The Flood of Thessaly The Girl of Provence, and Other Poems. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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| 2. | PART THE SECOND. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
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 | The Flood of Thessaly |  |
39
2. PART THE SECOND.
41
Some have believed the Deluge never was:
And some that, ere it was, man walked the world
With a sight more near to immortality,
Than e'er hath shone since those diluvian days:
Others have guessed that monstrous tribes, now dead,
Blackened the air, once, or with ponderous bulks
Trod down the soil,—Phœnix and eastern Roc,
And Sphinx whose words perplex'd the wit of Thebes,
And Behemoth, vast birth, (almost a fable)
That fed like Famine on the streams and hills,—
A breathing wonder,—a strange truth, confirmed.
—To me the records of the days of old
Are starred with a diviner character.
Fable, historian page, or sager verse
I mar not nor reject; nor now enquire,
Bent on a tale of ancient years, how far
The wonders of past times be false or true.
And some that, ere it was, man walked the world
With a sight more near to immortality,
Than e'er hath shone since those diluvian days:
Others have guessed that monstrous tribes, now dead,
Blackened the air, once, or with ponderous bulks
Trod down the soil,—Phœnix and eastern Roc,
And Sphinx whose words perplex'd the wit of Thebes,
And Behemoth, vast birth, (almost a fable)
That fed like Famine on the streams and hills,—
A breathing wonder,—a strange truth, confirmed.
—To me the records of the days of old
42
Fable, historian page, or sager verse
I mar not nor reject; nor now enquire,
Bent on a tale of ancient years, how far
The wonders of past times be false or true.
Whether the bright and rolling world came forth,
A thing of life, from Darkness or blind Chance,
Chaos or utter Nought; or sprung from Air,
Fire or innumerable atoms, charmed
Into harmonious motion, or dependeth
On star or comet, is not now my care:
Nor whether in the earth's deep heart there hides
A mighty abyss of waters, casting out
From immemorial time, beautiful things
In its revolving. 'Tis enough for me
To gaze on its great regions,—boundless plains,
Continents, flourishing isles, and desarts rude,
Forests old as the world and falling floods,
And mountains, east and west, which kiss the moon,
Andes, and Himalayans, and bright Alps;
And fiery Etna in her purple pride
Rising from meadows of a thousand hues.
Nor these alone transport me; gentler sights
Are mine, deep groves and fountains and calm lakes,
And murmuring waters and lone silent shores,
The air, the golden sun, the visiting cloud
Which comes and goes; Night and her crowds of stars
And that ne'er-sleeping wilderness of waves
The sea,—the populous sea, which circleth all,
And the wide arch of everlasting Heaven.
A thing of life, from Darkness or blind Chance,
Chaos or utter Nought; or sprung from Air,
Fire or innumerable atoms, charmed
Into harmonious motion, or dependeth
On star or comet, is not now my care:
Nor whether in the earth's deep heart there hides
A mighty abyss of waters, casting out
From immemorial time, beautiful things
In its revolving. 'Tis enough for me
To gaze on its great regions,—boundless plains,
Continents, flourishing isles, and desarts rude,
Forests old as the world and falling floods,
And mountains, east and west, which kiss the moon,
Andes, and Himalayans, and bright Alps;
And fiery Etna in her purple pride
43
Nor these alone transport me; gentler sights
Are mine, deep groves and fountains and calm lakes,
And murmuring waters and lone silent shores,
The air, the golden sun, the visiting cloud
Which comes and goes; Night and her crowds of stars
And that ne'er-sleeping wilderness of waves
The sea,—the populous sea, which circleth all,
And the wide arch of everlasting Heaven.
Free Nature in her bounty offereth these
To man, and hence I worship. I may dream
That the great earth unshapen, was indeed
First, co-eternal with the supreme God;
Thus Plato taught: or by a single word
(Born like a thought, and smit with light and sound
At once) was called to wear this perfect form,
This dress of bluest air and sylvan shade:
Or with thy fables, old Pythagoras,
(Gathered in sandy Egypt, or derived
From bearded Magi in the Chaldee lands)
Cheat for awhile my soul:—But Truth will come,
And cloudless seasons and serener hours,
And then how vain it is I learn, to send
Among earth's secrets and confusions, forth
A thought unwing'd, to search and ask what was
The dread Beginning! Like a pilgrim worn
By toil and blinded on the burning sands,
The baffled Speculation home returns,
Drooping and glad to rest. Therefore no more:
O Muse! no longer loiter in thy way;
For thou, ere thou hast done thy toil, must scale
The empyrean with undrooping wings,
And look upon the bright haunts of the Gods.
To man, and hence I worship. I may dream
That the great earth unshapen, was indeed
First, co-eternal with the supreme God;
Thus Plato taught: or by a single word
(Born like a thought, and smit with light and sound
At once) was called to wear this perfect form,
This dress of bluest air and sylvan shade:
Or with thy fables, old Pythagoras,
(Gathered in sandy Egypt, or derived
From bearded Magi in the Chaldee lands)
Cheat for awhile my soul:—But Truth will come,
44
And then how vain it is I learn, to send
Among earth's secrets and confusions, forth
A thought unwing'd, to search and ask what was
The dread Beginning! Like a pilgrim worn
By toil and blinded on the burning sands,
The baffled Speculation home returns,
Drooping and glad to rest. Therefore no more:
O Muse! no longer loiter in thy way;
For thou, ere thou hast done thy toil, must scale
The empyrean with undrooping wings,
And look upon the bright haunts of the Gods.
High in that middle region, where, it seems,
Olympus and his hundred heads are lost
In air—(tho' clouds hang round and make the place
Holy, cerulean vapours rare and fine,)
'Tis storied Jove's Saturnian palace sprung.
—It was a mighty dome, whose blue arch shone
With a thousand constellated lights that rained
Rich, endless day, and gentlest warmth like spring
The present and the past were there,—the Signs
Scorpion and Cancer and Aquarius,
And all who belt the sky, and all the throng
That flame along the tropics, or like gems
Live in the foreheads of the hemispheres,
Sirius and Taurus and the starry twain,
(Leda's) and fierce Orion who, between
Phœnix and Hydra, on the nights of May
Shakes over southern seas his watery beams;
And northwards shone Canopus, and the lights
Cassiopeia, and the great fix'd star
Arcturus, and Andromeda, long chained
And haunted on the cold and sea-beat rock
Others were there, since known. Below, withdrawn,
And seen as thro' a vista clear and wide,
Gleam'd squares and arches, streets, range after range,
Temples and towers and alabaster spires,
Which ran up to infinitude, and pierced
With sharp and glittering points the highest air,
And terraces crown'd with pavilions, which
Outshone the sun, and with their light made base
All that of old Nebuchadnezzar hung
Towering above his Babylonian halls,
Making great wonder dumb. Nearer, all round
That lustrous dome colossal figures stood,
Like pillars, with vast sinewy arms outspread,
And golden shapes between, with finer care
Wrought than e'er Phidias us'd, whose carved thoughts
Threw beauty o'er the years of Pericles.
Olympus and his hundred heads are lost
In air—(tho' clouds hang round and make the place
Holy, cerulean vapours rare and fine,)
'Tis storied Jove's Saturnian palace sprung.
—It was a mighty dome, whose blue arch shone
With a thousand constellated lights that rained
Rich, endless day, and gentlest warmth like spring
The present and the past were there,—the Signs
45
And all who belt the sky, and all the throng
That flame along the tropics, or like gems
Live in the foreheads of the hemispheres,
Sirius and Taurus and the starry twain,
(Leda's) and fierce Orion who, between
Phœnix and Hydra, on the nights of May
Shakes over southern seas his watery beams;
And northwards shone Canopus, and the lights
Cassiopeia, and the great fix'd star
Arcturus, and Andromeda, long chained
And haunted on the cold and sea-beat rock
Others were there, since known. Below, withdrawn,
And seen as thro' a vista clear and wide,
Gleam'd squares and arches, streets, range after range,
Temples and towers and alabaster spires,
Which ran up to infinitude, and pierced
With sharp and glittering points the highest air,
And terraces crown'd with pavilions, which
Outshone the sun, and with their light made base
All that of old Nebuchadnezzar hung
Towering above his Babylonian halls,
46
That lustrous dome colossal figures stood,
Like pillars, with vast sinewy arms outspread,
And golden shapes between, with finer care
Wrought than e'er Phidias us'd, whose carved thoughts
Threw beauty o'er the years of Pericles.
