I

Shade of Columbus, here thy relics rest;

Here, while these numbers to the desert ring,

The self-same breeze that passes o’er thy breast,Open note Back to note

Salutes me, as with panting heart, I sing.

II

Madoc! my ancient father’s bones repose

Where their bold harps thy country’s bards enwreathed;
Open note Back to note

And this warm blood once coursed the veins of those

Who flourished where thy first faint sigh was breathed.

III

Heroes departed both, if still ye love

These realms to which on earth, ye oped the way,

Amid the joys that crown your deeds, above,

One moment pause and deign to bless my lay!

IV

Spirits, who hovered o’er Euphrates’ stream,

When the first beauteous mother of our race

First oped her mild eyes to the new light-beam,

And in the lucid wave first saw her own fair face;

Did then yon ocean, in its bosom press

These western solitudes? or are they new

Only to men? Was this sweet wilderness,

This distant world, then visited by you?

V

If ye then knew; or haply, if ye here

Come wandering now, oh, listen! nor refuse

Your unseen harps a moment to my ear;

Of one like you I’d sing: whisper my trembling muse!

VI

Rest in my wild retreat! The solar fires

Tell on this glowing cheek their fervid powers;

Yet ’tis the ocean’s breath my lip respires

Grown fragrant in its course o’er thousand shrubs
and flowers.

VII

The time has been;—this holiest records tell,—

When restless spirits raised a war in heaven;

Great was the crime, and banished thence they fell

To depths unknown; yet kept the potence, given

For nobler use, to tempt the hapless race

Of feeble mortals, who but form a grade

’Twixt spirits and the courser of the chase.

Man, thing of heaven and earth, why, thou wert made,

Ev’n spirits knew not! yet they loved to sport

With thy mysterious mind; and lent their powers,

The good to benefit, the ill to hurt.

Dark fiends assailed thee, in thy dangerous hours,

But better angels thy far perils eyed;

And often, when in heaven they might have stayed,

Came down to watch by some just hero’s side,

Or meet the aspiring love of some high-gifted maid.

VIII

Blest were those days! Can these dull ages boast

Aught to compare? though now no more beguile,

Chained in their darkling depths, the infernal host;Open note 4Back to note ⁴

Who would not brave a fiend to share an angel’s smile?

IX

’Twas then there lived a captive Hebrew pair;

In woe the embraces of their youth had past;

And blest their paler years one daughter; fair

She flourished, like a lonely rose, the last

And lovliest of her line. The tear of joy,

The early love of song, the sigh that broke

From her young lip, the best beloved employ;

What womanhood disclosed, in infancy bespoke

X

A child of passion; tenderest and best

Of all that heart has inly loved and felt,

Adorned the fair enclosure of her breast:

Where passion is not found, no virtue ever dwelt.

XI

Yet, not, perverted, would my words imply

The impulse given by heaven’s great artisan

Alike to man and worm, mere spring, whereby

The distant wheels of life, while time endures, roll on:

But the collective attributes that fill,

About the soul, their all-important place;

That feed her fires, empower her fainting will,

And write the God on feeble mortal’s face.

XII

Yet anger, or revenge, envy or hate,

The damsel knew not: when her bosom burned

And injury darkened the decrees of fate,

She had more piteous sighed to see that pain returned.

XIII

Or if perchance, though formed most just and pure,

Amid their virtue’s wild luxuriance hid,

Such germs, all mortal bosoms must immure

Which sometimes show their poisonous heads, unbid,—

If, haply such the fair Judean finds,

Self knowledge wept the abasing truth to know;

And innate Pride, that queen of noble minds,

Crushed them indignant ere a bud could grow.

XIV

And such, even now, in earliest youth are seen;

But would they live, with armour more deform

Their breasts made soft by too much love must screen:—

“The bird that sweetest sings can least endure the
storm.”

XV

And yet, despite of all, the starting tear,

The melting tone, the blood suffusive, proved,

The soul that in them spoke, could spurn at fear

Of death or danger; and had those she loved

Required it at their need, she could have stood,

Unmoved, as some fair-sculptured statue, while

The dome that guards it, earth’s convulsions rude

Are shivering, meeting ruin with a smile.

XVI

And this, at intervals, in language bright

Told her blue eyes; though oft the tender lid

Drooped like a noon-day lily, languid, white—

And trembling all save love and lustre hid;

Then, as young Christian bard had sung, they seemed

Like some Madonna in his soul, so sainted;

But opening in their energy they beamed

As tasteful Grecians their Minerva painted;

While o’er her graceful shoulder’s milky swell,

Silky as those on little children seen,

Yet thick as Indian fleece her ringlets fell,

Nor owned Pactolus’ sands a brighter sheen.

XVI

And now, full near, the hour unwished for drew,

When Sèphora had hoped to see her wed;

And, for ’twould else expire, impatient grew

To renovate her race from beauteous Egla’s bed.

XVII

None of their kindred lived to claim her hand,

But stranger-youths had asked her of her sire

With gifts and promise fair; he could withstand

All save her tears; and harkening her desire

Still left her free; but soon her mother drew

From her a vow, that when the twentieth yearOpen note 5Back to note ⁵

Its full fair finish o’er her beauty threw,

If what her fancy fed on, came not near,

She would entreat no more, but to the voice

Of her light-giver hearken; and her life

And love, all yielding to that kindly choice,

Would hush each idle wish and learn to be a wife.

XVIII

Now oft it happen’d, when morning task was done,

And lotted out, for every household maid,

Her light and pleasant toil; ere yet the sun

Was high, fair Egla to a woody shade,

Loved to retire. Acacias here inclinedOpen note 6Back to note ⁶

Their friendly heads, in thick profusion, planted,

And with a thousand tendrils clasped and twined;

And when, at fervid noon, all nature panted,

Enwoven with their boughs, a fragrant bower

Inviting rest its mossy pillow flung;

And here the full cerulean passion-flower,

Climbing among the leaves, its mystic symbols hung.Open note Back to note

XIX

And though the sun had gained his utmost height,

Just as he oped its vivid folds at dawn,

Looked still, that tenderest, frailest child of light,

By shepherds named “the glory of the morn.”

XX

Sweet flower, thou’rt lovelier even than the rose:

The rose is pleasure,—felt and known as such—

Soon past, but real,—tasted, while it glows;

But thou, too bright and pure for mortal touch,

Art like those brilliant things we never taste

Or see, unless with Fancy’s lip and eye,

When maddened by her mystic spells, we waste

Life on a thought, and rob reality.

XXII

Tranquil and lone in such a light to be,

How sweet to sense and soul! the form recline

Forgets it e’er felt pain; and Reverie,

Sweet mother of the muses, heart and soul are thine!Open note 7Back to note ⁷

XXIII

This calm retreat on summer day she sought,

And sat to tune her lute; but all night long

Quiet had from her pillow flown, and thought,

Feverish and tired, sent forth unseemly throng

Of boding images. She scarce could woo

One song reluctant, ere advancing quick

Through the fresh leaves, Sèphora’s form she knew,

And duteous rose to meet: but fainting, sick,

Her heart sank tremulously in her; why

Sought out at such an hour, it half divined;

And seated now beside, with downcast eye,

And throbbing pulse, she met the pressure kind,

And warmly given; while thus the matron fair,

Though marred by grief and time, with soothing word,

Solicitous, and gently serious air,

The purpose why she hither came preferr’d.

XXIV

“Egla, my hopes thou knowest, though exprest

Not oft, lest they should pain thee; I have dealt

Not rudely with thy fancies, yet my breast

Retains the wish most vehemently felt.

Know, I have marked that when the reason why

Thou still wouldst live in virgin state, thy sire

Has prest thee to impart, quick in thine eye

Semblance of hope has played; fain to transpire,

Words seemed to seek thy lip; but the bright rush

Of heart-blood eloquent, alone would tell

In the warm language of a rebel blush

What thy less treacherous tongue had guarded well.

XXV

Is the long frequent day spent lonely here?

Or haply, rather, hath some stranger youth—?

Then Egla; see my heart!” “Oh, mother dear,

Distrust my wisdom; but regard my truth!

XXVI

Long time ago, while yet a twelve year’s child,

These shrubs and vines new-planted near this spot,

I sat me, tired with pleasant toil, and whiled

Away the time, with lute; and often thought

Of the lost land thou lovest; every scene

Which thou so oft, when I had climbed thy knee,

Wouldst sing of, weeping, through my mind had been

In fair succession, when from yon old tree

I heard a piteous moan. Wondering I went

And found an aged man; worn and oppressed

He seemed with toil; and said in whispers faint,

‘Oh, little maiden, how I am distrest!

I sink for very want. Give me, I pray,

A drop of water and a cake: I die

Of thirst and hunger; yet my sorrowing way

May tread once more, if thou my need supply.’

XXVII

A long time missing from thy gentle arms,

It chanced that day was sent me, in the shade,

New bread, a cake of figs, and wine of palms,Open note 8Back to note ⁸

Mingled with water, sweet with honey made.

XXVIII

These brought I to him; tried to raise his head;

Held to his lip the cup; and, while he quaffed,

Upon my garment wiped the tears that sped

Adown his silvery beard, and mingled with the
draught.

XXIX

When, gaining sudden strength, he raised his hand,

And in this guise did bless me; ‘Mayst thou be

A crown to him who weds thee! In a land

Far distant dwells a captive!—Hearken me,

And choose thee now a bridegroom meet. To-day

O’er broad Euphrates’ steepest banks a child

Fled from his youthful nurse’s arms; in play

Elate, he bent him o’er the brink, and smiled

To see their fears who followed him; but who

The keen wild anguish of that scene can tell!

He bent him o’er the brink; and, in their view,

But ah! too far beyond their aid, he fell.

