 | Poems |  |
41
Idyllic and Legendary.
47
SUMMER EXODUS.
Turns Summer hence her queenly feet,
That early spring the daffodils
To kiss, and martial grasses greet,
While every flower a tear distills.
That early spring the daffodils
To kiss, and martial grasses greet,
While every flower a tear distills.
I cross the stubble fields, all sweet
With shining stalks; a longing fills
My heart, to warble and repeat
The robin in his liquid trills.
With shining stalks; a longing fills
My heart, to warble and repeat
The robin in his liquid trills.
I am, too, happy when I meet
The meadow, where the mountain spills,
So lithe and musical and fleet,
Its limpid tress of brawling rills;
The meadow, where the mountain spills,
So lithe and musical and fleet,
Its limpid tress of brawling rills;
But stay my solitary beat—
And start, as sudden odor thrills
My brain, of spice and tropic heat—
Lo! Autumn on her brazen hills.
And start, as sudden odor thrills
My brain, of spice and tropic heat—
Lo! Autumn on her brazen hills.
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AT ANCHOR.
A sailor by the green home shore,
When seas are ebbing from his view,
Doth all his early joys renew:
He sings the songs he sang of yore;
When seas are ebbing from his view,
Doth all his early joys renew:
He sings the songs he sang of yore;
He spies his little cot, he smiles
With a full joy ne'er felt before—
He holds that one bare prospect more
Than all the summer of the isles.
With a full joy ne'er felt before—
He holds that one bare prospect more
Than all the summer of the isles.
The quiet home is his; the trees
Sprang from the seeds his grandsires laid
Among the mold; within the glade
The myrtles rustle in the breeze.
Sprang from the seeds his grandsires laid
Among the mold; within the glade
The myrtles rustle in the breeze.
Above a treasured little grave,
His early lost, his first deep woe!
Not any land that he may know
Beyond the purple of the wave
His early lost, his first deep woe!
Not any land that he may know
Beyond the purple of the wave
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Hath such a jewel in its breast.
He loves each rock and stream and dell;
'Tis only here he cares to dwell,
'Tis ever here he longs to rest.
He loves each rock and stream and dell;
'Tis only here he cares to dwell,
'Tis ever here he longs to rest.
This is his home of joy and ease:
And better is the myrtle tomb
Than all the heavy dusks that gloom
The groves of spice beyond the seas.
And better is the myrtle tomb
Than all the heavy dusks that gloom
The groves of spice beyond the seas.
53
SINGING SHELLS.
Long ago! long ago!
'Twas Orpheus caught a pale-pink shell,
With deep, dim chambers neatly twined,
And pearly lined, and pearly lined,
And blew the wind
In music through its hollow halls,
Till all the Echoes of the shore
Cried out with joy, and sought a shell,
And caught the faintly lingering tones
Of Orpheus' music—low as moans—
And drew them in each tiny cell,
While rosy walls of all the halls
Grew merry then; and quickly fell
A murmurous song from every shell.
'Twas Orpheus caught a pale-pink shell,
With deep, dim chambers neatly twined,
And pearly lined, and pearly lined,
And blew the wind
In music through its hollow halls,
Till all the Echoes of the shore
Cried out with joy, and sought a shell,
And caught the faintly lingering tones
Of Orpheus' music—low as moans—
And drew them in each tiny cell,
While rosy walls of all the halls
Grew merry then; and quickly fell
A murmurous song from every shell.
Long ago! long ago!
'Twas Orpheus tuned the shells to voices;
And all along the pebbled shore
Was music, where was none before,
And now each little one rejoices;
And every shell a tale doth tell
How music came with them to dwell;
And all along the pearled shore,
Though winds do rave and toss the wave,
And bitter spray is on the land,
He guards them well, each little shell,
Who holds the waters in His hand.
So, all along the pearled shore,
'Mid sighing waves, or ocean's roar,
They sing, and sing, forevermore.
'Twas Orpheus tuned the shells to voices;
And all along the pebbled shore
Was music, where was none before,
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And every shell a tale doth tell
How music came with them to dwell;
And all along the pearled shore,
Though winds do rave and toss the wave,
And bitter spray is on the land,
He guards them well, each little shell,
Who holds the waters in His hand.
So, all along the pearled shore,
'Mid sighing waves, or ocean's roar,
They sing, and sing, forevermore.
55
THE TWO CLEOPATRAS.
Night is the shadow of that Ethiop queen,With brow as dark as Night, as richly jeweled
In barbarous ravishment of luxury;
The enchantress of the Cydnus, in her toils
Seeking new pleasures, slaying joys with sighs,
And drowning mirth with her full tide of tears.
Night is the shadow of that Ethiop queen,
In rapturous witchery of beatitude;
Who drank a hundred pearls, immaculate
In their white gloom of glory, and of rare
And fabulous richness. Lo! the haughty queen
Heaped the all-immeasurable wealth
Of treasures rare within a vessel, where,
Breathing a mist of filmy radiance—
A seeming vapor woven of gemmy rays,
That lurked in nebulous folds about the latent,
Limpid, and viewless confines of the vessel—
The copious fund, the teeming store of treasure
Was straight dissolved and lost in the crisp bubbling
And all-devouring properties of acids.
