A minstrel is sitting alone
Upon a white and worldless stone,
That seals up the bed of a gentle bride
Whose mortal hath immortal grown,
And left no track in the human tide-
Perhaps she were his own.
The sigh that trembled o'er her clay
May hold some speech of love for her;
He trusts it to yon fainting ray
That upward takes its silent way—
A fleet and faithful messenger.
And many a fond dream-whispered word
Upon his heart is sweetly sinking;
As if a slight and snowy bird
Within his brain that instant stirred
Its wing, and answered his mute thinking.
Heard ye the murmur on a mother's tongue
O'er what was made to die, but died too young
A heart that held through darkness and through pain,
And when the light fell on it—it was slain.
I heard her anguish though her seat was far—
Oh! air and voice of dreams, how true ye are !
And there were other sounds that did discourse
And bind my soul with a most gentle force.
I caught the breathings of a girl whose mind
Was haunted by a shadow, left behind
By some illumined figure that had walked
Across her heart, betraying as it talked.
That heart beneath her flesh, as you may see
The ruby midst the water's purity,
I saw, and heard its language-'twas of tears,
Of longings, memories, of all save fears.
I looked, and it was wasting sigh by sigh,
Until at last 'twas nothing. I stood by
And saw it vanish; a light, veined leaf,
Whose summer life a breath had made so brief.
Then strayed I near a grating, and my mind
Wondered and wept that ought should be confined.
I glanced betwixt the bars-it was a space
Narrow and damp, and full of foul disgrace :
Its walls were frenzy-figured. And upon
That dungeon floor appeared a skeleton.
One knee was bent, its prayer seemed rage
I saw the right arm moulder from its side.
The other, raised, had tried to seize the grate,
Where day divulged the lineaments of hate.
The chainer had been chained, the idol bowed,
And paid deep homage to a scornful crowd.
But all things failed him save the chain and cell :
I breathed with music-'twas the enslaver's knell.
But soon far other notes serene and mild,
Came o'er my soothed spirits-'twas a child
Lisping a blessing. Then a Dove appeared
Whose bosom had been robbed of all it reared.
And soon a breeze came flowing thither, bright
With many insects, crimsoning the light.
Then on the sands a maiden sought a ship,
With words that fell like life-drops from the lip.
A slave came forth in bonds, which he did burst,
And stood all free as man arose at first.
Two birds, with dusky wings and breast of sun,
Were circled in a gilded cage; the one
Fluttered and sang, and tried to gain my look,
And from his plume the glossiest feather shook.
The other stirred not, sang not; it had lost
The fire of song within its prison's frost.
It was too delicate, too proud to live,
I feared to breathe, it seemed so sensitive.
At last it moaned; then gazed upon the wire
And dropped-a thing to weep for and admire !
The other lightened round the cage, and showed
No sign of sorrow in its lone abode ;
But still it sang exultingly. I sighed,
I could not love it like the one that died.
The light partook of an enchanter's hue,
A thousand fairy eyes came twinkling through;
And a young bard some pensive treasure sought
Where waters lulled him in his starry thought.
But mark how from yon lattice looks an eye
In fondness forth, yet half despairingly ;
And one that worships it, that grief to share,
A moment stands-he is no longer there.
His step is quick yet low; his sight seems dim
And bent on earth-but hers is fixed on him.
How rich the strength that through her veins hath ran ! How proud is woman's suffering for man!
She sleeps, she smiles; day hath no dreams like these. Her eyes are closed-it is her heart that sees.
All beauty hath a voice; and I have found Life hath no pleasures like the sense of sound : And earth hath still a heaven for ears and eyes, Since Poesy doth teach all hearts to harmonise.
THE SULTANA PREPARING FOR HER BATH.
(Descriptive of a Picture, the production of a friend.)
THE glory of the light hath died away,
The dazzled earth grows dim. And now the moon
(A silver seal upon the closing day)
Steals through the twilight, and a tranquil tune
Comes from the deep to soothe the sun's decay.
Heaven's harp hath ceased, but many an echo fair
In mellow music pants upon the air.
The sun hath sunk, but lo! there is a light
Richer than yon unsteadfast stars reveal :
The noon hath melted into chilling night,
Yet can the soul a warmth and freshness feel;
The signs and sounds of day have perished quite,
Yet hath the quiet earth a breathing given
Sweeter than all the varied sounds of heaven.
Not from the lamp within yon radiant room
Ascends the new-born beam, nor from the pride
Of Eastern art arises a perfume,
That fills a scene by beauty sanctified;
But there, arrayed in all that Luxury's loom
|