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diff --git a/16601.txt b/16601.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d9aa9b --- /dev/null +++ b/16601.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2926 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Death-Wake, by Thomas T Stoddart + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Death-Wake + or Lunacy; a Necromaunt in Three Chimeras + +Author: Thomas T Stoddart + +Commentator: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: August 27, 2005 [EBook #16601] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEATH-WAKE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + THE DEATH-WAKE + OR LUNACY + + A NECROMAUNT + IN THREE CHIMERAS + + + BY THOMAS T. STODDART + + + WITH AN INTRODUCTION + BY ANDREW LANG + + + + Is't like that lead contains her?... + It were too gross + To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. + + SHAKESPEARE + + + + + LONDON: JOHN LANE + CHICAGO: WAY & WILLIAMS + 1895 + + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO +THE DEATH-WAKE + + + + + +_Piscatori Piscator_ + + + + _An angler to an angler here, + To one who longed not for the bays, + I bring a little gift and dear, + A line of love, a word of praise, + A common memory of the ways, + By Elibank and Yair that lead; + Of all the burns, from all the braes, + That yield their tribute to the Tweed. + + His boyhood found the waters clean, + His age deplored them, foul with dye; + But purple hills, and copses green, + And these old towers he wandered by, + Still to the simple strains reply + Of his pure unrepining reed, + Who lies where he was fain to lie, + Like Scott, within the sound of Tweed._ + + A.L. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The extreme rarity of _The Death-Wake_ is a reason for its +republication, which may or may not be approved of by collectors. Of +the original edition the Author says that more than seventy copies +were sold in the first week of publication, but thereafter the +publisher failed in business. Mr. Stoddart recovered the sheets of his +poem, and his cook gradually, and perhaps not injudiciously, expended +them for domestic purposes. + +Apart from its rarity, _The Death-Wake_ has an interest of its own for +curious amateurs of poetry. The year of its composition (1830) was the +great year of _Romanticisme_ in France, the year of _Hernani_, and of +Gautier's _gilet rouge_. In France it was a literary age given to +mediaeval extravagance, to the dagger and the bowl, the cloak and +sword, the mad monk and the were-wolf; the age of Petrus Borel and +MacKeat, as well as of Dumas and Hugo. Now the official poetry of our +country was untouched by and ignorant of the virtues and excesses of +1830. Wordsworth's bolt was practically shot; Sir Walter was ending +his glorious career; Shelley and Byron and Keats were dead, and the +_annus mirabilis_ of Coleridge was long gone by. Three young poets of +the English-speaking race were producing their volumes, destined at +first to temporary neglect. The year 1830 was the year of Mr. +Tennyson's _Poems, chiefly Lyrical_, his first book, not counting +_Poems by Two Brothers_. It was also the year of Mr. Browning's +_Pauline_ (rarer even than _The Death-Wake_); and it was the year +which followed the second, and perhaps the most characteristic, +poetical venture of Edgar Allan Poe. In Mr. Tennyson's early lyrics, +and in Mr. Poe's, any capable judge must have recognised new notes of +romance. Their accents are fresh and strange, their imaginations dwell +in untrodden regions. Untouched by the French romantic poets, they yet +unconsciously reply to their notes, as if some influence in the mental +air were at work on both sides of the Channel, on both sides of the +Atlantic. Now, in my opinion, this indefinite influence was also +making itself felt, faintly and dimly, in Scotland. _The Death-Wake_ +is the work of a lad who certainly had read Keats, Coleridge and +Shelley, but who is no imitator of these great poets. He has, in a few +passages, and at his best, an accent original, distinct, strangely +musical, and really replete with promise. He has a fresh unborrowed +melody and mastery of words, the first indispensable sign of a true +poet. His rhymed heroic verse is no more the rhymed heroic verse of +_Endymion_, than it is that of Mr. Pope, or of Mr. William Morris. He +is a new master of the old instrument. + +His mood is that of Scott when Scott was young, and was so anxious to +possess a death's head and cross-bones. The malady is "most incident" +to youth, but Mr. Stoddart wears his rue with a difference. The mad +monkish lover of the dead nun Agathe has hit on precisely the sort of +fantasy which was about to inspire Theophile Gautier's _Comedie de la +Mort_, or the later author of _Gaspard de la Nuit_, or Edgar Poe. +There is here no "criticism of life;" it is a criticism of strange +death; and, so far, may recall Beddoes's _Death's Jest-Book_, +unpublished, of course, in 1830. Naturally this kind of poetry is +"useless," as Mr. Ruskin says about Coleridge, but, in its _bizarre_ +way, it may be beautiful. + +The author, by a curious analogy with Theophile Gautier, was, in these +days, a humourist as well as a poet. In the midst of his mad fancies +and rare melodies he is laughing at himself, as Theophile mocked at +_Les Jeunes France_. The psychological position is, therefore, one of +the rarest. Mr. Stoddart was, first of all and before all, a hardy and +enthusiastic angler. Between 1830 and 1840 he wrote a few beautiful +angling songs, and then all the poetry of his character merged itself +in an ardent love of Nature: of hill, loch and stream--above all, of +Tweed, the fairest of waters, which he lived to see a sink of +pollution. After 1831 we have no more romanticism from Mr. Stoddart. +The wind, blowing where it listeth, struck on him as on an AEolian +harp, and "an uncertain warbling made," in the true Romantic manner. +He did write a piece with the alluring name of _Ajalon of the Winds_, +but not one line of it survives. The rest is not silence, indeed, for, +in addition to his lays of trout and salmon, of Tweed and Teviot, Mr. +Stoddart wrote a good deal of prose, and a good deal of perfectly +common and uninspired verse. The Muse, which was undeniably with him +for an hour, abandoned him, or he deserted her, being content to whip +the waters of Tweed, and Meggat, and Yarrow. Perhaps unfavourable and +unappreciative criticism, acting on a healthy and contented nature, +drove him back into the common paths of men. Whatever the cause, the +_Death-Wake_ alone (save for a few angling songs) remains to give +assurance of a poet "who died young." It is needless to rewrite the +biography, excellently done, in _Angling Songs_, by Miss Stoddart, the +poet's daughter (Blackwoods, Edinburgh, 1889). Mr. Stoddart was born +on St. Valentine's Day 1810, in Argyll Square, Edinburgh, nearly on +the site of the Kirk of Field, where Darnley was murdered. He came of +an old Border family. Miss Stoddart tells a painful tale of an aged +Miss Helen who burned family papers because she thought she was +bewitched by the seals and decorated initials. Similar follies are +reported of a living old lady, on whose hearth, after a night of +destruction, was once found the impression of a seal of Mary of +Modena. I could give only too good a guess at the _provenance_ of +_those_ papers, but nobody can interfere. Beyond 1500 the family +memories rely on tradition. The ancestors owned lands in the Forest of +Ettrick, and Williamhope, on the Tweed hard by Ashestiel. On the +Glenkinnon burn, celebrated by Scott, they hid the prophets of the +Covenant "by fifties in a cave." One Williamhope is said to have been +out at Drumclog, or, perhaps, Bothwell Brig. This laird, of enormous +strength, was called the Beetle of Yarrow, and was a friend of Murray +of Philiphaugh. His son, in the Fifteen, was out on the Hanoverian +side, which was _not_ in favour with the author of _The Death-Wake_. +He married a daughter of Veitch of The Glen, now the property of Sir +Charles Tennant. In the next generation but one, the Stoddarts sold +their lands and took to commerce, while the poet's father won great +distinction in the Navy. The great-great-grandfather of the poet +married a Miss Muir of Anniston, the family called cousins (on which +side of the blanket I know not) with Robert II. of Scotland, and, by +another line, were as near as in the sixth degree of James III. + +As a schoolboy, Mr. Stoddart was always rhyming of goblin, ghost, +fairy, and all Sir Walter's themes. At Edinburgh University he was a +pupil of Christopher North (John Wilson), who pooh-poohed _The +Death-Wake_ in _Blackwood_. He also knew Aytoun, Professor Ferrier, De +Quincey, Hartley Coleridge, and Hogg, and was one of the first guests +of Tibbie Sheils, on the spit of land between St. Mary's and the Loch +of the Lowes. In verses of this period (1827) Miss Stoddart detects +traces of Keats and Byron, but the lines quoted are much better in +_technique_ than Byron usually wrote. + +The summer of 1830 Mr. Stoddart passed in Hogg's company on Yarrow, +and early in 1831 he published _The Death-Wake_. There is no trace of +James Hogg in the poem, which, to my mind, is perfectly original. +Wilson places it "between the weakest of Shelley and the strongest of +Barry Cornwall." It is really nothing but a breath of the spirit of +romance, touching an instrument not wholly out of tune, but never to +be touched again. + +It is unnecessary to follow Mr. Stoddart through a long and happy life +of angling and of literary leisure. He only blossomed once. His poem +was plagiarised and inserted in _Graham's Magazine_, by a person named +Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro (vol. xx.). Mr. Ingram, the biographer of +Edgar Poe, observes that Poe praised the piece while he was exposing +Tasistro's "barefaced robbery." + +The copy of _The Death-Wake_ from which this edition is printed was +once the property of Mr. Aytoun, author of _Lays of the Scottish +Cavaliers_, and, I presume, of _Ta Phairshon_. Mr. Aytoun has written +a prefatory sonnet which will be found in its proper place, a set of +rhymes on the flyleaf at the end, and various cheerful but unfeeling +notes. After some hesitation I do not print these frivolities. + +The copy was most generously presented to me by Professor Knight of +St. Andrews, and I have only seen one other example, which I in turn +contributed to fill the vacant place in the shelves of Mr. Knight. His +example, however, is far the more curious of the twain, by virtue of +Aytoun's annotations. + +I had been wanting to see _The Death-Wake_ ever since, as a boy, I +read the unkind review of it in an ancient volume of _Blackwood's +Magazine_. In its "pure purple mantle" of glazed cloth, with paper +label, it is an unaffectedly neat and well-printed little volume. + +It would be unbecoming and impertinent to point out to any one who has +an ear for verse, the charm of such lines as-- + + "A murmur far and far, of those that stirred + Within the great encampment of the sea." + +Or-- + + "A love-winged seraph glides in glory by, + Striking the tent of its mortality." + +(An idea anticipated by the as yet unknown Omar Khayyam). + +Or-- + + "Dost thou, in thy vigil, hail + Arcturus in his chariot pale, + Leading him with a fiery flight + Over the hollow hill of night?" + +These are wonderful verses for a lad of twenty-one, living among +anglers, undergraduates, and, if with some society of the lettered, +apparently with none which could appreciate or applaud him. + +For the matter of the poem, the wild voyage of the mad monkish lover +with the dead Bride of Heaven, it strikes, of course, on the common +reef of the Romantic--the ridiculous. But the recurring contrasts of a +pure, clear peace in sea and sky, are of rare and atoning beauty. Such +a passage is-- + + "And the great ocean, like a holy hall, + Where slept a seraph host maritimal, + Was gorgeous with wings of diamond." + +Once more, when the mad monk tells the sea-waves + + "That ye have power and passion, and a sound + As of the flying of an angel round, + The mighty world, that ye are one with Time," + +we recognise genuine imagination. + +A sympathetic reader of _The Death-Wake_ would perhaps have expected +the leprosies and lunacies to drop off, and the genius, purged of its +accidents, to move into a pure transparency. The abnormal, the +monstrous, the boyish