The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 149

Never--tho' well thou know'st how much I've felt the sway of Beauty's star-- Never did her bright influence touch My soul into its depths so far; And had that vision lingered there One minute more I should have flown, Forgetful _who_ I was and where.

And at her feet in wors.h.i.+p thrown Proffered my soul thro' life her own.

But scarcely had that burst of light And music broke on ear and sight, Than up the aisle the bird took wing As if on heavenly mission sent, While after him with graceful spring Like some unearthly creatures, meant To live in that mixt element Of light and song the young maids went; And she who in my heart had thrown A spark to burn for life was flown.

In vain I tried to follow;--bands Of reverend chanters filled the aisle: Where'er I sought to pa.s.s, their wands Motioned me back, while many a file Of sacred nymphs--but ah, not they Whom my eyes looked for thronged the way.

Perplext, impatient, mid this crowd Of faces, lights--the o'erwhelming cloud Of incense round me, and my blood Full of its new-born fire--I stood, Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I caught A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, Or wreath of lotus, which I thought Like those she wore at distance shone.

But no, 'twas vain--hour after hour, Till my heart's throbbing turned to pain, And my strained eyesight lost its power, I sought her thus, but all in vain.

At length, hot--wildered--in despair, I rushed into the cool night-air, And hurrying (tho' with many a look Back to the busy Temple) took My way along the moonlight sh.o.r.e, And sprung into my boat once more.

There is a Lake that to the north Of Memphis stretches grandly forth, Upon whose silent sh.o.r.e the Dead Have a proud city of their own,[2]

With shrines and pyramids o'erspread-- Where many an ancient kingly head Slumbers, immortalized in stone; And where thro' marble grots beneath The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, Nor wanting aught of life but breath, Lie in their painted coverings, And on each new successive race That visit their dim haunts below Look with the same unwithering face They wore three thousand years ago.

There. Silence, thoughtful G.o.d, who loves The neighborhood of death in groves Of asphodel lies hid and weaves His hus.h.i.+ng spell among the leaves-- Nor ever noise disturbs the air Save the low, humming, mournful sound Of priests within their shrines at prayer For the fresh Dead entombed around.

'Twas toward this place of death--in mood Made up of thoughts, half bright, half dark-- I now across the s.h.i.+ning flood Unconscious turned my light-winged bark.

The form of that young maid in all Its beauty was before me still; And oft I thought, if thus to call Her image to my mind at will, If but the memory of that one Bright look of hers for ever gone, Was to my heart worth all the rest Of woman-kind, beheld, possest-- What would it be if wholly mine, Within these arms as in a shrine, Hallowed by Love, I saw her s.h.i.+ne-- An idol, wors.h.i.+pt by the light Of her own beauties, day and night-- If 'twas a blessing but to see And lose again, what would _this_ be?

In thoughts like these--but often crost By darker threads--my mind was lost, Till near that City of the Dead, Waked from my trance, I saw o'erhead-- As if by some enchanter bid Suddenly from the wave to rise-- Pyramid over pyramid Tower in succession to the skies; While one, aspiring, as if soon, 'Twould touch the heavens, rose over all; And, on its summit, the white moon Rested as on a pedestal!

The silence of the lonely tombs And temples round where naught was heard But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes, Shaken at times by breeze or bird, Formed a deep contrast to the scene Of revel where I late had been; To those gay sounds that still came o'er, Faintly from many a distant sh.o.r.e, And the unnumbered lights that shone Far o'er the flood from Memphis on To the Moon's Isle and Babylon.

My oars were lifted and my boat Lay rocked upon the rippling stream; While my vague thoughts alike afloat, Drifted thro' many an idle dream.

With all of which, wild and unfixt As was their aim, that vision mixt, That bright nymph of the Temple--now, With the same innocence of brow She wore within the lighted fane-- Now kindling thro' each pulse and vein With pa.s.sion of such deep-felt fire As G.o.ds might glory to inspire;-- And now--oh Darkness of the tomb, That must eclipse even light like hers!

Cold, dead, and blackening mid the gloom Of those eternal sepulchres.

Scarce had I turned my eyes away From that dark death-place, at the thought, When by the sound of das.h.i.+ng spray From a light oar my ear was caught, While past me, thro' the moonlight, sailed.

