 | Madeline |  |
71
X. X.
VALCLUSA.
Like stars that settle in the firmament,
On Sorga's bank there glitters many a tent.
In one lies Madeline yet in slumber stilled;
Those round about by guardian angels filled.
Such was the poet's thought, though heaven's the plan:
The holy scene invisible to man.
For Madeline now has not a mortal's place
But shares while yet on earth an equal grace
With those whose tents her hospital surround,
Left here till fully healed her smarting wound!
The indignant sense retained as just and fit
To do the deed that best avenges it;
The human impulse held, and left to time;
Her soul no more responsible for crime.
Even now on her oblivious eyes are shed,
In mock appearance, joys for ever fled,
That when her life may back to sense return
The maddening wrong in her may deeper burn.
On Sorga's bank there glitters many a tent.
In one lies Madeline yet in slumber stilled;
Those round about by guardian angels filled.
Such was the poet's thought, though heaven's the plan:
The holy scene invisible to man.
For Madeline now has not a mortal's place
But shares while yet on earth an equal grace
With those whose tents her hospital surround,
Left here till fully healed her smarting wound!
The indignant sense retained as just and fit
To do the deed that best avenges it;
The human impulse held, and left to time;
Her soul no more responsible for crime.
Even now on her oblivious eyes are shed,
In mock appearance, joys for ever fled,
That when her life may back to sense return
The maddening wrong in her may deeper burn.
72
Sleep in his sluggish folds
The favoured captive holds,
Till earth for the adopted of the sky
Fit resting-place provides;
She, there unsensed, to lie
As some pale cloud that strides,
Belated on its way,
The purple vault at early break of day.
She dreads no sun whose arrows stream
Along the east to pierce her eyes with light,
And give to flight
The now fair phantoms of her childish dream.
The favoured captive holds,
Till earth for the adopted of the sky
Fit resting-place provides;
She, there unsensed, to lie
As some pale cloud that strides,
Belated on its way,
The purple vault at early break of day.
She dreads no sun whose arrows stream
Along the east to pierce her eyes with light,
And give to flight
The now fair phantoms of her childish dream.
Seven streams of light had run
In glory from the sun,
As open curtains over her who sleeps,
Drawn by the sorcerer's hand
Who at her slumber peeps
To touch her with his wand,
And at its magic stroke
The morning dream ere waking to invoke.
The early days which yet she knew,
Like pictures in the spirit's looking-glass,
Her gaze repass,
And elder tidings of her love renew.
In glory from the sun,
As open curtains over her who sleeps,
Drawn by the sorcerer's hand
Who at her slumber peeps
To touch her with his wand,
And at its magic stroke
The morning dream ere waking to invoke.
The early days which yet she knew,
Like pictures in the spirit's looking-glass,
Her gaze repass,
And elder tidings of her love renew.
73
Scenes fresh as yester-morn
Her pleasant state adorn,
As if the lovely hours, not wholly gone,
But only overcast,
In fresh enchantment shone,
As evermore to last.
Joys tiring of their urn,
Too perfect in their parts, to life return.
With them the play its curtain lifts,
An instant scarce permitted to engage
The airy stage,
Lest in it melt the phantoms ere it shifts.
Her pleasant state adorn,
As if the lovely hours, not wholly gone,
But only overcast,
In fresh enchantment shone,
As evermore to last.
Joys tiring of their urn,
Too perfect in their parts, to life return.
With them the play its curtain lifts,
An instant scarce permitted to engage
The airy stage,
Lest in it melt the phantoms ere it shifts.
Yet it was like a play
On some long holiday.
The scenes once blest and once the raptures known,
Return to her untold,
As if they were her own,
And purest days unfold.
Not strange the poor pretence
They offer back to her of innocence.
The false to clasp, the true evade,
Through Nature's mask she looks on paradise
Without surprise;
Trailing her soul alongside as her shade.
On some long holiday.
The scenes once blest and once the raptures known,
Return to her untold,
As if they were her own,
And purest days unfold.
Not strange the poor pretence
They offer back to her of innocence.
The false to clasp, the true evade,
Through Nature's mask she looks on paradise
Without surprise;
Trailing her soul alongside as her shade.
