The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 51

That moment, did the a.s.sembled eyes Of heaven and earth my madness view, I should have seen, thro' earth and skies, But you alone--but only you.

Did not a frown from you reprove.

Myriads of eyes to me were none; Enough for me to win your love, And die upon the spot, when won.

A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.

I just had turned the cla.s.sic page.

And traced that happy period over, When blest alike were youth and age, And love inspired the wisest sage, And wisdom graced the tenderest lover.

Before I laid me down to sleep Awhile I from the lattice gazed Upon that still and moonlight deep, With isles like floating gardens raised, For Ariel there his sports to keep; While, gliding 'twixt their leafy sh.o.r.es The lone night-fisher plied his oars.

I felt,--so strongly fancy's power Came o'er me in that witching hour,-- As if the whole bright scenery there Were lighted by a Grecian sky, And I then breathed the blissful air That late had thrilled to Sappho's sigh.

Thus, waking, dreamt I,--and when Sleep Came o'er my sense, the dream went on; Nor, through her curtain dim and deep, Hath ever lovelier vision shone.

I thought that, all enrapt, I strayed Through that serene, luxurious shade, Where Epicurus taught the Loves To polish virtue's native brightness,-- As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves Have played with, wear a smoother whiteness.[1]

'Twas one of those delicious nights So common in the climes of Greece, When day withdraws but half its lights, And all is moons.h.i.+ne, balm, and peace.

And thou wert there, my own beloved, And by thy side I fondly roved Through many a temple's reverend gloom, And many a bower's seductive bloom, Where Beauty learned what Wisdom taught.

And sages sighed and lovers thought; Where schoolmen conned no maxims stern, But all was formed to soothe or move, To make the dullest love to learn, To make the coldest learn to love.

And now the fairy pathway seemed To lead us through enchanted ground, Where all that bard has ever dreamed Of love or luxury bloomed around.

Oh! 'twas a bright, bewildering scene-- Along the alley's deepening green Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, And scented and illumed the bowers, Seemed, as to him, who darkling roves, Amid the lone Hercynian groves, Appear those countless birds of light, That sparkle in the leaves at night, And from their wings diffuse a ray Along the traveller's weary way.

'Twas light of that mysterious kind.

Through which the soul perchance may roam, When it has left this world behind, And gone to seek its heavenly home.

And, Nea, thou wert by my side, Through all this heavenward path my guide.

But, lo, as wandering thus we ranged That upward path, the vision changed; And now, methought, we stole along Through halls of more voluptuous glory Than ever lived in Teian song, Or wantoned in Milesian story.[2]

And nymphs were there, whose very eyes Seemed softened o'er with breath of sighs; Whose every ringlet, as it wreathed, A mute appeal to pa.s.sion breathed.

Some flew, with amber cups, around, Pouring the flowery wines of Crete; And, as they pa.s.sed with youthful bound, The onyx shone beneath their feet.[3]

While others, waving arms of snow Entwined by snakes of burnished gold,[4]

And showing charms, as loth to show, Through many a thin, Tarentian fold, Glided among the festal throng Bearing rich urns of flowers along Where roses lay, in languor breathing, And the young beegrape, round them wreathing, Hung on their blushes warm and meek, Like curls upon a rosy cheek.

Oh, Nea! why did morning break The spell that thus divinely bound me?

Why did I wake? how _could_ I wake With thee my own and heaven around me!

Well--peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to that cheek, though it bloom not for me!

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet Their allurements forgive and their splendor forget.

Farewell to Bermuda,[5] and long may the bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume; May spring to eternity hallow the shade, Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has strayed.

And thou--when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam Through the lime-covered alley that leads to thy home, Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done, And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, I have led thee along, and have told by the way What my heart all the night had been burning to say-- Oh! think of the past--give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me to that alley of limes.

If I were yonder wave, my dear, And thou the isle it clasps around, I would not let a foot come near My land of bliss, my fairy ground.

If I were yonder couch of gold, And thou the pearl within it placed, I would not let an eye behold The sacred gem my arms embraced.

If I were yonder orange-tree, And thou the blossom blooming there, I would not yield a breath of thee To scent the most imploring air.

Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink, Give not the wave that odorous sigh, Nor let its burning mirror drink The soft reflection of thine eye.

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, So pictured in the waters seem, That I could gladly plunge to seek Thy image in the gla.s.sy stream.

Blest fate! at once my chilly grave And nuptial bed that stream might be; I'll wed thee in its mimic wave.

And die upon the shade of thee.

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending O'er the waters blue and bright, Like Nea's silky lashes, lending Shadow to her eyes of light.

Oh, my beloved! where'er I turn, Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes: In every star thy glances burn; Thy blush on every floweret lies.

Nor find I in creation aught Of bright or beautiful or rare, Sweet to the sense of pure to thought, But thou art found reflected there.

[1] This method of polis.h.i.+ng pearls, by leaving them awhile to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful Carda.n.u.s.

[2] The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in Miletus, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the most celebrated author of these licentious fictions.

[3] It appears that in very splendid mansions the floor or pavement was frequently of onyx.

[4] Bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among the women of antiquity.

[5] The inhabitants p.r.o.nounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. I wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the discoverer of this "island of hogs and devils" might have been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, who, about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth century), was sent Patriarch of the Latin church to Ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins which he encountered.--_Travels of the Jesuits_, vol. i.

THE SNOW SPIRIT.

No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep An island of lovelier charms; It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, Like Hebe in Hercules' arms.

The blush of your bowers is light to the eye, And their melody balm to the ear; But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, And the Snow Spirit never comes here.

The down from his wing is as white as the pearl That s.h.i.+nes through thy lips when they part, And it falls on the green earth as melting, my girl, As a murmur of thine on the heart.

Oh! fly to the clime, where he pillows the death, As he cradles the birth of the year; Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath, But the Snow Spirit cannot come here.

How sweet to behold him when borne on the gale, And brightening the bosom of morn, He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil O'er the brow of each virginal thorn.