A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.
I just had turn'd the classic page,
And trac'd that happy period over,
When blest alike were youth and age,
And love inspired the wisest sage,
And wisdom graced the tenderest lover.
Before I laid me down to sleep
Awhile I from the lattice gaz'd
Upon that still and moonlight deep,
With isles like floating gardens rais'd,
For Ariel there his sports to keep;
While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores
The lone night-fisher plied his oars.
I felt,—so strongly fancy's power
Came o'er me in that witching hour,—
As if the whole bright scenery there
Were lighted by a Grecian sky,
And I then breath'd the blissful air
That late had thrill'd to Sappho's sigh.
Thus, waking, dreamt I,—and when Sleep
Came o'er my sense, the dream went on;
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep,
Hath ever lovelier vision shone.
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene, luxurious shade
,
Where Epicurus taught the Loves
To polish virtue's native brightness,—
As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves
Have play'd with, wear a smoother whiteness.
'Twas one of those delicious nights
So common in the climes of Greece,
When day withdraws but half its lights,
And all is moonshine, balm, and peace.
And thou wert there, my own belov'd,
And by thy side I fondly rov'd
Through many a temple's reverend gloom,
And many a bower's seductive bloom,
Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught,
And sages sigh'd and lovers thought;
Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern,
But all was form'd to soothe or move,
To make the dullest love to learn,
To make the coldest learn to love.
And now the fairy pathway seem'd
To lead us through enchanted ground,
Where all that bard has ever dream'd
Of love or luxury bloom'd around.
Oh! 'twas a bright, bewildering scene—
Along the alley's deepening green
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers,
And scented and illum'd the bowers,
Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves
Amid the lone Hercynian groves,
Appear those countless birds of light,
That sparkle in the leaves at night,
And from their wings diffuse a ray
Along the traveller's weary way.
'Twas light of that mysterious kind,
Through which the soul perchance may roam,
When it has left this world behind,
And gone to seek its heavenly home.
And, Nea, thou wert by my side,
Through all this heav'n-ward path my guide.
But, lo, as wand'ring thus we rang'd
That upward path, the vision chang'd;
And now, methought, we stole along
Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever liv'd in Teian song,
Or wanton'd in Milesian story.
And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath of sighs;
Whose ev'ry ringlet, as it wreath'd,
A mute appeal to passion breath'd.
Some flew, with amber cups, around,
Pouring the flowery wines of Crete
;
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound,
The onyx shone beneath their feet.
While others, waving arms of snow
Entwin'd by snakes of burnish'd gold
,
And showing charms, as loth to show,
Through many a thin Tarentian fold
,
Glided among the festal throng
Bearing rich urns of flowers along.
Where roses lay, in languor breathing,
And the young beegrape
, round them wreathing,
Hung on their blushes warm and meek,
Like curls upon a rosy cheek.
Oh, Nea! why did morning break
The spell that thus divinely bound me?
Why did I wake? how could I wake
With thee my own and heaven around me!
