The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 53

What arm still clasps in more than love's embrace That form for which yon vulture flaps its wing?

Kneel, Lancelot, kneel, thine eyes behold thy King!

Alas! in vain--still in the Death-G.o.d's cave, 90 Ere yet the torrent s.n.a.t.c.h'd the hurrying stream, Beside a crag grey-s.h.i.+mmering from the wave, And near the brink by which the pallid beam Show'd one pent path along the rugged verge, By which to leave the raft and 'scape the surge,--

Alas! in vain, that haven to the ark 91 The dove had given!--just won the refuge-place, When, thrice emerging from the sheeted dark, White glanced a robe, and livid rose a face!

He saw, he sprang, he near'd, he grasp'd the vest!

And _both_ the torrent grappled to its breast.

Yet in the immense and superhuman force, 92 Love and despair bestow upon the bold, The strong man battled with the t.i.tan's course, Grip'd rock and layer, and ledge, with s.n.a.t.c.hing hold, Bruised, bleeding, broken, onwards, downwards driven, No wave his treasure from his grasp had riven

Saved, saved--at last before his reeling eyes 93 (Into the pool, that check'd the Fury, hurl'd) Shone, as he rose, through all the hurtling skies, The dove's white wing; and ere the maelstrom whirl'd The madden'd waters to the central shock, Show'd the gnarl'd roots of the redeeming rock.

Less sense than instinct caught the wing that shone, 94 The crags that shelter'd;--the wild billows gave The failing limbs a force no more their own, And as he turn'd and sunk, the swerving wave Swoop'd round, dash'd on, and to the isthmus sped, Still breast to breast, the living and the dead!

Long vain were Lancelot's cares and knightly skill, 95 Ere, through slow veins congeal'd, pulsed back the blood; The very wounds, the valour of the will, The peaks that broke the fury of the flood Had help'd to save; alas, _the strong_ to save!

For Strength to toil, till Love re-opes the grave.

Twice down the dismal path (the dove his guide) 96 The fairy nursling bore his helpless load; A chamois-hunter, in the vale descried, Aided the convoy to the house of G.o.d.

Dark--wroth--convulsed, the earth-bound spirit lay; Calm from the bier beside it, smiled the clay!

O Song--for Lydian elegy too stern, 97 Song, cradled in the Celt's rough battle-s.h.i.+eld; Rather from thee should man, the soldier, learn To hide the wounds--heroic while conceal'd; From foes without the mean the palm may win, What tries the n.o.ble is the war within!

Let the King's woe its muse in Silence claim, 98 When sense return'd, and solitary life Sate in the Shadow!--shade or sun the same, Toil hath brief respite; man is made for strife, Woman for rest!--rest, bright with dreams, is given, Child of the heathen, in the Christian heaven!

And to the Christian prince's plighted bride, 99 The simple monks the Christian's grave accord, With lifted cross and swinging censer, glide To pa.s.sing bells--the hermits of the Lord; And at that hour, in her own native vale, Her own soft race their mystic loss bewail.

Methinks I see the Tuscan Genius yet, 100 Lured, lingering by the clay it loved so well, And listening to the two-fold dirge that met In upper air;--here Nazarene anthems swell Triumphal paeans!--there, the Alps behind, Etrurian Naeniae,[12] load the lagging wind.

Pauses the startled genius to compare 101 The notes that mourn the life, at best so brief, With those that welcome to empyreal air The bright escaper from a world of grief?

Marvelling what creed, beyond the happy vale, Can teach the soul the loathed Styx to hail!

THE ETRURIAN NaeNIae.

Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost?

No funeral rites appease thy tombless clay; Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast, O exile from the day?

There, where the voice of love is heard no more, Where the dull wave moans back the eternal wail, Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore, Thine own melodious vale?

Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors, And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face; What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors?

What child renew the race?

Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades, Of all thy groves what rests?--the cypress tree!

As from the air a strain of music fades, Dark silence buries thee!

Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires, Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home, Where the stars light the aesars' nuptial fires In Tina's azure dome;

From the fierce wave the G.o.d's celestial wing Rapt thee aloft along the yielding air; With amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring, Bright Cupra[13] braids thy hair,

Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn, Far are the aesars' joys from human woe: But not the less forsaken and forlorn Those thou hast left below!

Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee, The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth; Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee-- Art thou less lost to earth?

Slow swells the sorrowing Naeniae's chanted strain: Time, with slow flutes, our leaden footsteps keep; Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain, Hath but a loss to weep.

THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMN

Sing we Halleluiah--singing Halleluiah to the Three; Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging?

Where, O Grave, thy victory?

As a sun a soul hath risen, Rising from a stormy main; When a captive breaks the prison, Who but slaves would mourn the chain

Fear for age subdued by trial, Heavy with the years of sin: When the sunlight leaves the dial, And the solemn shades begin;--

_Not_ for youth!--although the bosom With a sharper grief be wrung; For the May wind strews the blossom, And the angel takes the young!

Saved from sins, while yet forgiven;-- From the joys that lead astray, From the earth at war with heaven, Soar, O happy soul, away!

From the human love that fadeth, In the falsehood or the tomb; From the cloud that darkly shadeth; From the canker in the bloom;

Thou hast pa.s.s'd to suns unsetting, Where the rainbow spans the flood, Where no moth the garb is fretting, Where no worm is in the bud.

Let the arrow leave the quiver, It was fas.h.i.+oned but to soar; Let the wave pa.s.s from the river, Into ocean evermore!

Mindful yet of mortal feeling, In thy fresh immortal birth; By the Virgin mother kneeling, Plead for those beloved on earth.

Whisper them thou hast forsaken, "Woe but borders unbelief!"

Comfort smiles in faith unshaken: Shall thy glory be their grief?

Let one ray on them descending, From the prophet Future stream; Bliss is daylight never ending, Sorrow but a pa.s.sing dream.

O'er the grave in far communion, With the choral Seraphim, Chaunt in notes that hail reunion, Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;--

Singing Halleluiah--singing Halleluiah to the Three; Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging?

Where, O Grave, thy victory?

So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's, 102 In our Lord's holy ground--between the walls Of the grey convent and the verdant creeks Of the sequester'd mere; afar the falls Of the fierce torrent from her native vale, Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale.

Survives that remnant of old races still, 103 In its strange haven from the surge of Time?

There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill, At the same hour when here, the vesper chime Hymns the sweet Mother? Ah, can granite gate, Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate?

World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth 104 What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken!

But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth?

Life but repeats its triple tale to men.

Three truths unite the children of the sod-- All love--all suffer--and all feel a G.o.d!

By aegle's grave the royal mourner sate, 105 And from his bended eyes the veiling hand Shut out the setting sun; thus, desolate, He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land, And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words, Vain to the oak, bolt-shatter'd, sing the birds!

Vain is their promise of returning spring! 106 Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core?

Comfort not sorrow--sorrow's self must bring Its own stern cure!--All wisdom's holiest lore, The "KNOW THYSELF" descends from heaven in tears; The cloud must break before the horizon clears.