.
• • In all that now around him breathes,
  • Proportion sweet is ever rife;
  • And Beauty’s golden girdle wreathes
  • With mildness round his path through life;
  • Perfection blest, triumphantly,
  • Before him in your works soars high;
  • Wherever boisterous Rapture swells,
  • Wherever silent Sorrow flees,
  • Where pensive Contemplation dwells,
  • Where he the tears of Anguish sees,
  • Where thousand terrors on him glare,
  • Harmonious streams are yet behind—
  • He sees the Graces sporting there,
  • With feelings silent and refin’d.
  • Gentle as Beauty’s lines together linking,
  • As the Appearances that round him play,
  • In tender outline in each other sinking,
  • The soft breath of his life thus fleets away.
  • His Spirit melts in the harmonious Sea,
  • That, rich in rapture, round his senses flows,
  • And the dissolving Thought all silently
  • To omnipresent Cytherea grows.
  • Joining in lofty union with the Fates,
  • On Graces and on Muses calm relying,
  • With freely-offer’d bosom he awaits
  • The shaft that soon against him will be flying
  • From the soft bow Necessity creates.
• • Fav’rites belov’d of blissful Harmony,
  • Welcome attendants on Life’s dreary road,
  • The noblest and the dearest far that she,
  • Who gave us Life, to bless that life bestow’d!
  • That unyok’d Man his duties bears in mind,
  • And loves the fetters that his motions bind,
  • That Chance with brazen sceptre rules him not,—
  • For this, Eternity is now your lot,
  • Your heart has won a bright reward for this.
  • That round the cup where Freedom flows,
  • Merrily sport the Gods of bliss,—
  • The beauteous dream its fragrance throws,—
  • For this, receive a loving kiss!
• • The Spirit, glorious and serene,
  • Who round Necessity the Graces trains,—
  • Who bids his æther and his starry plains
  • Upon us wait with pleasing mien,—
  • Who, ’mid his terrors, by his majesty gives joy,
  • And who is beauteous e’en when seeking to destroy,—
  • Him imitate, the Artist good!
  • As o’er the streamlet’s crystal flood
  • The banks with chequer’d dances hover,
  • The flowery mead, the sunset’s light,—
  • Thus gleams, life’s barren pathway over,
  • Poesy’s shadowy world so bright.
  • In bridal dress ye led us on
44
• • Before the terrible Unknown,
  • Before inexorable Fate.
  • As in your urns the bones are laid,
  • With beauteous Magic veil ye shade
  • The chorus dread that cares create.
  • Thousands of years I hasten’d through
  • The boundless realm of vanish’d time;
  • How sad it seems when left by you—
  • But where ye linger, how sublime!
• • She who, with fleeting wing, of yore
  • From your creating hand arose in might,
  • Within your arms was found once more,
  • When, vanquish’d by Time’s silent flight,
  • Life’s blossoms faded from the cheek,
  • And from the limbs all vigor went,
  • And mournfully, with footstep weak,
  • Upon his staff the greybeard leant.
  • Then gave ye to the languishing,
  • Life’s waters from a new-born spring;
  • Twice was the youth of Time renew’d,
  • Twice, from the seeds that ye had strew’d.
• • When chas’d by fierce barbarian hordes away,
  • The last remaining votive brand ye tore
  • From Orient’s altars, now pollution’s prey,
  • And to these Western lands in safety bore.
  • The fugitive from yonder Eastern shore,
  • The youthful day, the West her dwelling made;
  • And on Hesperia’s plains sprang up once more
  • Ionia’s flowers, in pristine bloom array’d.
  • Over the Spirit fairer Nature shed,
  • With soft refulgence, a reflection bright,
  • And through the graceful Soul with stately tread
  • Advanced the mighty Deity of light.
  • Millions of chains were burst asunder then,
  • And to the Slave then human laws applied,
  • And mildly rose the younger race of men,
  • As brethren, gently wand’ring side by side.
  • With noble inward ecstasy,
  • The bliss imparted ye receive,
  • And in the veil of modesty,
  • With silent merit take your leave.
• • If on the paths of Thought, so freely given,
  • The Searcher now with daring fortune stands,
  • And, by triumphant Pæans onward driven,
  • Would seize upon the crown with dauntless hands—
  • If he with grovelling hireling’s pay
  • Thinks to dismiss his glorious guide—
  • Or, with the first slave’s-place array
  • Art near the throne his dream supplied—
  • Forgive him!—O’er your head to-day
  • Hovers Perfection’s crown in pride.
• • With you the earliest plant Spring had,
  • Soul-forming Nature first began;
  • With you, the harvest-chaplet glad,
  • Perfected Nature ends her plan.
• • The Art Creative, that all-modestly arose
  • From clay and stone, with silent triumph throws
  • Its arms around the Spirit’s vast domain.
  • What in the land of knowledge the Discoverer knows,
  • He knows, discovers, only for your gain!
  • The treasures that the Thinker has amass’d,
  • He will enjoy within your arms alone,
  • Soon as his knowledge, beauty-ripe at last,
  • To Art ennobl’d shall have grown,—
  • Soon as with you he scales a mountain-height,
  • And there, illumin’d by the setting sun,
  • The smiling valley bursts upon his sight.
  • The richer ye reward the eager gaze—
  • The higher, fairer orders that the mind
  • May traverse with its magic rays,
  • Or compass with enjoyment unconfin’d—
  • The wider thoughts and feelings open lie
  • To more luxuriant floods of Harmony,
  • To Beauty’s richer, more majestic stream,—
  • The fair members of the world’s vast scheme,
  • That, maim’d, disgrace on his Creation bring,
  • He sees the lofty forms then perfecting—
  • The fairer riddles come from out the night—
  • The richer is the world his arms enclose,
  • The broader stream the sea with which he flows—
  • The weaker, too, is Destiny’s blind might—
  • The nobler instincts does he prove—
  • The smaller he himself, the greater grows his love.
  • Thus is he led, in still and hidden race,
  • By Poetry, who strews his path with flowers,
  • Through ever-purer Forms, and purer Powers,
  • Through ever higher heights, and fairer grace.
  • At length, arriv’d at the ripe goal of Time,—
  • Yet one more inspiration all-sublime,
  • Poetic outburst of Man’s latest youth,
  • And—he will glide into the arms of Truth!
• • Herself, the gentle Cypria,
  • Illumin’d by her fiery crown,
  • Then stands before her full-grown Son
  • Unveil’d—as great Urania;
  • The sooner only by him caught,
  • The fairer he had fled away!
  • Thus stood, in wonder rapture-fraught,
  • Ulysses’ noble Son that day,
  • When the sage Mentor who his youth beguil’d,
  • Herself transfigur’d as Jove’s glorious Child!
45
• • Man’s honor is confided to your hand,—
  • There let it well-protected be!
  • It sinks with you! with you it will expand!
  • Poesy’s sacred sorcery
  • Obeys a world-plan wise and good;
  • In silence let it swell the flood
  • Of mighty-rolling Harmony!
• • By her own time view’d with disdain,
  • Let solemn Truth in song remain,
  • And let the Muses’ band defend her!
  • In all the fulness of her splendor,
  • Let her survive in numbers glorious,
  • More dread, when veil’d her charms appear,
  • And vengeance take, with strains victorious,
  • On her tormentor’s ear!
• • The freest Mother’s Children free,
  • With steadfast countenance then rise
  • To highest Beauty’s radiancy,
  • And ev’ry other crown despise!
  • The Sisters who escap’d you here,
  • Within your Mother’s arms ye’ll meet;
  • What noble Spirits may revere,
  • Must be deserving and complete.
  • High over your own course of time
  • Exalt yourselves with pinion bold,
  • And dimly let your glass sublime
  • The coming century unfold!
  • On thousand roads advancing fast
  • Of ever-rich variety,
  • With fond embraces meet at last
  • Before the throne of Harmony!
  • As into seven mild rays we view
  • With softness break the glimmer white,
  • As rainbow-beams of sevenfold hue
  • Dissolve again in that soft light,
  • In clearness thousandfold thus throw
  • Your magic round the ravish’d gaze,—
  • Into one stream of light thus flow,—
  • One bond of truth that ne’er decays!

THE MEETING.

• • I SEE her still—by her fair train surrounded,
  • The fairest of them all, she took her place;
  • Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded,
  • For, oh! they dazzl’d with their heavenly grace.
  • With awe my soul was fill’d—with bliss unbounded,
  • While gazing on her softly radiant face;
  • But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire,
  • My fingers ’gan to sweep the sounding lyre.
• • The thoughts that rush’d across me in that hour,
  • The words I sang, I’d fain once more invoke;
  • Within, I felt a new-awaken’d power,
  • That each emotion of my bosom spoke.
  • My soul, long time enchain’d in sloth’s dull bower,
  • Through all its fetters now triumphant broke,
  • And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers,
  • Which, in its deepest depths, had liv’d in slumbers.
• • And when the chords had ceas’d their gentle sighing,
  • And when my soul rejoin’d its mortal frame,
  • I look’d upon her face and saw love vieing,
  • In ev’ry feature, with her maiden shame.
  • And soon my ravish’d heart seem’d heavenward flying,
  • When her soft whisper o’er my senses came.
  • The blissful seraphs’ choral strains alone
  • Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone.
• • Of that fond heart, which, pining silently,
  • Ne’er ventures to express its feelings lowly,
  • The real and modest worth is known to me—
  • ’Gainst cruel fate I’ll guard its cause so holy.
  • Most blest of all, the meek one’s lot shall be—
  • Love’s flowers by Love’s own hand are gather’d solely—
  • The fairest prize to that fond heart is due,
  • That feels it, and that beats responsive too!

TO EMMA.

• • FAR away, where darkness reigneth,
  • All my dreams of bliss are flown;
  • Yet with love my gaze remaineth
  • Fix’d on one fair star alone.
  • But, alas! that star so bright
  • Sheds no lustre save by night.
• • If in slumbers ending never,
  • Gloomy Death had seal’d thine eyes,
  • Thou hadst liv’d in memory ever—
• • Thou hadst liv’d still in my sighs;
  • But, alas! in light thou livest—
  • To my love no answer givest!
• • Can the sweet hopes love once cherish’d—
  • Emma, can they transient prove?
  • What has pass’d away and perish’d—
  • Emma, say, can that be love?
  • That bright flame of heavenly birth—
  • Can it die like things of earth?

THE SECRET.

• • SHE sought to breathe one word, but vainly—
  • Too many listeners were nigh;
  • And yet my timid glance read plainly
  • The language of her speaking eye.
  • Thy silent glades my footstep presses,
  • Thou fair and leaf-embosom’d grove!
  • Conceal within thy green recesses
  • From mortal eye our sacred love!
• • Afar with strange discordant noises,
  • The busy day is echoing;
  • And ’mid the hollow hum of voices,
  • I hear the heavy hammer ring.
  • ’Tis thus that man, with toil ne’er-ending,
  • Extorts from Heaven his daily bread;
  • Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending
  • The gifts of fortune on his head!
• • Oh, let mankind discover never
  • How true love fills with bliss our hearts!
  • They would but crush our joy for ever,
  • For joy to them no glow imparts.
  • Thou ne’er wilt from the world obtain it—
  • ’Tis never captur’d save as prey;
  • Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it,
  • Ere Envy dark asserts her sway.
• • The hours of night and stillness loving,
  • It comes upon us silently—
  • Away with hasty footstep moving
  • Soon as it sees a treach’rous eye.
  • Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving,
  • A wat’ry barrier cast around,
  • And, with thy waves in anger heaving,
  • Guard from each foe this holy ground!

EXPECTATION.

• • HEAR I the portal not flying?
  • Hear I the latchet not fall?
  • No, ’tis but the Zephyr sighing
  • Gently through the poplars tall.
• • Put on thy fairest dress, thou leafy grove,
  • To welcome her sweet fact its charms displaying!
  • Ye branches, weave a shady roof above,
  • When she, at eve’s soft hour, is hither straying!
  • And all ye balmy winds, that sportive rove,
  • Awake, and round her blushing cheeks ’gin playing,
  • Soon as her foot, all-gently moving on,
  • Its beauteous burden bears to Love’s own throne!
• • Hark to yon sound that seems parting
  • The bushes, and hastening near!—
  • No, ’tis but the bird upstarting
  • From the copse, in sudden fear!
• • Oh, quench thy torch, bright Day! And thou, pale Night,
  • With thy propitious silence o’er us hover!
  • Around us spread a veil of purple light!
  • Let mystic boughs our blissful meeting cover!
  • From listener’s ears, Love’s raptures take their flight,
  • They fly when Phœbus’ beams the world rule over,
  • For Hesperus alone, who silently
  • Casts down his rays, their confidant can be!
• • Hear I not soft whispers cleaving
  • The air as the echoes they wake?
  • No, ’tis but the cygnet weaving
  • Circlets in the silv’ry lake!
• • A flood of harmony mine ear assails,—
  • The fountain’s gush with murmur sweet is falling—
  • The west wind’s balmy kiss the flow’ret hails,—
  • And all creation smiles with joy enthraling;
• • The purple grape, the luscious peach that veils,
  • ’Neath shelt’ring leaves, its charms, seem softly calling;
  • The incense-bearing Zephyrs, as they blow,
  • Drink from my burning cheeks their fiery glow!
• • Down through yon laurel-walk rushing.
  • Hear not I footsteps resound?
  • No, ’tis but the fruit all-blushing,
  • Falling ripen’d to the ground!
• • In gentle death now sinks day’s flaming eye,
  • And all his gorgeous hues are fast declining;
  • The flowers, that ’neath his fiery ardor sigh,
  • Open their cups, when twilight soft ’gins shining;
  • The moon her silver beams sheds silently,—
  • The world in shadows dim its form is shrining;
  • Each charm its circling girdle lays aside,
  • And Beauty stands disclos’d in modest pride!
• • Is’t not a white form advancing?
  • Gleams not its soft-rustling train?
  • No, ’tis but the yew-trees glancing
  • Yon dim columns back again!
• • With sweet but airy dreams like these to play.
  • No longer be content, thou bosom panting!
  • No shadowy bliss my heart’s mad thirst can stay—
  • She whom this arm would clasp, alas, is wanting!
  • Oh, guide her living, breathing charms this way!
  • Oh, let me press her hand, with joy enchanting!
  • The very shadow of her mantle’s seam—
  • But lo!—a form of life assumes my dream!
• • And as, from the Heavens descending,
  • Appears the sweet moment of bliss,
  • In silence her steps thither bending,
  • She waken’d her love with a kiss!

EVENING.
AFTER A PICTURE.

• • OH! thou bright-beaming God, the plains are thirsting,
  • Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining;
  • Wearily move on thy horses—
  • Let, then, thy chariot descend!
• • Seest thou her who, from Ocean’s crystal billows,
  • Lovingly nods and smiles?—Thy heart must know her!
  • Joyously speed on thy horses,—
  • Tethys, the Goddess, ’tis nods!
• • Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping,
  • Into her arms he springs,—the reins takes Cupid,—
  • Quietly stand the horses,
  • Drinking the cooling flood.
• • Now, from the Heavens with gentle step descending,
  • Balmy Night appears, by sweet Love follow’d;
  • Mortals, rest ye and love ye,—
  • Phœbus, the loving one, rests!

LONGING.

• • COULD I from this valley dear,
  • Where the mist hangs heavily,
  • Soar to some more blissful sphere,
  • Ah! how happy should I be!
  • Distant hills enchant my sight,
  • Ever young and ever fair;
  • To those hills I’d take my flight
  • Had I wings to scale the air.
• • Harmonies mine ear assail,
  • Tones that breathe a heavenly calm;
  • And the gently-sighing gale
  • Greets me with its fragrant balm.
  • Peeping through the shady bowers,
  • Golden fruits their charms display,
  • And those sweetly-blooming flowers
  • Ne’er become cold winter’s prey.
• • In yon endless sunshine bright,
  • Oh! what bliss ’twould be to dwell!
  • How the breeze on yonder height
  • Must the heart with rapture swell!
  • Yet the stream that hems my path
  • Checks me with its angry frown,
  • While its waves, in rising wrath,
  • Weigh my weary spirit down.
• • See—a bark is drawing near,
  • But, alas, the pilot fails!
  • Enter boldly—wherefore fear?
  • Inspiration fills its sails,
  • Faith and courage make thine own,—
  • Gods ne’er lend a helping hand;
  • ’Tis by magic power alone
  • Thou canst reach the magic land!

THE PILGRIM.

• • YES! ’twas in life’s happy morning
  • That I first began to roam,
  • And, Youth’s transient pleasures scorning,
  • Left for aye my native home.
• • All the wealth by fate imparted
  • To the winds with joy I hurl’d;
  • Then with conscience single-hearted,
  • Grasp’d my staff, and sought the world,
• • By a mighty impulse driven—
  • By a voice of mystic strength—
  • “Go!” it cried, “to thee ’tis given
  • Happiness to reach at length.
• • “When thou seest a golden portal
  • Near thee lying, enter in;
  • There, each thing that earth made mortal,
  • Heavenly is, and free from sin.”
• • Evening came, and morn succeeded,
  • On I went unweariedly;
  • But the rest my bosom needed
  • Ever from me seem’d to fly.
• • In my path lay mountain ridges,
  • Streams to hem my progress roll’d;
  • Yet I spann’d their gulfs with bridges—
  • Cross’d each flood with courage bold.
• • Till at length I reach’d a torrent—
  • Eastward ran its waters clear;
  • Trusting fondly to the current,
  • In I plunged without a fear.
• • Soon into a mighty ocean
  • I was carried by the stream;
  • Vain now prov’d my self-devotion,—
  • All was but an empty dream!
• • Nought, alas, can lead me thither!—
  • Yon bright realms of Heaven so clear
  • Ne’er can send their brightness hither—
  • And the There is never Here!

