Not so Sir Launcelot; - from Heaven's grace A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition; The royal Guinever looked passing glad When his touch failed. Next came Sir Galahad; He paused, and stood entranced by that still face Whose features he had seen in noontide vision.
For late, as near a murmuring stream He rested 'mid an arbour green and shady Nina, the good Enchantress, shed, A light around his mossy bed; And, at her call, a waking dream Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady.
Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed, And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with ermine, As o'er the insensate Body hung
The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, Belief sank deep into the crowd
That he the solemn issue would determine.
Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn That very mantle on a day of glory,
The day when he achieved that matchless feat, The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT,
Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn, Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.
He touched with hesitating hand,
And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's dominions,
The Swans, in triumph, clap their wings;
And their necks play, involved in rings, Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land;
"Mine is she," cried the Knight; - again they clapped their pinions.
"Mine was she-mine she is, though dead,
And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow ;" Whereat, a tender twilight streak
Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek; And her lips, quickening with uncertain red, Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow.
Deep was the awe, the rapture high,
Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining, When, to the mouth, relenting Death Allowed a soft and flower-like breath, Precursor to a timid sigh,
To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.
In silence did King Arthur gaze
Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;
In silence watched the gentle strife Of Nature leading back to life;
Then eased his Soul at length by praise
Of God, and Heaven's pure Qeeen- the blissful Ma
Then said he, "Take her to thy heart, Sir Galahad! a treasure that God giveth, Bound by indissoluble ties to thee Through mortal change and immortality; Be happy and unenvied, thou who art A goodly Knight that hath no Peer that liveth!" Not long the nuptials were delayed; And sage tradition still rehearses The pomp, the glory of that hour
When toward the Altar from her bower King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid, And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses
Who shrinks not from alliance Of evil with good Powers,
To God proclaims defiance,
And mocks whom he adores.
A Ship to Christ devoted From the Land of Nile did go; Alas! the bright Ship floated, An Idol at her Prow.
By magic domination, The Heaven-permitted vent Of purblind mortal passion, Was wrought her punishment.
The Flower, the Form within it, What served they in her need?
Her port she could not win it, Nor from mishap be freed.
The tempest overcame her, And she was seen no more; But gently gently blame her, She cast a Pearl ashore.
The Maid to Jesu hearkened, And kept to him her faith, Till sense in death was darkened, Or sleep akin to death.
But Angels round her pillow Kept watch, a viewless band; And, billow favouring billow, She reached the destined strand.
Blest Pair! whate'er befall you, Your faith in Him approve
Who from frail earth can call you,
To bowers of endless love!
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy pass, And with them did we journey several hours At a slow step. The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
And in the narrow rent, at every turn, Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, Back drizzling crags that spake by the wayside. As if a voice were in them, the sick sight And giddy prospect of the raving stream, The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens, Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light- Where all like workings of one mind, the features Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, Characters of the great Apocalypse, The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.
COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING OF EXTRAORDINARY SPLENDOUR AND BEAUTY.
HAD this effulgence disappeared
With flying haste, I might have sent, Among the speechless clouds, a look Of blank astonishment;
But 'tis endued with power to stay, And sanctify one closing day, That frail mortality may see —
What is!-ah no, but what can be! Time was when field and watery cove With modulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent angels sang Their vespers in the grove;
Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height, Warbled, for heaven above and earth below, Struins suitable to both. Such holy rite, Methinks, if audibly repeated now
From hil: or valley, could not move Sobaer transport, purer love,
Than doth this silent spectacle- the gleam- The shadow- and the peace supreme!
No sound is uttered, but a deep And den harmony pervades
The bollow vale from steep to steep, And penetrates the glades. Far-distast images draw nigh, Called forth by wondrous potency
Of beamy radiance, that imbues, Whate'er it strikes, with gem-like hues! In vision exquisitely clear,
Herds range along the mountain side; And glistening antlers are descried; And gilded flocks appear.
Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve! But long as god-like wish, or hope divine, Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe That this magnificence is wholly thine! - From worlds not quickened by the sun A portion of the gift is won;
An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread On ground which British shepherds tread!
And if there be whom broken ties Afflict, or injuries assail, Yon hazy ridges to their eyes Present a glorious scale, Climbing suffused with sunny air,
To stop-no record hath told where! And tempting fancy to ascend,
And with immortal spirits blend!
Wings at my shoulders seem to play; † But, rooted here, I stand and gaze
On those bright steps that heaven-ward raise Their practicable way.
Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad, And see to what fair countries ye are bound! And if some traveller, weary of his road, Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground, Ye Genii! to his covert speed;
And wake him with such gentle heed
As may attune his soul to meet the dower Bestowed on this transcendant hour!
