The Death-Wake Part 4

And, for a h.e.l.l of agony--a h.e.l.l Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things, On dreams, ideas, and imaginings.

And some were raving on philosophy, And some on love, and some on jealousy, And some upon the moon; and these were they That were the wildest; and anon alway Julio knew them by a something dim About their wasted features like to him!

But Death was by, like sh.e.l.l of pyramid Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head Shook o'er the wiery ribs, where darkness lay The image of a heart--He is away!

And Julio is watching, like Remorse, Over the pale and solitary corse!

Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew From your eternal blossoms! and thou, too, Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen!

That hast a slave and votary within The great rock-fetter'd deeps, and hearest cry To thee the hungry surges, rushing by Like a vast herd of wolves,--fall full and fair On Julio as he sleepeth, even there, Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!-- Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed knee With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain Of this death-lover?--Still the eyes do strain Their orbs on Agathe--those raven eyes!

All earnest on the ladye as she lies In her white shroud. They see not, though they are As if they saw; no splendour like a star Is under their dark lashes: they are full Of dream and slumber--melancholy, dull!

A wide, wide sea! and on its rear and van Amid the stars, the silent meteors ran All that still night, and Julio with a cry Woke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by.

Full three times three, its awful veil of night Hath Heaven hung before the blessed light; And a fair breeze falls o'er the sleeping sea, Where Julio is watching Agathe!

By sun and darkness hath he bent him over-- A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover!

And hardly hath he tasted, night or day, Of drink or food, because of Agathe!

He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood, Like statue in a ruin'd solitude, Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shade Over the marble of some colonnade.

The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hue Upon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grew Luxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness, That once were floating in the pure recess Of her bright soul. These are not as they were, But are as weeds above a sepulchre, Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are now Sunk deeply under the discolour'd brow, That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue, Unnaturally blending. The same hue Is on her cheek: it is the early breath Of cold Corruption, the ban dog of Death, Falling upon her features.--Let it be, And gaze awhile on Julio, as he Is gazing on the corse of Agathe!

In truth, he seemeth like no living one, But is the image of a skeleton: A fearful portrait from the artist tool Of Madness--terrible and wonderful!

There was no pa.s.sion there--no feeling traced Under those eyelids, where had run to waste, All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright; A very cloud was cast upon their light, That gave to them the heavy hue of lead; And they were lorn, and l.u.s.treless, and dead!

He sate like vulture from the mountains gray, Unsated, that had flown full many a day O'er distant land and sea, and was in pride Alighted by the lonely ladye's side.

He sate like winter o'er the wasted year-- Like melancholy winter, drawing near To its own death.--"Oh me! the worm, at last, Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast Howl by!--Where?--where?--there is no worm to creep Amid the waters of the lonely deep; But I will take me Agathe upon This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon, Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go, Unepitaph'd, to cities far below; Where the sea triton, with his winding sh.e.l.l, Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell With many a mariner in his pearly home, In bowers of amber weed and silver foam, Amid the crimson corals; we shall be Together, Agathe! fair Agathe!-- But thou art sickly, ladye--thou art sad; And I am weary, ladye--I am mad!

They bring no food to feed us, and I feel A frost upon my vitals, very chill, Like winter breaking on the golden year Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier, And the dark waves our mourners; and the white, Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright On some far isle, shall sorrowfully pour Their wail of melancholy o'er and o'er, At evening, on the waters of the sea,-- While, with its solemn burden, silently, Floats forward our lone bark.--Oh, Agathe!

Methinks that I shall meet thee far away, Within the awful centre of the earth, Where, earliest, we had our holy birth-- In some huge cavern, arching wide below, Upon whose airy pivot, years ago, The world went round: 'tis infinitely deep, But never dismal; for above it sleep, And under it, blue waters, hung aloof, And held below,--an amethystine roof, A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun, Afar, looks through alternately, like one That watches round some treasure: often, too, Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through, Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously, Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea!"

"And there are shafted pillars, that beyond, Are ranged before a rock of diamond, Awfully heaving its eternal heights, From base of silver strewn with chrysolites; And over it are chasms of glory seen, With crimson rubies cl.u.s.tering between, On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl, And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl.

