Sees, as enthusiast only can,
The truth that made him more than man;
And hears once more, in visioned trance,
That voice commanding to advance,
Where wealth is gained—love, wisdom won,
Or deeds of danger dared and done.
The mother dreameth of her child—
The maid of him who hath beguiled—
The youth of her he loves too well;
The good of God—the ill of Hell.—
Who live of death—of life who die—
The dead of immortality.
The earth is dreaming back her youth;
Hell never dreams, for woe is truth;
And Heaven is dreaming o’er her prime,
Long ere the morning stars of time;
And dream of Heaven alone can I,
My lovely one, when thou art nigh.
Let some one sing. Love, mirth and song,
The graces of this life of ours,
Go ever hand in hand along,
And ask alike each other’s powers.
Sings.
For every leaf the loveliest flower
Which Beauty sighs for from her bower—
For every star a drop of dew—
For every sun a sky of blue—
For every heart a heart as true.For every tear by pity shed
Upon a fellow-sufferer’s head,
Oh! be a crown of glory given;
Such crowns as saints to gain have striven—
Such crowns as seraphs wear in Heaven.For all who toil at honest fame,
A proud, a pure, a deathless name;
For all who love, who loving bless,
Be life one long, kind, close caress—
Be life all love, all happiness.
Tell me what’s the chiefest pleasure
In this world’s high heaped measure?
Power—beauty—love—wealth—wine!
All different votes!
Come, Frederic—thine?
What may thy joy-judgment be?
I scarce know how to answer thee;
Each, apart, too soon will tire;
All together slake desire.
So ask not of me the one chief joy of earth,
For that I’m unable to say;
Bat here is a wreath which will loose its chief worth,
If ye pluck but one flower away.
Then these are the joys that should never dispart—
The joys which are dearest to me:
As the song, and the dance, and the laugh of the heart,
Thou, girl, and the goblet be.
Oh, excellent! the truth is dear—
The one opinion, too, I love to hear.
Is this a Queen’s fate—to be left alone?
I wish another had the throne.
Festus! why art thou not here,
Beside thy liege and lady dear?
My thoughts are happier oft than I,
For they are ever, love, with thee;
And thine, I know, as frequent fly
O’er all that severs us, to me;
Like rays g£ stars that meet in space,
And mingle in a bright embrace.
Never load thy locks with flowers,
For thy cheek hath a richer flush;
And than wine, or the sunset hour,
Or the ripe yew-berry’s blush.
Never braid thy brow with lights,
Like the sun, on its golden way
To the neck and the locks of night,
From the forehead fair of day.
Never star thy hand with stones,
For, for every dead light there,
Is a living glory gone,
Than the brilliant far more fair.
Nay, nay; wear thy buds, braids, gems!
Let the lovely never part;
Thou alone canst rival them,
Or in nature, or in art.
Be not sad;—thou shalt not be:
Why wilt mourn, love, when with me?
One tear that in thine eye doth start
Could wash all purpose from my heart,
But that of loving thee;
If I could ever think to wrong
A love so riverlike, deep, pure, and long.
I cast mine eyes around, and feel
There is a blessing wanting;
Too soon our hearts the truth reveal,
That joy is disenchanting.
I am a wizard, love; and I
A new enchantment will supply;
And the charm of thine own smile
Shall thine own heart of grief beguile.
Smile—I do command thee rise
From the bright depths of those eyes!
By the bloom wherein thou dwellest,
As in a rose-leaved nest;
By the pleasure which thou tellest,
And the bosom which thou swellest,
I bid thee rise from rest;
By the rapture which thou causest,
And the bliss while e’er thou pausest,
Obey my high behest!
Dread magician! Cease thy spell;
It hath wrought both quick and well.
Ah! thou hast dissolved the charm!
Ah! thou hast outstepped the ring!
Who shall answer for the harm
Beauty on herself will bring?
Come, I will conjure up again that smile—
The scarce departed spirit. There it is!
Settling and hovering round thy lips the while,
Like some bright angel o’er the gates of bliss.
And I could sit and set that rose-bright smile,
Until it seem to grow immortal there—
A something abstract even of all beauty,
As though ’twere in the eye or in the air.
Ah! never may a heavier shadow rest
Than thine own ringlets’ on that brow so fair;
Nor sob, nor sorrow, shake the perfect breast
Which looks for love, as doth for death despair.
And now the smile, the sigh, the blush, the tear—
Lo! all the elements of love are here.
Oh, weep not—wither not the soul
Made saturate with bliss;
I would not have one briny tear
Embitter Beauty’s kiss.
Nay, weep not, fear not! woe nor wrath
Can touch a soul like thine,
More than the lightning’s blinding path
May strike the stars divine.
Sing, then, while thy lover sips,
And hear the truth that wine discloses;
Music lives within thy lips
Like a nightingale in roses.
Sings.
Oh! love is like the rose,
And a month it may not see,
Ere it withers where it grows—
Rosalie!I loved thee from afar;
Oh! my heart was lift to thee
Like a glass up to a star—
Rosalie!Thine eye was glassed in mine
As the moon is in the sea,
And its shin was on the brine—
Rosalie!The rose hath lost its red,
And the star is in the sea,
And the briny tear is shed—
Rosalie!
What the stars are to the night, my love,
What its pearls are to the sea—
What the dew is to the day, my love,
Thy beauty is to me.
I am but here die under-queen of beauty
For yonder hangs the likeness of the goddess;
And so to worship her is our first duty.
The heavenly minds of old first taught the heavenly bodies
Were to be worshipped; and the idolatry
Holds to this hour; though. Beauty! but of thine.
I am thy priestess, and will worship thee,
With all this brave and lovely train of mine;
Lo! we all kneel to thee before thy pictured shrine.
Yes—there, thou goddess of the heart,
Immortal beauty, there!
Thou glory of Jove’s free-love skies,
E’en like thyself too fair,
Too bright, too sweet for mortal eyes,
For earthly hearts too strong;
Thy golden girdle lift’s
