Two female figures, closely veil'd

And mantled, towards that funeral shore. They landed-and the boat again Put off across the watery plain.

Shall I confess to thee I may

That never yet hath come the chance Of a new music, a new ray

From woman's voice, from woman's glance, Which-let it find me how it might,

In joy or grief-I did not bless, And wander after, as a light

Leading to undreamt happiness.
And chiefly now, when hopes so vain,
Were stirring in my heart and brain,
When Fancy had allur'd my soul

Into a chase, as vague and far
As would be his, who fix'd his goal
In the horizon, or some star-
Any bewilderment, that brought
More near to earth my high-flown thought-
The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure,
Less high and heavenly, but more sure,
Came welcome-and was then to me
What the first flowery isle must be
To vagrant birds, blown out to sea.

Quick to the shore I urged my bark, And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed Between the lofty tombs, could mark

Those figures, as with hasty tread They glided on-till in the shade

Of a small pyramid, which through Some boughs of palm its peak display'd, They vanish'd instant from my view. I hurried to the spot-no trace Of life was in that lonely place; And, had the creed I hold by taught Of other worlds, I might have thought Some mocking spirits had from thence Come in this guise to cheat my sense.

At length, exploring darkly round
The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found
An iron portal,-opening high
'Twixt peak and base-and, with a pray'r
To the bliss-loving moon, whose eye

Alone beheld me, sprung in there.
Downward the narrow stairway led
Through many a duct obscure and dread,

A labyrinth for mystery made,

With wanderings onward, backward, round, And gathering still, where'er it wound,

But deeper density of shade.

Scarce had I ask'd myself "Can aught
That man delights in sojourn here ?"—
When, suddenly, far off, I caught

A glimpse of light, remote, but clear,-
Whose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour
From some alcove or cell, that ended
The long, steep, marble corridor,
Through which I now, all hope, descended.

Never did Spartan to his bride
With warier foot at midnight glide.
It seem'd as echo's self were dead
In this dark place, so mute my tread.

Reaching, at length, that light, I sawOh listen to the scene, now raised Before my eyes, then guess the awe,

The still, rapt awe with which I gazed. 'Twas a small chapel, lin'd around With the fair, spangling marble, found In many a ruin'd shrine that stands Half seen above the Libyan sands. The walls were richly sculptur'd o'er, And character'd with that dark lore Of times before the Flood, whose key Was lost in the Universal Sea,'While on the roof was pictured bright

The Theban beetle, as he shines, When the Nile's mighty flow declines, And forth the creature springs to light, With life regenerate in his wings: Emblem of vain imaginings!

Of a new world, when this is gone,
In which the spirit still lives on!

Direct beneath this type, reclin'd

On a black granite altar, lay
A female form, in crystal shrin'd,
And looking fresh as if the ray
Of soul had fled but yesterday,
While in relief, of silvery hue,

Graved on the altar's front were seen A branch of lotus, brok'n in two,

As that fair creature's life had been, And a small bird that from its spray Was winging, like her soul, away.

But brief the glimpse I now could spare To the wild, mystic wonders round; For there was yet one wonder there,

That held me as by witchery bound. The lamp, that through the chamber shed Its vivid beam, was at the head

Of her who on that altar slept;

And near it stood, when first I came,Bending her brow, as if she kept

Sad watch upon its silent flame-
A female form, as yet so plac'd
Between the lamp's strong glow and me,
That I but saw, in outline trac'd,

The shadow of her symmetry.
Yet did my heart-I scarce knew why-
Ev'n at that shadow'd shape beat high.
Nor long was it, ere full in sight
The figure turn'd; and, by the light
That touch'd her features, as she bent,
Over the crystal monument,

I saw 'twas she--the same-the same-
That lately stood before me-bright'ning
The holy spot, where she but came
And went again, like summer lightning!