elements should have been burned away in the +fire of the genius of poetry. But the Muses did not so will it, and +the mystic wind of the spirit of song became of less moment to Mr. +Stoddart than the breeze on the loch that stirs the trout to feed. +Perhaps his life was none the less happy and fortunate. Of the many +brilliant men whom he knew intimately--Wilson, Aytoun, Ferrier, +Glassford Bell, and others--perhaps none, not even Hogg, recognised +the grace of the Muse which (in my poor opinion) Mr. Stoddart +possessed. His character was not in the least degree soured by neglect +or fretted by banter. Not to over-estimate oneself is a virtue very +rare among poets, and certainly does not lead to public triumphs. +Modesty is apt to accompany the sense of humour which alleviates +life, while it is an almost insuperable bar to success. + +Mr. Stoddart died on November 22nd, 1880. His last walk was to Kelso +Bridge "to look at the Tweed," which now murmurs by his grave the +self-same song that it sings beside Sir Walter's tomb in Dryburgh +Abbey. We leave his poem to the judgment of students of poetry, and to +him we say his own farewell-- + + Sorrow, sorrow speed away + To our angler's quiet mound, + With the old pilgrim, twilight grey, + Enter thou the holy ground. + + There he sleeps, whose heart was twined + With wild stream and wandering burn, + Wooer of the western wind, + Watcher of the April morn. + +A.L. + + + + +THE DEATH-WAKE + +OR LUNACY + + + + +_Sonnet to the Author_ + + _O wormy Thomas Stoddart who inheritest + Rich thoughts and loathsome, nauseous words, & rare! + Tell me, my friend, why is it that thou ferretest + And gropest in each death-corrupted lair? + Seek'st thou for maggots, such as have affinity + With those in thine own brain? or dost thou think + That all is sweet which hath a horrid stink? + Why dost thou make Hautgout thy sole divinity? + Here is enough of genius to convert + Vile dung to precious diamonds, and to spare, + Then why transform the diamond into dirt, + And change thy mind w^h. sh^d. be rich & fair + Into a medley of creations foul, + As if a Seraph would become a Goul?_ + + _W.E.A._ + +_1834_ + + + + +CHIMERA I + + + An anthem of a sister choristry! + And like a windward murmur of the sea, + O'er silver shells, so solemnly it falls! + A dying music shrouded in deep walls, + That bury its wild breathings! And the moon, + Of glow-worm hue, like virgin in sad swoon, + Lies coldly on the bosom of a cloud, + Until the elf-winds, that are wailing loud, + Do minister unto her sickly trance, + Fanning the life into her countenance; + And there are pale stars sparkling, far and few + In the deep chasms of everlasting blue, + Unmarshall'd and ungather'd, one and one, + Like outposts of the lunar garrison. + + A train of holy fathers windeth by + The arches of an aged sanctuary, + With cowl, and scapular, and rosary + On to the sainted oriel, where stood, + By the rich altar, a fair sisterhood-- + A weeping group of virgins! one or two + Bent forward to a bier, of solemn hue, + Whereon a bright and stately coffin lay, + With its black pall flung over:--Agathe + Was on the lid--a name. And who?--No more! + 'Twas only Agathe. + + 'Tis o'er, 'tis o'er,-- + Her burial! and, under the arcades, + Torch after torch into the moonlight fades; + And there is heard the music, a brief while, + Over the roofings of the imaged aisle, + From the deep organ panting out its last, + Like the slow dying of an autumn blast. + + A lonely monk is loitering within + The dusky area, at the altar seen, + Like a pale spirit kneeling in the light + Of the cold moon, that looketh wan and white + Through the deviced oriel; and he lays + His hands upon his bosom, with a gaze + To the chill earth. He had the youthful look + Which heartfelt woe had wasted, and he shook + At every gust of the unholy breeze, + That enter'd through the time-worn crevices. + + A score of summers only o'er his brow + Had pass'd--and it was summer, even now, + The one-and-twentieth--from a birth of tears, + Over a waste of melancholy years! + And _that_ brow was as wan as if it were + Of snowy marble, and the raven hair + That would have cluster'd over, was all shorn, + And his fine features stricken pale as morn. + + He kiss'd a golden crucifix that hung + Around his neck, and in a transport flung + Himself upon the earth, and said, and said + Wild, raving words, about the blessed dead: + And then he rose, and in the moonshade stood, + Gazing upon its light in solitude; + And smote his brow, at some idea wild + That came across: then, weeping like a child, + He falter'd out the name of Agathe; + And look'd unto the heaven inquiringly, + And the pure stars. + + "Oh shame! that ye are met, + To mock me, like old memories, that yet + Break in upon the golden dream I knew, + While she--_she_ lived: and I have said adieu + To that fair one, and to her sister Peace, + That lieth in her grave. When wilt thou cease + To feed upon my quiet!--thou Despair! + That art the mad usurper, and the heir, + Of this heart's heritage! Go, go--return, + And bring me back oblivion, and an urn! + And ye, pale stars, may look, and only find, + The wreck of a proud tree, that lets the wind + Count o'er its blighted boughs; for such was he + That loved, and loves, the silent Agathe!" + And he hath left the sanctuary, like one + That knew not his own purpose--The red sun + Rose early over incense of bright mist, + That girdled a pure sky of amethyst. + And who was he? A monk. And those who knew + Yclept him Julio; but they were few: + And others named him as a nameless one,-- + A dark, sad-hearted being, who had none + But bitter feelings, and a cast of sadness, + That fed the wildest of all curses--madness! + + But he was, what _none_ knew, of lordly line, + That fought in the far land of Palestine, + Where, under banners of the cross, they fell, + Smote by the armies of the infidel. + And Julio was the last; alone, alone! + A sad, unfriended orphan, that had gone + Into the world, to murmur and to die, + Like the cold breezes that are passing by! + + And few they were that bade him to their board; + His fortunes now were over, and the sword + Of his proud ancestry dishonour'd--left + To moulder in its sheath--a hated gift! + + Ay! it was so; and Julio had fain + Have been a warrior; but his very brain + Grew fever'd at the sickly thought of death, + And to be stricken with a want of breath!-- + To be the food of worms--inanimate, + And cold as winter,--and as desolate! + And then to waste away, and be no more + Than the dark dust!--The thought was like a sore + That gather'd in his heart; and he would say,-- + "A curse be on their laurels!" and decay + Came over them; the deeds that they had done + Had fallen with their fortunes; and anon + Was Julio forgotten, and his line-- + No wonder for this frenzied tale of mine! + + Oh! he was wearied of this passing scene! + But loved not death: his purpose was between + Life and the grave; and it would vibrate there, + Like a wild bird that floated far and fair + Betwixt the sun and sea! + + He went, and came, + And thought, and slept, and still awoke the same,-- + A strange, strange youth; and he would look all night + Upon the moon and stars, and count the flight + Of the sea waves, and let the evening wind + Play with his raven tresses, or would bind + Grottoes of birch, wherein to sit and sing: + And peasant girls would find him sauntering, + To gaze upon their features, as they met, + In laughter, under some green arboret. + + At last, he became monk, and, on his knees, + Said holy prayers, and with wild penances + Made sad atonement; and the solemn whim, + That, like a shadow, loiter'd over him, + Wore off, even like a shadow. He was cursed + With none of the mad thoughts that were at first + The poison of his quiet; but he grew + To love the world and its wild laughter too, + As he had known before; and wish'd again + To join the very mirth he hated then! + + He durst not break the vow--he durst not be + The one he would--and his heart's harmony + Became a tide of sorrow. Even so, + He felt hope die,--in madness and in woe! + But there came one--and a most lovely one + As ever to the warm light of the sun + Threw back her tresses,--a fair sister girl, + With a brow changing between snow and pearl, + And the blue eyes of sadness, fill'd with dew + Of tears,--like Heaven's own melancholy blue,-- + So beautiful, so tender; and her form + Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm, + Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow-- + Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow + Their brightness from the sun; but she was bright + In her own self,--a mystery of light! + With feelings tender as a star's own hue, + Pure as the morning star! as true, as true; + For it will glitter in each early sky, + And her first love be love that lasteth aye! + + And this was Agathe, young Agathe, + A motherless, fair girl: and many a day + She wept for her lost parent. It was sad + To see her infant sorrow; how she bade + The flow of her wild spirits fall away + To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day + Melting into a shower: and it was sad + Almost to think she might again be glad, + Her beauty was so chaste, amid the fall + Of her bright tears. Yet, in her father's hall, + She had lived almost sorrowless her days: + But he felt no affection for the gaze + Of his fair girl; and when she fondly smiled, + He bade no father's welcome to the child, + But even told his wish, and will'd it done, + For her to be sad-hearted--and a nun! + + And so it was. She took the dreary veil, + A hopeless girl! and the bright flush grew pale + Upon her cheek: she felt, as summer feels + The winds of autumn and the winter chills, + That darken his fair suns.--It was away, + Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathe! + + The vesper prayers were said, and the last hymn + Sung to the Holy Virgin. In the dim, + Gray aisle was heard a solitary tread, + As of one musing sadly on the dead-- + 'Twas Julio; it was his wont to be + Often alone within the sanctuary; + But now, not so--another: it was she! + Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint + Before a crucifix; but sad and faint + The tone of her devotion, as the trill + Of a moss-burden'd, melancholy rill. + + And Julio stood before her;--'twas as yet + The hour of the pale twilight--and they met + Each other's gaze, till either seem'd the hue + Of deepest crimson; but the ladye threw + Her veil above her features, and stole by + Like a bright cloud, with sadness and a sigh! + + Yet Julio still stood gazing and alone, + A dreamer!--"Is the sister ladye gone?" + He started at the silence of the air + That slumber'd over him--she is not there. + + And either slept not through the live-long night, + Or slept in fitful trances, with a bright, + Fair dream upon their eyelids: but they rose + In sorrow from the pallet of repose; + For the dark thought of their sad destiny + Came o'er them, like a chasm of the deep sea, + That was to rend their fortunes; and at eve + They met again, but, silent, took their leave, + As they did yesterday: another night, + And neither spake awhile--A pure delight + Had chasten'd love's first blushes: silently + Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathe-- + At length, "Fair Nun!"--She started, and held fast + Her bright hand on her lip--"the past, the past, + And the pale future! There be some that lie + Under those marble urns--I know not why, + But I were better in that only calm, + Than be as I have been, perhaps, and am. + The past!--ay! it hath perish'd; never, never, + Would I recall it to be blest for ever: + The future it must come--I have a vow"-- + And his cold hand rose trembling to his brow. + "True, true, I have a vow. Is not the moon + Abroad, fair Nun?"--"Indeed! so very soon?" + Said Agathe, and "I must then away."-- + "Stay, love! 