The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 48

Night halts the course, resumed at earliest day, 70 Through day pursued, till the last sunbeams fell On a broad mere whose margin closed the way.

Hark! o'er the waters swung the holy bell From a grey convent on the rising ground, Amidst the subject hamlet stretch'd around.

Here, while both man and steeds the welcome rest 71 Under the sacred roof of Christ receive, We turn once more to aegle and her guest.

Lo! the sweet valley in the flush of eve!

Lo! side by side, where through the rose-arcade, Steals the love star, the hero and the maid!

Silent they gaze into each other's eyes, 72 Stirring the inmost soul's unquiet sleep; So pierce soft star-beams, blending wave and skies, Some holy fountain trembling to its deep!

Bright to each eye each human heart is bare, And scarce a thought to start an angel there!

Love to the soul, whate'er the harsh may say, 73 Is as the hallowing Naad to the well-- The linking life between the forms of clay And those ambrosia nurtures; from its spell Fly earth's rank fogs, and Thought's enn.o.bled flow s.h.i.+nes with the shape that glides in light below.

Seize, O beloved, the blooms the Hour allows! 74 Alas, but once can flower the Beautiful!

Hark, the wind rustles through the trembling boughs, And the stem withers while the buds ye cull!

Brief though the prize, how few in after hours Can say, "at least the Beautiful _was_ ours!"

Two loves (and both divine and pure) there are; 75 One by the roof-tree takes its root for ever, Nor tempests rend, nor changeful seasons mar-- It clings the stronger for the storm's endeavour; Beneath its shade the wayworn find their rest, And in its boughs the calm bird builds its nest.

But one more frail (in that more prized, perchance), 76 Bends its rich blossoms over lonely streams In the untrodden ways of wild Romance, On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams,[13]

Few find the path;--O bliss! O woe to find!

What bliss the blossom!--ah! what woe the wind!

Oh, the short spring!--the eternal winter!--All 77 Branch,--stem all shatter'd; fragile as the bloom!

Yet this the love that charms us to recall Life's golden holiday before the tomb; Yea! _this_ the love which age again lives o'er, And hears the heart beat loud with youth once more!

Before them, at the distance, o'er the blue 78 Of the sweet waves which girt the rosy isle, Flitted light shapes the inwoven alleys through: Remotely mellow'd, musical the while, Floated the hum of voices, and the sweet Lutes chimed with timbrels to dim-glancing feet.

The calm swan rested on the breathless gla.s.s 79 Of dreamy waters, and the snow-white steer Near the opposing margin, motionless, Stood, knee-deep, gazing wistful on its clear And life-like shadow, s.h.i.+mmering deep and far, Where on the lucid darkness fell the star.

Near them, upon its lichen-tinted base, 80 Gleam'd one of those fair fancied images Which art hath lost--no G.o.d of Idan race, But the wing'd symbol which, by Caspian seas, Or Susa's groves, its parable addrest To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest.[14]

Light as the soul, whose archetype it was 81 The Genius touch'd, yet spurn'd the pedestal; Behind, the foliage, in its purple ma.s.s, Shut out the flush'd horizon; clasping all, Nature's hush'd giants stood to guard and girth The only home of peace upon the earth.

And when, at last, from aegle's lips, the voice 82 Came soft as murmur'd hymns at closing day, The sweet sound seem'd the sweet air to rejoice-- To give the sole charm wanting,--to convey The crowning music to the Musical; As with the soul of love infusing all!

And to the Northman's ear that antique tongue, 83 Which from the Augur's lips fell weird and cold, Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales,[15] which strung Enchanted pearls, won from the caves of old, And woven round a sunbeam;--so was wrought O'er cordial love the pure and delicate thought.

She spoke of youth's lost years, so lone before, 84 And coming to the present, paused and blush'd; As if Time's wing were spell-bound evermore, And Life, the restless, in the hour were hush'd: The pause, the blush, said more than words, "And thou Art found!--thou lov'st me!--Fate is powerless now!"

That hand in his--that heart his own entwining 85 With its life's tendrils,--youth his pardon be, If in his heaven no loftier star were s.h.i.+ning-- If round the haven boom'd unheard the sea-- If in the wreath forgot the th.o.r.n.y crown, And the harsh duties of severe renown.

Blame we as well the idlesse of a dream, 86 As that entranced oblivion from the reign Of the Great Curse, which glares in every beam Of labouring suns to the stern race of Cain; So life from earth did Nature here withdraw, That the strange peace seem'd but earth's common law.

Yet some excuse all stronger spirits take 87 For all repose from toil (to strength the doom) How sweet in that fair heathen soil to wake The living palm G.o.d planted on the tomb!

And so, and long, did Pa.s.sion's subtle art Mask with the soul the impulse of the heart.

Wonderous and lovely in that last retreat 88 Of the old G.o.ds,--the simple speech to hear Tell of the Messenger whose beauteous feet Had gilt the mountain-tops with tidings clear Of veilless Heaven, while aegle, thoughtful said, "_This_, love makes plain--yes, love can ne'er be dead!"

Now, as Night gently deepens round them, while 89 Oft to the moon upturn their happy eyes-- Still, hand in hand, they range the lulled isle.