So Agathe!--but thou art sickly sad, And tellest me, poor Julio is mad-- Ay, mad!--was he not madder when he sware A vow to Heaven? was there no madness there, That he should do--for why?--a holy string Of penances? No penances will bring The stricken conscience to the blessed light Of peace,--Oh! I am lost, and there is night, Despair and darkness, darkness and despair, And want, that hunts me to the lion-lair Of wild perdition: and I hear them all-- All cursing me! The very sun-rays fall In curses, and the shadow of the moon, And the pale star light, and the winds that tune Their voices to the music of the sea,-- And thou,--yes, thou! my gentle Agathe!-- All curse me!--Oh! that I were never, never!-- Or but a breathless fancy, that was ever Adrift upon the wilderness of Time, That knew no impulse, but was left sublime To play at its own will!--that I were hush'd At night by silver cataracts, that gush'd Through flowers of fairy hue, and then to die Away, with all before me pa.s.sing by, Like a fair vision I had lived to see, And died to see no more!--It cannot be!

By this right hand! I feel it is not so, And by the beating of a heart below, That strangely feareth for eternity!"

He said, and gazing on the lonely sea, Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud, To westward, a bright island, lifted proud Amid the struggling waters, and the light Of the great sun was on its clifted height, Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror; But the gigantic billows sprung in terror Upon its rock-built and eternal sh.o.r.e, With silver foams that fell in fury o'er A thousand sunny breakers. Far above, There stood a wild and solitary grove Of aged pines, all leafless but their brows, Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughs Was waving now and then, and to and fro, And the pale moss was cl.u.s.tering below.

Then Julio saw, and bent his head away To the cold wasted corse of Agathe, And sigh'd; but ever he would turn again A gaze to that green island on the main.

The bark is drifting through the surf, beside Its rocks of gray upon the coming tide; And lightly is it stranded on the sh.o.r.e Of pure and silver sh.e.l.ls, that lie before, Glittering in the glory of the sun; And Julio hath landed him, like one That aileth of some wild and weary pest; And Agathe is folded on his breast,-- A faded flower! with all the vernal dews From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues Become as colourless as twilight air-- I marvel much, that she was ever fair!

CHIMERA III

Another moon! and over the blue night She bendeth, like a holy spirit bright, Through stars that veil them in their wings of gold; As on she floateth with her image cold Enamell'd on the deep. A sail of cloud Is to her left, majestically proud!

Trailing its silver drapery away In thin and fairy webs, that are at play Like stormless waves upon a summer sea Dragging their length of waters lazily.

Ay! to the rocks! and thou wilt see, I wist, A lonely one, that bendeth in the mist Of moonlight, with a wild and raven pall Flung round him. Is he mortal man at all?

For, by the meagre fire-light that is under Those eyelids, and the vizor shade of wonder Falling upon his features, I would guess, Of one that wanders out of blessedness!

Julio! raise thee!--By the holy ma.s.s!

I wot not of the fearless one would pa.s.s Thy wizard shadow. Where the raven hair Was shorn before, in many a matted layer It lieth now; and on a rock beside The sea, like merman at the ebb of tide, Feasting his wondrous vision on Decay, So art thou gazing over Agathe!

Ah me! but this is never the fair girl, With brow of light, as lovely as a pearl, That was as beautiful as is the form Of sea-bird at the breaking of a storm.

The eye is open, with convulsive strain-- A most unfleshly orb! the stars that wane Have nothing of its hue; for it is cast With sickly blood, and terribly aghast!

And sunken in its socket, like the light Of a red taper in the lonely night!

And there is not a braid of her bright hair But lieth floating in the moonlight air, Like the long moss, beside a silver spring, In elfin tresses, sadly murmuring.

The worm hath 'gan to crawl upon her brow-- The living worm! and with a ripple now, Like that upon the sea, are heard below, The slimy swarms all ravening as they go, Amid the stagnate vitals, with a rush; And one might hear them echoing the hush Of Julio, as he watches by the side Of the dead ladye, his betrothed bride!

And, ever and anon, a yellow group Was creeping on her bosom, like a troop Of stars, far up amid the galaxy, Pale, pale, as snowy showers; and two or three Were mocking the cold finger, round and round, With likeness of a ring; and, as they wound About its bony girth, they had the hue Of pearly jewels glistering in dew.

That deathly stare! it is an awful thing To gaze upon; and sickly thoughts will spring Before it to the heart: it telleth how There must be waste where there is beauty now.

The chalk! the chalk! where was the virgin snow Of that once heaving bosom!--even so,-- The cold pale dewy chalk, with yellow shade Amid the leprous hues; and o'er it played The straggling moonlight, and the merry breeze, Like two fair elves, that, by the murmuring seas, Woo'd smilingly together; but there fell No life-gleam on the brow, all terrible Becoming, through its beauty, like a cloud That waneth paler even than a shroud, All gorgeous and all glorious before; For waste, like to the wanton night, was o'er Her virgin features, stealing them away-- Ah me! ah me! and this is Agathe?

