Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
It was the minstrel's merry month of June;
Silent and sultry glowed the breezeless noon;
Along the flowers the bee went murmuring;
Life in its myriad forms was on the wing,
Broke thro' the green leaves with the quivering beam;
Sung from the grove, and sparkled on the stream:
When-where yon beech-tree broke the summer-ray—
Wrapt in rich dreams of light-young MILTON lay.
For him the earth beneath, the heaven above,
Teem'd with the earliest spring of joyous youth;
Sunshine and flowers and vague and virgin Love,
Kindling his tenderest visions into truth,
While Poesy's sweet voice sung over all,
Making the common air most musical.
Alone he lay, and to the laughing beams,
His long locks glitter'd in their golden streams;
Calm on his brow sate wisdom-yet the while
His lips wore love, and parted with a smile;
And beauty reigned along each faultless limb-
The lavish beauty of the olden day,
Ere with harsh toil our mortal mould grew dim-
When gods who sought for true-love met him here,
And the veil'd Dian lost her lonely sphere
And her proud name of chaste, for him whose sleep
Drank in Elysium on the Latmos steep.
Nor without solemn dream, or vision bright,
The bard for whom Urania left the shore-
The viewless shore where never sleeps the light,
Or fails the voice of music; and bequeath'd.
Such flowers as ne'er by Thracian well were wreath'd—
And song more high than e'er on Chian Rock was breath'd.
Dreams he of nymph half hid in sparry cave,
Or Naiad rising from her mooned wave,
Or imag'd idol earth has never known,
Shrin'd in his heart, and there adored alone;
Or such, perchance, as all divinely stole, h
In later times, along his charmed soul;
When from his spirit's fire, and years beguil'd
Away in hoarded passion-and the wild,
Yet holy dreams of angel-visitings,
Mix'd with the mortal's burning thoughts which leave
Ev'n heaven's pure shapes with all the woman warm ; - mod
When from such bright and blest imaginings
The inspiring seraph bade him mould the form,
And show the world the wonder-of his Eve?
Has this dull earth a being to compare
With those which genius kindles ?-Can the sun
Show his young bard a living shape as fair
As those which haunt his sleep?-Yea, there is one Brighter than aught which fancy forms most dearBrighter than love's wild dream; and lo! behold her here! She was a stranger from the southern sky,
And wandering from the friends with whom she rov'd
Along those classic gardens chanced to stray
By the green beech-tree where the minstrel lay.
L13.and cow did
Silent-in wonder's speechless trance-she stood,
With lifted hand, and lips apart and eye
Gazing away the rich heart, as she viewed
Darker than night her locks fell clustering
O'er her smooth brow, and the sweet Air just moved
Their vine-like beauty with his gentle wing;
The earliest bloom of youth's Idalian rose
Blush'd thro' the Tuscan olive of her cheek
(So thro' the lightest clouds does morning break)—
And there shone forth that hallowing soul which glows
Round beauty, like the circling light on high,
Which decks and makes the glory of the sky.
Breathless and motionless she stood awhile,
And drank deep draughts of passion—then a smile
Play'd on her lip and bending down, her hand
Trac'd on her tablet the wild thoughts which stole,
Like angel-strangers, o'er her raptur'd soul;
For she was of the poet's golden land,
Where thought finds happiest voice, and glides along
Into the silver rivers of sweet song.
O'er him she leant enamour'd, and her sigh
Breath'd near and nearer to his silent mouth,
Rich with the hoarded odours of the south.
So in her spiritual divinity
Young Psyche, stood the sleeping Eros by ;-*
What time she to the couch had, daring, trod ;-
And-by the glad light+-saw her bridegroom God!
* In allusion to that most beautiful of the ancient tales, the story of Cupid and Psyche, in Apuleius.
† It is said in the story, that the lamp itself partook of the serene gladness on the countenance of the God.
Did her locks touch his cheek? or did he feel
Her breath like music o'er his spirit steal?
I know not-but the spell of sleep was broke;
He started-faintly murmur'd-and awoke!
He woke as Moslems wake from death, to see
The Houris of their heaven; and reverently
He look'd the transport of his soul's amaze :
And their eyes met !—The deep-deep love supprest
For years, and treasur'd in each secret breast,
Waken'd, and glow'd, and center'd in their gaze.
And their eyes met-one moment and no more!
Nurs'd in bright dreams of old romantic lore,
Of Eastern fairies gliding on the beam,
Or Grecian goddess haunting minstrel's dream;
He rose-and tho' no faintest voice might stir
His lips-he knelt adoringly to her,
And gazed his worship; but the spell was past,
And the boy's gesture broke the breathless charm,
And maiden shame, and woman's swift alarm,
Burningly o'er the Italian's soul was rushing;
And her lip trembled, and her pulse beat fast,
And with a thousand new-born feelings blushing-
She turned away-and with a step of air
She fled, and left him mute and spell-bound there.*
The whole of the above lines make the part of the poem first written.
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