Typhon was there—(his spirit, the corpor'al mould
Lay under Etna, crush'd,) and Atlas huge,
Phorcys, and Briareus, tho' spared from toil,
And prone Enceladus, whom Pluto trod
Down with his chariot wheels, when thro' the heart
Of groaning earth he wound his dusky way,
And raped Proserpina: and all the rest,
Titans, and giants, and amphibious things,
Whose hate grew strong when Saturn ceased his reign.
Fixed on their pedestals of glowing gold
(Figured with all the actions of the sky)
They stood,—proud perfect works, and thro' their veins
Transparent the ethereal fluids ran:
While in each space curtains of trembling mist
And azure-woven air came flowing down,
O'er-shower'd with stars,—between whose waving folds
The delicate Zephyrs with their odorous loads
Passed in and out, and girls, like Flora fair,
Sprinkled the veined floor with amaranth blooms.
—And there the laughing Hours flew round and round
In airy circles, while outspread below
The wood-nymphs lay and Fauns, whose haunts were now
Flooded, and at their head the sylvan Pan,
Married to Echo, who received his words
As wisdom, and to all the listening Earth
Told the deep secrets of his springs and caves.
And Jupiter, eternal Spirit, was there,
Like a Divinity beyond the rest
Enthroned:—Apart, and as imperial kings
Sit reigning compassed by their pomp and arms,
So, amid clouds and amethystine fires,
He ruled; not fierce as when thro' heaven he chased
Saturn, but milder than the first born Love.
And near him stood Apollo,—Cybele,
Juno, and zoned Aphrodité crown'd
With flowering myrtles, and the palest maid
Of heaven,—Diana; and bright numbers more.
Lay under Etna, crush'd,) and Atlas huge,
Phorcys, and Briareus, tho' spared from toil,
And prone Enceladus, whom Pluto trod
Down with his chariot wheels, when thro' the heart
Of groaning earth he wound his dusky way,
And raped Proserpina: and all the rest,
Titans, and giants, and amphibious things,
Whose hate grew strong when Saturn ceased his reign.
Fixed on their pedestals of glowing gold
(Figured with all the actions of the sky)
They stood,—proud perfect works, and thro' their veins
47
While in each space curtains of trembling mist
And azure-woven air came flowing down,
O'er-shower'd with stars,—between whose waving folds
The delicate Zephyrs with their odorous loads
Passed in and out, and girls, like Flora fair,
Sprinkled the veined floor with amaranth blooms.
—And there the laughing Hours flew round and round
In airy circles, while outspread below
The wood-nymphs lay and Fauns, whose haunts were now
Flooded, and at their head the sylvan Pan,
Married to Echo, who received his words
As wisdom, and to all the listening Earth
Told the deep secrets of his springs and caves.
And Jupiter, eternal Spirit, was there,
Like a Divinity beyond the rest
Enthroned:—Apart, and as imperial kings
Sit reigning compassed by their pomp and arms,
48
He ruled; not fierce as when thro' heaven he chased
Saturn, but milder than the first born Love.
And near him stood Apollo,—Cybele,
Juno, and zoned Aphrodité crown'd
With flowering myrtles, and the palest maid
Of heaven,—Diana; and bright numbers more.
Suddenly—(for till then whispers had been,
And smiles prevailing and melodious tones,
And Eolus in distance far was heard
Sounding his trumpet over lands and seas)
Silence came forth:—The circling Hours then ceased
Their round, and from Jove's throne a silver light
Flowed to the zenith, mild as what is seen
At morning, when the westering stars are gone,
And young Apollo still delays the day.
Every bright eye was filled, and quickly turned
Its radiance towards the supreme king, who raised
His head and shook his cloudy hair aside,
Smiling in beauty throughout heaven.—'Twas then
The Gods rejoiced, and knew the world was saved.
And smiles prevailing and melodious tones,
And Eolus in distance far was heard
Sounding his trumpet over lands and seas)
Silence came forth:—The circling Hours then ceased
Their round, and from Jove's throne a silver light
Flowed to the zenith, mild as what is seen
At morning, when the westering stars are gone,
And young Apollo still delays the day.
Every bright eye was filled, and quickly turned
Its radiance towards the supreme king, who raised
His head and shook his cloudy hair aside,
Smiling in beauty throughout heaven.—'Twas then
The Gods rejoiced, and knew the world was saved.
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The world is saved,—Millions of spirits sang
All around the skiey halls—The World is saved;
From Deluge; from the immeasureable wrath
Of Jove; from Desolation; from Decay!
They sang, and all the murmuring Zephyrs shook
From off their wings harmonious airs, and sounds
Came streaming from immortal instruments,
All heaven attun'd, and as by Muses' hands
Touched in diviner moments, when the choir
Of Phœbus, from long listening to his lyre,
Are equalled for a space with mightiest Gods.
Even he himself, the Lord of light and song,
For once descending from his sublime state,
Swept in the madness of the hour, such chords
As stung to ravishment and finer joy
Gods, and all else:—The constellations flashed
And trembled: the fierce Giants lost their frown;
And the Fauns shrieked, while thro' Olympian veins
Like light, the quick nectarean spirit flew,
Till each stood forth betrayed—a brighter God,
Startled at his full-shewn Divinity.
All around the skiey halls—The World is saved;
From Deluge; from the immeasureable wrath
Of Jove; from Desolation; from Decay!
They sang, and all the murmuring Zephyrs shook
From off their wings harmonious airs, and sounds
Came streaming from immortal instruments,
All heaven attun'd, and as by Muses' hands
Touched in diviner moments, when the choir
Of Phœbus, from long listening to his lyre,
Are equalled for a space with mightiest Gods.
Even he himself, the Lord of light and song,
For once descending from his sublime state,
Swept in the madness of the hour, such chords
As stung to ravishment and finer joy
Gods, and all else:—The constellations flashed
And trembled: the fierce Giants lost their frown;
And the Fauns shrieked, while thro' Olympian veins
Like light, the quick nectarean spirit flew,
Till each stood forth betrayed—a brighter God,
Startled at his full-shewn Divinity.
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The World is saved; from Deluge; from Decay!
Still sounded thro' the vast Saturnian halls,
Like echoes which the mountains multiply
From rock to rock, sending their cries abroad
O'er barren moors and the dumb solitudes,
And thro' the watery dells and hollow caves,
Which, shaking off the ancient silence, give
Great answer, in their own fantastic voice
Familiar to the listening air alone.
Still the words sounded: Still ‘The World is saved!’
Rang all around; but as the echoes died,
Fainter,—and fainter still with every cry,
The vision of the Gods which lately filled
The circuit of Olympus with its light,
Receded:—The great Juno shrank, eclipsed,
And Venus lost her smile, and Dian waned:
Ceres had fled, and Mars; and Phœbus now
Shook softer lustre from his dewy hair;
And Jupiter, the greatest and the last
Of all to lose his brightness, in a cloud
Shrouded the light of his Elysian eyes,
And seemed to fade away. One after one
Departed:—Whither? Oh! enquire no more;
No more the Muse may tell who saw that sight
Thousands of years ago. Whether there be
An inner conclave or diviner seat
Removed, or if the embracing elements
Then each received its own peculiar God,
Who lost his incarnation, or put off
A shape which was his limit,—ask no more.
All that is told is this—They vanished,—all,
Statues and pillars and cerulean domes
Vanished, and lustrous stars and crowned Gods,
And Giants shrank to dissolution, like
The watery pageant which the morning sun
Breeds on Sicilian shores, and buildeth up
Tow'r and vain column and Palladian arch,
And capital, upon the alarmed floods:
Or such as travellers note at break of day
On Pambamarca, where the shapes of men
Stand forth like ghosts, and vanish. So the Gods,
Great visions! through the wide empyrean fled,
And faded,—wasting all to azure air.
Still sounded thro' the vast Saturnian halls,
Like echoes which the mountains multiply
From rock to rock, sending their cries abroad
O'er barren moors and the dumb solitudes,
And thro' the watery dells and hollow caves,
Which, shaking off the ancient silence, give
Great answer, in their own fantastic voice
Familiar to the listening air alone.
Still the words sounded: Still ‘The World is saved!’
Rang all around; but as the echoes died,
Fainter,—and fainter still with every cry,
The vision of the Gods which lately filled
The circuit of Olympus with its light,
Receded:—The great Juno shrank, eclipsed,
And Venus lost her smile, and Dian waned:
Ceres had fled, and Mars; and Phœbus now
Shook softer lustre from his dewy hair;
And Jupiter, the greatest and the last
Of all to lose his brightness, in a cloud
Shrouded the light of his Elysian eyes,
And seemed to fade away. One after one
51
No more the Muse may tell who saw that sight
Thousands of years ago. Whether there be
An inner conclave or diviner seat
Removed, or if the embracing elements
Then each received its own peculiar God,
Who lost his incarnation, or put off
A shape which was his limit,—ask no more.
All that is told is this—They vanished,—all,
Statues and pillars and cerulean domes
Vanished, and lustrous stars and crowned Gods,
And Giants shrank to dissolution, like
The watery pageant which the morning sun
Breeds on Sicilian shores, and buildeth up
Tow'r and vain column and Palladian arch,
And capital, upon the alarmed floods:
Or such as travellers note at break of day
On Pambamarca, where the shapes of men
Stand forth like ghosts, and vanish. So the Gods,
Great visions! through the wide empyrean fled,
And faded,—wasting all to azure air.
52
Yet, ere they vanished, two bright creatures left
The skies, commissioned to declare by signs
The will of Jove to man,—wingfooted, light,
And young, Caducean Mercury, who like
A diver plunging from some rocky height,
Flung himself headlong from the chrystal walls
Of Heaven, and thro' the airy wilderness
Shot like a star; and with him streaming went
Iris, arrayed in all her many hues,
With power to spread or hide her coloured wings,
And amid sunshine or in rain throw out
Her storm-dissolving bow, and check the floods.
Over the water-covered hills they flew,
Which once looked fair in Greece,—over the tops
Of Athos and the mountain-peaks that stand
Close by the Bosphorus, whose quickening stream
Was drowned and lost, and he no longer rushed
Forth as of old, to clasp his shrinking bride,
The pale Propontic, in his foaming arms.
The skies, commissioned to declare by signs
The will of Jove to man,—wingfooted, light,
And young, Caducean Mercury, who like
A diver plunging from some rocky height,
Flung himself headlong from the chrystal walls
Of Heaven, and thro' the airy wilderness
Shot like a star; and with him streaming went
Iris, arrayed in all her many hues,
With power to spread or hide her coloured wings,
And amid sunshine or in rain throw out
Her storm-dissolving bow, and check the floods.
Over the water-covered hills they flew,
Which once looked fair in Greece,—over the tops
Of Athos and the mountain-peaks that stand
Close by the Bosphorus, whose quickening stream
Was drowned and lost, and he no longer rushed
Forth as of old, to clasp his shrinking bride,
The pale Propontic, in his foaming arms.
All was wide waste and water. Far and near
The skiey twain (like as two planets spin
Round in their orbits, yet with gentler speed)
Circled, and still descended, and delayed,
Hovering attentive as each floating wreck
Passed onwards, by the currents charmed along:
At last, not far from where Parnassus lies,
They saw, contending with the awaken'd wind,
And tossed, and worn, and struggling with the streams,
A little raft, whereon two creatures lay,
Wreck of the world. The man, with haggard eyes
And sinews loosen'd by unnatural toil,
Strove yet to cherish his companion pale,
And with high tender courage, such as springs
From fountains only where the heart is pure,
Soothed her and spoke, and with his arm around
Her fainting figure, seemed to ward away
Evils, both watery perils and despair.
“Art thou so weary, Pyrrha?” in soft voice
Deucalion spake—“so weary, so forlorn?”
“Pity me, my sweet husband; thou art brave,
But I am weaker than an infant's sigh.
Oh! I have weighed thee down: Alone thou might'st
Have held great war with Fate; but I have been
Thy ruin.”—“Dear perdition!” he returned,
“Not golden Fortune on her turning wheel
Was so to be desired as thou by me:
Oh! thou art fairer than all fortune.—Love!
Pyrrha! Thou tenderest creature ever born,
Cheer thee:—Behold, day breaks at last, and hark!
How all the music of the morning comes.”
He spoke and smiled,—When, like a curtain torn
Suddenly from the East, the parted glooms
Withdrew, South, West and to the howling North:—
Thus dæmons driven from some holy shrine,
By incantations, or a God's bright frown,
Forsake the temple, and with desperate shrieks
Cast them upon the wild and boundless winds.
The storm grew silent; and the thunder spake
No more; but in their place visions arose,
Meteors and floating lights and glancing stars,
And splendours running to and fro, amidst
Heaps of dissolving cloud, trembling, confus'd.
