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The DREAMS of PINDUS.
In that blithe season, when, on every spray,
Love lifts the fluttering wing, and warms each flow'r,
In muse-frequented, fancy-colour'd bower,
Sleep's pris'ner, lock'd in vision deep, I lay:
Isis, fair river, flows the bower beside,
Moist'ning the bank, as wont, with kisses sweet;
While Cherwell pours along his silver tide,
The kindred-stream in kind embrace to meet:—
“Ah! thus I cried, as now these streams combine,
“Might man with fellow-man in friendly union join.”
Love lifts the fluttering wing, and warms each flow'r,
In muse-frequented, fancy-colour'd bower,
Sleep's pris'ner, lock'd in vision deep, I lay:
Isis, fair river, flows the bower beside,
Moist'ning the bank, as wont, with kisses sweet;
While Cherwell pours along his silver tide,
The kindred-stream in kind embrace to meet:—
“Ah! thus I cried, as now these streams combine,
“Might man with fellow-man in friendly union join.”
The stately sun had left his mid-day throne;
And on the waters play'd his sloping beam;
Silent awhile the feather'd warblers seem;
And faint with heat, the daisied meadows shone.
Soon as soft slumbers have ensnar'd my eyes,
I hear a voice, that speaks in accent strong;
“Bright scenes shall rise successive: man, be wise,
“And mark each shadowy form, that glides along.”
Now all is still: a fairer landscape shines,
Of Nature's liveliest green, of Beauty's boldest lines.
And on the waters play'd his sloping beam;
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And faint with heat, the daisied meadows shone.
Soon as soft slumbers have ensnar'd my eyes,
I hear a voice, that speaks in accent strong;
“Bright scenes shall rise successive: man, be wise,
“And mark each shadowy form, that glides along.”
Now all is still: a fairer landscape shines,
Of Nature's liveliest green, of Beauty's boldest lines.
One vision soon is past;—when I behold
A Form descend, whom nine fair virgins led;
A glory beams from his ambrosial head:
Bright are his eyes: his locks all-shining gold:
A golden chaplet binds his comely brows;
His golden lyre with art is aptly strung:
And now, with musings deep his visage glows,
While nature rapt in mute attention hung.
But when th' immortal minstrel strikes the lyre,
What high-born raptures seize that blest enthusiast choir?
A Form descend, whom nine fair virgins led;
A glory beams from his ambrosial head:
Bright are his eyes: his locks all-shining gold:
A golden chaplet binds his comely brows;
His golden lyre with art is aptly strung:
And now, with musings deep his visage glows,
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But when th' immortal minstrel strikes the lyre,
What high-born raptures seize that blest enthusiast choir?
What pencil may describe those virgins fair,
Their mystic forms, their eyes of heav'nly light?
Where poesy and music's powers unite,
Who may their many-mingling charms declare?
These damsels sing in turn, then sweep the string
Of loftier harp, or breathe the melting lute;
Now clang the citterns, now the cymbals ring,
As different sounds the different genius suit.
Thus Fancy, ever various, loves to please;
Thus from light discord calls the sweeter harmonies.
Their mystic forms, their eyes of heav'nly light?
Where poesy and music's powers unite,
Who may their many-mingling charms declare?
These damsels sing in turn, then sweep the string
Of loftier harp, or breathe the melting lute;
Now clang the citterns, now the cymbals ring,
As different sounds the different genius suit.
Thus Fancy, ever various, loves to please;
Thus from light discord calls the sweeter harmonies.
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Proud was their song; of gods, and heroes brave,
Of Jove loud-thundering, and his awful queen,
And her, the virgin rare, of Sylvan mien,
And Beauty's goddess, sprung from ocean wave:
Nor less of her, the warrior, from whose eye
Beam'd wisdom, gorgon-terror from whose breast;
And him, that god, who lifts the tempest high,
Or calms at will the raging sea to rest:
All to whose power immortal heights belong;
All, whom the muse has deign'd to raise in deathless song.
