Another, not himself, he to and fro Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit, And none but those who loved him best could know That which he knew not, how it galled and bit His weary mind, this converse vain and cold; For like an eyeless nightmare grief did sit 120 Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend Which clenched him if he stirred with deadlier hold ; So that his grief remained-let it remain-untold.' PART II. FRAGMENT I. Prince Athanase had one belovèd friend,2 With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds. The Author was pursuing a fuller developement of the ideal character of Athanase, when it struck him that, in an attempt at extreme refinement and analysis, his conceptions might be betrayed into the assuming a morbid character. The reader will judge whether he is a loser or gainer by this difference. 2 Mrs. Shelley records that this character was meant to represent Shelley's Eton friend, Dr. Lind, the original of the hermit in Laon and Cythna.-Ed. Had spared in Greece-the blight that cramps and blinds, And in his olive bower at Enoe Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds A fertile island in the barren sea,. One mariner who has survived his mates With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being: "The mind becomes that which it contemplates," And thus Zonoras, by forever seeing Their bright creations, grew like wisest men; A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, 20 Was grass-grown-and the unremembered tears Were dry in Laian for their honoured chief, Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears : And as the lady looked with faithful grief From her high lattice o'er the rugged path, Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief And blighting hope, who with the news of death Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight, She saw beneath the chesnuts, far beneath, An old man toiling up, a weary wight; 30 She saw his white hairs glittering in the light 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, Piercing the stormy darkness like a star, 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 "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 66 sadness, "And the far sighings of yon piny dale 66 Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here,"I bear alone what nothing may avail "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 66 yet, Dost thou remember 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 "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 66 From death and dark forgetfulness released." |