FullReads

‘On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm 200
Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness,
Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm

‘Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness,
Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale,–
And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,– 205

‘And the far sighings of yon piny dale
Made vocal by some wind we feel not here.–
I bear alone what nothing may avail

‘To lighten–a strange load!’–No human ear
Heard this lament; but o’er the visage wan 210
Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere

Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran,
Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake,
Glassy and dark.–And that divine old man

Beheld his mystic friend’s whole being shake, 215
Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest–
And with a calm and measured voice he spake,

And, with a soft and equal pressure, pressed
That cold lean hand:–‘Dost thou remember yet
When the curved moon then lingering in the west 220

‘Paused, in yon waves her mighty horns to wet,
How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea?
‘Tis just one year–sure thou dost not forget–

‘Then Plato’s words of light in thee and me
Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east, 225
For we had just then read–thy memory

‘Is faithful now–the story of the feast;
And Agathon and Diotima seemed
From death and dark forgetfulness released…’

FRAGMENT 3

 

 And when the old man saw that on the green
 

 Leaves of his opening ... a blight had lighted     230
 

 He said: 'My friend, one grief alone can wean
 

A gentle mind from all that once delighted:–
Thou lovest, and thy secret heart is laden
With feelings which should not be unrequited.’ 235

And Athanase … then smiled, as one o’erladen
With iron chains might smile to talk (?) of bands
Twined round her lover’s neck by some blithe maiden,
And said…

FRAGMENT 4

 

 'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings      240
 

 From slumber, as a sphered angel's child,
 

 Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings,
 

Stands up before its mother bright and mild,
Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems–
So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled 245

To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams,
The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove
Waxed green–and flowers burst forth like starry beams;–

The grass in the warm sun did start and move,
And sea-buds burst under the waves serene:– 250
How many a one, though none be near to love,

Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen
In any mirror–or the spring’s young minions,
The winged leaves amid the copses green;–

How many a spirit then puts on the pinions 255
Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast,
And his own steps–and over wide dominions