Now while the earth was drinking it, and while [pile, Bay-leaves were crackling in the fragrant And gummy frankincense was sparkling bright [light 'Neath smothering parsley, and a hazy Spread greyly eastward, thus a chorus sang: "O thou whose mighty palace roof doth hang From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness; And through whole solemn hours dost sit, The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth; [turtles Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, oh! where Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair? Not oat-sheaves drooping in the western sun; Not-thy soft hand, fair sister! let me shun Such follying before thee-yet she had, Indeed, locks bright enough to make me mad; [braided, And they were simply gordianed up and Leaving, in naked comeliness, unshaded Her pearl-round ears, white neck, and orbed brow; [how, The which were blended in, I know not With such a Paradise of lips and eyes, Blush tinted cheeks, half-smiles, and faintest sighs, [clings That, when I think thereon, my spirit From out her cradle shell. The wind out- She took an airy range, And then, towards me, like a very maid Came blushing, waning, willing, and afraid, And pressed me by the hand. Ah! 'twas too much; Methought I fainted at the charmed touch. SLEEP. O MAGIC sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hushed and smooth! Ounconfined Restraint! imprisoned liberty! great key To golden palaces, strange minstrelsy, Fountains grotesque, new trees, bespangled caves, Echoing grottoes, full of tumbling waves And moonlight; ay, to all the mazy world Of silvery enchantment !--who, upfurled Beneath thy drowsy wing a triple hour, But renovates and lives? CAST ASLEEP. AFTER a thousand mazes overgone, At last, with sudden step, he came upon A chamber, myrtle walled, embowered high, Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy, And more of beautiful and strange beside: For on a silken couch of rosy pride, In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth, Than sighs could fathom or contentment reach: And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach, Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds- Rained violets upon his sleeping eyes. And all the headlong torrents far and near, The misery his brilliance had betrayed He uttered, while his hands contemplative REJOICE, O Delos, with thine olives green, And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech, [song, In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest And hazels thick, dark-stemmed beneath the shade; Apollo is once more the golden theme! Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er The fallen leaves when I have sat alone In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced The rustle of those ample skirts about These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers Lift up their heads, as still the whisper passed. Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before, And their eternal calm, and all that face, Or I have dreamed."-"Yes," said the supreme shape, [up, "Thou hast dreamed of me; and awaking Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side, Whose strings touched by thy fingers, all the vast Unwearied ear of the whole universe Listened in pain and pleasure at the birth Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not strange [me, youth, That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell What sorrow thou canst feel: for I am sad When thou dost shed a tear; explain thy griefs To one who in this lonely isle hath been The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life, From the young day when first thy infant hand [arm Plucked witless the weak flowers, till thine Could bend that bow heroic to all times. Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones For prophecies of thee, and for the sake Of loveliness new born."-Apollo then With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes, Thus answered, while his white melodious throat Throbbed with the syllables: "Mnemosyne ! Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how; Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest? [thy lips Why should I strive to show what from Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark, And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes: [less air Feel cursed and thwarted, when the liegeYields to my step aspirant? why should I Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet? Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing: Are there not other regions than this isle? What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun! And the most patient brilliance of the moon! [the way And stars by thousands! Point me out To any one particular beauteous star, And I will flit into it with my lyre, [bliss. And make its silvery splendour pant with I have heard the cloudy thunder. Where is power? Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne. Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush All the immortal fairness of his limbs; Die into life: so young Apollo anguished; And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air The soul of her beauty and love lay bare; And the wand-like lily, which lifted up, As a Mænad, its moonlight-coloured cup, Till the fiery star, which is its eye, [sky; Gazed through clear dew on the tender And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows; And all rare blossoms from every clime Grew in that garden in perfect prime. When Heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them, As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun; For each one was interpenetrated With the light and the odour its neighbour shed, [make dear Like young lovers whom youth and love Wrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere. [small fruit But the Sensitive Plant, which could give Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, [ever, Received more than all, it loved more than Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver, [flower; For the Sensitive Plant has no bright The light winds which from unsustaining wings Shed the music of many murmurings; The beams which dart from many a star The plumed insects swift and free, The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie The quivering vapours of dim noontide, Which like a sea o'er the warm earth glide, In which every sound, and odour, and beam, Move, as reeds in a single stream; Each and all like ministering angels were For the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear, Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by Like windless clouds o'er a tender sky. And when evening descended from Heaven above, [all love, And the Earth was all rest, and the air was And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, And the day's veil fell from the world of sleep, And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned In an ocean of dreams without a sound; Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress [ness; The light sand which paves it, conscious (Only overhead the sweet nightingale Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail, And snatches of its Elysian chant Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant.) The Sensitive Plant was the earliest Up-gathered into the bosom of rest; A sweet child weary of its delight, The feeblest and yet the favourite, Cradled within the embrace of night. There was a Power in this sweet place, Was as God is to the starry scheme. A Lady, the wonder of her kind, |