But joy is slow-believed, where grief hath lived
Long a familiar: so despair still sate
And sorrow on the downcast Pyrrha's eyes.
The skiey twain (like as two planets spin
53
Circled, and still descended, and delayed,
Hovering attentive as each floating wreck
Passed onwards, by the currents charmed along:
At last, not far from where Parnassus lies,
They saw, contending with the awaken'd wind,
And tossed, and worn, and struggling with the streams,
A little raft, whereon two creatures lay,
Wreck of the world. The man, with haggard eyes
And sinews loosen'd by unnatural toil,
Strove yet to cherish his companion pale,
And with high tender courage, such as springs
From fountains only where the heart is pure,
Soothed her and spoke, and with his arm around
Her fainting figure, seemed to ward away
Evils, both watery perils and despair.
“Art thou so weary, Pyrrha?” in soft voice
Deucalion spake—“so weary, so forlorn?”
“Pity me, my sweet husband; thou art brave,
But I am weaker than an infant's sigh.
54
Have held great war with Fate; but I have been
Thy ruin.”—“Dear perdition!” he returned,
“Not golden Fortune on her turning wheel
Was so to be desired as thou by me:
Oh! thou art fairer than all fortune.—Love!
Pyrrha! Thou tenderest creature ever born,
Cheer thee:—Behold, day breaks at last, and hark!
How all the music of the morning comes.”
He spoke and smiled,—When, like a curtain torn
Suddenly from the East, the parted glooms
Withdrew, South, West and to the howling North:—
Thus dæmons driven from some holy shrine,
By incantations, or a God's bright frown,
Forsake the temple, and with desperate shrieks
Cast them upon the wild and boundless winds.
The storm grew silent; and the thunder spake
No more; but in their place visions arose,
Meteors and floating lights and glancing stars,
And splendours running to and fro, amidst
Heaps of dissolving cloud, trembling, confus'd.
But joy is slow-believed, where grief hath lived
55
And sorrow on the downcast Pyrrha's eyes.
Jamque per anfractus animarum rector opacos
Sub terris querebat iter, gravibusque gementem
Enceladum calcabat equis.
Sub terris querebat iter, gravibusque gementem
Enceladum calcabat equis.
—Claud. De raptu Proserpin.
“Echo, the wife of Pan, is no other than genuine Philosophy which faithfully repeats his word, or only transcribes as Nature dictates, thus representing the true image and reflection of the world.”—Lord Bacon, on Learning.
With morning, and then flushing (like some bride
Whose ear expects yet fears each distant tread
To seek her chamber when the feast is done)
Threw out its fiery colours, and became
Crimson and burning red. Apollo's steeds,
Which wait his coming at the eastern gate,
Harness'd were there, and champed their chrystal bits,
And threw their flaming foam upon the air.
Then first, in all its radiant beauty shone
The Rainbow, shadowy arch, of every hue
Of light inwove, in Heaven's immortal loom;
Gay, rich, illustrious colours mingled there,
And shone and were involved each within each,
Atoms of loveliest light, orange and blue,
Yellow and glowing red and soothing green;
Lying across the sky, but vanishing
As the clear day came on, the arch was seen.
Over Parnassus far the vision hung;
56
Glided the raft, until a sound like waves
Breaking on some rough strand alarmed the air.
Then Pyrrha trembled, and Deucalion knew
Peril was near, and from his face the smile
Faded, and lowering care his eyes o'erspread.
No word he uttered, but with straining arms
Toiled,—but in vain: the loud and hurrying stream
Forced them along, till thro' the whitening waves
The horrid rocks peered up as black as death;
And the hoarse pebbles rattled on the strand
A stormy welcome; and the winds blew loud;
And the sea rose and sank, and round the raft
Curled with a hungry noise, 'till one huge wave
Dashed them along the shore.—
There wreck'd they lay;
The woman in her husband's guardian arms,
(Clasped like a jewel in its sterner case,)
But lost to life, and dumb, and motionless:
And then that husband, faithful to the grave,
Strung once more his worn nerves, and with deep sobs,
And staggering steps, and sighs, bore her beyond
57
“The treasure of the world is saved at last.”
So, pressing those cold lips, her head he raised
Upon his knee:—‘She will revive’—he sighed,
And fell, half-swooning; and sleep, long-delayed,
Came like a cloud and wrapped his limbs in rest.
| The Flood of Thessaly | |