'tis early yet; stay, angel, stay!" + But she was gone:--yet they met many a time + In the lone chapel, after vesper chime-- + They met in love and fear. + + One weary day, + And Julio saw not his loved Agathe; + She was not in the choir of sisterhood + That sang the evening anthem, and he stood + Like one that listen'd breathlessly awhile; + But stranger voices chanted through the aisle. + She was not there; and, after all were gone, + He linger'd: the stars came--he linger'd on, + Like a dark fun'ral image on the tomb + Of a lost hope. He felt a world of gloom + Upon his heart--a solitude--a chill. + The pale morn rose, and still, he linger'd still. + And the next vesper toll'd; nor yet, nor yet-- + "Can Agathe be faithless, and forget?" + + It was the third sad eve, he heard it said, + "Poor Julio! thy Agathe is dead," + And started. He had loiter'd in the train + That bore her to the grave: he saw her lain + In the cold earth, and heard a requiem + Sung over her--To him it was a dream! + A marble stone stood by the sepulchre; + He look'd, and saw, and started--she was there! + And Agathe had died; she that was bright-- + She that was in her beauty! a cold blight + Fell over the young blossom of her brow. + And the life-blood grew chill--She is not, now. + + She died, like zephyr falling amid flowers! + Like to a star within the twilight hours + Of morning--and she was not! Some have thought + The Lady Abbess gave her a mad draught, + That stole into her heart, and sadly rent + The fine chords of that holy instrument, + Until its music falter'd fast away, + And she--she died,--the lovely Agathe! + + Again, and through the arras of the gloom + Are the pale breezes moaning: by her tomb + Bends Julio, like a phantom, and his eye + Is fallen, as the moon-borne tides, that lie + At ebb within the sea. Oh! he is wan, + As winter skies are wan, like ages gone, + And stars unseen for paleness; it is cast, + As foliage in the raving of the blast, + All his fair bloom of thoughts! Is the moon chill, + That in the dark clouds she is mantled still? + And over its proud arch hath Heaven flung + A scarf of darkness? Agathe was young! + And there should be the virgin silver there, + The snow-white fringes delicately fair! + + He wields a heavy mattock in his hands, + And over him a lonely lanthorn stands + On a near niche, shedding a sickly fall + Of light upon a marble pedestal, + Whereon is chisel'd rudely, the essay + Of untaught tool, "Hic jacet Agathe!" + And Julio hath bent him down in speed, + Like one that doeth an unholy deed. + + There is a flagstone lieth heavily + Over the ladye's grave; I wist of three + That bore it, of a blessed verity! + But he hath lifted it in his pure madness, + As it were lightsome as a summer gladness, + And from the carved niche hath ta'en the lamp, + And hung it by the marble flagstone damp. + + And he is flinging the dark, chilly mould + Over the gorgeous pavement: 'tis a cold, + Sad grave, and there is many a relic there + Of chalky bones, which, in the wasting air, + Fell smouldering away; and he would dash + His mattock through them, with a cursed clash, + That made the lone aisle echo. But anon + He fell upon a skull,--a haggard one, + With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye + Revolving darkness, like eternity-- + And in his hand he held it, till it grew + To have the fleshy features and the hue + Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became + Like to his Agathe--all, all the same! + He drew it nearer,--the cold, bony thing!-- + To kiss the worm-wet lips. "Ay! let me cling-- + Cling to thee now, for ever!" but a breath + Of rank corruption from its jaws of death + Went to his nostrils, and he madly laugh'd, + And dash'd it over on the altar shaft, + Which the new risen moon, in her gray light, + Had fondly flooded, beautifully bright! + + Again he went + To his wild work, beside the monument. + "Ha! leave, thou moon! where thy footfall hath been + In sorrow amid heaven! there is sin + Under thy shadow, lying like a dew; + So come thou, from thy awful arch of blue, + Where thou art even as a silver throne + For some pale spectre-king; come thou alone, + Or bring a solitary orphan star + Under thy wings! afar, afar, afar, + To gaze upon this girl of radiancy, + In her deep slumbers--Wake thee, Agathe!" + + And Julio hath stolen the dark chest + Where the fair nun lay coffin'd, in the rest + That wakes not up at morning: she is there, + An image of cold calm! One tress of hair + Lingereth lonely on her snowy brow; + But the bright eyes are closed in darkness now; + And their long lashes delicately rest + On the pale cheek, like sun-rays in the west, + That fall upon a colourless, sad cloud. + Humility lies rudely on the proud, + But she was never proud; and there she is, + A yet unwither'd flower the autumn breeze + Hath blown from its green stem! 'T is pale, 't is pale, + But still unfaded, like the twilight veil + That falleth after sunset; like a stream + That bears the burden of a silver gleam + Upon its waters; and is even so,-- + Chill, melancholy, lustreless, and low! + + Beauty in death! a tenderness upon + The rude and silent relics, where alone + Sat the destroyer! Beauty on the dead! + The look of being where the breath is fled! + The unwarming sun still joyous in its light! + A time--a time without a day or night! + Death cradled upon Beauty, like a bee + Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly!-- + Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness, + Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness! + + And there she is; and Julio bends o'er + The sleeping girl,--a willow on the shore + Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its far bough + Into the bitter waters,--even now + Taking a foretaste of the awful trance + That was to pass on his own countenance! + + Yes! yes! and he is holding his pale lips + Over her brow; the shade of an eclipse + Is passing to his heart, and to his eye, + That is not tearful; but the light will die, + Leaving it like a moon within a mist,-- + The vision of a spell-bound visionist! + + He breathed a cold kiss on her ashy cheek, + That left no trace--no flush--no crimson streak, + But was as bloodless as a marble stone, + Susceptible of silent waste alone. + And on her brow a crucifix he laid-- + A jewel'd crucifix, the virgin maid + Had given him before she died. The moon + Shed light upon her visage--clouded soon, + Then briefly breaking from its airy veil, + Like warrior lifting up his aventayle. + + But Julio gazed on, and never lifted + Himself to see the broken clouds, that drifted + One after one, like infant elves at play + Amid the night-winds, in their lonely way-- + Some whistling and some moaning, some asleep, + And dreaming dismal dreams, and sighing deep + Over their couches of green moss and flowers, + And solitary fern, and heather bowers. + + The heavy bell toll'd two, and, as it toll'd, + Julio started, and the fresh-turn'd mould + He flung into the empty chasm with speed, + And o'er it dropt the flagstone. One could read + That Agathe lay there; but still the girl + Lay by him, like a precious and pale pearl, + That from the deep sea-waters had been rent-- + Like a star fallen from the firmament! + He hides the grave-tools in an aged porch, + To westward of the solitary church; + And he hath clasp'd around the melting waist + The beautiful, dead girl: his cheek is press'd + To hers--Life warming the cold chill of Death! + And over his pale palsy breathing breath + His eye is sunk upon her--"Thou must leave + The worm to waste for love of thee, and grieve + Without thee, as I may not. Thou must go, + My sweet betrothed, with me--but not below, + Where there is darkness, dream, and solitude, + But where is light, and life, and one to brood + Above thee till thou wakest--Ha! I fear + Thou wilt not wake for ever, sleeping here, + Where there are none but winds to visit thee, + And convent fathers, and a choristry + Of sisters, saying, 'Hush!'--But I will sing + Rare songs to thy pure spirit, wandering + Down on the dews to hear me; I will tune + The instrument of the ethereal moon, + And all the choir of stars, to rise and fall + In harmony and beauty musical." + + He is away--and still the sickly lamp + Is burning next the altar; there's a damp, + Thin mould upon the pavement; and, at morn, + The monks do cross them in their blessed scorn + And mutter deep anathemas, because + Of the unholy sacrilege, that was + Within the sainted chapel,--for they guess'd, + By many a vestige sad, how the dark rest + Of Agathe was broken,--and anon + They sought for Julio. The summer sun + Arose and and set, with his imperial disc + Toward the ocean-waters, heaving brisk + Before the winds,--but Julio came never: + He that was frantic as a foaming river-- + Mad as the fall of leaves upon the tide + Of a great tempest, that have fought and died + Along the forest ramparts, and doth still + In its death-struggle desperately reel + Round with the fallen foliage--he was gone, + And none knew whither. Still were chanted on + Sad masses, by pale sisters, many a day, + And holy requiems sung for Agathe! + + + + +CHIMERA II + + + A curse! a curse! the beautiful pale wing + Of a sea-bird was worn with wandering, + And, on a sunny rock beside the shore, + It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er; + And they were heaving a brown amber flow + Of weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below. + + It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hall + Of heaven rose up on pillars magical + Of living silver, shafting the fair sky + Between dark time and great eternity. + They rose upon their pedestal of sun, + A line of snowy columns! and anon + Were lost in the rich tracery of cloud + That hung along, magnificently proud, + Predicting the pure star-light, that beyond + The east was armouring in diamond + About the camp of twilight, and was soon + To marshal under the fair champion moon, + That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist, + Toward her citadel of amethyst. + + A curse! a curse! a lonely man is there + By the deep waters, with a burden fair + Clasp'd in his wearied arms--'Tis he; 'tis he + The brain-struck Julio, and Agathe! + His cowl is back--flung back upon the breeze, + His lofty brow is haggard with disease, + As if a wild libation had been pour'd + Of lightning on those temples, and they shower'd + A dismal perspiration, like a rain, + Shook by the thunder and the hurricane! + + He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed, + Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste, + The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild, + Strange words, about a mother, and no child. + "And I shall wed thee, Agathe! although + Ours be no God-blest bridal--even so!" + And from the sand he took a silver shell, + That had been wasted by the fall and swell + Of many a moon-borne tide into a ring-- + A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing, + Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died, + In ages far away. "Thou art a bride, + Sweet Agathe! Wake up; we must not linger." + He press'd the ring upon her chilly finger, + And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone, + Shouted, "Pale priest! thou liest all alone + Upon thy ocean altar, rise away + To our glad bridal!" and its wings of gray + All lazily it spread, and hover'd by + With a wild shriek--a melancholy cry! + Then swooping slowly o'er the heaving breast + Of the blue ocean, vanish'd in the west. + + And Julio is chanting to his bride, + A merry song of his wild heart, that died + On the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea, + All rustling in their beauty gladsomely. + + +SONG + + A rosary of stars, love! we'll count them as we go + Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below, + And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea, + In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee! + + A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide, + And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide! + And we'll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen, + With shells of silver sown in radiancy between. + + A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be, + Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea; + Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go, + Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below! + + He lifted the dead girl, and is away + To where a light boat, in its moorings lay, + Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hush + Of the nurse waters. With a frantic rush + O'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped, + And through the shoaling waves that fell and fled + Upon the furrow'd beach. + + The snowy sail + Is hoisted to the gladly gushing gale, + That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breast + Of silver, looking lovely to the west; + And at the helm there sits the wither'd one, + Gazing and gazing on the sister nun, + With her fair