And sweet and subtle talk they evermore, The pupil and master shared; until, Had spared in Greece-the blight that cramps and Sharing the undiminishable store, blinds, And in his olive bower at Enoe Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds A fertile island in the barren sea, And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing Their bright creations, grew like wisest men; A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, Was grass-grown-and the unremember'd tears And as the lady look'd with faithful grief *The Author was pursuing a fuller development 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 diffidence. Author's Note. "Of fever'd brains, oppress'd with grief and madness, Were lull'd by thee, delightful nightingale! And those 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 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, 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, prest "Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, How in those beams we walk'd, half resting on the sea ? "Tis just one year-sure thou dost not forget "Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Linger'd 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 seem'd From death and [ ] released. FRAGMENT III. "Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings, Stands up before its mother bright and mild, How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, "Twas at this season that Prince Athanase FRAGMENT IV. Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Invests it; and when heavens are blue Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear In spring, which moves the unawaken'd forest, That which from thee they should implore:-the weak MAZENGHI.* OH! foster-nurse of man's abandon'd glory, Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee. By loftiest meditations; marble knew The sculptor's fearless soul-and as he wrought, Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twine *This fragment refers to an event, told in Sismondi's Histoire des Républiques Italiennes, which occurred during the war when Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to a province. The opening stanzas are addressed to the conquering city. The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare, No record of his crime remains in story, For when by sound of trumpet was declared Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast, And in the roofless huts of vast morasses, All overgrown with reeds and long rank grasses, He housed himself. There is a point of strand Through muddy weeds, the shallow, sullen sea. THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE. A WOODMAN whose rough heart was out of tune (I think such hearts yet never came to good) Hated to hear, under the stars or moon, One nightingale in an interfluous wood Or as the moonlight fills the open sky Like clouds above the flower from which they rose, Of evening, till the star of dawn may fall, Heard her within their slumbers, the abyss Of heaven with all its planets; the dull ear Of the night-cradled earth; the loneliness Of the circumfluous waters,-every sphere And every beast stretch'd in its rugged cave, And every bird lull'd on its mossy bough, And every silver moth fresh from the grave, Which is its cradle-ever from below Aspiring like one who loves too fair, too far To be consumed within the purest glow Of one serene and unapproached star, As if it were a lamp of earthly light, Unconscious, as some human lovers are, Itself how low, how high beyond all height Was awed into delight, and by the charm Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a storm Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion And so this man return'd with axe and saw At evening close from killing the tall treen, The soul of whom by nature's gentle law Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever green The pavement and the roof of the wild copse, Chequering the sunlight of the blue serene With jagged leaves, and from the forest tops Singing the winds to sleep-or weeping oft Fast showers of aerial water-drops Into their mother's bosom, sweet and soft, Nature's pure tears which have no bitterness;Around the cradles of the birds aloft They spread themselves into the loveliness Make a green space among the silent bowers, All overwrought with branch-like traceries Odors and gleams and murmurs, which the lute Wakening the leaves and waves ere it has past One accent never to return again. |