Upon the crystal, o'er the breast
Of her who took that silent rest,
There was a cross of silver lying-

Another type of that blest home,
Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying
Build for us in a world to come :-
This silver cross the maiden rais'd
To her pure lips;-then, having gazed
Some minutes on that tranquil face,
Sleeping in all death's mournful grace,

Strange pow'r of Innocence, to turn

To its own hue whate'er comes near;
And make even vagrant Passion burn
With purer warmth within its sphere!
She who, but one short hour before,
Had come, like sudden wild-fire, o'er
My heart and brain,-whom gladly, even
From that bright Temple, in the face
Of those proud ministers of heaven,

I would have borne, in wild embrace,
And risk'd all punishment, divine

And human, but to make her mine ;-
That maid was now before me, thrown
By fate itself into my arms-
There standing, beautiful, alone,

With nought to guard her, but her charms. Yet did I-oh did ev'n a breath

From my parch'd lips, too parch'd to move, Disturb a scene where thus, beneath Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death

Held converse through undying love? No-smile and taunt me as thou wiltThough but to gaze thus was delight, Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt,

To win by stealth so pure a sight; And rather than a look profane

Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, Or voice, or whisper broke the chain

That link'd her spirit with the skies,
I would have gladly, in that place,

From which I watch'd her heav'n-ward face,
Let my heart break, without one beat
That could disturb a prayer so sweet.

Gently, as if on every tread,

My life, my more than life depended, Bark through the corridor that led

To this blest scene I now ascended, And with slow seeking, and some pain, And many a winding tried in vain, Emerg'd to upper air again.

The sun had freshly ris'n, and down
The marble hills of Araby,
Scatter'd, as from a conqueror's crown,
His beams into that living sea.
There seem'd a glory in his light,
Newly put on as if for pride
Of the high homage paid this night
To his own Isis, his young bride,
Now fading feminine away
In her proud lord's superior ray.

My mind's first impulse was to fly
At once from this entangling net-
New scenes to range, new loves to try,
Or, in mirth, wine and luxury

Of every sense, that night forget.
But vain the effort-spell-bound still,

I linger'd, without power or will

To turn my eyes from that dark door, Which now enclos'd her 'mong the dead; Oft fancying, through the boughs, that o'er The sunny pile their flickering shed, 'Twas her light form again I saw

Starting to earth-still pure and bright, But wakening, as I hop'd, less awe, Thus seen by morning's natural light, Than in that strange, dim cell at night.

But

no, alas, she ne'er return'd:
Nor yet-tho' still I watch-nor yet,
Though the red sun for hours hath burn'd,
And now, in his mid course, had met
The peak of that eternal pile

He pauses still at noon to bless,
Standing beneath his downward smile,
Like a great Spirit, shadowless!
Nor yet she comes--while here, alone,
Saunt'ring through this death-peopled place,
Where no heart beats except my own,
Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown,
By turns I watch, and rest, and trace
These lines, that are to waft to thee
My last night's wondrous history.

Dost thou remember, in that Isle

Of our own Sea, where thou and I Linger'd so long, so happy a while,

Till all the summer flowers went byHow gay it was when sunset brought

To the cool Well our favourite maidsSome we had won, and some we soughtTo dance within the fragrant shades, And, till the stars went down, attune Their Fountain Hymns* to the young moon?

That time, too-oh, 'tis like a dream-
When from Scamander's holy tide
I sprung, as Genius of the Stream,

And bore away that blooming bride,
Who thither came, to yield her charms
(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed)
Into the cold Scamander's arms,

But met, and welcom'd mine, insteadWondering, as on my neck she fell, How river-gods could love so well! Who would have thought that he, who rov'd Like the first bees of summer then, Rifling each sweet, nor ever lov'd

But the free hearts, that lov'd again,
Readily as the reed replies

To the last breath that round it sighs-
Is the same dreamer who, last night,
Stood aw'd and breathless at the sight
Of one Egyptian girl; and now
Wanders among these tombs, with brow
Pale, watchful, sad, as tho' he just,
Himself, had ris'n from out their dust!

Yet, so it is-and the same thirst

For something high and pure, above This withering world, which, from the first Make me drink deep of woman's love,

These Songs of the Well, as they were called by the ancients, are still common in the Greek isles.

As the one joy, to heav'n most near
Of all our hearts can meet with here,-
Still burns me up, still keeps awake
A fever nought but death can slake.

Farewell; whatever may befall,-
Or bright, or dark-thou'lt know it all.

LETTER IV.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

WONDERS ON Wonders; sights that lie

Where never sun gave flow'ret birth; Bright marvels, hid from th' upper sky, And myst'ries that are born and die

Deep in the very heart of earth!-
All that the ancient Orpheus, led
By courage that Love only gives,
Dar'd for a matchless idol, dead,

I've seen and dar'd for one who lives.

