VIII.
“GOLDEN CAP.”
1ST FEBRUARY, 1830.
1.
I tread the bare crown of this regal hill,
And gaze around:
The frost hath hung rich jewels by the rill,
And o'er the fall
Of every brook and fountain small;
Along the ground
The vestal snow is warmly spread,
Kiss'd by the blaze of glory overhead.
2.
The smooth wave curves up
On the shelving shore,
Till the mighty cup
Seems brimming o'er!
The blue sea from the azure-palaced sun
A golden zone of rippling fire hath won,
Through which a skiff is flying,
And earthly meteor, vying
With one of heaven:
The clouds in heaven as heaven are clear,
And in the horizon doth appear,
Of texture even,
A silvery mist, that nothing veils
The glory of the atmosphere—
Yet the light-feather'd snow is flying on the gales!
3.
Pale, in the pale blue sky,
High o'er the snow-robed hills,
Hangs the hemisphered moon;
Wan as a maid with maiden ills:
But she shall be no vestal soon;
But on the bed of night, voluptuously
Fill'd with the sun's embrace, rejoicing lie.
4.
The splendour of the Universe is round me:
I am transfix'd;
But my animate soul
Is pervading the whole,
Far intermix'd—
And love, sin, grief, nor death hath power to wound me!
