 | Madeline |  |
PROLOGUE.
VALCLUSA.
A twilight breaks in tints of sober gray
Between the last of night and first of day:
The pallid dusk a straggling horror brings
On ebbing rush of midnight's ruffled wings.
In Nature's absence, by what hand is cleft
This sleep asunder and this terror left?
Our eyes, confused, we all at once unclose,
To find each other severed from repose.
What miss we wildly staring out of sleep
While towards the dreamy side our senses keep?
The not long barren sky, like spring-time, flowers;
Its red and aureate bloom a perfume showers
To mollify the scent of curdled gore,
That what has been may seem to be no more.
But no thin sorcery, skimmed off stagnant breath
That fathoms deep lies gathered over death,
Can put a deed aside and clear the track,
Or drive the ghost-like memory of it back.
Though silence bind the vale, the shining dews
Have cleansed the sky and dropped the chilling news
On silvery cobwebs, o'er the meadows spun
To catch the fire-flies hatched upon the sun.
The while we slept beneath the sorcerer's spell
A deed was done that waked a wish in hell,
A deed was done that startled paradise:
Nor hell nor heaven recovers its surprise.
The fresh done deed begins to canker time,
Then be it fixed in some symbolic rhyme
Ere yet too late, the traces too far spent
To dedicate a song to its lament.
Between the last of night and first of day:
The pallid dusk a straggling horror brings
On ebbing rush of midnight's ruffled wings.
In Nature's absence, by what hand is cleft
This sleep asunder and this terror left?
Our eyes, confused, we all at once unclose,
To find each other severed from repose.
What miss we wildly staring out of sleep
While towards the dreamy side our senses keep?
2
Its red and aureate bloom a perfume showers
To mollify the scent of curdled gore,
That what has been may seem to be no more.
But no thin sorcery, skimmed off stagnant breath
That fathoms deep lies gathered over death,
Can put a deed aside and clear the track,
Or drive the ghost-like memory of it back.
Though silence bind the vale, the shining dews
Have cleansed the sky and dropped the chilling news
On silvery cobwebs, o'er the meadows spun
To catch the fire-flies hatched upon the sun.
The while we slept beneath the sorcerer's spell
A deed was done that waked a wish in hell,
A deed was done that startled paradise:
Nor hell nor heaven recovers its surprise.
The fresh done deed begins to canker time,
Then be it fixed in some symbolic rhyme
Ere yet too late, the traces too far spent
To dedicate a song to its lament.
Sweet as the pipe's, loud as the clarion's blast,
There is a voice, heard oftenest in the past;
It warbles like a nightingale's whose thrill
Shakes as a reed the honey-gurgler's bill,
And sets the foliage rustling as it rings,
While every bush has turned its leaves to wings:
The voice of Nature, never wholly spent!
Shall we invoke its notes for our lament?
Then throat to throat shall songsters rend the grove
And share with us the trouble and the love;
Consenting rhymes shall touch the brink of bliss,
And end each fairy couplet with a kiss.
Ours be the rapture while to them belong
The willing tones of this enchanted song,
That so to distant streams the news disperse
While culminates in love the modest verse.
Or will the sickened Muse heaven's panpipe stop
And in oblivion's mist the memory drop?
There is a voice, heard oftenest in the past;
It warbles like a nightingale's whose thrill
Shakes as a reed the honey-gurgler's bill,
And sets the foliage rustling as it rings,
While every bush has turned its leaves to wings:
3
Shall we invoke its notes for our lament?
Then throat to throat shall songsters rend the grove
And share with us the trouble and the love;
Consenting rhymes shall touch the brink of bliss,
And end each fairy couplet with a kiss.
Ours be the rapture while to them belong
The willing tones of this enchanted song,
That so to distant streams the news disperse
While culminates in love the modest verse.
Or will the sickened Muse heaven's panpipe stop
And in oblivion's mist the memory drop?
CHORUS OF NYMPHS.
That voice, once heard, is mute,
And stringless is the lute.
The chords no more the note of love prolong
That swept the cadent rhyme,
And twice bemoaned a wrong:
In pity and in chime.
Lost too the choral lay
Whose music once gave solace to the day.
Spirits no longer crowd the air
That wistful bent, with finger on the lip,
Sad thoughts to sip;
To cull the softer tones of harsh despair.
