They bathe in the fresh sunbeam; They have strength for their swiftness I deem, I desire and their speed makes night kindle; 570 SCENE V. - The Car pauses within a Cloud on the Top of a snowy Mountain. ASIA, PANTHEA, and the SPIRIT OF THE HOUR. SPIRIT. On the brink of the night and the morning My coursers are wont to respire; 580 ASIA. Thou breathest on their nostrils, but my breath SPIRIT. Alas! it could not. PANTHEA. Oh Spirit! pause, and tell whence is the light SPIRIT. Apollo The sun will rise not until noon. Is held in heaven by wonder; and the light 590 ASIA. What is it with thee, sister? Thou art pale. PANTHEA. How thou art changed! I dare not look on thee; The radiance of thy beauty. Some good change Thy presence thus unveiled. The Nereids tell Among the Ægean isles, and by the shores. Burst from thee, and illumined earth and heaven And the deep ocean and the sunless caves 600 Thy sister, thy companion, thine own chosen one, ASIA. Thy words are sweeter than aught else but his PANTHEA. List! Spirits speak. VOICE in the Air, singing. Life of Life! thy lips enkindle With their love the breath between them; And thy smiles before they dwindle Make the cold air fire; then screen them In those looks, where whoso gazes Faints, entangled in their mazes. Child of Light! thy limbs are burning Thro' the vest which seems to hide them; As the radiant lines of morning 610 [Music. 620 630 Thro' the clouds ere they divide them; And this atmosphere divinest Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest. Fair are others; none beholds thee, From the sight, that liquid splendour, As I feel now, lost for ever! Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest Walk upon the winds with lightness, Till they fail, as I am failing, Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing! ASIA. My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing. Upon that many-winding river, A paradise of wildernesses! Till, like one in slumber bound, Borne to the ocean, I float down, around, Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound: 640 650 660 Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions In music's most serene dominions; Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven. Without a course, without a star, But, by the instinct of sweet music driven; By thee, most beautiful of pilots, Which in the winds and on the waves doth move, We have past Age's icy caves, And Manhood's dark and tossing waves, And Youth's smooth ocean, smiling to betray : Beyond the glassy gulphs we flee Of shadow-peopled Infancy, Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day: A paradise of vaulted bowers, Lit by downward-gazing flowers, Peopled by shapes too bright to see, And rest, having beheld; somewhat like thee; 670 680 |