Poems of James Russell Lowell Part 7

She knew it not, but she was fair, And like a moonbeam was her hair, That falls where flowing ripples are In summer evenings, Isabel!

Her heart and tongue were scarce apart, Unwittingly her lips would part, And love came gus.h.i.+ng from her heart, The woman's heart of Isabel.

So pure her flesh-garb, and like dew, That in her features glimmered through Each working of her spirit true, In wondrous beauty, Isabel!

A sunbeam struggling through thick leaves, A reaper's song mid yellow sheaves, Less gladsome were;--my spirit grieves To think of thee, mild Isabel!

I know not when I loved thee first; Not loving, I had been accurst, Yet, having loved, my heart will burst, Longing for thee, dear Isabel!

With silent tears my cheeks are wet, I would be calm, I would forget, But thy blue eyes gaze on me yet, When stars have risen, Isabel.

The winds mourn for thee, Isabel, The flowers expect thee in the dell, Thy gentle spirit loved them well; And I for thy sake, Isabel!

The sunsets seem less lovely now Than when, leaf checkered, on thy brow They fell as lovingly as thou Lingered'st till moon-rise, Isabel!

At dead of night I seem to see Thy fair, pale features constantly Upturned in silent prayer for me, O'er moveless clasped hands, Isabel!

I call thee, thou dost not reply; The stars gleam coldly on thine eye, As like a dream thou flittest by, And leav'st me weeping, Isabel!

MUSIC.

I.

I seem to lie with drooping eyes, Dreaming sweet dreams, Half longings and half memories, In woods where streams With trembling shades and whirling gleams, Many and bright, In song and light, Are ever, ever flowing; While the wind, if we list to the rustling gra.s.s, Which numbers his footsteps as they pa.s.s, Seems scarcely to be blowing; And the far-heard voice of Spring, From sunny slopes comes wandering, Calling the violets from the sleep, That bound them under snow-drifts deep, To open their childlike, asking eyes On the new summer's paradise, And mingled with the gurgling waters-- As the dreamy witchery Of Achelous' silver-voiced daughters Rose and fell with the heaving sea, Whose great heart swelled with ecstasy-- The song of many a floating bird, Winding through the rifted trees, Is dreamily half-heard-- A sister stream of melodies Rippled by the flutterings Of rapture-quivered wings.

II.

And now beside a cataract I lie, and through my soul, From over me and under, The never-ceasing thunder Arousingly doth roll; Through the darkness all compact, Through the trackless sea of gloom, Sad and deep I hear it boom; At intervals the cloud is cracked And a livid flash doth hiss Downward from its floating home, Lighting up the precipice And the never-resting foam With a dim and ghastly glare, Which, for a heart-beat, in the air, Shows the sweeping shrouds Of the midnight clouds And their wildly-scattered hair.

III.

Now listening to a woman's tone, In a wood I sit alone-- Alone because our souls are one;-- All around my heart it flows, Lulling me in deep repose; I fear to speak, I fear to move, Lest I should break the spell I love-- Low and gentle, calm and clear, Into my inmost soul it goes, As if my brother dear, Who is no longer here, Had bended from the sky And murmured in my ear A strain of that high harmony, Which they may sing alone Who wors.h.i.+p round the throne.

IV.

Now in a fairy boat, On the bright waves of song, Full merrily I float, Merrily float along; My helm is veered, I care not how, My white sail bellies over me, And bright as gold the ripples be That plash beneath the bow; Before, behind, They feel the wind, And they are dancing joyously-- While, faintly heard, along the far-off sh.o.r.e The surf goes plunging with a lingering roar; Or anch.o.r.ed in a shadowy cove, Entranced with harmonies, Slowly I sink and rise As the slow waves of music move.

V.

Now softly das.h.i.+ng, Bubbling, plas.h.i.+ng, Mazy, dreamy, Faint and streamy, Ripples into ripples melt, Not so strongly heard as felt; Now rapid and quick, While the heart beats thick, The music silver wavelets crowd, Distinct and clear, but never loud And now all solemnly and slow, In mild, deep tones they warble low, Like the glad song of angels, when They sang good will and peace to men; Now faintly heard and far, As if the spirit's ears Had caught the anthem of a star Chanting with his brother-spheres In the midnight dark and deep, When the body is asleep And wondrous shadows pour in streams From the twofold gate of dreams; Now onward roll the billows, swelling With a tempest-sound of might, As of voices doom foretelling To the silent ear of Night; And now a mingled ecstasy Of all sweet sounds it is;-- O! who may tell the agony Of rapture such as this?

VI.

I have drunk of the drink of immortals, I have drunk of the life-giving wine, And now I may pa.s.s the bright portals That open into a realm divine!

I have drunk it through mine ears In the ecstasy of song, When mine eyes would fill with tears That its life were not more long; I have drunk it through mine eyes In beauty's every shape, And now around my soul it lies, No juice of earthly grape!