tresses floating on his knee-- + The beautiful, death-stricken Agathe! + + Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stood + Out toward the great heaving solitude, + That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breath + Went through its lungs, of agony and death! + + The sun is lost within the labyrinth + Of clouds of purple and pale hyacinth, + That are the frontlet of the sister Sky + Kissing her brother Ocean; and they lie + Bathing in blushes, till the rival queen + Night, with her starry tiar, floateth in-- + A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth draw + Over the light of love a shade of awe + Most strange, that parts our wonder not the less + Between her mystery and loveliness! + + And she is there, that is a pyramid + Whereon the stars, the statues of the dead, + Are imaged over the eternal hall, + A group of radiances majestical! + And Julio looks up, and there they be, + And Agathe, and all the waste of Sea, + That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroud + Of night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proud + Amid its azure pulses; and again + He dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strain + Of mirth upon the ladye:--Agathe! + Sweet bride! be thou a queen, and I will lay + A crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow; + And I will twine these tresses, that are now + Floating beside me, to a diadem; + And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem, + And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queen + Of the unpeopled waters, sadly seen + By star-light, till the yet unrisen moon + Issue, unveiled, from her anderoon, + To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say, + "Hail--hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathe!" + + The warrior world was lifting to the bent + Of his eternal brow magnificent, + The fiery moon, that in her blazonry + Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea + Felt fever on his azure arteries, + That shadow'd them with crimson, while the breeze + Fell faster on the solitary sail. + But the red moon grew loftier and pale, + And the great ocean, like the holy hall, + Where slept a seraph host maritimal, + Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond + Fann'd over it, and millions beyond + Of tiny waves were playing to and fro, + All musical, with an incessant flow + Of cadences, innumerably heard + Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird, + That held a solemn paean to the moon. + + A few devotional fair clouds were soon + Breathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven, + And under the great galaxies were driven + Of stars that group'd together, and they went + Like voyagers along the firmament, + And grew to silver in the blessed light + Of the moon alchymist. It was not night, + Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'er + The eye-lid like a curse, but far before + In splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom, + In many a myriad gushes, that do come + Direct from the eternal stars beyond, + Like holy fountains pouring diamond! + + A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail! + And be not bending to thy trances pale. + But he is gazing on the moonlit brow + Of his dead Agathe, and fondly now, + The light is silvering her bloodless face + And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness + As in a marble image, very bright! + But stricken with a phantasy of light + That is not given to the mortal hue, + To life and breathing beauty: and she too + Is more of the expressless lineament, + Than of the golden thoughts that came and went + Over her features like a living tide + No while before. + + A sail is on the wide + And moving waters, and it draweth nigh + Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly + Before it, in their armories enthrall'd + Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald; + And many is the mariner that sees + The lone boat in the melancholy breeze, + Waving her snowy canvass, and anon + Their stately vessel with a gallant run + Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer + Of men is pass'd into a sudden fear, + And whisperings, and shakings of the head-- + The moon was streaming on a virgin dead, + And Julio sat over her insane, + Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again, + Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stood + Far out into the murmuring solitude! + + But Julio saw not; he only heard + A rushing, like the passing of a bird, + And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew + Along the startled billows; and he knew + Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell + Beside him, on the coming of the swell. + + They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride! + And made obeisance at thy holy side. + They saw thee, Agathe! and go to bring + Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king, + To utter music at thy pearly feet.-- + Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet, + To visit in thy temple of the sea; + Thy sister moon is watching over thee! + And she is spreading a fair mantle of + Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!-- + Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof, + In solitude, below the starry roof; + And on its dewy plume there is a light + Of palest splendour, o'er the blessed night. + Thy spirit, Agathe!--and yet, thou art + Beside me, and my solitary heart + Is throbbing near to thee: I must not feel + The sweet notes of thy holy music steal + Into my feverous and burning brain,-- + So wake not! and I'll hush thee with a strain + Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me, + And I be loved as I have loved thee:-- + + +SONG + + 'Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair, + In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there-- + No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart! + When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art! + + 'Tis light to love thee living, girl--to see thee ever so, + With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow; + And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl-- + Oh! true it is a lightsome thing, to love thee living, girl! + + But when the brow is blighted, like a star of morning tide, + And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside; + It is to love, as seldom love, the brightest and the best, + When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest. + + Because of hopes, that, fallen, are changing to despair, + And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there, + Oh, true! 'tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee, + And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me! + + He lifts her in his arms, and o'er and o'er, + Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar, + Repeats a silent kiss;--along the side + Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride, + Until the waves do image her within + Their bosom, like a spectre--'Tis a sin + Too deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven, + To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven! + And bid her gaze into the startled sea, + And say, "Thy image, from eternity, + Hath come to meet thee, ladye!" and anon, + He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one, + That shook amid the waters, like the light + Of borealis in a winter night! + + And after, he did strain her sea-wet hair + Between his chilly fingers, with a stare + Of mystery, that marvell'd how that she + Had drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea. + The morning rose, with breast of living gold, + Like eastern phoenix, and his plumage roll'd + In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright! + And on the waste of waters floated light.-- + + In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry bark + Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark + At play amid the beautiful sea-green, + And all so sadly desolate within. + + And hours flew after hours, a weary length, + Until the sunlight, in meridian strength, + Threw burning floods upon the wasted brow + Of that sea-hermit mariner; and now + He felt the fire-light feed upon his brain, + And started with intensity of pain, + And wash'd him in the sea; it only brought + Wild reason, like a demon, and he thought + Strange thoughts, like dreaming men--he thought how those + Were round him he had seen, and many rose + His heart had hated; every billow threw + Features before him, and pale faces grew + Out of the sea by myriads:--the self-same + Was moulded from its image, and they came + In groups together, and all said, like one, + "Be cursed!" and vanish'd in the deep anon. + Then thirst, intolerable as the breath + Of Upas, fanning the wild wings of death, + Crept up his very gorge,--like to a snake, + That stifled him, and bade the pulses ache + Through all the boiling current of his blood. + It was a thirst, that let the fever flood + Fall over him, and gave a ghastly hue + To his cramp'd lips, until their breathing grew + White as a mist, and short, and like a sigh, + Heaved with a struggle, till it falter'd by. + + And ever he did look upon the corse + With idiot visage, like the hag Remorse + That gloateth over on a nameless deed + Of darkness and of dole unhistoried. + And were there that might hear him, they would hear + The murmur of a prayer in deep fear, + Through unbarr'd lips, escaping by the half, + And all but smother'd by a maniac laugh, + That follow'd it, so sudden and so shrill, + That swarms of sea-birds, wandering at will + Upon the wave, rose startled, and away + Went flocking, like a silver shower of spray! + And aye he called for water, and the sea + Mock'd him with his brine surges tauntingly, + And lash'd them over on his fev'rous brow, + Volleying roars of curses:--"Stay thee, now, + Avenger! lest I die; for I am worn + Fainter than star-light at the birth of morn; + Stay thee, great angel! for I am not shriven, + But frantic as thyself: Oh Heaven! Heaven! + But thou hast made me brother of the sea, + That I may tremble at his tyranny; + Or am I slave? a very, very jest + To the sarcastic waters? let me breast + The base insulters, and defy them so, + In this lone little skiff--I am your foe! + Ye raving, lion-like, and ramping seas, + That open up your nostrils to the breeze, + And fain would swallow me! Do ye not fly, + Pale, sick, and gurgling, as I pass you by?" + + "Lift up! and let me see, that I may tell + Ye can be mad, and strange, and terrible; + That ye have power, and passion, and a sound + As of the flying of an angel round + The mighty world; that ye are one with time, + And in the great primordium sublime + Were nursed together, as an infant-twain,-- + A glory and a wonder! I would fain + Hold truce, thou elder brother! for we are, + In feature, as the sun is to a star, + So are we like, and we are touch'd in tune + With lunacy as music; and the moon, + That setteth the tides sentinel before + Thy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore, + And measures their great footsteps to and fro, + Hath lifted up into my brain the flow + Of this mad tide of blood.--Ay! we are like + In foam and frenzy; the same winds do strike, + The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlement + Of fire! so, when I perish impotent + Before the night of death, they'll say of me, + He died as mad and frantic, as the sea!" + + A cloud stood for the east, a cloud like night, + Like a huge vulture, and the blessed light + Of the great sun grew shadow'd awfully: + It seem'd to mount up from the mighty sea, + Shaking the showers from its solemn wings, + And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs, + Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain. + There fell a terrible and wizard chain + Of lightning, from its black and heated forge, + And the dark waters took it to their gorge, + And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonder + With rival chorus to the peal of thunder, + That wheel'd in many a squadron terrible + The stern black clouds, and as they rose and fell + They oozed great showers; and Julio held up + His wasted hands, in likeness of a cup, + And drank the blessed waters, and they roll'd + Upon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold!