X.
From the high and sullen walls
She that lute of lutes hath taken;
Happy airs in happy halls,
It was ever wont to waken.
There is a bliss in every touch
Of chords where Andron's used to linger;
But yet her numbers are not such:—
Hark ye to her fairy finger.
1.
“Camest thou, trembling soul of sound, from o'er the heaving sea
To bear the voice of him I love, absent although he be!
Gladness was in each tone; but yet these waters of my woe
Obey not the beguiling charm; they lie too deep to flow.
This heart, alas! has long been chill, and dry this aching brain,
And I deem, even now, of a Princess' pride, that it should not stoop to pain.
2.
“I sit in the visions of my thought, my palace-hall a tower,
And memory traces yet for me, thy first departing hour.
All day I watched, though fled the ship, thy pathway on the sea,
Which though serene as light, yet seemed to darkly frown on me;
The dashing of the sable waves, the murmur of the blue.
Re-echoed back upon my heart, thy desolate adieu.
3.
“I sit in the visions of my thought; 'twas sunset on the main,
The Turkish blast of war blew o'er, we flew to our hills again.
To scenes of liberty and peace, where heroes of old name
Blew Freedom's Grecian clarion, till the world filled with their fame;
It was thy bliss by Delphi's wave, and consecrated shrine,
To dwell upon their deeds as my warm spirit did on thine.
4.
“But through the bowers where turtles dwell, the eagle's eye may roam,
And loved Parnassus' mountain-peaks will be the thunder's home:
The war-bell tolled our knell of peace, but still it was a charm
To watch the floating of thy crest, the waving of thine arm,
Till gashing swords rained wounds on thee, and then my brain became
Frantic with agony and fear,—all ashes, yet all flame.
5.
“I sit in the visions of my thought; a vesper-hymn arose,—
Old Stamboul's sword was scabbarded, and vanished were her foes!
On the golden sands of the shelly sea, at evetide, were we met,
And still we gazed, and lingering watched, though many a star had set.—
Who, at so sweet an hour, could hear immortal ocean roar,
And leave to vacancy and night, that dear romantic shore?
6.
“But ev'n at that delicious hour, and on that tranquil path,
Rapt in such joy as angels feel, and pure Elysium hath,—
In that divinity of thought—soothed, softened, melted, awed,
Hate spoke his malison, and poured his vials all abroad;
Why did I e'er survive that night, why when the morning frowned,
Wake from the sickly trance of grief to see my warrior bound!
7.
“Then agony—but thou art safe, and I should not repine,—
Bright flowers bedeck thy goodly stem! they bloom no more on mine.
In the loved presence of my lord, I stood a beauteous tree,
The glory of sweet waters near, the banquet of the bee;—
The lightning fell, nor dew nor shower can ever gladden more
My leafless branches, for decay is busy at the core.
8.
“Orion proudly mounts the sky, pale shimmering through the shower;—
Why does he bend a guiding ray to this sepulchral tower!
The weight of sleep is on my lids; winds, clouds, stars, waters, ye
Must be my ministers of rest, my sentries must ye be!—
Give all your sounds to this lorn lute, when silent and uphung,
That life, captivity, and light, may look like strangers long!
