Tamerlane and Other Poems — 1827 text — reading text

her, and a falsehood tell Of a feign'd journey, were again To trust the weakness of my heart To her soft thrilling voice: To part Thus, haply, while in sleep she dream'd Of long delight, nor yet had deem'd Awake, that I had held a thought Of parting, were with madness fraught; I knew not woman's heart, alas! Tho' lov'd, and loving — let it pass. — XIV. I went from out the matted bow’r, And hurried madly on my way: And felt, with ev’ry flying hour, That bore me from my home, more gay; There is of earth an agony Which, ideal, still may be The worst ill of mortality, ’Tis bliss, in its own reality, Too real, to his breast who lives Not within himself but gives A portion of his willing soul To God, and to the great whole — To him, whose loving spirit will dwell With Nature, in her wild paths; tell Of her wond’rous ways, and telling bless Her overpow’ring loveliness! A more than agony to him Whose failing sight will grow dim With its own living gaze upon That loveliness around: the sun — The blue sky — the misty light Of the pale cloud therein, whose hue Is grace to its heav’nly bed of blue; Dim! tho' looking on all bright! O God! when the thoughts that may not pass Will burst upon him, and alas! For the flight on Earth to Fancy giv’n, There are no words —— unless of Heav’n. XV. * * * * * Look ’round thee now on Samarcand, (7) Is she not queen of earth? her pride Above all cities? in her hand Their destinies? with all beside Of glory, which the world hath known? Stands she not proudly and alone? And who her sov’reign? Timur he (8) Whom th’ astonish'd earth hath seen, With victory, on victory, Redoubling age! and more, I ween, The Zinghis’ yet re-echoing fame. (9) And now what has he? what! a name. The sound of revelry by night Comes o'er me, with the mingled voice Of many with a breast as light, As if ’twere not the dying hour Of one, in whom they did rejoice — As in a leader, haply — Power Its venom secretly imparts; Nothing have I with human hearts. XVI. When Fortune mark'd me for her own, And my proud hopes had reach'd a throne [It boots me not, good friar, to tell A tale the world but knows to well, How by what hidden deeds of might, I clamber'd to the tottering height,] I still was young; and well I ween My spirit what it e’er had been. My eyes were still on pomp and power, My wilder'd heart was far away, In vallies of the wild Taglay, In mine own Ada's matted bow’r. I dwelt not long in Samarcand Ere, in a peasant's lowly guise, I sought my long—abandon'd land, By sunset did its mountains rise In dusky grandeur to my eyes: But as I wander'd on the way My heart sunk with the sun's ray. To him, who still would gaze upon The glory of the summer sun, There comes, when that sun will from him part, A sullen hopelessness of heart. That soul will hate the ev’ning mist So often lovely, and will lisp To the sound of the coming darkness [known To those whose spirits hark’n] as one Who in a dream of night would fly But cannot from a danger nigh. What though the moon — the silvery moon Shine on his path, in her high noon; Her smile is chilly, and her beam In that time of dreariness will seem As the portrait of one after death; A likeness taken when the breath Of young life, and the fire o’ the eye Had lately been but had pass'd by. ’Tis thus when the lovely summer sun Of our boyhood, his course hath run: For all we live to know — is known; And all we seek to keep — hath flown; With the noon-day beauty, which is all. Let life, then, as the day-flow’r, fall — The trancient, passionate day-flow’r, (11) Withering at the ev’ning hour. XVII. I reach'd my home — my home no more — For all was flown that made it so — I pass'd from out its mossy door, In vacant idleness of woe. There met me on its threshold stone A mountain hunter, I had known In childhood but he knew me not. Something he spoke of the old cot: It had seen better days, he said; There rose a fountain once, and there Full many a fair flow’r rais'd its head: But she who rear'd them was long dead, And in such follies had no part, What was there left me now? despair — A kingdom for a broken — heart. To —— TO — — I saw thee on the bridal day; When a burning blush came o'er thee, Tho' Happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee. And, in thine eye, the kindling light Of young passion free Was all on earth, my chain'd sight Of Loveliness might see. That blush, I ween, was maiden shame: As such it well may pass: Tho' its glow hath rais'd a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas! Who saw the on that bridal day, When that deep blush would come o'er thee, — Tho' Happiness around thee lay; The world all Love before thee. — Dreams DREAMS. Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! My spirit not awak’ning, till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow. Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow. ’Twere better than the cold reality Of waking life, to him whose heart must be, And hath been still, upon the lovely earth, A chaos of deep passion, from his birth. But should it be — that dream eternally Continuing — as dreams have been to me In my young boyhood — should it thus be giv’n ’Twere folly still to hope for higher Heav’n. For I have revell'd when the sun was bright In the summer sky, in dreams of living light. And loveliness, — have left my very heart Inclines of mine imaginary apart From mine own home, with beings that have been Of mine own thought — what more could I have seen? ’Twas once — and only once — and the wild hour From my remembrance shall not pass — some pow’r Or spell had bound me — ’twas the chilly wind Came o'er me in the night, and left behind Its image on my spirit — or the moon Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon Too coldly — or the stars — howe’er it was That dream was as that night-wind — let it pass. I have been happy, tho' in a dream. I have been happy — and I love the theme: Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife Of semblance with reality which brings To the delirious eye, more lovely things Of Paradise and Love — and all our own! Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known. Visit of the Dead ========== VISIT OF THE DEAD. * * * * Thy soul shall find itself alone — Alone of all on earth — unknown The cause — but none are near to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. 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 o'ershadow thee — be still For the night, tho' clear, shall frown: And the stars shall look not down From their thrones, in the dark heav'n; With light like Hope to mortals giv'n, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy withering heart shall seem As a burning, and a ferver Which would cling to thee forever. But 'twill leave thee, as each star In the morning light afar Will fly thee — and vanish: — But its thought thou can'st not banish. The breath of God will be still; And the wish upon the hill By that summer breeze unbrok'n Shall charm thee — as a token, And a symbol which shall be Secrecy in thee. Evening Star ========== EVENING STAR. ’Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, ’Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gaz'd awhile On her cold smile; Too cold — too cold for me — There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turn'd away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heav’n at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light. Imitation ========== IMITATION. A dark unfathom'd tide Of interminable pride — A mystery, and a dream, Should my early life seem; I say that dream was fraught With a wild, and waking thought Of beings that have been, Which my spirit hath not seen, Had I let them pass me by, With a dreaming eye! Let none of earth inherit That vision on my spirit; Those thoughts I would controul , As a spell upon his soul: For that bright hope at last And that light time have past, And my worldly rest hath gone With a sight as it pass'd on, I care not tho' it perish With a thought I then did cherish, Untitled ========== How often we forget all time, when lone Admiring Nature's universal throne; Her woods — her wilds — her mountains — the intense Reply of HERS to OUR intelligence! 1. In youth have I known one with whom the Earth In secret communing held — as he with it, In day light, and in beauty from his birth: Whose fervid, flick'ring torch of life was lit From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth A passionate light-such for his spirit was fit — And yet that spirit knew — not in the hour Of its own fervor — what had o'er it power. 2. Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought To a ferver by the moon beam that hangs o'er, But I will half believe that wild light fraught With more of sov'reignty than ancient lore Hath ever told — or is it of a thought The unembodied essence, and no more That with a quick'ning spell doth o'er us pass As dew of the night-time, o'er the summer grass. 3. Doth o'er us pass, when, as th’ expanding eye To the lov'd object — so the tear to the lid Will start, which lately slept in apathy? And yet it need not be — (that object) hid From us in life — but common — which doth lie Each hour before us — but then only bid With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken T' awake us — 'Tis a symbol and a token. 4. Of what in other worlds shall be — and giv'n In beauty by our God, to those alone Who otherwise would fall from life and Heav'n Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone, That high tone of the spirit which hath striv'n Tho' not with Faith — with godliness — whose throne With desp'rate energy 't hath beaten down; Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown. Untitled ========== A wilder'd being from my birth My spirit spurn'd control, But now, abroad on the wide earth, Where wand'rest thou my soul? 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. 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? That holy dream — that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheer'd me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding — What tho' that light, thro' misty night So dimly shone afar — What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day — star? Untitled ========== The happiest day — the happiest hour My sear'd and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride, and power, I feel hath flown. Of power! said I? yes! such I ween But they have vanish'd long alas! The visions of my youth have been — But let them pass. And, pride, what have I now with thee? Another brow may ev’n inherit The venom thou hast pour'd on me — Be still my spirit. The happiest day — the happiest hour Mine eyes shall see — have ever seen The brightest glance of pride and power I feel — have been: But were that hope of pride and power Now offer'd, with the pain Ev’n then I felt — that brightest hour I would not live again: For on its wing was dark alloy And as it flutter'd — fell An essence — powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well. The Lake ========== THE LAKE. In youth's spring, it was my lot To haunt of the wide earth 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 wind would pass me by In its stilly melody, My infant spirit would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright — But a tremulous delight, And a feeling undefin'd, Springing from a darken'd mind. Death was in that poison'd wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his dark imagining; Whose