Again the moon was up, and found
The echoes of my feet still round
The monuments of this lone place ;-
Or saw me, if awhile my lid
Yielded to sleep, stretch'd at the base
Of that now precious Pyramid,
In slumber that the gentlest stir,
The stillest, air-like step of her,

Whom ev'n in sleep I watch'd, could chase.
And then, such various forms she seem'd
To wear before me, as I dream'd!--

Now, like Neïtha, on her throne
At Saïs, all reveal'd she shone,
With that dread veil thrown off her brow,
Which mortal never rais'd till now ;*
Then, quickly chang'd, methought 'twas she
Of whom the Memphian boatman tells
Such wondrous tales-fair Rhodope,

The subterranean nymph, that dwells
'Mid sunless gems and glories hid,
The Lady of the Pyramid!

At length, from one of these short dreams
Starting as if the subtile beams,
Then playing o'er my brow, had brought
Some sudden light into my thought-
Down for my boat-lamp to the shore,
Where still it palely burn'd, I went ;
Resolv'd that night to try once more

The mystery of this monument.

Thus arm'd, I scarce had reach'd the gate,
When a loud screaming-like the cry
Of some wild creature to its mate-
Came startling from the palm-grove nigh ;-
Or, whether haply 'twas the creak

Of those Lethæan portals, † said

To give thus out a mournful shriek,
When oped at midnight for the dead.

*See, for the veil of Neïtha, the inscription upon her temple, as given by Plutarch de Is. et Osir.

The brazen portals at Memphis, mentioned by Zoega, called the Gates of Oblivion.

Whate'er it was, the sound came o'er

My heart like ice, as through the door Of the small Pyramid I went, And down the same abrupt descent, And through long windings, as before, Reach'd the steep marble corridor.

Trembling I stole along-the light

In the lone chapel still burn'd on; But she, for whom my soul and sight

Look'd with a thirst so keen, was gone,By some invisible path had fled

Into that gloom, and left the Dead
To its own solitary rest,

Of all lone things the loneliest.

As still the cross, which she had kiss'd,
Was lying on the crystal shrine,

I took it up, nor could resist

(Though the dead eyes, I thought, met mine, Kissing it too, while, half ashamed

Of that mute presence, I exclaimed, "Oh Life to Come, if in thy sphere

Love, Woman's love, our heav'n could be,
Who would not ev'n forego it here,

To taste it there eternally ?"
Hopeless, yet with unwilling pace,
Leaving the spot, I turn'd to trace
My pathway back, when, to the right,
I could perceive by my lamp's light,
That the long corridor which, viewed

Through distance dim, had seem'd to end
Abruptly here, still on pursued

Its sinuous course, with snake-like bend
Mocking the eye, as down it wound
Still deeper through that dark profound.

Again, my hopes were rais'd, and, fast
As the dim lamp-light would allow,
Along that new-found path I past,

Through countless turns; descending now
By narrow ducts, now, up again,
'Mid columns, in whose date the chain
Of time is lost: and thence along
Cold halls, in which a sapless throng
Of Dead stood up, with glassy eye
Meeting my gaze, as I went by.-
Till, lost among these winding ways,

Coil'd round and round, like serpent's folds I thought myself in that dim maze Down under Moris' Lake, which holds The hidden wealth of the Twelve Kings, Safe from all human visitings.

At length, the path clos'd suddenly;

And, by my lamp, whose glimmering fell Now faint and fainter, I could see

Nought but the mouth of a huge well,
Gaping athwart my onward track,-
A reservoir of darkness, black

As witches' caldrons are, when fill'd
With moon-drugs in th' eclipse distill'd.
Leaning to look if foot might pass
Down through that chasm, I saw, beneath,
As far as vision could explore,
The jetty sides all smooth as glass,

Looking as if just varnish'd o'er
With that dark pitch the Sea of Death
Throws out upon its slimy shore.