XXX

They wailed; the long torn ringlets of their hair

Bestrewed the ambient gale; deep rolled the stream

And swallowed the fair child; no succour there!Open note 9Back to note ⁹

They, women;—whither look?—who to redeem

What the fierce waves were preying on? When lo!

Approached a stranger boy. Aside he flung,

Quick as a thought, his quiver and his bow,

And parted by his limbs the sparkling billows sung.

XXXI

They clung to an old palm and watched; nor breath

Nor word dared utter; while the refluent blood

Left on each countenance the hue of death,

Oped lip and far-strained eye spoke worse than death
endured.

XXXII

But down the flood the dauntless boy appeared,

Now rising—plunging—in the eddy whirled—

Mastering his course; but now a rock he neared;

And closing o’er his head, the dark, deep, waters
curled.

XXXIII

Then Hope groaned forth her last, and to despair

Yielded with shrieks; but ere the echo wild

Had ceased to thrill, restored to light and air,

He climbs, he gains the rock, and holds alive the child.

XXXIV

Now mark what chanced! that infant was the son

Of Babylonia’s sovereign; soon was placed

Before his throne the youth who so had won

From death the royal heir. A captive graced

All o’er with nature’s gifts just dawning, brave,

And panting for renown, blushing and praised

The stripling stood; and closely prest, would crave

Nought but a place mid warlike men; yet raised

To his full wish, the kingly presence leaving,

So light with airy hope, his graceful feet

Scarce touched the marble as he trod, while, heaving

With plans to please his sire, his heart more warmly
beat.

XXXV

But when his mother heard, she wept, and said,

“If he, our only child, be far away,

Or slain in war, how shall our years be stay’d?

Friendless and old, where is the hand to lay

Our white hairs in the earth?” So when her fears

He saw would not be calmed, he did not part;

But lived in low estate to dry her tears,

And crush’d the full ripe wish at his exulting heart.’

XXXVI

The old man ceased; ere I could speak, his face

Grew more than mortal fair: a mellow light

Mantling around him, filled the shady place,

And while I wondering stood, he vanish’d from my
sight.

XXXVII

This I had told, but shame withheld, and fear

Thou’dst deem some spirit guiled me,—disapprove,—

Perchance forbid my customed wandering here.

But whenceso’er the vision, I have strove

Still vainly to forget. I’ve heard thee mourn

Kindred afar, and captive:—oh! my mother

Should he, my heaven announced, exist, return—

And meet me here, lost—wedded to another!”

XXXVIII

Then Sèphora answered: “In the city where

Our distant kindred dwelt, blood has been shed.

Fond dreamer, had thy visioned love been there!

Ere now he’s sleeping with the silent dead.

XXXIX

Or doth he live, he knows not—would not know,

(Thralled, dead to thee, in some fair Syrian’s arms,)

Who pines for him afar in fruitless woe,

And wastes upon a thought love, life and charms.

XL

’Tis as a vine of Galilee should say,

‘Culterer, I reck not thy support, I sigh

For a young palm tree of Euphrates; nay,

Or let me him entwine, or in my blossom die.’

XLI

Thy heart is set on joys it ne’er can prove;

And, panting ingrate, scorns the blessings given.

Hope not from dust-formed man, a seraph’s love,

Or days on earth like to the days of heaven!

XLII

But to my theme; maiden, a lord for thee,

And not of thee unworthy, lives and glows.

Nay, chase the dread that in thy looks I see,

Nor make it taste of anguish to disclose

What well might be delight. Rememberest thou

When to the altar, by thy father reared,

As we went forth with sacrifice and vow,

A victim-dove escaped, and there appeared

A stranger? Quickly from his shrilly string

He let an arrow glance; and to a tree

Nailed fast the little truant, by the wing,

And brought it, scarcely bleeding, back to thee.

XLIII

His voice, his mien, the lustre of his eye,

And pretty deed he had done, were theme of praise

Though blent with fear that stranger should espy

Thy lonely haunts. When, in the sunny rays

He turned and went, with black locks clustering bright

Around his pillar neck,—‘’Tis pity he,’

Thou saidst, ‘in all the comeliness and might

Of perfect man, ’tis pity he should be

But an idolater! How nobly sweet

He tempers pride with courtesy! A flower

Drops honey when he speaks. His sandal’d feet

Are light as antelope. He stands, a tower.’

XLIV

That very stranger sought thy sire, and swore

For thee much love, that day conceived for thee,

To be a false idolater no more.

’Tis Meles, late returned from embassy

To distant courts, and loved by the young king

Of Media. Bethink thee, Egla; muse

Upon the good, union like this may bring

On thee and thine. Yet, if thy soul refuse,

We will not press thee. Weep if’t be thy will,

Even on the breast that nourished thee, and ne’er

Distrest thee or compelled; this bosom still,

E’en shouldst thou blight its dearest hopes, will share,

Nay, bear thy pains. But sooner in the grave

’Twill quench my waning years, if reckless thou

Of what I not command, but only crave,

Canst see me pine and disregard thy vow.”

XLV

Then Egla, “Think not, kindest, I forget,

Who have received such love, how much is due

From me to thee! The Mede I’ll wed: but yet—

Why will these tears gush forth?—thus—in thy
presence too!”

XLVI

Sèphora held her to her heart, the while

Grief had its way; then saw her gently laid,

And bade her, kissing her blue eyes, beguile

Slumbering, the fervid noon. Her leafy bed

Breathed forth o’erpowering sighs; increased the heat;

Sleepless had been the night; her weary sense

Could now no more. Lone in the still retreat,

Wounding the flowers to sweetness more intense

She sank. Thus kindly Nature lets our woe

Swell till it bursts forth from the o’erfraught breast;

Then draws an opiate from the bitter flow,

And lays her sorrowing child soft in the lap of rest.

XLVII

Now all the mortal maid lies indolent;

Save one sweet cheek, which the cool velvet turf

Had touched too rude, though all with blooms besprent,

One soft arm pillowed. Whiter than the surf

That foams against the sea-rock looked her neck

By the dark, glossy, odorous shrubs relieved,

That close inclining o’er her, seemed to reck

What ’twas they canopied; and quickly heaved,Open note Back to note

Beneath her robe’s white folds and azure zone,

Her heart yet incomposed, a fillet through

Peeped softly azure, while with tender moan,

As if of bliss, Zephyr her ringlets blew

Sportive; about her neck their gold he twined;

Kissed the soft violet on her temples warm,

And eyebrow just so dark might well define

Its flexile arch; throne of expression’s charm.

XLVIII

As the vexed Caspian, though its rage be past,

And the blue smiling heavens swell o’er in peace,

Shook to the centre by the recent blast,

Heaves on tumultuous still, and hath not power to
cease;

So still each little pulse was seen to throb,

Though passion and its pain were lulled to rest;

And ever and anon a piteous sob

Shook the pure arch expansive o’er her breast.Open note 10Back to note ¹⁰

XLIX

Save that, a perfect peace was, sovereign, there

O’er fragrance, sound, and beauty; all was mute;

Only a dove bemoaned her absent phere,

Or fainting breezes swept the slumberer’s lute.

L

It chanced, that day, lured by the verdure, came

Zóphiël, a spirit sometimes ill; but ere

He fell, a heavenly angel. The faint flame

Of dying embers on an altar, where

Zorah, fair Egla’s sire, in secret bowed

And sacrificed to the great unseen God,

While friendly shades the sacred rites enshroud,Open note Back to note

The spirit saw; his inmost soul was awed,

And he bethought him of the forfeit joys

Once his in Heaven; deep in a darkling grot

He sat him down; the melancholy noise

Of leaf and creeping vine accordant with his thought.

LI

When fiercer spirits howled, he but complained

Ere yet ’twas his to roam the pleasant earth.

His heaven-invented harp he still retained,Open note Back to note

Though tuned to bliss no more, and had its birth

Of him, beneath some black, infernal clift,

The first drear song of woe; and torment wrung

The restless spirit less, when he might lift

His plaining voice, and frame the like as now he sung.

LII

“Woe to thee, wild ambition! I employ

Despair’s low notes thy dread effects to tell;

Born in high heaven, her peace thou couldst destroy;

And, but for thee, there had not been a Hell.

Through the celestial domes thy clarion pealed;

Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged,

And straight were fiends; hurled from the shrinking field,

They waked in agony to wail the change.

Darting through all her veins the subtle fire,

The world’s fair mistress first inhaled thy breath;

To lot of higher beings learnt to aspire;

Dared to attempt, and doomed the world to death.

The thousand wild desires, that still torment

The fiercely struggling soul, where peace once dwelt,

But perished; feverish hope; drear discontent,

Impoisoning all possest,—Oh! I have felt

As spirits feel,—yet not for man we moan,

Scarce o’er the silly bird in state were he,

That builds his nest, loves, sings the morn’s return,

And sleeps at evening; save by aid of thee.

Fame ne’er had roused, nor song her records kept;

The gem, the ore, the marble breathing life,

The pencil’s colours, all in earth had slept,

Now see them mark with death his victim’s strife.

Man found thee, death: but Death and dull decay,

Baffling, by aid of thee, his mastery proves;

By mighty works he swells his narrow day,

And reigns, for ages, on the world he loves.

Yet what the price? With stings that never cease

Thou goad’st him on; and when too keen the smart,

His highest dole he’d barter but for peace,

Food thou wilt have, or feast upon his heart.”

LIII

Thus Zóphiël still, though now the infernal crew

Had gained, by sin, a privilege in the world,

Allayed their torments in the cool night dew,

And by the dim starlight again their wings unfurled.

LIV

And now, regretful of the joys his birth

Had promised, deserts, mounts, and streams he crost,

To find, amid the loveliest spots of earth,

Faint semblance of the heaven he had lost.

