Mingling with thy soft breath! That morning too, Heard them, unchecked by aught of saddening hue, XXVIII. THE PILLAR OF TRAJAN. WHERE towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds From death the memory of the good and brave. -So, pleased with purple clusters to entwine Borne by the Muse from rills in shepherds' ears Murmuring but one smooth story for all years, I gladly commune with the mind and heart Of him who thus survives by classic art, His actions witness, venerate his mien, And study Trajan as by Pliny seen; Behold how fought the Chief whose conquering sword Stretched far as earth might own a single lord ; In the delight of moral prudence schooled, Memorial Pillar! 'mid the wrecks of Time Spirit in him pre-eminent, who guides, That, when his age was measured with his aim, Where now the haughty Empire that was spread With such fond hope? her very speech is dead; Yet glorious Art the power of Time defies, And Trajan still, through various enterprise, Mounts, in this fine illusion, toward the skies: Still are we present with the imperial Chief, Nor cease to gaze upon the bold Relief Till Rome, to silent marble 'unconfined, Becomes with all her years a vision of the Mind. THE EGYPTIAN MAID; OR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. [For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table;" for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.] Yet is there cause for gushing tears; So richly was this Galley laden, A fairer than herself she bore, A lovely One, who nothing hears Of wind or wave-a meek and guileless Maiden. Into a cave had Merlin fled From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered; And while, repentant all too late, In moody posture there he sate, He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head, A Visitant by whom these words were uttered; "On Christian service this frail Bark Though on her prow a sign of heathen power Her course was for the British strand; Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; And to Caerleon's loftiest tower Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table And all will weep who there attend, Shame! should a Child of royal line A gentle Sorceress, and benign, Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice. "What boots," continued she, " to mourn? My pearly Boat, a shining Light, The very swiftest of thy cars And, if that fail, consult the Stars To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady." This scarcely spoken, she again Soon did the gentle Nina reach But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach Sad relique, but how fair the while! Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile No quest was hers of vague desire, But with closed eyes,-of breath and bloom forsaken. Then Nina, stooping down, embraced, The turmoil hushed, celestial springs With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth, And Nina heard a sweeter voice Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken: "Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none Less pure in spirit could have done; Go, in thy enterprise rejoice! Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken." So cheered, she left that Island bleak, Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek Fleet was their course, and when they came Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood, But where attends thy chariot-where?"— Quoth Merlin, "Even as I was bidden, So have I done; as trusty as thy barge My vehicle shall prove-O precious Charge! If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair! Much have my books disclosed, but the end is hidden." He spake; and gliding into view Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber (Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. Once more did gentle Nina lift The Princess, passive to all changes: Into the ethereal element The Birds with progress smooth and swift As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges. Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side, Instructs the Swans their way to measure; Said Merlin, "Mighty King, fair Lords, "Though vast thy power, thy words are weak," Exclaimed the King, "a mockery hateful; Dutiful Child, her lot how hard! Is this her piety's reward? Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek! O winds without remorse! O shore ungrateful! Rich robes are fretted by the moth; A Father's sorrow for her fate? He will repent him of his troth; His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder. Alas! and I have caused this woe; For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours Had freed his Realm, he plighted word That he would turn to Christ our Lord, And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow Whom I should choose for love and matchless labours. Her birth was heathen; but a fence So fair, of such divine report And worship, seemed a recompense For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered. Ask not for whom, O Champions true! Is now a corse: then put aside Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance due Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her." "The tomb," said Merlin, "may not close To check this pious haste of erring duty. My books command me to lay bare What Bridegroom was for her ordained by And in my glass significants there are Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping. For this, approaching, One by One, Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging, May teach him to bewail his loss; Of purposes which no false thought shall cross, A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises." "So be it," said the King;-"anon, Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial; Knights each in order as ye stand Step forth."-To touch the pallid hand Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won From Heaven or earth;-Sir Kaye had like denial. Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away; Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure ; Imagine (but ye Saints! who can ?) That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled. What patient confidence was here! And there how many bosoms panted! While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed For tournament, his beaver vailed, And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer And high expectancy, no sign was granted. Next, disencumbered of his harp, Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued No change; the fair Izonda he had wooed With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp, From hope too distant, not to dread another. Not so Sir Launcelot ;-from Heaven's grace A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition; The royal Guinever looked passing glad When his touch failed.-Next came Sir Galahad; He paused, and stood entranced by that still face Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. |