Doubting awhile; yet loth to leave

Aught unexplor'd, the chasm I tried
With nearer search; and could perceive
An iron step that from the side
Stood dimly out; while, lower still,
Another ranged, less visible,

But aptly plac'd, as if to aid

Th' adventurous foot, that dar'd the shade.
Though hardly I could deem that e'er
Weak woman's foot had ventured there,
Yet, urged along by the wild heat
That can do all things but retreat,

I placed my lamp,--which for such task
Was aptly shaped, like cap or casque
To fit the brow,-firm on my head,
And down into the darkness went;
Still finding for my cautious tread

New foot-hold in that deep descent, Which seem'd as tho' 'twould thus descend In depth and darkness without end.

At length, this step-way ceas'd; in vain
I sought some hold, that would sustain
My down-stretch'd foot-the polish'd side,
Suppery and hard, all help denied:
Till, as I bow'd my lamp around,
To let its now faint glimmer fall
On every side, with joy I found

Just near me, in the shining wall,
A window (which had 'scap'd my view
In that half shadow) and sprung through.
'Twas downward still, but far less rude-
By stairs that through the live rock wound
In narrow spiral round and round,
Whose giddy sweep my foot pursued
Till, lo, before a gate I stood,
Which oped. I saw, into the same
Deep well, from whence but now I came.
The doors were iron, yet gave way
Lightly before me, as the spray
Of a young lime-tree, that receives
Some wandering bird among its leaves.
But, soon as I had pass'd, the din,

Th' o'erwhelming din, with which again They clash'd their folds, and closed me in, Was such as seldom sky or main, Or heaving earth, or all, when met In angriest strife, e'er equall'd yet. It seem'd as if the ponderous sound Was by a thousand echoes hurl'd From one to th' other, through the round Of this great subterranean world, Till, far as from the catecombs

Of Alexandria to the Tombs

In ancient Thebes's Valley of Kings,
Rung its tremendous thunderings.
Yet could not ev'n this rude surprise,
Which well might move far bolder men,
One instant turn my charmed eyes

From the blest scene that hail'd them then.
As I had rightly deem'd, the place
Where I now stood was the well's base,
The bottom of the chasm, and bright
Before me, through the massy bars
Of a huge gate, there came a light

Soft, warm, and welcome, as the stars
Of his own South are to the sight
Of one, who, from his sunny home,
To the chill North had dar'd to roam.

And oh the scene, now opening through
Those bars that all but sight denied'
A long, fair alley, far as view
Could reach away, along whose side
Went, lessening to the end, a row

Of rich arcades, that, from between
Their glistening pillars, sent a glow

Of countless lamps, burning unseen,
And that still air, as from a spring
Of hidden light illumining.

While soon as the wild echoes rous'd
From their deep haunts again were hous'd,—
I heard a strain of holy song

Breathing from out the bright arcades
Into that silence-where, among

The high sweet voices of young maids,
Which, like the small and heav'n-ward spire
Of Christian temples, crown'd the choir,
I fancied, (such the fancy's sway)

Though never yet my ear had caught
Sound from her lips-yet, in that lay
So worthy of her looks, methought
That maiden's voice I heard, o'er all
Most high and heavenly,-to my ear
Sounding distinctly, like the call
Of a far spirit from its sphere.

But vain the call-that stubborn gate
Like destiny, all force defied.
Anxious I look'd around-and, straight,

An opening to the left descried,
Which, though like hell's own mouth it seem'd
Yet led, as by its course I deem'd
Parallel with those lighted ways

That 'cross the alley pour'd their blaze.
Eager I stoop'd this path to tread,
When, suddenly, the wall o'er-head
Grew with a fitful lustre bright,
Which, settling gradual on the sight
Into clear characters of light,

These words on its dark ground I read.

"You, who would try

This terrible track,

To live, or to die,

But ne'er to look back;

"You, who aspire

To be purified there By the terrors of Fire

And Water and Air;

"If danger and pain

And death you despiseOn-for again

Into light you may rise,—

"Rise into light

With that Secret Divine Now shrouded from sight By the Veils of the Shrine !

"But if

The words here dimm'd away Till, lost in darkness, vague and dread, Their very silence seem'd to say Awfuller things than words e'er said.

