Book 2 — BEAUTIE.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. E. J. EAMES.
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Thou wert a worship in the ages olden,
Thou bright-veiled image of divinity;
Crowned with such gleams, imperial and golden,
As Phidias gave to Immortality!
A type exquisite of the pure Ideal,
Forth shadowed in perfect loveliness—
Embodied and existent in the Real,
A peerless shape to kneel before, and bless!
With the world’s childhood didst thou spring to being!
A thing of light!—a felt divinity!
A stainless spirit, born of Love undying,
Nurst in that Eden of an earlier day.
Thence wandering on the morn of thy awakening,
Like a Dream-vision through the world didst go,
Filling its darkness with bright things, and making
The wild waste blossom, and the desert glow.
Still o’er the Earth, thy shining foot-prints tarry,
Upon the mountain-tops thy step yet strays;
Through the rich woods thy rainbow plume floats airy,
And on the sea thy form of glory plays!
Thy purple pinions fan the brow of morning;
Thy sun-bright splendors on the noonday rest,
Eve wears the silvery veil of thy adorning,
And night by thee in queenly robes is drest.
Oh, Beautie! still doth thy bright spirit linger
In the green vale where Jove was nurst of old:
Where the Babe Thunderer listened to the singer
Of “many-fountained Ida,” as ’tis told!
Still hauntest thou the violet-crowned city—
The Trojan Mountain, and the Cretan Hill?
Wanders thy soul yet, in the Syren’s ditty—
Speaks forth thy heart from the Lost Glory still?
We have rare legends of thy marvelous presence—
In Egypt’s Queen and bright Zenobia’s form;
In lovelorn Sappho thrilled thine airiest essence—
In proud Aspasia’s intellectual charm!
Nor was thy soul (through Raphael’s pencil) wanting
In Fornarina’s soft seraphic face!
And, thanks to Petrarch, Laura’s form is haunting
Our hearts with dreams of rare and breathing grace.
Once more! thou art the well-beloved of Nature!
Thine empire sweet, is o’er the grand old earth;
And well thy soft hand printeth on each feature
The brightness of thine own Immortal birth!
Thou touchest with rich hues and scents the blossom;
With emerald lines thou pencilest each leaf;
Pearlest with dew the lonely flower-bells bosom,
And flingest thy glory o’er the golden sheaf.
Joy to thy presence, all-pervading spirit!
Well may we worship at thy magic shrine;
There is no gift that mortals may inherit
So favored and god-blest, and dear as thine.
And still to me, thy worshiper, oh, Beautie!
Come as a guest divine—an angel-friend;
Give me to see thee, in each darker duty,
And radiate my life-path to the end!