University of Virginia Library

I

One morning, wandering under winding rocks,
That screen'd the sun, and shadow'd the calm sea,
And feeding my fond thoughts with phantasies,
Till the unreal seem'd a treasurehouse,
Wherein to dwell apart from all this world
Was more than all the world; a sudden turn
Brought me in sight of him, whom to behold
Was to cast out all pictures, multiplied
By manifold imaginings, and see
The very life varied by life itself.
Then once again the trouble, as at first,
Seized me like fear. I would have turn'd, and fled.
But many stood around him; and just then
The sunshine flooded through a cleft of rock,
And lighting up a multitude of men,
Women, and children, made their raiment burn
With many colours suddenly, as though
A painter's hand had drawn a picture there,
And he sat with the glory on his face.
So I drew back in shadow; and not one
Gave heed to me; and I sat by, and mark'd,
Thro' loopholes of a drooping jessamine,
Their motions, and his countenance. One said
Unto another;—“Was there ever aught
Like this thro' generations of the past?
That one, of form and aspect like to him,
Should deem himself another, and that other
The son of an old fisher?” “Hold thy peace:”
Spoke up a crutched widow; “know ye not
The very gods sometime have left their seats,
To dwell among us for a punishment?
The sorrows of the blest perchance may be
A blessing to the sorrowful; I charge ye,
Mock not, lest ye should rue it:” “If he be,”
Whisper'd another—with a laugh he hid
Under his hand—“more than a mortal man,
I know not; but the selfsame wits, I ween,
That made him perilous to his peers above,
Have so forsook him since he came below,
As to make this part of his punishment:”
“Shame on ye,” said another; “is it strange
That one, perchance a noble youth, a son
Of some king of the isles, who seeks him now
In vain, and weeps because he cannot find,
In form, and feature, of a better race,
Should have been smit with madness, and have fled
From his own home and kindred? fairest gifts
Ofttimes are stricken with calamity,
As the high hills with lightning; for the Gods
Brook not the pride of mortals. Think ye not
That they will search for him, and find him here,
And bind him; see ye not that he is mad?
Meanwhile, if ye have gentle hearts, be kind
To one, who, if not wise, hath done no ill.
I will take counsel with our rulers here,
That they may shield him lest he come to harm.”
But when they heard these words some fled away
Swiftly, but they were children; mothers press'd
Their babes more fondly, and went softly; some,
Whom fear made cruel, would have wreak'd themselves
In scorn or wrong; but others drew them back.
But most were they who, without love or fear,
Had gaped their full, and now went by together;
Lest by some chance, they knew not what, their hands,
Too listless to be lifted up for ill,
Might yet be wearied with some work of good.

