Of the wood fire, and round his shoulders fall; And Athanase, her child, who must have been Then three years old, sate opposite and gazed In patient silence. FRAGMENT II. Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempesttossed, Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, And sweet and subtle talk they evermore, The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill Strange truths and new to that experienced man; Still they were friends, as few have ever been Who mark the extremes of life's discordant. span. So in the caverns of the forest green, 20 By summer woodmen; and, when winter's roar Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war, Hanging upon the peaked wave afar, Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam, 30 For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, And far o'er southern waves, immovably Belted Orion hangs-warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.O, summer eve! with power divine, bestowing 66 "On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm 66 66 Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm "Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness, 40 "Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale! "And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness, "And the far sighings of yon piny dale "Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here,— "I bear alone what nothing may avail 66 To lighten a strange load!"--No human ear Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere Of dark emotion, a swift shadow ran, 50 Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake, Even where its inmost depths were gloomiestAnd with a calm and measured voice he spake, And with a soft and equal pressure, pressed That cold lean hand:66 :- Dost thou remember 66 yet, When the curved moon then lingering in the west "Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, "How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea? 59 "'Tis just one year-sure thou dost not forget 66 "Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east, "For we had just then read--thy memory "Is faithful now-the story of the feast; "And Agathon and Diotima seemed "From death and dark forgetfulness released." FRAGMENT III. 'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a spherèd angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings, Stands up before its mother bright and mild, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seemsSo stood before the sun, which shone and smiled To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams, The grass in the warm sun did start and move, Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen In any mirror-or the spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green ;— How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps-and over wide dominions Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms-the wide world shrinks below, When winter and despondency are past. 20 'Twas at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps-those eagle-baffling mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow ;-beside the ways The waterfalls were voiceless-for their foun tains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now, Or by the curdling winds-like brazen wings Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow, Warped into adamantine fret-work, hung And filled with frozen light the chasm below. FRAGMENT IV. Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all We can desire, O Love! and happy souls, Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall, 29 Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew;Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls Investest it; and when the heavens are blue Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair The shadow of thy moving wings imbue Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear 10 Beauty like some bright robe;-thou soarest Among the towers of men, and as soft air ever In spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men; and aye implorest That which from thee they should implore: the weak Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts seek A garment whom thou clothest not? |