He winds around; he hurries by: Whose glance is fixed on those that flee; He stood some dread was on his face, Impatient of his flight delayed, Here loud his raven charger neighed Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade; That sound had burst his waking dream, As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; 'Twas but an instant he restrained That fiery barb so sternly reined; FROM "THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS " 270. THE CRIME OF THE East. Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; And the voice of the nightingale never is mute: Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the Sun Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? O! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. 1 The Rose. FROM "THE CORSAIR.". 271. A SHIP IN FULL SAIL. How gloriously her gallant course she goes! 272. REMORSE. There is a war, a chaos of the mind, But the wild prospect when the soul reviews The joy untasted, the contempt or hate Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remembered not Not cankering less because the more concealed - Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake, To snatch the mirror from the soul and break. 273. FROM "THE PRISONER OF CHILLON." Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: A thousand feet in depth below Thus much the fathom-line was sent A double dungeon wall and wave Sounding o'er our heads it knocked; Wash through the bars when winds were high And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked, Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free. FROM "MANFRED." 274. MANFRED'S SOLILOQUY ON THE JUNGFRAU. My mother Earth! And thou, fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, Art a delight thou shin'st not on my heart. To rest forever and yet my foot is firm: There is a power upon me which withholds, And makes it my fatality to live; If it be life to wear within myself My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased Thou wingéd and cloud-cleaving minister, [An eagle passes Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, Well mayst thou swoop so near me I should be Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, With a pervading vision. - Beautiful! How beautiful is all this visible world! How glorious in its action and itself! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will, Till our mortality predominates, And men are - what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other. Hark! the note, [The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard The natural music of the mountain reed For here the patriarchal days are not A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air, Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; A living voice, a breathing harmony, 275. THE COLISEUM. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops I learned the language of another world. upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and More near from out the Cæsars' palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appeared to skirt th' horizon, yet they stood Within a bowshot. Where the Cæsars dwelt, And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst A grove which springs through levelled battlements, And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth; But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, Á noble wreck in ruinous perfection, While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place - The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule |