66 The mind becomes that which it contemplates": And, when he heard the crash of nations fleeing From her high lattice o'er the rugged path And soon within her hospitable hall She saw his white hairs glittering in the light Such was Zonoras: and, as daylight finds One amaranth glittering on the path of frost When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds, Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost, The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore, And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild. And sweet and subtle talk they evermore Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran His teacher, and did teach with native skill Strange truths and new to that experienced man. Still they were friends, as few have ever been Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar, By summer woodmen. And, when winter's roar The Balearic fisher, driven from shore, Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam, Whilst all the constellations of the sky Seemed reeling through the storm. They did but seem : For lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, And far o'er southern waves immoveably Belted Orion hangs-warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm. "O summer eve! with power divine, bestowing Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, of fevered brains oppressed with grief and madness And these soft waves murmuring a gentle sadness, Made vocal by some wind we feel not here ! 1 I bear alone what nothing may avail I To lighten a strange load!"-No human ear Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran, Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake, When the curved moon, then lingering in the west, Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, Is faithful now-the story of the feast; From death and dark forgetfulness released." 'Twas at the season when the earth upsprings So stood before the Sun, which shone and smiled The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove Waxed green, and flowers burst forth like starry beams ; The grass in the warm sun did start and move, And sea-buds burst beneath the waves serene. How many a one, though none be near to love, Loves then the shade of his own soul half seen In any mirror-or the Spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green! How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps, and over wide diminions Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms-the wide world shrinks below When winter and despondency are past! 'Twas at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps. Those eagle-baffling mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow. Beside the ways The waterfalls were voiceless; for their fountains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now, THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 131 Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all We can desire, O Love! and happy souls, Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear That which from thee they should implore. The weak The strong have broken :-yet where shall any seek A garment, whom thou clothest not? Her hair was brown; her spherèd eyes were brown, Yet, when the spirit flashed beneath, there came Marlow, 1817. III. THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE. A WOODMAN whose rough heart was out of tune Struggling with darkness-as a tuberose Peoples some Indian dell with scents which lie Like clouds above the flower from which they rose The singing of that happy nightingale In this sweet forest, from the golden close Heard her within their slumbers; the abyss And every flower and beam and cloud and wave, And every wind of the mute atmosphere, And every beast stretched in its rugged cave, And every bird lulled on its mossy bough, And every silver moth fresh from the grave Aspiring, like one who loves too fair, too far, Unconscious, as some human lovers are, The heaven where it would perish), and every form That worshiped in the temple of the night, Was awed into delight, and by the charm Girt as with an interminable zone ; Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a storm Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion Out of their dreams. Harmony became love In every soul but one. . And so this man returned with axe and saw Into her mother's bosom, sweet and soft,-1 |