Of Jove loud-thundering, and his awful queen,
And her, the virgin rare, of Sylvan mien,
And Beauty's goddess, sprung from ocean wave:
Nor less of her, the warrior, from whose eye
Beam'd wisdom, gorgon-terror from whose breast;
And him, that god, who lifts the tempest high,
Or calms at will the raging sea to rest:
All to whose power immortal heights belong;
All, whom the muse has deign'd to raise in deathless song.
But quickly now successive to my view,
Far different forms, and different scenes arise,
Suns dazzling-bright, and ever-purpling skies,
Ambrosial streams, and fields of heavenly hue:
And far away a wide-extended stream,
Sacred the name, and dear in Eastern lore,
(More stately lives not in the poet's dream)
Rolls its proud wave beside the silent shore.
And hark! a thousand songs to Mithra rise,
Luxuriant as the fields, and glowing as the skies.
Far different forms, and different scenes arise,
Suns dazzling-bright, and ever-purpling skies,
Ambrosial streams, and fields of heavenly hue:
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Sacred the name, and dear in Eastern lore,
(More stately lives not in the poet's dream)
Rolls its proud wave beside the silent shore.
And hark! a thousand songs to Mithra rise,
Luxuriant as the fields, and glowing as the skies.
The rapt'rous notes fill every sacred bower,
Till now, as slumb'ring, clos'd the eye of day;
Then pour'd the nightingale his liquid lay,
Perch'd on a branch beside a favourite flower:
And near the flower his eyes are glittering-bright;
And near the flower his notes so wildly rove,
As though his little breast with fond delight
Would break, for blooming Rosa was his love.
“Sweetest of flowers, oh! still thy stay prolong:
“Oh! sweetest bird, still pour thy soothing melting song.”
Till now, as slumb'ring, clos'd the eye of day;
Then pour'd the nightingale his liquid lay,
Perch'd on a branch beside a favourite flower:
And near the flower his eyes are glittering-bright;
And near the flower his notes so wildly rove,
As though his little breast with fond delight
Would break, for blooming Rosa was his love.
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“Oh! sweetest bird, still pour thy soothing melting song.”
The scene is chang'd—now towering forms I view,
With limbs of giant-size, and yellow hair;
And loud to heaven they lift the warlike air;
Bold is their front: their eyes of heavenly blue.
Louder and louder still resounds the strain;
Wild clash the shields, responsive to the sound;
While warriors, mail'd in horror, scour the plain,
And griesly foemen, groaning, bite the ground!
“Joy to the brave!” I hear the bardic cry;
“Lift high (the day is won) the song of victory!
With limbs of giant-size, and yellow hair;
And loud to heaven they lift the warlike air;
Bold is their front: their eyes of heavenly blue.
Louder and louder still resounds the strain;
Wild clash the shields, responsive to the sound;
While warriors, mail'd in horror, scour the plain,
And griesly foemen, groaning, bite the ground!
“Joy to the brave!” I hear the bardic cry;
“Lift high (the day is won) the song of victory!
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And now fantastic forms around are seen,
Goblins and griffins, sprites, a motley band,
And he, who whilom rul'd in fairy-land,
That merry, pranking king, and elfin queen.
“Oh! stay thee, Oberon—lo! a gentle knight
“Implores thy aid, on val'rous deeds intent;
“True to his love, and panting for the fight,
“On great emprize in distant regions bent.”
Oberon is stay'd; “and take that horn, he cries,
“And take that sacred ring, and every danger flies.”
Goblins and griffins, sprites, a motley band,
And he, who whilom rul'd in fairy-land,
That merry, pranking king, and elfin queen.
“Oh! stay thee, Oberon—lo! a gentle knight
“Implores thy aid, on val'rous deeds intent;
“True to his love, and panting for the fight,
“On great emprize in distant regions bent.”
Oberon is stay'd; “and take that horn, he cries,
“And take that sacred ring, and every danger flies.”
And lo! a castle rears its lofty wall,
And fiery dragons guard the building round;
Ah! who would dare to tread infernal ground?
The knight has dared: no terrors may appal:
Though hell were near the place, he must advance:
Deep-foams his fiery steed, and prances high,
Till, by the terror of his flaming lance,
Close-lock'd in death those raving monsters lie.