THE IDEALS.

• • O, then, Faithless, wilt thou leave me,
  • With all thy magic phantasy,—
  • With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me,
  • Wilt thou with all for ever fly?
  • Can nought delay thine onward motion,
  • Thou golden time of life’s young dream?
  • In vain! Eternity’s wide ocean
  • Ceaselessly drowns thy rolling stream.
• • The glorious suns my youth enchanting
  • Have set in never-ending night;
  • Those blest Ideals now are wanting
  • That swell’d my heart with mad delight.
  • The offspring of my dream hath perish’d,
  • My faith in Being pass’d away;
  • The godlike hopes that once I cherish’d
  • Are now Reality’s sad prey.

• • As once Pygmalion, fondly yearning,
  • Embrac’d the statue form’d by him,
  • Till the cold marble’s cheeks were burning,
  • And life diffus’d through ev’ry limb,—
  • So I, with youthful passion fired,
  • My longing arms round Nature threw,
  • Till, clinging to my breast inspired,
  • She ’gan to breathe, to kindle, too.
• • And all my fiery ardor proving,
  • Though mute, her tale she soon could tell,
  • Return’d each kiss I gave her loving,
  • The throbbings of my heart read well.
  • Then living seem’d each tree, each flower,
  • Then sweetly sang the waterfall,
  • And e’en the soulless in that hour
  • Shar’d in the heav’nly bliss of all.
• • For then a circling World was bursting
  • My bosom’s narrow prison-cell,
  • To enter into Being thirsting,
  • In deed, word, shape and sound as well.
  • This world, how wondrous great I deem’d it,
  • Ere yet its blossoms could unfold!
  • When open, oh, how little seem’d it!
  • That little, oh, how mean and cold!
• • How happy, winged by courage daring,
  • The youth Life’s mazy path first press’d—
  • No care his manly strength impairing,
  • And in his dream’s sweet vision blest!
  • The dimmest star in air’s dominion
  • Seem’d not too distant for his flight;
  • His young and ever-eager pinion
  • Soar’d far beyond all mortal sight.
• • Thus joyously tow’rd Heaven ascending,
  • Was aught for his bright hopes too far?
  • The airy guides his steps attending,
  • How danced they round Life’s radiant car!
  • Soft Love was there, her guerdon bearing,
  • And Fortune, with her crown of gold,
  • And Fame, her starry chaplet wearing,
  • And Truth, in majesty untold.
• • But while the goal was yet before them,
  • The faithless guides began to stray;
  • Impatience of their task came o’er them,
  • Then one by one they dropp’d away.
  • Light-footed Fortune first retreating,
  • Then Wisdom’s thirst remain’d unstill’d,
  • While heavy storms of doubt were beating
  • Upon the path Truth’s radiance fill’d.
• • I saw Fame’s sacred wreath adorning
  • The brows of an unworthy crew;
  • And, ah! how soon Love’s happy morning,
  • When spring had vanish’d vanish’d too!
  • More silent yet, and yet more weary,
  • Became the desert path I trod;
  • And even Hope a glimmer dreary
  • Scarce cast upon the gloomy road.
• • Of all that train, so bright with gladness,
  • Oh, who is faithful to the end?
  • Who now will seek to cheer my sadness,
  • And to the grave my steps attend?
  • Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest,
  • Who gently healest ev’ry wound;
  • Who all Life’s heavy burdens sharest,
  • Thou, whom I early sought and found!
• • Employment too, thy loving neighbor,
  • Who quells the bosom’s rising storms;
  • Who ne’er grows weary of her labor,
  • And ne’er destroys, though slow she forms;
  • Who, though but grains of sand she places
  • To swell Eternity sublime,
  • Yet minutes, days, aye! years effaces
  • From the dread reckoning kept by Time!

THE MAIDEN’S LAMENT.

• • THE clouds fast gather,
  • The forest-oaks roar,—
  • A maiden is sitting
  • Beside the green shore,—
  • The billows are breaking with might, with might,
  • And she sighs aloud in the darkling night,
  • Her eyelid heavy with weeping.
• • “My heart’s dead within me,
  • The world is a void;
  • To the wish, it gives nothing,
  • Each hope is destroy’d.
  • I have tasted the fulness of bliss below
  • I have liv’d, I have lov’d,—thy child, oh take now,
  • Thou Holy One, into thy keeping!”
• • “In vain is thy sorrow,
  • In vain thy tears fall,
  • For the Dead from their slumbers
  • They ne’er can recall;
  52
  • Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart,
  • Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart,
  • Speak thy wish, and thou granted shall find it!”
• • “Though in vain is my sorrow,
  • Though in vain my tears fall,
  • Though the Dead from their slumbers
  • They ne’er can recall,
  • Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart,
  • When love its soft pleasures no more can impart,
  • As the torments that love leaves behind it!”

THE YOUTH AT THE BROOK.

• • NEAR a brook a boy is sitting,
  • Twining many a garland gay;
  • But, alas! he sees them ever
  • Hurried by the stream away.
  • “Restless as those dancing waters,
  • My sad days are fleeting on;
  • Transient as those fragrant garlands,
  • Lo! my youth will soon be gone.
• • “Ask me not why I am sorrowing
  • In the spring-time of my years!
  • Joy and hope fill every creature
  • Soon as smiling Spring appears;
  • But the thousand voices hailing
  • Nature wak’ning from her sleep,
  • In my bosom waken only
  • Anguish bitter, torments deep.
• • “What avail to me the pleasures
  • Spring is able to convey?
  • There is only one I sigh for,
  • Yet, though near, ’tis far away.
  • Fain I’d seize the flattering vision,
  • Fain I’d clasp it to my breast;
  • But, alas! it ever flies me,
  • And my heart remains oppress’d.
• • “Leave thy castle proud behind thee,
  • Hither, maiden, wend thy way;
  • And I’ll fill thy lap with flowers,
  • Offspring of all-bounteous May.
  • Hark! the streamlet softly murmurs,
  • Joyous carols fill the air;
  • E’en a cottage is a palace
  • To a happy, loving pair!”

THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT.

• • SO, at length, once more we meet
  • In the Muses’ glad domain!
  • Let us twine a garland sweet,
  • Fit to grace their brows again!
• • To what God shall we now bring
  • Earliest tribute of our lays?
  • Let us first His glory sing,
  • Who with bliss our toil repays.
• • What avails it that a Soul
  • Ceres breathes into the shrine?
  • That great Bacchus brims the bowl
  • With the red blood of the vine?
• • If that spark which set on fire
  • Mortal hearths, comes not from high,
  • Joy will ne’er the soul inspire,
  • And the heart will vainly sigh.
• • From the clouds must fortune fall,
  • From the lap of Deities;
  • And the mightiest Lord of all
  • Is the moment as it flies.
• • ’Mongst the things that have their birth
  • ’Neath eternal Nature’s sway,
  • Nought is god-like here on earth,
  • Save the thought’s all-piercing ray,
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• • Slowly stone and stone unite,
  • As the circling seasons roll;
  • But our work will see the light
  • Soon as fashion’d by the soul.
• • As the sunlight’s radiant glow
  • Weaves a golden tapestry—
  • As upon her gorgeous bow
  • Iris quivers in the sky,
• • So each gift that joys the heart
  • Fleeteth as a gleam of light;
  • Soon for aye it must depart
  • To the darksome tomb of night.

MOUNTAIN SONG.

• • YON bridge o’er the giddy abyss will conduct,
  • From life unto death ’tis the portal;
  • But figures gigantic the lone way obstruct,
  • And threaten to crush thee, frail mortal!
  • And, wouldst thou not waken the avalanche dread,
  • The terrible path thou must noiselessly tread.
• • High over the brink of the chasm profound
  • An arch is in triumph suspended;
  • ’Twas rais’d not by science of man from the ground,
  • His thoughts to such height ne’er ascended,
  • Below, late and early, the fierce torrent boils—
  • Assails it in fury, but fruitlessly toils.
• • A dark and mysterious gate opens wide,
  • Beyond seem the shadow-realms dreaded;
  • But sudden a region of bliss is described,
  • Where autumn and spring-time are wedded;
  • Oh, would I could fly to that vale of repose
  • From the labors of life, and its ne’er-ending woes!
• • Four streams to the plain with wild roar issue forth,
  • Their source remains hidden for ever;
  • They flow to the East, to the West, South, and North,
  • The world’s four great highways they sever.
  • And fast as their mother with groans gives them birth,
  • They fly away swiftly and vanish from earth.
• • Two peaks, far above the weak gaze of mankind,
  • From Ether’s blue vault seem advancing;
  • Upon them, in vapor all-golden enshrin’d,
  • The clouds, Heaven’s daughters, are dancing.
  • Their course all alone they unceasing pursue,
  • The eye of no mortal their progress can view.
• • The Queen, on a throne that no time can e’er change,
  • In glory and brightness is sitting;—
  • She weareth a chaplet of diamonds strange
  • To grace her fair forehead befitting;
  • The sun shoots his arrows of light at her ever—
  • They gild her, ’tis true, but their warmth they
  • give never!

DITHYRAMB.

• • NEVER,—believe me,—
  • See we the Deities—
  • Never alone.
  • No sooner does Bacchus the Jovial greet me,
  • Than Love, smiling urchin, comes bounding to meet me,
  • Phœbus the radiant—he, too, is one!
  • See them advancing,
  • Crowding the portal!
  • Soon in my dwelling
  • Stands each immortal!
• • Say, ye Divine Ones,
  • How I, a frail creature,
  • Due homage can pay?
  • Bright immortality send down from Heaven!
  • Yet what requital by me can be given?
  • Oh, to Olympus guide upward my way!
  • Bliss dwelleth only
  • In Jupiter’s Palace;
  • Brimming with nectar,
  • Oh, give me the chalice!
• • Give him the chalice!
  • Brim for the Poet,
  • Hebe, the bowl!
  • Moisten his eyes with the dew we quaff ever,
  • Let Styx, the dark torrent, be seen by him never,
  • Let visions celestial brighten his soul!
  • The heavenly fountain
  • Sparkles and bubbles,
  • Gladd’ning the bosom,
  • And banishing troubles!

THE ALPINE HUNTER.

• • WILT thou not the lambkins guard?
  • Oh, how soft and meek they look,
  • Feeding on the grassy sward,
  • Sporting round the silv’ry brook!
  • “Mother, mother, let me go
  • On yon heights to chase the roe!”
• • Wilt thou not the flock compel
  • With the horn’s inspiring notes?
  • Sweet the echo of yon bell,
  • As across the wood it floats!
  • “Mother, mother, let me go
  • On yon heights to hunt the roe!”
• • Wilt thou not the flow’rets bind,
  • Smiling gently in their bed?
  • For no garden thou wilt find
  • On yon heights so wild and dread.
  • “Leave the flow’rets,—let them blow!
  • Mother, mother, let me go!”
• • And the youth then sought the chase,
  • Onward press’d with headlong speed
  • To the mountain’s gloomiest place,—
  • Nought his progress could impede;
  • And before him, like the wind,
  • Swiftly flies the trembling hind.
• • Up the naked precipice
  • Clambers she, with footstep light;
  • O’er the chasm’s dark abyss
  • Leaps with spring of daring might;
  • But behind, unweari’dly,
  • With his death-blow follows he.
• • Now upon the rugged top
  • Stands she,—on the loftiest height,
  • Where the cliffs abruptly stop,
  • And the path is lost to sight.
  • There she views the steeps below,—
  • Close behind, her mortal foe.
• • She, with silent woeful gaze,
  • Seeks the cruel boy to move;
  • But, alas! in vain she prays—
  • To the string he fits the groove.
  • When from out the clefts, behold!
  • Steps the Mountain Genius old.
• • With his hand the Deity
  • Shields the beast that trembling sighs;
  • “Must thou, even up to me,
  • Death and anguish send?” he cries,—
  • “Earth has room for all to dwell,—
  • Why pursue my lov’d gazelle?”

THE FOUR AGES OF THE WORLD.

• • THE goblet is sparkling with purpleting’d wine,
  • Bright glistens the eye of each guest,
  • When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine,
  • To the good he now brings what is best;
  • For when from Elysium is absent the lyre,
  • No joy can the banquets of nectar inspire.
• • He is blest by the Gods with an intellect clear,
  • That mirrors the world as it glides;
  • He has seen all that ever has taken place here,
  • And all that the future still hides.
  • He sat in the God’s secret councils of old,
  • And heard the command for each thing to unfold.
• • He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth,
  • That life which was hid from our eyes;
  • Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth,
  • That the Muse has bestow’d as his prize.
  • No roof is so humble, no hut is so low,
  • But he with Divinities bids it o’erflow.
• • And as the inventive descendant of Zeus,
  • On the unadorn’d round of the shield,
  • With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce
  • Earth, sea, and the stars’ shining field,—
  • So he, on the moments, as onward they roll,
  • The image can stamp of the infinite Whole.
• • From the earliest age of the world he has come,
  • When nations rejoic’d in their prime;
  • A wanderer glad, he has still found a home
  • With every race through all time.
  • Four ages of man in his lifetime have died,
  • And the place they once held by the Fifth is suppli’d.
• • Saturnus first govern’d, with fatherly smile,
  • Each day then resembl’d the last;
  • Then flourish’d the Shepherds, a race without guile—
  • Their bliss by no care was o’ercast.
  • They lov’d,—and no other employment they had,
  • And Earth gave her treasures with willingness glad.
• • Then Labor came next, and the conflict began
  • With monsters and beasts fam’d in song;
  • And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man,
  • And the weak sought the aid of the strong.
  • And strife o’er the field of Scamander now reign’d,
  • But Beauty the God of the world still remain’d.
• • At length from the conflict bright Victory sprang,
  • And gentleness blossom’d from might;
  • In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang,
  • And figures divine saw the light;—
  • The Age that acknowledg’d sweet Phantasy’s sway
  • Can never return, it has fleeted away.
• • The Gods from their seats in the Heavens were hurl’d,
  • And their pillars of glory o’erthrown;
  • And the Son of the Virgin appear’d in the world
  • For the sins of mankind to atone.
  • The fugitive lusts of the sense were suppress’d,
  • And man now first grappled with Thought in his breast.
• • Each vain and voluptuous charm vanish’d now,
  • Wherein the young world took delight;
  • The monk and the nun made of penance a vow,
  • And the tourney was sought by the knight.
  • Though the aspect of life was now dreary and wild,
  • Yet Love remain’d ever both lovely and mild.
• • An altar of holiness, free from all stain,
  • The Muses in silence uprear’d;
  • And all that was noble and worthy, again
  • In woman’s chaste bosom appear’d;
  • The bright flame of song was soon kindl’d anew
  • By the minstrel’s soft lays, and his love, pure and true.
• • And so, in a gentle and ne’er-changing band,
  • Let woman and minstrel unite;
  • They weave and they fashion, with hand join’d to hand,
  • The girdle of Beauty and Right.
  • When love blends with music, in unison sweet,
  • The lustre of life’s youthful days ne’er can fleet.

TO MY FRIENDS.

• YES, my friends!—that happier times have been
• Than the present, none can contravene;
• That a race once liv’d of nobler worth;
• And if ancient chronicles were dumb,
• Countless stones in witness forth would come
• From the deepest entrails of the earth.
• But this highly-favor’d race has gone,
• Gone forever to the realms of night.
• We, we live! The moments are our own,
• And the living judge the right.
• Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excel
• This, the land wherein we’re doom’d to dwell,
• As the hardy travellers proclaim;
• But if Nature has denied us much,
• Art is yet responsive to our touch,
• And our hearts can kindle at her flame.
• If the laurel will not flourish here—
• If the myrtle is cold winter’s prey,
• Yet the vine, to crown us, year by year,
• Still puts forth his foliage gay.
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• Of a busier life ’tis well to speak,
• Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek,
• On the world’s great market, Thames’ broad stream;
• Ships in thousands go there and depart—
• There are seen the costliest works of art,
• And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme:
• But the sun his image only graves
• On the silent streamlet’s level plain,
• Not upon the torrent’s muddy waves,
• Swollen by the heavy rain.
• Far more bless’d than we, in northern States,
• Dwells the beggar at the Angel-gates,
• For he sees the peerless city—Rome!
• Beauty’s glorious charms around him lie,
• And a second Heaven up tow’rd the sky
• Mounts St. Peter’s proud and wondrous dome.
• But, with all the charms that splendor grants,
• Rome is but the tomb of ages past;
• Life but smiles upon the blooming plants
• That the seasons round her cast.

• Greater actions elsewhere may be rife
• Than with us, in our contracted life—
• But beneath the sun there’s nought that’s new;
• Yet we see the great of ev’ry age
• Pass before us on the world’s wide stage
• Thoughtfully and calmly in review:
• All in life repeats itself for ever,
• Young for aye is phantasy alone;
• What has happen’d nowhere,—happen’d never,—
• That has never older grown!

PUNCH SONG. (TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.)

