Marcian Colonna An Italian Tale with Three Dramatic Scenes and Other Poems: By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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MIDSUMMER MADNESS |
 | Marcian Colonna |  |
173
MIDSUMMER MADNESS
Now would I that I might cast me in the sea
And perish not.—Great Neptune! I would be
Advanced to the freedom of the main,
And stand before your vast creation's plain,
And roam your watery kingdom thro' and thro',
And see your branching woods, and palace blue,
Spar—built and domed with crystal; ay, and view
The bedded wonders of the lonely deep,
And see on coral banks the Sea-maids sleep,
Children of ancient Nereus, and behold
Their streaming dance about their father old,
Beneath the blue Ægean, where he sate
Wedded to prophecy, and full of fate:
Or rather as Arion harped, indeed,
Would I go floating on my dolphin-steed
Over the billows, and, triúmphing there,
Call the white Siren from her cave, to share
My joy, and kiss her willing forehead fair.
And perish not.—Great Neptune! I would be
Advanced to the freedom of the main,
And stand before your vast creation's plain,
And roam your watery kingdom thro' and thro',
And see your branching woods, and palace blue,
Spar—built and domed with crystal; ay, and view
The bedded wonders of the lonely deep,
And see on coral banks the Sea-maids sleep,
Children of ancient Nereus, and behold
Their streaming dance about their father old,
Beneath the blue Ægean, where he sate
Wedded to prophecy, and full of fate:
174
Would I go floating on my dolphin-steed
Over the billows, and, triúmphing there,
Call the white Siren from her cave, to share
My joy, and kiss her willing forehead fair.
I would be free.—Oh! thou fine element,
That with thy thousand ears art round me bent,
To listen and reply—Immortal air!
Viewless and now unfelt, I would be hurled
Almost at will about your kingdom wide,
And mount aloft and mingle in my pride
With the great spirits of your purer world;
And with the music of your winds sublime
Commune, and see those shadows, for this earth
Too buoyant, and excelling shapes, which Time
Has lifted up to a diviner birth,
Amongst the stedfast stars. Away, away;
For in the fountains bright, whence streams the day,
Now will I plunge, and bathe my brain therein,
And cleanse me of all dull poetic sin.
—It may not be. No wings have I to scale
The heights which the great poets pass along:
On earth must I still chaunt an earthly song:
But I may hear, in forests seldom trod,
Love's gentle martyr, the lost nightingale,
Voice her complaint, and when the shadows fail
May see the white stag glance across the sod
Affrighted, like a dusky spectre pale.
This is enough for me, and I can see
That female, fair—the world's Divinity,
Brighter than Naiad who by rivers cold
Once wept away her life, as poets told,
And fair as those transcendent queens who drank
The rich nectarean juice in heaven above,
Full in the incomparable smile of Jove,
And saw his lightning eyes, and never sank
Away before him. 'Tis enough for me,
That I can bask in woman's star-like eyes,
A slave in that love-haunted paradise,
Without a wish ever to wander free.
That with thy thousand ears art round me bent,
To listen and reply—Immortal air!
Viewless and now unfelt, I would be hurled
Almost at will about your kingdom wide,
And mount aloft and mingle in my pride
With the great spirits of your purer world;
And with the music of your winds sublime
Commune, and see those shadows, for this earth
Too buoyant, and excelling shapes, which Time
Has lifted up to a diviner birth,
Amongst the stedfast stars. Away, away;
For in the fountains bright, whence streams the day,
Now will I plunge, and bathe my brain therein,
And cleanse me of all dull poetic sin.
175
The heights which the great poets pass along:
On earth must I still chaunt an earthly song:
But I may hear, in forests seldom trod,
Love's gentle martyr, the lost nightingale,
Voice her complaint, and when the shadows fail
May see the white stag glance across the sod
Affrighted, like a dusky spectre pale.
This is enough for me, and I can see
That female, fair—the world's Divinity,
Brighter than Naiad who by rivers cold
Once wept away her life, as poets told,
And fair as those transcendent queens who drank
The rich nectarean juice in heaven above,
Full in the incomparable smile of Jove,
And saw his lightning eyes, and never sank
Away before him. 'Tis enough for me,
That I can bask in woman's star-like eyes,
A slave in that love-haunted paradise,
Without a wish ever to wander free.
| Marcian Colonna | |