And touch'd mine eyes and lit my brow To one who ask'd so much of me,- And mused if she would happier be; And, hour by hour, and day by day, I loved the gentle painter more, And I began to watch his mood, And on my mind would sometimes press What spells the stirring heart may move—— PYGMALION's statue never seem'd More changed with life, than she with love. The pearl-tint of the early dawn Flush'd into day-spring's rosy hue; Flung open to the light and dew; IV. A calm and lovely paradise Is Italy, for minds at ease. The sadness of its sunny skies Weighs not upon the lives of these. The ruin'd aisle, the crumbling fane, The broken column, vast and proneIt may be joy, it may be pain, Amid such wrecks to walk alone; The saddest man will sadder be, The gentlest lover gentler there, As if, whate'er the spirit's key, It strengthen'd in that solemn air. The heart soon grows to mournful things; And even her majestic trees And drew their sap all kingly yet! Is broken from some mighty thought, And sculptures in the dust still breathe The fire with which their lines were wrought, And sunder'd arch, and plunder'd tomb Still thunder back the echo, "Rome!" Yet gayly o'er Egeria's fount The ivy flings its emerald veil, And soft, from Caracalla's Baths, The herdsman's song comes down the breeze, While climb his goats the giddy paths To grass-grown architrave and frieze; And gracefully Albano's hill Curves into the horizon's line, And sweetly sings that classic rill, And fairly stands that nameless shrine; And here, O, many a sultry noon And starry eve, that happy June, Came ANGELO and MELANIE, And earth for us was all in tuneFor while Love talk'd with them, Hope walk'd apart with me! V. I shrink from the embitter'd close "Tis long since I have waked my woes- The throb beats faster at my brow, My brain feels warm with starting tears, And I shall weep-but heed not thou! "T will soothe a while the ache of years. The heart transfix'd-worn out with griefWill turn the arrow for relief. The painter was a child of shame! It stirr'd my pride to know it first, And thought, alas! I knew the worst, A high-born Conti was his mother, The Roman hid his daughter's shame And, with a noble's high desires The boy consumed with hidden fires, And sometimes at St. Mona's shrine, The demon in my bosom died! VI. St. Mona's morning mass was done; The shrine-lamps struggled with the day; And, rising slowly, one by one, Stole the last worshippers away. The organist play'd out the hymn, The incense, to St. MARY Swung, Had mounted to the cherubim, Or to the pillars thinly clung; And boyish chorister replaced The missal that was read no more, And warriors battled in its gleam; This earth again may never see She glided up St. Mona's aisle That morning as a bride, And, full as was my heart the while, The fountain may not fail the less May not be loved the more; But as, the fount's full heart beneath, St. Mona has a chapel dim Within the altar's fretted pale, A single lamp hangs o'er the shrine, Looks down with sweetness half-divine, And ANGELO and MELANIE But prayer, that morn, was not for me! A seal upon my soul was set- With forehead to the lattice laid, And thin, white fingers straining through, A nun the while had softly pray'd. O, e'en in prayer that voice I knew! Each faltering word, each mournful tone, Each pleading cadence, half-suppress'dSuch music had its like alone On lips that stole it at her breast! And ere the orison was done I loved the mother as the son! And now, the marriage-vow to hear, I THOUGHT of thee-I thought of thee We furl'd before the coming gale, We flew beneath the straining sail,But thou wert lost for years to me, And day and night I thought of thee! I thought of thee-I thought of thee In France, amid the gay saloon, Where eyes as dark as eyes may be Are many as the leaves in June: Where life is love, and e'en the air Is pregnant with impassion'd thought, And song, and dance, and music are With one warm meaning only fraught, My half-snared heart broke lightly free, And, with a blush, I thought of thee! I thought of thee-I thought of thee In wonders of the deathless arts; I stray'd to lonely Fiesole, On many an eve, and thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee Or, on the Coliseum's wall, When moonlight touch'd the ivied stone, Reclining, with a thought of all That o'er this scene hath come and gone, The shades of Rome would start and flee Unconsciously-I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee By life's rude changes humbler made. I slept within his very cell; I thought the cowl would fit me well; And, as the black barks glided by, Bore back the lover's passing sigh; It was no place alone to be, I thought of thee-I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee Old HOMER's songs around me playing; Or, watching the bewitch'd caique, That o'er the star-lit waters flew, I listen'd to the helmsman Greek, Who sung the song that SAPPHо knew: I thought of thee-I thought of thee And heroes with it, one by one; I lay at noontide in the shade- Each wave some sweet old story tells; Which sleeps by Ilium's ruins old, I thought of thee-I thought of thee And ever on its shores the daughters And, O, the snowy folds between, What eyes of heaven your glances meet! Peris of light no fairer be, Yet, in Stamboul, I thought of thee. I've thought of thee-I've thought of thee, Through change that teaches to forget; Thy face looks up from every sea, In every star thine eyes are set. Though roving beneath orient skies, Whose golden beauty breathes of rest, I envy every bird that flies Into the far and clouded west; I think of thee-I think of thee! LINES ON LEAVING EUROPE. And point as Freedom's eagle flew! The wind blows