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Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

Page 62

by Thomas Moore


  Brightened the desert suddenly,

  Even to the far horizon’s line —

  Along whose level I could see

  Gardens and groves that seemed to shine

  As if then o’er them freshly played

  A vernal rainbow’s rich cascade;

  And music floated every where,

  Circling, as ‘twere itself the air,

  And spirits on whose wings the hue

  Of heaven still lingered round me flew,

  Till from all sides such splendors broke,

  That with the excess of light I woke!

  Such was my dream; — and I confess

  Tho’ none of all our creedless school

  E’er conned, believed, or reverenced less

  The fables of the priest-led fool

  Who tells us of a soul, a mind,

  Separate and pure within us shrined,

  Which is to live — ah, hope too bright! —

  For ever in yon fields of light;

  Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes

  Of Gods are on him — as if blest

  And blooming in their own blue skies

  The eternal Gods were not too wise

  To let weak man disturb their rest! —

  Tho’ thinking of such creeds as thou

  And all our Garden sages think,

  Yet is there something, I allow,

  In dreams like this — a sort of link

  With worlds unseen which from the hour

  I first could lisp my thoughts till now

  Hath mastered me with spell-like power.

  And who can tell, as we’re combined

  Of various atoms — some refined,

  Like those that scintillate and play

  In the fixt stars — some gross as they

  That frown in clouds or sleep in clay —

  Who can be sure but ’tis the best

  And brightest atoms of our frame,

  Those most akin to stellar flame,

  That shine out thus, when we’re at rest; —

  Even as the stars themselves whose light

  Comes out but in the silent night.

  Or is it that there lurks indeed

  Some truth in Man’s prevailing creed

  And that our Guardians from on high

  Come in that pause from toil and sin

  To put the senses’ curtain by

  And on the wakeful soul look in!

  Vain thought! — but yet, howe’er it be,

  Dreams more than once have proved to me

  Oracles, truer far than Oak

  Or Dove or Tripod ever spoke.

  And ’twas the words — thou’lt hear and smile —

  The words that phantom seemed to speak —

  “Go and beside the sacred Nile

  “You’ll find the Eternal Life you seek” —

  That haunting me by night, by day,

  At length as with the unseen hand

  Of Fate itself urged me away

  From Athens to this Holy Land;

  Where ‘mong the secrets still untaught,

  The mysteries that as yet nor sun

  Nor eye hath reached — oh, blessed thought! —

  May sleep this everlasting one.

  Farewell — when to our Garden friends

  Thou talk’st of the wild dream that sends

  The gayest of their school thus far,

  Wandering beneath Canopus’ star,

  Tell them that wander where he will

  Or howsoe’er they now condemn

  His vague and vain pursuit he still

  Is worthy of the School and them; —

  Still all their own — nor e’er forgets

  Even while his heart and soul pursue

  The Eternal Light which never sets,

  The many meteor joys that do,

  But seeks them, hails them with delight

  Where’er they meet his longing sight.

  And if his life must wane away

  Like other lives at least the day,

  The hour it lasts shall like a fire

  With incense fed in sweets expire.

  LETTER II.

  FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

  Memphis.

  ’Tis true, alas — the mysteries and the lore

  I came to study on this, wondrous shore.

  Are all forgotten in the new delights.

  The strange, wild joys that fill my days and nights.

  Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak

  From subterranean temples, those I seek

  Come from the breathing shrines where Beauty lives,

  And Love, her priest, the soft responses gives.

  Instead of honoring Isis in those rites

  At Coptos held, I hail her when she lights

  Her first young crescent on the holy stream —

  When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam

  And number o’er the nights she hath to run,

  Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun.

  While o’er some mystic leaf that dimly lends

  A clew into past times the student bends,

  And by its glimmering guidance learns to tread

  Back thro’ the shadowy knowledge of the dead —

  The only skill, alas, I yet can claim

  Lies in deciphering some new loved-one’s name —

  Some gentle missive hinting time and place,

  In language soft as Memphian reed can trace.

  And where — oh where’s the heart that could withstand

  The unnumbered witcheries of this sun-born land,

  Where first young Pleasure’s banner was unfurled

  And Love hath temples ancient as the world!

  Where mystery like the veil by Beauty worn

  Hides but to win and shades but to adorn;

  Where that luxurious melancholy born

  Of passion and of genius sheds a gloom

  Making joy holy; — where the bower and tomb

  Stand side by side and Pleasure learns from Death

  The instant value of each moment’s breath.

