Poems and Translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

The star-gemmed summer night had risen long,
When o'er my tired eyes mine eyelids fell,
And wondrous spirits bore my soul along,
To where all visions dwell.

And suddenly before my trancèd sight
A moonlit, mystic garden did arise,
With purple shadow, and with silver light,
That soothed my sleepy eyes.

Proud flowers, richly tinted, blossomed there,
All pale and ghostly in the moony light;
Dark southern violets, white-bloomed myrtles fair,
With dewy splendor bright.

And music-rife with myriad nightingales,
The happy air throbbed with a thrilling lay,
And hushed Night paused, to hear those wondrous tales,
That never greet the day.

And from this blooming garden did arise
A marble mansion, pinnacled and towered;
Its airy outline blending with the skies,
With fretted carvings flowered.

So vague, so shadowy, so high aloft,
The light aerial palace proud and fair,
Seemed made of moonlight—and of music soft
Did seem the perfumed air.

Silence and sleep reigned sovereign 'neath the roof,
And closed in dreams were all the eyes within,
Save in one chamber from the rest aloof,
Where the bright moon streamed in.

Streamed in, in wondrous waves of silver light,
Over the frost-worked marble balcony,
And poured upon an angel-visage bright
A noiseless, tideless sea.

The large eyes starlit, liquid, veilèd were
By lashes black as shadows of the night,
They rested on a form that gazed on her,
Down in the garden's light.

Rich, gorgeous beauty, lit by burning love,
Glowed on her face, pale in the moonlight's gleam,

While between him below and her above,
There flowed this argent stream.

One pallid cheek she rested on a hand
That would have made the white and winnowed snow
Seem dark and dull—round her where she did stand,
Sweet perfumed gales did blow.

But ere one word passed from her perfect lips,
I saw the fleeting image vanish fast,
And the gold sunlight did the moon eclipse,
And my fair vision passed.

Then stood I on an island of the sea,
Where daisied meadows spread on either side,
And the waves kissed the sands all lovingly,
And birds sang far and wide.

And yet though sunny soft the waters seemed,
Signs of some mighty wreck were strewed around;
And broken masts and tattered sails I dreamed
I saw upon the ground.

And near me in a cool, retired spot,
All emerald-shaded by high arching boughs,

A maid and youth within a sea-formed grot,
Stood interchanging vows.

The maiden's locks threw off the gleaming sun,
They had a brighter radiance of their own,
And fluttering tresses formed then one by one,
A halo and a crown.

One golden tress did kiss her pale-pink cheek,
And lay there like the sunlight on the foam,
While some her breast's pure white did falling streak,
Nor cared from thence to roam.

Then happy tears her eyes filled one by one,
With rosy joy her perfect face did flush,
They seemed the first tears that she e'er had known,
And the first maiden blush.

Then with the music of her voice she broke
The silence round her beauty,—“There 's my hand,
With my heart in it”—and I sudden woke,
And all alone did stand

Within a gloomy wood of Northern trees,
Cold pines, and hardy firs with dewdrops wet,

And blooming sweetly at the feet of these,
The pale north violet.

Far overhead the sky could scarce be seen,
'Twixt the high branches interlacing fast,
An arching temple of dark vaulted green,
That lingering shadows cast.

And at my feet a gentle streamlet flowed,
Calm, placid, with soft, silver-crested waves,
Whereon the mellowing twilight purely glowed,
By little coves and caves.

Alas! the river a sad burden bore,
That floated down upon its swelling breast,
A maiden beautiful as Love, who wore
A look of perfect rest.

Bright yellow locks with gleams of sunny gold
Upon her quiet bosom floated down,
And the meek hands she listlessly did fold,
As she now glided on.

Over her form, ascant green willows drooped,
And for her death I almost deemed they wept,
As o'er her pliant limbs they sadly stooped,
And kissed her as she slept.

Around her pallid brow was wound a wreath,
Fantastic, strange, of straw, and violets blue,
And rosemary and pansies, and beneath
Sweet flowers of the rue.

So fair, so happy, and so pure she seemed,
I could not deem her dead and of the earth,
But some sweet creature of the waves I dreamed,
Some lily of the North.

And then I stooped and on my knees I sank,
To reach her gentle form that floated fast,
But as I fell upon the grassy bank,
My sad, sweet vision passed.

It passed but to another and I stood
Within a court midst pomp and luxury,
And noble youths and dames of princely blood
Greeted my wondering eye.

And all was light and splendor and display,
Precious and costly here was every thing,
And on a jeweled throne as bright as day,
Did sit and rule the king.

But all the eyes were fastened on a maid,
Simple and modest, yet most dazzling fair,

With eyes cast down beneath dark lashes' shade
And flowing chestnut hair.

None were like her, though many there were fair
None had her lustrous, soulful, azure eye,
Her thoughtful brow, her sunny, gleaming hair,
Her inborn dignity.

Now blushed she deep, now pale and white she sighed
Irresolute her lips did move apart,
Some cruel conflict 'twixt her love and pride
Was waged within her heart.

And there the noblest youths of all the land
Before her stood, expectant of her choice,
Craving the precious jewel of her hand,
And hanging on her voice.

All eager saving one who stood apart,
With scornful lip, and haughty, flashing eye,
Who seemed to know the workings of her heart,
And flushed all angrily.

But this the maid marked not, and all her face
Was sunnied with a smile that softly played
O'er a light blush, then with a noble grace,
“This is the man,” she said.

And suddenly the court, the youth, the maid,
All passed and in a prison did I stand,
Where no kind beam of outer daylight strayed,
And no soft breezes fanned.

There hopeless, haggard, wild, a youth did lie,
Tearless and worn, while near him knelt a maid,
A white-robed nun, with saddened, upturned eye,
Who bent o'er him and prayed.

Two whitest hands in suppliance did she join,
The symbol of her silent, constant prayer;
Her holy presence made the cell a shrine,
And God seemed entered there.

Cold, passionless as marble her fair face,
An image of the purest chastity,
Lit by a most divine, angelic grace,
And fashioned perfectly.

From out her cowl demure one yellow curl
Escaping passed like sunlight on the snow,
To gleam upon a brow as white as pearl,
And warm it with its glow.

So still, so purely cut, so chastely wrought,
A sculptured praying saint she might appear,

Save that within her soft gray eye gleamed out
A woman's dewy tear.

No love seemed ever to have warmed her breast,
More earthly than a sister's or a saint's,
And seemed this haloed maiden pure and chaste,
Free of all worldly taints.

So spirit-like and fair she was I dreamed,
In feature and in face as thus she prayed,
A maiden in an angel-form she seemed,
An angel in a maid.

But while I gazed upon her form divine,
All vanished, and the full clear light of day
Aroused my sleep-locked senses with its shine,
And all dreams fled away,—

Ere I could see the jealous Moor's pure wife,
Noble Cordelia, or the Statue-Queen,
Or hear fair Beatrice's wordy strife,
Or see true Imogene,

Alas! my bright, kaleidoscopic dreams,
Were formed but for an instant, and no more
Would they return the same with their strange gleams
For me to view them o'er.

But that one night with fancied creatures passed,
Have I deemed brighter than my brightest day,
And in the golden cell of memory fast
I treasure it for aye.

June 4th, 1866.