"Enough! enough! Oh G.o.d! but I have pray'd To thee, in early daylight and in shade, And the mad curse is on me still--and still!

I cannot alter the Eternal will-- But--but--I hate thee, Agathe! I hate What lunacy hath bade me consecrate: I am _not_ mad!--_not now!_--I do not feel That slumberous and blessed opiate steal Up to my brain--Oh! that it only would, To people this eternal solitude With fancies, and fair dreams, and summer mirth, Which is not now--And yet, my mother earth, I would not love to lie above thee so, As Agathe lies there--oh! no! no! no!

To have these clay-worms feast upon my heart!

And all the light of being, to depart Into a dismal shadow! I could die As the red lightnings, quenching amid sky Their wild and wizard breath; I could away, Like a blue billow, bursting into spray; But, never--never have corruption here, To feed her worms, and let the sunlight jeer Above me so.--'Tis thou!--I owe thee, Moon, To-night's fair worship; so be lifting soon Thy veil of clouds, that I may kneel, as one That seeketh for thy virgin benison!"

He gathers the cold limpets, as they creep On the grey rocks beside the lonely deep; And with a flint breaks through into the sh.e.l.l, And feeds him--by the ma.s.s! he feasteth well.

And he hath lifted water in a clam, And tasted sweetly, from a stream that swam Down to the sea; and now is turn'd away, Again, again, to gaze on Agathe!

There is a cave upon that isle--a cave Where dwelt a hermit man; the winter wave Roll'd to its entrance, casting a bright mound Of snowy sh.e.l.ls and fairy pebbles round; And over were the solemn ridges strewn Of a dark rock, that, like the wizard throne Of some sea-monarch, stood, and from it hung Wild thorn and bramble, in confusion flung Amid the startling crevices--like sky, Through gloom of clouds, that sweep in thunder by.

A cataract fell over, in a streak Of silver, playing many a wanton freak; Midway, and musical, with elfin glee It bounded in its beauty to the sea, Like dazzling angel vanishing away.

In sooth, 'twas pleasant in the moonlight gray To see that fairy fountain leaping so, Like one that knew not wickedness nor woe!

The hermit had his cross and rosary; I ween like other hermits, so was he; A holy man, and frugal, and at night He prayed, or slept, or, sometimes, by the light Of the fair moon, went wandering beside The lonely sea, to hear the silver tide Rolling in gleesome music to the sh.o.r.e: The more he heard, he loved to hear the more.

And there he is, his h.o.a.ry beard adrift To the night winds, that sportingly do lift Its snow-white tresses; and he leaneth on A rugged staff, all weakly and alone, A childless, friendless man!

He is beside The ghastly Julio, and his ghastlier bride.

'Twas wondrous strange to gaze upon the two!

And the old hermit felt a throbbing through His pulses:--"Holy virgin! save me, save!"

He deem'd of spectre from the midnight wave, And cross'd him thrice, and pray'd, and pray'd again:-- "Hence! hence!" and Julio started, as the strain Of exorcisms fell faintly on his ear:-- "I knew thee, father, that thou beest here, To gaze upon this girl, as I have been.

By yonder moon! it was a frantic sin To worship so an image of the clay; It was like beauty--but is now away-- What lived upon her features, like the light On yonder cloud, all tender and all bright; But it is faded as the other must, And she that was all beauty, is all dust."

"Father! thy hand upon this brow of mine, And tell me, is it cold?--But she will twine No wreath upon these temples,--never, never!

For there she lieth, like a streamless river That stagnates in its bed. Feel, feel me, here, If I be madly throbbing in the fear For that cold slimy worm. Ay! look and see How dotingly it feeds, how pleasantly!

And where it is, have been the living hues Of beauty, purer than the very dews.

So, father! seest thou that yonder moon Will be on wane to-morrow, soon and soon?

And I, that feel my being wear away, Shall droop beside to darkness; so, but say A prayer for the dead, when I am gone, And let the azure tide that floweth on Cover us lightly with its murmuring surf Like a green sward of melancholy turf.

Thou mayest, if thou wilt, thou mayest rear A cenotaph on this lone island here, Of some rude mossy stone, below a tree, And carve an olden rhyme for her and me Upon its brow."

He bends, and gazes yet Before his ghastly bride! the anch.o.r.et Sate by him, and hath press'd a cross of wood To his wan lips.