And here, though light, so strong is beauty’s chain,
That none shall know how blindly they obey.
We have bat to lay on one light command—
That all shall do the most what best they love;
And Pleasure hath her punishments at hand,
For all who will not pleasure’s rule approve.
But no! there’s none of us can disobey,
Since, by our one command, we free ye thus;
And, as our powers must on your pleasures stay—
Support—and you will reign along with us.
Ha! Lucifer! How now?
I come in sooth to keep my vow.
Thy vow?
To revel in earth’s pleasures,
And tire down mirth in her own measures.
Go thy ways: I shrink and tremble
To think how deep thou canst dissemble;
For who would dream that in yon breast
The heart of Hell was burning?
Or deem that strange and listless guest
Some priceless spirit earning?
I hear, from every footstep, rise
A trampled spirits smothered cries.
Fest, engage fair Marian’s hand.
Pass me; she is free no less
Than I, who by my queen will stand—
May it please her loveliness!
Festus, we know the love, and see,
Which was with Marian and thee.
I will not dance to-night again,
Though bid by all the Queens that reign.
What, Festus! treason and disloyalty
Already to our gentle royalty?
No—I was wrong—but to forgive
Be thy sublime prerogative!
Most amply, then, I pardon thee;
In proof whereof, come, dance with me. A dance.
How sweetly Marian sweeps along;
Her step is music, and her voice is song.
Silver sandalled foot! how blest
To bear the breathing heaven above,
Which on thee, Atlas-like, doth rest,
And round thee move.
Ah! that sweet little foot; I swear
I could kneel down and kiss it there.
I should not mind if she were Pope;
I would change my faith.
Works, too, we hope.
Ah! smile on me again with that sweet smile,
Which could from Heaven my soul to thee beguile;
As I mine eye would.turn from awful skies
To hail the child of sun and storm arise;
Or, from eve’s holy azure, to the star
Which beams and becks the spirit from afar;
For fair as yon star-wreath which high doth shine,
And worthy but to deck a brow like thine;
Pure as the light from orbs which ne’er
Hath blessed us yet in this far sphere;
As eyes of seraphs lift alone
Through ages on the holy throne;
So bright, so fair so free from guile,
And freshening to my heart thy smile;
Ay, passing all things here, and all above,
To me, thy look of beauty, truth and love.
Thy friend hath led his lady out.
He looks most wickedly devout.
When introduced, he said he knew her,
And had been long devoted to her.
Indeed—but he is too gallant,
And serves me far more than I want.
He vows that he could worship me—
Why—look! he is now upon his knee!
I quaff to thee this cup of wine,
And would, though men had nought bat brine—
E’en the brine of their own tears,
To cool those lying lips of theirs;
And were it all one molten pearl,
I would drain it to thee, girl;
Ay, though each drop were worth of gold
Too many pieces to be sold;
And though, for each I drank to thee,
Fate add an age of misery:
For thou canst conjure up my spirit
To aught immortals may inherit;
To good or evil, woe or weal—
To all that fiends or angels feel;
And wert thou to perdition given,
I’d join thee in the scorn of Heaven!
Oh fy! to only think of such a fate!
Better than not to think on’t till too late.
They’d not believe me, Festus, if I told them,
That Hell, and all its hosts, this hour behold them.
Scarcely—that Devil here again!
But though my heart burst in the strain,
I will be happy, might and main!
So wreathe my brow with flowers,
And pour me purple wine,
And make the merry hours
Dance, dance, with glee like thine.
While thus enraptured, I and thou,
Love crowns the heart, as flowers the brow.
The rosy garland twine
Around the noble bowl,
Like laughing loves that shine
Upon the generous soul;
Be mine, dear maid, the loves, and thou
Shalt ever bosom them as now.
Then plunge the blushing wreath
Deep in the ruddy wine;
As the love of thee till death
Is deep in heart of mine.
While both are blooming on my brow,
I cannot be more blest than now.
Thou talk’st of hearts, in style to me, quite
The human heart’s about a pound of flesh.
Forgive him, love, and aught he says.
What is that trickling down thy face?
Oh, love, that is only wine
From the wreath which thou didst twine;
And, casting in the bowl, I bound,
For coolness’ sake, my temples round.
I thought ’twas a thorn which was tearing thy brow;
And if it were only a rose-thorn was tearing,
Why, whether of gold or of roses, as now,
A crown, if it hurt us, is hardly worth wearing.
From what fair maid hadst thou that flower?
It came not from my wreath nor me.
Love lives in thee as in a flower,
And sure this must have dropped from thee—
From thy lip, or from thy cheek:
See, its sister blushes speak.
Nay, never harm the harmless rose,
Though given by a stranger maid:
’Tis sad enough to feel that flower
Feels it must fade.
And trouble not the transient love,
Though by another’s side I sigh;
It is enough to feel the flame
Flicker and die.
And thou to me art flame and flower
Of rosier body, brighter breath:
But softer, warmer than the truth—
As sleep than death.
The dead of night: earth seems but seeming—
The soul seems but a something dreaming.
The bird is dreaming, in its nest,
Of song, and sky, and loved one’s breast;
The lap-dog dreams, as round he lies,
In moonshine of his mistress’ eyes:
The steed is dreaming, in his stall,
Of one long breathless leap and fall:
The hawk hath dreamt him thrice of wings
Wide as the skies he may not cleave;
But waking, feels them clipt, and clings
Mad to the perch ’twere mad to leave:
The child is dreaming of its toys—
The murderer of calm home joys;
The weak are dreaming endless fears—
The proud of how their pride appears:
The poor enthusiast who dies,
Of