• • ON the mountain’s breezy summit,
  • Where the Southern sunbeams shine,
  • Aided by their warming vigor,
  • Nature yields the golden wine.
• • How the wondrous mother formeth,
  • None have ever read aright;
  • Hid for ever is her working,
  • And inscrutable her might.
  • Sparkling as a son of Phœbus,
  • As the fiery source of light,
  • From the vat it bubbling springeth,
  • Purple, and as crystal bright;
• • And rejoiceth all the senses,
  • And in ev’ry sorrowing breast
  • Poureth Hope’s refreshing balsam,
  • And on life bestows new zest.
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• • But their slanting rays all feebly
  • On our zone the sunbeams shoot;
  • They can only tinge the foliage,
  • But they ripen ne’er the fruit.
• • Yet the North insists on living,
  • And what lives, will merry be;
  • So, although the grape is wanting,
  • We invent wine cleverly.
• • Pale the drink we now are off’ring
  • On the household altar here;
  • But what living Nature maketh,
  • Sparkling is and ever clear.
• • Let us, from the brimming goblet,
  • Drain the troubled flood with mirth;
  • Art is but a gift of Heaven,
  • Borrow’d from the glow of earth.
• • Even strength’s dominions boundless
  • ’Neath her rule obedient lie;
  • From the old the new she fashions
  • With creative energy.
• • She the element’s close union
  • Severs with her sovereign nod;
  • With the flame upon the altar,
  • Emulates the great Sun-God.
• • For the distant, happy islands
  • Now the vessel sallies forth,
  • And the Southern fruits, all-golden,
  • Pours upon the eager North.
• • As a type, then,—as an image,
  • Be to us this fiery juice,
  • Of the wonders that frail mortals
  • Can with steadfast will produce!

NADOWESSIAN DEATH-LAMENT.

• • SEE, he sitteth on his mat,
  • Sitteth there upright,
  • With the grace with which he sat
  • While he saw the light.
• • Where is now the sturdy gripe,—
  • Where the breath sedate,
  • That so lately whiff’d the pipe
  • Tow’rd the Spirit Great?
• • Where the bright and falcon eye,
  • That the reindeer’s tread
  • On the waving grass could spy,
  • Thick with dew-drops spread?
• • Where the limbs that used to dart
  • Swifter through the snow
  • Than the twenty-member’d hart,
  • Than the mountain roe?
• • Where the arm that sturdily
  • Bent the deadly bow?
  • See, its life hath fleeted by,—
  • See, it hangeth low!
• • Happy he!—He now has gone
  • Where no snow is found:
  • Where with maize the fields are sown,
  • Self-sprung from the ground;
• • Where with birds each bush is fill’d,
  • Where with game the wood;
  • Where the fish, with joy unstill’d,
  • Wanton in the flood.
• • With the spirits blest he feeds,—
  • Leaves us here in gloom;
  • We can only praise his deeds,
  • And his corpse entomb.

• • Farewell gifts, then, hither bring,
  • Sound the death-note sad!
  • Bury with him ev’rything
  • That can make him glad!
• • ’Neath his head the hatchet hide
  • That he boldly swung;
  • And the bear’s fat haunch beside,
  • For the road is long;
• • And the knife, well sharpenèd,
  • That, with slashes three,
  • Scalp and skin from foeman’s head
  • Tore off skilfully.
• • And to paint his body, place
  • Dyes within his hand;
  • Let him shine with ruddy grace
  • In the Spirit-Land!

THE SOLDIER’S SONG.

• • WAKE up, my brave comrades! to horse! to horse!
  • Let us haste to the field and to freedom!
  • To the field, for ’tis there that is prov’d our hearts’ force,
  • ’Tis there that in earnest we need ’em!
  • None other can there our places supply,
  • Each must stand alone,—on himself must rely.
• • Now freedom appears from the world to have flown,
  • None but lords and their vassals one traces;
  • While falsehood and cunning are ruling alone
  • O’er the living cowardly races.
  • The man who can look upon death without fear—
  • The soldier,—is now the sole freeman left here.
• • The cares of this life, he casts them away,
  • Untroubl’d by fear or by sorrow;
  • He rides to his fate with a countenance gay,
  • And finds it to-day or to-morrow;
  • And if ’tis to-morrow, to-day we’ll employ
  • To drink full deep of the goblet of joy.
• • The skies o’er him shower his lot fill’d with mirth,
  • He gains, without toil, its full measure;
  • The peasant, who grubs in the womb of the earth,
  • Believes that he’ll find there the treasure.
  • Through lifetime he shovels and digs like a slave,
  • And digs—till at length he has dug his own grave.
• • The horseman, as well as his swift-footed beast,
  • Are guests by whom all are affrighted.
  • When glimmer the lamps at the wedding feast,
  • In the banquet he joins uninvited;
  • He woos not long, and with gold he ne’er buys,
  • But carries by storm love’s blissful prize.
• • Why weeps the maiden? Why sorrows she so?
  • Let me hence, let me hence, girl, I pray thee!
  • The soldier on earth no sure quarters can know;
  • With true love he ne’er can repay thee.
  • Fate hurries him onward with fury blind,
  • His peace he never can leave behind.
• • Away, then, my comrades, our chargers let’s mount!
  • In the battle the bosom bounds lightly!
  • Youth boils, and life’s goblet still foams at the fount,
  • Away! while the spirit glows brightly!
  • Unless ye have courage your life to stake,
  • That life ye never your own can make!

THE FEAST OF VICTORY.

• • PRIAM’S castle-walls had sunk,
  • Troy in dust and ashes lay,
  • And each Greek, with triumph drunk,
  • Richly laden with his prey,
  • Sat upon his ship’s high prow,
  • On the Hellespontic strand,
  • Starting on his journey now,
  • Bound for Greece, his own fair land.
  • Raise the glad exulting shout!
  • Tow’rd the land that gave them birth
  • Turn they now the ships about,
  • As they seek their native earth.
• • And in rows, all mournfully,
  • Sat the Trojan women there,—
  • Beat their breasts in agony,
  • Pallid, with dishevell’d hair.
  • In the feast of joy so glad
  • Mingl’d they the song of woe,
  • Weeping o’er their fortunes sad,
  • In their country’s overthrow.
  • “Land belov’d, oh, fare thee well!
  • By our foreign masters led,
  • Far from home we’re doom’d to dwell—
  • Ah, how happy are the dead!”
• • Soon the blood by Calchas spilt
  • On the altar heav’nward smokes;
  • Pallas, by whom towns are built
  • And destroy’d, the priest invokes;
  • Neptune, too, who all the earth
  • With his billowy girdle laves,—
  • Zeus, who gives to Terror birth,
  • Who the dreaded Ægis waves.
  • Now the weary fight is done,
  • Ne’er again to be renew’d;
  • Time’s wide circuit now is run,
  • And the mighty town subdued!
• • Atreus’ son, the army’s head,
  • Told the people’s numbers o’er,
  • Whom he, as their captain, led
  • To Scamander’s vale of yore.
  • Sorrow’s black and heavy clouds
  • Pass’d across the monarch’s brow:
  • Of those vast and valiant crowds,
  • Oh, how few were left him now!
  • Joyful songs let each one raise,
  • Who will see his home again,
  • In whose veins the life-blood plays,
  • For, alas! not all remain!
• • “All who homeward wend their way,
  • Will not there find peace of mind;
  • On their household altars, they
  • Murder foul perchance may find.
  • Many fall by false friend’s stroke,
  • Who in fight immortal prov’d:”—
  • So Ulysses warning spoke,
  • By Athenè’s spirit mov’d.
  • Happy he, whose faithful spouse
  • Guards his home with honor true!
  • Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,
  • Ever loves she what is new.
• • And Atrides glories there
  • In the prize he won in fight,
  • And around her body fair
  • Twines his arms with fond delight.
  • Evil works must punish’d be,
  • Vengeance follows after crime,
  • For Kronīon’s just decree
  • Rules the heav’nly courts sublime.
  • Evil must in evil end;
  • Zeus will on the impious band
  • Woe for broken guest-rights send,
  • Weighing with impartial hand.
• • “It may well the glad befit,”
  • Cried Oïleus’ valiant son,
  • “To extol the Gods who sit
  • On Olympus’ lofty throne!
  • Fortune all her gifts supplies,
  • Blindly, and no justice knows,
  • For Patroclus buried lies,
  • And Thersites homeward goes!
  • Since she blindly throws away
  • Each lot in her wheel contain’d,
  • Let him shout with joy to-day
  • Who the prize of life has gain’d.

• • “Aye, the wars the best devour!
  • Brother, we will think of thee,
  • In the fight a very tower,
  • When we join in revelry!
  • When the Grecian ships were fir’d,
  • By thine arm was safety brought;
  • Yet the man by craft inspir’d
  • Won the spoils thy valor sought.
  • Peace be to thine ashes blest!
  • Thou wert vanquish’d not in fight:
  • Anger ’tis destroys the best,—
  • Ajax fell by Ajax’s might!”
• • Neoptolemus pour’d, then,
  • To his sire renown’d the wine—
  • “’Mongst the lots of earthly men,
  • Mighty father, prize I thine!
  • Of the goods that life supplies,
  • Greatest far of all is fame;
  • Though to dust the body flies,
  • Yet still lives a noble name.
  • Valiant one, thy glory’s ray
  • Will immortal be in song;
  • For, though life may pass away,
  • To all time the dead belong!”
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• • “Since the voice of minstrelsy
  • Speaks not of the vanquish’d man,
  • I will Hector’s witness be,”—
  • Tydeus’ noble son began:
  • “Fighting bravely in defence
  • Of his household-gods he fell.—
  • Great the victor’s glory thence,
  • He in purpose did excel!
  • Battling for his altars dear,
  • Sank that rock, no more to rise;
  • E’en the foeman will revere
  • One whose honor’d name ne’er dies.”
• • Nestor, joyous reveller old,
  • Who three generations saw,
  • Now the leaf-crown’d cup of gold
  • Gave to weeping Hecuba.
  • “Drain the goblet’s draught so cool,
  • And forget each painful smart!
  • Bacchus’ gifts are wonderful,—
  • Balsam for a broken heart.
  • Drain the goblet’s draught so cool,
  • And forget each painful smart!
  • Bacchus’ gifts are wonderful,—
  • Balsam for a broken heart.”
• • “E’en to Niobe, whom Heaven
  • Lov’d in wrath to persecute,
  • Respite from her pangs was given,
  • Tasting of the corn’s ripe fruit.
  • Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
  • In the foaming, living spring,
  • Buried deep in Lethe’s wave
  • Lies all grief, all sorrowing!
  • Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
  • In the foaming, living spring,
  • Swallow’d up in Lethe’s wave
  • Is all grief, all sorrowing!”
• • And the Prophetess inspir’d
  • By her God, upstarted now,—
  • Tow’rd the smoke of homesteads fir’d,
  • Looking from the lofty prow.
  • “Smoke is each thing here below;
  • Ev’ry worldly greatness dies,
  • As the vapory columns go,—
  • None are fix’d but Deities!
  • Cares behind the horseman sit—
  • Round about the vessel play;
  • Lest the morrow hinder it,
  • Let us, therefore, live to-day.”

THE LAMENT OF CERES.

• • IS’T the beauteous spring I see?
  • Has the earth grown young again?
  • Sun-lit hills glow verdantly,
  • Bursting through their icy chain.
  • From the streamlet’s mirror blue
  • Smiles the now unclouded sky,
  • Zephyr’s wings wave milder, too,—
  • Youthful blossoms ope their eye.
  • In the grove, sweet songs resound,
  • Speaks the Oread as of yore;
  • Once again thy flowers are found,
  • But thy daughter comes no more.
• • Ah, how long ’tis since I went
  • First in search o’er earth’s wide face!
  • Titan! All thy rays I sent
  • Seeking for the lov’d one’s trace;
  • Of that form so dear, no ray
  • Hath as yet brought news to me,
  • And the all-discerning day
  • Cannot yet the lost one see.
  • Hast thou, Zeus, her from me torn?
  • Or to Oreus’ gloomy streams,
  • Is she down by Pluto borne,
  • Smitten by her charms’ bright beams?
• • Who will to yon dreary strand
  • Be the herald of my woe?
  • Ever leaves the bark the land,
  • Yet but shadows in it go.
  • To each bless’d eye evermore
  • Clos’d the night-like fields remain;
  • Styx no living form e’er bore,
  • Since his stream first wash’d the plain
  • Thousand paths lead downward there,
  • None lead up again to light;—
  • And her tears no witness e’er
  • Brings to her sad mother’s sight.

• • Mothers who, from Pyrrha sprung,
  • From a mortal race descend,
  • May, the tomb’s fierce flames among,
  • On their children lov’d attend;
  • Denizens of Heaven alone
  • Draw not near the gloomy strand,—
  • Parcæ! save Immortals, none
  • E’er are spar’d by your harsh hand.
  • Plunge me in the night of nights,
  • From the halls of heaven afar!
  • Honor not the Goddess’ rights—
  • They the mother’s torments are!
• • Where she, with her consort stern,
  • Joyless reigns, there went I down,—
  • With the silent shades, in turn,
  • Silent stood before her throne.
  • Ah! her eye weigh’d down with tears,
  • Seeks in vain the light so fair,
  • Wanders tow’rd far distant spheres,
  • On her mother falling ne’er!
  • Till she wakes to ecstasy,
  • Till with joy each bosom throbs,
  • And, arous’d to sympathy,
  • Even rugged Orcus sobs.
• • Fruitless wish! Lamenting vain!
  • In its smooth track peacefully
  • Ever rolls day’s steady wain,
  • Ever fix’d is Jove’s decree.
  • He has turn’d his blissful head
  • From the gloomy realms away;
  • She to me is ever dead,
  • Now that she is Night’s sad prey,—
  • Till the waves, that darkly swell,
  • With Aurora’s colors glow;
  • Till across the depths of Hell
  • Iris draws her beauteous bow.
• • Is nought left me now to prove,
  • Nought that as pledge may stand,
  • That the absent still may love?
  • Not a trace of that dear hand?
  • Can no loving bond, then, spread
  • O’er a mother and her child?
  • Of the living and the dead
  • Can there be no union mild?
  • No, she is not wholly flown!
  • We’re not wholly sever’d now!
  • For to speak one tongue alone
  • The eternal Gods allow.
• • When Spring’s children sink in death,
  • When the leaf and flower decay,
  • Smitten by the North wind’s breath,
  • Sadly stands the naked spray:
  • Then I take what best can live
  • From Vertumnus’ teeming horn,
  • Off’ring it to Styx, to give
  • In return the golden corn,—
  • Into earth, then, mournfully
  • Drop it on my daughter’s heart,
  • That it may a language be
  • Of my love, my bitter smart.
• • When the Hours’ unchanging dance
  • Brings with joy the Spring again,
  • Waken’d by the sun’s bright glance,
  • Will the dead fresh life obtain.
  • Germs that perish to the sight
  • In the chilly womb of earth,
  • In the color-realm so bright
  • Free themselves again with mirth.
  • When the stalk shoots high in air,
  • Shyly lurks the root in night;
  • Equal in their fost’ring care
  • Are both Styx’ and Æther’s might.
• • Half they rule the living’s sphere,
  • Half the region of the dead;
  • Ah, to me they’re heralds dear,
  • Sweet tones from Cocytus dread!
  • Though herself be ever dumb
  • In the terrible abyss,
  • From the Spring’s young blossoms come
  • To mine ear these words of bliss,—
  • That, e’en far from daylight blest,
  • Where the sorrowing shadows go,
  • Lovingly may throb the breast,
  • Tenderly the heart may glow!
• • Oh, be glad, then, evermore,
  • Smiling meadows’ children true!
  • For your chalice shall run o’er
  • With the nectar’s purest dew.
  • I will steep your forms in beams
  • And with Iris’ fairest light
  • Tinge your foliage, till it gleams
  • Like Aurora’s features bright.
  • In the Spring-time’s radiance blest,
  • In the Autumn’s garland dead,
  • There may read each tender breast
  • Of my griefs—my joys, now fled!

THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL.