II

When all were parted I came near to him:
And question'd him with such a feigned voice,
As might an actress, mocking airs of pride,
Although her heart was all humility.
I thought so; haply I deceived myself.
But, if he loved me not, his mood might seem
To a bystander more akin to love
Than mine; and for the time our parts were changed.
For with a quick and eager gratitude
He seized my hand, and prest it to his lips,
“Lady, I thank thee from my heart,” he cried,
“For the first words that tell me there is one
Of my own land, who will not deem my truth
A lie, my poverty a cause for crime;
My sorrow causeless, even tho' my own
Beloved father—oh! I know not why—
Disowns me, clothed as heretofore, and raves,
And curses me for my own murderer:
So that I think that all I meet are mad.
For well I know I am not mad myself;
Nor any prince fled from afar, but he,
Who, but a few days since, was known to all,
And loved by all; and yet I am not changed,
Except some spell have wrought a change in me,
Or in the eyes of others who look on me.
Alas! was ever lot so strange as mine,
Was ever fate so cruel?” When he ceased,
I could not answer him; for had I seen
This man before, or mark'd if I had seen?
So if he were not mad, as they had said,
And seeming reason but a madman's wile,
Then was I mad for loving a king's son,
So far above me, or one so far below
As him, whose hands but now were red with blood!
“Tell me,” I said, “how fared it with thee, friend,
The morn of thy last parting? for, it seems,
Things stranger than the strangest we have heard
Befell the interval 'twixt now and then,
To make a stranger of thee.” Then he said;—
“Lady, it was the morning of that day
They slew Melanchrus; in the bays and coves
The barks lay without hands; the unpeopled shores
Were silent, but the streets were thronging fast;
And from the centre of the citadel
The wind brought down the tumult, and I thought
To leap ashore, and lend my arm to theirs,
Who shouted for the people; but the wind
Was favourable, and my father's voice
Still sounding in my ears; for he was chafed
That baffling airs had held me here so long.
And then I thought a needy mariner,
Striving amid the busy citizens,
Is but a foolish fish that gasps in air,
And cannot help himself; why should he tempt
The earthquake, who is only weatherwise;
As though his skill upon the tossing sea
Would bear him safely thro' the tumbling towers?
So that I put vain thoughts away, and turn'd
To hoist sail and unmoor. Just then I heard
A faint voice, and an aged form and veil'd
Stood, beckoning like a spectre, on the strand.
She had been tall in youth; but now she seem'd
To lean the sorrows of an hundred years
Upon her staff; she shook with her great age.
'Twas pity to behold her in that plight.
‘The routed mob,’—she shriek'd,—‘half blind with fear
Are flying from the wrath of the chief men.
A moment more, and they had trod me down.
Save me, my son; there is no help on shore;
And I shall bless thee; I am of the Isles;
Bear me along with thee, and set me down.’
‘Mother, I am for Imbros; step aboard,’
I cried—and raised her in my arms for speed
Lest she should trip and fall; but in my hands
Light as a little dust was that grey form;
And all those mortal sorrows as thin air;
So that I marvell'd. But no sooner she
Had set her foot upon the deck, than all
The rabble rout with clamours, and with dust,
Pour'd down upon the shores; and from the fort
We heard the trumpets blowing; and I saw
Aghast new banners flying; and I knew
That I most wisely had forgone the fray;
For the great lords had won: but now I breathed
Freely the fresh seas, and the winged air.
O Heaven! how blessed was that thought; how sweet;
While many, for the deeds they did that day,
Lay in a breathless dungeon dark and cold.
No sooner was the canvas spread, than all
The winds, that had forgotten us so long,
Came down at once; off in midsea the crests
Of the tall surges lighten'd; and the showers
Dash'd from the deep made rainbows. On we flow'd,
We clear'd the harbour swift as hope; and stood
Out for the main, as tho' blind Fortune sat
In that weird shape before me; and I sang
In very glee, to witness how we sail'd.
