AGATHÈ.—A NECROMAUNT.

IN THREE CHIMERAS.

———

BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO.

———

Chimera II.

A curse! a curse!—the beautiful pale wing

Of a sea-bird was worn with wandering,

And, on a sunny rock beside the shore

It stood, the golden waters gazing o’er,

And they were heaving a brown amber flow

Of weeds, that glittered gloriously below.

It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hall

Of heaven rose up on pillars magical

Of living silver, shafting the fair sky

Between dark time and great eternity.

They rose upon their pedestal of sun,

A line of snowy columns! and anon,

Were lost in the rich tracery of cloud

That hung along magnificently proud,

Predicting the pure star-light, that beyond

The East was armoring in diamond

About the camp of twilight, and was soon

To marshal under the fair champion moon,

That called her chariot of unearthly mist,

Toward her citadel of amethyst.

A curse! a curse!—a lonely man is there

By the deep waters, with a burden fair

Clasped in his wearied arras.—’Tis he; ’tis he

The brain-struck Julio and Agathè!

His cowl is back—flung back upon the breeze,⁠—

His lofty brow is haggard with disease,

As if a wild libation had been pour’d

Of lightning on those temples, and they shower’d

A dismal perspiration, like a rain,

Shook by the thunder and the hurricane!

He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed,

Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste,

The silent ladye, and he mutter’d wild,

Strange words, about a mother, and no child.

“And I shall wed thee, Agathè! although

Ours be no God—blest bride—even so!”

And from the sand he took a silver shell,

That had been wasted by the fall and swell

Of many a moon-borne tide into a ring⁠—

A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing,

Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died,

In ages far away.—“Thou art a bride,

Sweet Agathè! wake up; we must not linger.”

He press’d the ring upon her chilly finger,

And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone,

Shouted,—“Pale priest! that liest all alone

Upon thy ocean-altar, rise away

To our glad bridal!” and its wings of gray

All lazily it spread, and hover’d by

With a wild shriek—a melancholy cry!

Then swooping slowly o’er the heaving breast

Of the blue ocean, vanish’d in the west.

And Julio is chanting to his bride,

A merry song of his wild heart, that died

On the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea,

All rustling in their beauty gladsomely.

SONG.

A rosary of stars, love! we’ll count them as we go

Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below,

And we’ll o’er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea

In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee!

A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide

And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide!

And we’ll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen,

With shells of silver sown in radiancy between.

A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be,

Like spirits of pale pearl, in the bosom of the sea;

Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go,

Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below.

He lifted the dead girl, and is away

To where a light boat in its moorings lay,

Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hush

Of the nurse waters; with a frantic rush

O’er the wild field of tangles he hath sped,

And through the shoaling waves that fell and fled

Upon the furrow’d beach.

The snowy sail

Is hoisted to the gladly gushing gale,

That bosom’d its fair canvass with a breast

Of silver, looking lovely to the west;

And at the helm there sits the wither’d one,

Gazing and gazing on the sister nun,

With her fair tresses floating on his knee⁠—

The beautiful death-stricken Agathè!

Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stood

Out toward the great heaving solitude,

That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breath

Went through its lungs of agony and death!

The sun is lost within the labyrinth

Of clouds of purple and pale hyacinth,

That are the frontlet of the sister sky

Kissing her brother ocean; and they lie

Bathing in blushes, till the rival queen,

Night, with her starry tiar, floateth in⁠—

A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth draw

Over the light of love a shade of awe

Most strange, that parts our wonder not the less

Between her mystery and loveliness!

And she is there, that is a Pyramid

Whereon the stars, the statues of the dead,

Are imaged over the eternal hall,

A group of radiances majestical!

And Julio looks up, and there they be,

And Agathè, and all the waste of sea,

That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroud

Of night flung o’er his bosom, throbbing proud

Amid its azure pulses, and again

He dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strain

Of mirth upon the ladye:—Agathè!

Sweet bride! be thou a queen and I will lay

A crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow!

And I will twine these tresses, that are now

Floating beside me, to a diadem:

And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem,

And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queen

Of the unpeopled waters, sadly seen

By star-light, till the yet unrisen moon

Issue, unveiled, from her anteroom,

To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say,

“Hail—hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathè!”

The warrior world was lifting to the bent

Of his eternal brow magnificent,

The fiery moon, that in her blazonry

Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea

Felt fever on his azure arteries,

That shadow’d them with crimson, while the breeze

Fell faster on the solitary sail.

But the red moon grew loftier and pale,

And the great ocean, like the holy hall,

Where slept a seraph host maritimal,

Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond

Fann’d over it, and millions beyond

Of tiny waves were playing to and fro,

All musical, with an incessant flow

Of cadences, innumerably heard

Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird,

That held a solemn pæan to the moon.

A few devotional fair clouds were soon

Breath’d o’er the living countenance of Heaven,

And under the great galaxies were driven

Of stars that group’d together, and they went

Like voyagers along the firmament,

And grew to silver in the blessed light

Of the moon alchymist. It was not night,

Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o’er

The eye-lid like a curse, but far before

In splendor, struggling through a fall of gloom,

In many a myriad gushes, that do come

Direct from the eternal stars beyond,

Like holy fountains pouring diamond!

