Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain, What exultations trampling on despair, What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, Uprose this poem of the earth and air, This medieval miracle of song!
III
I enter, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine!
And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine.
The air is filled with some unknown perfume;The congregation of the dead make room For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine;Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb.
From the confessionals I hear arise Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the crypts below;And then a voice celestial, that begins With the pathetic words, "Although your sins As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow."IV
With snow-white veil and garments as of flame, She stands before thee, who so long ago Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe From which thy song and all its splendors came;And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name, The ice about thy heart melts as the snow On mountain height; and in swift overflow Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame.
Thou makest full confession; and a gleam, As of the dawn on some dark forest cast, Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase;Lethe and Eunoe--the remembered dream And the forgotten sorrow--bring at last That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.
V
I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze With forms of saints and holy men who died, Here martyred and hereafter glorified;And the great Rose upon its leaves displays Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays, With splendor upon splendor multiplied;And Beatrice again at Dante's side No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise.
And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love, And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;And the melodious bells among the spires O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above Proclaim the elevation of the Host!
VI
O star of morning and of liberty!
O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines Above the darkness of the Apennines, Forerunner of the day that is to be!
The voices of the city and the sea, The voices of the mountains and the pines, Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines Are footpaths for the thought of Italy!
Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, Through all the nations, and a sound is heard, As of a mighty wind, and men devout, Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes, In their own language hear thy wondrous word, And many are amazed and many doubt.
NOEL.
ENVOYE A M.AGASSIZ, LA VEILLE DE NOEL 1864, AVEC UN PANIER DE VINS DIVERSL'Academie en respect, Nonobstant l'incorrection A la faveur du sujet, Ture-lure, N'y fera point de rature;Noel! ture-lure-lure.
-- Gui BarozaiQuand les astres de Noel Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, "Bons amis, Allons donc chez Agassiz!"Ces illustres Pelerins D'Outre-Mer adroits et fins, Se donnant des airs de pretre, A l'envi se vantaient d'etre "Bons amis, De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz!"Oeil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, Sans reproche et sans pudeur, Dans son patois de Bourgogne, Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, "Bons amis, J'ai danse chez Agassiz!"Verzenay le Champenois, Bon Francais, point New-Yorquois, Mais des environs d'Avize, Fredonne a mainte reprise, "Bons amis, J'ai chante chez Agassiz!"A cote marchait un vieux Hidalgo, mais non mousseux;Dans le temps de Charlemagne Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne!
"Bons amis, J'ai dine chez Agassiz!"
Derriere eux un Bordelais, Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, Parfume de poesie Riait, chantait, plein de vie, "Bons amis, J'ai soupe chez Agassiz!"Avec ce beau cadet roux, Bras dessus et bras dessous, Mine altiere et couleur terne, Vint le Sire de Sauterne;"Bons amis, J'ai couche chez Agassiz!"
Mais le dernier de ces preux, Etait un pauvre Chartreux, Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, "Benedictions sur le Juste!
Bons amis, Benissons Pere Agassiz!"
Ils arrivent trois a trois, Montent l'escalier de bois Clopin-clopant! quel gendarme Peut permettre ce vacarme, Bons amis, A la porte d'Agassiz!
"Ouvrer donc, mon bon Seigneur, Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur;Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes Gens de bien et gentilshommes, Bons amis De la famille Agassiz!"Chut, ganaches! taisez-vous!
C'en est trop de vos glouglous;
Epargnez aux Philosophes Vos abominables strophes!
Bons amis, Respectez mon Agassiz!
**************
BIRDS OF PASSAGE
FLIGHT THE THIRD
FATA MORGANA
O sweet illusions of Song, That tempt me everywhere, In the lonely fields, and the throng Of the crowded thoroughfare!
I approach, and ye vanish away, I grasp you, and ye are gone;But ever by nigh an day, The melody soundeth on.
As the weary traveller sees In desert or prairie vast, Blue lakes, overhung with trees, That a pleasant shadow cast;Fair towns with turrets high, And shining roofs of gold, That vanish as he draws nigh, Like mists together rolled,--So I wander and wander along, And forever before me gleams The shining city of song, In the beautiful land of dreams.
But when I would enter the gate Of that golden atmosphere, It is gone, and I wander and wait For the vision to reappear.
THE HAUNTED CHAMBER
Each heart has its haunted chamber, Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps, There are whispers along the walls!
And mine at times is haunted By phantoms of the Past As motionless as shadows By the silent moonlight cast.
A form sits by the window, That is not seen by day, For as soon as the dawn approaches It vanishes away.
It sits there in the moonlight Itself as pale and still, And points with its airy finger Across the window-sill.
Without before the window, There stands a gloomy pine, Whose boughs wave upward and downward As wave these thoughts of mine.
And underneath its branches Is the grave of a little child, Who died upon life's threshold, And never wept nor smiled.
What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