In rapturous witchery of beatitude;
Who drank a hundred pearls, immaculate
In their white gloom of glory, and of rare
And fabulous richness. Lo! the haughty queen
Heaped the all-immeasurable wealth
Of treasures rare within a vessel, where,
Breathing a mist of filmy radiance—
A seeming vapor woven of gemmy rays,
That lurked in nebulous folds about the latent,
Limpid, and viewless confines of the vessel—
The copious fund, the teeming store of treasure
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And all-devouring properties of acids.
Then, after this accomplished, did she mingle
With added juices, spice, and redolence
Of various tinctures, a most savory draught.
Her folded fingers held the jeweled verge
Of the clear goblet, from pure ether hewn,
Or some most lucent crystal, delicate,
And laid the gleaming halo of the goblet
Against the amorous volume of her lips,
Where broke the violent fever of her love
In turgid crimsoning, deepening the ripe tint
O' the silky curtains hung about the proud,
Voluptuous tower of her enticing feature.
So, staying the hot current of her blood
In the drowsy syrup, clotted here and there,
And crusted in pearl-ices, glittering pastes,
And frosty miracles of rich congealment
About the invisible limits of the vessel;
Drank she the all incalculable value
Of crystalizing dregs, and hurled the cup
At a dumb serving slave, a fawning eunuch,
Black as hell's border, crouching close along,
The swelling curvature of her fair barge
Heading the vast armada, as it lay
Becalmed among the silver of the Cyndus.
The dense aroma of their several freights
Had quite embalmed the zephyr, and they lay
Beating the silver bosom of the Cyndus,—
Like prisoned birds, with fretful throb of wings,
Beating the bosom of the silver Cyndus,
Close upon Tarsus, where reveled Anthony.
Night is the shadow of that Ethiop queen:With added juices, spice, and redolence
Of various tinctures, a most savory draught.
Her folded fingers held the jeweled verge
Of the clear goblet, from pure ether hewn,
Or some most lucent crystal, delicate,
And laid the gleaming halo of the goblet
Against the amorous volume of her lips,
Where broke the violent fever of her love
In turgid crimsoning, deepening the ripe tint
O' the silky curtains hung about the proud,
Voluptuous tower of her enticing feature.
So, staying the hot current of her blood
In the drowsy syrup, clotted here and there,
And crusted in pearl-ices, glittering pastes,
And frosty miracles of rich congealment
About the invisible limits of the vessel;
Drank she the all incalculable value
Of crystalizing dregs, and hurled the cup
At a dumb serving slave, a fawning eunuch,
Black as hell's border, crouching close along,
The swelling curvature of her fair barge
57
Becalmed among the silver of the Cyndus.
The dense aroma of their several freights
Had quite embalmed the zephyr, and they lay
Beating the silver bosom of the Cyndus,—
Like prisoned birds, with fretful throb of wings,
Beating the bosom of the silver Cyndus,
Close upon Tarsus, where reveled Anthony.
She strews the seas with stars innumerable—
The bubbly sea with stars which are as pearls;
And when the wave is like to stiffen, or burst
Its dusky rind for too great store of rare
And gleaming treasure, Night! lo, haughty Night,
The very shadow of that Ethiop queen
Dips at the borders of the teeming sea
And drinks the richness of the winy flood,
Leaving the world as empty of the dark
And cloudy turbulence of Muscadine
As was the crystal chalice that was drained
By the proud daring of old Egypt's queen.
58
AT THE SPRING.
I knew a cumbrous hill,
From whose green breast did daintily distill
A throbbing rill.
From whose green breast did daintily distill
A throbbing rill.
This is the artery,
And further on the crystal heart must be,
Thought said to me.
And further on the crystal heart must be,
Thought said to me.
All other I forsook,
To follow every twist and curious nook
Of this wild brook.
To follow every twist and curious nook
Of this wild brook.
59
Among deep mosses set,
I found the glimmering fount that did beget
The rivulet.
I found the glimmering fount that did beget
The rivulet.
No other eye had known
Its secret, nor ear heard, for it made moan
Always alone.
Its secret, nor ear heard, for it made moan
Always alone.
I quaffed its waters clear:
Its limpid music babbled to mine ear
With voice sincere.
Its limpid music babbled to mine ear
With voice sincere.
Then such a silence fell
Upon me, mantling me, as where a spell
Is wont to dwell.
Upon me, mantling me, as where a spell
Is wont to dwell.
Yet fled I from the place
At a rude rustling: and fear gave me chase
In my disgrace.
At a rude rustling: and fear gave me chase
In my disgrace.
'T was a slim water-snake
Slipt like an arrow through the shivering brake,
And left no wake.
Slipt like an arrow through the shivering brake,
And left no wake.
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But cleft the placid spring
And waved its flaming sword, its forked sting,
In a charmed ring.
And waved its flaming sword, its forked sting,
In a charmed ring.
[OMITTED]
So was the fountain spoiled,
Within its lucid walls a devil coiled—
My trust was foiled.
Within its lucid walls a devil coiled—
My trust was foiled.
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