New lore was this-old age, with its gray hair, And wrinkled legends of unworthy things, And icy sneers, is nought it cannot dare To burst the chains which life for ever flings On the entangled soul's aspiring wings, So is it cold and cruel, and is made The careless slave of that dark power which brings Evil, like blight, on man, who, still betrayed, Laughs o'er the grave in which his living hopes are laid. She replied earnestly:- "It shall be mine, This task,-mine, Laon! -thou hast much to gain; Nor wilt thou at poor Cythna's pride repine, XXXIX I smiled, and spake not." Wherefore dost thou smile At what I say? Laon, I am not weak, And, though my cheek might become pale the while, With thee, if thou desirest, will I seek, Through their array of banded slaves, to wreak Ruin upon the tyrants. I had thought It was more hard to turn my un-practised cheek To scorn and shame, and this beloved And thee, O dearest friend, to leave and spot murmur not. XL "Whence came I what I am? Thou, Laon, knowest How a young child should thus undaunted be; Methinks it is a power which thou bestowest, Through which I seek, by most resembling thee, So to become most good and great and free; Yet, far beyond this Ocean's utmost roar, In towers and huts are many like to me, Who, could they see thine eyes, or feel such lore If she should lead a happy female As I have learnt from them, like me train To meet thee over the rejoicing plain, When myriads at thy call shall throng around The Golden City."-Then the child did strain My arm upon her tremulous heart, and wound Her own about my neck, till some reply she found. would fear no more. The spark which must consume them; -Cythna then Will have cast off the impotence that binds Her childhood now, and through the paths of men Will pass, as the charmed bird that haunts the serpent's den. XLVII "We part!-O Laon, I must dare, nor tremble, To meet those looks no more!-- Sweet brother of my soul! can I dis- The agony of this thought?"-As thus she spoke, The gathered sobs her quivering accents broke, And in my arms she hid her beating breast. I remained still for tears-sudden she woke As one awakes from sleep, and wildly prest My bosom, her whole frame impetuously possest. XLVIII "We part to meet again-but yon blue waste, Yon desert wide and deep, holds no recess Within whose happy silence, thus embraced, We might survive all ills in one caress: Nor doth the grave-I fear 'tis passionless Nor yon cold vacant Heaven:-we meet again Within the minds of men, whose lips shall bless Our memory, and whose hopes its light retain, When these dissevered bones are trodden in the plain." XLIX I could not speak, though she had ceased, for now The fountains of her feeling, swift and deep, Seemed to suspend the tumult of their flow; So we arose, and by the starlight steep Went homeward-neither did we speak nor weep, But, pale, were calm with passionthus subdued, Like evening shades that o'er the mountains creep, We moved towards our home; where, in this mood, Each from the other sought refuge in solitude. |