  Couldst thou but see how like a poet’s dream

  This lovely land now looks! — the glorious stream

  That late between its banks was seen to glide

  ‘Mong shrines and marble cities on each side

  Glittering like jewels strung along a chain

  Hath now sent forth its waters, and o’er plain

  And valley like a giant from his bed

  Rising with outstretched limbs hath grandly spread.

  While far as sight can reach beneath as clear

  And blue a heaven as ever blest our sphere,

  Gardens and pillared streets and porphyry domes

  And high-built temples fit to be the homes

  Of mighty Gods, and pyramids whose hour

  Outlasts all time above the waters tower!

  Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy that make

  One theatre of this vast, peopled lake,

  Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives

  Of life and motion ever moves and lives.

  Here, up the steps of temples from the wave

  Ascending in procession slow and grave.

  Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands

  And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands;

  While there, rich barks — fresh from those sunny tracts

  Far off beyond the sounding cataracts —

  Glide with their precious lading to the sea,

  Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory,

  Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains

  Of gold washed down by Abyssinian rains.

  Here where the waters wind into a bay

  Shadowy and cool some pilgrims on their way

  To Saïs or Bubastus among beds

  Of lotus flowers that close above their heads

  Push their light barks, and there as in a bower,
r />   Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour;

  Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with heat,

  That leaf from which its waters drink most sweet. —

  While haply not far off beneath a bank

  Of blossoming acacias many a prank

  Is played in the cool current by a train

  Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,1 whose chain

  Around two conquerors of the world was cast,

  But, for a third too feeble, broke at last.

  For oh! believe not them who dare to brand

  As poor in charms the women of this land.

  Tho’ darkened by that sun whose spirit flows

  Thro’ every vein and tinges as it goes,

  ’Tis but the embrowning of the fruit that tells

  How rich within the soul of ripeness dwells —

  The hue their own dark sanctuaries wear,

  Announcing heaven in half-caught glimpses there.

  And never yet did tell-tale looks set free

  The secret of young hearts more tenderly.

  Such eyes! — long, shadowy, with that languid fall

  Of the fringed lids which may be seen in all

  Who live beneath the sun’s too ardent rays —

  Lending such looks as on their marriage days

  Young maids cast down before a bridegroom’s gaze!

  Then for their grace — mark but the nymph-like shapes

  Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes

  From green Anthylla or light urns of flowers —

  Not our own Sculpture in her happiest hours

  E’er imaged forth even at the touch of him2

  Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb!

  Then, canst thou wonder if mid scenes like these

  I should forget all graver mysteries,

  All lore but Love’s, all secrets but that best

  In heaven or earth, the art of being blest!

  Yet are there times — tho’ brief I own their stay,

  Like summer-clouds that shine themselves away —

  Moments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall

  Upon my saddening heart and I recall

  That garden dream — that promise of a power,

  Oh, were there such! — to lengthen out life’s hour,

  On, on, as thro’ a vista far away

  Opening before us into endless day!

  And chiefly o’er my spirit did this thought

  Come on that evening — bright as ever brought

  Light’s golden farewell to the world — when first

  The eternal pyramids of Memphis burst

  Awfully on my sight-standing sublime

  Twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of Time,

  From whose lone summit when his reign hath past

  From earth for ever he will look his last!

  There hung a calm and solemn sunshine round

  Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound

  In the still air that circled them which stole

  Like music of past times into my soul.

  I thought what myriads of the wise and brave

  And beautiful had sunk into the grave,

  Since earth first saw these wonders — and I said

  “Are things eternal only for the Dead?

  “Hath Man no loftier hope than this which dooms

  “His only lasting trophies to be tombs?

  “But ’tis not so — earth, heaven, all nature shows

  “He may become immortal — may unclose

  “The wings within him wrapt, and proudly rise

  “Redeemed from earth, a creature of the skies!

  “And who can say, among the written spells

  “From Hermes’ hand that in these shrines and cells

  “Have from the Flood lay hid there may not be

  “Some secret clew to immortality,

  “Some amulet whose spell can keep life’s fire

  “Awake within us never to expire!

  “’Tis known that on the Emerald Table, hid

  “For ages in yon loftiest pyramid,

  “The Thrice-Great3 did himself engrave of old

  “The chymic mystery that gives endless gold.

  “And why may not this mightier secret dwell

  “Within the same dark chambers? who can tell

  “But that those kings who by the written skill

  “Of the Emerald Table called forth gold at will

  “And quarries upon quarries heapt and hurled,

  “To build them domes that might outstand the world —

  “Who knows, but that the heavenlier art which shares

  “The life of Gods with man was also theirs —

  “That they themselves, triumphant o’er the power

  “Of fate and death, are living at this hour;

  “And these, the giant homes they still possess.

