Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran
With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan :

But oh that light!-I slumber'd - Death, the while, Stole o'er my senses in that lovely isle

So softly that no single silken hair

Awoke that slept - or knew that he was there.

"The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon
Was a proud temple call'd the Parthenon *
More beauty clung around her column'd wall
Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal,†
And when old Time my wing did disenthral
Thence sprang I as the eagle from his tower,
And years I left behind me in an hour.
What time upon her airy bounds I hung
One half the garden of her globe was flung
Unrolling as a chart unto my view —
Tenantless cities of the desert too!
Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then,
And half I wish'd to be again of men."

"My Angelo! and why of them to be?
A brighter dwelling place is here for thee-
And greener fields than in yon world above,
And woman's loveliness and passionate love."

* It was entire in 1687 - the most elevated spot in Athens.

† Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows

Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love. — - Marlowe.

[ocr errors]

'But, list, Ianthe ! when the air so soft

Fail'd, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft,*
Perhaps my brain grew dizzy - but the world

I left so late was into chaos hurl'd—

Sprang from her station, on the winds apart,
And roll'd, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart.
Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar,
not swiftly as I rose before,

And fell

But with a downward, tremulous motion thro'
Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto !
Nor long the measure of my falling hours.
For nearest of all stars was thine to ours

Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth,
A red Dædalion on the timid Earth.

"We came
and to thy Earth but not to us
Be given our lady's bidding to discuss :
We came, my love; around, above, below,
Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go,
Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod
She grants to us, as granted by her God
But, Angelo, than thine gray Time unfurl'd
Never his fairy wing o'er fairer world!
Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes
Alone could see the phantom in the skies,

* Pennon for pinion. Milton.

When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be
Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea
But when its glory swell'd upon the sky,
As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye,
We paus'd before the heritage of men,
And thy star trembled

as doth Beauty then!"

Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away

[day.

The night that waned and waned and brought no They fell for Heaven to them no hope imparts Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.

TO THE RIVER

AIR river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,

Thou art an emblem of the glow

Of beauty

the unhidden heart

The playful maziness of art

In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks
Which glistens then, and trembles ---
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks

Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies-

His heart which trembles at the beam

Of her soul-searching eyes.

K

TAMERLANE.

IND solace in a dying hour!

Such, father, is not (now) my theme
I will not madly deem that power

Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
Unearthly pride hath revell'd in —
I have no time to dote or dream :
You call it hope that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:

[blocks in formation]

Its fount is holier

more divineI would not call thee fool, old man,

But such is not a gift of thinę.

Know thou the secret of a spirit

Bow'd from its wild pride into shame.
O yearning heart! I did inherit

Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
Amid the jewels of my throne,
Halo of Hell! and with a pain
Not Hell shall make me fear again —
O craving heart, for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours!
The undying voice of that dead time,
With its interminable chime,

Rings, in the spirit of a spell,
Upon thy emptiness—a knell.

I have not always been as now:
The fever'd diadem on my brow

I claim'd and won usurpingly -
Hath not the same fierce heirdom given
Rome to the Cæsar- this to me?
The heritage of a kingly mind,
And a proud spirit which hath striven
Triumphantly with human kind.

On mountain soil I first drew life:

The mists of the Taglay have shed
Nightly their dews upon my head,
And, I believe, the winged strife
And tumult of the headlong air
Have nestled in my very hair.

So late from Heaven that dew it fell

('Mid dreams of an unholy night)

Upon me with the touch of Hell,

While the red flashing of the light
From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er,
Appeared to my half-closing eye
The pageantry of monarchy,
And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling
Of human battle, where my voice,

My own voice, silly child!

was swelling

(O! how my spirit would rejoice,

And leap within me at the cry)

The battle-cry of Victory!

« AnteriorContinuar »