 | Fra Cipolla, and other poems |  |
So like the changes of their various will,
Some thought that Reason was but Proteus still.
As erst the god, so sings the Mantuan sire,
Now seemed a faggot—now a flame of fire;
So now he filled that intellectual blaze
That flashes glory on these later days;
And bids us, nobly daring, to despise
Whate'er our fathers counted to be wise.
They err; from far, mysterious Reason shines,
With meaning fraught, which many a seer divines,
And cries Eureka—till a cloud between
With envious shade reverses all the scene;
'Tis he, 'tis Proteus, from her presence dread
To vex the dreams of gazing nations sped;
And every neck with adoration bowed,
Still hails that changing semblance of a cloud.
No more he watches by the ebbing sea,
Though fair and false, inconstant still as he;
No more he drives across the mountain's brow
His ancient herds, far others serve him now;
But still strange portents on his coming wait,
When Reason bids him blind her slaves elate:
Thus when (pale arbitress of wits and tides,)
O'er heaven the moon in fullest radiance rides,
Then elves and fays, her airy tribes arrayed
In shapes fantastic, flutter o'er the glade,
And cheat the wandering clown, and 'lated village maid.
Some thought that Reason was but Proteus still.
As erst the god, so sings the Mantuan sire,
Now seemed a faggot—now a flame of fire;
So now he filled that intellectual blaze
That flashes glory on these later days;
And bids us, nobly daring, to despise
Whate'er our fathers counted to be wise.
They err; from far, mysterious Reason shines,
With meaning fraught, which many a seer divines,
And cries Eureka—till a cloud between
With envious shade reverses all the scene;
'Tis he, 'tis Proteus, from her presence dread
To vex the dreams of gazing nations sped;
And every neck with adoration bowed,
Still hails that changing semblance of a cloud.
107
Though fair and false, inconstant still as he;
No more he drives across the mountain's brow
His ancient herds, far others serve him now;
But still strange portents on his coming wait,
When Reason bids him blind her slaves elate:
Thus when (pale arbitress of wits and tides,)
O'er heaven the moon in fullest radiance rides,
Then elves and fays, her airy tribes arrayed
In shapes fantastic, flutter o'er the glade,
And cheat the wandering clown, and 'lated village maid.
| Fra Cipolla, and other poems | |