Which steal like streams along a field of snow, That lovely outline, which is fair But loathsomeness and ruin? Or is it only a sweet slumber Stealing o'er sensation, Chaseth into darkness? Yes! she will wake again, Although her glowing limbs are motionless, And silent those sweet lips, Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror. Her dewy eyes are closed, And on their lids, whose texture fine The baby Sleep is pillowed: Hark! whence that rushing sound? 'Tis like the wondrous strain That round a lonely ruin swells, Which, wandering on the echoing shore, The enthusiast hears at evening: 'Tis softer than the west wind's sigh; 'Tis wilder than the unmeasured notes Of that strange lyre whose strings The genii of the breezes sweep: Those lines of rainbow light Are like the moonbeams when they fall When every sight of lovely, wild and grand Astonishes, enraptures, elevates, When fancy at a glance combines And poured the magic of her gaze The broad and yellow moon Moved not the moonlight's line: The Fairy's frame was slight, yon That catches but the palest tinge of The day-stars of their age;— Soul of Stars! your balmiest influence shed! Judged alone worthy of the envied boon, That waits the good and the sincere; that waits Those who have struggled, and with resolute will Vanquished earth's pride and meanness, burst the chains, The icy chains of custom, and have shone Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace, Each stain of earthliness Upon the couch the body lay Its features were fixed and meaning- Yet animal life was there, Pants for its sempiternal heritage, on; Fleets through its sad duration rapidly: Then like an useless and worn-out machine, Rots, perishes, and passes. FAIRY Spirit! who hast dived so deep; Spirit! who hast soared so high; Thou the fearless, thou the mild, Accept the boon thy worth hath earned, Ascend the car with me. SPIRIT Do I dream? Is this new feeling But a visioned ghost of slumber? And where the burning wheels The thoughts and actions of a well-spent Eddied above the mountain's loftiest peak, Was traced a line of lightning. The utmost verge of earth, Lowered o'er the silver sea. Far, far below the chariot's path, The mirror of its stillness showed concave, Radiant with million constellations, tinged With shades of infinite colour, The magic car moved on. The coursers seemed to gather speed; II The sea no longer was distinguished; IF solitude hath ever led thy steps earth To the wild ocean's echoing shore, wave, Thou must have marked the lines Of purple gold, that motionless Hung o'er the sinking sphere: Thou must have marked the billowy clouds Edged with intolerable radiancy Crowned with a diamond wreath. Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge, When those far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea; Then has thy fancy soared above the earth, And furled its wearied wing Yet not the golden islands Nor the burnished ocean waves So fair, so wonderful a sight As Heaven, low resting on the wave, it spread Its floors of flashing light, Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted Through clouds of circumambient dark. ness, |