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Between his heart and mind,–both unrelieved
Wrought in his brain and bosom separate strife.
Some said that he was mad, others believed 90

That memories of an antenatal life
Made this, where now he dwelt, a penal hell;
And others said that such mysterious grief

From God’s displeasure, like a darkness, fell
On souls like his, which owned no higher law 95
Than love; love calm, steadfast, invincible

By mortal fear or supernatural awe;
And others,–”Tis the shadow of a dream
Which the veiled eye of Memory never saw,

‘But through the soul’s abyss, like some dark stream 100
Through shattered mines and caverns underground,
Rolls, shaking its foundations; and no beam

‘Of joy may rise, but it is quenched and drowned
In the dim whirlpools of this dream obscure;
Soon its exhausted waters will have found 105

‘A lair of rest beneath thy spirit pure,
O Athanase!–in one so good and great,
Evil or tumult cannot long endure.

So spake they: idly of another’s state
Babbling vain words and fond philosophy; 110
This was their consolation; such debate

Men held with one another; nor did he,
Like one who labours with a human woe,
Decline this talk: as if its theme might be

Another, not himself, he to and fro 115
Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit;
And none but those who loved him best could know

That which he knew not, how it galled and bit
His weary mind, this converse vain and cold;
For like an eyeless nightmare grief did sit 120

Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold
Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend
Which clenched him if he stirred with deadlier hold;–
And so his grief remained–let it remain–untold. [1]

PART 2

FRAGMENT 1.

Prince Athanase had one beloved friend, 125
An old, old man, with hair of silver white,
And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend

With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light
Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds.
He was the last whom superstition’s blight 130

Had spared in Greece–the blight that cramps and blinds,–
And in his olive bower at Oenoe
Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds

A fertile island in the barren sea,
One mariner who has survived his mates 135
Many a drear month in a great ship–so he

With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates
Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being:–
‘The mind becomes that which it contemplates,’–

And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing 140
Their bright creations, grew like wisest men;
And when he heard the crash of nations fleeing