« AnteriorContinuar »
HYMN OF PAN.
From the forests and highlands
We come, we come; From the river-girt islands,
Where loud waves are dumb
Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The bees on the bells of thyme,
The cicale above in the lime,
Listening to my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
The light of the dying day,
Speeded with my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With envy of my sweet pipings.
* This and the former poem were written at the request of a friend, to be inserted in a drama on the subject of Midas. Apollo and Pan contended before Tmolus for the prize in music.
I sang of the dancing stars,
of the dædal Earth,
And Love, and Death, and Birth,—
And then I changed my pipings,-
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed :
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:
had not frozen your blood,
I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.
There grew pied wind-flowers and violets,
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets ;
Faint oxlips; tender blue bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.
And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
Green cow-bind and the moonlight-coloured May, And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine
Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day ; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine,
With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;
And nearer to the river's trembling edge
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, And starry river buds among the sedge,
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,
With moonlight beams of their own watery light;
Methought that of these visionary flowers
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way
Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Within my hand,—and then, elate and gay,
THE TWO SPIRITS.
O THOU, who plumed with strong desire
Wouldst float above the earth, beware!
Night is coming !
And among the winds and beams
Night is coming!
The deathless stars are bright above :
If I would cross the shade at night,
And that is day!
On my golden plumes where'er they move; The meteors will linger round my flight,
And make night day.
But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken
Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain; See the bounds of the air are shaken
Night is coming!
The red swift clouds of the hurricane
Yon declining sun have overtaken,
Night is coming!
I see the light, and I hear the sound ;
I'll sail on the flood of the tempest dark, With the calm within and the light around
Which makes night day: And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark,
Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound, My moonlight flight thou then may'st mark
On high, far away.
Some say there is a precipice
Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin O’er piles of snow and chasms of ice
'Mid Alpine mountains; And that the languid storm, pursuing
That winged shape, for ever flies Round those hoar branches, aye renewing
Its aëry fountains.
Some say when nights are dry and clear,
And the death-dews sleep on the morass, Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller,
Which make night day : And a silver shape like his early love doth pass
Upborne by her wild and glittering hair, And when he awakes on the fragrant grass,
He finds night day.