 | Madeline |  |
19
II. II.
VALCLUSA.
Why in that breast of tepid clay, whose shape
The soul assumes to soon or late escape,
Didst thou, O Hermes, thy affections train:
For constant joy can never there remain!
In Daphne's image why thy soul attire,
To waste away in impotent desire,
To wait, as others wait whom death assails,
For unreturning hope whose errand fails?
Thou diest, so canst not parley with the fair
Who touch not what they tread on, earth or air:
They see thy face, O Hermes, they admire
Thy human vastness, thy enrapturing fire,
They see thy form with eyes they cannot wean;
They hear thy voice, thy voice's cadence glean,
Though not with ears that deafen in the blast,
Though not with hearts that vanish in the past.
The soul assumes to soon or late escape,
Didst thou, O Hermes, thy affections train:
For constant joy can never there remain!
In Daphne's image why thy soul attire,
To waste away in impotent desire,
To wait, as others wait whom death assails,
For unreturning hope whose errand fails?
Thou diest, so canst not parley with the fair
Who touch not what they tread on, earth or air:
They see thy face, O Hermes, they admire
Thy human vastness, thy enrapturing fire,
They see thy form with eyes they cannot wean;
They hear thy voice, thy voice's cadence glean,
Though not with ears that deafen in the blast,
Though not with hearts that vanish in the past.
20
O Hermes, rather faint than so infect
Thy soul with love's immortal dialect!
We die not who hold converse in its strain,
Though like to thee beset with other's pain:
But thou wilt in the midst of it expire
And leave behind its uttermost desire.
Shouldst thou the love of nymph immortal win,
Thy loss exceeds the penalty of sin:
That, time condones, erasing with a blot;
But love eternal man recovers not,
Unless perchance he bear a thousand pains
Before a foretaste of delight he gains,
While we exist for only life's excess,
Born happy to live on in happiness.
Thy soul with love's immortal dialect!
We die not who hold converse in its strain,
Though like to thee beset with other's pain:
But thou wilt in the midst of it expire
And leave behind its uttermost desire.
Shouldst thou the love of nymph immortal win,
Thy loss exceeds the penalty of sin:
That, time condones, erasing with a blot;
But love eternal man recovers not,
Unless perchance he bear a thousand pains
Before a foretaste of delight he gains,
While we exist for only life's excess,
Born happy to live on in happiness.
Now are the hours alone;
They mourn for Daphne gone.
Nature the silent obsequy attends
When spirits pure depart,
And some slight token sends
Consoling to the heart.
But Daphne's days begun,
She took fond leave of earth at set of sun,
And went on the returning beams,
With holy art to decorate above
The dome of love,
And paint its sober disc with coloured dreams.
They mourn for Daphne gone.
Nature the silent obsequy attends
When spirits pure depart,
And some slight token sends
Consoling to the heart.
But Daphne's days begun,
She took fond leave of earth at set of sun,
And went on the returning beams,
With holy art to decorate above
The dome of love,
And paint its sober disc with coloured dreams.
21
Hermes loved her alone;
Daphne the only one.
Ideal rapture, that consumes in fire
All utterances of thought,
All breathings of desire,
The only dower she brought.
Nature is sad around:
A mourning voice that utters not a sound!
Where was the tenant of his mind?
In every laurel with a love divine
He saw her shrine:
An empty heaven by Daphne left behind.
Daphne the only one.
Ideal rapture, that consumes in fire
All utterances of thought,
All breathings of desire,
The only dower she brought.
Nature is sad around:
A mourning voice that utters not a sound!
Where was the tenant of his mind?
In every laurel with a love divine
He saw her shrine:
An empty heaven by Daphne left behind.
CHORUS.
But now was Daphne's part
To tend the broken heart!
As in her hand a vase some vestal bears,—
On its translucid glow
Her finger's shade appears,
As there to stanch the flow;
For love itself she saw
Ooze at the irremediable flaw.
And still against her breast she kept
The broken heart, its bursting love to stay,
Its smart allay,
As at the well of sympathy it wept.
To tend the broken heart!
As in her hand a vase some vestal bears,—
On its translucid glow
Her finger's shade appears,
As there to stanch the flow;
For love itself she saw
Ooze at the irremediable flaw.
And still against her breast she kept
The broken heart, its bursting love to stay,
Its smart allay,
As at the well of sympathy it wept.
22
Her sisters, fair and bright,
Within the arch of light
Depict earth's sorrow on the canopy,
And graceful hours beguile,
That angels, passing by,
May sadden as they smile.