fair, the vessel feels The pressure of the rising breeze, And, swiftest of a thousand keels, She leaps to the careering seas! O, fair, fair cloud of snowy sail, In whose white breast I seem to lie, How oft, when blew this eastern gale, I've seen your semblance in the sky, And long'd, with breaking heart, to flee On such white pinions o'er the sea! Adieu, O lands of fame and eld! I turn to watch our foamy track, My cheek once more is hot with joy; O, what has changed that traveller-boy! As leaves the ship this dying foam, [home! His visions fade behind-his weary heart speeds Adieu, O soft and southern shore, Where dwelt the stars long miss'd in heaven; Those forms of beauty, seen no more, Yet once to Art's rapt vision given! O, still the enamour'd sun delays, And pries through fount and crumbling fane, To win to his adoring gaze Those children of the sky again! That light on other earth hath shone, Than such voluptuous slave's can be; New-born and blazing for the free, Soar'd not to heaven our eagle yet, Rome, with her helot sons, should teach me to forget! Adieu, O, fatherland! I see Your white cliffs on the horizon's rim, And, though to freer skies I flee, My heart swells, and my eyes are dim! As knows the dove the task you give her, When loosed upon a foreign shore; As spreads the rain-drop in the river In which it may have flow'd beforeTo England, over vale and mountain, My fancy flew from climes more fair, My blood, that knew its parent fountain, Ran warm and fast in England's air. My mother! in thy prayer to-night There come new words and warmer tears! On long, long darkness breaks the light, Comes home the loved, the lost for years! Sleep safe, O wave-worn mariner, Fear not, to-night, or storm or sea! The ear of Heaven bends low to her! He comes to shore who sails with me! How stands the tree when lightnings blaze: Dear mother! when our lips can speak, When I can gaze upon thy cheek, And thou, with thy dear eyes, on me→ 'T will be a pastime little sad To trace what weight Time's heavy fingers Upon each other's forms have had; For all may flee, so feeling lingers! But there's a change, beloved mother, To stir far deeper thoughts of thine; I come but with me comes another, To share the heart once only mine! Thou, on whose thoughts, when sad and lonely, One star arose in memory's heaven; Thou, who hast watch'd one treasure only, Water'd one flower with tears at even: Room in thy heart! The hearth she left Is darken'd to make light to ours! There are bright flowers of care bereft, And hearts that languish more than flowers; She was their light, their very air-- [prayer! Room, mother, in thy heart! place for her in thy SPRING. THE Spring is here, the delicate-footed May, Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours; We pass out from the city's feverish hum, Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods; Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, The waters tripping with their silver feet, The turning to the light of leaves in June, And the light whisper as their edges meet: Strange, that they fill not, with their tranquil tone, The spirit, walking in their midst alone. There's no contentment in a world like this, Save in forgetting the immortal, dream; We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss, That through the cloud-rifts radiantly stream; Bird-like, the prison'd soul will lift its eye And pine till it is hooded from the sky. TO ERMENGARDE. I KNOW not if the sunshine waste, The birds sing, and the stars float on, And sadness in the sight of flowers; Their love but makes me think of ours, And Heaven gets my heart the while. Like one upon a desert isle, I languish of the dreary hours; I never thought a life could be So flung upon one hope, as mine, dear love, on thee! I sit and watch the summer sky: There comes a cloud through heaven alone; A thousand stars are shining nigh, It feels no light, but darkles on! Yet now it nears the lovelier moon, And, flashing through its fringe of snow, There steals a rosier dye, and soon Its bosom is one fiery glow! The queen of life within it lies, Yet mark how lovers meet to part: And shadows sink into its heart; And, like my own, its heart seems darker than before. Where press, this hour, those fairy feet? Where look, this hour, those eyes of blue? What music in thine ear is sweet? What odour breathes thy lattice through? Alas, it seeks an orient sea! I envy the west wind of June, Whose wings will bear it up the Rhine; The flower I press upon my brow Were sweeter if its like perfumed thy chamber now! HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS. THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dyes; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. All things are dark to sorrow; and the light, She stood at ABRAHAM's tent Her lips were press'd The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Is low upon his breast, and on his high brow, He gave to her the water and the bread, Should HAGAR weep? May slighted woman turn, One evidence of love, and earth has not She went her way with a strong step and slow; Her press'd lip arch'd, and her clear eye undimm'd, As it had been a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. The morning pass'd, and Asia's sun rode up And see death settle on my cradle-joy. "I did not dream of this when thou wert straying, By the rich gush of water-sources playing, "O, no! and when I watch'd by thee the while, And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile, "And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press; And, O! my last caress Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. How can I leave my boy, so pillow'd there Upon his clustering hair!" |