LV

And oft, by unsuccessful searching pained,

Weary he fainted through the toilsome hours;

And then his mystic nature he sustained

On steam of sacrifices, breath of flowers.Open note Back to note

LVI

Sometimes he gave out oracles, amusedOpen note Back to note

With mortal folly; resting on the shrines,

Or, all in some fair Sybyl’s form infused,

Spoke from her trembling lips, or traced her mystic
lines.Open note 11Back to note ¹¹

LVII

And now he wanders on from glade to glade

To where more precious shrubs diffuse their balms;

And gliding through the thickly-woven shade

Where the soft captive lay in all her charms,

He caught a glimpse. The colours in her face,

Her bare white arms, her lips, her shining hair,

Burst on his view. He would have flown the place;

Fearing some faithful angel rested there,

Who’d see him, ’reft of glory, lost to bliss,

Wandering, and miserably panting, fain

To glean a joy e’en from a place like this:

The thought of what he once had been was pain

Ineffable. But what assailed his ear?

A sigh! Surprised, another glance he took;

Then doubting—fearing—softly coming near—

He ventured to her side and dared to look;

Whispering, “Yes, ’tis of earth! So, new-found life

Refreshing, looked sweet Eve, with purpose fell,

When first sin’s sovereign gazed on her, and strife

Had with his heart, that grieved with arts of hell,

Stern as it was, to win her o’er to death.

Most beautiful of all in earth or heaven!

Oh, could I quaff for aye that fragrant breath!

Couldst thou, or being like thee, be given

To bloom for ever for me thus! Still true

To one dear theme, my full soul, flowing o’er

Would find no room for thought of what it knew,

Nor picturing forfeit transport, curse me more.Open note Back to note

LVIII

But oh! severest curse! I cannot be

In what I love, blest e’en the little span

(With all a spirit’s keen capacity

For bliss) permitted the poor insect, man.

LIX

The few I’ve seen, and deemed of worth to win,

Like some sweet flowret, mildewed in my arms,

Withered to hideousness as foul as sin,

Grew fearful hags; and then, with potent charm

Of muttered word and harmful drug, did learn

To force me to their will. Down the damp grave,

Loathing I went, at Endor, and uptorn,

Brought back the dead; when tortured Saul did crave

LX

She has fall’n to sleep in grief; haply been chid,

Or by rude mortal wrong’d. So let it prove

Meet for my purpose: ’mid these blossoms hid,

I’ll gaze; and when she wakes, with all that love

And art can lend, come forth. He who would gain

A fond, full heart, in love’s soft surgery skill’d,

Should seek it when ’tis sore; allay its pain

With balm by pity prest: ’tis all his own so heal’d.

LXI

She may be mine a little year; e’en fair

And sweet as now. Oh! respite! while possest

I lose the dismal sense of my despair:

But then—I will not think upon the rest!

LXII

And wherefore grieve to cloud her little dayOpen note 12Back to note ¹²

Of fleeting life? What doom from power divine

I bear eternally: pity—away!

Wake, pretty fly! and, while thou mayst, be mine,

’Though but an hour; so thou supply’st thy looms

With shining silk, and in the cruel snare

Seest the fond bird entrapped, but for his plumes,

To work thy robes, or twine amidst thy hair.”

LXIII

To whisper softly in her ear he bent,

But draws him back restrained: a higher power,

That loved her, and would keep her innocent,

Repelled his evil touch. And from her bower,

To lead the maid, Sephora comes; the sprite,

Half baffled, followed, hovering on unseen,

Till Meles, fair to see and nobly dight,

Received his pensive bride. Gentle of mien,

She meekly stood. He fastened round her arms

Rings of refulgent ore; low and apart

Murmuring, “So, beauteous captive, shall thy charms

For ever thrall and clasp thy captive’s heart.”

LXIV

The air’s light touch seemed softer as she moved,

In languid resignation; his quick eye

Spoke in black glances how she was approved,

Who shrank reluctant from its ardency.

LXVI

And oft her drooping and resigned blue eye

She’d wistful raise to read his radiant face;

But then, why shrunk her heart?—a secret sigh

Told her it most required what there it could not trace.

Now fair had fall’n the night. The damsel mused

At her own window, in the pearly ray

Of the full moon; her thoughtful soul infused

Thus in her words; left lone awhile to pray.Open note 13Back to note ¹³

LXVIII

“What bliss for her who lives her little day,

In blest obedience, like to those divine,

Who to her loved, her earthly lord can say,

‘God is thy law’, most just, ‘and thou art mine.’

To every blast she bends in beauty meek;—

Let the storm beat,—his arms her shelter kind,—

And feels no need to blanch her rosy cheek

With thoughts befitting his superior mind.

Who only sorrows when she sees him pained,

Then knows to pluck away pain’s keenest dart;

Or bid love catch it ere its goal be gained,

And steal its venom ere it reach his heart.

’Tis the soul’s food:—the fervid must adore.—

For this the heathen, unsufficed with thought,

Moulds him an idol of the glittering ore,

And shrines his smiling goddess, marble-wrought.

What bliss for her, ev’n in this world of woe,

Oh! Sire who mak’st yon orb-strewn arch thy throne;

That sees thee in thy noblest work below

Shine undefaced, adored, and all her own!

This I had hoped; but hope too dear, too great,

Go to thy grave!—I feel thee blasted, now.

Give me fate’s sovereign, well to bear the fate

Thy pleasure sends; this, my sole prayer, allow!”

LXIX

Still fixed on heaven, her earnest eye, all dew,

Seemed, as it sought amid the lamps of night,

The God her soul addressed; but other view

Far different, sudden from that pensive plight

Recalled her: quick as on primeval gloom

Burst the new day-star when the Eternal bid,

Appeared, and glowing filled the dusky room,

As ’twere a brilliant cloud. The form it hid

Modest emerged, as might a youth beseem;

Save a slight scarf, his beauty bare, and white

As cygnet’s bosom on some silver stream;

Or young Narcissus, when to woo the light

Of its first morn, that flow’ret open springs;

And near the maid he comes with timid gaze,

And gently fans her with his full-spread wings,

Transparent as the cooling gush that plays

From ivory fount. Each bright prismatic tint

Still vanishing, returning, blending, changing

About their tender mystic texture glint,

Like colours o’er the full-blown bubble ranging.

That pretty urchins launch upon the air,

And laugh to see it vanish; yet, so bright,

More like—and even that were faint compare,

As shaped from some new rainbow. Rosy light,

Like that which Pagans say the dewy car

Precedes of their Aurora, clipp’d him round,

Retiring as he moved; and evening’s star

Shamed not the diamond coronal that bound

His curly locks. And, still to teach his face

Expression dear to her he wooed, he sought;

And, in his hand, he held a little vase

Of virgin gold, in strange devices wrought.

LXX

Love-toned he spoke; “Fair sister, art thou here

With pensive looks, so near thy bridal bed,

Fixed on the pale cold moon? Nay, do not fear!

To do thee weal, o’er mount and stream I’ve sped.

LXXI

Say, doth thy soul, in all its sweet excess,

Rush to this bridegroom, smooth and falsehood-taught?

Ah, no! thou yield’st thee to a feared caress;

And strugglest with a heart that owns him not.

LXXII

Send back this Meles to Euphrates:—there

Is no reluctance. Withering by that stream,

Tell him there droops a flower that needs his care.

But why, at such an hour, so base a theme?

LXXIII

I’ll tell thee secrets of the nether earth

And highest heaven! Or dost some service crave?

Declare thy bidding, best of mortal birth,

I’ll be thy winged messenger, thy slave.”

LXXIV

Then softly Egla: “Lovely being, tell,

In pity to the grief thy lips betray

The knowledge of—say, with some kindly spell,

Dost come from heaven to charm my pains away? Open note 14Back to note ¹⁴

LXXV

Alas! what know’st thou of my plighted lord?

If guilt pollute him, as, unless mine ear

Deceive me in the purport of thy word,

Thou meanst t’imply,—kind spirit rest not here,

But to my father hasten, and make known

The fearful truth: my doom is his command;

Writ in heaven’s book, I guard the oath I’ve sworn,

Unless he will to blot it by thine hand.”

LXXVI

“Oaths sworn for Meles little need avail,

Zóphiël replies: Ere morn, if’t be thy will,

To Lybian deserts he shall tell his tale,

I’ll hurl him, at thy word, o’er forest, sea, and hill.

LXXVII

But soothe thee maiden; be thy soul at peace!

Mine be the care to hasten to thy sire,

And null thy vow. Let every terror cease:

Perfect success attends thy least desire.”

LXXVIII

Then lowly bending with seraphic grace,

The vase he proffered full; and not a gem

Drawn forth successive from its sparkling place

But put to shame the Persian diadem.

LXXIX

While he “Nay, let me o’er thy white arms bind

These orient pearls, less smooth; Egla, for thee,

My thrilling substance pained by storm and wind,

I sought them in the caverns of the sea.

LXXX

Look! here’s a ruby; drinking solar rays,

I saw it redden on a mountain tip;

Now on thy snowy bosom let it blaze:

’Twill blush still deeper to behold thy lip.

LXXXI

Here’s for thy hair a garland; every flower

That spreads its blossoms, watered by the tear

Of the sad slave in Babylonian bower,

Might see its frail bright hues perpetuate here.

LXXXIII

And here’s a diamond, culled from Indian mine,

To gift a haughty queen: it might not be;

I knew a worthier brow, sister divine,Open note 16Back to note ¹⁶

And brought the gem; for well I deem for thee

The ‘arch-chymic sun’ in earth’s dark bosom wrought

To prison thus a ray, that when dull night

Frowns o’er her realms, and nature’s all seems nought,

She whom he grieves to leave may still behold his
light.”

LXXXV

Thus spoke he on, while still the wondering maid

Gazed, as a youthful artist; rapturously

Each perfect, smooth, harmonious limb surveyed

Insatiate still her beauty-loving eye.