The yellow shores, the temples on the steeps,
Sunk as in some swift dream; and all the hills
Of Lesbos vanish'd as a morning cloud.
And still I sang, and still we sail'd away
From morn to noon, from afternoon to even;
And halcyons came and warbled on the mast;
And wondrous fishes glanced from out the blue,
Dizen'd with pearl and gold; and gracious shapes
Seem'd leaning o'er us from the summer clouds.
Oh! we sail'd rarely! but that hooded form
Sat cowering by the mast, and spake no more;
Till I grew half afraid; and, when the moon
Rose o'er the waters, I grew silent too,
Thinking 'twas Death that I had brought aboard.
At last, betwixt the midnight and the morn,
Lying becalm'd under the dusky lee
Of a forsaken islet steep with rocks,
And weary with my toil, I lay and slept.
And in my dreams we still were sailing on,
Thro' waters, purple with the setting sun,
'Twixt rosy isles that waved above the deep
Deep summer woods tassel'd with flowers, that made
The quiet bays beneath them rich as floors
Paven with gems; and, in the lawny shade
Of gardenslopes, I heard sweet citherns smit;
And mark'd soft eyes peep forth thro' myrtleboughs.
Then, as I slept, methought I look'd upon
The rocky islet; but its aspect changed;
As tho' midwinter in a moment sprang
Into the youth of summer; and I saw
Many a green way, that wander'd into deeps
Of emerald twilight; and I lighted down,
And follow'd the first alley that I found.
And, as I went, it widen'd into lawns,
And gardens, cluster'd with such balmy trees,
As fill'd the air with odours; but no sense
Of mortal man drew in such happy breath
As flow'd around me, filling me with bliss
Sweeter than any drawn from golden drops
Of sweetest vineyards: and about me rang
The mingled notes of songbirds, to the ear
Wafting delights, that seem'd to breathe in sound
The spirits of the flowers. I drank in life;
My heart was jocund and my step was light.
When, in a moment, from beneath a shade
Of arching myrtles came forth one, who seem'd
The queen of all that pleasaunce; for the light
Of her great beauty glorified the place.
And yet, methought, as I look'd on her face,
I still beheld the aged woman there,
Though every form and feature had put on
Divinest youth; and then I heard her voice.
‘The Immortals have no need of mortal aid;’
She said; ‘and if this morn I seem'd to fly
In fear from earthly terrors, dream not, boy,
Thy hand hath saved one whom no hand could harm.
But not the less the Gods are bountiful;
And bless the giver though his gift be nought.
Love is the best gift that thy world can yield.
Beauty should be its garment; and when Time
Hath reap'd the harvest of the evil earth,
The thoughts of men shall mould their outward form;
And, love being in the heart as in the eye,
And interchanged by twain who love each other,
Not given in vain to unrequiting souls,
All loves shall be concordant, as the sweet
Concert of bass and treble instruments.
And infants shall inherit in their souls
Ancestral harmonies; and the pure thought,
And the kind heart be pictured in the face,
Material symbol of the soul itself;
Like and unlike, yet answering to each other,
As Nature to the Supernatural,
O mortal, but the days are not yet come
For such a change; but I can make thee such.
Be thou, as thou wouldst be, if that great day
Had dawn'd upon the world; be thou, O boy,
The visible semblance of thine inmost soul.’
Lady, I know not if I seem to thee
To utter speech of reason; but I know
These are the words she spoke, the very same.
For, by recalling them continually,
Sometimes in silent thought, sometimes in whispers,
Sometimes aloud, I have ingrain'd them so
In memory, thro' my vain desire to spell
The riddle of them, that I can no more
Forget them, than the sound of my own tongue.”
He ceased, and grief, and wonder, mix'd with fear,
Gat hold of me; I could not answer him.
For had I ever seen this man, before
He sail'd away, or mark'd if I had seen?
Alas! he must be mad as they had said,
Then was I madder still for loving him
Who loved not me: but could I fight with doom,
More than a withered leaf with mountain winds,
More than a dewdrop with the cataract?