Air knows no breeze, scarce sighing to their sighs; No bird of night shrieks bode from drowsy trees, Nought lives between them and the Pleades;

Save where the moth strains to the moon its wing, 90 Deeming the Reachless near;--the prophet race Of the cold stars forewarn'd them not; the Ring Of great Orion, who for the embrace Of Morn's sweet Maid had died,[16] look'd calm above The last unconscious hours of human love.

Each astral influence unrevealing shone 91 O'er the dark web its solemn thread enwove; Mars shot no anger from his fatal throne, No beam spoke trouble in the House of Love; Their closing path the treacherous smile illumed; And the stern Star-kings kiss'd the brows they doom'd.--

'Tis morn once more; upon the shelving green 92 Of the small isle, alone the Cymrian stood With his full heart,--when, suddenly, between Him and the sun, the azure solitude Was broken by a dark and rapid wing, And a dusk bird swoop'd downward to the King.

And the King's cheek grew pale, for well to him 93 (As now the raven, settling, touch'd his feet), Was known the mystic messenger:--where, grim O'er the Black Valley,[17] demon shadows fleet Gla.s.s'd on the lake whose horror scares away Each harmless wing that skims the golden day.

The Prophet's dauntless childhood stray'd and found 94 The weird bird muttering by the waves of dread; Three days and nights upon the haunted ground The raven's beak the solemn infant fed: And ever after (so the legend ran) The lone bird tended on the lonely man.

O'er the Man's temples fell the snows of age, 95 As fresh the l.u.s.trous ebon of the Bird,-- Less awe had credulous terror of the sage Than that familiar by the Fiend conferr'd-- So thought the crowd; nor knew what holy lore Lives in all things whose instinct is to soar.

Hoa.r.s.e croaks the bird, and, with its round bright eye, 96 Fixes the gaze of the recoiling King; Slowly the hand, that trembles, cuts the tie Which binds the white scroll gleaming from the wing, And these the words, "Weak Loiterer from thy toil, The Saxon's march is on thy father's soil."

Bounded the Prince!--As when the sudden sun 97 Looses the ice-chains on the halted rill, Smites the dumb snow-ma.s.s, and the cataracts run In molten thunder down the clanging hill, So from his heart the fetters burst; and strong In its rough course the great soul rush'd along.

As looks a warrior on the fort he scales, 98 His glance darts round the everlasting steeps-- Not there escape!--the wildest fancy quails Before those heights on which the whitening deeps Of measureless heaven repose:--below their frown, Planed as a wall, shears the smooth granite down.

Marvel, indeed, how ev'n the enchanted wing 99 Had o'er such rampires won to the abode: But not for marvel paused the kindled King, Swift, as Pelides stung to war, he strode; While the dark herald, with its sullen scream, Rose, and fled, dismal as an evil dream.

Carved as for Love, a slender boat rock'd o'er 100 The ripple with the murmuring marge at play, He loosed its chain, he gain'd the adverse sh.o.r.e, Startled the groups that flutter'd round his way, Awed by the knitted brow and flas.h.i.+ng eyes Of him they deem'd the native of the skies.

As towards the fane, which closed on hardy life 101 The granite path to Labour's world behind, O'er trampled flowers, strode the stern Child of Strife, He saw the melancholy priest reclined Under the shade of hush'd Dodonian boughs, Bending, o'er mystic scrolls, calm, mournful brows.--

Loud on that musing leisure broke the cry 102 Of the imperious Northman, "Rise, unbar Your granite gates--the eagle seeks the sky, The captive freedom, and the warrior war!"

Slow rose the Augur, and this answer gave, "Man, see thy world--its outlet is the grave!

"Thou hast our secret! Thou must share our fates: 103 The Alps and Orcus guard ourselves--and thee!

To what new Mars shall Ja.n.u.s ope the gates?

Thou speak'st of war, and then demand'st the key!"

Scornful he turn'd--but thrill'd with wrath to feel His sacred arm lock'd in a grasp of steel.

"Trifle not, host,--Fate calls me to depart; 104 On my shamed soul a prophet's voice hath cried!

Nor Alps nor Orcus like a loyal heart Ensures the secret trustful lips confide."

The Augur sneer'd--"A loyal heart, forsooth!

And what says aegle of the stranger's truth?"

"Let aegle answer," cried the n.o.ble lover; 105 "Let aegle judge the trust I hold from Heaven.

I faithless!--I--a King?--my labours over, From mine own soil the surge of carnage driven, And I will come, as kings should come, to claim A mate for empire, and a meed for fame!"--

Long mused the Augur, and at length replied, 106 His guile scarce mask'd in his malignant gaze, "Take, as thou say'st, an answer from thy bride-- Then, if still wearied of untroubled days-- No more from Mantu[18] Pales shall control; And one free gate shall open on thy soul!"

He said, and drew his large robe round his form, 107 And wrathful swept along, as o'er the sky A cloud sweeps dark, secret with h.o.a.rded storm; Behind him went the guest as silently; Afar the gazing wonderers whisper'd, while They cross'd the girdling wave and reach'd the isle.

With violet buds, bright aegle, in her bower, 108 Knits the dark riches of her l.u.s.trous hair; Her heart springs eager to the magic hour When to loved eyes 'tis glorious to be fair: Gleams of a neck, proud as the swan's, escape The light-spun tunic rounded to the shape.

The airy veil, its silver cloud dividing, 109 Falls, and floats fragrant, from the violet crown.

What happy thought is in that breast presiding Like some serenest bird that settles down (Its wanderings over) on calm summer eves Into its nest, amid the secret leaves?