Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems — 1829 text — reading text

Heaven of heart enshrin'd Then desolately fall, O! God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall — 3 Thy heart — thy heart! — I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of truth that gold can never buy — Of the trifles that it may. 4. To the River —— 4. TO THE RIVER ———— 1 Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of labyrinth-like water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty — the unhidden heart — The playful maziness of art In old Alberto's daughter — 2 But when within thy wave she looks — Which glistens then, and trembles — Why, then, the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles — For in my heart — as in thy stream — Her image deeply lies — The heart which trembles at the beam, The scrutiny of her eyes. 5. The Lake — To — 5. THE LAKE — TO —— 1 In youth's spring it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less, So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake with black rock bound, And the tall pines that tower'd around: But when the night had thrown her pall Upon that spot — as upon all, And the black wind murmur'd by, In a dirge of melody — My infant spirit would awake To the terror of the lone lake. 2 Yet that terror was not fright — But a tremulous delight — A feeling not the jewell'd mine Should ever bribe me to define — Nor Love — altho' the Love be thine: 3 Death was in that poison'd wave — And, in it's gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining — Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake. 6. Spirits of the Dead 6. SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 1 Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone — Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy: 2 Be silent in that solitude Which is not loneliness — for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee — and their will Shall then overshadow thee: be still. 3 For the night — tho' clear — shall frown — And the stars shall look not down, From their high thrones in the Heaven, With light like Hope to mortals given — But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever: 4 Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish — Now are visions ne'er to vanish — From thy spirit shall they pass No more — like dew-drop from the grass: 5 The breeze — the breath of God — is still — And the mist upon the hill Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token — How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! — 7. A Dream 7. A DREAM. 1 In visions of the dark night I have dream'd of joy departed — But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken hearted: 2 And what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turn'd back upon the past? 3 That holy dream — that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheer'd me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding: 4 What tho' that light, thro' storm and night So trembled from afar — What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star? — 8. To M—— 8. TO M—— 1 O! I care not that my earthly lot Hath — little of Earth in it — That years of love have been forgot In the fever of a minute — 2 I heed not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I — But that you meddle with my fate Who am a passer-by. 3 It is not that my founts of bliss Are gushing — strange! with tears — Or that the thrill of a single kiss Hath palsied many years — 4 ‘Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs Which have wither'd as they rose Lie dead on my heart-strings With the weight of an age of snows. 5 Nor that the grass — O! may it thrive! On my grave is growing or grown — But that, while I am dead yet alive I cannot be, lady, alone. 9. Fairyland 9. FAIRYLAND. Dim vales — and shadowy floods — And cloudy-looking woods, Whose forms we can’t discover For the tears that drip all over. Huge moons there wax and wane — Again — again — again — Ev’ry moment of the night — For ever changing places — And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces; About twelve by the moon-dial One, more filmy than the rest [A sort which, upon trial, They have found to be the best] Comes down — still down — and down With its centre on the crown Of a mountain's eminence, While its wide circumference In easy drapery falls Over hamlets, and rich halls, Wherever they may be — O’er the strange woods — o'er the sea — Over spirits on the wing Over every drowsy thing — And buries them up quite In a labyrinth of light — And then, how deep! O! deep! Is the passion of their sleep! In the morning they arise, And their moony covering Is soaring in the skies, With the tempests as they toss, * Like —— almost any thing — Or a yellow Albatross. They use that moon no more For the same end as before — Videlicet a tent — Which I think extravagant: Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies, Of Earth, who seek the skies, And so come down again, (The unbelieving things!) Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 71:] * Plagiarism — see the works of Thomas Moore — passim — Edr.