"Or the soft note in which his dear lament The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress That turned his weary slumber to content; "So knew I in that light's severe excess The presence of that shape which on the stream Moved, as I moved along the wilderness, "More dimly than a day-appearing dream, The ghost of a forgotten form of sleep; A light of heaven, whose half-extinguished beam Through the sick day in which we wake to weep, Glimmers, for ever sought, for ever lost; "Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; But the new Vision, and the cold bright car, With solemn speed and stunning music, crost "The forest, and as if from some dread war Triumphantly returning, the loud million Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star. "A moving arch of victory, the vermilion And green and azure plumes of Iris had Built high over her wind-wingèd pavilion, "And underneath ethereal glory clad The wilderness, and far before her flew The tempest of the splendour, which forbade "Shadow to fall from leaf and stone; the crew Seemed in that light, like atomies to dance Within a sunbeam; some upon the new Embroidery of flowers, that did enhance The grassy vesture of the desert, played, Forgetful of the chariot's swift advance; "Others stood gazing, till within the shade Of the great mountain its light left them dim; Others outspeeded it; and others made "Circles around it, like the clouds that swim Round the high moon in a bright sea of air; And more did follow, with exulting hymn, "The chariot and the captives fettered there :— But all like bubbles on an eddying flood Fell into the same track at last, and were "Borne onward. — I among the multitude Was swept-me, sweetest flowers delayed not long; Me, not the shadow nor the solitude; Me, not that falling stream's Lethean song; Me, not the phantom of that early form, Which moved upon its motion- but among "The thickest billows of that living storm I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime Of that cold light, whose airs too soon de form. 306 "Before the chariot had begun to climb The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme "Of him who from the lowest depths of hell, Through every paradise and through all glory, Love led serene, and who returned to tell "The words of hate and awe; the wondrous story How all things are transfigured except Love; For deaf as is a sea, which wrath makes hoary, "The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers — A wonder worthy of his rhyme. - The grove "Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was gray with phantoms, and the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers "A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bringing, ere evening, Strange night upon some Indian isle; — thus were "Phantoms diffused around; and some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them; some like eaglets on the wing "Were lost in the white day; others like elves Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes Upon the sunny streams and grassy shelves; "And others sate chattering like restless apes On vulgar hands, . . . Some made a cradle of the ermined capes "Of kingly mantles; some across the tiar Of pontiffs sate like vultures; others played Under the crown which girt with empire |