LXXXVI

For Zóphiël wore a mortal form; and blent

In mortal form, when perfect, Nature shews

Her all that’s fair enhanced; fire, firmament,

Ocean, earth, flowers, and gems,—all there disclose

Their charms epitomised: the heavenly power

To lavish beauty, in this last work, crown’d:

And Egla, formed of fibres such as dower

Those who most feel, forgot all else around.

LXXXVII

He saw, and softening every wily word,

Spoke in more melting music to her soul;

And o’er her sense, as when the fond night-bird

Woos the full rose, o’erpowering fragrance stole;Open note Back to note

LXXXVIII

Or when the lilies, sleepier perfume, move,

Disturbed by two young sister-fawns, that play

Among their graceful stalks at morn, and love

From their white cells to lap the dew away.

LXXXIX

She strove to speak, but ’twas in murmurs low;

While o’er her cheek, his potent spell confessing,

Deeper diffused the warm carnation glow

Still dewy wet with tears, her inmost soul confessing.

XC

As the lithe reptile, in some lonely grove,

With fixed bright eye, of fascinating flame,

Lures on by slow degrees the plaining dove,

So nearer, nearer still the bride and spirit came.

XCI

Success seemed his; but secret, in the height

Of exultation, as he braved the power

Which baffled him at morn, a secret light

Shot from his eye, with guilt and treachery fraught.

XCII

Nature upon her children oft bestows

The quick, untaught perception; and while art

O’ertasks himself with guile, loves to disclose

The dark thought in the eye, to warn the o’er-trusting
heart.

XCIII

Or haply ’twas some airy guardian foiled

The sprite. What mixed emotions shook his breast;

When her fair hand, ere he could clasp, recoiled;

The spell was broke; and doubt and terrors prest

Her sore. While Zóphiël: “Meles’ step I heard—

He’s a betrayer!—wilt receive him still?”—

The rosy blood, driven to her heart by fear,

She said, in accents faint but firm, “I will.”

XCIV

The spirit heard; and all again was dark;

Save as before the melancholy flame

Of the full moon; and faint, unfrequent spark,

Which from the perfume’s burning embers came,

XCV

That stood in vases round the room disposed.

Shuddering and trembling to her couch she crept,

Soft ope’d the door, and quick again was closed,

And through the pale grey moonlight Meles stept.

XCVI

But ere he yet, with haste, could throw aside

His broidered belt and sandals,—dread to tell,

Eager he sprang—he sought to clasp his bride—

He stopt:— a groan was heard—he gasped, and fell

XCVII

Low by the couch of her who widowed lay,

Her ivory hands, convulsive, clasped in prayer,

But lacking power to move; and, when ’twas day,

A cold black corse was all of Meles, there.

I

Soon over Meles’ grave the wild flower dropt

Its brimming dew; nor far, where Tigris’ spray.

Leaps to the beam, in life’s sweet blossom cropt,

Four others, fair as he, were snatched from day

Bridegrooms like him, they knew his fate; yet bent

On their desires, resolved that fate to brave;

So, in succession, each a victim went,

Borne from the bridal chamber to the grave.

II

Low liest thou, Meles! and ’tis mine to know,

By light of song, the darkly-hidden power

That closed thy bland, but wily lip; and show,

In flowing verse, what followed thy death-hour.

III

Noon slept upon thy grave, and Media’s king

Had sat him down, from court and harem far,

With a young boy who knew to touch the string

Of the sweet harp, and wage the ivory warOpen note 18Back to note ¹⁸

On painted field. The fainting breezes played

Among the curling clusters of his hair;

Thro’ myrtle blooms and berries, white and red,

O’er the cool space of a pavilion, fair

As fond Ionian artist might devise:

Twelve columns, ivory white, support a dome,

Painted to emulate the dark blue skies,

When seamen watch the stars, and sigh, and think of
home.

IV

And, in the midst Night’s goddess (to the sight

More softly beauteous for a pictured moon

That mantles her, in pale mysterious light,)

Comes stealing to the arms of her Endymion.

V

On six fair pedestals, ranged two by two,

Like Leda’s sons, the smiling pillars stood;

As, each by either’s side, they rose to view,

Spotless from limpid bath, in some deep dusky wood,

Draining their dripping locks. In either space

Between, three lattices, with blossoms bowered,

Alternate with three pictured scenes had place;

And all who saw, believed some god empowered

The gifted hand that spread their tints. In one,

Far from the Grecian camp, his rage profound

Soothing, with lyre in hand, sat Thetis’ son;

Beside the ocean wave that darkly dashed around.

VI

Upon the next young Myrrha’s form appears;

Guilt, fear, repentance, blanch her cheek of love,

While, tender, beauteous, shuddering, drowned in tears,

She flies the day, and hides in Saba’s deepest grove.

VII

A peerless third the bride of Love displays,

Psyche, with lamp in hand; blest, while unknown

The cause that gave her bliss; now, daring rays

The mystery pierce, and all her pleasures flown.

VIII

Beneath that dome, reclined the youthful king,

Upon a silver couch;Open note 19Back to note ¹⁹ and soothed to mood

As free and soft as perfumes from the wing

Of bird that shook the jasmines as it wooed,Open note 20Back to note ²⁰

Its fitful song the mingling murmer meeting

Of marble founts of many a fair device;

And bees that banquet, from the sun retreating,

In every full, deep flower, that crowns his paradise.Open note Back to note

IX

While gemmy diadem thrown down beside,

And garment, at the neck plucked open, proved

His unconstraint, and scorn of regal pride,

When thus apart retired, he sat with those he loved.

X

One careless arm around the boy was flung,

Not undeserving of that free caress;

But warm and true, and of a heart and tongue

To heighten bliss or mitigate distress.

XI

Quick to perceive, in him no freedom rude

Reproved full confidence: friendship the meat

His soul had starved without, with gratitude

Was ta’en; and her rich wine crowned high the
banquet sweet.

What sire Altheëtor owned ’twere hard to trace;

A beautiful Ionian was his mother;

Some found to Sardius semblance, in his face,

Who never better could have loved a brother.

XII

But now the ivory battle at its close,

“Go to thy harp,” said Sardius, “’twere severe

To keep thee longer, thus;” then, as he rose,

“Where’s our ambassador? Call Meles here.”

XIIXIII

Altheëtor said: “Alas! my prince, the chase

Detains him long; and yet from peril sure

’Tis deemed he fares: nay, those there are who trace

His absence to some silvan paramour.”

XIV

“Let him be sought,” said Sardius.Open note 21Back to note ²¹ No delay

Mocked that command; but vestige, glimpse, nor
breath

Was gleaned, till, sadly, on the seventh day,

A band returned with tidings of his death.

XV

Sardius was sad upon his audience-seat.

Then spoke old Philomars: “Remember well,

O king! without the city, had retreat

Two of those captives of a race so fell,

Thy father and my lord would rid the earth,

Root, branch and bud, and gave the task to me;

But two escaped the sword, and so had birth

Another serpent. This, O prince! to thee

Was told; and to complete the work I craved;

But thou didst check my zeal, with angry mood,

And saidst, ‘If any trembling wretch be saved,

Let him live on; there’s been enough of blood.’

We’ve traced Lord Meles to that serpent’s den,

And seen him in the vile earth murdered lie;

Yet wherefore grieves the greatest king of men?

This only is the fruit of clemency.”

XVI

Then Sardius spoke, (as on the earth he cast,

While grief gave anger place, his full dark eye):

“Whoe’er has done this deed has done his last!

Soldier, priest, Jew, or Mede, by Belus he shall die.”

XVII

Then brought they Zorah in, misfortune’s pride,

His venerable locks with age were white;

He cheered his trembling partner, at his side,

Reposing on his God, befall him as it might.

XVII

Young Egla marked him stand so firm and pale;

Looked in her mother’s face—’twas anguish there;

Then gently threw aside her azure veil,

And in an upward glance sent forth to heaven a prayer.

XIX

Then prostrate thus: “Oh, monarch, seal my doom!

Thy sorrow for Lord Meles’ death I know;

Take then thy victim, drag me to his tomb,

And to his manes let my life-blood flow! Open note Back to note

XX

Oh! by the God who made yon glowing sun,

And warmed cold dust to beauty with his breath;

By all the good that e’er was caused or done,

Nor I, nor mine, have wrought thy subject’s death.

XXI

Yet think not I would live; alas! to me

No warrior of my country e’er shall come;

And forth with dance, and flowers, and minstrelsy,

I go to bid no brother welcome home.

XXII

Sad, from my birth, nay—born upon that day

When perished all my race, my infant ears

Were opened first with groans; and the first ray

I saw came dimly through my mother’s tears.

Pour forth my life, a guiltless offering

Most freely given! But let me die alone!

Destroy not those who gave me birth! oh, king!

I’ve blood enough: let it for all atone!”

XXIII

She traced it on her hand, through the soft skin

Meandering seen. Without, that hand was white

As drops for infant lip; the palm within

Faintly carnationed, as of Amphitrite,

The fond Ionians fancied the pure shell

Chosen by that loved goddess for a car,

While o’er her feet dissolving foam-wreaths fell

In kisses; so they dreamed, in little bark afar.

XXIV

Egla had ceased: her pure cheeks heightened glow;

Her white hands clasped; blue veil, half fallen down;

Fair locks and gushing tears, stole o’er him so,

That Sardius had not harmed her for his crown.

Yet, serious, thus fair justice’ course pursued:

As if to hide what look and tone revealed;

“What lured a Median to thy solitude?

How came his death; and who his corse concealed?”

XXV

’Twas thus she told her tale: “A truant dove

Had flown; I strayed a little from the track

That winds in mazes to my lonely grove,

But heard a hunter’s voice and hastened back.