Her sisters, born of day
To gild humanity and pass away,
Are there the well-known sigh to tend,—
The earnest part of mortal man's alloy,
Though not his joy,—
And in the distant choir its sweetness spend.
Within the arch of light
Depict earth's sorrow on the canopy,
And graceful hours beguile,
That angels, passing by,
May sadden as they smile.
Her sisters, born of day
To gild humanity and pass away,
Are there the well-known sigh to tend,—
The earnest part of mortal man's alloy,
Though not his joy,—
And in the distant choir its sweetness spend.
Begot as fancy broods
In Nature's dreamy moods,
On them the world imprints its early trace.
They wear a look of love
In sadness on their face,
To plead man's griefs above.
Like Daphne, good and fair,
Children of joy though natives of despair,
Art dwells in their seraphic eyes,
Transposing all they gaze upon with pain,
To that vast plain
Which holds the drifted glory of the skies.
In Nature's dreamy moods,
On them the world imprints its early trace.
They wear a look of love
In sadness on their face,
To plead man's griefs above.
Like Daphne, good and fair,
Children of joy though natives of despair,
Art dwells in their seraphic eyes,
Transposing all they gaze upon with pain,
To that vast plain
Which holds the drifted glory of the skies.
23
These days in heaven begin
Without a wish to sin.
Thence Daphne, by no wayward fancy led,
Her wondering look bestows
On tears by woman shed,
And so all pity knows.
O symbols of distress!
Why hide your meaning from the angel's guess?
But no repining heart replies,
While anguish that no likeness has above,
Is borne for love
That brighter burns the surer that it dies.
Without a wish to sin.
Thence Daphne, by no wayward fancy led,
Her wondering look bestows
On tears by woman shed,
And so all pity knows.
O symbols of distress!
Why hide your meaning from the angel's guess?
But no repining heart replies,
While anguish that no likeness has above,
Is borne for love
That brighter burns the surer that it dies.
Her eyes meander long
Her olden haunts among.
At length they spy a woman on the road,
With looks beset with fear:
No place to rest the load
That broken hearts must bear.
Not one for pity's sake
Her single sorrow willing to partake.
Madeline the name the wanderer bore,
Told to the sky above, to earth below,
For all to know
Her maiden name accorded her no more.
Her olden haunts among.
At length they spy a woman on the road,
With looks beset with fear:
No place to rest the load
That broken hearts must bear.
Not one for pity's sake
Her single sorrow willing to partake.
Madeline the name the wanderer bore,
Told to the sky above, to earth below,
For all to know
Her maiden name accorded her no more.
24
Shall, then, no hand of love,
Save only that above,
Alight with healing touch the wound to hide?
No gentle breath be nigh,
Like comfort at her side,
With sigh to mingle sigh
O'er the soul-setting blush?
That shadow virtue casts herself to crush!
O for a voice, a single tone
To move the lover in his steadfast pride
Toward that sweet bride,
And soothe the power to vengeance slowly prone!
Save only that above,
Alight with healing touch the wound to hide?
No gentle breath be nigh,
Like comfort at her side,
With sigh to mingle sigh
O'er the soul-setting blush?
That shadow virtue casts herself to crush!
O for a voice, a single tone
To move the lover in his steadfast pride
Toward that sweet bride,
And soothe the power to vengeance slowly prone!
VALCLUSA.
Not wedded to his lore
Should man his help implore,
Was Hermes, summoned now his prince to brave,
To brook his cold disdain,
The innocent to save
From virtue's mystic stain.
Unknown to earthly power,
His utmost gift as yet the poet's dower,
The prince in terror held his race,
And barred at his approach the castle-gate,
Until too late
To snatch the victim of defiled embrace.
Should man his help implore,
Was Hermes, summoned now his prince to brave,
To brook his cold disdain,
The innocent to save
From virtue's mystic stain.
Unknown to earthly power,
His utmost gift as yet the poet's dower,
The prince in terror held his race,
And barred at his approach the castle-gate,
Until too late
To snatch the victim of defiled embrace.
25
Those turrets old as war
Outvie the heights afar.
A potentate wields all their dreaded power,
Inherits all their frown;
Lord of a conqueror's tower:
Upon his brow a crown.
Armour, deserted shell,
Behind whose vizor ghostly heroes dwell,
Haunts every nook in mute array;
Skulls drive their antlers through the upper space,
And hail the chase:
Ensigns of peace and war on holiday.
Outvie the heights afar.
A potentate wields all their dreaded power,
Inherits all their frown;
Lord of a conqueror's tower:
Upon his brow a crown.