-- + 'Twas very strange to look on Agathe! + How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play, + Stream'd pale upon her features, and they were + Sickly, like tapers in a sepulchre! + + The ship! that self same ship, that Julio knew + Had pass'd him, with her panic-stricken crew, + She gleams amid the storm, a shatter'd thing + Of pride and lordly beauty: her fair wing + Of sail is wounded--the proud pennon gone: + Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on + Through waters that are battling to and fro, + And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow + Over her deck. Ahead, and there is seen + A black, strange line of breakers, down between + The awful surges, lifting up their manes, + Like great sea lions. Quick and high she strains + Her foaming keel--that solitary ship! + As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap + The cursed barrier; forward, fast and fast-- + Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mast + Split in a thousand shivers! A white spring + Of the exulted sea rose bantering + Over her ruin; and the mighty crew, + That mann'd her decks, were seen, a straggling few, + Far scatter'd on the surges. Julio felt + The impulse of that hour, and low he knelt, + Within his own light bark--a prayful man! + And clasp'd his lifeless bride; and to her wan, + Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.-- + "Save thou a mariner!" He starteth now + To hear that dying cry; and there is one, + All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon, + Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea, + A fair hair'd mariner! But suddenly + He saw the pale dead ladye, by a flame + Of blue and livid lightning, and there came + Over his features blindness, and the power + Of his strong hands grew weak,--a giant shower + Of foam rose up, and swept him far along; + And Julio saw him buffeting the throng + Of the great eddying waters, till they went + Over him--a wind-shaken cerement! + + Then terribly he laugh'd, and rose above + His soul-less bride--the ladye of his love + Lifting him up, in all his wizard glee; + And he did wave, before the frantic sea, + His wasted arm. "Adieu! adieu! adieu! + Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too, + Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrine + Of my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine. + And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foam + And music-murmurs, to thy blessed home-- + Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that she + Sleeps in her holy beauty, tranquilly; + And when the fair and floating vision breaks + From her pure brow, and Agathe awakes-- + Till then, we meet not; so adieu, adieu!" + Still on before the sullen tempest flew, + Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark: + And Julio bent over to the dark, + The solitary sea, for close beside + Floated the stringed harp of one that died + In that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home, + With madness, to his bosom: the white foam + Was o'er its strings; and on the streaming sail + He wiped them, running, with his fingers pale, + Along the tuneless notes, that only gave + Seldom responses to his wandering stave! + + + + + TO THE HARP + + + I + + Jewel! that lay before the heart + Of some romantic boy, + And startled music in her home, + Of mystery and joy! + + + II + + The image of his love was there; + And, with her golden wings, + She swept her tone of sorrow from + Thy melancholy strings! + + + III + + We drew thee, as an orphan one, + From waters that had cast + No music round thee, as they went + In their pale beauty past. + + + IV + + No music but the changeless sigh-- + That murmur of their own, + That loves not blending in the thrill + Of thine aerial tone. + + + V + + The girl that slumbers at our side + Will dream how they are bent, + That love her even as they love + Thy blessed instrument. + + + VI + + And music, like a flood, will break + Upon the fairy throne + Of her pure heart, all glowing, like + A morning star, alone! + + + VII + + Alone, but for the song of him + That waketh by her side, + And strikes thy chords of silver to + His fair and sea-borne bride. + + + VIII + + Jewel! that hung before the heart + Of some romantic boy; + Like him, I sweep thee with a storm + Of music and of joy! + + And Julio placed the trembling harp before + The ladye, till the minstrel winds came o'er + Its moisten'd strings, and tuned them with a sigh. + "I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by, + In music and in love. Oh Agathe! + Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will say + That seek thee,--'She is dead--she is no more!' + But thou art cold, and I will throw before + Thy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet." + And he did lift it from her marble feet, + The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silently + Over her brow--the brow of Agathe! + + But, as a passion from the mooded mind, + The storm had died, and wearily the wind + Fell fast asleep at evening, like one + That hath been toiling in the fiery sun. + And the white sail dropt downward, as the wing + Of wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuring + Unto the mast. It was a deathly calm, + And holy stillness, like a shadow, swam + All over the wide sea, and the boat stood. + Like her of Sodom, in the solitude, + A snowy pillar, looking on the waste. + And there was nothing but the azure breast + Of ocean and the sky--the sea and sky, + And the lone bark; no clouds were floating by + Where the sun set, but his great seraph light, + Went down alone, in majesty and might; + And the stars came again, a silver troop, + Until, in shame, the coward shadows droop + Before the radiance of these holy gems, + That bear the images of diadems! + + And Julio fancied of a form that rose + Before him from the desolate repose + Of the deep waters--a huge ghastly form, + As of one lightning-stricken in a storm; + And leprosy cadaverous was hung + Before his brow, and awful terror flung + Around him like a pall--a solemn shroud!-- + A drapery of darkness and of cloud! + And agony was writhing on his lip, + Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep, + Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain, + And ague, and the palsy of the brain-- + A wierd and yellow spectre! And his eyes + Were orbless and unpupil'd, as the skies + Without the sun, or moon, or any star: + And he was like the wreck of what men are,-- + A wasted skeleton, that held the crest + Of Time, and bore his motto on his breast! + + There came a group before of maladies, + And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,-- + A double monster, with a gloating leer + Fix'd on his other half. They drew them near, + One after one, led onward by Despair, + That like the last of winter glimmer'd there,-- + A dismal prologue to his brother Death, + Which was behind, and, with the horrid breath + Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on. + And often as they saw the skeleton + Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies + Grew mad and howl'd; the fever of disease + Became wild frenzy--very terrible! + And, for a hell of agony--a hell + Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things, + On dreams, ideas, and imaginings. + + And some were raving on philosophy, + And some on love, and some on jealousy, + And some upon the moon; and these were they + That were the wildest; and anon alway + Julio knew them by a something dim + About their wasted features like to him! + + But Death was by, like shell of pyramid + Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head + Shook o'er the wiery ribs, where darkness lay + The image of a heart--He is away! + And Julio is watching, like Remorse, + Over the pale and solitary corse! + + Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew + From your eternal blossoms! and thou, too, + Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen! + That hast a slave and votary within + The great rock-fetter'd deeps, and hearest cry + To thee the hungry surges, rushing by + Like a vast herd of wolves,--fall full and fair + On Julio as he sleepeth, even there, + Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!-- + Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed knee + With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain + Of this death-lover?--Still the eyes do strain + Their orbs on Agathe--those raven eyes! + All earnest on the ladye as she lies + In her white shroud. They see not, though they are + As if they saw; no splendour like a star + Is under their dark lashes: they are full + Of dream and slumber--melancholy, dull! + + * * * * * + + A wide, wide sea! and on its rear and van + Amid the stars, the silent meteors ran + All that still night, and Julio with a cry + Woke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by. + + * * * * * + + Full three times three, its awful veil of night + Hath Heaven hung before the blessed light; + And a fair breeze falls o'er the sleeping sea, + Where Julio is watching Agathe! + By sun and darkness hath he bent him over-- + A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover! + + And hardly hath he tasted, night or day, + Of drink or food, because of Agathe! + He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood, + Like statue in a ruin'd solitude, + Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shade + Over the marble of some colonnade. + + The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hue + Upon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grew + Luxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness, + That once were floating in the pure recess + Of her bright soul. These are not as they were, + But are as weeds above a sepulchre, + Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are now + Sunk deeply under the discolour'd brow, + That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue, + Unnaturally blending. The same hue + Is on her cheek: it is the early breath + Of cold Corruption, the ban dog of Death, + Falling upon her features.--Let it be, + And gaze awhile on Julio, as he + Is gazing on the corse of Agathe! + + In truth, he seemeth like no living one, + But is the image of a skeleton: + A fearful portrait from the artist tool + Of Madness--terrible and wonderful! + + There was no passion there--no feeling traced + Under those eyelids, where had run to waste, + All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright; + A very cloud was cast upon their light, + That gave to them the heavy hue of lead; + And they were lorn, and lustreless, and dead! + He sate like vulture from the mountains gray, + Unsated, that had flown full many a day + O'er distant land and sea, and was in pride + Alighted by the lonely ladye's side. + + He sate like winter o'er the wasted year-- + Like melancholy winter, drawing near + To its own death.--"Oh me! the worm, at last, + Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast + Howl by!--Where?--where?--there is no worm to creep + Amid the waters of the lonely deep; + But I will take me Agathe upon + This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon, + Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go, + Unepitaph'd, to cities far below; + Where the sea triton, with his winding shell, + Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell + With many a mariner in his pearly home, + In bowers of amber weed and silver foam, + Amid the crimson corals; we shall be + Together, Agathe! fair Agathe!-- + But thou art sickly, ladye--thou art sad; + And I am weary, ladye--I am mad! + They bring no food to feed us, and I feel + A frost upon my vitals, very chill, + Like winter breaking on the golden year + Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier, + And the dark waves our mourners; and the white, + Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright + On some far isle, shall sorrowfully pour + Their wail of melancholy o'er and o'er, + At evening, on the waters of the sea,-- + While, with its solemn burden, silently, + Floats forward our lone bark.