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Was traced, and then it faded, as it came.
And he who had so loved her was not there
loved, Nor ould he be a part of that which prey'd Upon her mind a spectre of the past.
A change came o'er the spirit of my
dream. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The Wanderer was return'd. - I saw him The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the
Before an Altar with a gentle bride; Of fiery climes he made himself a home, Her face was fair, but was not that which And his Soul drank their sunbeams: he was
The Starlight of his Boyhood; - as he stood With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came Himself like what he had been; on the sea The selfsame aspect, and the quivering And on the shore he was a wanderer;
150 There was a mass of many images
That in the antique Oratory shook Crowded like waves upon me, but he was His bosom in its solitude; and then — A part of all; and in the last he lay
As in that hour a moment o'er his face Reposing from the noontide sultriness, The tablet of unutterable thoughts Couchd among fallen columns, in the shade Was traced — and then it faded as it came, Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke Of those who rear'd them; by his sleeping The fitting vows, but heard not his own side
words, Stood camels grazing, and some goodly And all things reel'd around him; he could
steeds Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a Not that which was, nor that which should
have been Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, But the old mansion, and the accustom'd While many of his tribe slumber'd around: hall, And they were canopied by the blue sky, And the remember'd chambers, and the So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
place, That God alone was to be seen in Heaven. The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the
All things pertaining to that place and hour, A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And her who was his destiny, came back The Lady of his love was wed with One And thrust themselves between him and Who did not love her better: - in her
the light: home,
What business had they there at such a A thousand leagues from his, her native
time ? home, She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy, 130 Daughters and sons of Beauty, – but be- A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. hold!
The Lady of his love; -Oh! she was Upon her face there was the tint of grief,
changed, The settled shadow of an inward strife, As by the sickness of the soul; her mind And an unquiet drooping of the eye, Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
eyes What could her grief be ? — she had all | They had not their own lustre, but the look she loved,
Which is not of the earth; she was become
queen of a fantastic realm; her
thoughts Were combinations of disjointed things; And forms, impalpable and unperceived Of others' sight, familiar were to hers. And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise Have a far deeper madness, and the glance Of melancholy is a fearful gift: What is it but the telescope of truth, Which strips the distance of its fantasies, And brings life near in utter nakedness, Making the cold reality too real ?
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,
many men, And made him friends of mountains: with
the stars And the quick Spirit of the Universe He held his dialogues; and they did teach To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was open’d wide, And voices from the deep abyss reveald 200 A marvel and a secret
Be it so.
"THE HARP THE MONARCH
[These stanzas were written on returning from a ball-room, where he had seen Lady Wilmot Horton, who appeared in mourning with numerous spangles on her dress.] She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The King of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given, Redoubled be her tears, its chords are
riven ! It soften'd men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own;
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear; Will this unteach us to complain ? Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's Or make one mourner weep the less ? spear:
And thou who tell'st me to forget, How long by tyrants shall thy land be Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
trod ! How long thy temple worshipless, O God !
• MY SOUL IS DARK"
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death !
Disdain'd to sink beneath:
Thy spirit on our breath!
Shall be the battle-word !
From virgin voices pour'd !
Thou shalt not be deplored.
From lips that moved not and unbreathing
frame, Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents
Why is my sleep disquieted ?
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS
WARRIORS and chiefs ! should the shaft or
the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in
your path: Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
* ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE the foe,
PREACHER' Stretch me that moment in blood at thy FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, feet!
And health and youth possess'd me; Mine be the doom which they dared not to
My goblets blush'd from every vine, meet.
And lovely forms caress'd me; Farewell to others, but never we part,
I sunnd my heart in beauty's eyes, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart !
And felt my soul grow tender; Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.
I strive to number o'er what days
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there rolld no hour Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Of pleasure unembitter'd;
That gall’d not while it glitter'd.
And spells, is won from harming; Light changed its hue, retiring from his But that which coils around the heart, shroud.
Oh! who hath power of charming ? Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; It will not list to wisdom's lore, His hand was wither'd, and his veins were Nor music's voice can lure it; dry;
But there it stings for evermore His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, The soul that must endure it. Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare; SEAHAM, 1815.