And stringless is the lute.
The chords no more the note of love prolong
That swept the cadent rhyme,
And twice bemoaned a wrong:
In pity and in chime.
Lost too the choral lay
Whose music once gave solace to the day.
Spirits no longer crowd the air
That wistful bent, with finger on the lip,
Sad thoughts to sip;
To cull the softer tones of harsh despair.
4
A fearless sun rips up a crimson cloud,
Of deeds fresh done in night the loosened shroud.
He runs his course, too busy on his way
To tell a tale of deeds not done in day,
Or should he glare upon the hardening clot
He plunges on, the secret heeding not.
Though now man's blood attaints the breath of space
Soon shall its fine evincement leave no trace:
Be it assized, then, ere its aspect pale
To match the simpler colours of the vale.
Let us the heaving cause of conscience plead,
Till the grand key-note sounded takes the lead;
The chorus lift till all the earth repeat
To music's heart the palpitating beat.
Let us evoke the souls whose bodies stay
To yet identify the suffering clay,
Recal the voice that quivers like a tear
Unable all its heaviness to bear,
Recal the sobs all troubled as they fall;
Fragments of love, all feeling pain for all.
CHORUS.
What hand arrests the fire
That lingers in the lyre?
The nuptial strain of love and music wed
Was rapture to the ear;
The fierce desires it fed
To smite them with a tear.
Who now partakes the spell?
Whom once it moved in sleepy marble dwell.
A ripple dreams upon the rill
Beside the Muses' tomb and murmurs not
Of joys forgot,
But to the dead imparts a deeper chill.
That lingers in the lyre?
5
Was rapture to the ear;
The fierce desires it fed
To smite them with a tear.
Who now partakes the spell?
Whom once it moved in sleepy marble dwell.
A ripple dreams upon the rill
Beside the Muses' tomb and murmurs not
Of joys forgot,
But to the dead imparts a deeper chill.
Cold is the hand that smote
The once melodious note
Whose themes, the pride and glory of the past,
Yet stir the fount of love:
The words that ever last
In song immortal wove.
O deep-toned Sympathy!
Where is the heart that cares for woman's cry?
A pity came from heaven of yore,
When suppliant maid for safe asylum trod
The floor of God,
But now her hapless lot shall none deplore!
The once melodious note
Whose themes, the pride and glory of the past,
Yet stir the fount of love:
The words that ever last
In song immortal wove.
O deep-toned Sympathy!
Where is the heart that cares for woman's cry?
A pity came from heaven of yore,
When suppliant maid for safe asylum trod
The floor of God,
But now her hapless lot shall none deplore!
6
Be it our part, sweet nymphs, through second sight,
To drag the deeds, now over, back to light.
Let me declare the theme, while all around
The hymn prolong, for this is hallowed ground.
Here Sorga's stream is sacred as of old,
Loved by the Muses: here the tale be told.
But let us first to them address the vow:
If they assist us smooth the verse shall flow,
Should they impede us wayward must it stray,
And gurgle wildly on its wavy way.
CHORUS.
O ye who once redressed
The wrongs of the distressed;
Turned into pity by the crystal tear,
Attune this verse to song!
A sister's troubles hear,
Ye who to heaven belong!
And may the anthem swell
With deeper woe than that vexed child befel!
To terror may the strain arise,
The warblings blended with her lover's cry
As death sweeps by
To claim him for the final sacrifice!
The wrongs of the distressed;
Turned into pity by the crystal tear,
Attune this verse to song!
A sister's troubles hear,
Ye who to heaven belong!
And may the anthem swell
With deeper woe than that vexed child befel!
To terror may the strain arise,
The warblings blended with her lover's cry
As death sweeps by
To claim him for the final sacrifice!
7
The nymphs of Sorga sing:
To heaven their voices cling.
Up to the Giver of all poesy
Higher and higher wends
The message through the sky,
And Heaven the answer sends!
Who drink of Sorga's wave,
Shall not in vain divine assistance crave.
As eventide comes quickly on,
The shade of sleep is followed by a beam,
The shade of dream;
And Sorga's brook ascends to Helicon!
To heaven their voices cling.
Up to the Giver of all poesy
Higher and higher wends
The message through the sky,
And Heaven the answer sends!
Who drink of Sorga's wave,
Shall not in vain divine assistance crave.