--Oh, Agathe! + Methinks that I shall meet thee far away, + Within the awful centre of the earth, + Where, earliest, we had our holy birth-- + In some huge cavern, arching wide below, + Upon whose airy pivot, years ago, + The world went round: 'tis infinitely deep, + But never dismal; for above it sleep, + And under it, blue waters, hung aloof, + And held below,--an amethystine roof, + A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun, + Afar, looks through alternately, like one + That watches round some treasure: often, too, + Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through, + Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously, + Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea!" + + "And there are shafted pillars, that beyond, + Are ranged before a rock of diamond, + Awfully heaving its eternal heights, + From base of silver strewn with chrysolites; + And over it are chasms of glory seen, + With crimson rubies clustering between, + On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl, + And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl. + So Agathe!--but thou art sickly sad, + And tellest me, poor Julio is mad-- + Ay, mad!--was he not madder when he sware + A vow to Heaven? was there no madness there, + That he should do--for why?--a holy string + Of penances? No penances will bring + The stricken conscience to the blessed light + Of peace,--Oh! I am lost, and there is night, + Despair and darkness, darkness and despair, + And want, that hunts me to the lion-lair + Of wild perdition: and I hear them all-- + All cursing me! The very sun-rays fall + In curses, and the shadow of the moon, + And the pale star light, and the winds that tune + Their voices to the music of the sea,-- + And thou,--yes, thou! my gentle Agathe!-- + All curse me!--Oh! that I were never, never!-- + Or but a breathless fancy, that was ever + Adrift upon the wilderness of Time, + That knew no impulse, but was left sublime + To play at its own will!--that I were hush'd + At night by silver cataracts, that gush'd + Through flowers of fairy hue, and then to die + Away, with all before me passing by, + Like a fair vision I had lived to see, + And died to see no more!--It cannot be! + By this right hand! I feel it is not so, + And by the beating of a heart below, + That strangely feareth for eternity!" + + He said, and gazing on the lonely sea, + Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud, + To westward, a bright island, lifted proud + Amid the struggling waters, and the light + Of the great sun was on its clifted height, + Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror; + But the gigantic billows sprung in terror + Upon its rock-built and eternal shore, + With silver foams that fell in fury o'er + A thousand sunny breakers. Far above, + There stood a wild and solitary grove + Of aged pines, all leafless but their brows, + Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughs + Was waving now and then, and to and fro, + And the pale moss was clustering below. + + Then Julio saw, and bent his head away + To the cold wasted corse of Agathe, + And sigh'd; but ever he would turn again + A gaze to that green island on the main. + + The bark is drifting through the surf, beside + Its rocks of gray upon the coming tide; + And lightly is it stranded on the shore + Of pure and silver shells, that lie before, + Glittering in the glory of the sun; + And Julio hath landed him, like one + That aileth of some wild and weary pest; + And Agathe is folded on his breast,-- + A faded flower! with all the vernal dews + From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues + Become as colourless as twilight air-- + I marvel much, that she was ever fair! + + + + + CHIMERA III + + + Another moon! and over the blue night + She bendeth, like a holy spirit bright, + Through stars that veil them in their wings of gold; + As on she floateth with her image cold + Enamell'd on the deep. A sail of cloud + Is to her left, majestically proud! + Trailing its silver drapery away + In thin and fairy webs, that are at play + Like stormless waves upon a summer sea + Dragging their length of waters lazily. + + Ay! to the rocks! and thou wilt see, I wist, + A lonely one, that bendeth in the mist + Of moonlight, with a wild and raven pall + Flung round him. Is he mortal man at all? + For, by the meagre fire-light that is under + Those eyelids, and the vizor shade of wonder + Falling upon his features, I would guess, + Of one that wanders out of blessedness! + Julio! raise thee!--By the holy mass! + I wot not of the fearless one would pass + Thy wizard shadow. Where the raven hair + Was shorn before, in many a matted layer + It lieth now; and on a rock beside + The sea, like merman at the ebb of tide, + Feasting his wondrous vision on Decay, + So art thou gazing over Agathe! + + Ah me! but this is never the fair girl, + With brow of light, as lovely as a pearl, + That was as beautiful as is the form + Of sea-bird at the breaking of a storm. + The eye is open, with convulsive strain-- + A most unfleshly orb! the stars that wane + Have nothing of its hue; for it is cast + With sickly blood, and terribly aghast! + And sunken in its socket, like the light + Of a red taper in the lonely night! + And there is not a braid of her bright hair + But lieth floating in the moonlight air, + Like the long moss, beside a silver spring, + In elfin tresses, sadly murmuring. + The worm hath 'gan to crawl upon her brow-- + The living worm! and with a ripple now, + Like that upon the sea, are heard below, + The slimy swarms all ravening as they go, + Amid the stagnate vitals, with a rush; + And one might hear them echoing the hush + Of Julio, as he watches by the side + Of the dead ladye, his betrothed bride! + + And, ever and anon, a yellow group + Was creeping on her bosom, like a troop + Of stars, far up amid the galaxy, + Pale, pale, as snowy showers; and two or three + Were mocking the cold finger, round and round, + With likeness of a ring; and, as they wound + About its bony girth, they had the hue + Of pearly jewels glistering in dew. + That deathly stare! it is an awful thing + To gaze upon; and sickly thoughts will spring + Before it to the heart: it telleth how + There must be waste where there is beauty now. + The chalk! the chalk! where was the virgin snow + Of that once heaving bosom!--even so,-- + The cold pale dewy chalk, with yellow shade + Amid the leprous hues; and o'er it played + The straggling moonlight, and the merry breeze, + Like two fair elves, that, by the murmuring seas, + Woo'd smilingly together; but there fell + No life-gleam on the brow, all terrible + Becoming, through its beauty, like a cloud + That waneth paler even than a shroud, + All gorgeous and all glorious before; + For waste, like to the wanton night, was o'er + Her virgin features, stealing them away-- + Ah me! ah me! and this is Agathe? + + "Enough! enough! Oh God! but I have pray'd + To thee, in early daylight and in shade, + And the mad curse is on me still--and still! + I cannot alter the Eternal will-- + But--but--I hate thee, Agathe! I hate + What lunacy hath bade me consecrate: + I am _not_ mad!--_not now!_--I do not feel + That slumberous and blessed opiate steal + Up to my brain--Oh! that it only would, + To people this eternal solitude + With fancies, and fair dreams, and summer mirth, + Which is not now--And yet, my mother earth, + I would not love to lie above thee so, + As Agathe lies there--oh! no! no! no! + To have these clay-worms feast upon my heart! + And all the light of being, to depart + Into a dismal shadow! I could die + As the red lightnings, quenching amid sky + Their wild and wizard breath; I could away, + Like a blue billow, bursting into spray; + But, never--never have corruption here, + To feed her worms, and let the sunlight jeer + Above me so.--'Tis thou!--I owe thee, Moon, + To-night's fair worship; so be lifting soon + Thy veil of clouds, that I may kneel, as one + That seeketh for thy virgin benison!" + + He gathers the cold limpets, as they creep + On the grey rocks beside the lonely deep; + And with a flint breaks through into the shell, + And feeds him--by the mass! he feasteth well. + And he hath lifted water in a clam, + And tasted sweetly, from a stream that swam + Down to the sea; and now is turn'd away, + Again, again, to gaze on Agathe! + + There is a cave upon that isle--a cave + Where dwelt a hermit man; the winter wave + Roll'd to its entrance, casting a bright mound + Of snowy shells and fairy pebbles round; + And over were the solemn ridges strewn + Of a dark rock, that, like the wizard throne + Of some sea-monarch, stood, and from it hung + Wild thorn and bramble, in confusion flung + Amid the startling crevices--like sky, + Through gloom of clouds, that sweep in thunder by. + A cataract fell over, in a streak + Of silver, playing many a wanton freak; + Midway, and musical, with elfin glee + It bounded in its beauty to the sea, + Like dazzling angel vanishing away. + In sooth, 'twas pleasant in the moonlight gray + To see that fairy fountain leaping so, + Like one that knew not wickedness nor woe! + + The hermit had his cross and rosary; + I ween like other hermits, so was he; + A holy man, and frugal, and at night + He prayed, or slept, or, sometimes, by the light + Of the fair moon, went wandering beside + The lonely sea, to hear the silver tide + Rolling in gleesome music to the shore: + The more he heard, he loved to hear the more. + And there he is, his hoary beard adrift + To the night winds, that sportingly do lift + Its snow-white tresses; and he leaneth on + A rugged staff, all weakly and alone, + A childless, friendless man! + + He is beside + The ghastly Julio, and his ghastlier bride. + 'Twas wondrous strange to gaze upon the two! + And the old hermit felt a throbbing through + His pulses:--"Holy virgin! save me, save!" + He deem'd of spectre from the midnight wave, + And cross'd him thrice, and pray'd, and pray'd again:-- + "Hence! hence!" and Julio started, as the strain + Of exorcisms fell faintly on his ear:-- + "I knew thee, father, that thou beest here, + To gaze upon this girl, as I have been. + By yonder moon! it was a frantic sin + To worship so an image of the clay; + It was like beauty--but is now away-- + What lived upon her features, like the light + On yonder cloud, all tender and all bright; + But it is faded as the other must, + And she that was all beauty, is all dust." + + "Father! thy hand upon this brow of mine, + And tell me, is it cold?--But she will twine + No wreath upon these temples,--never, never! + For there she lieth, like a streamless river + That stagnates in its bed. Feel, feel me, here, + If I be madly throbbing in the fear + For that cold slimy worm. Ay! look and see + How dotingly it feeds, how pleasantly! + And where it is, have been the living hues + Of beauty, purer than the very dews. + So, father! seest thou that yonder moon + Will be on wane to-morrow, soon and soon? + And I, that feel my being wear away, + Shall droop beside to darkness; so, but say + A prayer for the dead, when I am gone, + And let the azure tide that floweth on + Cover us lightly with its murmuring surf + Like a green sward of melancholy turf. + Thou mayest, if thou wilt, thou mayest rear + A cenotaph on this lone island here, + Of some rude mossy stone, below a tree, + And carve an olden rhyme for her and me + Upon its brow." + + He bends, and gazes yet + Before his ghastly bride! the anchoret + Sate by him, and hath press'd a cross of wood + To his wan lips. + + * * * * * + + "My son! look up and tell thy dismal tale. + Thou seemest cold, and sorrowful, and pale. + Alas! I fear but thou hast strangely been + A child of curse, and misery, and sin. + And this--is she thy sister?"--"Nay! my bride." + "A nun! and thou:"--"True, true! but then she died, + And was a virgin, and is virgin still, + Chaste as the moon, that taketh her pure fill + Of light from the great sun. But now, go by, + And leave me to my madness, or to die! + This heart, this brain are sore.--Come, come, and fold + Me round, ye hydra billows! wrapt in gold, + That are so writhing your eternal gyres + Before the moon, which, with a myriad tiars + Is crowning you, as ye do fall and kiss + Her pearly feet, that glide in blessedness! + Let me be torture-eaten, ere I die! + Let me be mangled sore with agony! + And be so cursed, so stricken by the spell + Of my heart's frenzy, that a living hell + Be burning there!--Back! back! if thou art mad-- + Methought thou wast, but thou art only sad. + Is this thy child, old man? look, look, and see! + In truth it is a piteous thing for thee + To become childless--Well-a-well, go by! + Is there no grave? The quiet sea is nigh, + And I will bury her below the moon; + It may be but a trance or midnight swoon, + And she may wake. Wake, ladye! ha! methought + It was like _her_--Like her! and is it not? + My angel girl! my brain, my stricken brain!-- + I know thee now!