The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 143

The moon was now, from heaven's steep, Bending to dip her silvery urn Into the bright and silent deep-- And the young nymphs, on their return From those romantic ruins, found Their other playmates ranged around The sacred Spring, prepared to tune Their parting hymn,[16] ere sunk the moon, To that fair Fountain by whose stream Their hearts had formed so many a dream.

Who has not read the tales that tell Of old Eleusis' sacred Well, Or heard what legend-songs recount Of Syra and its holy Fount,[17]

Gus.h.i.+ng at once from the hard rock Into the laps of living flowers-- Where village maidens loved to flock, On summer-nights and like the Hours Linked in harmonious dance and song, Charmed the unconscious night along; While holy pilgrims on their way To Delos' isle stood looking on, Enchanted with a scene so gay, Nor sought their boats till morning shone.

Such was the scene this lovely glade And its fair inmates now displayed.

As round the Fount in linked ring They went in cadence slow and light And thus to that enchanted Spring Warbled their Farewell for the night:--

SONG.

Here, while the moonlight dim Falls on that mossy brim, Sing we our Fountain Hymn, Maidens of Zea!

Nothing but Music's strain, When Lovers part in pain, Soothes till they meet again, Oh, Maids of Zea!

Bright Fount so clear and cold Round which the nymphs of old Stood with their locks of gold, Fountain of Zea!

Not even Castaly, Famed tho' its streamlet be, Murmurs or s.h.i.+nes like thee, Oh, Fount of Zea!

Thou, while our hymn we sing, Thy silver voice shalt bring, Answering, answering, Sweet Fount of Zea!

For of all rills that run Sparkling by moon or sun Thou art the fairest one, Bright Fount of Zea!

Now, by those stars that glance Over heaven's still expanse Weave we our mirthful dance, Daughters of Zea!

Such as in former days Danced they by Dian's rays Where the Eurotas strays, Oh, Maids of Zea!

But when to merry feet Hearts with no echo beat, Say, can the dance be sweet?

Maidens of Zea!

No, naught but Music's strain, When lovers part in pain, Soothes till they meet again, Oh, Maids of Zea!

SECOND EVENING.

SONG.

When evening shades are falling O'er Ocean's sunny sleep, To pilgrims' hearts recalling Their home beyond the deep; When rest o'er all descending The sh.o.r.es with gladness smile, And lutes their echoes blending Are heard from isle to isle, Then, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray, to thee!

The noon-day tempest over, Now Ocean toils no more, And wings of halcyons hover Where all was strife before.

Oh thus may life in closing Its short tempestuous day Beneath heaven's smile reposing s.h.i.+ne all its storms away: Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray, to thee!

On h.e.l.le's sea the light grew dim As the last sounds of that sweet hymn Floated along its azure tide-- Floated in light as if the lay Had mixt with sunset's fading ray And light and song together died.

So soft thro' evening's air had breathed That choir of youthful voices wreathed In many-linked harmony, That boats then hurrying o'er the sea Paused when they reached this fairy sh.o.r.e, And lingered till the strain was o'er.

Of those young maids who've met to fleet In song and dance this evening's hours, Far happier now the bosoms beat Than when they last adorned these bowers; For tidings of glad sound had come, At break of day from the far isles-- Tidings like breath of life to some-- That Zea's sons would soon wing home, Crowded with the light of Victory's smiles To meet that brightest of all meeds That wait on high, heroic deeds.

When gentle eyes that scarce for tears Could trace the warrior's parting track, Shall like a misty morn that clears When the long-absent sun appears s.h.i.+ne out all bliss to hail him back.

How fickle still the youthful breast!-- More fond of change than a young moon, No joy so new was e'er possest But Youth would leave for newer soon.

These Zean nymphs tho' bright the spot Where first they held their evening play As ever fell to fairy's lot To wanton o'er by midnight's ray, Had now exchanged that sheltered scene For a wide glade beside the sea-- A lawn whose soft expanse of green Turned to the west sun smilingly As tho' in conscious beauty bright It joyed to give him light for light.

And ne'er did evening more serene Look down from heaven on lovelier scene.

Calm lay the flood around while fleet O'er the blue s.h.i.+ning element Light barks as if with fairy feet That stirred not the husht waters went; Some, that ere rosy eve fell o'er The blus.h.i.+ng wave, with mainsail free, Had put forth from the Attic sh.o.r.e, Or the near Isle of Ebony;-- Some, Hydriot barks that deep in caves Beneath Colonna's pillared cliffs, Had all day lurked and o'er the waves Now shot their long and dart-like skiffs.

