LYANNA.
“These elementary beings, we are told, were
by their constitution more long-lived than man,
but with this essential disadvantage, that at
death they wholly ceased to exist. In the meantime
they were inspired with an earnest desire
for immortality; and there was one way left for
them, by which this desire might be gratified.
If they were so happy as to awaken in any of the
initiated (Rosicrucians) a passion, the end of
which was marriage, then the sylph became immortal.”—
Godwin's “Lives of the Necromancers.”
Summer came over the Indian Ocean
Girdled with fire, tiaraed with light;
Her eyes all languor, her lips—a potion
To quaff—of poppy. And gold and white
She flashed and sparkled; all gleam and motion,
All blush and blossom she came; and I,
Of the race of the sylphs, o'er the Indian Ocean
Followed her through the sky.
Self-exiled so from the sylphs that cluster,
Pulsing with pearl and burning with blue,
In domes of the dawn,—where the organs bluster
Low of the winds,—where they glow like dew
As the day dreams up, and their armies muster,
Ranges of glitter, in cloudy gold,
At the gates of the Dawn, of blinding luster,
To forth when her gates unfold.
For Summer murmured me, “Follow! follow!”
Whispered one word that was all of love.—
Winged with the speed of the sweeping swallow,
I followed the word she had breathed above:
“Follow! follow!”—the god Apollo
Never followed, with speed as strong
The flying nymph through holt and hollow,
As I that word of song.
Fleet as the winds are fleet, yea, and fleeter
Far than the stars that throb, like foam,
Through the firmament's blue, in musical metre
Winnowed my wings; and the golden gloam
Rang; and life was a passion, completer
Than a life in Eden; and love,—a lyre
That sang in my heart and made life sweeter
With hope,—a leaping fire.
Thus to the north my wings went maying
Radiant ways, till a castle shone
Gaunt on great cliffs, with the late skies graying
O'er walls of war and their towers lone,
With tortuous steps to the sea, where, spraying,
Thundered the breakers; and terrace and stair,
Rock o'er the waters, rose rosy and raying
Deep in the sunset's glare.
A dewdrop burns when the dawn lights prickle:
And all my being tingled with light,
Bloomed when I saw her, tarrying fickle,
White on the castled height:
Slender she shone as the moon in sickle,
The slim new-moon, like a pearl-pale streak;
And golden, too, as the honey-trickle
Of combs where the wax is weak.
In dreams I came to her, lo! as a vision:
Yea, by her side as a dream I stood;
To her innermost spirit I sighed my mission,
In the vestal ear of her maidenhood:
And she deemed me a dream; and I made a prison
Of my arms for her soul while she, smiling, slept:
Her body lay still, but her soul had arisen,
And looked on my face and wept:
“Lyanna, I hoop thee with arms of fire!”—
My words were music, a harp afloat,—
“Lyanna, my heart is a vibrant wire,
Thy love is its only note.
Let it sing forever. Let it sound entire,
Full as the angels' who hover and harp
To the glory that 's God, like a golden lyre
Borne in a beam that is sharp. ...
“Behold me, thy rose! full of flame and splendor!
Thy rose to pluck: thy ruby bloom:
Thy sylphid rose, with eyes that are tender;
Lips that are fire; and limbs of perfume
And fragrant fire: thy heart's defender!
Thy airy lover!” ... And, bending above,
Sweeter my speech than a flower's that, slender,
Tells to the stars its love.
Lo, as I spoke, with thoughts that thicken,
Her heart seemed filled; and she spoke; but sleep
Shadowed her words, till my kiss did quicken
And free, like stars from the night that leap:—
“Long I have waited; and long did sicken
To clasp thee thus, O my rose of love!
Oft have I dreamed of thee, yea, and was stricken
With joy at the thought thereof.
“White are the clouds; but I saw thee whiter
'Mid dazzling domes of the dawn; and knew
Tho' bright are God's stars, that thine eyes were brighter,
Brighter and burning blue.
And my heart was thine, though it held thee slighter
Than hues that the mists of the morning take:
And waited and yearned, and the yearning tighter
Than tears in the hearts that break.
“‘Lyanna! Lyanna!’ I heard thee ever
Calling ‘Lyanna,’ a ripple of flame:
‘Lyanna! Lyanna!’ like song forever;
And I marveled at my name.
The sound was such—that if stars could sever
And silver-syllable a word of beams,
So would it sound.—I turned; but never
Beheld thee, only in dreams.
“Thou walkedst a beauty afar: a glitter
Of gleaming aroma: and I, with moan,
Reached thee my arms: but thy gaze was bitter,
Calmer and sterner than stone:
Avoiding thou passedst in scorn: a sitter,
I seemed, on the uttermost bounds of bliss:
When, lo! on the wind,—a flame, a flitter
Of fire,—thy laugh, and thy kiss!”—
I had won her love. And, behold! the thunder
Trumpeted tempest: I heard the seas
Lunge at the walls like a roaring wonder,
And the rain-wind sing in the trees.—
Lyanna my bride.—And the heavens asunder
Rushed—chasms of glaring storm, where poured
The thunder's cataracts, rolling under—
And showed me, horde on horde,
The shouting spirits of storm.—The portal
Of sleep was riven; she rose, and saw:
And I said to her soul, “Of the utterly mortal
Mine the eternal lot and law.”—
“I love thee!” she answered.—And I, “Immortal
Am I through thy love!” ... And so we fled. ...
Behold! when they came in the morn, astartle,
Men whispered—“Lyanna is dead!”