Wings! wings are given to me, I can flutter, I can rise, Like a new life gus.h.i.+ng through me Sweep the heavenly harmonies!

SONG.

O! I must look on that sweet face once more before I die; G.o.d grant that it may lighten up with joy when I draw nigh; G.o.d grant that she may look on me as kindly as she seems In the long night, the restless night, i' the sunny land of dreams!

I hoped, I thought, she loved me once, and yet, I know not why, There is a coldness in her speech, and a coldness in her eye.

Something that in another's look would not seem cold to me, And yet like ice I feel it chill the heart of memory.

She does not come to greet me so frankly as she did, And in her utmost openness I feel there's something hid; She almost seems to shun me, as if she thought that I Might win her gentle heart again to feelings long gone by.

I sought the first spring-buds for her, the fairest and the best, And she wore them for their loveliness upon her spotless breast, The blood-root and the violet, the frail anemone, She wore them, and alas! I deemed it was for love of me!

As flowers in a darksome place stretch forward to the light, So to the memory of her I turn by day and night; As flowers in a darksome place grow thin and pale and wan, So is it with my darkened heart, now that her light is gone.

The thousand little things that love doth treasure up for aye, And brood upon with moistened eyes when she that's loved's away, The word, the look, the smile, the blush, the ribbon that she wore, Each day they grow more dear to me, and pain me more and more.

My face I cover with my hands, and bitterly I weep, That the quick-gathering sands of life should choke a love so deep, And that the stream, so pure and bright, must turn it from its track, Or to the heart-springs, whence it rose, roll its full waters back!

As calm as doth the lily float close by the lakelet's brim, So calm and spotless, down time's stream, her peaceful days did swim, And I had longed, and dreamed, and prayed, that closely by her side, Down to a haven still and sure, my happy life might glide.

But now, alas! those golden days of youth and hope are o'er, And I must dream those dreams of joy, those guiltless dreams no more; Yet there is something in my heart that whispers ceaselessly, "Would G.o.d that I might see that face once more before I die!"

IANTHE.

I.

There is a light within her eyes, Like gleams of wandering fire-flies; From light to shade it leaps and moves Whenever in her soul arise The holy shapes of things she loves; Fitful it s.h.i.+nes and changes ever, Like star-lit ripples on a river, Or summer suns.h.i.+ne on the eaves Of silver-trembling poplar leaves, Where the lingering dew-drops quiver.

I may not tell the blessedness Her mild eyes send to mine, The sunset-tinted haziness Of their mysterious s.h.i.+ne, The dim and holy mournfulness Of their mellow light divine; The shadow of the lashes lie Over them so lovingly, That they seem to melt away In a doubtful twilight-gray, While I watch the stars arise In the evening of her eyes, I love it, yet I almost dread To think what it foreshadoweth; And, when I muse how I have read That such strange light betokened death-- Instead of fire-fly gleams, I see Wild corpse-lights gliding waveringly.

II.

With wayward thoughts her eyes are bright, Like s.h.i.+ftings of the northern-light, Hither, thither, swiftly glance they, In a mazy twining dance they, Like ripply lights the suns.h.i.+ne weaves, Thrown backward from a shaken nook, Below some tumbling water-brook, On the o'erarching platan-leaves, All through her glowing face they flit, And rest in their deep dwelling-place, Those fathomless blue eyes of hers, Till, from her burning soul re-lit, While her upheaving bosom stirs, They stream again across her face And with such hope and glory fill it, Death could not have the heart to chill it.

Yet when their wild light fades again, I feel a sudden sense of pain, As if, while yet her eyes were gleaming, And like a shower of sun-lit rain Bright fancies from her face were streaming, Her trembling soul might flit away As swift and suddenly as they.

III.

A wild, inspired earnestness Her inmost being fills, And eager self-forgetfulness, That speaks not what it wills, But what unto her soul is given, A living oracle from Heaven, Which scarcely in her breast is born When on her trembling lips it thrills, And, like a burst of golden skies Through storm-clouds on a sudden torn, Like a glory of the morn, Beams marvellously from her eyes.

And then, like a Spring-swollen river, Roll the deep waves of her full-hearted thought Crested with sun-lit spray, Her wild lips curve and quiver, And my rapt soul, on the strong tide upcaught, Unwittingly is borne away, Lulled by a dreamful music ever, Far--through the solemn twilight-gray Of h.o.a.ry woods--through valleys green Which the trailing vine embowers, And where the purple-cl.u.s.tered grapes are seen Deep-glowing through rich clumps of waving flowers-- Now over foaming rapids swept And with maddening rapture shook-- Now gliding where the water-plants have slept For ages in a moss-rimmed nook-- Enwoven by a wild-eyed band Of earth-forgetting dreams, I float to a delicious land By a sunset heaven spanned, And musical with streams;-- Around, the calm, majestic forms And G.o.d-like eyes of early Greece I see, Or listen, till my spirit warms, To songs of courtly chivalry, Or weep, unmindful if my tears be seen, For the meek, suffering love of poor Undine.