The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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PHANTOM LOVES
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| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
168
PHANTOM LOVES
All have heard the grim old legend of the ship that ever sailed
Round the Cape, for ever baffled, labouring on though nought availed;
Ghostly bark that ever struggled through the wild encircling deep,
Phantom sails that flashed on sailors startled from their midnight sleep.
Round the Cape, for ever baffled, labouring on though nought availed;
Ghostly bark that ever struggled through the wild encircling deep,
Phantom sails that flashed on sailors startled from their midnight sleep.
Sudden, through the pitchy darkness loomed the great ship—gaunt it gleamed
Guided by the death-pale pilot, when the lurid lightning beamed:
For one moment there it glittered—then it vanished in the gloom,
Working out through nights eternal its eternity of doom.
Guided by the death-pale pilot, when the lurid lightning beamed:
For one moment there it glittered—then it vanished in the gloom,
Working out through nights eternal its eternity of doom.
169
More tremendous, yet more solemn, is the doom some spirits bear
Seeking, seeking, ever seeking, through the fragrant summer air,
Through the sombre nights of winter, through the storm-tossed autumn days,
Love and passion that evade them—as that ship was lost in haze.
Seeking, seeking, ever seeking, through the fragrant summer air,
Through the sombre nights of winter, through the storm-tossed autumn days,
Love and passion that evade them—as that ship was lost in haze.
“Now at last”—the spirit murmurs—“now at last a love is mine
Wholly pure and wholly tender, wholly sweet and all divine:
Now at last”—the spirit dreameth—“I shall close this weary quest,
Quit the hell of ceaseless travail, win the heaven of endless rest.
Wholly pure and wholly tender, wholly sweet and all divine:
Now at last”—the spirit dreameth—“I shall close this weary quest,
Quit the hell of ceaseless travail, win the heaven of endless rest.
“Now I love, and for the last time—Nay, I never loved before!
Never made the silver sea-waves such sweet music on the shore!
Never whiteness in the lily, never splendour in the rose,
Gleamed so rich and so translucent—I have won love's deep repose.”
Never made the silver sea-waves such sweet music on the shore!
Never whiteness in the lily, never splendour in the rose,
Gleamed so rich and so translucent—I have won love's deep repose.”
170
But the noble hope is shattered. When love's joy is once attained
What becomes of all its sweetness, what of lasting peace is gained?
—As the ship toiled on for ever, so must man: his course must be
On from passion unto passion, on from sea to sailless sea.
What becomes of all its sweetness, what of lasting peace is gained?
—As the ship toiled on for ever, so must man: his course must be
On from passion unto passion, on from sea to sailless sea.
Yes, the rose again can glitter, and the lily again can gleam
Richer, whiter far than ever through the lost love's tender dream:
For each new love is as Venus—at her touch the ocean glows
Far more sapphire-waved than ever, lovelier ruby stains the rose.
Richer, whiter far than ever through the lost love's tender dream:
For each new love is as Venus—at her touch the ocean glows
Far more sapphire-waved than ever, lovelier ruby stains the rose.
“I was born to give you pleasure”—so the new lips, tender, say:
“Love me, court me, win me, wear me, though it be but for a day.
I am Venus, I am Sappho, I am all the past in one;
I can bring you the lost moon-rays! I can reillume the sun!
“Love me, court me, win me, wear me, though it be but for a day.
I am Venus, I am Sappho, I am all the past in one;
I can bring you the lost moon-rays! I can reillume the sun!
171
“All the past is just as nothing, for the future have no care:
Dream of one thing, only one thing—Am I young, love? am I fair?
I am young and fair, thou sayest? Then let all the world repine,
Let the wind through dark leaves murmur—What of that, if I am thine?”
Dream of one thing, only one thing—Am I young, love? am I fair?
I am young and fair, thou sayest? Then let all the world repine,
Let the wind through dark leaves murmur—What of that, if I am thine?”
But the new love is a phantom, just a ghost—it passes too,
And the flowers no more are radiant, and the sea no more is blue.
All the soul of man is darkened; hurling hate against the sun
It exclaims, “No heart has loved me, nought of love my life hath won!”
And the flowers no more are radiant, and the sea no more is blue.
All the soul of man is darkened; hurling hate against the sun
It exclaims, “No heart has loved me, nought of love my life hath won!”
So, the pale ghost-love pursuing, man goes on from hour to hour,—
Wins no fruit of any passion, hardly wins one golden flower:
Till at last his true love finds him—but her strange eyes flash with doom;
Undivorced are they for ever who join hands within the tomb.
Wins no fruit of any passion, hardly wins one golden flower:
Till at last his true love finds him—but her strange eyes flash with doom;
Undivorced are they for ever who join hands within the tomb.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |