Tasso and the Sisters Tasso's Spirit: The Nuptials of Juno: The Skeletons: The Spirits of the Ocean. Poems, By Thomas Wade |
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 | Tasso and the Sisters |  |
“Spirits of Ocean's boundless Realm!
Whose glories the blue waves o'erwhelm;—
Sisters of the murmuring Deep!
Where ye, do your revels keep,
Let my words anew destroy
Thoughts of pleasure, dreams of joy;
Nor haste to gambol o'er the waves,
But mourn within your Ocean-caves!—
And do not smile, oh! Offspring young,
From sire immortal proudly sprung;
But let my tale thy sorrows move,
And learn that it is grief to love:—
Tho' bright the Sun—his fierce beam kills,
And love is death, howe'er it thrills!
Whose glories the blue waves o'erwhelm;—
Sisters of the murmuring Deep!
Where ye, do your revels keep,
Let my words anew destroy
Thoughts of pleasure, dreams of joy;
Nor haste to gambol o'er the waves,
But mourn within your Ocean-caves!—
And do not smile, oh! Offspring young,
From sire immortal proudly sprung;
But let my tale thy sorrows move,
And learn that it is grief to love:—
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And love is death, howe'er it thrills!
“The thistle's down now decks the plain,
And now upon the winds is riding;
Now to the earth 'tis dash'd again,
And now again thro' air is gliding:—
And thus, by turns, I fall and rise,—
Now touch the earth, and now the skies;
This moment—and the air's my dwelling,
With all the winds around me swelling;
Another—and I'm downward driven
Swifter than ever light from heaven:—
And over land and over sea
I oft do hurry joyfull,
To gaze on all that beauteous is
And smile on Lovers as they kiss;
And I have watch'd o'er forms as bright
As stars that sleep on lap of Night,
With eyes to charm, with lips to bless,
And radiant with loveliness;
But never saw I one so fair
As she who sits a ruin there;—
Tho' thousands were divine and tall,
Young Zora look'd the Queen of all!
And now upon the winds is riding;
Now to the earth 'tis dash'd again,
And now again thro' air is gliding:—
And thus, by turns, I fall and rise,—
Now touch the earth, and now the skies;
This moment—and the air's my dwelling,
With all the winds around me swelling;
Another—and I'm downward driven
Swifter than ever light from heaven:—
And over land and over sea
I oft do hurry joyfull,
To gaze on all that beauteous is
And smile on Lovers as they kiss;
And I have watch'd o'er forms as bright
As stars that sleep on lap of Night,
With eyes to charm, with lips to bless,
And radiant with loveliness;
But never saw I one so fair
As she who sits a ruin there;—
Tho' thousands were divine and tall,
Young Zora look'd the Queen of all!
“And the Spirit supreme—the proud Lord of the Ocean
Bent down to that Maiden in lowly devotion,—
As the green laurel bows to the bright Sun for ever,
And tires of its undying worshipping never.
Full oft when the young Morn came smiling in light,
And earth and the air were all beauteous and bright;
When glad birds exulting rose high on the wing
To welcome the coming delicious of Spring,
Whose meekly-eyed flowers were around seen to rise
And breathe all their sweets to the unclouded skies;
When the Sun hurried forth and array'd in his beams
Each hill and each vale, with their murmuring streams;
Kiss'd Ocean's calm billows, as gayly they roll'd,
And turn'd, as enamour'd, their white foam to gold;
When the amorous winds were careering in air,
And robbing the flowers of their fragrancy rare,
And glad Nature, smiling, o'er Heav'n and o'er Earth
Threw her garment of beauty, her sounds of sweet mirth;—
I have seen the proud Spirit that young Maiden greet,
And defraud her red lips of long kisses most sweet.
Bent down to that Maiden in lowly devotion,—
As the green laurel bows to the bright Sun for ever,
And tires of its undying worshipping never.
Full oft when the young Morn came smiling in light,
And earth and the air were all beauteous and bright;
When glad birds exulting rose high on the wing
To welcome the coming delicious of Spring,
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And breathe all their sweets to the unclouded skies;
When the Sun hurried forth and array'd in his beams
Each hill and each vale, with their murmuring streams;
Kiss'd Ocean's calm billows, as gayly they roll'd,
And turn'd, as enamour'd, their white foam to gold;
When the amorous winds were careering in air,
And robbing the flowers of their fragrancy rare,
And glad Nature, smiling, o'er Heav'n and o'er Earth
Threw her garment of beauty, her sounds of sweet mirth;—
I have seen the proud Spirit that young Maiden greet,
And defraud her red lips of long kisses most sweet.
“And oft they wander'd, side by side,
On Earth and 'neath the waters wide;
And the great Spirit's Courser bore
His lov'd one, thro' the billow's roar,
Unto the Ocean-palace, gleaming
With mimic stars for ever beaming;
And where she now looks cold and pale,—
A ruin for perpetual wail—
I've seen her smile in garments proud,
And paid her homage warm and loud:—
Then to the earth the Steed again
Would bear her fearless o'er the main;—
(For the wild waves ne'er dar'd to harm
The form that could their Ruler charm)
And as she press'd his snow-like back,
And gently grasp'd his bridle slack,
Beauteous she look'd as Dian's car,
When thron'd on stainless clouds afar.
On Earth and 'neath the waters wide;
And the great Spirit's Courser bore
His lov'd one, thro' the billow's roar,
Unto the Ocean-palace, gleaming
With mimic stars for ever beaming;
And where she now looks cold and pale,—
A ruin for perpetual wail—
I've seen her smile in garments proud,
And paid her homage warm and loud:—
Then to the earth the Steed again
Would bear her fearless o'er the main;—
(For the wild waves ne'er dar'd to harm
The form that could their Ruler charm)
And as she press'd his snow-like back,
And gently grasp'd his bridle slack,
Beauteous she look'd as Dian's car,
When thron'd on stainless clouds afar.
“Weep, Spirits! weep.—Ah, me! that death
Should rob the fairest form of breath!
That all must sicken, all must die
That lingers in mortality!
The happy birds, with all their songs,
Must fall and sing no more;
The glittering waters sportive throngs
Must moulder on the shore;
The rural things of grove and field
Their beauty to decay must yield,
And the gay dress of hill and vale
Must wither in the wintry gale:—
For all must sicken, all must die
That lingers in mortality!
And even she, upon whose breast
A glorious Spirit lov'd to rest,
Expir'd in all her matchless bloom,
And cloth'd a Spirit's soul in gloom.
Her charms decay'd not one by one,
Till youth and beauty all were done;
No wrinkle ever cleft her cheek,
Nor tints of grey were seen to streak
The brightness of her glossy hair:
In youth, in bloom the Maiden died,
And the last breath her sweet lips sigh'd
Was breath'd from form as ever fair.
Should rob the fairest form of breath!
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That lingers in mortality!
The happy birds, with all their songs,
Must fall and sing no more;
The glittering waters sportive throngs
Must moulder on the shore;
The rural things of grove and field
Their beauty to decay must yield,
And the gay dress of hill and vale
Must wither in the wintry gale:—
For all must sicken, all must die
That lingers in mortality!
And even she, upon whose breast
A glorious Spirit lov'd to rest,
Expir'd in all her matchless bloom,
And cloth'd a Spirit's soul in gloom.
Her charms decay'd not one by one,
Till youth and beauty all were done;
No wrinkle ever cleft her cheek,
Nor tints of grey were seen to streak
The brightness of her glossy hair:
In youth, in bloom the Maiden died,
And the last breath her sweet lips sigh'd
Was breath'd from form as ever fair.
“Oh! weep, Spirits, weep—'Twas the burial night
Of that beauty of earth, and no stars lent their light
To the dome of the sky; but a mantle was there
Right fit to o'ershadow a scene of despair:
It seem'd that the Heav'ns had been robb'd of their mirth
By the woe that o'erclouded a portion of earth,
And that all the bright stars from their thrones had been taken,—
The blue field of their wand'rings destroyed and forsaken,—
That they might not profane, by their revelry glad,
A midnight so solemn, a moment so sad,
When the pale wreck of beauty was brought to the grave,—
Of beauty belov'd by the Lord of the Wave.
'Twas the burial night:—and the silence around
Was broken alone by a sorrowful sound:
That sound was the wailing of those who pursued
The path that led on to the burial grove;
That wailing arose from the mourners who view'd
The corse of that Maiden of beauty and love.
Of that beauty of earth, and no stars lent their light
To the dome of the sky; but a mantle was there
Right fit to o'ershadow a scene of despair:
It seem'd that the Heav'ns had been robb'd of their mirth
By the woe that o'erclouded a portion of earth,
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The blue field of their wand'rings destroyed and forsaken,—
That they might not profane, by their revelry glad,
A midnight so solemn, a moment so sad,
When the pale wreck of beauty was brought to the grave,—
Of beauty belov'd by the Lord of the Wave.
'Twas the burial night:—and the silence around
Was broken alone by a sorrowful sound:
That sound was the wailing of those who pursued
The path that led on to the burial grove;
That wailing arose from the mourners who view'd
The corse of that Maiden of beauty and love.
“And a reverend form, with hoary beard,
The first of the sorrowful throng appear'd;
And behind him there follow'd a matron old,
The pangs of whose bosom may never be told—
(Nor mortal, nor spirit can ever reveal
The woes that a Mother made childless doth feel.)
And then came on four Ethiops tall,
With gloomy eye and forehead stern;
One slowly bore the burial pall,
Another held the burial urn:
And two, on swarthy shoulders, bore
Dead Zora to her funeral pile;
Slowly they follow'd those before,
Nor spoke one mournful word the while.
The bier of the Maiden with white was spread,—
A cushion of white lay under her head;—
And fair flowers around her were scatter'd and dying,
As if sad and unwilling to bloom
Whilst they on the death-bier of Beauty were lying
And perfuming the way to her tomb.
Behind the bier four maidens came;—
Each maiden bore a torch's flame,
Which all around its red beams threw
And gave the mournful throng to view.
And lastly came a beauteous crowd
Of children, that were weeping loud;—
Their laps were fill'd with herb and flower,
Which round their little fingers cast;
And ceaseless fell the fragrant shower,
As slowly on the funeral past.
The first of the sorrowful throng appear'd;
And behind him there follow'd a matron old,
The pangs of whose bosom may never be told—
(Nor mortal, nor spirit can ever reveal
The woes that a Mother made childless doth feel.)
And then came on four Ethiops tall,
With gloomy eye and forehead stern;
One slowly bore the burial pall,
Another held the burial urn:
And two, on swarthy shoulders, bore
Dead Zora to her funeral pile;
Slowly they follow'd those before,
Nor spoke one mournful word the while.
The bier of the Maiden with white was spread,—
A cushion of white lay under her head;—
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As if sad and unwilling to bloom
Whilst they on the death-bier of Beauty were lying
And perfuming the way to her tomb.
Behind the bier four maidens came;—
Each maiden bore a torch's flame,
Which all around its red beams threw
And gave the mournful throng to view.
And lastly came a beauteous crowd
Of children, that were weeping loud;—
Their laps were fill'd with herb and flower,
Which round their little fingers cast;
And ceaseless fell the fragrant shower,
As slowly on the funeral past.
“'Twas the burial night. The mourners stood
Around a pile of leafless wood:
The Ethiops twain
Had gently lain
The Maiden on its summit high;
And he the pall of death that bore
With careful hand had spread it o'er
Her pallid cheek and rayless eye:
A grave, as deep
As ever sleep
Eternal of still death requires,
Display'd its cavern dark and wide
Beneath the pile, and by its side
The urn of gold
Was plac'd, to hold
The ashes of the funeral fires.
Around a pile of leafless wood:
The Ethiops twain
Had gently lain
The Maiden on its summit high;
And he the pall of death that bore
With careful hand had spread it o'er
Her pallid cheek and rayless eye:
A grave, as deep
As ever sleep
Eternal of still death requires,
Display'd its cavern dark and wide
Beneath the pile, and by its side
The urn of gold
Was plac'd, to hold
The ashes of the funeral fires.
“The deep grave is ope—the bright urn is there;
Around the tall pile the red torches glare:—
A moment hath past—and the pile is on fire,
And swiftly the wild flames mount higher and higher;
They triumph, they rage, as they soar to their prey,
And the sparks they give forth make the darkness look gay.—
I hover'd above, and I hark'd to their sound,
And I sigh'd as they revell'd the dead Maiden round;—
Burning on, burning fiercely, disdaining control,—
For I thought on despair, when it withers the soul!
Around the tall pile the red torches glare:—
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And swiftly the wild flames mount higher and higher;
They triumph, they rage, as they soar to their prey,
And the sparks they give forth make the darkness look gay.—
I hover'd above, and I hark'd to their sound,
And I sigh'd as they revell'd the dead Maiden round;—
Burning on, burning fiercely, disdaining control,—
For I thought on despair, when it withers the soul!
“Hark!—a voice sublime and strange
Assails each unexpecting ear;
Its words are wild—but soon they change
To those that it is grief to hear:
The flamen signs him with a sign,
Which he devoutly deems divine;
The children's rosy cheeks turn white;
The maidens tremble with affright;
The Ethiops four their dark eyes raise,
And wond'ring on each other gaze,
Whilst e'en the matron stays her grief
To ponder on those accents brief:—
All marvel whence those sounds could flow
That broke the dreary silence so.
Assails each unexpecting ear;
Its words are wild—but soon they change
To those that it is grief to hear:
The flamen signs him with a sign,
Which he devoutly deems divine;
The children's rosy cheeks turn white;
The maidens tremble with affright;
The Ethiops four their dark eyes raise,
And wond'ring on each other gaze,
Whilst e'en the matron stays her grief
To ponder on those accents brief:—
All marvel whence those sounds could flow
That broke the dreary silence so.
