The eddying of her garments caught from thee The light of thy great presence; and the cope Of the half-attain'd futurity, Tho' deep not fathomless. Was cloven with the million stars which tremble O strengthen me, enlighten me! Thou dewy dawn of memory. 4. Come forth I charge thee, arise, Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes! Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vines Unto mine inner eye, Divinest Memory! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried: Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side, The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father's door, To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland. Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat When the first matin-song hath waken❜d loud What time the amber morn Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud. 5. Large dowries doth the raptured eye When first she is wed; And like a bride of old In triumph led, With music and sweet showers Unto the dwelling she must sway. With royal frame-work of wrought gold; Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls For the discovery And newness of thine art so pleased thee, Ever retiring thou dost gaze Artist-like, On the prime labor of thine early days: Whether the high field on the bushless Pike, Or even a sand-built ridge Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Overblown with murmurs harsh, Or even a lowly cottage whence we see Stretch'd wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, The trenched waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bower'd close With plaited alleys of the trailing rose, Long alleys falling down to twilight grots, Of crowned lilies, standing near Purple-spiked lavender: Whither in after-life retired From brawling storms, From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired, We may hold converse with all forms And those whom passion hath not blinded, My friend, with you to live alone, Thou dewy dawn of memory. SONG. 1. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours For at eventide, listening earnestly, Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers: Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. 2. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. ADELINE. 1. MYSTERY of mysteries, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, But beyond expression fair Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline? 2. Whence that aery bloom of thine, And a rose-bush leans upon, 3. What hope or fear or joy is thine? For sure thou art not all alone: Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews? Or when little airs arise, To the mosses underneath? Hast thou look'd upon the breath Wherefore that faint smile of thine, 4. Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, 5. Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side of the morn, On thy pillow, lowly bent With melodious airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face, And ye talk together still, A CHARACTER. WITH a half-glance upon the sky He spake of beauty: that the dull Saw no divinity in grass, Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; Then looking as 't were in a glass, He smooth'd his chin and sleck'd his hair, And said the earth was beautiful. |