The Flood of Thessaly The Girl of Provence, and Other Poems. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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 | The Flood of Thessaly |  |
VI.
Now will I tell thee how I kissed the air
Of Naples, and first faced its visions fair,—
Its blue skies and Palladian palaces,
(Like Eastern dreams,)—statues and terraces,
And columns lustrous with poetic thought;
All filled with groups arrayed in antique dress,
(Nymphs and Arcadian shapes, gods, goddesses)
From base to palmy capital marble-wrought,
And colonnades of marble, fountain-cool,
Amongst whose labyrinthine aisles the breeze
Roamed at its will, and gardens green, and trees
Fruited with gold, and walks of cypresses,
Where Revel held her reign (a gay misrule)
Nightly beneath the stars. And there the seas
Which wander in and out thy sunny bay,
Soothe Ischia and the crowned Procida,
Bright islands, with a thousand harmonies,
Or answer with rich cries, from shore to shore,
The anguish of the great Vesuvian roar,
When that earth-tempest, scattering dust and fire
From its red heart in torment, doth aspire
To Heaven, as did an angel.—Many sights
I saw, beneath the softest sun that lights
The Italian world to morning, tho' thine earth
Was then not teeming with its fiery birth,
But lay in huge repose, outstretched far,
Like a giant slain, or sad, or worn with war.—
Of Naples, and first faced its visions fair,—
Its blue skies and Palladian palaces,
(Like Eastern dreams,)—statues and terraces,
And columns lustrous with poetic thought;
All filled with groups arrayed in antique dress,
(Nymphs and Arcadian shapes, gods, goddesses)
From base to palmy capital marble-wrought,
And colonnades of marble, fountain-cool,
Amongst whose labyrinthine aisles the breeze
Roamed at its will, and gardens green, and trees
Fruited with gold, and walks of cypresses,
Where Revel held her reign (a gay misrule)
Nightly beneath the stars. And there the seas
Which wander in and out thy sunny bay,
Soothe Ischia and the crowned Procida,
Bright islands, with a thousand harmonies,
142
The anguish of the great Vesuvian roar,
When that earth-tempest, scattering dust and fire
From its red heart in torment, doth aspire
To Heaven, as did an angel.—Many sights
I saw, beneath the softest sun that lights
The Italian world to morning, tho' thine earth
Was then not teeming with its fiery birth,
But lay in huge repose, outstretched far,
Like a giant slain, or sad, or worn with war.—
But wherefore do I lend to thoughts like these
My perplex'd soul?—Thy calm-enchained seas
Are nothing now: thy purple Appenines
(Hither they stretch, clothed all with gloomy pines
From head to foot) are nothing: Summer now
Is nought; and Spring is gone; and Winter rears
His head and shakes the frost-locks on his brow,
And laughs at by-gone days and perish'd years:
O days!—yet one is my perpetual care,
Even now: I cannot lose that day so fair
(It shineth as a precious diamond set
In my poor round of thought) when first I met
In the Cordélier church, thee,—like a dream—
A fascination, into light or air
Dissolving,—chaunting thy melodious theme.
Ah, peerless princess! do not thou forget!—
My perplex'd soul?—Thy calm-enchained seas
Are nothing now: thy purple Appenines
(Hither they stretch, clothed all with gloomy pines
From head to foot) are nothing: Summer now
Is nought; and Spring is gone; and Winter rears
His head and shakes the frost-locks on his brow,
And laughs at by-gone days and perish'd years:
O days!—yet one is my perpetual care,
Even now: I cannot lose that day so fair
(It shineth as a precious diamond set
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In the Cordélier church, thee,—like a dream—
A fascination, into light or air
Dissolving,—chaunting thy melodious theme.