--I know myself again." + + He flings him on the ladye, and anon, + With loathly shudder, from that wither'd one + Hath torn him back. "Oh me! no more--no more! + Thou virgin mother! Is the dream not o'er, + That I have dreamt, but I must dream again + For moons together, till this weary brain + Become distemper'd as the winter sea? + Good father! give me blessing; let it be + Upon me as the dew upon the moss. + Oh me! but I have made the holy cross + A curse, and not a blessing! let me kiss + The sacred symbol; for, by this--by this! + I sware, and sware again, as now I will-- + Thou Heaven! if there be bounty in thee still, + If thou wilt hear, and minister, and bring + The light of comfort on some angel wing + To one that lieth lone, do--do it now; + By all the stars that open on thy brow + Like silver flowers! and by the herald moon + That listeth to be forth at nightly noon, + Jousting the clouds, I swear! and be it true, + As I have perjured me, that I renew + Allegiance to thy God, and bind me o'er + To this same penance, I have done before! + That night and day I watch, as I have been + Long watching, o'er the partner of my sin! + That I taste never the delight of food, + But these wild shell-fish, that may make the mood + Of madness stronger, till it grapple Death-- + Despair--Eternity!" + + He saith, he saith, + And, on the jaundiced bosom of the corse, + Lieth all frenzied; one would see Remorse, + And hopeless Love, and Hatred, struggling there, + And Lunacy, that lightens up Despair, + And makes a gladness out of agony. + Pale phantom! I would fear and worship thee, + That hast the soul at will, and gives it play, + Amid the wildest fancies far away; + That thronest Reason, on some wizard throne + Of fairy land, within the milky zone,-- + Some spectre star, that glittereth beyond + The glorious galaxies of diamond. + + Beautiful Lunacy! that shapest flight + For love to blessed bowers of delight, + And buildest holy monarchies within + The fancy, till the very heart is queen + Of all her golden wishes. Lunacy! + Thou empress of the passions! though they be + A sister group of wild, unearthly forms, + Like lightnings playing in their home of storms! + I see thee, striking at the silver strings + Of the pure heart, and holy music springs + Before thy touch, in many a solemn strain, + Like that of sea-waves rolling from the main! + + But say, is Melancholy by thy side, + With tresses in a raven shower, that hide + Her pale and weeping features? Is she never + Flowing before thee, like a gloomy river, + The sister of thyself? but cold and chill, + And winter-born, and sorrowfully still, + And not like thee, that art in merry mood, + And frolicksome amid thy solitude! + + Fair Lunacy! I see thee, with a crown + Of hawthorn and sweet daisies, bending down + To mirror thy young image in a spring; + And thou wilt kiss that shadow of a thing + As soul-less as thyself. 'Tis tender, too, + The smile that meeteth thine! the holy hue + Of health! the pearly radiance of the brow! + All, all as tender--beautiful as thou! + + And wilt thou say, my sister, there is none + Will answer thee? Thou art--thou art alone, + A pure, pure being! but the God on high + Is with thee ever, as thou goest by. + + Thou poetess! that harpest to the moon, + And, in soft concert to the silver tune + Of waters, play'd on by the magic wind, + As he comes streaming, with his hair untwined, + Dost sing light strains of melody and mirth,-- + I hear thee, hymning on thy holy birth, + How thou wert moulded of thy mother Love, + That came, like seraph, from the stars above, + And was so sadly wedded unto Sin, + That thou wert born, and Sorrow was thy twin. + Sorrow and mirthful Lunacy! that be + Together link'd for time, I deem of ye + That ye are worshipp'd as none others are,-- + One as a lonely shadow, one a star! + + Is Julio glad, that bendeth, even now, + To his wild purpose, to his holy vow? + He seeth only in his ladye-bride + The image of the laughing girl, that died + A moon before--The same, the very same-- + The Agathe that lisp'd her lover's name, + To him and to her heart: that azure eye, + That shone through sunny tresses, waving by; + The brow, the cheek, that blush'd of fire and snow, + Both blending into one ethereal glow; + And that same breathing radiancy, that swam + Around her, like a pure and blessed calm + Around some halcyon bird. And, as he kiss'd + Her wormy lips, he felt that he was blest! + He felt her holy being stealing through + His own, like fountains of the azure dew, + That summer mingles with his golden light; + And he would clasp her, till the weary night + Was worn away. + + * * * * * + + And morning rose in form + Of heavy clouds, that knitted into storm + The brow of Heaven, and through her lips the wind + Came rolling westward, with a track behind + Of gloomy billows, bursting on the sea, + All rampant, like great lions terribly, + And gnashing on each other: and anon, + Julio heard them, rushing one by one, + And laugh'd and turn'd.--The hermit was away, + For he was old and weary, and he lay + Within his cave, and thought it was a dream, + A summer's dream? and so the quiet stream + Of sleep came o'er his eyelids, and in truth + He dreamt of that strange ladye, and the youth + That held a death-wake on her wasting form; + And so he slept and woke not, till the storm + Was over. + + But they came,--the wind and sea, + And rain and thunder, that in giant glee, + Sang o'er the lightnings pale, as to and fro + They writhed, like stricken angels!--White as snow + Roll'd billow after billow, and the tide + Came forward as an army deep and wide, + To charge with all its waters. There was heard + A murmur far and far, of those that stirr'd + Within the great encampment of the sea, + And dark they were, and lifted terribly + Their water-spouts like banners. It was grand + To see the black battalions, hand in hand + Striding to conflict, and their helmets bent + Below their foamy plumes magnificent! + + And Julio heard and laugh'd, "Shall I be king + To your great hosts, that ye are murmuring + For one to bear you to your holy war? + There is no sun, or moon, or any star, + To guide your iron footsteps as ye go; + But I, your king, will marshal you to flow + From shore to shore. Then bring my car of shell, + That I may ride before you terrible; + And bring my sceptre of the amber weed, + And Agathe, my virgin bride, shall lead + Your summer hosts, when these are ambling low, + In azure and in ermine, to and fro." + He said, and madly, with his wasted hand, + Swept o'er the tuneless harp, and fast he spann'd + The silver chords, until a rush of sound + Came from them, solemn--terrible--profound; + And then he dash'd the instrument away + Into the waters, and the giant play + Of billows threw it back unto the shore, + A shiver'd, stringless frame--its day of music o'er! + The tide, the rolling tide! the multitude + Of the sea surges, terrible and rude, + Tossing their chalky foam along the bed + Of thundering pebbles, that are shoring dread, + And fast retreating to the gloomy gorge + Of waters, sounding like a Titan forge! + + It comes! it comes! the tide, the rolling tide! + But Julio is bending to his bride, + And making mirthful whispers to her ear. + A cataract! a cataract is near, + Of one stupendous billow, and it breaks + Terribly furious, with a myriad flakes + Of foam, that fly about the haggard twain; + And Julio started, with a sudden pain, + That shot into his heart; his reason flew + Back to its throne; he rose, and wildly threw + His matted tresses over on his brow. + Another billow came, and even now + Was dashing at his feet. There was no shade + Of terror, as the serpent waters play'd + Before him, but his eye was calm as death. + Another, yet another! and the breath + Of the weird wind was with it; like a rock + Unriveted it fell--a shroud of smoke + Pass'd over--there was heard, and died away, + The voice of one, shrill shrieking, "Agathe!" + + The sea-bird sitteth lonely by the side + Of the far waste of waters, flapping wide + His wet and weary wings; but _he_ is gone, + The stricken Julio!--a wave-swept stone + Stands there, on which he sat, and nakedly + It rises looking to the lonely sea; + But Julio is gone, and Agathe! + The waters swept them madly to their core,-- + The dead and living with a frantic roar! + And so he died, his bosom fondly set + On her's; and round her clay-cold waist were met + His bare and wither'd arms, and to her brow + His lips were press'd. Both, both are perish'd now! + + He died upon her bosom in a swoon; + And fancied of the pale and silver moon, + That went before him in her hall of blue: + He died like golden insect in the dew, + Calm, calm, and pure; and not a chord was rung + In his deep heart, but love. He perish'd young, + But perish'd, wasted by some fatal flame + That fed upon his vitals; and there came + Lunacy sweeping lightly, like a stream, + Along his brain--He perish'd in a dream! + + In sooth, I marvel not, + If death be only a mysterious thought, + That cometh on the heart, and turns the brow + Brightless and chill, as Julio's is now; + For only had the wasting struggle been + Of one wild feeling, till it rose within + Into the form of death, and nature felt + The light of the immortal being melt + Into its happier home, beyond the sea, + And moon, and stars, into eternity! + + The sun broke through his dungeon long enthrall'd + By dismal cloud, and on the emerald + Of the great living sea was blazing down, + To gift the lordly billows with a crown + Of diamond and silver. From his cave + The hermit came, and by the dying wave + Lone wander'd, and he found upon the sand, + Below a truss of sea-weed, with his hand + Around the silent waist of Agathe, + The corse of Julio! Pale, pale, it lay + Beside the wasted girl. The fireless eye + Was open, and a jewell'd rosary + Hung round the neck; but it was gone,--the cross + That Agathe had given. + + Amid the moss, + The hermit scoop'd a solitary grave + Below the pine-trees, and he sang a stave, + Or two, or three, of some old requiem + As in their narrow home he buried them. + And many a day, before that blessed spot + He sate, in lone and melancholy thought, + Gazing upon the grave; and one had guess'd + Of some dark secret shadowing his breast. + And yet, to see him, with his silver hair + Adrift and floating in the sea-borne air, + And features chasten'd in the tears of woe, + In sooth 'twas merely sad to see him so! + A wreck of nature, floating far and fast, + Upon the stream of Time--to sink at last! + + And he is wandering by the shore again, + Hard leaning on his staff; the azure main + Lies sleeping far before him, with his seas + Fast folded in the bosom of the breeze, + That like the angel Peace hath dropt his wings + Around the warring waters. Sadly sings + To his own heart that lonely hermit man, + A tale of other days, when passion ran + Along his pulses, like a troubled stream, + And glory was a splendour, and a dream! + He stoop'd to gather up a shining gem, + That lay amid the shells, as bright as them,-- + It was a cross, the cross that Agathe + Had given to her Julio: the play + Of the fierce sunbeams fell upon its face, + And on the glistering jewels--But the trace + Of some old thought came burning to the brain + Of the pale hermit, and he shrunk in pain + Before the holy symbol. It was not + Because of the eternal ransom wrought + In ages far away, or he had bent + In pure devotion sad and reverent; + But now, he started, as he look'd upon + That jewell'd thing, and wildly he is gone + Back to the mossy grave, away, away:-- + "My child! my child! my own, own Agathe!" + + It is her father,--he,--an alter'd man! + His quiet had been wounded, and the ban + Of misery came over him, and froze + The bright and holy tides, that fell and rose + In joy amid his heart. To think of her, + That he had injured so, and all so fair, + So fond, so like the chosen of his youth,-- + It was a very dismal thought, in truth, + That he had left her hopelessly, for aye, + Within the cloister-wall to droop, and die! + And so he could not bear to have it be; + But sought for some lone island in the sea, + Where he might dwell in doleful solitude, + And do strange penance in his mirthless mood, + For this same crime, unnaturally wild, + That he had done unto his saintly child. + And ever he did think, when he had laid + These lovers in the grave, that, through the shade + Of ghastly features melting to decay, + He saw the image of his Agathe. + + And now the truth had flash'd into his brain: + And he is fallen, with a shriek of pain, + Upon the lap of pale and yellow moss; + For long ago he gave that blessed cross + To his fair girl, and knew the relic still, + By many a thousand thoughts, that rose at will + Before it, of the one that was not now, + But, like a dream, had floated from the brow + Of Time, that seeth many a lovely thing + Fade by him, like a sea-wave murmuring. + + The heart is burst!