74
What company is sleep
For lonely hearts to keep!
The dream is day when truth walks out of sight;
When it comes back again,
The dream sinks into night,
Its pleasure into pain.
Young memory runs away
As in the sunny meads the children play.
Is rapture, then, let out on hire,
To sink into its sorrow like a tide
In all its pride,
And in its flush of ecstasy expire?
For lonely hearts to keep!
The dream is day when truth walks out of sight;
When it comes back again,
The dream sinks into night,
Its pleasure into pain.
Young memory runs away
As in the sunny meads the children play.
Is rapture, then, let out on hire,
To sink into its sorrow like a tide
In all its pride,
And in its flush of ecstasy expire?
A chorus softly sang,
The sober warning rang,
But only joy could listen to the strain,
And not the meaning catch.
The warning rang again
But not the sense to match.
The penalty of sleep,
To smile in sorrow and in joy to weep!
O magical deceiver, stay;
Illusion all, though true thy mocking mime,
Except to time:
Of all that happens thou canst change the day!
The sober warning rang,
But only joy could listen to the strain,
And not the meaning catch.
The warning rang again
But not the sense to match.
The penalty of sleep,
To smile in sorrow and in joy to weep!
O magical deceiver, stay;
Illusion all, though true thy mocking mime,
Except to time:
Of all that happens thou canst change the day!
75
Why should the sleeper mourn?
All leads to sorrow's bourn!
She sees a youth like her of tender years.
Is it his air of grace,
The charm her lover wears?
She gazes on his face;
The lineaments the same;
But when she hears his voice she knows his name.
O beautiful deceiver, stay!
Illusion all, yet true, except to time,
The mocking mime:
Of all that happens thou canst change the day!
All leads to sorrow's bourn!
She sees a youth like her of tender years.
Is it his air of grace,
The charm her lover wears?
She gazes on his face;
The lineaments the same;
But when she hears his voice she knows his name.
O beautiful deceiver, stay!
Illusion all, yet true, except to time,
The mocking mime:
Of all that happens thou canst change the day!
Why are her eyeballs hid,
Why downcast is their lid?
Her cheek is smarting with a lover's tear.
Her lips the kiss retain,
The ring he bade her wear
Her finger takes again.
Her glance he fails to find:
She dares not look, lest it betray her mind.
Oft while she listens to his tale,
She feels her hand to touch the ring he gave,
The blush to save:
Does it desert her finger wan and pale?
Why downcast is their lid?
Her cheek is smarting with a lover's tear.
Her lips the kiss retain,
The ring he bade her wear
Her finger takes again.
Her glance he fails to find:
She dares not look, lest it betray her mind.
Oft while she listens to his tale,
She feels her hand to touch the ring he gave,
The blush to save:
Does it desert her finger wan and pale?
76
Heard was the tinkling bell
Before the curtain fell.
The hidden chorus sang the warning strain
But not the sense to reach;
It died away again,
But not the sense to teach.
O penalty of sleep,
To smile in sorrow and in joy to weep!
And yet, O cold deceiver, stay!
Illusion all, but true the mocking mime,
Except to time:
Of all that happens thou canst change the day!
Before the curtain fell.
The hidden chorus sang the warning strain
But not the sense to reach;
It died away again,
But not the sense to teach.
O penalty of sleep,
To smile in sorrow and in joy to weep!
And yet, O cold deceiver, stay!
Illusion all, but true the mocking mime,
Except to time:
Of all that happens thou canst change the day!
VALCLUSA.
When sleep at length expires,
The dream her eye attires
And brings her lover with her to the light.
But soon his image flies
The rapture of her sight,
And in her presence dies.
Before her senses play
The mists in which his phantom melts away.
One scream, and she is heard no more;
Unconscious left, and snatched beyond the scope
Of one frail hope;
Nor all the angel's love can sense restore.
The dream her eye attires
And brings her lover with her to the light.
But soon his image flies
The rapture of her sight,
And in her presence dies.
Before her senses play
The mists in which his phantom melts away.
One scream, and she is heard no more;
Unconscious left, and snatched beyond the scope
Of one frail hope;
Nor all the angel's love can sense restore.
| Madeline | |