Ah, peerless princess! do not thou forget!—
Oh! with what weary steps my feet had trod
Street, square, and murmuring beech, and garden sod,
Till harassed by the languor of the hour,
I stole for refuge to thy church:—The power
Of music was awake, and to the wind
Just stirring, the most solemn organ pined,
And spoke, and seemed in sorrow to complain,
While, mingling with its mystic tones, a strain
Of song fell dying from a priestess' lips,—
Such song it was (so sweet) as must eclipse
All sounds for ever. My dull spirit grew
Brigh ter—more tranquil; and I paced through
The stone-cold aisles and touched the altar steps:
There saw I—what?—a vision! in the depths
Of holy aspiration lost: Her eye—
Thine eye—(oh! thine it was) journeyed on high
Amongst the wondrous Heavens, with such a glance
As might allure a seraph from his trance
Of adoration, when the rebel king
Passes the constellations, and dares fling
Delusion in the eyes of angels bright.
I saw thy soft eye wander, like a light
Starry,—meteorous; at last it wept
Rich, happy tears, and midst its lashes slept.—
I stood—(how often have I told thee this!)
Enchanted to a vague oblivious bliss,
Like one who in a heedless hour hath drank
Odours Circean, and brain-charmed sank
Into some sweet futurity of joy:—
He, waking from his dream, with sore annoy
Feeleth that still he stands a thing world born,
Heart-smitten, self-despised, alone, forlorn.
Street, square, and murmuring beech, and garden sod,
Till harassed by the languor of the hour,
I stole for refuge to thy church:—The power
Of music was awake, and to the wind
Just stirring, the most solemn organ pined,
And spoke, and seemed in sorrow to complain,
While, mingling with its mystic tones, a strain
Of song fell dying from a priestess' lips,—
Such song it was (so sweet) as must eclipse
All sounds for ever. My dull spirit grew
Brigh ter—more tranquil; and I paced through
The stone-cold aisles and touched the altar steps:
There saw I—what?—a vision! in the depths
Of holy aspiration lost: Her eye—
Thine eye—(oh! thine it was) journeyed on high
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As might allure a seraph from his trance
Of adoration, when the rebel king
Passes the constellations, and dares fling
Delusion in the eyes of angels bright.
I saw thy soft eye wander, like a light
Starry,—meteorous; at last it wept
Rich, happy tears, and midst its lashes slept.—
I stood—(how often have I told thee this!)
Enchanted to a vague oblivious bliss,
Like one who in a heedless hour hath drank
Odours Circean, and brain-charmed sank
Into some sweet futurity of joy:—
He, waking from his dream, with sore annoy
Feeleth that still he stands a thing world born,
Heart-smitten, self-despised, alone, forlorn.
Yet not thus I:—for, when my alarmed heart
Turned, like a bird to some magician's spell,
Tow'rd thee,—I saw thee still in beauty dwell
Before me, with rais'd eyes,—silent,—apart,
As though the sense of song would not depart.
—At last, a fine and undulating motion,
Like that of some sea-bloom which with the ocean
Moveth, surprized thee in thy holy lair,
And stole thee out of silence, lady fair!
I saw thee go,—scarce touching the cold earth,
As beautiful as Beauty at her birth,
Sea-goddess, when from out the foam she sprung
Full deity, and all the wide world hung
Mute and in marvel at perfection born.
I languish while I think of thee: The morn
Was not more bright, nor balmy eve as soft,
Nor music heard in dreams wandering aloft:
Thy cheek outblushed the sunset, and thy hand—
O white enchantment! I have read and scanned
Its page, and tasted (once) its perfect bliss:—
Turned, like a bird to some magician's spell,
Tow'rd thee,—I saw thee still in beauty dwell
Before me, with rais'd eyes,—silent,—apart,
As though the sense of song would not depart.
145
Like that of some sea-bloom which with the ocean
Moveth, surprized thee in thy holy lair,
And stole thee out of silence, lady fair!
I saw thee go,—scarce touching the cold earth,
As beautiful as Beauty at her birth,
Sea-goddess, when from out the foam she sprung
Full deity, and all the wide world hung
Mute and in marvel at perfection born.
I languish while I think of thee: The morn
Was not more bright, nor balmy eve as soft,
Nor music heard in dreams wandering aloft:
Thy cheek outblushed the sunset, and thy hand—
O white enchantment! I have read and scanned
Its page, and tasted (once) its perfect bliss:—
| The Flood of Thessaly | |