XXVI

Lord Meles saw; and with a slender dart,

Fastened the little flutterer to a tree

By the white wing, with such surpassing art,

’Twas scarcely wounded when returned to me.Open note 22Back to note ²²

XXVII

Thankful I took; but taught to be afraid

Of stranger’s glance, retired: my mother sighed

And trembling saw; yet soon our dwelling’s shade

The Median sought, and claimed me for a bride.

XXVIII

But when reluctant to my humble room

I had retired, was spread a fragrance there,

Like rose and lotus shaken in their bloom;

And something came and spoke, and looked so fair,

XXIX

It seemed all fresh from heaven; but soon the thought

Of things that tempt to sorcery in the night

Made me afraid. It fled; and Meles sought

His bridal bed; the moon was shining bright;

XXX

I saw his bracelets gleam, and knew him well;

But, ere he spoke, was breathed a sound so dread,

That fear enchained my senses like a spell,

And when the morning came, my lord was dead.

XXXI

And then my mother, in her anxious care,

Concealed me in a cave, that long before

Saved her from massacre; and left me there,

To live in darkness, till the search was o’er

Her fears foretold. So, in that cavern’s gloom

Alone upon the damp bare rock I lay,

Like a deserted corse; but that cold tomb

Soon filled with rosy mists, like dawn of day,

Which, half dispersing, showed the same fair thing

I saw before; and with it came another,

More gentle than the first, and helped it bring

Fresh flowers and fruits, in semblance like a brother.

XXXII

They spread, upon the rock, a flowery couch;

And of a sparkling goblet bade me sip,—

For that they saw me cold; I dared not touch,

But, mid the sweet temptation, closed my lip;

And from their grateful warmth and looks so fair

I turned away and shrank. Of their intent,

I do not know to tell, or what they were—

But feared and doubted both; and when they went,

Fled trembling to my home; content to meet

The sternest death injustice might prepare,

Ere trust my weakness, in that dark retreat,

To such strange peril as assailed me there.”

XXXIII

She ceased: and now, in palace bade to stay,

Awaits the royal pleasure; but no more,

Though strictly watched and guarded, all the day,

To that stern warrior’s threats was given o’er,

Dark Philomars, strong in his country’s cause;

But harder than his battle-helm his heart;

Born while his father fought, and nurst in wars,

Pillage and fire his sports, to kill his only art.

XXXIV

And, when he sacked a city, he could tear

The screaming infant from its mother’s arms,

Dash it to earth; and, while ’twas weltering there

With demon grasp, impress her shuddering charms:

Then, as she faints with shrieks and struggles vain,

Coolly recall her with the ruffian blow;

And look, and pause, insatiate of her pain,

Then gash her tender throat, and see the life-blood
flow.

XXXV

Oh, Nature! can it be?—the thought alone

Chills the quick pulse: Belief retires afar;

Reason grows angry; Pity breathes a groan;

And each distrusts the truth: yet, “such things
are.”Open note Back to note

Are?—Nay, in this late age! God, canst thou view

Thine image so debased? The bard in grief

Thinks o’er the creed of fiends; sees what men do;

And, wondering, scarce rejects the wild belief.

XXXVI

Night came; and old Idaspes, all alone

With Sardius, had retired; but why so late

He wakes, with his white hairs, may not be known,

And still the captives tremble for their fate.

But when the old man went, that gentle boy

Altheëtor sat by his loved master’s couch;

And fervent pleadings for their lives employ

His lips that else had sung. The while his touch

XXXVII

Of late his harem tired; if suns were there

He did not burn, but sickened in their rays,

And snow white Egla, mild, and chaste, and fair,

Came o’er his fancy;Open note Back to note as in sultry days,

Soft clouds appear, when travellers bare the brow;

And faint and panting, bless the timely shade,

And breathe the cool refreshment; so e’en now

Refreshed his languid soul the softly-imaged maid.

XXXVIII

Or, as some youth waked from the vine’s excess,

Parched and impure forgets the joys it gave;

And flies the fair Bacchante’s wild caress,

For some lone Naiad’s grot, and cools him in the wave.

XXXIX

Or as some graceful fawn, o’erspent with play,

Faints in the beam, and where deep shades invite;

Flies, all impatient of the burning day,

And woos the lily’s shade to hide him from its light.

XL

So felt the king; nor sleeping quite nor waking,

As wildering o’er his lids the zephyrs sweep,

Whole beds of purple hyacinths forsaking;

And when sweet reverie gave place to sleep,

XLI

The smile of morning woke Idaspes’ care;

And Egla, dubious if its light might bring

Or weal or woe to her, was bid prepare

To sit at evening banquet with the king.

XLII

Then came an ancient dame, skilled in those arts,

Employed by beauty’s daughters to enchain,

Or lightly touch, the soft voluptuous hearts

Of youths that seem, as they, of curl and eyebrow vain.Open note 24Back to note ²⁴

XLIII

And pouring perfumes in the bath, she told

Wild tales of a Chaldean princess, loved

By the fair sprite Eroziel, who, of old,

Taught all those trims to heighten beauty, proved

By Lydian, Median, Perse, and Greek; with black

To tip the eye-lid; stain the finger; deck

The cheek with hues that languor bids it lack;Open note Back to note

And how he taught to twine the arms and neck

With wreaths of gems, or made or found by him,

Or his enamoured brothers, when they bore

Love for the like,Open note Back to note and many a secret dim

That nature would conceal, from charm’d recesses
tore.

XLIV

This story o’er, the dainty maids were fain

To take the white rose of her hand, and tip

Each taper finger with a ruddy stain,

To make it like the coral of her lip.

XLV

But Egla this refused them; and forbore

The folded turban twined with many a string

Of gems; and, as in tender memory, wore

Her country’s simpler garb, to meet the youthful king.

XLVI

Day o’er, the task was done; the melting hues

Of twilight gone, and reigned the evening gloom

Gently o’er fount and tower; she could refuse

No more; and, led by slaves, sought the fair banquetroom.

XLVII

With unassured yet graceful step advancing,

The light vermilion of her cheek more warm

For doubtful modesty; while all were glancing

Over the strange attire that well became such form.

XLVIII

To lend her space the admiring band gave way;

The sandals on her silvery feet were blue;

Of saffron tint her robe, as when young day

Spreads softly o’er the heavens, and tints the trembling
dew.

XLIX

Light was that robe, as mist; and not a gem

Or ornament impedes its wavy fold,

Long and profuse; save that, above its hem

’Twas ’broidered with pomegrante-wreath, in gold.

Arranged with curious skill to imitate

The sweet acacia’s blossoms; just as live

And droop those tender flowers in their natural state;

And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive;

And pendant, sometimes, touch her neck; and there

Seem shrinking from its softness as alive.

And round her arms flower-white, and round, and fair,

Slight bandelets were twined of colours five;Open note Back to note

Like little rainbows seemly on those arms;

None of the court had seen the like before;

Soft, fragrant, bright,—so much like heaven her charms,

It scarce could seem idolatry t’ adore.

LI

He who beheld her hand forgot her face;

Yet in that face was all beside forgot;

And he, who as she went, beheld her pace,

And locks profuse, had said, “nay, turn thee not.”

LII

Placed on a banquet-couch beside the king,

’Mid many a sparkling guest no eye forbore;

But, like their darts, the warrior-princes fling

Such looks as seemed to pierce, and scan her o’er and
o’er:

Nor met alone the glare of lip and eye—

Charms, but not rare:—the gazer stern and cool,

Who sought but faults, nor fault or spot could spy;

In every limb, joint, vein, the maid was beautiful.

LIII

Save that her lip, like some bud-bursting flower,

Just scorned the bounds of symmetry, perchance,

But by its rashness gained an added power;

Heightening perfection to luxuriance.Open note 25Back to note ²⁵

LIV

But that was only when she smiled, and when

Dissolved th’ intense expression of her eye;

And had her Spirit-love first seen her then

He had not doubted her mortality.

LV

And could she smile, for that a stranger hung

O’er her fair form, and spoke to her of love?—

Where is the youth who scorned a court, and sprung

Amid Euphrates’ waves, as told her in her grove?

Haply she did, and for awhile forgot

Those dark acacias, where so oft was wept

Her lone, uncertain, visionary lot;

Yet where an angel watched her as she slept.

LVI

When light, love, music, beauty, all dispense

Their wild commingling charms, who shall control

The gushing torrent of attracted sense,

And keep the forms of memory and of soul?

LVII

Oh! theme of rapture, honoured Constancy!

Invoked, hoped, sworn, but rare!—have we perchance

To thank the generous breast that nurtures thee

For thy dear life, when saved? or fate or circumstance?

LVIII

“Thy fragrant form, as the tall lily white,

Looks full and soft; yet supple as the reed

Kissing its image in the fountain light,

Or ostrich’ wavy plume.” So speaks the Mede;

While bending o’er her banquet-couch, he breathes

Her breath, whose fragrance woos that near advance;

Plays with her silken tresses’ wandering wreaths,

And looks, and looks again with renovated glance.

LIX

But, ever watchful, to his prince’s side

Came old Idaspes; he, alone, might dare

To check the rising transport, ere its tide

Arose too high to quell; —and thus, expressed his care,

Whispering in murmurs first: “At last, O king!

Thy subjects breathe; the cries of slaughter cease;

And happy labourers bless thee, as they bring

Forth from thy smiling fields, the fruits of peace.

Their wounds just healing over, wouldst thou rush

Upon thy doom and theirs? What bitter tears

Must flow, if thou shouldst fall! what blood must gush!

Wait, till the cause of Meles’ fate appears.

And ere this dangerous beauty be thy bride,

Let him who loves thee best come forth and prove

The peril first.” Alcestes rose beside,

And said, “Oh prince! to prove my faith and love,

I’ll dare as many deaths as on the sod

Without, the falling rose of leaves has strown!