• • WREATHE in a garland the corn’s golden ear!
  • With it, the Cyǎne blue intertwine!
  • Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
  • For the great Queen is approaching her shrine,—
  • She who compels lawless passions to cease,
  • Who to link man with his fellow has come,
  • And into firm habitations of peace
  • Chang’d the rude tents’ ever-wandering home.
• • Shyly in the mountain-cleft
  • Was the Troglodyte conceal’d;
  • And the roving Nomad left,
  • Desert lying, each broad field.
  • With the javelin, with the bow
  • Strode the hunter through the land;
  • To the hapless stranger, woe,
  • Billow-cast on that wild strand!
• • When, in her sad wanderings lost,
  • Seeking traces of her child,
  • Ceres hail’d the dreary coast,
  • Ah, no verdant plain then smil’d!
  • That she here with trust may stay,
  • None vouchsafes a sheltering roof;
  • Not a temple’s columns gay
  • Give of godlike worship proof.
• • Fruit of no propitious ear
  • Bids her to the pure feast fly;
  • On the ghastly altars here
  • Human bones alone e’er dry.
  • Far as she might onward rove,
  • Misery found she still in all,
  • And within her soul of love,
  • Sorrow’d she o’er man’s deep fall.
• • “Is it thus I find the man
  • To whom we our Image lend,
  • Whose fair limbs of noble span
  • Upward tow’rd the Heavens ascend?
  • Laid we not before his feet
  • Earth’s unbounded godlike womb!
  • Yet upon his kingly seat
  • Wanders he without a home?
• • “Does no God compassion feel?
  • Will none of the blissful race,
  • With an arm of miracle,
  • Raise him from his deep disgrace?
  • In the heights where rapture reigns
  • Pangs of others ne’er can move;
  • Yet man’s anguish and man’s pains
  • My tormented heart must prove.
• • “So that a man a man may be,
  • Let him make an endless bond
  • With the kind earth trustingly,
  • Who is ever good and fond—
  • To revere the law of time,
  • And the moon’s melodious song,
  • Who, with silent step sublime,
  • Move their sacred course along.”
• • And she softly parts the cloud
  • That conceals her from the sight;
  • Sudden, in the savage crowd,
  • Stands she, as a Goddess bright,
  • There she finds the concourse rude
  • In their glad feast revelling,
  • And the chalice fill’d with blood
  • As a sacrifice they bring.
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• • But she turns her face away,
  • Horror-struck, and speaks the while:
  • “Bloody tiger-feasts ne’er may
  • Of a God the lips defile.
  • He needs victims free from stain,
  • Fruits matur’d by Autumn’s sun;
  • With the pure gifts of the plain
  • Honor’d is the Holy One!”
• • And she takes the heavy shaft
  • From the hunter’s cruel hand;
  • With the murd’rous weapon’s haft
  • Furrowing the light-strown sand,—
  • Takes from out her garland’s crown,
  • Fill’d with life, one single grain,—
  • Sinks it in the furrow down,
  • And the germ soon swells amain.
• • And the green stalks gracefully
  • Shoot, ere long, the ground above,
  • And, as far as eye can see,
  • Waves it like a golden grove.
  • With her smile the earth she cheers,
  • Binds the earliest sheaves so fair,
  • As her hearth the landmark rears,—
  • And the Goddess breathes this prayer:
• • “Father Zeus, who reign’st o’er all
  • That in Æther’s mansions dwell,
  • Let a sign from thee now fall
  • That thou lov’st this off’ring well!
  • And from the unhappy crowd
  • That, as yet, has ne’er known thee,
  • Take away the eye’s dark cloud,
  • Showing them their Deity!”
• • Zeus, upon his lofty throne,
  • Hearkens to his sister’s prayer;
  • From the blue heights thund’ring down,
  • Hurls his forkèd lightning there.
  • Crackling, it begins to blaze,
  • From the altar whirling bounds,—
  • And his swift-wing’d eagle plays
  • High above in circling rounds.
• • Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling,
  • Fill’d with emotion, the rapturous throng:
  • Into humanity’s earliest feeling
  • Melt their rude spirits, untutor’d and strong.
  • Each bloody weapon behind them they leave,
  • Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine,
  • And from the mouth of the Queen they receive,
  • Gladly and meekly, instruction divine.
• • All the Deities advance
  • Downwards from their heav’nly seats;
  • Themis’ self ’tis leads the dance,
  • And, with staff of justice, metes
  • Unto ev’ry one his rights,—
  • Landmarks, too, ’tis hers to fix;
  • And in witness she invites
  • All the hidden powers of Styx.
• • And the Forge-God, too, is there,
  • The inventive Son of Zeus;
  • Fashioner of vessels fair
  • Skill’d in clay and brass’s use.
  • ’Tis from him the art man knows
  • Tongs and bellows how to wield;
  • ’Neath his hammer’s heavy blows
  • Was the ploughshare first reveal’d.
• • With projecting, weighty spear,
  • Front of all, Minerva stands,
  • Lifts her voice so strong and clear,
  • And the Godlike host commands.
  • Steadfast walls ’tis hers to found,
  • Shield and screen for ev’ry one,
  • That the scatter’d world around
  • Bind in loving unison.
• • The Immortals’ steps she guides
  • O’er the trackless plains so vast,
  • And where’er her foot abides
  • Is the Boundary God held fast;
  • And her measuring chain is led
  • Round the mountain’s border green,—
  • E’en the raging torrent’s bed
  • In the holy ring is seen.
• • All the Nymphs and Oreads too
  • Who, the mountain pathways o’er,
  • Swift foot Artemis pursue,
  • All, to swell the concourse, pour,
  • Brandishing the hunting-spear,—
  • Set to work,—glad shouts uprise,—
  • ’Neath their axes’ blows so clear
  • Crashing down the pine-wood flies.
• • E’en the sedge-crown’d God ascends
  • From his verdant spring to light,
  • And his raft’s direction bends
  • At the Goddess’ word of might,—
  • While the Hours, all-gently bound,
  • Nimbly to their duty fly;
  • Rugged trunks are fashion’d round
  • By her skill’d hand gracefully.
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• • E’en the Sea-God thither fares;—
  • Sudden, with his trident’s blow,
  • He the granite columns tears
  • From earth’s entrails far below;—
  • In his mighty hands, on high,
  • Waves he them, like some light ball,
  • And, with nimble Hermes by,
  • Raises up the rampart-wall.
• • But from out the golden strings
  • Lures Apollo harmony,
  • Measur’d time’s sweet murmurings,
  • And the might of melody.
  • The Camenæ swell the strain
  • With their song of ninefold tone:
  • Captive bound in music’s chain,
  • Softly stone unites to stone.
• • Cybělē, with skilful hand,
  • Open throws the wide-wing’d door;
  • Locks and bolts by her are plann’d,
  • Sure to last for evermore.
  • Soon complete the wondrous halls
  • By the Gods’ own hands are made,
  • And the temple’s glowing walls
  • Stand in festal pomp array’d.
• • With a crown of myrtle twin’d,
  • Now the Goddess-Queen comes there,
  • And she leads the fairest hind
  • To the shepherdess most fair.
  • Venus, with her beauteous boy,
  • That first pair herself attires;
  • All the Gods bring gifts of joy,
  • Blessing their love’s sacred fires.
• • Guided by the Deities,
  • Soon the new-born townsmen pour
  • Usher’d in with harmonies,
  • Through the friendly open door.
  • Holding now the rites divine,
  • Ceres at Zeus’ altar stands,—
  • Blessing those around the shrine,
  • Thus she speaks, with folded hands:—
• • “Freedom’s love the beast inflames,
  • And the God rules free in air,
  • While the law of Nature tames
  • Each wild lust that lingers there.
  • Yet, when thus together thrown,
  • Man with man must fain unite;
  • And by his own worth alone
  • Can he freedom gain, and might.”
• • Wreathe in a garland the corn’s golden ear!
  • With it, the Cyǎne blue intertwine!
  • Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
  • For the great Queen is approaching her shrine,—
  • She who our homesteads so blissful has given,
  • She who has man to his fellow-man bound.
  • Let our glad numbers extol, then, to Heaven
  • Her who the Earth’s kindly mother is found!

THE RING OF POLYCRATES.
A BALLAD.

• • UPON his battlements he stood,
  • And downward gaz’d, in joyous mood,
  • On Samos’ Isle, that own’d his sway,
  • “All this is subject to my yoke,”
  • To Egypt’s monarch thus he spoke,—
  • “That I am truly blest, then, say!”
• • “The Immortals’ favor thou hast known!
  • Thy sceptre’s might has overthrown
  • All those who once were like to thee.
  • Yet to avenge them, one lives still;
  • I cannot call thee blest, until
  • That dreaded foe has ceas’d to be.”
• • While to these words the King gave vent,
  • A herald, from Miletus sent,
  • Appear’d before the Tyrant there:
  • “Lord, let thy incense rise to-day,
  • And with the laurel’s branches gay
  • Thou well may’st crown thy festive hair!
• • “Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,—
  • I’m sent to bring the glad news here,
  • By thy true marshal, Polydore—”
  • Then from a basin black he takes—
  • The fearful sight their terror wakes—
  • A well-known head, besmear’d with gore.
• • The King with horror stepp’d aside,
  • And then, with anxious look, replied:
  • “Thy bliss to Fortune ne’er commit.
  • On faithless waves, bethink thee how
  • Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now—
  • How soon the storm may scatter it!”
• • And ere he yet had spoke the word,
  • A shout of jubilee is heard
  • Resounding from the distant strand.
  • With foreign treasures teeming o’er,
  • The vessels’ mast-rich wood once more
  • Returns home to its native land,
• • The guest then speaks with startled mind:
  • “Fortune to-day, in truth seems kind;
  • But thou her fickleness shouldst fear:
  • The Cretan hordes, well skill’d in arms,
  • Now threaten thee with war’s alarms;
  • E’en now they are approaching here.”
• • And, ere the word has ’scap’d his lips,
  • A stir is seen among the ships,
  • And thousand voices “Victory!” cry:
  • “We are deliver’d from our foe,
  • The storm has laid the Cretan low,
  • The war is ended, is gone by!”
• • The shout with horror hears the guest:
  • “In truth, I must esteem thee blest!
  • Yet dread I the decrees of Heaven.
  • The envy of the Gods I fear;
  • To taste of unmix’d rapture here
  • Is never to a mortal given.
• • “With me, too, everything succeeds;
  • In all my sovereign acts and deeds
  • The grace of Heaven is ever by;
  • And yet I had a well-lov’d heir—
  • I paid my debt to fortune there,—
  • God took him hence—I saw him die.
• • “Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free,
  • Pray to each unseen Deity,
  • For thy well-being, grief to send;
  • The man on whom the Gods bestow
  • Their gifts with hands that overflow,
  • Comes never to a happy end.
• • “And if the Gods thy prayer resist,
  • Then to a friend’s instruction list,—
  • Invoke thyself adversity;
  • And what, of all thy treasures bright,
  • Gives to thy heart the most delight—
  • That take and cast thou in the sea!”
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• • Then speaks the other, mov’d by fear:
  • “This ring to me is far most dear
  • Of all this Isle within it knows—
  • I to the Furies pledge it now,
  • If they will happiness allow,”—
  • And in the flood the gem he throws.
• • And with the morrow’s earliest light
  • Appear’d before the monarch’s sight
  • A Fisherman, all joyously;
  • “Lord, I this fish just now have caught,
  • No net before e’er held the sort;
  • And as a gift I bring it thee.”
• • The fish was open’d by the cook,
  • Who suddenly, with wond’ring look,
  • Runs up, and utters these glad sounds:
  • “Within the fish’s maw, behold,
  • I’ve found, great Lord, thy ring of gold!
  • Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!”
• • The guest with terror turn’d away:
  • “I cannot here, then, longer stay,—
  • My friend thou canst no longer be!
  • The Gods have will’d that thou shouldst die:
  • Lest I, too, perish, I must fly”—
  • He spoke,—and sail’d thence hastily.

THE CRANES OF IBYCUS.
A BALLAD.

• • ONCE to the Song and Chariot-fight,
  • Where all the tribes of Greece unite
  • On Corinth’s Isthmus joyously,
  • The God-lov’d Ibycus drew nigh.
  • On him Apollo had bestow’d
  • The gift of song and strains inspir’d;
  • So, with light staff he took his road
  • From Rhegium, by the Godhead fir’d.
• • Acrocorinth, on mountain high,
  • Now bursts upon the wanderer’s eye,
  • And he begins, with pious dread,
  • Poseidon’s grove of firs to tread.
  • Nought moves around him, save a swarm
  • Of Cranes, who guide him on his way;
  • Who from far southern regions warm
  • Have hither come in squadron grey.
• • “Thou friendly band, all hail to thee!
  • Who ledst me safely o’er the sea!
  • I deem thee as a favoring sign,—
  • My destiny resembles thine.
  • Both come from a far distant coast,
  • Both pray for some kind shelt’ring place;
  • Propitious tow’rd us be the host
  • Who from the stranger wards disgrace!”
• • And on he hastes, in joyous mood,
  • And reaches soon the middle wood
  • When, on a narrow bridge, by force
  • Two murderers sudden bar his course.
  • He must prepare him for the fray,
  • But soon his wearied hand sinks low;
  • Inur’d the gentle lyre to play,
  • It ne’er has strung the deadly bow.

• • On Gods and men for aid he cries,—
  • No saviour to his prayer replies;
  • However far his voice he sends,
  • Nought living to his cry attends.
  • “And must I in a foreign land,
  • Unwept, deserted, perish here,
  • Falling beneath a murderous hand,
  • Where no avenger can appear?”
• • Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last,
  • When lo! the Cranes’ wings rustle past.
  • He hears,—though he no more can see,—
  • Their voices screaming fearfully.
  • “By you, ye Cranes, that soar on high,
  • If not another voice is heard,
  • Be borne to Heaven my murder-cry!”
  • He speaks, and dies, too, with the word.
• • The naked corpse, ere long, is found,
  • And, though defac’d by many a wound,
  • His host in Corinth soon could tell
  • The features that he lov’d so well.
  • “And is it thus I find thee now,
  • Who hop’d the pine’s victorious crown
  • To place upon the singer’s brow,
  • Illumin’d by his bright renown?”
• • The news is heard with grief by all
  • Met at Poseidon’s festival:
  • All Greece is conscious of the smart,—
  • He leaves a void in every heart;
  • And to the Prytanis swift hie
  • The people, and they urge him on
  • The dead man’s manes to pacify,
  • And with the murderer’s blood atone.
• • But where’s the trace that, from the throng,
  • The people’s streaming crowds among,
  • Allur’d there by the sports so bright,
  • Can bring the villain back to light?
  • By craven robbers was he slain?
  • Or by some envious hidden foe?
  • That Helios only can explain,
  • Whose rays illume all things below.
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• • Perchance, with shameless step and proud,
  • He threads e’en now the Grecian crowd,—
  • Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit,
  • Gloats over his transgression’s fruit.
  • The very Gods perchance he braves
  • Upon the threshold of their fane,—
  • Joins boldly in the human waves
  • That haste yon theatre to gain.
• • For there the Grecian tribes appear,
  • Fast pouring in from far and near;
  • On close-pack’d benches sit they there,—
  • The stage the weight can scarcely bear.
  • Like ocean-billows’ hollow roar,
  • The teeming crowds of living man
  • Tow’rd the cerulean Heavens upsoar,
  • In bow of ever-widening span.
• • Who knows the nation, who the name,
  • Of all who there together came?
  • From Theseus’ town, from Aulis’ strand,
  • From Phocis, from the Spartan land,
  • From Asia’s distant coast, they wend,
  • From ev’ry island of the sea,
  • And from the stage they hear ascend
  • The Chorus’s dread melody,
• • Who, sad and solemn, as of old,
  • With footstep measur’d and control’d,
  • Advancing from the far back-ground,
  • Circle the theatre’s wide round.
  • Thus, mortal women never move!
  • No mortal home to them gave birth!
  • Their giant-bodies tower above,
  • High o’er the puny sons of earth.
• • With loins in mantle black conceal’d,
  • Within their fleshless hands they wield
  • The torch, that with a dull red glows,—
  • While in their cheek no life-blood flows;
  • And where the hair is floating wide
  • And loving, round a mortal brow,
  • Here, snakes and adders are descried,
  • Whose bellies swell with poison now.
• • And, standing in a fearful ring,
  • The dread and solemn chant they sing,
  • That through the bosom thrilling goes,
  • And round the sinner fetters throws.
  • Sense-robbing, of heart-madd’ning power,
  • The Furies’ strains resound through air;
  • The list’ner’s marrow they devour,—
  • The lyre can yield such numbers ne’er.
• • “Happy the man who, blemish-free,
  • Preserves a soul of purity!
  • Near him we ne’er avenging come,
  • He freely o’er life’s path may roam.
  • But woe to him who, hid from view,
  • Hath done the deed of murder base!
  • Upon his heels we close pursue,—
  • We, who belong to night’s dark race!
• • “And if he thinks to ’scape by flight,
  • Wing’d we appear, our snare of might
  • Around his flying feet to cast,
  • So that he needs must fall at last.
  • Thus we pursue him, tiring ne’er,—
  • Our wrath repentance cannot quell,—
  • On to the shadows, and e’en there
  • We leave him not in peace to dwell!”
• • Thus singing, they the dance resume,
  • And silence, like that of the tomb,
  • O’er the whole house lies heavily,
  • As if the Deity were nigh.
  • And, staid and solemn, as of old,
  • Circling the theatre’s wide round,
  • With footstep measur’d and control’d,
  • They vanish in the far back-ground.
• • Between deceit and truth each breast,
  • Now doubting hangs, by awe possess’d,
  • And homage pays to that dread might,
  • That judges what is hid from sight,—
  • That, fathomless, inscrutable,
  • The gloomy skein of fate entwines,
  • That reads the bosom’s depths full well,
  • Yet flies away where sunlight shines.
• • When sudden, from the tier most high,
  • A voice is heard by all to cry:
  • “See there, see there, Timotheus!
  • Behold the Cranes of Ibycus!”
  • The Heavens become as black as night,
  • And o’er the theatre they see,
  • Far over-head, a dusky flight
  • Of Cranes, approaching hastily.
• • “Of Ibycus!”—That name so blest
  • With new-born sorrow fills each breast.
  • As waves on waves in ocean rise,
  • From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies:
  • “Of Ibycus, whom we lament?
  • Who fell beneath the murderer’s hand?
  • What mean those words that from him went?
  • What means this Cranes’ advancing band?”
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• • And louder still become the cries,
  • And soon this thought foreboding flies
  • Through ev’ry heart, with speed of light—
  • “Observe in this the Furies’ might!
  • The poet’s manes are now appeas’d:
  • The murderer seeks his own arrest!
  • Let him who spoke the word be seiz’d,
  • And him to whom it was address’d!”
• • That word he had no sooner spoke,
  • Than he its sound would fain revoke;
  • In vain! his mouth, with terror pale,
  • Tells of his guilt the fearful tale.
  • Before the Judge they drag them now,
  • The scene becomes the tribunal;
  • Their crimes the villains both avow,
  • When ’neath the vengeance-stroke they fall.

