University of Virginia Library

MADRIGALS.

THE POET TO NATURE.

Far in the silence of the flowery west,
Mother, there lies a valley, only known
To me, thy child and worshipper, thine own!
Thither I wander'd in the idle quest
Of the shy ouzel's nest;
And there I found
Thee, queen and goddess, most supremely crown'd
With leafy loveliness.
The calmness of a silver sunset fell
Upon thine eyes, so turn'd to amethyst,
Smiling on me; and, first in that green dell,
I felt thy fingers press
My brows with ivy bound.

MUSIC.

Before the clavichord
Stately she sat, and from her fine lips pour'd
The song I love so well:
Fair is she, yet I could afford
To lose those deep eyes where clear violets dwell,
And, in a whirl of sound,
To gain the heaven where her young spirit soar'd,
Forgetful of the ground.
Music, thy noblest servant, Israfel,
Feels not his lyre-heart more divinely bound
At seraph-chaunts, than I to hear
That passionate rondel throb with hope and fear!

THE ANGEL OF THE ANNUNCIATION.

Still, with the lightning speed of his swift flight,
The rainbows of his wings
Vibrated, and his hair bore still the light
That shone around it in those mansions bright,
Whence the sun's glory springs;
On one knee to the Virgin fair he bent;
And, in a low clear voice of silver chord,
Gave forth the mystic word
Wherewith he had been sent;
A choral murmur of rich music blent
With the faint echo; then from her rapt sight
He faded, unador'd.

OPHELIA.

AN INVITATION.

Come to the river-bank with me;
For there are plumèd ferns of crescent green,
And in the wine-dark pools are seen
The crimson-spotted trout.
Hush! hush! move through the brake most silently,
Vex with no loud unhallow'd shout
The holy secrecy of this sweet glade,
And you shall see
The dipper rush with sudden flash, and fade
Into the woodland screen;
Nor shall you by your presence make afraid
The kingfisher, who looks down dreamily
At his own shadow gorgeously array'd.

THE CRY OF THE UNSATISFIED.

O sing, sweet lark, some calmer, sadder song!
Thy melody awakes
A grief unsuited to the dawn and thee;
My heart, my poor heart breaks!
Its pain doth foully wrong
The golden glory of the sun-lit sea;
The long fields sloping to the ridg'd sea-sand
Take up the light, and send it through the land.
Above their waving grain I hear and see,
Climbing the air with ardent wings,
Thy spirit-form that shouts and sings,
Enraptur'd with the joy the scarlet sunrise brings.
But I,
Forgetting all the morning-grace,
And hiding in the chill sand-drift my face,
Moan out, “O night, too, too soon dead,
Oh! whither art thou fled?
Be silent, lark, or soar so high
Thy notes may fade away and die;
Let, rather, from yon tamarisk-grove,
The nightingale, that lover-bird,
Sing low of unrequited love
In strains more sweet and sad than cold Earth ever heard!”

TINTAGEL.

On the dark ridges of the granite steep
I stood in thought, above the moaning sea,
While spirits of the unweary deep
In sun and wind were swathing me:
Round me no mirth nor human jollity
Broke the great solemn silence; yet I knew
An awful joy went throbbing through
Each ledge of rock, each curl of rippling foam:
Then to my soul the thrilling gladness flew,
And I shall bear through years to come,
Hid in dim avenues of memory,
The splendour of that visionary sleep.

EROS TO PSYCHE.

Remember not, O Love! the days gone by,
Nor, blushing, stand and sigh!
Hold up once more the clear memorial flame
Within the purple hollow of the night;
And let the glow flush all thy rosy limbs,
As once most mournfully!
Ah! chase the dew that dims
Thine eyes made heavy-lidded with old shame;
We will forget the pale twilight
Of the old love that died so wretchedly:
And this shall be the golden splendid dawn
Of deeper ecstasy than ever came
Round my dread mother's path through Paphos' lawn.

SANTA LUCIA.

O Lord, my lovers gaze into my eyes,
But I am blind to any love but thine;
I will not cramp my soul with carnal ties,
Nor soil that passion, saintly and divine.
Another path is mine:—
Austere and chaste to thee I would arise;
And now, within this chapel on the hill,
Girdled with pine-woods, sung to by all winds,
My throbbing heart is still,
Calm'd with the rest it finds;
Around me, when I wake, the dawning sings;
I join all nature in the choral hymn;
And, sitting here alone,
All heaven grows scarlet with the seraph's wings;
And, past the choirs of blue-eyed cherubim,
I gaze far up to Thy immortal throne!