Woe to the craft however fleet These sea-hawks in their course shall meet, Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, Or rich from Naxos' emery mines; For not more sure, when owlets flee O'er the dark crags of Pendelee, Doth the night-falcon mark his prey, Or pounce on it more fleet than they.

And what a moon now lights the glade Where these young island nymphs are met!

Full-orbed yet pure as if no shade Had touched its virgin l.u.s.tre yet; And freshly bright as if just made By Love's own hands of new-born light Stolen from his mother's star tonight.

On a bold rock that o'er the flood Jutted from that soft glade there stood A Chapel, fronting towards the sea,-- Built in some by-gone century,-- Where nightly as the seaman's mark When waves rose high or clouds were dark, A lamp bequeathed by some kind Saint Shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint.

Waking in way-worn men a sigh And prayer to heaven as they went by.

'Twas there, around that rock-built shrine A group of maidens and their sires Had stood to watch the day's decline, And as the light fell o'er their lyres Sung to the Queen-Star of the Sea That soft and holy melody.

But lighter thoughts and lighter song Now woo the coming hours along.

For mark, where smooth the herbage lies, Yon gay pavilion curtained deep With silken folds thro' which bright eyes From time to time are seen to peep; While twinkling lights that to and fro Beneath those veils like meteors go, Tell of some spells at work and keep Young fancies chained in mute suspense, Watching what next may s.h.i.+ne from thence, Nor long the pause ere hands unseen That mystic curtain backward drew, And all that late but shone between In half-caught gleams now burst to view.

A picture 'twas of the early days Of glorious Greece ere yet those rays Of rich, immortal Mind were hers That made mankind her wors.h.i.+ppers; While yet unsung her landscapes shone With glory lent by heaven alone; Nor temples crowned her nameless hills, Nor Muse immortalized her rills; Nor aught but the mute poesy Of sun and stars and s.h.i.+ning sea Illumed that land of bards to be.

While prescient of the gifted race That yet would realm so blest adorn, Nature took pains to deck the place Where glorious Art was to be born.

Such was the scene that mimic stage Of Athens and her hills portrayed Athens in her first, youthful age, Ere yet the simple violet braid,[18]

Which then adorned her had shone down The glory of earth's loftiest crown.

While yet undreamed, her seeds of Art Lay sleeping in the marble mine-- Sleeping till Genius bade them start To all but life in shapes divine; Till deified the quarry shone And all Olympus stood in stone!

There in the foreground of that scene, On a soft bank of living green Sate a young nymph with her lap full Of the newly gathered flowers, o'er which She graceful leaned intent to cull All that was there of hue most rich, To form a wreath such as the eye Of her young lover who stood by, With pallet mingled fresh might choose To fix by Painting's rainbow hues.

The wreath was formed; the maiden raised Her speaking eyes to his, while he-- Oh _not_ upon the flowers now gazed, But on that bright look's witchery.

While, quick as if but then the thought Like light had reached his soul, he caught His pencil up and warm and true As life itself that love-look drew: And, as his raptured task went on, And forth each kindling feature shone, Sweet voices thro' the moonlight air From lips as moonlight fresh and pure Thus hailed the bright dream pa.s.sing there, And sung the Birth of Portraiture.[19]

SONG.

As once a Grecian maiden wove Her garland mid the summer bowers, There stood a youth with eyes of love To watch her while she wreathed the flowers.

The youth was skilled in Painting's art, But ne'er had studied woman's brow, Nor knew what magic hues the heart Can shed o'er Nature's charms till now.

CHORUS.

Blest be Love to whom we owe All that's fair and bright below.

His hand had pictured many a rose And sketched the rays that light the brook; But what were these or what were those To woman's blush, to woman's look?

"Oh, if such magic power there be, "This, this," he cried, "is all my prayer, "To paint that living light I see "And fix the soul that sparkles there."

His prayer as soon as breathed was heard; His pallet touched by Love grew warm, And Painting saw her hues transferred From lifeless flowers to woman's form.

Still as from tint to tint he stole, The fair design shone out the more, And there was now a life, a soul, Where only colors glowed before.

Then first carnations learned to speak And lilies into life were brought; While mantling on the maiden's cheek Young roses kindled into thought.

Then hyacinths their darkest dyes Upon the locks of Beauty threw; And violets transformed to eyes Inshrined a soul within their blue.