HERO AND LEANDER.

• • SEEST thou yonder castles grey,
  • Glitt’ring in the sun’s bright ray,
  • That arise on either side,
  • Where the Hellespont impels
  • Through the rocky Dardanelles
  • Ceaselessly his angry tide?
  • Hear’st thou yonder billows roar,
  • As against the cliffs they break?
  • Asia they from Europe tore—
  • Love alone they ne’er could shake.
• • Hero and Leander’s hearts
  • With his fierce but pleasing smarts
  • Cupid’s might immortal mov’d.
  • Hero rivall’d Hebe’s grace,
  • While Leander, in the chase,
  • O’er the mountains boldly rov’d.
  • But, ere long, parental wrath
  • Sever’d the united pair,
  • And the fruit by love brought forth
  • Hung in mournful peril there.
• • See, on Sestos’ rocky tower
  • ’Gainst whose base with ceaseless power
  • Hellespont’s wild waters foam,
  • Sits the maid, in sorrow lost,
  • Looking tow’rd Abydos’ coast,
  • Where the lov’d one has his home.
  • Ah, to that far distant strand
  • Bridge there was not to convey,—
  • Not a bark was near at hand,
  • Yet true love soon found the way.
• • In the labyrinthine maze
  • Love a certain clue can raise,
  • E’en the foolish makes he wise,—
  • Makes the savage monster bow,—
  • To the adamantine plough
  • Yokes the steers with flaming eyes.
  • Styx, whose waters nine-times flow,
  • Cannot bar his daring course;
  • For from Pluto’s house of woe
  • Orpheus’ bride he tore by force.
• • Even through the boiling tide
  • He Leander’s mind supplied
  • With deep longing’s glowing spark.
  • When grew pale the glitt’ring day,
  • Took the swimmer bold his way
  • O’er the Pontine ocean dark;
  • Cleft the waves with mighty power,
  • Striving for yon strand so dear,
  • Where, uprais’d on lofty tower,
  • Shone the torch’s radiance clear.
• • Circled in her loving arms,
  • Soon the glad Leander warms
  • From the weary journey past,
  • And receives the godlike prize
  • That in her embraces lies
  • As his bright reward at last;
  • Till Aurora once again
  • Wakes him from his vision blest,
  • He must tempt the briny main,
  • Driven from love’s gentle breast.
• • Thirty suns had sped like this
  • In the joys of stolen bliss
  • Swiftly o’er the happy pair,
  • As a bridal night of love,
  • Worthy e’en the Gods above,
  • Ever young and ever fair.
  • Rapture true he ne’er can know,
  • Who with daring hand has never
  • Pluck’d the Heavenly fruits that grow
  • On the brink of Hell’s dark river.
• • Hesper and Aurora bright
  • Each, in turns, put forth their light,
  • Yet the happy ones saw not
  • How the leaves began to fall,—
  • How from Northern icy hall
  • Winter fierce approach’d the spot.
  • Joyfully they saw each day
  • More and more its span reduce;
  • For the night’s now-lengthen’d sway,
  • In their madness, bless’d they Zeus.
• • Nicely-balanc’d, day and night,
  • Held the scales of Heaven aright,—
  • From the tower, with pensive eye,
  • Gaz’d the gentle maid alone
  • On the coursers of the sun,
  • Hastening downwards through the sky.
  • Still and calm the ocean lay,
  • Like a pure, unsullied glass,—
  • Not a zephyr sought, in play,
  • O’er the crystal flood to pass.

• • Dolphin-shoals, in joyous motion
  • Through the clear and silv’ry ocean,
  • Wanton’d its cool waves among;
  • And, in darkly-vestur’d train,
  • From the bosom of the main
  • Tethys’ varied band upsprung.
  • None but they e’er saw reveal’d
  • Those fond lovers’ blest delight:
  • But their silent lips were seal’d
  • Evermore by Hecate’s might.
• • Gladly on the smiling sea
  • Gaz’d she, and caressingly
  • To the element exclaim’d:
  • “Lovely God, canst thou deceive?
  • Ne’er the traitor I’ll believe,
  • Who thee false and faithless nam’d.
  • Treach’rous is the human race,
  • Cruel is my father’s heart;
  • Thou art mild and full of grace,
  • And art mov’d by love’s soft smart.
• • “In these desert walls of stone
  • I had mourn’d in grief alone,
  • Pin’d in sorrow without end,
  • If thou, on thy crested ridge,
  • Aided by no bark, no bridge,
  • Hadst not hither borne my friend.
  • Dreaded though thy depths may be,
  • Fierce the fury of thy wave,
  • Love can ever soften thee.
  • Thou art vanquish’d by the brave.
• • “For the mighty dart of Love
  • E’en the Ocean God could move,
  • When the golden ram of yore,
  • Helle, cloth’d in beauty bright,
  • With her brother in her flight,
  • Over thy deep billows bore—
  • Sudden, vanquish’d by her charms,
  • Starting from the whirlpool black,
  • Thou didst bear her in thine arms
  • To thy realms from off his back.
• • “As a Goddess,—happy lot!—
  • In the deep and wat’ry grot,
  • Evermore she now resides;
  • Hapless lovers’ cares dispels,
  • All thy raging passions quells,
  • Into port the sailor guides.
  • Beauteous Helle, Goddess fair,
  • Blessed one, to thee I pray:
  • Safely trusting to thy care,
  • Hither bring my love to-day!”
• • Dark the waters soon became,
  • And she wav’d the torch’s flame
  • From the lofty balcony,
  • That the wanderer belov’d,
  • As across the deep he rov’d,
  • Might the trusty signal see.
  • Howling blast approach’d from far,
  • Gloomier still the billows curl’d,
  • Quench’d was ev’ry glimm’ring star,
  • And the storm its might unfurl’d.
• • Over Pontus’ boundless plain
  • Night now spreads, while heavy rain
  • Pours in torrents from each cloud;
  • Lightning quivers through the air,
  • While from out its rocky lair
  • Bursts the tempest fierce and loud.
  • In the waters as they yell,
  • Fearful chasms are expos’d;
  • Gaping, like the jaws of Hell
  • Are the ocean-depths disclos’d.
• • “Woe, oh, woe!” she weeping cries;
  • “Mighty Zeus, regard my sighs!
  • Ah, how rash the boon I crav’d!
  • If the Gods gave ear to me,
  • If within the treach’rous sea,
  • He the raging storm has brav’d!
  • Ev’ry bird that loves the tide
  • Homeward swiftly wings its way
  • Ev’ry ship, in tempest tried,
  • Refuge seeks in shelt’ring bay.
• • “Doubtless, ah! the dauntless one
  • Has his daring task begun,
  • Urg’d by the great Deity;
  • When departing, he his troth
  • Pledg’d with Love’s most sacred oath;
  • Death alone can set him free.
  • He, alas, this very hour,
  • Wrestles with the tempest’s gloom;
  • And the madden’d billows’ power
  • Bears him downwards to their tomb.
• • “Pontus false!—thy seeming calm
  • Serv’d suspicion to disarm;
  • Thou wert like a spotless glass;
  • Basely smooth thy waters lay,
  • That they might my love betray
  • Into thy false realms to pass.
  • In thy middle current now,
  • Where no hopes of refuge lie,
  • On the hapless victim thou
  • Let’st thy fearful terrors fly!”
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• • Fiercer grows the tempest’s might,
  • Leaping up to mountain-height
  • Swells the sea,—the billows roar
  • ’Gainst the cliffs with fury mad;
  • E’en the ship with oak beclad
  • Breaks to pieces on the shore.
  • And the wind puts out the blaze
  • That had serv’d to light the track;
  • Terror round the landing plays,
  • Terror in the waters black.
• • Venus she implores to chain
  • The tempestuous hurricane,
  • And the angry waves to bind;
  • And a steer with golden horn
  • Vows the maid, by anguish torn,
  • As a victim to each wind.
  • Ev’ry Goddess of the deep,
  • Ev’ry heavenly Deity,
  • She implores to lull to sleep
  • With smooth oil the raging sea.
• • “To my mournful cry attend!
  • Blest Leucothěa, ascend
  • Hither from thy sea-green bower!
  • Thou who ofttimes com’st to save
  • When the fury of the wave
  • Threats the sailor to devour!
  • O’er him cast thy sacred veil,
  • Which, with its mysterious charm,
  • E’en when floods his life assail,
  • Guards its wearer from all harm!”
• • And the wild winds cease to blow;
  • Brightly through the Heavens now go
  • Eos’ coursers, mounting high;
  • Gently in its wonted bed
  • Flows the ocean, smoothly spread;
  • Ah, ’tis he who, even now,
  • Keeps in death his solemn vow!

CASSANDRA.

• • MIRTH the halls of Troy was filling,
  • Ere its lofty Ramparts fell;
  • From the golden lute so thrilling
  • Hymns of joy were heard to swell.
  • From the sad and tearful slaughter
  • All had laid their arms aside,
  • For Pelides Priam’s daughter
  • Claim’d then as his own fair bride.
• • Laurel branches with them bearing,
  • Troop on troop in bright array
  • To the temples were repairing,
  • Owning Thymbrius’ sovereign sway.
  • Through the streets, with frantic measure,
  • Danc’d the bacchanal mad round,
  • And, amid the radiant pleasure,
  • Only one sad breast was found.
• • Joyless in the midst of gladness,
  • None to heed her, none to love,
  • Roam’d Cassandra, plung’d in sadness,
  • To Apollo’s laurel grove.
  • To its dark and deep recesses
  • Swift the sorrowing priestess hied,
  • And from off her flowing tresses
  • Tore the sacred band, and cried:
• • “All around with joy is beaming,
  • Ev’ry heart is happy now,
  • And my sire is fondly dreaming,
  • Wreath’d with flowers my sister’s brow.
  • I alone am doom’d to wailing,
  • That sweet vision flies from me;
  • In my mind, these walls assailing,
  • Fierce destruction I can see.
• • “Though a torch I see all-glowing,
  • Yet ’tis not in Hymen’s hand;
  • Smoke across the skies is blowing,
  • Yet ’tis from no votive brand.
  • Yonder see I feasts entrancing,
  • But, in my prophetic soul,
  • Hear I now the God advancing,
  • Who will steep in tears the bowl!
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• • “And they blame my lamentation,
  • And they laugh my grief to scorn;
  • To the haunts of desolation
  • I must bear my woes forlorn.
  • All who happy are now shun me,
  • And my tears with laughter see;
  • Heavy lies thy hand upon me,
  • Cruel Pythian Deity!
• • “Thy divine decrees foretelling,
  • Wherefore hast thou thrown me here,
  • Where the ever-blind are dwelling,
  • With a mind, alas, too clear?
  • Wherefore hast thou power thus given,
  • What must needs occur to know?
  • Wrought must be the will of Heaven—
  • Onward comes the hour of woe!
• • “When impending fate strikes terror,
  • Why remove the covering?
  • Life we have alone in error,
  • Knowledge with it death must bring.
  • Take away this prescience tearful,
  • Take this sight of woe from me:
  • Of thy truths, alas! how fearful
  • ’Tis the mouth-piece frail to be!
• • “Veil my mind once more in slumbers,
  • Let me heedlessly rejoice;
  • Never have I sung glad numbers
  • Since I’ve been thy chosen voice.
  • Knowledge of the future giving,
  • Thou hast stol’n the present day,
  • Stol’n the moment’s joyous living,—
  • Take thy false gift, then, away!
• • “Ne’er with bridal train around me,
  • Have I wreath’d my radiant brow,
  • Since to serve thy fane I bound me,
  • Bound me with a solemn vow.
  • Evermore in grief I languish—
  • All my youth in tears was spent;
  • And, with thoughts of bitter anguish
  • My too-feeling heart is rent.
• • “Joyously my friends are playing,
  • All around are blest and glad,
  • In the paths of pleasure straying,—
  • My poor heart alone is sad.
  • Spring in vain unfolds each treasure,
  • Filling all the earth with bliss;
  • Who in life can e’er take pleasure,
  • When is seen its dark abyss?
• • “With her heart in vision burning,
  • Truly blest is Polyxene,
  • As a bride to clasp him yearning,
  • Him, the noblest, best Hellene?
  • And her breast with rapture swelling,
  • All its bliss can scarcely know;
  • E’en the Gods in heavenly dwelling
  • Envying not, when dreaming so.
• • “He to whom my heart is plighted
  • Stood before my ravish’d eye,
  • And his look, by passion lighted,
  • Tow’rd me turn’d imploringly.
  • With the lov’d one, oh, how gladly
  • Homeward would I take my flight
  • But a Stygian shadow sadly
  • Steps between us ev’ry night.
• • “Cruel Proserpine is sending
  • All her spectres pale to me;
  • Ever on my steps attending
  • Those dread shadowy forms I see.
  • Though I seek, in mirth and laughter
  • Refuge from that ghastly train,
  • Still I see them hast’ning after,—
  • Ne’er shall I know joy again.
• • “And I see the death-steel glancing,
  • And the eye of murder glare;
  • On, with hasty strides advancing,
  • Terror haunts me everywhere.
  • Vain I seek alleviation;—
  • Knowing, seeing, suff’ring all,
  • I must wait the consummation,
  • In a foreign land must fall.”
• • While her solemn words are ringing,
  • Hark! a dull and wailing tone
  • From the temple’s gate upspringing,—
  • Dead lies Thetis’ mighty son!
  • Eris shakes her snake-locks hated,
  • Swiftly flies each Deity,
  • And o’er Ilion’s walls ill-fated
  • Thunder-Clouds loom heavily!

THE HOSTAGE. A BALLAD.

• • TO the tyrant Dionys Mœros once hied,
  • A dagger his mantle contain’d;
  • They seize him, and soon he is chain’d.
  • “What sought’st thou to do with the dirk by thy side?”—
  • And Mœros with gloomy fury replied:
  • “The town from the Tyrant to free!”
  • “The cross thy reward then shall be.”
• • “I am,” said the other, “prepar’d to die,
  • Nor seek for permission to live;
  • Yet, prithee, this one favor give:
  • A respite I ask till three days have gone by,
  • While the marriage-knot of my sister I tie;
  • I’ll leave thee my friend as my bail,—
  • Thou canst kill him instead, if I fail.”
• • The monarch then smil’d with a malicefraught sneer
  • And after a pause answer’d he:
  • “Three days I will give unto thee;
  • But know! if the end of that time shall appear,
  • And thou shalt not then have surrender’d thee here,
  • Thy friend in thy place must then bleed,
  • And thou, in return, shalt be freed.”
• • And he went to his friend, and he said: “The king vows
  • That I on the cross must atone
  • For the impious thing I have done;
  • And yet he a respite of three days allows,
  • Till I my sister have join’d to her spouse;
  • As bail to the king then remain,
  • Till I’m back here to loose thee again!”
• • In silence embrac’d him his friend dear and true,
  • Resign’d to the Sovereign’s power;
  • The other went off the same hour:
  • And ere the third morning had dawn’d on the view,
  • His sister he join’d to her spouse, and then flew
  • With anxious concern tow’rd his home,
  • That true to his time he might come.
• • Soon the rain in torrents begins to pour,
  • The springs down the mountain’s side race,
  • The brook and the stream swell apace,
  • And he comes with his pilgrim’s staff to the shore,
  • When the whirlpool tears down the bridge with wild roar,
  • And the waves, with a thundering crash,
  • To atoms the vaulted arch dash.
• • And he wanders along the bank in despair,
  • But far as he casts round his eyes,
  • And far as re-echo his cries,
  • No friendly bark pushing off he sees there,
  • By whose aid to the wish’d for land to repair,
  • None coming its pilot to be,—
  • And the torrent now swells to a sea.
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• • Then he sinks on the shore, and he weeps, and he prays
  • With hands rais’d on high unto Zeus:
  • “The torrent’s wild force, oh reduce!
  • The hours haste on, and the mid-day rays
  • Of the sun now fall, and if quench’d is their blaze
  • Before at the town I can be,
  • My friend must then perish for me.”
• • Yet the stream into greater fury now wakes,
  • And billows on billows dash high,
  • And hours on hours fleet by.
  • Then driven by anguish, courage he takes,
  • And leaps in the flood as it madly breaks,
  • And the torrent he cleaves with strong limb,
  • And a God has compassion on him.
• • And he gains the shore, and then onwards he speeds,
  • And the God who has sav’d him he blesses;
  • When out of the wood’s dark recesses
  • A band of robbers sudden proceeds,
  • And menaces death, and his progress impedes,
  • Obstructing the wanderer’s course,
  • And wielding the club with wild force.
• • “What would ye?” all pallid with terror cries he,
  • “Save my life, I have no other thing,
  • And that I must give to the king!”
  • And the club from the next he tears hastily:
  • “For the sake of my friend, here’s mercy for thee!”
  • And three, with invincible might,
  • He slays, and the rest take to flight.
• • And the sun pours down his hot beams on the land,
  • And, worn by the toil he had pass’d,
  • His knees sink beneath him at last.
  • “Oh! am I then sav’d from the spoiler’s fierce hand,
  • And brought safe o’er the flood to the holy strand,
  • That I here my last moments may see,
  • While the friend that I love dies for me?”
• • And hark! close at hand, with a purling sound,
  • Comes a gush, and as silver it glistens;
  • And he pauses, and anxiously listens:
  • And lo! from the cliffs, with a rapid bound,
  • A murmuring fountain leaps down to the ground,
  • And stooping to earth in glad mood,
  • He leaves his hot limbs in the flood.
• • And thro’ the green foliage shines now the sun,
  • And the giant-like shade of each tree
  • On the glittering mead pictures he;
  • And he sees two travelers moving on,—
  • With hurried footstep seeks past them to run,
  • When thus he o’erhears their discourse:
  • “Ere this he is nail’d to the cross!”
• • And anguish gives wings to his hastening feet,
  • That, goaded by care, seem to fly;
  • Soon Syracuse bursts on his eye,
  • And its battlements glow in the sunset sweet,
  • And its glances ere long Philostratus meet,
  • The steward of his household so true,—
  • But he shudders his master to view.
• • “Back! Back! to rescue thy friend ’tis too late;
  • Thyself, then, to save, hasten thou:
  • For he suffers death even now.
  • From hour to hour, with confidence great,
  • For thy return he ceas’d not to wait;
  • His courage and faith were not torn
  • By the Tyrant’s contemptuous scorn.”
• • “And if ’tis too late, and I cannot, then, now
  • Arrive to receive his last breath,
  • I’ll hasten to join him in death.
  • Ne’er the bloodthirsty Tyrant to boast I’ll allow
  • That the friend to the friend has broken his vow;
  • When two victims have bitten the dust,
  • In Love and in Faith let him trust!”
• • And the sun sinks to rest, and he reaches the gate,
  • And the cross he sees rais’d from the ground!
  • While the wondering crowd stand around.
  • They are hoisting his friend on the rope to his fate,
  • When through the dense concourse he pushes him straight;
  • “Now, Hangman!” he cries, “strangle me!
  • For the one whom he bail’d,—I am he!”
• • Astonishment seizes on all that stand by,
  • While fondly embrace the glad twain,
  • And weep with mix’d rapture and pain;
  • And a tear is seen glist’ning in every eye,—
  • To the king with the wondrous story they fly,
  • And he, mov’d by a merciful thought,
  • To the foot of the throne has them brought.
• • And on them in wonderment long gazes he,
  • Then speaks: “Ye the victory have won,
  • And conquer’d my heart for your own.
  • That faith is no empty vision, I see,
  • So suffer me, too, your companion to be;
  • And let my entreaty be heard,
  • To form in your friendship the third!”