Loud-blows his horn: the gates wide open spread:
And proud he enters in, and towers his crested head.
And fiery dragons guard the building round;
Ah! who would dare to tread infernal ground?
The knight has dared: no terrors may appal:
Though hell were near the place, he must advance:
Deep-foams his fiery steed, and prances high,
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Close-lock'd in death those raving monsters lie.
Loud-blows his horn: the gates wide open spread:
And proud he enters in, and towers his crested head.
And, oh! what freezing scenes to view unfold!
How stare, with horror wild, his stony eyes!
What piteous howlings, and what frantic cries!
Stound are his ears! his blood runs shivering—cold!
Here deep enthrall'd lies many a lady bright,
Ah! doom'd by giant curs'd to writhe in pain,
Or yield, vile service! to his damn'd delight,
Who, deep retir'd, here holds his dev'lish reign:—
But by the knight's stout arm that monster fell
Has felt the stroke of death, and hastens down to hell.
How stare, with horror wild, his stony eyes!
What piteous howlings, and what frantic cries!
Stound are his ears! his blood runs shivering—cold!
Here deep enthrall'd lies many a lady bright,
Ah! doom'd by giant curs'd to writhe in pain,
Or yield, vile service! to his damn'd delight,
Who, deep retir'd, here holds his dev'lish reign:—
But by the knight's stout arm that monster fell
Has felt the stroke of death, and hastens down to hell.
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“Now, ladies, take heav'n's fairest, richest boon,
“Freedom is yours; God speed you on your way:”
And now the knight shall hail the happy day;
High the desert, and he shall triumph soon:
A princess bright (such honours crown the brave)
In pride of youth awaits thy wish'd return;
Full many a fair, sir knight, 'twas thine to save;
Nor vainly could that breast with glory burn.
—And now the fairy scene eludes my sight;
Fled is the princess fair, and fled the valorous knight.
“Freedom is yours; God speed you on your way:”
And now the knight shall hail the happy day;
High the desert, and he shall triumph soon:
A princess bright (such honours crown the brave)
In pride of youth awaits thy wish'd return;
Full many a fair, sir knight, 'twas thine to save;
Nor vainly could that breast with glory burn.
—And now the fairy scene eludes my sight;
Fled is the princess fair, and fled the valorous knight.
But hark! the master of the Runic rhime,
Strikes the hoarse shell, and wakes the rumbling lay;
And lo! the sire of men pursues his way,
To try Vastrudnis' skill in truth sublime.
Now Gothic wisdom beams upon my sight;
Now mystic truth enchains my wond'ring mind;
Whence earth and heav'n, and all those worlds of light,
The mighty gods, and heroes of mankind;
The Morning's virgin eye, Eve's purple glow,
And all the flowers that bloom, and all the herbs that grow.
Strikes the hoarse shell, and wakes the rumbling lay;
And lo! the sire of men pursues his way,
To try Vastrudnis' skill in truth sublime.
Now Gothic wisdom beams upon my sight;
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Whence earth and heav'n, and all those worlds of light,
The mighty gods, and heroes of mankind;
The Morning's virgin eye, Eve's purple glow,
And all the flowers that bloom, and all the herbs that grow.
But thick now hurtling in the murky air,
See glittering helms, and many a quivering lance!
And, lo! the fatal sisters now advance,
Orkney, for woe! Erin for woe prepare!
Lo! north and south the griesly spectres fly:
Grim-visag'd Terror scowls on all the plain;
And, hark! the pond'rous groan, the frantic cry,
The cry, the groan of many a hero slain.
—Close, scene of horror, on my aching eyes!
The fatal dames are sped;—and lo! the vision flies.
See glittering helms, and many a quivering lance!
And, lo! the fatal sisters now advance,
Orkney, for woe! Erin for woe prepare!
Lo! north and south the griesly spectres fly:
Grim-visag'd Terror scowls on all the plain;
And, hark! the pond'rous groan, the frantic cry,
The cry, the groan of many a hero slain.