III

One morn there was a cry along the shore.
A shatter'd bark had drifted on a rock
With shiver'd mast and rudderless; and one
Said 'twas a fisher's caught by a northwind,
And emptied of its crew; another knew
It was a Samian bark, and brought us wares,
And wines in change for ours; a broken jar
Lay on the deck; hard by a fisher's cap,
Discolour'd by the salt seas; but a third
Cried: “Mark ye not the dolphin on the prow?
Ah! now I know, 'tis his; the youth who sail'd
A few months past, and vanish'd; but instead
One brought it back who bore the selfsame name,
Or stole it; one as like a fisherboy,
As Hermes to a helot,—for his face
And form seem'd more than mortal; yet he wept
Thus to be held a stranger; for the old man,
The sire of him ye wot of, cast him off,
And charged him with the murder of his son,
And died a few days after. And this youth
Wander'd in solitary walks, and show'd
A woeful aspect for a week or two.
Then on a certain morning he came down,
And stood among us—'twas a stormy time—
And thus he spoke, ‘O friends, I have lost all
'Tis best to love; the love of them I loved,
Who tell me, though I know myself the same
In heart and mind, that I am strange to them.
If it be so, I know not by what arts
I have been charm'd; but I remember me
The last sad voyage was not made alone.
But one went with me, who had fled that morn
From the oncoming crowd of evil men,
And waving swords, and dust, and trampling steeds.
For on that very day the city rose
In arms, and slew Melanchrus—and she seem'd
An aged woman of an hundred years;
Doubtless a sorceress, and I knew it not;
And crying, ‘save me,’ as she stepped aboard.
My boat sped like an arrow from a bow,
Tho' the light winds were scarce enough that morn
To bend the sail, or yet to curl the sea.
The shore fled from me swiftly; all the isle,
Its woods, and hills, and hamlets, shrank away,
Tho' she seem'd in a slumber: but time fails
To tell ye of the rest. Still this I know,
That sleep came o'er me; and when I awoke,
I was alone: and now I part again.
If not for ever, I shall bring him back;
Tell the old man, the son that he hath lost.
For I shall sail, and seek, until I find
The holiest shrine amid the many isles.
And if there be an eye to see, an ear
To hearken to the guiltless, I shall be
Uncharm'd of evil magic, or shall die!’”
Then spake a fourth man, who had join'd the rest:—
“And now 'tis certain that he is no more.
For last night's gathering tempest into port
Brought many barks, scudding before the wind.
The captain of the last beheld this boat
Far in midsea; against the dying light
One stood upon the deck with streaming hair,
And outstretch'd arms; and the last sunflash fired
A mountain wave that curl'd o'er it, and seem'd
A purple dragon with a golden crest.
I heard a shriek; and, when the sea recoil'd,
He was not; but the vessel drifted on,
And here behold it stranded on the rocks.”
I heard the tale, as one upon a rock
Sunder'd from friends, and kin, alone, by night,
Hears the hoarse voices of the threatful waves
Rising each moment higher, higher, higher,
And knows that they will kill him; and I said;—
“My life is dead, for he, my love, is lost;
Love better than the life where it is not.
Drown'd, drown'd; the brightest star cast down, and quench'd
In the cold seas for ever, and for ever!
We two shall never meet again: he lies
Where I may never follow him alive.
What matter? Better be with him below,
In the still deeps, than be as I am now,
A surge upon the surface, lash'd and torn
By one unceasing torment.” And I fled,
I cared not whither; but for a brief space,
So bright was his blest image in my heart,
I could not deem it bloodless; and I laugh'd
At the impossible. There came a change,
When that throned thought, that bliss, my daily sun,
Was taken from my life; great darkness fell
One day upon me as I sat alone.
The finches, singing in the garden boughs,
Began to shrill, as tho' their little pipes
Were changed to brass, and let the northwind through.
The wind, that just before was flowing soft
Over the whispering myrtles, seem'd to howl,
And scream, as tho' it rush'd down all at once,
Thro' rifts and crannies of old battle towers,
Splinter'd with lightnings for a thousand years.
The flowers, that waved their crimson and their gold
From the green plots without, began to burn,
Like subtle fires ascending from the earth.
The sunlit fountain in the centre rose
As one vast roaring flame; the summerclouds
Drifted like smokewreaths from a world on fire,
About to infold me; then I rose, and cried
To the Gods to snatch me from it; and I heard
Laughter, like an infernal triumph, burst
From underneath the earth. And then a voice
Shouted in mine ear;—“What! wouldst thou stay
Till all the earth is, as thy scorched heart,
A dwelling for the Furies? Up! and fly,
While there is time.” And then the rampant flame
Seem'd to divide before me; and I flew,
Swift as a wither'd leaf, or bird caught off
Along a stream of wind; again the fire
Closed up behind, and follow'd after me
Like rolling thunder. Once again I heard
That voice, “the sea! the sea!” and, swift as thought,
I stood upon a high, grey, desert plain,
Scatter'd with rocks, and blown upon by winds
Out of the purple deeps, that lay hard by,
Rolling in monstrous surges far below,
So far, no sound came up; till wind and flame
Lull'd for a moment whispering eagerly.
There was no time for thought: the flooding fire
Tower'd o'er the steep edge of the wilderness;
And cast a bloodred on the quaking seas.
Then, with a mighty voice, that peal'd above
The thundering flames, the waters, and the winds,
And in a moment seem'd to strike the stars,
So that they shudder'd: “I have made my choice,”
I cried, “lost love, to sleep with thee, with thee;
Down in the still abyss, and not to burn.”
The wind and fire were hush'd, and nothing heard
But hungry waters. “Welcome, doom,” I cried,
And on a lightning-flash, that show'd me all
The dreadful ocean under, I leapt down!
Sudden around me there was a great peace.
And, thro' the azure waters, I could see
Arches of pearl and coral flourish'd o'er
By large seaflowers, that droop'd, and intertwined
Their clusters. Far within them I beheld
Walls of a city sheening with the hues
Of rainbow-tinted shells; and thro' great gates,
Pillar'd on either hand with lustrous shafts
Of opal, and of agate, flow'd a band
Of fair seadaughters; and a low, sweet coil
Came faintly thro' the waters, like the sound
Of a clear bell, whose undulations drown
In baffling winds, then rise again; and pulsed
The seagreen element, that seem'd as dim
As vernal dales by moonlight. As I lay
Entranced, and moveless, they came near to me,
And look'd upon me; and I heard one say;—
“It is a daughter of the upper world;
Whose sorrow is such as we never know.
For love there is but sorrow; since the time
That Aphrodite from among us fled,
And took away the earth's primeval peace;
Peace only perfect here: and I have heard
Her hapless tale from many a landnymph's tongue,
Whisper'd to cavern'd echoes, listening,
Between the low sounds of the rippling wave,
To voices of that world, what time I lay
On golden sands, basking in the slant beams
Of sinking suns, just as they touch the edge
Of our blue sea: her lover is with us;
She thought him dead, but she shall meet him here.”

