Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath, The agonies of anguish and of death. Yet it is less the horror than the grace Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone; Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are graven, till the characters be grown Into itself, and thought no more can trace; "Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain. And from its head as from one body grow, Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock And from a stone beside, a poisonous eft Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise 'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror; For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare Kindled by that inextricable error, Which makes a thrilling vapor of the air Become a [ ] and ever-shifting mirror Of all the beauty and the terror thereA woman's countenance, with serpent locks, Gazing in death on heaven from those wet rocks. Florence, 1819. SONG. RARELY, rarely, comest thou, Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day "Tis since thou art fled away. How shall ever one like me As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Let me set my mournful ditty Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, Autumn evening, and the morn I love snow, and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is Nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, As is quiet, wise and good. What difference? but thou dost possess I love Love-though he has wings, And like light can flee, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee Thou art love and life! O come, Make once more my heart thy home. TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. THUS to be lost, and thus to sink and die, Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odor it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wetAlas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget' A breathless awe, like the swift change Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, appear. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers, O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, The blood and life within those snowy fingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings My brain is wild, my breath comes quickThe blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes; My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. THE FUGITIVES. I. THE waters are flashing, The white hail is dashing, The lightnings are glancing, The hoar-spray is dancingAway! The whirlwind is rolling, The forest is swinging, The Earth is like Ocean, Wreck-strewn and in motion: Bird, beast, man and worm Have crept out of the stormCome away! II. "Our boat has one sail, And she cried: "Ply the oar! And from isle, tower and rock, The blue beacon cloud broke, And though dumb in the blast, The red cannon flash'd fast From the lee. III. "And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou? And see'st thou, and hear'st thou ? And drive we not free One boat-cloak did cover |