--the heart that stood in steel + To woman's earnest tears, and bade her feel + The curse of virgin solitude,--a veil; + And saw the gladsome features growing pale + Unmoved: 'tis rent, like some eternal tower + The sea hath shaken, and its stately power + Lies lonely, fallen, scatter'd on the shore: + 'Tis rent, like some great mountain, that, before + The Deluge, stood in glory and in might, + But now is lightning-riven, and the night + Is clambering up its sides, and chasms lie strewn, + Like coffins, here and there: 'tis rent! the throne + Where passions, in their awful anarchy, + Stood sceptred! There was heard an inward sigh, + That took the being, on its troubled wings, + Far to the land of dim imaginings! + + All three are dead; that desolate green isle + Is only peopled by the passing smile + Of sun and moon, that surely have a sense, + They look so radiant with intelligence,-- + So like the soul's own element,--so fair! + The features of a God lie veiled there! + + And mariners that have been toiling far + Upon the deep, and lost the polar star, + Have visited that island, and have seen + That lover's grave: and many there have been + That sat upon the gray and crumbling stone, + And started, as they saw a skeleton + Amid the long sad moss, that fondly grew + Through the white wasted ribs; but never knew + Of those who slept below, or of the tale + Of that brain-stricken man, that felt the pale + And wandering moonlight steal his soul away,-- + Poor Julio, and the ladye Agathe! + + * * * * * + + We found them,--children of toil and tears, + Their birth of beauty shaded; + We left them in their early years + Fallen and faded. + + We found them, flowers of summer hue: + Their golden cups were lighted + With sparkles of the pearly dew-- + We left them blighted! + + We found them,--like those fairy flowers; + And the light of morn lay holy + Over their sad and sainted bowers-- + We left them, lowly. + + We found them,--like twin stars, alone, + In brightness and in feeling; + We left them,--and the curse was on + Their beauty stealing. + + They rest in quiet, where they are: + Their lifetime is the story + Of some fair flower--some silver star, + Faded in glory! + + + + +POEMS + + + + +THE IRIS + + A pale and broken Iris in the mirror + Of a gray cloud,--as gray as death, + Slow sailing in the breath + Of thunder! Like a child, that lies in terror + Through the dark night, an Iris fair + Trembled midway in air. + The blending of its elfin hues + Was as the pure enamel on + The early morning dews; + And gloriously they shone, + Waving everyone his wing, + Like a young aerial thing! + That Iris came + Over the shells of gold, beside + The blue and waveless tide; + Its girdle, of resplendent flame, + Met shore and sea, afar, + Like angel that shall stand + On flood and land, + Crown'd with a meteor star. + + The sea-bird, from her snowy stone, + Beheld it floating on, + Like a bride that bent her way + To the altar, standing lone, + In some cathedral gray. + The melancholy wave + Started at the cry she gave, + Hailing the lovely child + Of the immortal sun,-- + A tender and a tearful one, + Bounding away, with footsteps wild! + + Old Neptune on his silver bed + The dazzling image threw; + It laid like sunbeam on the dew, + Its young tress-waving head. + The god upon the shadow gazed, + And silently upraised + A gentle wave, that came and kiss'd + Fair Iris in her holy rest. + Her pearly brow grew pale: + It felt the sinful fire, + And from her queenly tiar + She drew the veil. + The sun-wing'd steeds her sacred car + Wheel'd to her throne of star. + + + + +TO A SPIRIT + + + Spirit! in deathless halo zoned, + A chain of stars with wings of diamond,-- + Is music blended into thee + With holy light and immortality? + For, as thy shape of glory swept + Through seas of darkness, magic breathings fell + Around it, like the notes that slept + In the wild caverns of a silver shell. + + Thou camest, as a lightning spring + Through chasms of horrid cloud, on scathless wing; + Old Chaos round him, like a tiar, + Swathed the long rush of immaterial fire; + As thou, descending from afar, + Wast canopied with living arch of light, + Pale pillars of immortal star, + Burst through the curtains of the moonless night. + + Phantom of wonder! over thee, + Trembles the shadow of the Deity; + For face to face, on lifted throne, + Thou gazest to the glory-shrouded One, + Where highest in the azure height + Of universe, eternally he turns + Myriads of worlds; with blaze of light + Filling the hollow of their golden urns. + + Why comest thou, with feelings bound + On thy birth-shore, the long unenter'd ground? + To visit where thy being first, + Through the pale shell of embryo nothing, burst? + Or, on celestial errand bent, + To win to faith a sin enraptured son, + And point the angel lineament + Of mercy on a cross,--the Bleeding One? + + Spirit! I breathe no sad adieu: + The altars where thou bendest never knew + Sigh, tear, or sorrow, and the night + No chariot drives behind the wheel of light; + Where every seraph is a sun, + And every soul an everlasting star.-- + Go to thy home, thou peerless one! + Where glory and the Great Immortal are! + + + + +HER, A STATUE + + + Her life is in the marble! yet a fall + Of sleep lies on the heart's fair arsenal, + Like new shower'd snow. You hear no whisper through + Those love-divided lips; no pearly dew + Trembles on her pale orbs, that seem to be + Bent on a dream of immortality! + + She sleeps: her life is sleep,--a holy rest! + Like that of wing-borne cloud, that, in the west + Laves his aerial image, till afar + The sunlight leaves him, melting into star. + Did Phidias from her brow the veil remove, + Uncurtaining the peerless queen of love? + The fluent stone in marble waves recoil'd, + Touch'd by his hand, and left the wondrous child, + A Venus of the foam! How softly fair + The dove-like passion on the sacred air + Floats round her, nesting in her wreathed hair, + That tells, though shadeless, of its auburn hue, + Bathed in a hoar of diamond-dropping dew! + + How beautiful!--Was this not one of eld, + That Chaos on his boundless bosom held, + Till Earth came forward in a rush of storm, + Closing his ribs upon her wingless form? + How beautiful!--The very lips do speak + Of love, and bid us worship: the pale cheek + Seems blushing through the marble--through the snow! + And the undrap'ried bosom feels a flow + Of fever on its brightness; every vein + At the blue pulse swells softly, like a chain + Of gentle hills. I would not fling a wreath + Of jewels on that brow, to flash beneath + Those queenly tresses; for itself is more + Than sea-born pearl of some Elysian shore! + + Such, with a heart like woman! I would cast + Life at her foot, and, as she glided past, + Would bid her trample on the slavish thing-- + Tell her, I'd rather feel me withering + Under her step, than be unknown for aye: + And, when her pride had crush'd me, she might see + A love-wing'd spirit glide in glory by + Striking the tent of its mortality! + + + + +TO A STORM-STAID BIRD + + + Trembler! a month is past, and thou + Wert singing on the thorn, + And shaking dew-drops from the bough + In the golden haze of morn! + + My heart was just as thou, as light-- + As loving of the breeze, + That kiss'd thee in its elfin flight, + Through the green acacia trees. + + And now the winter snow-flakes lie + All on thy widow'd wing; + Trembler! methinks I hear thee sigh + For the silver days of spring. + + But shake thy plume--the world is free + Before thee--warbler, fly! + Blest by a sunbeam and by me, + Bird of my heart! good-bye! + + + + +THE WOLF-DROVE + + + No night-star in the welkin blue! no moonshade round the trees + That grew down to the sea-swept foot of the ancient Pyrenees! + The cold gray mantle of the mist, along the shoulders cast + Of those wild mountains, to and fro, hung waving in the blast. + + A snow-crown rising on their brows, in royalty they stood, + As if they vice-reign'd on a throne of winter solitude; + Those hills that rose far upward, till in majesty they bent + Their world's great eye-orb on her own immortal lineament! + + The howl, the long deep howl was heard, the rushing like a wave + Of the wolf train from their forest haunt, in some old mountain cave; + Like a sea-wave, when the wind is horsed behind its foamy crest, + And it lifts upon the shell-built shore, its azure-spotted breast. + + They came with war-whoop, following each other, like a thread, + Through the long labyrinth of trees, in sunless archway spread; + Their gnarled trunks in shadowy lines rose dimly, few by few, + Mail'd in their mossy armouring,--a pathless avenue! + + In sooth, there was a shepherd girl by her aged father's side; + He gazed upon her deep dark eyes, in glory and in pride; + The mother's soul was living there,--the image full and wild, + Of one he loved--of one no more, was beaming in her child. + + And she was at her father's side, her raven tresses felt + Upon his care-worn cheek, as gay and joyfully she knelt, + Kissing the old man's tears away, by the embers burning faint, + While she sung the holy aves, and a vesper to her saint. + + "Now bar the breezy lattice, love!--but hist! how fares the night? + Methought I heard the wolf abroad. Heaven help! I heard aright-- + My mantle!--By the Mother Saint! our flock is in the fold? + How think you, love? wake up the hound, I ween the wolf is bold." + + "Stay, stay; 'tis past!" "I hear it still; to rest, I pray, to rest." + "Nay, father! hold; thou must not go;" and silently she press'd + The old man's arm, and bade him stay, for love of Heaven and her: + His danger was too wild a thought, for so fond a girl to bear. + + He kiss'd her, and they parted then; but, through the lattice low, + She gazed amid the vine-twigs pale, all cradled to and fro; + The holy whisper of the wind stole lightly by the eaves,-- + A sad dirge, sighing to the fall of the winter-blighted leaves. + + He comes not! 'Tis a dreadful thing to hear them as they rave, + The savage wolf-train howling, like the near burst of a wave. + She thought it was a father's cry she heard--a father's cry! + And she flung her from the cottage door, in startled agony. + + Good Virgin save thee, gentle girl! they are no knightly train + That mark thee for their sinless prey--thou wilt not smile again; + The blood is streaming on thy cheek; the heart it ceases slow; + A father gazes on his child--God help a father's woe! + + + + +HYMN TO ORION + + + Orion! old Orion! who dost wait + Warder at heaven's star-studded gate, + On a throne where worlds might meet + At thy silver sandal'd feet, + All invisible to thee, + Gazing through immensity; + For thy crowned head is higher + Than the ramparts of earth-searching fire, + And the comet his blooded banner, there + Flings back upon the waveless air. + + Old Orion! holy hands + Have knit thy everlasting bands, + Belted by the King of kings, + Under thy azure-sheathed wings, + With a zone of living light, + Such as bound the Apostate might, + When from highest tower of heaven, + His vaunting shape was wrathly driven + To its wane, woe-wall'd abode, + Rended from the eye of God! + + Dost thou, in thy vigils, hail + Arcturus on his chariot pale, + Leading his sons--a fiery flight-- + Over the hollow hill of night? + Or tellest of their watches long, + To the sleepless, nameless throng, + Shoaling in a wond'rous gleam, + Like channel through the azure stream + Of life reflected, as it flows, + In one broad ocean of repose, + Gushing from thy lips, Orion! + To the holy walls of Zion? + + + + _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. + _London & Edinburgh_ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Death-Wake, by Thomas T Stoddart + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEATH-WAKE *** + +***** This file should be named 16601.txt or 16601.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/6/0/16601/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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