As eventide comes quickly on,
The shade of sleep is followed by a beam,
The shade of dream;
And Sorga's brook ascends to Helicon!
Sorga, O seat of Love!
The softest airs that rove
The soul, with thee are set in unison;
But now by rustling waves
That soul is hurried on;
A melody that raves
Is mingled in its thrill,
Not at the heart love's promise to fulfil.
Thou noted brook that here abid'st,
A rapture at thy brink thou waftest high,
With frequent sigh,
And to the heavens thy lowly lot confid'st!
The softest airs that rove
The soul, with thee are set in unison;
But now by rustling waves
That soul is hurried on;
A melody that raves
Is mingled in its thrill,
Not at the heart love's promise to fulfil.
Thou noted brook that here abid'st,
A rapture at thy brink thou waftest high,
With frequent sigh,
And to the heavens thy lowly lot confid'st!
8
Behold the ether opens clear and wide;
The mountain is before us in its pride.
Above the pendant stream which glistens still,
A torrent swells, now rushes o'er the rill;
Another spouts, it tracks the frothy way,
To whence it fell returning back the spray.
The joining waters through the forest dash,
Torrents on torrents on the valley flash,
Reclaim the dried-up gorge where pine and rock
Lie under sentence of an earthquake's shock.
Wedged in by stones and trees in mingled heaps,
One billow eddies and another leaps;
One scoops the delf, another sweeps the wood,
And bears all onward; every wave a flood:
A cascade now, and now a foaming spire,
More fierce than flame these conquerors of fire.
O glorious emblems sent us to display
The human passions on their thoughtless way;
Bent now on conquest, now with victory flushed,
Now smooth as death—as motionless, as hushed.
Yes, this is Nature, proudly as she chafes:
The sign to her beloved the Muse vouchsafes.
Heard is the prayer, deep-toned; the answer felt;
Sent by the good before whose house we knelt.
The mountain is before us in its pride.
Above the pendant stream which glistens still,
A torrent swells, now rushes o'er the rill;
Another spouts, it tracks the frothy way,
To whence it fell returning back the spray.
The joining waters through the forest dash,
Torrents on torrents on the valley flash,
Reclaim the dried-up gorge where pine and rock
Lie under sentence of an earthquake's shock.
Wedged in by stones and trees in mingled heaps,
One billow eddies and another leaps;
One scoops the delf, another sweeps the wood,
And bears all onward; every wave a flood:
A cascade now, and now a foaming spire,
More fierce than flame these conquerors of fire.
O glorious emblems sent us to display
The human passions on their thoughtless way;
Bent now on conquest, now with victory flushed,
Now smooth as death—as motionless, as hushed.
Yes, this is Nature, proudly as she chafes:
The sign to her beloved the Muse vouchsafes.
Heard is the prayer, deep-toned; the answer felt;
Sent by the good before whose house we knelt.
9
Step forth, ungentle form,
Who shak'st the unwieldy storm!
Evoke thy actors marshalled to pursue
Too far the lethal torch;
Its failing flame to rue
At the sepulchral porch.
Tread thou the troubled stage
To move remorse, not anguish to assuage!
Graceless behind the scenes appear
The mask, the timbrel, the wild fantasies
Of wicked eyes.
Is she divine who honours not the tear?
Who shak'st the unwieldy storm!
Evoke thy actors marshalled to pursue
Too far the lethal torch;
Its failing flame to rue
At the sepulchral porch.
Tread thou the troubled stage
To move remorse, not anguish to assuage!
Graceless behind the scenes appear
The mask, the timbrel, the wild fantasies
Of wicked eyes.
Is she divine who honours not the tear?
Shall her loose smile prevail,
And none the lost bewail?
The woven thread of woe asunder snapped,
Her hands above her head
Like silent cymbals clapped
To speed the youthful dead!
Shall slowly melting sorrow
Be hustled into newly risen morrow?
Yet now the thong would one unlash,
Let go the heart fresh leaping from its seat
To freedom's beat;
The soughing wind drowned in the timbrel's crash.
And none the lost bewail?
The woven thread of woe asunder snapped,
Her hands above her head
Like silent cymbals clapped
To speed the youthful dead!
Shall slowly melting sorrow
Be hustled into newly risen morrow?
Yet now the thong would one unlash,
Let go the heart fresh leaping from its seat
To freedom's beat;
The soughing wind drowned in the timbrel's crash.