  “Not tombs but everlasting palaces

  “Within whose depths hid from the world above

  “Even now they wander with the few they love,

  “Thro’ subterranean gardens, by a light

  “Unknown on earth which hath nor dawn nor night!

  “Else, why those deathless structures? why the grand

  “And hidden halls that undermine this land?

  “Why else hath none of earth e’er dared to go

  “Thro’ the dark windings of that realm below,

  “Nor aught from heaven itself except the God

  “Of Silence thro’ those endless labyrinths trod?”

  Thus did I dream — wild, wandering dreams, I own,

  But such as haunt me ever, if alone,

  Or in that pause ‘twixt joy and joy I be,

  Like a ship husht between two waves at sea.

  Then do these spirit whisperings like the sound

  Of the Dark Future come appalling round;

  Nor can I break the trance that holds me then,

  Till high o’er Pleasure’s surge I mount again!

  Even now for new adventure, new delight,

  My heart is on the wing; — this very night,

  The Temple on that island halfway o’er

  From Memphis’ gardens to the eastern shore

  Sends up its annual rite4 to her whose beams

  Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams;

  The nymph who dips her urn in silent lakes

  And turns to silvery dew each drop it takes; —

  Oh! not our Dian of the North who chains

  In vestal ice the current of young veins,

  But she who haunts the gay Bubastian5 grove

  And owns she sees from her bright heaven above,

  Nothing on earth to match that heaven but Love.

  Think then what bliss will be abroad to-night! —

  Besides those sparkling nymphs who meet the sight

  Day after day, familiar as the sun,

  Coy buds of beauty yet unbreathed upon

  And all the hidden loveliness that lies, —

  Shut up as are the beams of sleeping eyes

  Within these twilight shrines — tonight shall be

  Let loose like birds for this festivity!

  And mark, ’tis nigh; already the sun bids

  His evening farewell to the Pyramids.

  As he hath done age after age till they

  Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray;

  While their great shadows stretching from the light

  Look like the first colossal steps of Night

  Stretching across the valley to invade

  The distant hills of porphyry with their shade.

  Around, as signals of the setting beam,

  Gay, gilded flags on every housetop gleam:

  While, hark! — from all the temples a rich swell

  Of music to the Moon — farewell — farewell.

  1 Cleopatra.

  2 Apellas.

  3 The Hermes Trismegistus.

 
; 4 The great Festival of the Moon.

  5 Bubastis, or Isis, was the Diana of the Egyptian mythology.

  LETTER III.

  FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

  Memphis.

  There is some star — or may it be

  That moon we saw so near last night —

  Which comes athwart my destiny

  For ever with misleading light.

  If for a moment pure and wise

  And calm I feel there quick doth fall

  A spark from some disturbing eyes,

  That thro’ my heart, soul, being flies,

  And makes a wildfire of it all.

  I’ve seen — oh, Cleon, that this earth

  Should e’er have given such beauty birth! —

  That man — but, hold — hear all that past

  Since yester-night from first to last.

  The rising of the Moon, calm, slow,

  And beautiful, as if she came

  Fresh from the Elysian bowers below,

  Was with a loud and sweet acclaim

  Welcomed from every breezy height,

  Where crowds stood waiting for her light.

  And well might they who viewed the scene

  Then lit up all around them, say

  That never yet had Nature been

  Caught sleeping in a lovelier ray

  Or rivalled her own noontide face

  With purer show of moonlight grace.

  Memphis — still grand, tho’ not the same

  Unrivalled Memphis that could seize

  From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame,

  And wear it bright thro’ centuries —

  Now, in the moonshine, that came down

  Like a last smile upon that crown.

  Memphis, still grand among her lakes,

  Her pyramids and shrines of fire,

  Rose like a vision that half breaks

  On one who dreaming still awakes

  To music from some midnight choir:

  While to the west — where gradual sinks

  In the red sands from Libya rolled.

  Some mighty column or fair sphynx,

  That stood in kingly courts of old —

  It seemed as, mid the pomps that shone

  Thus gayly round him Time looked on,

  Waiting till all now bright and blest,

  Should sink beneath him like the rest.

  No sooner had the setting sun

  Proclaimed the festal rite begun,

  And mid their idol’s fullest beams

  The Egyptian world was all afloat,

  Than I who live upon these streams

  Like a young Nile-bird turned my boat

  To the fair island on whose shores

  Thro’ leafy palms and sycamores

  Already shone the moving lights

  Of pilgrims hastening to the rites.

  While, far around like ruby sparks

  Upon the water, lighted barks,

 

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