IV

Then in a moment living motion ceased;
And mere oblivion swallow'd up my soul.
For countless ages, as it seem'd, I lay
In outer darkness; ever in mine ears
The murmur of the waters. A dim light
Dawn'd on me first; and then a low sweet voice.
It was the sunset hour when I awoke.
Was I drawn up from the great deep again?
Was I awaken'd to another world?
Or born again to the old waste of woe?
Was that my mother, bending o'er my face,
With pale lips and with earnest eyes? I sigh'd
A sigh, made up of many mingled moods,
Half hopeless memory, half infantine hope
After sad resignation, of sweet peace,
That peace that best a mother's voice can breathe.
And as I lay, through all those silent days,
'Twixt life and death, the past came back to me,
As a faint twilight when the sun is set,
By little and by little; but all moods
Were vanquish'd by mere wonder that I lived.
Had I not rush'd upon the fatal steep,
Pursued by fire, and down into the sea,
And certain death? Had I not lain in death
And the abyss for æons? Could the dead
Live other lives? Could I be born again?
But she was there, my mother; then 'twas I,
The same, and not another. Then, methought
I heard the voice of Pallas in mine ear,
Earnest and clear, “Be of good cheer, my child.
Thy deeds were phantoms of a fever'd heart
And brain; the natural pains, that shook thy frame,
Nature herself hath heal'd; the fatal thoughts,
When the dread sisters seem'd to fire thy soul,
My spirit hath tamed: know this, the Will of Man
Almighty is for evil or for good;
Or a proud Titan, fighting against Heaven,
Or a wise king, that rules him like a God.
Thine for a while rebell'd, and rose against me,
And all my counsels; but that interval,
Between the downward lapsing of thy soul
Toward self-annihilation in despair,
And its completion in the act itself,
I filled with darkness; and I drew thereon
A picture of thy doom: but join'd thereto
Sweet passages, and peaceful afterthoughts;
Lest the mere shock of dread imaginings
Should prove too strong for thee. Forget not, child,
Forget not ever all that might have been,
Had I not snatch'd thy body from thy soul,
Chain'd the poor slave, and baffled the proud king.
Blind madness glories in an evil deed;
But waken'd conscience that it was not done.”

V

I thought the hot breath of that fiery time
Had wither'd up all promise of my youth;
And that my heart would never more put forth
Or leaf or flower. I said;—“What other love
Can take the place of this uprooted palm,
That was so plumy? oh! what other dream
Can throne itself, where Love hath been a king,
And ruled without a peer?” But moments run
Like strengthless waters, that wear down the hills;
And, when the watercourse is turn'd aside,
The hollows fill with flowers; and daily tears
Will shed humility—perennial herb,
Whereon the affections, that we scorn'd before,
Live and breathe fresher than the summer sweets
Of passion—so I went forth from my home
Of mourning, as the sower, when the rains
Have ceased; the thunders pass'd from off the hills;
And thro' the golden air of autumn shine
The farthest isles. All that to me remain'd
Of pleasant memories, with the thrifty eye
Of one who sees the coming winterdays,
I gather'd; and a little garland wove,
And o'er the torn vines, and the shaken woods,
Gazed with a love I never felt till then.
It was the time of autumn; and perchance
Sweet fancies born of autumn tuned my soul
To softer harmonies; and cooler air
Sent thro' my trembling pulse a better life;
And wing'd new hopes, as 'twere from happy isles,
If hopes they might be called that rather were
The dying of despair. I heard the birds
At noonday, autumn noon, that look'd like even,
Chant clearly in the silence longdrawn notes,
That seem'd to say, peace, peace; oh! blessed peace,
Peace to the Earth, peace to the heart of man,
Like slumber after toil. The embowered glens
Rang to the mountain waters; and blue eyes
Of latter flowers, along the orchard paths,
Lay like forgotten footmarks of the spring;
And peep'd thro' fall'n leaves like first youth again.
I walk'd into those bowers, where I had been
A happy minister, delighted once
And kindler of delight; the bowers where spake
The Muses' oracles, and Fancy sat,
And suffer'd not the fragrant flame to die
On Beauty's altars; where our Lesbian songs
Together link'd the Present and the Past;
And, from the sunny life that round us stirr'd,
Whatever seem'd or sweet, or sad, or strange,
We gather'd; like the favour'd few that pass
Into the vineyard, and the rarest grapes
Pluck for the Master; and, when vintage days
Are past and gone, in moonlight tread again
The mossy walks, and wander in the glooms;
And in the silence seem to hear once more
The songs they sung at morn. Long days had pass'd,
Void hours of grief, the winter of the heart,
Since last I hung on those familiar boughs
The harp I struck so well. My heart untuned
At first made jarring utterance; like those strings
So long forsaken; but at last I sang
Something about a wounded nightingale,
That mourns, and cannot rest beneath the stars,
And with a voice so moving, that I saw
Gay eyes in tears: and then I paused, and said:—
“Why weep ye?” then I knew that I had told
Unwitting my own sorrows; and my lot
Seem'd at that moment more forlorn than all
The days before; my tears burst forth again,
Like the last drops of tempest; but those tears
Brought consolation; for their loving arms
Were twined about my neck; and then I felt
That tender Nature, who transforms the dust
Of Death to living flowers, had wrought for me,
Out of my darkest hour, a dawn of Joy.