Such hues from their celestial Urn Were wont to stream before mine eye, Where'er it wandered in the morn Of blissful infancy.
This glimpse of glory, why renewed? Nay, rather speak with gratitude; For, if a vestige of those gleams Survived, 't was only in my dreams.
*The multiplication of mountain-ridges described at the commencement of the third Stanza of this Ode, as a kind of Jacob's Ladder, leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapours, or sunny haze;-in the present instance by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode, entitled 'Intimations of Immortality,' pervade the last stanza of the foregoing Poem.
In these lines I am under obligation to the exquisite picture of "Jacob's Dream," by Mr. Allston, now in America. It is pleasant to make this public acknowledg ment to a man of genius, whom I have the honour to rank among my friends.
Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve No less than nature's threatening voice, If aught unworthy be my choice, From THEE if I would swerve;
O, let thy grace remind me of the light Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored; Which, at this moment, on my waking sight Appears to shine, by miracle restored; My soul, though yet confined to earth, Rejoices in a second birth!
-'Tis past, the visionary splendour fades; And night approaches with her shades.
ARMY of Clouds! ye winged Host in troops Ascending from behind the motionless brow Of that tall rock, as from a hidden world, O whither with such eagerness of speed? What seek ye, or what shun ye? of the gale Companions, fear ye to be left behind, Or racing o'er your blue ethereal field Contend ye with each other? of the sea Children, thus post ye over vale and height To sink upon your mother's lap and rest? Or were ye rightlier hailed, when first mine eyes Beheld in your impetuous march the likeness Of a wide army pressing on to meet Or overtake some unknown enemy? - But your smooth motions suit a peaceful aim; And Fancy, not less aptly pleased, compares Your squadrons to an endless flight of birds Aerial, upon due migration bound
To milder climes; or rather do ye urge
In caravan your hasty pilgrimage To pause at last on more aspiring heights Than these, and utter your devotion there With thunderous voice? Or are ye jubilant, And would ye, tracking your proud lord the Sun, Be present at his setting; or the pomp Of Persian mornings would ye fill, and stand Poising your splendours high above the heads Of worshippers kneeling to their up-risen God? Whence, whence, ye clouds! this eagerness of speed? Speak, silent creatures. They are gone, are fled, Buried together in yon gloomy mass
That loads the middle heaven; and clear and bright And vacant doth the region which they thronged Appear; a calm descent of sky conducting Down to the unapproachable abyss,
Down to that hidden gulf from which they rose To vanish fleet as days and months and years,
Fleet as the generations of mankind, Power, glory, empire, as the world itself,
The lingering world, when time hath ceased to be. But the winds roar, shaking the rooted trees, And see! a bright precursor to a train Perchance as numerous, overpeers the rock That sullenly refuses to partake
Of the wild impulse. From a fount of life Invisible, the long procession moves Luminous or gloomy, welcome to the vale Which they are entering, welcome to mine eye That sees them, to my soul that owns in them, And in the bosom of the firmament
O'er which they move, wherein they are contained, A type of her capacious self and all
Here is my body doomed to tread, this path, A little hoary line and faintly traced, Work, shall we call it, of the shepherd's foot Or of his flock?-joint vestige of them both. I pace it unrepining, for my thoughts Admit no bondage and my words have wings. Where is the Orphean lyre, or Druid harp, To accompany the verse? The mountain blast Shall be our hand of music; he shall sweep The rocks, and quivering trees, and billowy lake, And search the fibres of the caves, and they Shall answer, for our song is of the clouds And the wind loves them; and the gentle gales - Which by their aid re-clothe the naked lawn With annual verdure, and revive the woods, And moisten the parched lips of thirsty flowers- Love them; and every idle breeze of air Bends to the favourite burthen. Moon and stars Keep their most solemn vigils when the clouds Watch also, shifting peaceably their place Like bands of ministering spirits, or when they lie, As if some Protean art the change had wrought, In listless quiet o'er the ethereal deep Scattered, a Cyclades of various shapes And all degrees of beauty. O ye lightnings! Ye are their perilous offspring; and the sun-- Source inexhaustible of life and joy,
And type of man's far-darting reason, therefore In old time worshipped as the god of verse, A blazing intellectual deity-
Loves his own glory in their looks, and showers Upon that unsubstantial brotherhood Visions with all but beatific light Enriched too transient were they not renewed From age to age, and did not while we gaze In silent rapture, credulous desire
Nourish the hope that memory lacks not power To keep the treasure unimpaired. Vain thought! Yet why repine, created as we are
For joy and rest, albeit to find them only Lodged in the bosom of eternal things?