THE DIVER. A BALLAD.

• • “WHAT knight or what vassal will be so bold
  • As to plunge in the gulf below?
  • See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold,
  • Already the waters over it flow.
  • The man who can bring back the goblet to me,
  • May keep it henceforward—his own it shall be.”
  • Thus speaks the King, and he hurls from the height
  • Of the cliffs that, rugged and steep,
  • Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might,
  • The goblet afar in the bellowing deep.
  • “And who’ll be so daring, I ask it once more,
  • As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?”
  • And the vassals and knights of high degree
  • Hear his words, but silent remain.
  • They cast their eyes on the raging sea,
  • And none will attempt the goblet to gain.
  • And a third time the question is ask’d by the King:
  • “Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?”
  • Yet all as before in silence stand,
  • When a page, with a modest pride,
  • Steps out of the timorous squirely band,
  • And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside,
  • And all the knights, and the ladies too,
  • The noble stripling with wonderment view.
  • And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow,
  • And looks in the gulf so black,
  • The waters that she had swallow’d but now,
  • The howling Charybdis is giving back;
  • And, with the distant thunder’s dull sound,
  • From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound.
  • And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes,
  • As when water and fire first blend;
  • To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths,
  • And wave presses hard upon wave without end.
  • And the ocean will never exhausted be,
  • As if striving to bring forth another sea.
  • But at length the wild tumult seems pacified,
  • And blackly amid the white swell
  • A gaping chasm its jaws opens wide,
  • As if leading down to the depths of Hell:
  • And the howling billows were seen by each eye
  • Down the whirling funnel all madly to fly.
  • Then quickly, before the breakers rebound,
  • The stripling commends him to Heaven,
  • And—a scream of horror is heard around,—
  • And now by the whirlpool away he is driven,
  • And secretly over the swimmer brave
  • Close the jaws, and he vanishes ’neath the dark wave.
  • O’er the watery gulf, dread silence now lies,
  • But the deep sends up a dull yell,
  • And from mouth to mouth with trembling it flies:
  • “Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!”
  • And duller and duller the howls recommence,
  • While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense.
  • “If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling,
  • And shouldst say, ‘He who brings it to me
  • Shall wear it henceforward, and be the king,’
  • Thou couldst tempt me not e’en with that precious fee;
  • What under the howling deep is conceal’d
  • To no happy living soul is reveal’d.”
  • Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast,
  • Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave,
  • And, dash’d to pieces, the hull and the mast
  • Emerge from the all-devouring grave,—
  • And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer,
  • Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer.
  • And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes,
  • As when water and fire first blend;
  • To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths,
  • And wave presses hard upon wave without end.
  • And, with the distant thunder’s dull sound
  • From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound.
  • And lo! from the darkly flowing tide
  • Comes a vision white as a swan,
  • And an arm and a glistening neck are descried,
  • With might and with active zeal steering on;
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  • And ’tis he, and behold! his left hand on high
  • Waves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye.
  • Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long,
  • And blesses the light of the day;
  • While gladly exclaim to each other the throng,
  • “He lives! he is here! he is not the sea’s prey!
  • From the tomb, from the eddying waters’ control,
  • The brave one has rescued his living soul!”
  • And he comes, and they joyously round him stand;
  • At the feet of the monarch he falls,—
  • The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand,
  • And the King to his beauteous daughter calls,
  • Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim;
  • The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him:—
  • “Long life to the King! Let all those be glad
  • Who breathe in the light of the sky!
  • For below all is fearful, of moment sad;
  • Let not man to tempt the immortals e’er try,
  • Let him never desire the thing to see
  • That with terror and night they veil graciously.
  • “I was torn below with the speed of light,
  • When out of a cavern of rock
  • Rush’d tow’rds me a spring of furious might;
  • I was seiz’d by the twofold torrent’s wild shock,
  • And like a top, with a whirl and a bound,
  • Despite all resistance, was whirl’d around.
  • “Then God pointed out,—for to Him I cried
  • In that terrible moment of need,—
  • A craggy reef in the gulf’s dark side;
  • I seiz’d it in haste, and from death was then freed.
  • And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,—
  • The fathomless pit had else swallow’d it up.
  • “For under me lay it, still mountain-deep,
  • In a darkness of purple-ting’d dye,
  • And though to the ear all might seem then asleep
  • With shuddering awe ’twas seen by the eye
  • How the salamanders’ and dragons’ dread forms
  • Fill’d those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms.
  • “There crowded, in union fearful and black,
  • In a horrible mass entwin’d,
  • The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back,
  • And the hammer-fish’s mis-shapen kind,
  • And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea,
  • With his angry teeth, grinn’d fiercely on me.
  • “There hung I, by fulness of terror possess’d,
  • Where all human aid was unknown,
  • Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast,
  • In that fearful solitude all alone,
  • Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear,
  • ’Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear.
  • “Thus shudd’ring methought—when a Something crawl’d near,
  • And a hundred limbs it out-flung,
  • And at me it snapp’d;—in my mortal fear,
  • I left hold of the coral to which I had clung;
  • Then the whirlpool seiz’d on me with madden’d roar,
  • Yet ’twas well, for it brought me to light once more.”
  • The story in wonderment hears the King,
  • And he says, “The cup is thine own,
  • And I purpose also to give thee this ring,
  • Adorn’d with a costly, a priceless stone,
  • If thou’lt try once again, and bring word to me
  • What thou saw’st in the nethermost depths of the sea.”
  • His daughter hears this with emotions soft,
  • And with flattering accent prays she:
  • “That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft!
  • What none other would dare, he hath ventur’d for thee:
  • If thy heart’s wild longings thou canst not tame,
  • Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame.”
  • The King then seizes the goblet in haste,
  • In the gulf he hurls it with might:
  • “When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast plac’d,
  • Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight,
  • And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e’en to-day,
  • Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray.”
  • Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there,
  • And lightning gleams in his eye,
  • And blushes he sees on her features so fair,
  • And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie;
  • Then eager the precious guerdon to win,
  • For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in!
  • The breakers they hear, and the breakers return,
  • Proclaim’d by a thundering sound;
  • They bend o’er the gulf with glances that yearn,
  • And the waters are pouring in fast around;
  • Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave,
  • The youth is brought back by no kindly wave.

THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG. A BALLAD.

• • “I CAN love thee well, believe me,
  • As a sister true;
  • Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me,
  • Sore my heart would rue.
  • Calmly would I see thee going,
  • Calmly, too, appear;
  • For those tears in silence flowing
  • Find no answer here.”
• • Thus she speaks,—he hears her sadly,—
  • How his heartstrings bleed!—
  • In his arms he clasps her madly,
  • Then he mounts his steed.
  • From the Switzer land collects he
  • All his warriors brave;—
  • Cross on breast, their course directs he
  • To the Holy Grave.
• • In triumphant march advancing,
  • Onward moves the host,
  • While their morion plumes are dancing
  • Where the foes are most.
  • Mortal terror strikes the Paynim
  • At the chieftain’s name;
  • But the knight’s sad thoughts enchain him
  • Grief consumes his frame.
• • Twelve long months, with courage daring,
  • Peace he strives to find;
  • Then at last, of rest despairing,
  • Leaves the host behind;
  • Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling,
  • Lie on Joppa’s strand!
  • Ships him homeward for her dwelling,
  • In his own lov’d land.
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• • Now behold the pilgrim weary
  • At her castle gate!
  • But alas! these accents dreary
  • Seal his mournful fate:—
  • “She thou seek’st, her troth hath plighted
  • To all-gracious Heaven;
  • To her God she was united
  • Yesterday at even!”
• • To his father’s home for ever
  • Bids he now adieu;
  • Sees no more his arms and beaver,
  • Nor his steed so true.
  • Then descends he, sadly, slowly,—
  • None suspect the sight,—
  • For a garb of penance lowly
  • Wears the noble knight.
• • Soon he now, the tempest braving,
  • Builds a humble shed,
  • Where, o’er lime-trees darkly waving,
  • Peeps the convent’s head.
  • From the orb of day’s first gleaming,
  • Till his race has run,
  • Hope in ev’ry feature beaming,
  • There he sits alone.
• • Tow’rd the convent straining ever
  • His unwearied eyes,—
  • From her casement looking never
  • Till it open flies,
  • Till the lov’d one, soft advancing,
  • Shows her gentle face,
  • O’er the vale her sweet eye glancing,
  • Full of angel-grace.
• • Then he seeks his bed of rushes,
  • Still’d all grief and pain,
  • Slumbering calm, till morning’s blushes
  • Waken life again.
  • Days and years fleet on, yet never
  • Breathes he plaint or sighs,
  • On her casement gazing ever,
  • Till it open flies,
• • Till the lov’d one, soft advancing,
  • Shows her gentle face,
  • O’er the vale her sweet eye glancing,
  • Full of angel-grace.
  • But, at length, the morn returning
  • Finds him dead and chill,—
  • Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning,
  • Seeks her casement still!

THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON.

• • WHY run the crowd? What means the throng
  • That rushes fast the streets along?
  • Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
  • In crowds they gather hastily,
  • And, on his steed, a noble knight
  • Amid the rabble, meets my sight;
  • Behind him—prodigy unknown!—
  • A monster fierce they’re drawing on;
  • A dragon seems it by its shape,
  • With wide and crocodile-like jaw,
  • And on the knight and dragon gape,
  • In turns, the people, fill’d with awe.
• • And thousand voices shout with glee:—
  • “The fiery dragon come and see,
  • Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!—
  • The hero see, who vanquish’d him!
  • Full many a one before him went,
  • To dare the fearful combat bent,
  • But none return’d home from the fight;
  • Honor ye, then, the noble knight!”
  • And tow’rd the convent move they all,
  • While met in hasty council there
  • The brave knights of the Hospital,
  • St. John the Baptist’s Order, were.
• • Up to the noble Master sped
  • The youth, with firm but modest tread;
  • The people follow’d with wild shout,
  • And stood the landing-place about,
  • While thus outspoke that Daring One:—
  • “My knightly duty I have done.
  • The dragon that laid waste the land
  • Has fallen ’neath my conquering hand.
  • The way is to the wanderer free,
  • The shepherd o’er the plains may rove;
  • Across the mountains joyfully
  • The pilgrim to the shrine may move.”
• • But sternly look’d the prince, and said:
  • “The hero’s part thou well hast play’d;
  • By courage is the true knight known,—
  • A dauntless spirit thou hast shown.
  • Yet speak! What duty first should he
  • Regard, who would Christ’s champion be,
  • Who wears the emblem of the Cross?”—
  • And all turn’d pale at his discourse.
  • Yet he replied, with noble grace,
  • While blushingly he bent him low:
  • “That he deserves so proud a place
  • Obedience best of all can show.”
• • “My son,” the Master answering spoke,
  • “Thy daring act this duty broke.
  • The conflict that the law forbade
  • Thou hast with impious mind essay’d.”—
  • “Lord, judge when all to thee is known,”
  • The other spake, in steadfast tone,—
  • “For I the law’s commands and will
  • Purpos’d with honor to fulfil.
  • I went not out with heedless thought,
  • Hoping the monster dread to find;
  • To conquer in the fight I sought
  • By cunning, and a prudent mind.
• • “Five of our noble Order, then
  • (Our faith could boast no better men),
  • Had by their daring lost their life,
  • When thou forbadest us the strife.
  • And yet my heart I felt a prey
  • To gloom, and panted for the fray;
  • Ay, even in the stilly night,
  • In vision gasp’d I in the fight;
  • And when the glimm’ring morning came,
  • And of fresh troubles knowledge gave,
  • A raging grief consum’d my frame,
  • And I resolv’d the thing to brave,
• • “And to myself I thus began:
  • ‘What is’t adorns the youth, the man?
  • What actions of the heroes bold,
  • Of whom in ancient song we’re told,
  • Blind heathendom rais’d up on high
  • To god-like fame and dignity?
  • The world, by deeds known far and wide,
  • From monsters fierce they purified;
  • The lion in the fight they met,
  • And wrestled with the Minotaur,
  • Unhappy victims free to set,
  • And were not sparing of their gore.

• • “ ‘Are none but Saracens to feel
  • The prowess of the Christian steel?
  • False idols only shall he brave?
  • His mission is the world to save;
  • To free it, by his sturdy arm,
  • From ev’ry hurt, from ev’ry harm;
  • Yet wisdom must his courage bend,
  • And cunning must with strength contend.
  • Thus spake I oft, and went alone
  • The monster’s traces to espy;
  • When on my mind a bright light shone,—
  • ‘I have it!’ was my joyful cry.
• • “To thee I went, and thus I spake:
  • ‘My homeward journey I would take.’
  • Thou, lord, didst grant my prayer to me,—
  • Then safely travers’d I the sea;
  • And, when I reach’d my native strand,
  • I caus’d a skilful artist’s hand
  • To make a dragon’s image, true
  • To his that now so well I knew.
  • On feet of measure short was plac’d
  • Its lengthy body’s heavy load;
  • A scaly coat of mail embrac’d
  • The back, on which it fiercely show’d.
• • “Its stretching neck appear’d to swell,
  • And, ghastly as a gate of hell,
  • Its fearful jaws were open wide,
  • As if to seize the prey it tried;
  • And in its black mouth, rang’d about,
  • Its teeth in prickly rows stood out;
  • Its tongue was like a sharp-edg’d sword,
  • And lightning from its small eyes pour’d:
  • A serpent’s tail of many a fold
  • Ended its body’s monstrous span,
  • And round itself with fierceness roll’d,
  • So as to clasp both steed and man.
• • “I form’d the whole to nature true,
  • In skin of grey and hideous hue;
  • Part dragon it appear’d, part snake,
  • Engender’d in the poisonous lake.
  • And, when the figure was complete,
  • A pair of dogs I chose me, fleet,
  • Of mighty strength, of nimble pace,
  • Inur’d the savage boar to chase;
  • The dragon, then, I made them bait,
  • Inflaming them to fury dread,
  • With their sharp teeth to seize it straight,
  • And with my voice their motions led.