A little gilded bark that bore Two female figures closely veiled And mantled towards that funeral sh.o.r.e.

They landed--and the boat again Put off across the watery plain.

Shall I confess--to _thee_ I may-- That never yet hath come the chance Of a new music, a new ray From woman's voice, from woman's glance, Which--let it find me how it might, In joy or grief--I did not bless, And wander after as a light Leading to undreamt, happiness.

And chiefly now when hopes so vain Were stirring in my heart and brain, When Fancy had allured my soul Into a chase as vague and far As would be his who fixt his goal In the horizon or some star-- _Any_ bewilderment that brought More near to earth my high-flown thought-- The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, Less high and heavenly, but more sure, Came welcome--and was then to me What the first flowery isle must be To vagrant birds blown out to sea.

Quick to the sh.o.r.e I urged my bark, And by the bursts of moonlight shed Between the lofty tombs could mark Those figures as with hasty tread They glided on--till in the shade Of a small pyramid, which thro'

Some boughs of palm its peak displayed, They vanisht instant from my view.

I hurried to the spot--no trace Of life was in that lonely place; And had the creed I hold by taught Of other worlds I might have thought Some mocking spirits had from thence Come in this guise to cheat my sense.

At length, exploring darkly round The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found An iron portal--opening high 'Twixt peak and base--and, with a prayer To the bliss-loving Moon whose eye Alone beheld me sprung in there.

Downward the narrow stairway led Thro' many a duct obscure and dread, A labyrinth for mystery made, With wanderings onward, backward, round, And gathering still, where'er it wound.

But deeper density of shade.

Scarce had I asked myself, "Can aught "That man delights in sojourn here?"-- When, suddenly, far off, I caught A glimpse of light, remote, but clear-- Whose welcome glimmer seemed to pour From some alcove or cell that ended The long, steep, marble corridor, Thro' which I now, all hope, descended.

Never did Spartan to his bride With warier foot at midnight glide.

It seemed as echo's self were dead In this dark place, so mute my tread.

Reaching at length that light, I saw-- Oh! listen to the scene now raised Before my eyes--then guess the awe, The still, rapt awe with which I gazed.

'Twas a small chapel, lined around With the fair, spangling marble found In many a ruined shrine that stands Half seen above the Libyan sands.

The walls were richly sculptured o'er, And charactered with that dark lore Of times before the Flood, whose key Was lost in the "Universal Sea."-- While on the roof was pictured bright The Theban beetle as he s.h.i.+nes, When the Nile's mighty flow declines And forth the creature springs to light, With life regenerate in his wings:-- Emblem of vain imaginings!

Of a new world, when this is gone, In which the spirit still lives on!

Direct beneath this type, reclined On a black granite altar, lay A female form, in crystal shrined, And looking fresh as if the ray Of soul had fled but yesterday, While in relief of silvery hue Graved on the altar's front were seen A branch of lotus, broken in two, As that fair creature's life had been, And a small bird that from its spray Was winging like her soul away.

But brief the glimpse I now could spare To the wild, mystic wonders round; For there was yet one wonder there That held me as by witchery bound.

The lamp that thro' the chamber shed Its vivid beam was at the head Of her who on that altar slept; And near it stood when first I came-- Bending her brow, as if she kept Sad watch upon its silent flame-- A female form as yet so placed Between the lamp's strong glow and me, That I but saw, in outline traced, The shadow of her symmetry.

Yet did my heart--I scarce knew why-- Even at that shadowed shape beat high.

Nor was it long ere full in sight The figure turned; and by the light That touched her features as she bent Over the crystal monument, I saw 'twas she--the same--the same-- That lately stood before me, brightening The holy spot where she but came And went again like summer lightning!

Upon the crystal o'er the breast Of her who took that silent rest, There was a cross of silver lying-- Another type of that blest home, Which hope and pride and fear of dying Build for us in a world to come:-- This silver cross the maiden raised To her pure lips:--then, having gazed Some minutes on that tranquil face, Sleeping in all death's mournful grace, Upward she turned her brow serene, As if intent on heaven those eyes Saw them nor roof nor cloud between Their own pure orbits and the skies, And, tho' her lips no motion made, And that fixt look was all her speech, I saw that the rapt spirit prayed Deeper within than words could reach.

