 | Poems |  |
140
TO THE STATUE OF EUMOUSIA IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
Immortal offspring of a mortal mind!
Sweet shadow of the sweetest deity,
Whose silent spell the willing soul can bind
In the fine chains of beauty's mastery.
Divine Eumousia! I did gaze on thee
With changing cheek, and fearful beating heart,
In speechless spirit-felt Idolatry,
Till from thine opened lips there seemed to part
A long-hushed living sound, deep-piercing as a dart.
Sweet shadow of the sweetest deity,
Whose silent spell the willing soul can bind
In the fine chains of beauty's mastery.
Divine Eumousia! I did gaze on thee
With changing cheek, and fearful beating heart,
In speechless spirit-felt Idolatry,
Till from thine opened lips there seemed to part
A long-hushed living sound, deep-piercing as a dart.
That honey-voice threw off its long, long sleep,
Breathing a wild, rich music; and again
Those fingers struck the lyre in measured sweep,
And woke a whispered, soul-entrancing strain,
Till, like the Siren sisters of the main,
Thy lay had lulled all doubt, and the soft sound
Sank on my spirit as the pure spring-rain
On thirsty drooping flowers; and all around
I saw and heard but thee, in welcome fetters bound.
Breathing a wild, rich music; and again
Those fingers struck the lyre in measured sweep,
And woke a whispered, soul-entrancing strain,
Till, like the Siren sisters of the main,
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Sank on my spirit as the pure spring-rain
On thirsty drooping flowers; and all around
I saw and heard but thee, in welcome fetters bound.
And with the witching song rose the dim Past,
And the dull Present faded! in that Hall
I stood as one out of Life's river cast,
Alike unheeded, and unheeding all;
While dark oblivion raised his inky pall
For my far-glancing fancies, which to me
Shades of the brave and beautiful did call;
And still I heard thy song—still gazed on thee,
And traversed other times borne on that melody.
And the dull Present faded! in that Hall
I stood as one out of Life's river cast,
Alike unheeded, and unheeding all;
While dark oblivion raised his inky pall
For my far-glancing fancies, which to me
Shades of the brave and beautiful did call;
And still I heard thy song—still gazed on thee,
And traversed other times borne on that melody.
This might not last: and soon that beaming eye
Froze to cold death again; thy dulcet tongue
Was locked in marble, and no more the sigh
Of silver music from that rich lyre rung;
But in the air a dying cadence hung
Sweeter than words may say, like the sad tone
Of lonely fountains on the still air flung.
And then the vision past—the spell was flown,
And all the Goddess gone—save that most living stone.
Froze to cold death again; thy dulcet tongue
Was locked in marble, and no more the sigh
Of silver music from that rich lyre rung;
But in the air a dying cadence hung
Sweeter than words may say, like the sad tone
Of lonely fountains on the still air flung.
And then the vision past—the spell was flown,
And all the Goddess gone—save that most living stone.
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And was it all in vain? did thy sweet face
Smile on my fond faith only to deceive?
Or may I, Goddess, hope to win thy grace?
May I the high tale of my heart believe
That thou didst bid me sing? then will I weave
Thy praises, Goddess, in my lowly line,
So thou wilt ne'er thy faithful votary leave,
If thou wilt sweetly on his young hope shine,
And lend his lowly lay one sound, one sigh of thine?
Smile on my fond faith only to deceive?
Or may I, Goddess, hope to win thy grace?
May I the high tale of my heart believe
That thou didst bid me sing? then will I weave
Thy praises, Goddess, in my lowly line,
So thou wilt ne'er thy faithful votary leave,
If thou wilt sweetly on his young hope shine,
And lend his lowly lay one sound, one sigh of thine?
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