And if bland Meles fell by rival god,

So let me fall; and live the pride of Media’s throne!”

LX

Egla, o’erwhelmed with shame, distaste, and fear,

Could, of remonstrance, utter not a breath;

Ere fixed Idaspes’ whisper met her ear:

“One word impassive seals thy father’s death.”

LXI

And while Alcestes’ bolder glances stray

O’er the fair trembler to his monarch dear;

Not one distrustful whispering came t’ allay

The sudden joy with slightest shade of fear;

A dark-hair’d priestess, well he knew, of late

Had Meles loved; and for the mystery

That hung so darkly o’er his early fate,

Looked for no deadlier cause than wounded jealousy.

LXII

And for the story of the cave, he deemed

That lone, and in the dark, the frightened maid

Had gained a respite from her tears, and dreamed;

Or haply framed the tale, but to evade

Some fear’d result. But, be it as it might,

The thoughtless king accedes; and, ere the day

Again had dawned, dead, ghastly to the sight,

Before his bridal door the tall Alcestes lay.

LXIII

So died the youth. But little might avail

His sacrifice; for Sardius, who forbore

His purpose but awhile, contemn’d the tale,

And madly spoke thus, ere the day was o’er:

LXIV

“Ask of Alcestes’ manes, did he dieOpen note 26Back to note ²⁶

By angry god or mortal’s traitorous hand?

Whoe’er will draw light to this mystery,

Shall live the captain of my choicest band.”

LXV

That promise claimed Ripheus; he desired

No dearer boon; yet haply panted, less

By maddening thought of love and beauty fired,

Than to a rival court to prove his fearlessness.

LXVI

He had grasp’d the wily Parthian in the fight;

Leapt on the wounded tiger in the chase;

And oft his mother, vain in her delight,

Boasted she owed him to a god’s embrace.Open note Back to note

LXVII

So he relied on that; and fickle chance

Conspired with the deceit, until his doom

Was rush’d upon. But still his bold advance

Some caution guarded; to the fatal room

He came; and first explored with trusty blade;

But soon as he approached the fatal bride,

Opened the terrace door, and, half in shade,

A form, as of a mortal, seem’d to glide;

LXVIII

He flew to strike, but baffling still the blow,

And still, receding from the chamber far,

It lured him on; and in the morning low

And bloody lay the form, which not a scar

Before had e’er defaced. Dismay profound

Gave place to doubt; for, as by mortal hand

And mortal weapon made, the wound was found,

And heard had been the clash that snapp’d his dinted
brand.

LXIX

Then came, with rage renewed, rough Philomars,

(For gentle bridegroom’s office most unmeet

Of all), and craved, in guerdon of his scars,

Permission to drag forth the deep deceit,

He charged upon the daughter of the Jew,

Whose life provoked his thirst; and pledged him, rife

With ancient hate, to bring her fraud to view,

Or pay the bold aspersion with his life.

LXX

Led from the bridal room a deep arcade,

And paths of flowers and fountains, often graced

With bathing beauty, now reflect the shade

Of warriors tall, and grim with helm and corselet
braced.

LXXI

They guard each pass, so that a bird in vain

An outlet to his airy rounds might seek;

And Philomars stalk’d o’er the floor, with pain

Stifling the rage which, yet, he dared not wreak.

And muttering ’twixt clench’d teeth, “At last, young
witch,

Ends thy career;” then he, with careful touch

Of his proved sword, examined every niche;

Then, to the bride approach’d, and would have pierced
her couch.

LXXII

Not Eva, lovelier than the tints of air,Open note Back to note

Crouching amid the leaves lest heaven should see

That form, all panting ’neath her yellow hair,Open note Back to note

E’er looked more fair, or trembled more than she.

LXXIII

But the pale blaze of every fragrant lamp

That moment died, as if a sudden gust

Of thick cold air, had gush’d from cavern damp;

And groping, in the darkness, vainly curst

And struggled Philomars. ’Twas his last breath

That Egla heard; the suffocating noise

Of the one lengthen’d pang that gave him death:

She swooned upon her couch, but might not know the
cause.

LXXIV

The young Rosanes came at early morn,

To view the corse, that lay in piteous case,

Grasping the sword its hand, at eve, had drawn;

The last fierce frown still stiff upon its face.

LXXV

And thus the youth (in dress of horseman dight):

“Art dead, old wolf? If ever, since his reign,

Pluto was grateful, take his thanks to night;

For who has sent down more to people his domain?

LXXVI

But prithee, soldier, when the nether coasts

Receive thy soul, less grim and angry be;

Lest the fair sun be clouded o’er with ghosts

That rush again to earth to ’scape the sight of thee!”

LXXVII

Rosanes, of the painted eyebrow, vain,

To gain report for wit and valour strove;

Rearing his Parthian courser on the plain,

And boasting, at the feast, of Naiad’s love.

LXXVIII

And round his neck an amulet he wore

Of many a gem in mystic mazes tied;Open note Back to note

And mad for much applause, not long forbore

To name his wishes for the dangerous bride.

LXXIX

Enough to tell, he shared the common fate

Of those whose rash adventurous zeal could dare

The spirit-guarded couch. But oh! thy state,

Altheëtor, generous boy! best claims the minstrel’s
care.

LXXX

When Media’s last king died, a tumult rose,

And all Idaspes’ prudence scarce procured

To keep the youthful Sardius from his foes;

And, ere his father’s throne was yet secured,

Upon a terrace while Altheëtor hung

About the prince, who carelessly carest,

A well-aimed arrow glanced; the stripling sprung,

Stood like a shield, and let it pierce his breast.

LXXXI

But sage Pithoës knew the healing good

Of every herb; he pluck’d the dart away;

And stopp’d the rich effusion of his blood

As at his monarch’s feet the boy exulting lay;

LXXXII

Drew forth from scrip, an antidotal balm;

And ere the venom through life’s streams could creep;

Bestowed for death’s convulsions dewy calm,

And steep’d each throbbing vein in salutary sleep.

LXXXIII

But now Altheëtor’s sick. The kindly draught,

The bath of bruised herbs were vainly tried;

While his young breath seem’d as it fain would waft

His soul away;—so piteously he sighed.

LXXXIV

Above his couch were hung his sword and lyre,

His polish’d bow, and javelin often proved

In the far chase, where once in faith and fire

He fared beside to guard and watch the prince he loved.

LXXXV

His fragrant locks, thrown backward from his brow,

Displayed its throbbing pulse: ah! how rebell’d

That heart, the seat of truth! Beside him now

One languid hand the good Pithoës held;

LXXXVI

And look’d, and thought, and bent his brow in vain;

Then in the sadness of his baffled skill,

Resign’d the boy to fate; then thought again,—

Was there no hidden cause for such consuming ill?

LXXXVII

Still o’er the couch he casts his gentle eyes,

And brought fresh balm; but all was unavailing.

Altheëtor faintly breathes his thanks, and sighs,

As if his guiltless life that moment were exhaling.

LXXXVIII

’Twas long he had not spoke; now heaved his breast,

And now, despite of shame, a tear was straying

From the closed, quivering lid. Some grief supprest,

Some secret care upon his life was preying.

LXXXIX

So came a glimpse across Pithoës’s thought;

And, in obedience to the doubt, he said,

“’Tis strange, Altheëtor, thou hast never aught

Ask’d, or express’d, of the fair captive maid,

For it was thou who forced the crowd to yield,

When she was rudely dragg’d, on audience day,

And gently loosed from Philomars’s shield,

A lock of her fair hair he else had torn away.

XC

Sardius believed and loved her, would have wed,

But old Idaspes, doubtful ’twas some god

That, amorous of her charms, laid Meles dead,

Awhile restrain’d the King, who saw, unawed,

The gay Alcestes, from her chamber fair

Thrown dead and black. Ripheus, too, lies low;

Old Philomars spoke his last curses there;

And young Rosanes ne’er his silver bow

Shall draw again; and yet the King is fix’d

In his resolve to wed; some power divine,

Envying our peace, impels; or she has mix’d,

By magic skill, some philtre with his wine.Open note Back to note

XCI

Or there’s in her blue eye some wicked light,Open note Back to note

That steadily allures him to his doom:

She’s bidden to the feast again to-night,

And good Idaspes’ countenance in gloom

Is fall’n:—in vain he strives;—his silver hairs

Rise with the anguish at his heart’s true core;

While the impatient, reckless Sardius swears

By Baal, whate’er betides, to wait but three days more.

XCII

Nor soldier, prince, or satrap, more appear

Vaunting their fealty firm with flattering breath,

But each speak low, as if some god were near,

In silent anger singling him for death.”

XCIII

Now o’er Altheëtor’s face what changes glisten’d

As ear and open lip drank every word;

He rais’d him from his couch, he looked, he listen’d,

Reviving—renovating—as he heard.

XCIV

O’er cheek and brow a lively red was rushing,

While half he felt his dark eye could not tell;

Then (spent the pang of hope) cold dews were gushing

From brow again turned pale. He droop’d—he fell

Faint on his pillow. Unsurprised and calm

Soon to restore the good Pithoës knew;

He saw what fever raged, and knew its balm;

Spoke comfort to his charge; and for awhile withdrew.

XCV

What in his breast revolved, I cannot tell;

To seek Idaspes’ aid his steps were bent;

And when ’twas midnight, as by sudden spell

Restored, to bridal room Altheëtor went.

XCVI

Touching his golden harp to prelude sweet

Entered the youth, so pensive, pale, and fair;

Advanced respectful to the virgin’s feet,

And, lowly bending down, made tuneful parlance
there.

XCVII

Like perfume soft his gentle accents rose,

And sweetly thrill’d the gilded roof along;

His warm devoted soul no terror knows,

And truth and love lend fervour to his song.