The Ear addressed, as occupied by a spiritual functionary, in on with sounds, individual, or combined in studied
. — Sources and effects of those sounds (to the close of - Sam. — The power of music, whence proceeding, exemdan the idiot-Origin of music, and its effect in early w-how produced (to the middle of 10th Stanza). — The
recalled to sounds acting casually and severally.-Wish med 11th Stanza) that these could be united into a scheme sem for moral interests and intellectual contemplation. sch, The Pythagorean theory of numbers and music, with their supposed power over the motions of the universe. serratons consonant with such a theory.-Wish expressed 11th Stanza) realized, in some degree, by the representaw tail sounds under the form of thanksgiving to the Creator. -La Sanzal the destruction of earth and the planetary syswn— the survival of audible harmony, and its support in the De Nature, as revealed in Holy Writ.
Try functions are etherial,
ff within thee dwelt a glancing Mind, gan of Vision! And a Spirit aerial ferus the cell of hearing, dark and blind; rate labyrinth, more dread for thought To enter than oracular cave;
Set passage, through which sighs are brought, And whispers, for the heart, their slave;
And shreks, that revel in abuse
sovering flesh; and warbled air, We piercing sweetness can unloose The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile Isto the ambush of despair;
samas pealing down the long-drawn aisle, And requiems answered by the pulse that beats fastly, in life's last retreats!
The beadlong Streams and Fountains
Serve Thee, Invisible Spirit, with untired powers; Cening the wakeful Tent on Syrian mountains, They lull perchance ten thousand thousand Flowers. That rar, the prowling Lion's Here I am, Hw fearful to the desert wide!
at bleat, how tender! of the Dam
aga straggler to her side.
Art, Cuckoo! let the vernal soul
with thee to the frozen zone;
7 from thy loftiest perch, lone Bell-bird, toll!
At the still hour to Mercy dear,
Vercy from her twilight throne
Latening to Nun's faint sob of holy fear,
To Sulur's praver breathed from a darkening sea, (Widow's cottage lullaby.
Ye Voices, and ye Shadows,
And Images of voice to hound and horn From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn, On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells A greeting give of measured glee; And milder echoes from their cells
Repeat the bridal symphony. Then, or far earlier, let us rove Where mists are breaking up or gone, And from aloft look down into a cove Besprinkled with a careless quire, Happy Milk-maids, one by one Scattering a ditty each to her desire, A liquid concert matchless by nice Art, A stream as if from one full heart.
Blest be the song that brightens
The blind Man's gloom, exalts the Veteran's mirth. Unscorned the Peasant's whistling breath, that lightens His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth. For the tired Slave, Song lifts the languid oar, And bids it aptly fall, with chime That beautifies the fairest shore, And mitigates the harshest clime. Yon Pilgrims see — in lagging file
They move; but soon the appointed way
A choral Ave Marie shall beguile,
And to their hope the distant shrine Glisten with a livelier ray:
Nor friendless He, the Prisoner of the Mine, Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast Can draw, and sing his griefs to rest.
Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste Best eloquence avails not, Inspiration Mounts with a tune, that travels like a blast Piping through cave and battlemented tower; Then starts the Sluggard, pleased to meet That voice of Freedom, in its power Of promises, shrill, wild, and sweet! Who, from a martial pageant, spreads Incitements of a battle-day,
Thrilling the unweaponed crowd with plumeless heads, Even She whose Lydian airs inspire
Peaceful striving, gentle play
Of timid hope and innocent desire
Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move
Fanned by the plausive wings of Love.
Regent of Sound, have dangerous Passions trod!
O Thou, through whom the Temple rings with praises, | And listening Dolphins gather round.
And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God,
All treasures hoarded by the Miser, Time. Orphean Insight! Truth's undaunted Lover, To the first leagues of tutored passion climb, When Music deigned within this grosser sphere Her subtle essence to enfold,
And Voice and Shell drew forth a tear Softer than Nature's self could mould. Yet strenuous was the infant Age: Art, daring because souls could feel, Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage Of rapt imagination sped her march Through the realms of woe and weal: Hell to the lyre bowed low; the upper arch Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse Her wan disasters could disperse.
The GIFT to King Amphion
That walled a city with its melody
Was for belief no dream; thy skill, Arion! Could humanise the creatures of the sea, Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves, Leave for one chant; the dulcet sound
Steals from the deck o'er willing waves,
Self-cast, as with a desperate course,
'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides A proud One docile as a managed horse; And singing, while the accordant hand Sweeps his harp, the Master rides; So shall he touch at length a friendly strand, And he, with his Preserver, shine star-bright In memory, through silent night.
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