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To keep watch with delight
Thy image may be,
Thy music from thee.
In a dreamy sleep,
Which thy vigilance keep;
Which leaps down to the flower,
In the rhythm of the shower;
From the growing of grass—
But are modell'd, alas!
Oh! hie thee away
Beneath the moon-ray,—
* I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am now unable to obtain, and quote from memory:—" The verie essence and, as it were, springeheade and origine of all music is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of the forest do make when they growe."
To lone lake that smiles,
In its dream of deep rest,
That enjewel its breast,
Have mingled their shade,
Full many a maid;
Have slept with the bee ; *
On moorland and lea—
All softly in ear,
They slumber'd to hear:
An angel so soon,
Beneath the cold moon,
• The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight.
The rhyme in this verse, as in one about sixty lines before, has an appearance of affectation. It is, however, imitated from Sir W. Scott, or rather from Claud Halcro, in whose mouth I admired its effect:—
"Oh, were there an island,
As the spell which no slumber
Of witchery may test,
Which lull'd him to rest?"
Spirits in wing, and angels to the view,
A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean through,
Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight—
Seraphs in all but " Knowledge," the keen light
That fell, refracted, through thy bounds afar,
O Death! from eye of God upon that star:
Sweet was that error—sweeter still that death—
Sweet was that error—ev'n with us the breath
Of Science dims the mirror of our joy—
To them 'twere the simoom, and would destroy.
For what (to them) availeth it to know
That Truth is Falsehood, or that Bliss is Woe?
Sweet was their death: with them to die was rife
With the last ecstasy of satiate life;
Beyond that death no immortality,
But sleep that pondereth, and is not " to be :"
And there—oh, may my weary spirit dwell!
Apart from heaven's Eternity—and yet how far from
hell." What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim, Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn?
* With the Arabians there "is a medium between heaven and hell, where men suffer no punishment, but yet do not
But two: they fell—for Heaven no grace imparts
He was a goodly spirit, he who fell:
attain that tranquil and even happiness which they suppose
Libre de amor—de zelo—
Luis Ponce De Leon. Sorrow is not excluded from " Al Aaraaf," but it is that sortrow which the living love to cherish for the dead, and which, in some minds, resembles the delirium of opium. The passionate excitement of love and the buoyancy of spirit attendant upon intoxication are its less holy pleasures,—the price of which, to those souls who make choice of Al Aaraaf as their residence after life, is final death and annihilation. * "There be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon."—Milton.
And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy
"Ianthe, dearest, see 1 how dim that ray!
How lovely 'tis to look so far away!
She seem'd not thus upon that autumn eve
I left her gorgeous halls, nor mourn'd to leave
That eve—that eve—I should remember well,
The sun-ray dropp'd in Lemnos with a spell
On th' arabesque carving of a gilded hall
Wherein I sat, and on the draperied wall,
And on my eyelids—oh, the heavy light!
How drowsily it weigh'd them into night!
On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran
With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan:
But, oh, that light!—I slumber'd. Death the