• • “And, where the belly’s tender skin
  • Allow’d the tooth to enter in,
  • I taught them how to seize it there,
  • And, with their fangs, the part to tear.
  • I mounted, then, my Arab steed,
  • The offspring of a noble breed;
  • My hand a dart on high held forth,
  • And, when I had inflam’d his wrath,
  • I stuck my sharp spurs in his side,
  • And urg’d him on as quick as thought,
  • And hurl’d my dart in circles wide,
  • As if to pierce the beast I sought.
• • “And though my steed rear’d high in pain,
  • And champ’d and foam’d beneath the rein,
  • And though the dogs howl’d fearfully,
  • Till they were calm’d ne’er rested I.
  • This plan I ceaselessly pursu’d,
  • Till thrice the moon had been renew’d;
  • And when they had been duly taught,
  • In swift ships here I had them brought;
  • And since my foot these shores has press’d,
  • Flown has three morning’s narrow span;
  • I scarce allow’d my limbs to rest
  • Ere I the mighty task began.
• • “For hotly was my bosom stirr’d
  • When of the land’s fresh grief I heard;
  • Shepherds of late had been his prey,
  • When in the marsh they went astray.
  • I form’d my plans then hastily,—
  • My heart was all that counsel’d me.
  • My squires instructing to proceed,
  • I sprang upon my well-train’d steed,
  • And, follow’d by my noble pair
  • Of dogs, by secret pathways rode,
  • Where not an eye could witness bear,
  • To find the monster’s fell abode.
• • “Thou, lord, must know the chapel well,
  • Pitch’d on a rocky pinnacle,
  • That overlooks the distant isle;
  • A daring mind ’twas rais’d the pile.
  • Though humble, mean, and small it shows,
  • Its walls a miracle enclose,—
  • The Virgin and her Infant Son,
  • Vow’d by the three Kings of Cologne.
  • By three times thirty steps is led
  • The pilgrim to the giddy height;
  • Yet, when he gains it with bold tread,
  • He’s quicken’d by his Saviour’s sight.
• • “Deep in the rock to which it clings,
  • A cavern dark its arms outflings,
  • Moist with the neighboring moorland’s dew,
  • Where heaven’s bright rays can ne’er pierce through.
  • There dwelt the monster, there he lay,
  • His spoil awaiting, night and day;
  • Like the hell-dragon, thus he kept
  • Watch near the shrine, and never slept;
  • And if a hapless pilgrim chanc’d
  • To enter on that fatal way,
  • From out his ambush quick advanc’d
  • The foe, and seiz’d him as his prey.
• • “I mounted now the rocky height,
  • Ere I commenc’d the fearful fight;
  • There knelt I to the Infant Lord,
  • And pardon for my sins implor’d.
  • Then in the holy fane I plac’d
  • My shining armor round my waist,
  • My right hand grasp’d my javelin,—
  • The fight then went I to begin;
  • Instructions gave my squires among,
  • Commanding them to tarry there;
  • Then on my steed I nimbly sprung,
  • And gave my spirit to God’s care.
• • “Soon as I reach’d the level plain,
  • My dogs found out the scent amain;
  • My frighten’d horse soon rear’d on high,—
  • His fear I could not pacify,
  • For, coil’d up in a circle, lo!
  • There lay the fierce and hideous foe,
  • Sunning himself upon the ground.
  • Straight at him rush’d each nimble hound;
  • Yet thence they turn’d, dismay’d and fast,
  • When he his gaping jaws op’d wide,
  • Vomited forth his poisonous blast,
  • And like the howling jackal cried.
• • “But soon their courage I restor’d;
  • They seiz’d with rage the foe abhorr’d,
  • While I against the beast’s loins threw
  • My spear with sturdy arm and true:
  • But, powerless as a bulrush frail,
  • It bounded from his coat of mail;
  • And ere I could repeat the throw,
  • My horse reel’d wildly to and fro
  • Before his basilisk-like look,
  • And at his poison-teeming breath,—
  • Sprang backward, and with terror shook,
  • While I seem’d doom’d to certain death.
• • “Then from my steed I nimbly sprung,
  • My sharp-edg’d sword with vigor swung;
  • Yet all in vain my strokes I plied,—
  • I could not pierce his rock-like hide.
  • His tail with fury lashing round,
  • Sudden he bore me to the ground
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  • His jaws then opening fearfully,
  • With angry teeth he struck at me;
  • But now my dogs, with wrath new-born,
  • Rush’d on his belly with fierce bite,
  • So that, by dreadful anguish torn,
  • He howling stood before my sight.
• • “And ere he from their teeth was free,
  • I rais’d myself up hastily,
  • The weak place of the foe explor’d,
  • And in his entrails plung’d my sword,
  • Sinking it even to the hilt;
  • Black-gushing forth, his blood was spilt.
  • Down sank he, burying in his fall
  • Me with his body’s giant ball,
  • So that my senses quickly fled;
  • And when I woke with strength renew’d,
  • The dragon in his blood lay dead,
  • While, round me group’d, my squires all stood.”
• • The joyous shouts, so long suppress’d,
  • Now burst from ev’ry hearer’s breast,
  • Soon as the knight these words had spoken;
  • And ten times ’gainst the high vault broken,
  • The sound of mingl’d voices rang
  • Re-echoing back with hollow clang.
  • The Order’s sons demand in haste,
  • That with a crown his brow be grac’d,
  • And gratefully in triumph now
  • The mob the youth would bear along—
  • When lo! the Master knit his brow,
  • And call’d for silence ’mongst the throng.
• • And said, “The dragon that this land
  • Laid waste, thou slew’st with daring hand;
  • Although the people’s idol thou,
  • The Order’s foe I deem thee now.
  • Thy breast has to a fiend more base
  • Than e’en this dragon given place.
  • The serpent that the heart most stings,
  • And hatred and destruction brings,
  • That spirit is, which stubborn lies,
  • And impiously casts off the rein,
  • Despising order’s sacred ties;
  • ’Tis that destroys the world amain.
• • “The Mameluke makes of courage boast,
  • Obedience decks the Christian most;
  • For where our great and blessed Lord
  • As a mere servant walk’d abroad,
  • The Fathers, on that holy ground,
  • This famous Order chose to found,
  • That arduous duty to fulfil
  • To overcome one’s own self-will!
  • ’Twas idle glory mov’d thee there:
  • So take thee hence from out my sight!
  • For who the Lord’s yoke cannot bear,
  • To wear his cross can have no right.”
• • A furious shout now raise the crowd,
  • The place is fill’d with outcries loud;
  • The Brethren all for pardon cry;
  • The youth in silence droops his eye—
  • Mutely his garment from him throws,
  • Kisses the Master’s hand, and—goes.
  • But he pursues him with his gaze,
  • Recalls him lovingly, and says:
  • “Let me embrace thee now, my son!
  • The harder fight is gain’d by thee.
  • Take, then, this cross—the guerdon won
  • By self-subdu’d humility.”

FRIDOLIN; OR, THE WALK TO THE IRON FOUNDRY.

• • A GENTLE page was Fridolin,
  • And he his mistress dear,
  • Savern’s fair Countess, honor’d in
  • All truth and godly fear.
  • She was so meek, and, ah! so good!
  • Yet each wish of her wayward mood,
  • He would have studied to fulfil,
  • To please his God, with earnest will.
• • From the first hour when daylight shone
  • Till rang the vesper-chime,
  • He liv’d but for her will alone,
  • And deem’d e’èn that scarce time.
  • And if she said, “Less anxious be!”
  • His eye then glisten’d tearfully,
  • Thinking that he in duty fail’d,
  • And so before no toil he quail’d.
• • And so, before her serving train,
  • The Countess lov’d to raise him;
  • While her fair mouth, in endless strain,
  • Was ever wont to praise him.
  • She never held him as her slave,
  • Her heart a child’s-rights to him gave;
  • Her clear eye hung in fond delight
  • Upon his well-form’d features bright.
• • Soon in the huntsman Robert’s breast
  • Was poisonous anger fir’d;
  • His black soul, long by lust possess’d,
  • With malice was inspir’d;
  • He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed,
  • A traitor might with ease mislead,
  • As once from hunting home they rode,
  • And in his heart suspicion sow’d.
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• • “Happy art thou, great Count, in truth,”
  • Thus cunningly he spoke;
  • “For ne’er mistrust’s envenom’d tooth
  • Thy golden slumbers broke;
  • A noble wife thy love rewards,
  • And modesty her person guards.
  • The Tempter will be able ne’er
  • Her true fidelity to snare.”
• • A gloomy scowl the Count’s eye fill’d:
  • “What’s this thou say’st to me?
  • Shall I on woman’s virtue build,
  • Inconstant as the sea?
  • The flatterer’s mouth with ease may lure;
  • My trust is plac’d on ground more sure.
  • No one, methinks, dare ever burn
  • To tempt the wife of Count Savern.”
• • The other spoke: “Thou sayest it well;
  • The fool deserves thy scorn
  • Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell,
  • A mere retainer born,—
  • Who to the lady he obeys
  • Fears not his wishes’ lust to raise.”—
  • “What!” tremblingly the Count began,
  • “Dost speak, then, of a living man?”—
• • “Is, then, the thing, to all reveal’d,
  • Hid from my master’s view?
  • Yet, since with care from thee conceal’d,
  • I’d fain conceal it too.”—
  • “Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!”
  • Exclaim’d the other fearfully.
  • “Who dares to look on Cunigond?”
  • “ ’Tis the fair page that is so fond.”
• • “He’s not ill-shap’d in form, I wot,”
  • He craftily went on;
  • The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot,
  • By turns in ev’ry bone.
  • “Is’t possible thou seest not, sir,
  • How he has eyes for none but her?—
  • At table ne’er attends to thee,
  • But sighs behind her ceaselessly?
• • “Behold the rhymes that from him came
  • His passion to confess”—
  • “Confess!”—“And for an answering flame,—
  • The impious knave!—to press.
  • My gracious lady, soft and meek,
  • Through pity, doubtless, fear’d to speak;
  • That it has ’scap’d me, sore I rue;
  • What, lord, canst thou to help it do?”
• • Into the neighboring wood then rode
  • The Count, inflam’d with wrath,
  • Where, in his iron-foundry, glow’d
  • The ore, and bubbl’d forth.
  • The workmen here, with busy hand,
  • The fire both late and early fann’d.
  • The sparks fly out, the bellows ply,
  • As if the rock to liquefy.
• • The fire and water’s might twofold
  • Are here united found;
  • The mill-wheel, by the flood seiz’d hold,
  • Is whirling round and round;
  • The works are clatt’ring night and day,
  • With measur’d stroke the hammers play,
  • And, yielding to the mighty blows,
  • The very iron plastic grows.
• • Then to two workmen beckons he,
  • And speaks thus in his ire:
  • “The first who’s hither sent by me
  • Thus of ye to inquire:
  • ‘Have ye obey’d my lord’s word well?’
  • Him cast ye into yonder hell,
  • That into ashes he may fly,
  • And ne’er again torment mine eye!”
• • Th’ inhuman pair were overjoy’d,
  • With devilish glee possess’d:
  • For as the iron, feeling void,
  • Their heart was in their breast.
  • And brisker with the bellows’ blast,
  • The foundry’s womb now heat they fast,
  • And with a murderous mind prepare
  • To offer up the victim there.
• • Then Robert to his comrade spake,
  • With false hypocrisy:
  • “Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make!
  • Our lord has need of thee.”
  • The lord to Fridolin then said:
  • “The pathway tow’rd the foundry tread,
  • And of the workmen there inquire,
  • If they have done their lord’s desire.”
• • The other answer’d, “Be it so!”
  • But o’er him came this thought,
  • When he was all-prepar’d to go,
  • “Will she command me aught?”
  • So to the Countess straight he went:
  • “I’m to the iron-foundry sent;
  • Then say, can I do aught for thee?
  • For thou ’tis who commandest me.”

• • To this the Lady of Savern
  • Replied in gentle tone:
  • “To hear the holy mass I yearn,
  • For sick now lies my son;
  • So go, my child, and when thou’rt there,
  • Utter for me a humble prayer,
  • And of thy sins think ruefully,
  • That grace may also fall on me.”
• • And in this welcome duty glad,
  • He quickly left the place;
  • But ere the village bounds he had
  • Attain’d with rapid pace,
  • The sound of bells struck on his ear,
  • From the high belfry ringing clear,
  • And ev’ry sinner, mercy-sent,
  • Inviting to the sacrament.
• • “Never from praising God refrain
  • Where’er by thee He’s found!”
  • He spoke, and stepp’d into the fane,
  • But there he heard no sound;
  • For ’twas the harvest time, and now
  • Glow’d in the fields the reaper’s brow;
  • No choristers were gather’d there,
  • The duties of the mass to share.
• • The matter paus’d he not to weigh,
  • But took the sexton’s part;
  • “That thing,” he said, “makes no delay
  • Which heav’nward guides the heart.”
  • Upon the priest, with helping hand.
  • He plac’d the stole and sacred band,
  • The vessels he prepar’d beside,
  • That for the mass were sanctified.
• • And when his duties here were o’er,
  • Holding the mass-book, he,
  • Minist’ring to the priest, before
  • The altar bow’d his knee,
  • And knelt him left, and knelt him right,
  • While not a look escap’d his sight,
  • And when the holy Sanctus came,
  • The bell rang thrice he at the name.
• • And when the priest, bow’d humbly too,
  • In hand uplifted high,
  • Facing the altar, show’d to view
  • The Present Deity,
  • The sacristan proclaim’d it well,
  • Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell,
  • While all knelt down, and beat the breast,
  • And with a cross the Host confess’d.
• • The rites thus serv’d he, leaving none,
  • With quick and ready wit;
  • Each thing that in God’s house is done,
  • He also practis’d it.
  • Unweariedly he labor’d thus,
  • Till the Vobiscum Dominus,
  • When tow’rd the people turn’d the priest,
  • Bless’d them,—and so the service ceas’d.
• • Then he dispos’d each thing again,
  • In fair and due array;
  • First purified the holy fane,
  • And then he went his way,
  • And gladly, with a mind at rest,
  • On to the iron-foundry press’d,
  • Saying the while, complete to be,
  • Twelve paternosters silently.
• • And when he saw the furnace smoke,
  • And saw the workmen stand,
  • “Have ye, ye fellows,” thus he spoke,
  • “Obey’d the Count’s command?”
  • Grinning they ope the orifice,
  • And point into the fell abyss:
  • “He’s car’d for—all is at an end!
  • The Count his servants will commend.”
• • The answer to his lord he brought,
  • Returning hastily,
  • Who, when his form his notice caught,
  • Could scarcely trust his eye:
  • “Unhappy one! whence comest thou?”—
  • “Back from the foundry”—“Strange, I vow!
  • Hast in thy journey, then, delay’d?”—
  • “’Twas only, lord, till I had pray’d.
• • “For when I from thy presence went
  • (Oh, pardon me!), to-day,
  • As duty bid, my steps I bent
  • To her whom I obey.
  • She told me, lord, the mass to hear,
  • I gladly to her wish gave ear,
  • And told four rosaries at the shrine,
  • For her salvation and for thine.”
• • In wonder deep the Count now fell.
  • And, shudd’ring, thus spake he:
  • “And, at the foundry, quickly tell,
  • What answer gave they thee?”
  • “Obscure the words they answer’d in,—
  • Showing the furnace with a grin:
  • ‘He’s car’d for—all is at an end!
  • The Count his servants will commend.’ ”
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• • “And Robert?” interrupted he,
  • While deadly pale he stood,—
  • “Did he not, then, fall in with thee!
  • I sent him to the wood.”—
  • “Lord, neither in the wood nor field
  • Was trace of Robert’s foot reveal’d.”—
  • “Then,” cried the Count, with awe-struck mien,
  • “Great God in heav’n his judge hath been!”
• • With kindness he before ne’er prov’d,
  • He led him by the hand
  • Up to the Countess,—deeply mov’d,—
  • Who nought could understand.
  • “This child, let him be dear to thee,
  • No angel is so pure as he!
  • Though we may have been counsel’d ill,
  • God and his hosts watch o’er him still.”

THE COUNT OF HAPSBURG. A BALLAD.

• • AT Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array,
  • In its halls renown’d in old story,
  • At the coronation banquet so gay
  • King Rudolf was sitting in glory.
  • The meats were serv’d up by the Palsgrave of Rhine,
  • The Bohemian pour’d out the bright sparkling wine,
  • And all the Electors, the seven,
  • Stood waiting around the world-governing One,
  • As the chorus of stars encircle the sun,
  • That honor might duly be given.
• • And the people the lofty balcony round
  • In a throng exulting were filling;
  • While loudly were blending the trumpets’ glad sound,
  • And the multitude’s voices so thrilling;
  • For the monarchless period, with horror rife,
  • Has ended now after long baneful strife,
  • And the earth had a lord to possess her.
  • No longer rul’d blindly the iron-bound spear,
  • And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear
  • Being crush’d by the cruel oppressor.
• • And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye,
  • While the golden goblet he seizes:
  • “With this banquet in glory none other can vie,
  • And my regal heart well it pleases;
  • Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here,
  • Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear,
  • And whose words heav’nly wisdom inspire;
  • Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight,
  • And that which I ever have lov’d as a knight,
  • As a monarch I also require.”

