The Flood of Thessaly The Girl of Provence, and Other Poems. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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| III. | III. |
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 | The Flood of Thessaly |  |
III.
Now shall I pass unto my boyhood?—no:
It is enough, perhaps, that thou shouldst know
That time was mournful to me:—It is gone;
And manhood like a radiant morning shone,
And Beauty lit her lamps that I might see
Intenser day: Then life was Heaven to me:
My soul was perfected by passion,—pure
As marble ere the Parian pierced the mine
Wherein the carv'd Diana lay secure,
Yet lovely as that shape which is divine
Tho' mortal, being born and warmed to life
By light as is the rainbow, (when the roar
Of rain hath passed) which was but cloud before.
It is enough, perhaps, that thou shouldst know
That time was mournful to me:—It is gone;
And manhood like a radiant morning shone,
And Beauty lit her lamps that I might see
Intenser day: Then life was Heaven to me:
My soul was perfected by passion,—pure
As marble ere the Parian pierced the mine
Wherein the carv'd Diana lay secure,
Yet lovely as that shape which is divine
Tho' mortal, being born and warmed to life
By light as is the rainbow, (when the roar
Of rain hath passed) which was but cloud before.
I loved:—I tell thee thou art not the first
(Tho' fairest) of the creatures of my love:
For early did the floods of passion burst
My veins and overwhelm me,—yet I strove
Never to tamper with my nature then,
Nor call back my desire into the den
Wherein it had reposed for twenty years;
For I had hope ('twas mixed I own with fears)
That the strong lustre of my love would lead
My thoughts unto their fountain springs, and feed
My soul with light:—'Twas then I penned some tales
Where Beauty is the bride and her son ever
The God and master of my poor endeavour.
O mistress! thou shalt read the tales I have writ,
For love is there, and reason, and a wit
Which though it be abandoned at its birth,
And vanish for a time, shall rise again,
And in remoter places of this earth
Shall be a treasure to great men, whose fame
Shall be commingled with my lasting name,
Co-heritors of bright futurity.
O light of my Renown, I see thee on high!
(Tho' fairest) of the creatures of my love:
134
My veins and overwhelm me,—yet I strove
Never to tamper with my nature then,
Nor call back my desire into the den
Wherein it had reposed for twenty years;
For I had hope ('twas mixed I own with fears)
That the strong lustre of my love would lead
My thoughts unto their fountain springs, and feed
My soul with light:—'Twas then I penned some tales
Where Beauty is the bride and her son ever
The God and master of my poor endeavour.
O mistress! thou shalt read the tales I have writ,
For love is there, and reason, and a wit
Which though it be abandoned at its birth,
And vanish for a time, shall rise again,
And in remoter places of this earth
Shall be a treasure to great men, whose fame
Shall be commingled with my lasting name,
Co-heritors of bright futurity.
O light of my Renown, I see thee on high!
135
This is not vanity: it hath (bright faith!)
Its birth in darkness as the Lightning hath,
And yet it shall be seen from shore to shore,
And heralded by spirits who shall soar
On their own wings and mine unto the sky,
Supremest poets, who can never die;
For Genius, which looketh like the light
Is as the earth eternal, and for aye
Is busy with the brain, and still at night
Breathes beauty on the poet as he lies
In thought, and doth submit to be compressed,
And languisheth or brighteneth as is best;—
And so is verse conceived which never dies.
Its birth in darkness as the Lightning hath,
And yet it shall be seen from shore to shore,
And heralded by spirits who shall soar
On their own wings and mine unto the sky,
Supremest poets, who can never die;
For Genius, which looketh like the light
Is as the earth eternal, and for aye
Is busy with the brain, and still at night
Breathes beauty on the poet as he lies
In thought, and doth submit to be compressed,
And languisheth or brighteneth as is best;—
And so is verse conceived which never dies.
| The Flood of Thessaly | |