Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 't is in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of heaven were unbound. Oh ye! who have your eyeballs vex'd and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea; Oh ye! whose ears are dinn'd with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody, - Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired!
HT STAR! WOULD I WERE STEADFAST
BRIGHT Star! would I were steadfast as thou art Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : — No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest;
Still, still, to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever, or else swoon to death.
e rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; behold, upon the night's starr'd face, ɔudy symbols of a high romance, k that I may never live to trace
adows, with the magic hand of chance ; en I feel, fair Creature of an hour! hall never look upon thee more, ive relish in the faery power ecting love then on the shore ide world I stand alone, and think and Fame to nothingness do sink.
WHO HAS BEEN LONG IN CITY PENT
ho has been long in city pent, sweet to look into the fair
face of heaven, to breathe a prayer e smile of the blue firmament.
ore happy, when, with heart's content, he sinks into some pleasant lair grass, and reads a debonair
e tale of love and languishment? home at evening, with an ear he notes of Philomel, — an eye the sailing cloudlet's bright career, s that day so soon has glided by, he passage of an angel's tear through the clear ether silently.
s too weak; mortality
avily on me like unwilling sleep,
Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick eagle looking at the sky. Yet 't is a gentle luxury to weep
That I have not the cloudy winds to keep Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye. Such dim-conceived glories of the brain Bring round the heart an indescribable feud; So do these wonders a most dizzy pain, That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude Wasting of old Time — with a billowy main, A sun, a shadow of a magnitude.
ST. AGNES' Eve- Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails : Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat❜ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no already had his death-bell rung;
The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve : Another way he went, and soon among
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; And so it chanced, for many a door was wide, From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide : The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests,
With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.
At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting faerily
The brain, new-stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay Of old romance. These let us wish away, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many a time declare.
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honey'd middle of the night, If ceremonies due they did aright; As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily-white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:
The music, yearning like a God in pain,
She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by she heeded not at all: in vain Came many a tip-toe, amorous cavalier, And back retired, not cool'd by high disdain,
But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere; She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.
She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short: The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport,
'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy, all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
So, purposing each moment to retire,
She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire
For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline,
But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen,
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth such things have been.
He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:
All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel: For him those chambers held barbarian hordes, Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage; not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
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