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Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile
Of gorgeous columns on th' unburthen'd air,
Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile
Far down upon the wave that sparkled there,
And nursled the young mountain in its lair.
Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall
Thro' the ebon air, besilvering the pall
Of their own dissolution, while they die
Adorning then the dwellings of the sky.
A dome, by linked light from Heaven let down,
Sat gently on these columns as a crown
A window of one circular diamond, there,
Look'd out above into the purple air,
And rays from God shot down that meteor chain
And hallow'd all the beauty twice again,
Save when, between th' Empyrean and that ring,
Some eager spirit flapp'd his dusky wing.
But on the pillars Seraph eyes have seen
The dimness of this world: that greyish green
That Nature loves the best for Beauty's grave
Lurk'd in each cornice, round each architrave
And every sculptur'd cherub thereabout
That from his marble dwelling peered out,
Seem'd earthly in the shadow of his niche
Achaian statues in a world so rich?
Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis
From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss
Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave
Is now upon thee - but too late to save!
Sound loves to revel in a summer night:
Witness the murmur of the grey twilight
That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco,
Of many a wild star-gazer long ago
That stealeth ever on the ear of him
Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim.
And sees the darkness coming as a cloud
Is not its form - its voice - most palpable and loud?
But what is this?
– it cometh - and it brings
A music with it - 'tis the rush of wings
A pause - and then a sweeping, falling strain
And Nesace is in her halls again.
From the wild energy of wanton haste
Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart;
And zone that clung around her gentle waist
Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.
Within the centre of that hall to breathe
She paus'd and panted, Zanthe! all beneath,
The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair
And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there!
Young flowers were whispering in melody
To happy flowers that night - and tree to tree;
Fountains were gushing music as they fell
In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;
Yet silence came upon material things
Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings
And sound alone that from the spirit sprang
Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:
"'Neath blue-bell or streamer
Or tufted wild spray
That keeps, from the dreamer,
The moonbeam away
Bright beings! that ponder,
With half closing eyes,
On the stars which your wonder
Hath drawn from the skies,
Till they glance thro' the shade, and
Come down to your brow
Like - eyes of the maiden
Who calls on you now
Arise! from your dreaming
In violet bowers,
To duty beseeming
These star-litten hours
And shake from your tresses
Encumber'd with dew
The breath of those kisses
That cumber them too
(O! how, without you. Love!
Could angels be blest?)
Those kisses of true love
That lull'd ye to rest!
Up!
– shake from your wing
Each hindering thing:
The dew of the night
It would weight down your flight;
And true love caresses
O! leave them apart!
They are light on the tresses,
But lead on the heart.
Ligeia! Ligeia!
My beautiful one!
Whose harshest idea
Will to melody run,
O! is it thy will
On the breezes to toss?
Or, capriciously still,
Like the lone Albatross,
Incumbent on night
(As she on the air)
To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?
Ligeia! wherever
Thy image may be,
No magic shall sever
Thy music from thee.
Thou hast bound many eyes
In a dreamy sleep
But the strains still arise
Which _thy_ vigilance keep
The sound of the rain
Which leaps down to the flower,
And dances again
In the rhythm of the shower
The murmur that springs
From the growing of grass
Are the music of things
But are modell'd, alas!
Away, then my dearest,
O! hie thee away
To springs that lie clearest
Beneath the moon-ray
To lone lake that smiles,
In its dream of deep rest,
At the many star-isles
That enjewel its breast
Where wild flowers, creeping,
Have mingled their shade,
On its margin is sleeping
Full many a maid
Some have left the cool glade, and
Have slept with the bee