VI

Then, in the wondrous stillness of my soul
Awaken'd to new thoughts, and other life,
Reborn unto the world, and risen again
Like an autumnal sun with purer light,
And windless calm, I look'd back on myself,
As once I was: Oh! what a wondrous change!
Sure I had walk'd the earth, as though it were
The Gods' own pleasaunce; plague that struck me down,
And pour'd through all the winding ways of life
Wildfire for blood, had borne away with it,
Not life, but all those thoughts, on which I fed
Of old,—methought, a thousand years ago—
In a far world, wherein I had essay'd,
With pride and impious vanity, to walk;
Tho' none but Gods could have their dwelling there
In my new place I wonder'd at myself.
How had I dared to wander in that world,
Poor mortal, 'mid the blessed? and to breathe,
Thro' this vile dust, the auras of their bliss?
Were they not just? Well had they done by me,
To send me the fire-eyed Eumenides,
To lash me back into the shades of Time
With stings of flame; else had I died in life
Emptied of human purpose, hope itself;
Like some sweet blossom in a garden ground,
Smit by the sun, which is the daily joy
Of other flowers, and wither'd; on whose head
Showers fall by day, and nightly dews in vain;
For the life-drops within it spring no more.
And then I bow'd before the mournful thought,
Sadder and wiser: love, like that I felt,
And now remember'd only, like a dream,
We strive in vain to follow, as it flies—
Like the last glory of the setting sun
To one who strays at even—thro' the gates
Of Heaven, and leaves us weeping in the dark.
Oh! love like that is not the doom of Man.
For look how frail it is; how like a flower,
Whose odours for a moment fill the air
With an Elysian spirit! handle it;
Smirch it too rudely; breathe on it too much;
And all it is dissolves to worse than nought,
A loveless wreck of a most lovely thing.
For beauty marr'd is ofttimes worse to see
Than a born hideousness, and noblest wine
Corrupted the intensest opposite.
And so that love, which is divine beyond
All human motions, sometimes turns to scorn,
To hatred, or mere recklessness; or leaves
The void cold heart a prey to apathies,
Or kindles it again with fiercer joys;
If haply it may light it up once more
With sudden glare for glory, like the glow
Of midnight burnings after the great sun.
So that men fling away their lives in sport;
Handle the dice for pastime; till the void
Within the heart may be forgotten quite
In the brain's whirling uproar; seek far lands;
Consort with wild men in a wilderness;
Mislead the weak in their blind-eyed despair;
Front unimagined perils; cast their youth
And wither'd hopes under the wheels of war;
And wise men marvel at a madman's acts
While yet the eye of reason hath not dimm'd,
Nor the strength fail'd. Such thoughts possess'd me long,
Till day by day the memory of the past,
Grew more and more like phantasy: I said;—
“What if the fever'd blood and frantic brain
Have not begotten 'twixt them something strange
As fabled wonders; was it all a vision?
A rainbow painted on a thundercloud,
That faints away with the ascending sun?
Who was this Phaon with the godlike form,
And loveless eyes, but an unreal thing
Shown to me in my sleep? My spirit's pangs
But the vain offspring of my body's pain?
Lo! the world brightens: hark! how sweet the tongues
Of merry children at their early play;
And the wind weaving melody with the leaves.
How dear the firstborn beam, the first bird's song,
As we lie panting, after sleepless nights,
And peace flies back on the fresh plumes of dawn.”
So, after that great shaking of my life,
Old things seem'd new once more; and fair new thoughts
Sprang up like springflowers every moment now;
And once again Nature was unto me,
As to a newborn child.