10
Is now not heard a chaunt
Within the sacred haunt?
A faltering echo falls into the plain
To sweeten life below:
The Muses wake again
In its return and flow!
But why among the Nine
Takes Comedy the lead in life divine?
Seen is her quaint and smiling face,
While, as of old, her genial look extends
O'er all that ends,
To cheer the world with its bewitching grace.
Within the sacred haunt?
A faltering echo falls into the plain
To sweeten life below:
The Muses wake again
In its return and flow!
But why among the Nine
Takes Comedy the lead in life divine?
Seen is her quaint and smiling face,
While, as of old, her genial look extends
O'er all that ends,
To cheer the world with its bewitching grace.
The grieving, absent gaze
When lost in dreamy maze,
She measures with the meaning of her eyes.
If with the tear she pleads,
The smile upon it lies.
All joy in heaven she leads!
She mimics human rage
With cheeks that burn and shrivel up to age,
While yet the holy laughter rings.
And when with sorrow and its kindred ills
Her mould she fills,
About the cast her gladsome spirit clings.
When lost in dreamy maze,
She measures with the meaning of her eyes.
If with the tear she pleads,
The smile upon it lies.
All joy in heaven she leads!
She mimics human rage
With cheeks that burn and shrivel up to age,
While yet the holy laughter rings.
And when with sorrow and its kindred ills
Her mould she fills,
About the cast her gladsome spirit clings.
11
Her tones an echo start
Within the silent heart.
The gnawing worm the warder of that cell
Beneath her look recoils;
And, stiffening in the spell,
Ends its eternal toils.
She throws up souls at play,
And wins them life for yet another day!
She lights on truth as by surprise.
What tongue-tied Nature artfully conceals
Her laugh reveals:
Mirth for the simple, wisdom for the wise.
Within the silent heart.
The gnawing worm the warder of that cell
Beneath her look recoils;
And, stiffening in the spell,
Ends its eternal toils.
She throws up souls at play,
And wins them life for yet another day!
She lights on truth as by surprise.
What tongue-tied Nature artfully conceals
Her laugh reveals:
Mirth for the simple, wisdom for the wise.
No cloud with fleecy rim
Her face serene can dim,
Nor give her brow a transitory shade.
Nor, save in mockery,
Can fear that face invade,
Or sadness dull that eye.
Prophetic is her gaze;
No portents sent as omens, her amaze.
She takes the choice of loss and gain!
Let human love be offered up to vice
In sacrifice,
She snatches pleasure from the bed of pain.
Her face serene can dim,
Nor give her brow a transitory shade.
Nor, save in mockery,
Can fear that face invade,
Or sadness dull that eye.
Prophetic is her gaze;
No portents sent as omens, her amaze.
She takes the choice of loss and gain!
Let human love be offered up to vice
In sacrifice,
She snatches pleasure from the bed of pain.
12
To the seduced who grieve
Their error to retrieve,
Yet sink in sin and sorrow till they die,
She knows the magic art,
Not Nature to deny,
But rapture to impart.
The deeper set the wrong,
The nobler glow the thoughts that round it throng.
The ills of life she reconciles,
In scornful words that tragedy transcend,
Yet oddly blend
In the infection of her dubious smiles.
Their error to retrieve,
Yet sink in sin and sorrow till they die,
She knows the magic art,
Not Nature to deny,
But rapture to impart.
The deeper set the wrong,
The nobler glow the thoughts that round it throng.
The ills of life she reconciles,
In scornful words that tragedy transcend,
Yet oddly blend
In the infection of her dubious smiles.
All ending well at last,
Into her net is cast.
She tangles rage within the lyric strain:
To some she gives the song,
To some the soft refrain
Its burden to prolong.
They hymn the sister's fate;
The love-worn tale of terror they relate:
They act the parts, to Nature true,
Till sunset gathers and expiring day
Breathes its last ray,
This dream investing in its sombre hue.
Into her net is cast.
She tangles rage within the lyric strain:
To some she gives the song,
To some the soft refrain
Its burden to prolong.
They hymn the sister's fate;
The love-worn tale of terror they relate:
They act the parts, to Nature true,
Till sunset gathers and expiring day
Breathes its last ray,
This dream investing in its sombre hue.
| Madeline | |