Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Through a circle that ever returneth in

To the self-same spot,

And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!

It writhes!-it writhes!-with mortal pangs,
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbrued.

Out-out are the lights-out all!

And over each quivering form,

The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm; And the angels, all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm

That the play is the tragedy, 'Man,'
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

TO ONE IN PARADISE.

HOU wast that all to me, love,

TH

For which my soul did pine

A green isle in the sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast !

A voice from out the Future cries

'On! on!'-but o'er the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast!

For alas! alas! with me,

The light of Life is o'er!

'No more-no more-no more-' (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

TO HELEN.

HELEN, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was. Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand!
The agate lamp within thy hand,—
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land !

THE HAUNTED PALACE.

IN the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace-reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion,
It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This-all this-was in the olden
Time long ago,)

And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows saw

Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)

In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate,
(Ah, let us mourn!-for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate !)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,

While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever

And laugh-but smile no more.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

Born 1803. Died 1882.

DAYS.

AMSELS of Time, the hypocritic Days,

DA

Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,

And marching single in an endless file,

Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.

To each they offer gifts after his will,

Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all, I, in my pleachèd garden, watched the pomp,

Forgot my morning wishes, hastily

Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day

Turned and departed silent. I, too late,

Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.

DUTY.

N an age of fops and toys,

IN

Wanting wisdom, void of right,

Who shall nerve heroic boys

To hazard all in Freedom's fight,

Break sharply off their jolly games,

Forsake their comrades gay,

And quit proud homes and youthful dames,
For famine, toil, and fray?

Dd

« AnteriorContinuar »