Armour, deserted shell,
Behind whose vizor ghostly heroes dwell,
Haunts every nook in mute array;
Skulls drive their antlers through the upper space,
And hail the chase:
Ensigns of peace and war on holiday.
How long outlast man's life
These weapons of his strife!
On iron arm the battered shield is slung
That broke the axe's fall;
On iron hands are hung
Spears pointing to the wall.
The helmet's shivered crest
Records the blow that gave a spirit rest.
Here link to link of woven chain,
There scale to scale, is mailèd coat, akin
To serpent's skin,
Cast by the young in haste of battle slain.
These weapons of his strife!
On iron arm the battered shield is slung
That broke the axe's fall;
On iron hands are hung
Spears pointing to the wall.
The helmet's shivered crest
Records the blow that gave a spirit rest.
Here link to link of woven chain,
There scale to scale, is mailèd coat, akin
To serpent's skin,
Cast by the young in haste of battle slain.
26
In carved and gilded case,
Rare relics of a race,
Bestowed with care, their fabled story tell.
The empty tankard stands,
As if beneath a spell,
In fast tradition's hands.
The gentle crucifix
With it and baser emblems deigns to mix.
In panels hung, to likeness true,
Are saints and soldiers, counting back their crimes
To farthest times,
With dauntless eyes that outrage still pursue.
Rare relics of a race,
Bestowed with care, their fabled story tell.
The empty tankard stands,
As if beneath a spell,
In fast tradition's hands.
The gentle crucifix
With it and baser emblems deigns to mix.
In panels hung, to likeness true,
Are saints and soldiers, counting back their crimes
To farthest times,
With dauntless eyes that outrage still pursue.
Oft there did Hermes' feet
A lively welcome greet:
Nor now the prince could long deny a name
Whose praise the nations spoke,
Whose words like waves of flame
On every listener broke.
But lawless love had lit
The prince's breast, and yet must ravage it.
Could words avert its blind intent,
Could they instate, where fed a lustful fire,
The just desire,
Or set a bound to his impetuous bent?
A lively welcome greet:
Nor now the prince could long deny a name
Whose praise the nations spoke,
Whose words like waves of flame
On every listener broke.
But lawless love had lit
The prince's breast, and yet must ravage it.
Could words avert its blind intent,
Could they instate, where fed a lustful fire,
The just desire,
Or set a bound to his impetuous bent?
27
Still at no distant day,—
More earnest by delay,—
The poet greets the despot face to face,
With look that look refutes:
With less than wonted grace
His eye the crime imputes.
And then comes sense of right
To wrestle, singly, with a ruler's might.
What though with honest prayer he try
To touch the icy heart, as with the rays
Of summer days;
A frozen shield can radiant souls defy.
More earnest by delay,—
The poet greets the despot face to face,
With look that look refutes:
With less than wonted grace
His eye the crime imputes.
And then comes sense of right
To wrestle, singly, with a ruler's might.
What though with honest prayer he try
To touch the icy heart, as with the rays
Of summer days;
A frozen shield can radiant souls defy.
O Waste of Words! how guile
Can cross thee with a smile;
Thy storms repress, thy thunder-signs deride,
Thy lightning-stroke repel,
And turn its flash aside,
Though vengeance it foretel!
But had some prophet raved
His oracles had not the victim saved.
So high the sphere of his estate,
The prince heard, unabashed, the words that blame,
To bring no shame,
And Hermes he dismissed with courteous hate.
Can cross thee with a smile;
Thy storms repress, thy thunder-signs deride,
Thy lightning-stroke repel,
And turn its flash aside,
Though vengeance it foretel!
But had some prophet raved
His oracles had not the victim saved.
So high the sphere of his estate,
The prince heard, unabashed, the words that blame,
To bring no shame,
And Hermes he dismissed with courteous hate.
28
What hand outstretched shall move
The heart to beat in love?
This Hermes asks of tower-embattled skies,
Beyond where banners float.
Below he bends his eyes.
A vision fills the moat:
No hand outstretched to save;
Skies, tower-embattled, trembling with the wave.
The absent hand he understood;
The sign was given, of it the portent found,
That he should sound
The bearings of a yet unfathomed flood!
The heart to beat in love?
This Hermes asks of tower-embattled skies,
Beyond where banners float.
Below he bends his eyes.
A vision fills the moat:
No hand outstretched to save;
Skies, tower-embattled, trembling with the wave.
The absent hand he understood;
The sign was given, of it the portent found,
That he should sound
The bearings of a yet unfathomed flood!
| Madeline | |