Is not sadder in her cell Than deserted Ariel.
When you live again on earth, Like an unseen star of birth, Ariel guides you o'er the sea Of life from your nativity. Many changes have been run, Since Ferdinand and you begun
Your course of love, and Ariel still
Has tracked your steps, and served your will; Now, in humbler, happier lot,
This is all remembered not;
alas! the poor sprite is
Imprisoned, for some fault of his, In a body like a grave;—
From you he only dares to crave, For his service and his sorrow, A smile to-day, a song to-morrow.
The artist who this idol wrought, To echo all harmonious thought, Felled a tree, while on the steep The woods were in their winter sleep, Rocked in that repose divine On the wind-swept Apennine;
And dreaming, some of Autumn past, And some of Spring approaching fast, 50 And some of April buds and showers, And some of songs in July bowers, And all of love; and so this tree,- O that such our death may be!- Died in sleep, and felt no pain, To live in happier form again :
From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star, The artist wrought this loved Guitar,
And taught it justly to reply,
To all who question skilfully,
In language gentle as thine own; Whispering in enamoured tone Sweet oracles of woods and dells, And summer winds in sylvan cells; For it had learnt all harmonies Of the plains and of the skies, Of the forests and the mountains, And the many-voiced fountains; The clearest echoes of the hills, The softest notes of falling rills, The melodies of birds and bees, The murmuring of summer seas, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, And airs of evening; and it knew That seldom-heard mysterious sound, Which, driven on its diurnal round, As it floats through boundless day, Our world enkindles on its way— All this it knows, but will not tell To those who cannot question well The spirit that inhabits it; It talks according to the wit Of its companions;1 and no more Is heard than has been felt before, By those who tempt it to betray These secrets of an elder day: But sweetly as its answers will Flatter hands of perfect skill, It keeps its highest, holiest tone For our beloved Jane alone.
Compare this passage and lines 58 to 61 with stanzas lxxxii and lxxxiii of Homer's Hymn to Mercury, pp. 153-4 of this volume.-ED.
THE keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them, Dear Jane!
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again.
As the moon's soft splendour O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven Is thrown,
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later, To-night;
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter Delight.
Though the sound overpowers, Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
ROUGH wind, that moanest loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches stain, Deep caves and dreary main,
Wail, for the world's wrong!
LINES WRITTEN IN THE BAY OF LERICI.
SHE left me at the silent time
When the moon had ceased to climb
The azure path of Heaven's steep, And like an albatross asleep, Balanced on her wings of light, Hovered in the purple night, Ere she sought her ocean nest In the chambers of the West. She left me, and I stayed alone Thinking over every tone
Which, though silent to the ear, The enchanted heart could hear,
Like notes which die when born, but still
Haunt the echoes of the hill;
And feeling ever-O too much!— The soft vibration of her touch, As if her gentle hand, even now, Lightly trembled on my brow; And thus, although she absent were,
Memory gave me all of her
That even Fancy dares to claim :- Her presence had made weak and tame All passions, and I lived alone In the time which is our own; The past and future were forgot, As they had been, and would be, not. But soon, the guardian angel gone, The dæmon reassumed his throne In my faint heart. I dare not speak My thoughts, but thus disturbed and weak 30 I sat and saw the vessels glide Over the ocean bright and wide, Like spirit-wingèd chariots sent O'er some serenest element For ministrations strange and far; As if to some Elysian star Sailed for drink to medicine
Such sweet and bitter pain as mine. And the wind that winged their flight From the land came fresh and light, And the scent of wingèd flowers, And the coolness of the hours
Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day, Were scattered o'er the twinkling bay. And the fisher with his lamp
And spear about the low rocks damp Crept, and struck the fish which came To worship the delusive flame. Too happy they, whose pleasure sought Extinguishes all sense and thought Of the regret that pleasure leaves, Destroying life alone, not peace!
« AnteriorContinuar » |