“By the light that shone
In his fiery eye;
By the mournful tone
Of his frequent sigh;
By the gloom of his brow,
As I saw him in air;
By the fetterless flow
Of his dark-waving hair;
By a word and a name
From his pale lips that came;—
I knew, I knew that the Spirit sublime
Had swiftly come, in his own good time,
From Ocean's realms and from Ocean's spray
To bear his lifeless young bride away.—
In his fiery eye;
By the mournful tone
Of his frequent sigh;
By the gloom of his brow,
As I saw him in air;
By the fetterless flow
Of his dark-waving hair;
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From his pale lips that came;—
I knew, I knew that the Spirit sublime
Had swiftly come, in his own good time,
From Ocean's realms and from Ocean's spray
To bear his lifeless young bride away.—
“Away—away.—The pile burnt on,
But she for whom 'twas rais'd was gone;
The Spirit had resum'd his own,
And ta'en her to his Ocean-throne.
Away-away:—but, as he went,
A signal thro' the air was sent:
I left the mourners far behind,
And rode upon the angry wind—
Which, in its music, seem'd to tell
It lov'd a starless midnight well;—
And all the spirits that reside
And sport upon its pinions wide
Held converse with me on my path,
And whisper'd of the tempest's wrath
Which then was arming in the west,
To rob the air and sea of rest;
To fill the heavens with wild emotion,
And rouse the madness of the Ocean.
I left the Spirits to their mirth,
And lightly stept upon the earth;—
I hurried on, and swiftly trod
O'er flowery path and verdant sod,
And came at length to where repos'd
The Child of Mortal and Immortal;
With eager hand I soon unclos'd
The stately mansion's graceful portal,
And guardian pinions gently kept
Above the Infant as it slept.
But she for whom 'twas rais'd was gone;
The Spirit had resum'd his own,
And ta'en her to his Ocean-throne.
Away-away:—but, as he went,
A signal thro' the air was sent:
I left the mourners far behind,
And rode upon the angry wind—
Which, in its music, seem'd to tell
It lov'd a starless midnight well;—
And all the spirits that reside
And sport upon its pinions wide
Held converse with me on my path,
And whisper'd of the tempest's wrath
Which then was arming in the west,
To rob the air and sea of rest;
To fill the heavens with wild emotion,
And rouse the madness of the Ocean.
I left the Spirits to their mirth,
And lightly stept upon the earth;—
I hurried on, and swiftly trod
O'er flowery path and verdant sod,
And came at length to where repos'd
The Child of Mortal and Immortal;
With eager hand I soon unclos'd
The stately mansion's graceful portal,
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Above the Infant as it slept.
“And, oh! 'twas excellent to view
The slumbers of that blooming boy:
A smile that o'er his features grew
Betoken'd a pure dream of joy;
His little hand he rais'd on high,
As if some painted flow'r were nigh
That charm'd his infant sight,
The which he fondly sought to gain,
To tear its rosy leaves in twain
And spoil its beauty bright.
And those who gaz'd upon his face
Might fain have deem'd some sprite of air
Had left her own, her native place
And turn'd her into childhood fair,
To prove how passing sweet the gleams
Of Fancy in an Infant's dreams.
The slumbers of that blooming boy:
A smile that o'er his features grew
Betoken'd a pure dream of joy;
His little hand he rais'd on high,
As if some painted flow'r were nigh
That charm'd his infant sight,
The which he fondly sought to gain,
To tear its rosy leaves in twain
And spoil its beauty bright.
And those who gaz'd upon his face
Might fain have deem'd some sprite of air
Had left her own, her native place
And turn'd her into childhood fair,
To prove how passing sweet the gleams
Of Fancy in an Infant's dreams.
“The hour was come:—with gentle hand,
I blithely rais'd the Infant bland;
Thro' the wide air delighted sped,
And laid it on a tall rock's head—
Then hied away. The Ocean's roar
Hath mingled with my song before.”
I blithely rais'd the Infant bland;
Thro' the wide air delighted sped,
And laid it on a tall rock's head—
Then hied away. The Ocean's roar
Hath mingled with my song before.”
The song was sung—And who was she
That warbled so melodiously?
My favorite Spirit—she who sung
Of strains across the waves that rung;
Of Courser proud, and how the Child
Was borne across the waters wild;—
Then sought the Deep. The Ocean's roar
Had mingled with her song before.
That warbled so melodiously?
My favorite Spirit—she who sung
Of strains across the waves that rung;
Of Courser proud, and how the Child
Was borne across the waters wild;—
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Had mingled with her song before.
| Tasso and the Sisters | |