"Am I then in the path," I cried,

"To the Great Mystery? shall I see, And touch,-perhaps, ev'n draw aside Those venerable veils, which hide

The secret of Eternity!"
This thought at once reviv'd the zeal,
The thirst for Egypt's hidden lore
Which I had almost ceas'd to feel,

In the new dreams that won me o'er.
For now-oh happiness!-it seem'd
As if both hopes before me beam'd-
As if that spirit-nymph, whose tread

I trac'd down hither from above,
To more than one sweet treasure led-
Lighting me to the fountain-head

Of Knowledge by the star of Love.
Instant I enter'd-though the ray

Of my spent lamp was near its last,-
And quick through many a channel-way,
Ev'n ruder than the former, pass'd;
Till, just as sunk the farewell spark,
I spied before me, through the dark,
A paly fire, that moment raised,
Which still as I approach'd it, blazed
With stronger light,-till, as I came
More near, I saw my pathway led
Between two hedges of live flame,-
Trees all on fire, whose branches shed
A glow that, without noise or smoke,

Yet strong as from a furnace, broke;
While o'er the glaring ground between,
Where my sole, onward path was seen,
Hot iron bars, red as with ire,

Transversely lay-such as, they tell, Compose that trellis-work of fire,

Through which the Doom'd look out in hell.

To linger there was to be lost

More and still more the burning trees Clos'd o'er the path; and as I crost

With tremour both in heart and knees-
Fixing my foot where'er a space
'Twixt the red bars gave resting-place,
Above me, each quick burning tree,
Tamarind, Balm of Araby,

And Egypt's Thorn combined to spread
A roof of fire above my head,
Yet safe or with but harmless scorch-
I trod the flaming ordeal through;
And promptly seizing, as a torch

To light me on to dangers new,
A fallen bough that kindling lay
Across the path, pursued my way.

Nor went I far before the sound

Of downward torrents struck my ear;
And, by my torch's gleam, I found
That the dark space which yawn'd around,

Was a wide cavern, far and near
Fill'd with dark waters, that went by
Turbid and quick, as if from high
They late had dash'd down furiously;
Or, awfuller, had yet that doom
Before them, in the untried gloom.
No pass appear'd on either side;

And tho' my torch too feebly shone
To show what scowl'd beyond the tide,
I saw but one way left me-on!

So, plunging in, with my right hand
The current's rush I scarce withstood,
While, in my left, the failing brand

Shook its last glimmer o'er the flood. 'Twas a long struggle-oft I thought, That, in that whirl of waters caught,

I must have gone, too weak for strife, Down, headlong, at the cataract's willSad fate for one, with heart and life

And all youth's sunshine round him still! But, ere my torch was wholly spent,

I saw, outstretching from the shade Into those waters, as if meant

To lend the drowning struggler aidA slender, double balustrade, With snow-white steps between, ascending From the grim surface of the stream, Far up as eye could reach, and ending In darkness there, like a lost dream. That glimpse-for 'twas no longer-gave New spirit to my strength; and now, With both arms combating the wave, I rush'd on blindly, till my brow Struck on that railway's lowest stair; When, gathering courage from despair, I made one bold and fearful bound, And on the step firm footing found.

But short that hope-for, as I flew
Breathlessly up, the stairway grew
Tremulous under me, while each
Frail step, ere scarce my foot could reach
The frailer yet I next must trust,
Crumbled behind me into dust;
Leaving me, as it crush'd beneath,

Like shipwreck'd wretch who, in dismay, Sees but one plank 'twixt him and death, And shuddering feels that one give way; And still I upward went-with nought

Beneath me but that depth of shade, And the dark flood, from whence I caught Each sound the falling fragments made. Was it not fearful?-still more frail

At every step crash'd the light stair,
While, as I mounted, ev'n the rail

That up into that murky air
Was my sole guide, began to fail!-
When stretching forth an anxious hand,
Just as, beneath my tottering stand,
Steps, railway, all, together went,

I touch'd a massy iron ring,
That there-by what kind genius sent
I know not-in the darkness hung;
And grasping it, as drowners cling
To the last hold, so firm I clung,
And through the void suspended swung.

Sudden, as if that mighty ring

Were link'd with all the winds in heav'n, And, like the touching of a spring,

My eager grasp had instant given Loose to all blasts that ever spread The shore or sea with wrecks and deadAround me, gusts, gales, whirlwinds rang Tumultuous, and I seem'd to hang Amidst an elemental war,

In which wing'd tempests of all kinds And strengths that winter's stormy star