 | Madeline |  |
13
I. I.
VALCLUSA.Were they the shadeless figures of a dream
By fancy lighted at the silver beam?
A broken moon bends over us asleep;
One half above, one sunken in the deep.
Or were they shadows of the golden ray
That graced our eyes at last decline of day?
Yet as the leaf and flower our vision stain
And, once beheld, for evermore remain,
So has this tale our senses overgrown,
To be like Nature evermore our own.
A maid too fair to own a better fate,
Her thirst of love quenched in pernicious hate;
At eve seduced, upon the morrow roused
To maiden shame amid the disespoused;
Was Madeline, whom all spirits glorify
Above the vestals who unblemished die.
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A jealous power to intellect imparts:
A sage who watched for Nature's fickle mood
To bend her adverse attitude to good.
But who of Hermes oft has not heard tell,
The sorcerer whom this partial lot befel?
He knew all spirits, nymphs who still frequent
These streams whose mainspring is the firmament,
Or who, translated to another sphere,
Still their lost world to ecstasy revere.
One, Daphne named, he loved; on one same field
Pale-wise their hearts were set as in a shield.
Her birth, eventful deemed by loving eyes
That looked upon it through the anxious skies;
Her sudden flight, called up lest heart so fond
So soon to love should reach the pang beyond;
All this, euphonious metre let express,
And mortal ears with thoughts of her address.
Let us recal, though little time below
She stayed her first affections to bestow,
Let us recal to life her happy face,
That seemed with heaven for ever changing place!
CHORUS.
This is the vale whose name,
Dear to the lists of fame,
Valclusa bears; the secrets locked in sleep
Are here divulged to all:
How some in slumber weep
Though ills may not befal;
How some by dreams are bent
On anger adverse to their soul's intent.
How some with eyes fast shut converse;
How some with every sense but one confin'd
Within the mind,
Their lily hands in human gore immerse.
Dear to the lists of fame,
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Are here divulged to all:
How some in slumber weep
Though ills may not befal;
How some by dreams are bent
On anger adverse to their soul's intent.
How some with eyes fast shut converse;
How some with every sense but one confin'd
Within the mind,
Their lily hands in human gore immerse.
VALCLUSA.
Within this happy vale
Is Sorga's bed—the tale
Valclusa tells, herself a happy bride;
Her time one joyous day,
She lingers by its side
And whiles her life away.
Now hear Valclusa's dream:
It shall light up the banks of Sorga's stream.
Queen of the Nymphs whose fadeless charms
Bathe in the spring that sparkles through her fields,
She rapture yields
In sweet embrace to Sorga's constant arms.
Is Sorga's bed—the tale
Valclusa tells, herself a happy bride;
Her time one joyous day,
She lingers by its side
And whiles her life away.
Now hear Valclusa's dream:
It shall light up the banks of Sorga's stream.
Queen of the Nymphs whose fadeless charms
Bathe in the spring that sparkles through her fields,
She rapture yields
In sweet embrace to Sorga's constant arms.
Rocks that the blood congeal
The river-god conceal.
He rushes forth enamoured of her grove.
In eddying light he glides,
And ever with his love
In ecstasy abides.
Nymphs thence their days begin
And life, not mortal, from her bosom win.
Behold in every leaping beam
That sucks the wave, a spark of life has clomb
Valclusa's womb,
Baptised at birth upon her native stream.
The river-god conceal.
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In eddying light he glides,
And ever with his love
In ecstasy abides.
Nymphs thence their days begin
And life, not mortal, from her bosom win.
Behold in every leaping beam
That sucks the wave, a spark of life has clomb
Valclusa's womb,
Baptised at birth upon her native stream.
Sorga is never still;
The banks partake its thrill.
Enchanted clumps of laurel arch its sky,
And cool the rushing glades,
As souls from Nature fly
To these protecting shades.
'Twas here a moon-lit wave
Daphne, the laurel nymph, her being gave.
With sighs that waft contagious fire,
Hermes beheld her in the light of love
That filled the grove;
And taught her earth's affections on his lyre.
The banks partake its thrill.
Enchanted clumps of laurel arch its sky,
And cool the rushing glades,
As souls from Nature fly
To these protecting shades.
'Twas here a moon-lit wave
Daphne, the laurel nymph, her being gave.
With sighs that waft contagious fire,
Hermes beheld her in the light of love
That filled the grove;
And taught her earth's affections on his lyre.
Daphne her simple name,
Not she of classic fame
Whom the young god, beholding with desire,
Pursued from east to west,
And with too hot a fire
The virgin charms carest,
Dissolving her in flame,
A laurel only to preserve her name;
Not she, but one as undefil'd;
In virgin thought and chastity of heart
Her counterpart;
Of river-god and earth, like her, the child.
Not she of classic fame
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Pursued from east to west,
And with too hot a fire
The virgin charms carest,
Dissolving her in flame,
A laurel only to preserve her name;
Not she, but one as undefil'd;
In virgin thought and chastity of heart
Her counterpart;
Of river-god and earth, like her, the child.
CHORUS.
The fiery god whose days
Were scantier than his rays,
No more with arts, though in full lustre orbed,
Unwary nymph allures,
Nor, in himself absorbed,
Her simple love conjures;
Let only to display
His grace and beauty to the light of day.
For Fate was crowded in the cast,
Consigning gods to sepulchres divine,
To ever shine
As monuments of power that ruled the past.
Were scantier than his rays,
No more with arts, though in full lustre orbed,
Unwary nymph allures,
Nor, in himself absorbed,
Her simple love conjures;
Let only to display
His grace and beauty to the light of day.
For Fate was crowded in the cast,
Consigning gods to sepulchres divine,
To ever shine
As monuments of power that ruled the past.
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As once, in heaven-fought wars,
No longer clash the stars,
But sweep the endless orbits, each apart,
Still fiefs of hidden Fate,
Whom nothing lives to thwart,
Whom none can penetrate.
Imaged in bold relief
As more than Nature's independent chief,
Is now the influx of a wave,
Where floats a new and solitary throne,
For One alone,
His turn wide Nature's suffrages to brave.
No longer clash the stars,
But sweep the endless orbits, each apart,
Still fiefs of hidden Fate,
Whom nothing lives to thwart,
Whom none can penetrate.
Imaged in bold relief
As more than Nature's independent chief,
Is now the influx of a wave,
Where floats a new and solitary throne,
For One alone,
His turn wide Nature's suffrages to brave.
| Madeline | |