« AnteriorContinuar »
And wherever the Lady turned her eyes
The sky was blue as the summer sea,
The depths were cloudless over head,
There was no sight or sound of dread,
To see that Anchor ever hanging,
The sound as of a dim low clanging,
There was a mist in the sunless air,
Were moveless, and each mighty rock
But piled around, with summits hid
In lines of cloud at intervals, Stood many a mountain pyramid
Among whose everlasting walls Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes did quiver.
IX. On two dread mountains, from whose crest
Might seem, the eagle, for her brood,
Those tower-encircled cities stood.
And giant fanes, dome over dome
With workmanship, which could not come From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent From its own shapes magnificent.
But still the Lady heard that clang
Filling the wide air far away;
Among the mountains shook alway,
XII. • Sudden from out that city sprung
A light that made the earth grow red; Two flames that each with quivering tongue
Licked its high domes, and over head
Had burst its bonds; she looked behind
A raging flood descend, and wind
Where that fair Lady sate, and she
By the wild waves heaped tumultuously; And, on a little plank, the flow Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.
The flames' were fiercely vomited
From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed
O’er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stained cope of heaven's light.
The plank whereon that Lady sate
Of the drowning mountains, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails— While the flood was filling those hollow vales.
i The word waves stood here till Mr. Rossetti substituted flames, which is unquestionably right.-ED.
And bore her to the city's wall,
It might the stoutest heart appall
The eddy whirled her round and round
Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound
Its aëry arch with light like blood; She looked on that gate of marble clear, With wonder that extinguished fear.
Of forms most beautiful and strange,
Of wingèd shapes, whose legions range Throughout the sleep of those that are, Like this same Lady, good and fair.
And, as she looked, still lovelier grew
Those marble forms;—the sculptor sure
Of his own mind did there endure
Grew tranquil as a woodland river
Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver,
And their fair limbs to float in motion,
When suddenly the mountains cracked, And through the chasm the flood did break
With an earth-uplifting cataract: The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin dream Lifted the Lady from the stream.
Waked the fair Lady from her sleep,
Of her dark eyes the dream did creep, And she walked about as one who knew That sleep has sights as clear and true As any waking eyes can view.
TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING.”
1. Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die Perchance were death indeed !-Constantia,
turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice,
which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like
odour it is yet, 1 Claire Clairmont claimed to be the Constantia of this and the next poem; and Constantia was among the many names she bore from time to time. -ED.