XCVIII

She hides her face upon her couch, that there

She may not see him die. No groan; she springs

Frantic between a hope-beam and despair,

And twines her long hair round him as he sings.Open note Back to note

XCIX

Then thus:—“Oh! Being! who unseen but near

Art hovering now, behold and pity me!

For love, hope, beauty, music,—all that’s dear,

Look,—look on me,—and spare my agony!

C

Spirit! in mercy, make me not the cause,

The hateful cause, of this kind being’s death!

In pity kill me first!—He lives—he draws—

Thou wilt not blast?—he draws his harmless breath.”

CI

Still lives Altheëtor;—still unguarded strays

One hand o’er his fall’n lyre; but all his soul

Is lost,—given up; he fain would turn to gaze,

But cannot turn, so twined. Now, all that stole

Through every vein, and thrilled each separate nerve,

Himself could not have told,—all wound and clasped

In her white arms and hair. Ah! can they serve

To save him?—“What a sea of sweets!”—he gasped,

But ’twas delight:—sound, fragrance, all were breathing.

Still swell’d the transport, “Let me look and thank:”

He sigh’d (celestial smiles his lip enwreathing),

“I die—but ask no more,” he said and sank,

Still by her arms supported—lower—lower—

As by soft sleep oppress’d;—so calm, so fair—

He rested on the purple tap’stried floor,

It seemed an angel lay reposing there.

CII

Egla bent o’er him, in amaze;—awhile

Thank’d God, the Spirit, and her stars (so much

Like life his gently closing lids and smile);—

Then felt upon his heart. Ah! to that touch

Responds no quivering pulse:—’tis past. Then burst

Her grief thus from her inmost heart, that bleeds:—

“Nay finish! fiend, unpitying and accurst!

Finish, and rid me too, of life, and of thy deeds!”

CIII

She hid her face in both her hands; and when,

At length, look’d out, a form was bending o’er

The good, the beauteous boy. With piteous ken

It sought her eye, but still to speak forbore.

CIV

A deep unutterable anguish kept

The silence long;—then from his inmost breast

The Spirit spoke, “Oh! were I him so wept,

Daughter of the earth, I tell thee I were blest:

CV

Couldst thou conceive but half the pain I bear,

Or agent of what good I would fain be,

I had not added to my deep despair

And heavy curse, another curse—from thee.

CVI

I’ve loved the youth; since first to this vile court

I followed thee, from the deserted cave;—

I saw him—in thy arms—and did not hurt;

What could I more?—alas! I could not save!

CVII

He died of love; or the o’erperfect joy

Of being pitied,—prayed for,—prest by thee.—Open note Back to note

Oh! for the fate of that devoted boy

I’d sell my birth-right to eternity.

CVIII

I’m not the cause of this thy last distress.

Nay! look upon thy Spirit ere he flies!

Look on me, once, and learn to hate me less!”

He said: and tears fell fast from his immortal eyes.

CIX

Her looks were on the corse: no more he said;

Deeper the darkness grew: ’twas near the dawn;

And chilled and sorrowing through the air he sped,

And in Hircania’s deepest shades, ere morn,

Was hidden ’mid the leaves. Low moan’d the blast,

And chilly mists obscured the rising sun;

So bitter were his tears, that, where he past,

Was blighted every flower that they fell upon.

CX

Wild was the place, but wilder his despair:

Low shaggy rocks that o’er deep caverns scowl

Echo his groans: the tigress, in her lair,

Starts at the sound, and answers with a growl.

CXI

The day wore on; the tide of transport through,

He listened to the forest’s murmuring sound;

Until his grief alleviation drew,

From the according horrors that surround.

CXII

And thus, at length his plaintive lip expressed

The mitigated pang; ’tis sometimes so

When grief meets genius in the mortal breast,

And words, most deeply sweet, betray subsided woe.

CXIII

“Thou’rt gone, Altheëtor; of thy gentle breath

Guiltless am I, but bear the penalty!

Oh! is there one to whom thine early death

Can cause the sorrow it has caused to me?

CXIV

Cold, cold, and hush’d, is that fond, faithful breast;

Oh! of the breath of God too much was there!

It swelled, aspired, it could not be compressed—

But gained a bliss frail nature could not bear.Open note Back to note

XXVCXV

Oh! good and true beyond thy mortal birth!

What high-soul’d angel helped in forming thee?

Haply thou wert what I had been, if earth

Had been the element composing me.

CXVI

Banish’d from heaven so long, what there transpires,

This weary exiled ear may rarely meet.

But it is whispered that the unquelled desires

Another spirit for each forfeit seat,

Left vacant by our fall.Open note Back to note That spirit placed

In mortal form, must every trial bear,

Midst all that can pollute; and, if defaced

But by one stain, it may not enter there.

CXVIII

And when, long wandering from his blissful height,

One like to thee some quick-eyed spirit views,

He springs to heaven, more radiant from delight,

And heaven’s blue domes ring loud with rapture at
the news.

CXIX

Yet oft the being, by all heaven beloved,

(So doubtful every good, in world like this;)

Some fiend corrupts ere ripe to be removed:

And tears are seen in eyes made but to float in bliss.

CXX

Thou’lt take perchance, Altheëtor, (who so pure,

That may if thou mayst not?) mid the bright throng,

My high, my forfeit place; love would secure

Its prize; so kill’d thee, ere below too long.

CXXI

Decay shall ne’er thy perfect form defile,

Nor hungry flame consume. In dews I’ll steep

Thy limbs; and thou shalt look upon the pile

As gentle as a maiden, fallen asleep

’Mid musings of ideal bliss; and making

Of her wild hopes, lit up by fancy’s beam,

A fairer lover than may woo her waking;

Blest to her wish alone in soft ecstatic dream.

CXXII

And I will steal thee, when the perfumes riseOpen note 27Back to note ²⁷

Around the cassia wood in smoky wave;

I’ll shroud thee in a mist from mortal eyes,

And gently lay thee in some sparry cave

Of Paros; there, seek out some kindly Gnome

And see him (’mid his lamps of airy light),

By wonderous process, done in earth’s dark womb,

Change thee, smile, lip, hair, all, to marble pure and
white.

CXXIII

Oh! my loved Hyacinth! when as a god

I hurled the disk; and from thy hapless head

The pure sweet blood made flowers upon the sod;Open note Back to note

’Twas thus I wept thee! beautiful but dead,

Like all I’ve loved. Oriel, false fiend, thy breathOpen note 28Back to note ²⁸

Guided my weapon: come! most happy thou

If my pain please: I mourn another death:

Come, with thy insect wings, I’ll hear thy mockery
now.

CXXIV

Thou didst not change his breath to purple flowers:

Thy poisonous breath can blight but not create!

Thou canst but hover o’er Phraërion’s bowers,

And claim of men the honours of his state.

CXXV

Thou kill’st my Hyacinth; but yet a beam

Of comfort still was mine: I saw preserved

His beauty all entire; and gave a gleam

Of him to a young burning Greek;—so served

Thy crime a worthy cause; for long inspired,

With a consuming wish, that Grecian’s heart,

Lost to repose, so caught what it desired;

And soon the chiseled stone glowed with a wondrous
art.”Open note 29Back to note ²⁹

CXXVI

While thus, the now half-solaced Zóphiël brings

Food to his soul, past o’er his gloomier mood:

He shakes his ringlets, spreads his pinions, springs

From that rude seat, and leaves the mazy wood.

CXXVII

That morn o’er Ecbatane rose pale and slow;

Thick lingering night-damps clog the morning’s breath

And veil’d the sun that rose with bloody glow,

As if great nature’s heart bled for the recent death.

CXXVIII

White-haired Idaspes from the fatal room

Bade his own slaves love’s loveliest victim bring,

Fresh, fair, but cold;—and in that lurid gloom

Set forth the funeral couch, and show’d him to the king.

CXXIX

And drew away the tunic from the scar

Seen on his cold white breast;—“And is it thou?”—

He said, “when treachery wings her darts afar,

What faithful heart will be presented now!

CXXX

Alas! alas! that ever these old eyes

Should see Altheëtor thus! where is there one,

When lowly in the earth Idaspes lies,

Will love and guard his prince as thou hast done?”

CXXXI

Sardius believed he slept; but undeceived,

Soon as he found that faithful heart was cold,

He turned away his radiant brow and grieved,

And, at that moment, freely would have sold

CXXXII

The diadem, that from his locks he tore,

For that one life. Idaspes watched his mood,

And (ere that first fierce burst of grief was o’er—

While lost Altheëtor’s every pulse) pursued

With guardian skill, the kindly deep design,

He probed the king’s light changeful heart; and gained

A promise that the maid of Palestine,

Until twelve moons had o’er his garden waned,

Should live in banishment from court. So sent

To muse, in peace, upon her unknown love

(So long announced) dejected Egla went

With all her house; and seeks her own acacia
grove.Open note Back to note

I

’Tis now the hour of mirth, the hour of love,

The hour of melancholy: Night, as vain

Of her full beauty, seems to pause above,

That all may look upon her ere it wane.

II

The heavenly angel watched his subject starOpen note Back to note

O’er all that’s good and fair benignly smiling;

The sighs of wounded love he hears, from far;

Weeps that he cannot heal, and wafts a hope
beguiling.

III

The nether earth looks beauteous as a gem;

High o’er her groves in floods of moonlight laving,

The towering palm displays his silver stem,Open note 32Back to note ³²

The while his plumy leaves scarce in the breeze are
waving.

IV

The nightingale among his roses sleeps;

The soft-eyed doe in thicket deep is sleeping;

The dark green myrrh her tears of fragrance weeps,Open note Back to note

And, every odorous spikeOpen note 33Back to note ³³ in limpid dew is steeping.

V

Proud prickly cerea, now thy blossom ’scapes

Its cell;Open note Back to note brief cup of light; and seems to say,

“I am not for gross mortals: blood of grapes—

And sleep for them! Come spirits, while ye may!”