• • And behold! ’mongst the princes who stand round the throne
  • Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming,
  • While, bleach’d by the years that have over him flown,
  • His silver locks brightly are gleaming;
  • “Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings,
  • The minstrel of true love reward ever sings,
  • And adores what to virtue has tended—
  • What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear;
  • But say, what is worthy the Emperor’s ear
  • At this, of all feasts the most splendid?”
• • “No restraint would I place on the minstrel’s own choice,”
  • Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature;
  • “He obeys the swift hour’s imperious voice,
  • Of a far greater lord is the creature.
  • For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds,—
  • One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds—
  • As the spring from hid sources up-leaping,
  • So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks—
  • While the might of sensations unknown it awakes,
  • That within us were wondrously sleeping.”
• • Then the bard swept the chords with a finger of might,
  • Evoking their magical sighing:
  • “To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight,
  • In pursuit of the antelope flying.
  • His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train
  • His squire; and when o’er a wide-spreading plain
  • On his stately steed he was riding,
  • He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear,
  • And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near,
  • While before him the sexton was striding.
• • “And low to the earth the Count then inclin’d,
  • Bar’d his head in humble submission,
  • To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind,
  • What had sav’d the whole world from perdition.
  • But a brook o’er the plain was pursuing its course,
  • That, swell’d by the mountain stream’s headlong force,
  • Barr’d the wanderer’s steps with its current;
  • So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put,
  • And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot,
  • That he safely might pass through the torrent.
• • “ ‘What wouldst thou?’ the Count to him thus began,
  • His wond’ring look tow’rd him turning:
  • ‘My journey is, lord, to a dying man,
  • Who for heavenly diet is yearning;
  • But when to the bridge o’er the brook I came nigh,
  • In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rush’d by
  • With furious might, ’twas uprooted.
  • And so, that the sick the salvation may find
  • That he pants for, I haste with resolute mind
  • To wade through the waters barefooted.’
• • “Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed,
  • And the reins to his hands he confided,
  • That he duly might comfort the sick in his need,
  • And that each holy rite be provided.
  • And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire,
  • Went after the chase to his heart’s full desire,
  • While the priest on his journey was speeding;
  • And the following morning, with thankful look,
  • To the Count once again his charger he took,
  • Its bridle with modesty leading.
• • “ ‘God forbid that in chase or in battle,’ then cried
  • The Count with humility lowly,
  • ‘The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride
  • That hath borne my Creator so holy!
  • And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine,
  • He devoted shall be to the service divine,
  • Proclaiming His infinite merit,
  • From whom I each honor and earthly good
  • Have receiv’d in fee, and my body and blood,
  • And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.’
• • “ ‘Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e’er move,
  • And who lists to the weak’s supplication,
  • For the honor thou pay’st Him, permit thee to prove
  • Honor here, and hereafter salvation!
  • Thou’rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command
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  • Hath blazon’d thy fame thro’ the Switzer’s broad land;
  • Thou art blest with six daughters admir’d;
  • May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown,
  • Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown’—
  • Thus exclaim’d he in accents inspir’d.”
• • And the Emperor sat there all-thoughtfully,
  • While the dream of the past stood before him;
  • And when on the minstrel he turn’d his eye,
  • His words’ hidden meaning stole o’er him;
  • For seeing the traits of the priest there reveal’d,
  • In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he conceal’d
  • His tears as they swiftly cours’d down.
  • And all on the Emperor wond’ringly gaz’d,
  • And the blest dispensations of Providence prais’d,
  • For the Count and the Cæsar were one.

THE GLOVE. A TALE.

• • BEFORE his lion-court,
  • Impatient for the sport,
  • King Francis sat one day:
  • The peers of his realm sat around,
  • And in balcony high from the ground
  • Sat the ladies in beauteous array.
• • And when with his finger he beckon’d,
  • The gate open’d wide in a second,—
  • And in, with deliberate tread,
  • Enters a lion dread,
  • And looks around
  • Yet utters no sound;
  • Then long he yawns
  • And shakes his mane,
  • And, stretching each limb,
  • Down lies he again.
• • Again signs the king,—
  • The next gate open flies,
  • And, lo! with wild spring,
  • A tiger out hies.
  • When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about,
  • And a terrible circle his tail traces out.
  • Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks,
  • And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks:
  • Then, growling anew,
  • On one side lies down too.
  • Again signs the king,—
  • And two gates open fly,
  • And, lo! with one spring,
  • Two leopards out hie.
  • On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth,
  • But he with his paws seizes hold of them both.
  • And the lion, with roaring, gets up,—then all’s still;
  • The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill.
• • From the balcony rais’d high above
  • A fair hand lets fall now a glove
  • Into the lists, where ’tis seen
  • The lion and the tiger between.
• • To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest,
  • Then speaks young Cunigund fair;
  • “Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel’st in thy breast
  • Is as warm as thou’rt wont at each moment to swear,
  • Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!”
• • And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread,
  • Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger,
  • And from out the midst of those monsters dread
  • Picks up the glove with a daring finger.
• • And the knights and ladies of high degree
  • With wonder and horror the action see.
  • While he quietly brings in his hand the glove.
  • The praise of his courage each mouth employs;
  • Meanwhile, with a tender look of love,
  • The promise to him of coming joys,
  • Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place.
  • But he threw the glove point-blank in her face:
  • “Lady, no thanks from thee I’ll receive!”
  • And that selfsame hour he took his leave.

THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS.

• • A YOUTH, impell’d by burning thirst for knowledge
  • To roam to Saïs, in fair Egypt’s land,
  • The priesthood’s secret learning to explore,
  • Had pass’d thro’ many a grade with eager haste,
  • And still was hurrying on with fond impatience.
  • Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein
  • Upon his headlong efforts. “What avails
  • A part without a whole?” the youth exclaim’d;
  • “Can there be here a lesser or a greater?
  • The truth thou speak’st of, like mere earthly dross,
  • Is’t but a sum that can be held by man
  • In larger or in smaller quantity?
  • Surely ’tis changeless, indivisible;
  • Deprive a harmony of but one note,
  • Deprive the rainbow of one single color,
  • And all that will remain is nought, so long
  • As that one color, that one note, is wanting.”
• • While thus they converse held, they chanc’d to stand
  • Within the precincts of a lonely temple,
  • Where a veil’d statue of gigantic size
  • The youth’s attention caught. In wonderment
  • He turn’d him tow’rd his guide, and ask’d him, saying,
  • “What form is that conceal’d beneath yon veil?”
  • “Truth!” was the answer. “What!” the young man cried,
  • “When I am striving after Truth alone,
  • Seek’st thou to hide that very Truth from me?”
• • “The Godhead’s self alone can answer thee,”
  • Replied the Hierophant. “ ‘Let no rash mortal
  • Disturb this veil,’ said he, ‘till rais’d by me;
  • For he who dares with sacrilegious hand
  • To move the sacred mystic covering,
  • He’—said the Godhead—” “Well?”—
  • “ ‘will see the Truth.’ ”
  • “Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou
  • Hast never ventur’d, then, to raise the veil?”
  • “I? Truly not! I never even felt
  • The least desire.”—“Is’t possible? If I
  • Were sever’d from the Truth by nothing else
  • Than this thin gauze—” “And a divine decree,”
  • His guide broke in. “Far heavier than thou think’st
  • Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand
  • It may be—but most weighty to thy conscience.”
  • The youth now sought his home, absorb’d in thought;
  • His burning wish to solve the mystery
  • Banish’d all sleep; upon his couch he lay,
  • Tossing his fev’rish limbs. When midnight came,
  • He rose, and tow’rd the temple timidly,
  • Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way.
  • The walls he scal’d, and soon one active spring
  • Landed the daring boy beneath the dome.
• • Behold him now, in utter solitude,
  • Welcom’d by nought save fearful, deathlike silence,—
  • A silence which the echo of his steps
  • Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces.
  • Piercing an opening in the cupola,
  • The moon cast down her pale and silv’ry beams,
  • And, awful as a present deity,
  • Glitt’ring amid the darkness of the pile,
  • In its long veil conceal’d, the statue stands.

• • With hesitating step, he now draws near—
  • His impious hand would fain remove the veil—
  • Sudden a burning chill assails his bones,
  • And then an unseen arm repulses him.
  • “Unhappy one, what would’st thou do?” Thus cries
  • A faithful voice within his trembling breast.
  • “Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?”—
  • “’Tis true the oracle declar’d, ‘Let none
  • Venture to raise the veil till rais’d by me.’
  • But did the oracle itself not add,
  • That he who did so would behold the Truth?
  • Whate’er is hid behind, I’ll raise the veil.”
  • And then he shouted: “Yes! I will behold it!”
  • “Behold it!”
  • Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo.
• • He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil.
  • Would you inquire what form there met his eye?
  • I know not,—but when day appear’d, the priests
  • Found him extended senseless, pale as death,
  • Before the pedestal of Isis’ statue.
  • What had been seen and heard by him, when there,
  • He never would disclose, but from that hour
  • His happiness in life had fled forever,
  • And his deep sorrow soon conducted him
  • To an untimely grave. “Woe to that man,”
  • He, warning, said to ev’ry questioner,
  • “Woe to that man who wins the Truth by guilt,
  • For Truth so gain’d will ne’er reward its owner.”

THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH.

• • “TAKE the world!” Zeus exclaim’d from his throne in the skies
  • To the children of man—“take the world I now give;
  • It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize.
  • So divide it as brothers, and happily live.”
• • Then all who had hands sought their share to obtain,
  • The young and the aged made haste to appear;
  • The husbandman seiz’d on the fruits of the plain,
  • The youth thro’ the forest pursu’d the fleet deer.
• • The merchant took all that his warehouse could hold,
  • The abbot selected the last year’s best wine,
  • The king barr’d the bridges,—the highway’s control’d,
  • And said: “Now remember, the tithes shall be mine!”
• • But when the division long settled had been,
  • The poet drew nigh from a far distant land;
  • But alas! not a remnant was now to be seen,
  • Each thing on the earth own’d a master’s command.
• • “Alas! shall then I, of thy sons the most true,
  • Shall I, ’mongst them all, be forgotten alone?”
  • Thus loudly he cried in his anguish, and threw
  • Himself in despair before Jupiter’s throne.
• • “If thou in the region of dreams didst delay,
  • Complain not of me,” the Immortal replied;
  • “When the world was apportion’d, where then wert thou, pray?”
  • “I was,” said the poet, “I was—by thy side!
• • “Mine eye was then fix’d on thy features so bright,
  • Mine ear was entranc’d by thy harmony’s power;
  • Oh, pardon the spirit that, aw’d by thy light,
  • All things of the earth could forget in that hour!”
• • “What to do?” Zeus exclaim’d,—“for the world has been given;
  • The harvest, the market, the chase, are not free;
  • But if thou with me wilt abide in my heaven,
  • Whenever thou com’st, ’twill be open to thee!”

THE UNKNOWN MAIDEN.

• • IN a deep vale, ’mongst simple swains,
  • Appear’d with each returning spring,
  • Soon as the lark began his strains,
  • A maid, of beauty ravishing.
• • That vale was not her native-place,
  • And where she came from none could tell;
  • Yet of her steps was left no trace
  • Soon as the maiden said farewell.
• • Each heart was glad when she was seen,
  • With nobler aspirations fir’d;
  • And yet her grace, her lofty mien
  • With silent awe each breast inspir’d.
• • She with her brought both flowers and fruit,
  • But ripen’d in far distant plains,
  • Where warmer far the sunbeams shoot,
  • Where a more bounteous nature reigns.
• • Her gifts among them all she shar’d,—
  • To some gave fruit, gave flowers to some;
  • The youth, the old man silver-hair’d,
  • Alike rewarded sought their home.
• • To her was welcome every guest;
  • Yet if approach’d a loving pair,
  • To them she ever gave her best,
  • The flowers her store contain’d most fair.

THE IDEAL AND LIFE.

• • VER CLEAR and smooth, and crystal-bright
  • Flows existence, zephyr-light,
  • In Olympus, where the blest recline.
  • Moons revolve, and ages pass away;
  • Changelessly ’mid ever-rife decay
  • Bloom the roses of their youth divine.
  • Man has but a sad choice left him now,
  • Sensual bliss and soul-repose-between;
  • But, upon the great Celestial’s brow,
  • Wedded is their lustre seen.
• • Wouldst thou here be like a deity,
  • In the realm of death be free,
  • Never seek to pluck its garden’s fruit!
  • On its beauty thou may’st feast thine eye;
  • Soon wild longing’s impulses will fly,
  • And enjoyment’s transient bliss pollute.
  • E’en the Styx, that nine times flows around,
  • Ceres’ child’s return could not delay,
  • But she grasp’d the apple,—and was bound
  • Evermore by Orcus’ sway.
• • Bodies only yonder powers can bind
  • By whom gloomy fate is twin’d;
  • But, set free from each restraint of time,
  • Blissful Nature’s playmate, Form, so bright,
  • Roams for ever o’er the plains of light,
  • ’Mongst the Deities, herself sublime.
  • Wouldst thou on her pinions soar on high,
  • Far away each earthly sorrow throw!
  • To the ideal realm for refuge fly
  • From this narrow life below!
• • Free from earthly stain, and ever young,
  • Blest Perfection’s rays among,
  • There humanity’s fair form is view’d,
  • As life’s silent phantoms brightly gleam
  • While they wander near the Stygian stream,
  • Or, as in the heav’nly fields they stood,
  • Ere the great Immortal went its way
  • Down to the sarcophagus so drear.
  • If in life the conflict-scales still sway
  • Doubtfully, the triumph’s here.
• • Not to free the weary limbs from strife,
  • Not to give the faint new life,
  • Blooms the fragrant wreath of victory;
  • Tho’ thy nerves may rest, yet, fierce and strong,
  • In its stream life bears thee still along,
  • In its whirling dance Time hurries thee.
  • But should courage’ daring wing not brook
  • Sad confinement’s painful sense to bear,
  • Then the soaring Aim with joy may look
  • Down from Beauty’s hill so fair.
• • If ’tis good to govern and defend,
  • Wrestlers bravely to contend
  • On the path of fortune or renown,—
  • Then let boldness wreak itself in force,
  • And the chariots on the dust-strown course
  • Blend together, as they thunder down.
  • Courage only here the prize can find
  • Of the victor in the Hippodrome,—
  • ’Tis the strong alone who Fate can bind
  • When the weak are overcome.
• • But although, when rocks its bed enclose,
  • Wildly foaming on it flows,
  • Softly, smoothly runs life’s gentle stream
  • Over Beauty’s silent shadow-land,
  • While, upon its silvery waters’ strand,
  • Hesper and Aurora paint each beam.
  • Melted into soft and mutual love,
  • Blended in the happy bond of grace,
  • Fiery impulses here cease to move,
  • And the foe has fled the place.
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• • If to animate what erst was dead,
  • If with matter now to wed,
  • Active genius kindles into flame,
  • Let then industry strain ev’ry nerve,
  • Let the thought’s courageous wrestling serve
  • E’en the hostile element to tame.
  • Truth’s deep-buried spring can only flow
  • To the steadfast will, that wearies ne’er;
  • Only to the chisel’s heavy blow
  • Yields the brittle marble e’er.
• • Piercing even into Beauty’s sphere,
  • In the dust still lingers here
  • Gravitation, with the world it sways;
  • Not from out the mass, with labor wrung,
  • Light and graceful, as from nothing sprung,
  • Stands the image to the ravish’d gaze.
  • Mute is ev’ry struggle, ev’ry doubt,
  • In the certain glow of victory;
  • While each witness hence is driven out
  • Of frail man’s necessity.
• • When thou seest the mighty precept plac’d
  • In Humanity’s sad waste,
  • Or when to the Holy, guilt draws nigh,
  • Then thy virtue well may pallid be
  • In the rays of truth,—despondingly
  • From the Ideal shamefaced action fly.
  • Nought created e’er surmounted this,
  • Not a bark, no bridge’s span can bear
  • Safely o’er that terrible abyss,
  • And no anchor catches there.
• • But, by fleeing from the sense confin’d
  • To the freedom of the mind,
  • Ev’ry dream of fear thou’lt find thence flown,
  • And the endless depth itself will fill;
  • If thou tak’st the Godhead in thy will,
  • ’Twill soar upwards from its earthly throne.
  • Servile minds alone, that scorn its sway,
  • Are subdu’d by precept’s rigid rod;
  • With the man’s resistance dies away
  • E’en the glory of the God.
• • When thou art weigh’d down by human care,
  • When the son of Priam there
  • Strives against the snakes with speechless pain,
  • Then let man revolt! Then let his cry
  • To the canopy of heav’n mount high,—
  • Let thy feeling heart be rent in twain!
  • Let the radiant cheek of joy turn pale,
  • Nature’s fearful voice triumphant be,
  • And let holy sympathy prevail
  • O’er thine immortality!
• • But in yonder blissful realms afar,
  • Where the forms unsullied are,
  • Sorrow’s mournful tempests cease to rave.
  • There reflection cannot pierce the soul,
  • Tears of anguish there no longer roll,
  • Nought remains but mind’s resistance brave.
  • Beauteous e’en as Iris’ color’d bow
  • On the thunder-cloud’s soft vaporous dew,
  • Glimm’ring through the dusky veil of woe
  • There is seen Rest’s radiant blue.
• • Great Alcides erst in endless strife
  • Trod the weary path of life,
  • Humbl’d e’en the coward’s slave to be,—
  • Hugg’d the lion, and the hydra fought;
  • Into Charon’s bark, he, dreading nought,
  • Plung’d alive, that he his friend might free.
  • All the heavy loads that earth brings forth,
  • On the shoulders of the hated one,
  • By the Goddess are heap’d up in wrath,
  • Till at length his race is run.
• • Till the God soars hence like some bright flame,
  • Casting off his earthly frame,
  • And the æther’s balmy incense drinks.
  • In his new unwonted pinions glad,
  • Upward flies he, and the vision sad
  • Life had fashion’d, sinks, and sinks, and sinks.
  • Harmony, that of Olympus speaks,
  • Hails the blest one where Kronīon lives,
  • And the Goddess with the rosy cheeks
  • Smilingly the chalice gives.