—Close, scene of horror, on my aching eyes!
The fatal dames are sped;—and lo! the vision flies.
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But mighty squadrons now embattle round,
And guilty conquest has distain'd the field:
Heralds of peace—must they to fury yield?
Shall unarm'd victims feel the deadly wound?
Yes! they have fall'n, the bards, fair Cambria's pride,
Truth's tuneful priests, to heav'n they lift the prayer.
Yet not unmourn'd the blameless victims died;
See distant harpers hov'ring in the air!
While brave Aneurin mourns his Hoel slain;
And Pity droops the head at soft Llewellyn's strain.
And guilty conquest has distain'd the field:
Heralds of peace—must they to fury yield?
Shall unarm'd victims feel the deadly wound?
Yes! they have fall'n, the bards, fair Cambria's pride,
Truth's tuneful priests, to heav'n they lift the prayer.
Yet not unmourn'd the blameless victims died;
See distant harpers hov'ring in the air!
While brave Aneurin mourns his Hoel slain;
And Pity droops the head at soft Llewellyn's strain.
Thus do these visionary pageants gleam;
Some quick retire, while others glittering rise;
As once those angel-shapes from opening skies,
Passing, repassing, liv'd in Jacob's dream.
Ah! scenes that live in Fancy's fruitful eye!
Ah! forms that can beguile a life of woe!
Who, proud in truth, would ev'ry day-dream fly?
Who, rob'd in wisdom, Fancy's charm forego?
Return! unreal forms, if ye can please;
Oh! take my sober thoughts, and wrap my soul in ease.
Some quick retire, while others glittering rise;
As once those angel-shapes from opening skies,
Passing, repassing, liv'd in Jacob's dream.
Ah! scenes that live in Fancy's fruitful eye!
Ah! forms that can beguile a life of woe!
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Who, rob'd in wisdom, Fancy's charm forego?
Return! unreal forms, if ye can please;
Oh! take my sober thoughts, and wrap my soul in ease.
Last in the train I hear a tuneful band,
—Still vibrates on my ear the various song,—
To whom the potent charms of verse belong;
Mortals they seem, and seem of diff'rent land;
Their voices diff'rent, loud, soft, shrill, and clear:
How drinks my ear each bold and liquid lay!
How thrills my heart with pity, love, and fear,
As pierc'd with horror wild, or transport gay!
Trembling, I cry, oh! might I aid that choir!
But fruitless all the pray'r—the shadowy groups retire.
—Still vibrates on my ear the various song,—
To whom the potent charms of verse belong;
Mortals they seem, and seem of diff'rent land;
Their voices diff'rent, loud, soft, shrill, and clear:
How drinks my ear each bold and liquid lay!
How thrills my heart with pity, love, and fear,
As pierc'd with horror wild, or transport gay!
Trembling, I cry, oh! might I aid that choir!
But fruitless all the pray'r—the shadowy groups retire.
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Now all is past, and not a form is seen;
While silence reigns—(as when a vernal shower
Sheds on the meadows round a fruitful store,
And leaves the grateful landscape all serene)
But soon,—thus changeful is the life of man—
Some genius leads me to a secret cave,
Form'd by proportion's nicest, truest plan,
And Ocean rolls beside the placid wave.
Straight as I enter, oh! what sweet surprise
Has seiz'd my raptur'd heart, and fill'd my ravish'd eyes!
While silence reigns—(as when a vernal shower
Sheds on the meadows round a fruitful store,
And leaves the grateful landscape all serene)
But soon,—thus changeful is the life of man—
Some genius leads me to a secret cave,
Form'd by proportion's nicest, truest plan,
And Ocean rolls beside the placid wave.
Straight as I enter, oh! what sweet surprise
Has seiz'd my raptur'd heart, and fill'd my ravish'd eyes!
There art had cull'd from nature stores divine;
There plac'd in brilliant rows with studious care,
Whatever boasts the sea of treasures rare;
Whate'er of sparkling ore conceals the mine;
The branching coral, red, and white, and blue,
The silvery pearl, the crystal bright and clear,
Em'ralds of green, the ruby's scarlet hue,
The pride of climes, and blossoms of the year;
All, that could please and charm a gazer's eyes;
For here, though small the spot, did seem a paradise.
There plac'd in brilliant rows with studious care,
Whatever boasts the sea of treasures rare;
Whate'er of sparkling ore conceals the mine;
The branching coral, red, and white, and blue,
The silvery pearl, the crystal bright and clear,
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The pride of climes, and blossoms of the year;
All, that could please and charm a gazer's eyes;
For here, though small the spot, did seem a paradise.
By nymphs attended, here a Sylvan maid,
(Cities she fled, and spurn'd the chain of Love;
Her love, to range the mountain, stream, and grove)
Finds rest and coolness in the quiet shade.
And near, an aged dame, of power supreme,—
Prolific parent she, the sov'reign high
Of nature's boundless realms—yet fond did seem
Of simplest chaplet, cull'd from meadows nigh.
How mild her eye!—Thus beams the morning light—
How all the Goddess Form now swells upon my sight!
(Cities she fled, and spurn'd the chain of Love;
Her love, to range the mountain, stream, and grove)
Finds rest and coolness in the quiet shade.
And near, an aged dame, of power supreme,—
Prolific parent she, the sov'reign high
Of nature's boundless realms—yet fond did seem
Of simplest chaplet, cull'd from meadows nigh.
How mild her eye!—Thus beams the morning light—
How all the Goddess Form now swells upon my sight!
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“Be thine,” she said, and gaz'd upon the flowers,
With looks of melting sweetness and delight,
“With many a dazzling scene to feast thy sight;
“To follow Fiction through her magic bowers;
“To trip with Fancy in her airy dance,
“With tiptoe revelries, and wild surprize:
“To mark each pageant in its proud advance
“From shadowy deeps, and visionary skies:
“Sweet are the haunts, wherever genius roves,
“Through fields of vision'd bliss, or academic groves.
With looks of melting sweetness and delight,
“With many a dazzling scene to feast thy sight;
“To follow Fiction through her magic bowers;
“To trip with Fancy in her airy dance,
“With tiptoe revelries, and wild surprize:
“To mark each pageant in its proud advance
“From shadowy deeps, and visionary skies:
“Sweet are the haunts, wherever genius roves,
“Through fields of vision'd bliss, or academic groves.
“Sooth'd into softness by the melting song,
“Charm'd into reverence by the mighty theme,
“Be thine to kindle at each muse's dream,
“To hail with reverence all the tuneful throng.
“Theirs be the praise—nor slender be the praise,—
“To make new worlds, to burst the bounds of time,
“Their stately monument of fame to raise,
“And on the heart to bind the magic rhyme:
“Bold their design, each daring charm to seize,
“And rouse to wonder, where they mean to please.
“Charm'd into reverence by the mighty theme,
“Be thine to kindle at each muse's dream,
“To hail with reverence all the tuneful throng.
“Theirs be the praise—nor slender be the praise,—
“To make new worlds, to burst the bounds of time,
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“And on the heart to bind the magic rhyme:
“Bold their design, each daring charm to seize,
“And rouse to wonder, where they mean to please.
“Thine be the warblings of the humbler lyre,
“Humble, but not inglorious: thine to sing
“The Morning's glittering eye, the virgin Spring,
“The power of Beauty, Freedom's holy fire;
“To guide the youthful poet on his way;
“To rouse the virtues, soothe the soul of pain.
Enough: if Genius may but feel the lay;
Enough: if Friendship but approve the strain:
And if, for life's short day-dream soon shall fly,
The muse may charm a pang, or check a rising sigh.
“Humble, but not inglorious: thine to sing
“The Morning's glittering eye, the virgin Spring,
“The power of Beauty, Freedom's holy fire;
“To guide the youthful poet on his way;
“To rouse the virtues, soothe the soul of pain.
Enough: if Genius may but feel the lay;
Enough: if Friendship but approve the strain:
And if, for life's short day-dream soon shall fly,
The muse may charm a pang, or check a rising sigh.
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