Strange power of Innocence, to turn To its own hue whate'er comes near, And make even vagrant Pa.s.sion burn With purer warmth within its sphere!

She who but one short hour before Had come like sudden wild-fire o'er My heart and brain--whom gladly even From that bright Temple in the face Of those proud ministers of heaven, I would have borne in wild embrace, And risked all punishment, divine And human, but to make her mine;-- She, she was now before me, thrown By fate itself into my arms-- There standing, beautiful, alone, With naught to guard her but her charms.

Yet did I, then--did even a breath From my parched lips, too parched to move, Disturb a scene where thus, beneath Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death Held converse thro' undying love?

No--smile and taunt me as thou wilt-- Tho' but to gaze thus was delight, Yet seemed it like a wrong, a guilt, To win by stealth so pure a sight: And rather than a look profane Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, Or voice or whisper broke the chain That linked her spirit with the skies, I would have gladly in that place From which I watched her heavenward face, Let my heart break, without one beat That could disturb a prayer so sweet.

Gently, as if on every tread.

My life, my more than life depended, Back thro' the corridor that led To this blest scene I now ascended, And with slow seeking and some pain And many a winding tried in vain Emerged to upper earth again.

The sun had freshly risen, and down The marble hills of Araby, Scattered as from a conqueror's crown His beams into that living sea.

There seemed a glory in his light, Newly put on--as if for pride.

Of the high homage paid this night To his own Isis, his young bride., Now fading feminine away In her proud Lord's superior ray.

My mind's first impulse was to fly At once from this entangling net-- New scenes to range, new loves to try, Or in mirth, wine and luxury Of every sense that might forget.

But vain the effort--spell-bound still, I lingered, without power or will To turn my eyes from that dark door, Which now enclosed her 'mong the dead; Oft fancying, thro' the boughs that o'er The sunny pile their flickering shed.

'Twas her light form again I saw Starting to earth--still pure and bright, But wakening, as I hoped, less awe, Thus seen by morning's natural light, Than in that strange, dim cell at night.

But no, alas--she ne'er returned: Nor yet--tho' still I watch--nor yet, Tho' the red sun for hours hath burned, And now in his mid course hath met The peak of that eternal pile He pauses still at noon to bless, Standing beneath his downward smile, Like a great Spirit shadowless!-- Nor yet she comes--while here, alone, Sauntering thro' this death-peopled place, Where no heart beats except my own, Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown, By turns I watch and rest and trace These lines that are to waft to thee My last night's wondrous history.

Dost thou remember, in that Isle Of our own Sea where thou and I Lingered so long, so happy a while, Till all the summer flowers went by-- How gay it was when sunset brought To the cool Well our favorite maids-- Some we had won, and some we sought-- To dance within the fragrant shades, And till the stars went down attune Their Fountain Hymns[3] to the young moon?

That time, too--oh, 'tis like a dream-- When from Scamander's holy tide I sprung as Genius of the Stream, And bore away that blooming bride, Who thither came, to yield her charms (As Phrygian maids are wont ere wed) Into the cold Scamander's arms, But met and welcomed mine, instead-- Wondering as on my neck she fell, How river-G.o.ds could love so well!

Who would have thought that he who roved Like the first bees of summer then, Rifling each sweet nor ever loved But the free hearts that loved again, Readily as the reed replies To the least breath that round it sighs-- Is the same dreamer who last night Stood awed and breathless at the sight Of one Egyptian girl; and now Wanders among these tombs with brow Pale, watchful, sad, as tho' he just, Himself, had risen from out their dust!

Yet so it is--and the same thirst For something high and pure, above This withering world, which from the first Made me drink deep of woman's love-- As the one joy, to heaven most near Of all our hearts can meet with here-- Still burns me up, still keeps awake A fever naught but death can slake.

Farewell; whatever may befall-- Or bright, or dark--thou'lt know it all.

[1] The Ibis.

[2] Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the south of Memphis.

[3] These Songs of the Well, as they were called by the ancients, are still common in the Greek isles.

LETTER IV.