VI

A silent stream winds darkly through the shade,

And slowly gains the Tigris, where ’tis lost;

By a forgotten prince, of old, ’twas made,Open note 34Back to note ³⁴

And, in its course, full many a fragment crost

Of marble fairly carved; and by its side

Her golden dust the flaunting lotos threw

O’er her white sisters, throned upon the tide,

And queen of every flower that loves perpetual
dew.

VII

Gold-sprinkling lotos, theme of many a song

By slender Indian warbled to his fair!

Still tastes the stream thy rosy kiss, though long

Has been but dust the hand that placed thee there.Open note 35Back to note ³⁵

VIII

The little temple where its relics rest

Long since has fallen, its broken columns lie

Beneath the lucid wave, and give its breast

A whitened glimmer as ’tis stealing by.

IX

Here, cerea, too, thy clasping mazes twineOpen note 36Back to note ³⁶

The only pillar time has left erect;

Thy serpent arms embrace it, as ’twere thine,

And roughly mock the beam it should reflect.

X

An ancient prince, in happy madness blest,

Was wont to wander to this spot; and deem’d

A water nymph came to him, and carest

And loved him well; haply he only dream’d;

But on the spot a little dome arose

And flowers were set that still in wilderness bloom;

And the cold ashes that were him, repose,

Carefully shrined in this lone ivory tomb.

XI

It is a place so strangely wild and sweet,

That spirits love to come; and now, upon

A moonlight fragment, ZophiëlZóphiël chose his seat,

In converse close with soft Phraërion;

XII

Who, on the moss, beside him lies reclining,

O’erstrewn with leaves, from full-blown roses shaken,

By nightingales, that on their branches twining,

The live-long night to love and music waken.

XIII

Phaërion, gentle sprite! nor force nor fire

He had to wake in others doubt or fear:

He’d hear a tale of bliss, and not aspire

To taste himself; ’twas meet for his compeer.

XIV

No soul-creative in this being born,

Its restless, daring, fond, aspirings hid:

Within the vortex of rebellion drawn,

He joined the shining ranks as others did.

XV

Success but little had advanced; defeat,

He thought so little, scarce, to him, were worse;

And, as he’d held, in heaven, inferior seat,

Less was his bliss, and lighter was his curse.

XVI

He formed no plans for happiness: content

To curl the tendril, fold the bud; his pain

So light, he scarcely felt his banishment.

ZophiëlZóphiël, perchance, had held him in disdain;

But, form’d for friendship, from his o’erfraught soul

’Twas such relief his burning thoughts to pour

In other ears, that, oft the strong control

Of pride he felt them burst, and could restrain no
more.

ZophiëlZóphiël was soft, but yet all flame; by turns

Love, grief, remorse, shame, pity, jealousy,

Each boundless in his breast, impels or burns:

His joy was bliss, his pain was agony.

And mild Phraërion was of heaven, and there,

Nothing imperfect in its kind can be:

There every form is fresh, soft, bright, and fair,

Yet differing each, with that variety,

Not least of miracles, which here we trace;

And wonder and admire the cause that form’d

So like, and yet so different every face,

Though of the self-same clay by the same process
warm’d.

XVII

“Order is heaven’s first law.” But that obeyed,

The planets fixed, the Eternal mind at leisure;

A vast profusion spread o’er all it made,

As if in endless change were found eternal pleasure.

XVIII

Harmless Phraërion form’d to dwell on high,

Retain’d the looks that had been his above;

And his harmonious lip and sweet blue eye

Sooth’d the fallen seraph’s heart, and changed his
scorn to love,

Who, when he saw him in some garden pleasant,

Happy, because too little thought had he

To place, in contrast, past delight with present,

Had given his soul of fire for that inanity.

XIX

But oh! in him the Eternal had infused

The restless soul that doth itself devour,

Unless it can create; and fallen, misused,

But forms the vast design to mourn the feeble power.

XX

In plenitude of love, the Power benign

Nearer itself some beings fain would lift;

To share its joys, assist its vast design

With high intelligence; oh, dangerous gift!Open note Back to note

XXI

Superior passion, knowledge, force, and fire,

The glorious creatures took; but each the slave

Of his own strength, soon burnt with wild desire,

And basely turn’d it ’gainst the hand that gave.

XXII

But Zóphiël, fallen sufferer, now no more

Thought of the past; the aspiring voice was mute

That urged him on to meet his doom before,

And all dissolved to love each varied attribute.

XXIII

“Come, my Phraërion, give me an embrace,”

He said. “I hope a respite of repose,

Like that respiring from thy sunny face;

Even the peace thy guileless bosom knows.

XXIV

Rememberest thou that cave of Tigris, where

We went with fruits and flowers and meteor light,

And the fair creature, on the damp rock, there

Shivering and trembling so? Ah! well she might!

False were my words, infernal my intent;

Then, as I knelt before her feet and sued;

Yet, still she blooms, uninjured, innocent,

Though now, for seven long months,Open note 37Back to note ³⁷ by Zóphiël
watched and wooed.

XXV

Gentle Phraëion, ’tis for her I crave

Assistance: what I could have blighted then,

’Tis now my only care to guard and save;

Companion, then, my airy flight again.

XXVI

Conduct me to those hoards of sweets and dews,

Treasured in haunts to all but thee unknown,

For favorite sprites: teach me their power and use,

And whatsoe’er thou wilt, of Zóphiël, be it done!

XXVII

Throughout fair Ecbatane the deeds I’ve wrought

Have cast such dread, that of all Sardius’ train

I doubt if there be one, from tent or court,

Who’ll try what ’tis to thwart a Spirit’s love again.

XXVIII

My Egla, left in her acacia grove,

Has learnt to lay aside that piteous fear

That sorrow’d thee; and I but live to prove

A love for her as harmless as sincere.

XXIX

Inspirer of the arts of Greece, I charm

Her ear with songs she never heard before;

And many an hour of thoughtfulness disarm

With stories cull’d from that vague, wondrous
lore,

But seldom told to mortals;—arts on gems

Inscribed that still exist; but hidden so

From fear of those who told that diadems

Have pass’d from brows that vainly ached to know: Open note Back to note

Nor glimpse had mortal, save that those fair things

Loved, ages past, like her I now adore,

Caught from their Angels some low whisperings,

Then told of them to such as dared not tell them more;

But toil’d in lonely nooks far from the eye

Of shuddering, longing men; then, buried deep,

Till distant ages bade their secrets lie,

In hopes that time might tell what their dread oaths
must keep.

XXX

Egla looks on me doubtful but amused;

Admires, but trembling, dares not bid me stay;

Yet hour by hour her timid heart, more used,

Grows to my sight and words; and when a day

I leave her, for my needful cares, at leisure

To muse upon and feel her lonely state;

At my returning, though restrain’d her pleasure,

There needs no Spirit’s eye to see she does not hate.

XXXI

Oft have I look’d in mortal hearts, to know

How love, by slow advances, knows to twine

Each fibre with his wreaths; then overthrow

At once each stern resolve. The maiden’s mine!

Yet have I never press’d her ermine hand,

Nor touch’d the living coral of her lip;

Though listening to its tones, so sweet, so bland,

I’ve thought—oh, impious thought!—who form’d
might sip!

XXXII

Most impious thought! Soul, I would rein thee in

E’en as the quick-eyed Parthian quells his steeds;

But thou wilt start, and rise, and plunge in sin,

Till gratitude weeps out, and wounded reason bleeds!

XXXIII

Soul, what a mystery thou art! not one

Admires, or loves, or worships virtue more

Than I; but passion hurls me on, till torn

By keen remorse, I cool, to curse me and deplore.

XXXIV

But to my theme. Now, in the stilly night,

I hover o’er her fragrant couch, and sprinkle

Sweet dews about her, as she slumbers light,

Dews sought, with toil, beneath the pale star’s twinkle,

From plants of secret virtue. All for lust

Too high and pure my bliss; her gentle breath

I hear, inhale, then weep; (for oh! she must:

That form is mortal, and must sleep in death.)

XXXV

And oft, when nature pants, and the thick air,

Charged with foul particles, weighs sluggish o’er

I breathe them all; that deep disgust I bear

To leave a fluid pure and sane for her.

XXXVI

How dear is this employ! how innocent!

My soul’s wild elements forbear their strife;

While, on these harmless cares, pleased and intent,

I hope to save her beauty and her life,

For many a rapturous year. But mortal ne’er

Shall hold her to his heart! to me confined,

Her soul must glow; nor ever shall she bear

That mortal fruit for which her form’s designed.

XXXVII

Nor grosser blood, commingling with her own,

Shall ever make her mother. Oh! that mild

Sad glance I love—that lip—that melting tone

Shall ne’er be given to any mortal’s child.

XXXVIII

But only for her Spirit shall she live;

Unsoil’d by earth, fresh, chaste, and innocent!

And all a Spirit dares or can I’ll give;

And sure I thus can make her far more blest,

Framed as she is, than mortal love could do;

For more than mortal’s to this creature given,

She’s Spirit more than half; her beauty’s hue

Is of the sky, and speaks my native heaven.

XXXIX

But! the night wanes! while all is bright above,

He said, and round Phraërion, nearer drawn,

One beauteous arm he flung, first to my love;

We’ll see her safe; then, to our task till dawn.”

XL

’Tis often thus with Spirits: when retired

Afar from haunts of men; so they delight

To move in their own beauteous forms attired;

Though like thin shades or air they mock dull
mortals’ sight.Open note Back to note

XLI

Well pleased Phraërion answered that embrace;

All balmy he with thousand breathing sweets

From thousand dewy flowers. “But to what place,

He said, will Zóphiël go? who danger greets

As if t’were peace. The Palace of the Gnome,

Tahathyam,Open note Back to note for our purpose most were meet;