Or what was the service For which I was sold? When first my eyes saw thee, I found me thy thrall, By magical drawings, Sweet tyrant of all! I drank at thy fountain False waters of thirst; Thou intimate stranger,
Thou latest and first!
Thy dangerous glances
Make women of men; New-born, we are melting
Into nature again.'
Lavish, lavish promiser,
Nigh persuading gods to err!
Guest of million painted forms,
Which in turn thy glory warms! The frailest leaf, the mossy bark, The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc, The swinging spider's silver line, The ruby of the drop of wine, The shining pebble of the pond, Thou inscribest with a bond, In thy momentary play,
Would bankrupt nature to repay.
Ah, what avails it
To hide or to shun
Whom the Infinite One
Hath granted his throne? The heaven high over Is the deep's lover; The sun and sea, Informed by thee,
Before me run And draw me on, Yet fly me still,
As Fate refuses
To me the heart Fate for me chooses. Is it that my opulent soul
Was mingled from the generous whole; Sea-valleys and the deep of skies Furnished several supplies;
And the sands whereof I'm made Draw me to them, self-betrayed?
I turn the proud portfolio
Which holds the grand designs Of Salvator, of Guercino, And Piranesi's lines.'
I hear the lofty pæans Of the masters of the shell, Who heard the starry music And recount the numbers well; Olympian bards who sung Divine Ideas below,
Which always find us young And always keep us so.2
Oft, in streets or humblest places, I detect far-wandered graces, Which, from Eden wide astray, In lowly homes have lost their way.
Thee gliding through the sea of form, Like the lightning through the storm, Somewhat not to be possessed, Somewhat not to be caressed,
No feet so fleet could ever find, No perfect form could ever bind.3 Thou eternal fugitive, Hovering over all that live,
Quick and skilful to inspire Sweet, extravagant desire, Starry space and lily-bell
Filling with thy roseate smell,
Wilt not give the lips to taste
Of the nectar which thou hast.
All that's good and great with thee Works in close conspiracy;
Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely To report thy features only, And the cold and purple morning Itself with thoughts of thee adorning;
The leafy dell, the city mart,
Equal trophies of thine art;
E'en the flowing azure air
Thou hast touched for my despair; And, if I languish into dreams, Again I meet the ardent beams. Queen of things! I dare not die In Being's deeps past ear and eye; Lest there I find the same deceiver And be the sport of Fate forever. Dread Power, but dear! if God thou be, Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me! 1
GIVE all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good-fame,
Plans, credit and the Muse,— Nothing refuse.
'T is a brave master;
Let it have scope:
Follow it utterly, Hope beyond hope: High and more high It dives into noon, With wing unspent, Untold intent; But it is a god, Knows its own path
And the outlets of the sky.
It was never for the mean; It requireth courage stout. Souls above doubt, Valor unbending, It will reward,- They shall return More than they were, And ever ascending.
Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavor,—
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