A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail!

And be not bending to thy trances pale.

But he is gazing on the moonlit brow

Of his dead Agathè, and fondly now,

The light is silvering her bloodless face

And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness

As in a marble image, very bright!

But stricken with a phantasy of light

That is not given to the mortal hue,

To life and breathing beauty: and she too

Is more of the expressless lineament,

Than of the golden thoughts that came and went

Over her features, like a living tide

No while before.

A sail is on the wide

And moving waters, and it draweth nigh

Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly

Before it, in their armories enthrall’d

Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald:

And many is the mariner that sees

That lone boat in the melancholy breeze,

Waving her snowy canvass, and anon

Their stately vessel with a gallant run

Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer

Of men is pass’d into a sudden fear,

And whisperings, and shaking of the head.⁠—

The moon was streaming on a virgin dead,

And Julio sat over her insane,

Like a sea demon! o’er and o’er again,

Each cross’d him, as the stately vessel stood

Far out into the murmuring solitude!

But Julio saw not; he only heard

A rushing, like the passing of a bird,

And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew

Along the startled billows: and he knew

Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell

Beside him, on the coming of the swell.

“They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride!

And made obeisance at thy holy side.

They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bring

Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king,

To utter music at thy pearly feet.⁠—

Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet,

To visit in thy temple of the sea;

Thy sister moon is watching over thee!

And she is spreading a fair mantle of

Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!⁠—

Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof,

In solitude, below the starry roof:

And on its dewy plume there is a light

Of palest splendor, o’er the blessed night.

Thy spirit, Agathè!—and yet thou art

Beside me, and my solitary heart

Is throbbing near to thee: I must not feel

The sweet notes of thy holy music steal

Into my feverous and burning brain,⁠—

So wake not! and I’ll hush thee with a strain

Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me,

And I be loved as I have lovéd thee:—”

SONG.

’Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair

In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there⁠—

No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart!

When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art!

’Tis light to love thee living, girl—to see thee ever so,

With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow;

And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl⁠—

Oh! true, it is a lightsome thing, to love thee living, girl:

But when the brow is blighted, like a star at morning tide,

And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside:

It is to love as seldom love, the brightest and the best,

When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest,

Because of hopes that fallen are changing to despair,

And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there.

Oh, true! ’tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee,

And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me!

He lifts her in his arms, and o’er and o’er,

Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar,

Repeats a silent kiss:—along the side

Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride,

Until the waves do image her within

Their bosom, like a spectre—’tis a sin

Too deadly to be shadow’d or forgiven

To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven!

And bid her gaze into the startled sea,

And say, “Thy image, from eternity,

Hath come to meet thee, ladye!” and anon

He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one,

That shook amid the waters, like the light

Of borealis in a winter night!

And after, he did strain her sea-wet hair

Between his chilly fingers, with a stare

Of mystery, that marvell’d how that she

Had drench’d it so amid the moonlit sea.

The morning rose, with breast of living gold,

Like eastern phœnix, and his plumage roll’d

In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright!

And on the waste of waters floated light.⁠—

In truth, ’twas strange to see that merry bark

Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark

At play amid the beautiful sea-green,

And all so sadly desolate within.

And hours flew after hours, a weary length,

Until the sunlight, in meridian strength,

Threw burning floods upon the wasted brow

Of that sea-hermit mariner; and now

He felt the fire-light feed upon his brain,

And started with intensity of pain,

And washed him in the sea;—it only brought

Wild reason, like a demon; and he thought

Strange thoughts, like dreaming men,—he thought how those

Were round him he had seen, and many rose

His heart had hated; every billow threw

Features before him, and pale faces grew

Out of the sea by myriads:—the self-same

Was moulded from its image, and they came

In groups together, and all said, like one,

“Be cursed!” and vanish’d in the deep anon.

Then thirst, intolerable as the breath

Of Upas, fanning the wild wings of death,

Crept up his very gorge,—like to a snake,

That stifled him, and bade the pulses ache

Through all the boiling current of his blood.

It was a thirst, that let the fever flood

Fall over him, and gave a ghastly hue

To his cramp’d lips, until their breathing grew

White as a mist and short, and like a sigh,

Heaved with a struggle, till it faltered by.

And ever he did look upon the corse

With idiot visage, like the hag Remorse

That gloateth over on a nameless deed

Of darkness and of dole unhistoried.

And were there that might hear him, they would hear

The murmur of a prayer in deep fear

Through unbarr’d lips, escaping by the half,

And all but smother’d by a maniac laugh,

That follow’d it, so sudden and so shrill,

That swarms of sea-birds, wandering at will

Upon the wave, rose startled, and away

Went flocking, like a silver shower of spray!

And aye he called for water, and the sea

Mock’d him with his brine surges tauntingly,

And lash’d them over on his fev’rous brow,

Volleying roars of curses,—“Stay thee, now,

Avenger! lest I die; for I am worn

Fainter than star-light at the birth of morn;

Stay thee, great angel! for I am not shriven,

But frantic as thyself: Oh! Heaven! Heaven!

But thou hast made me brother of the sea,

That I may tremble at his tyranny:

Or am I slave? a very, very jest

To the sarcastic waters? let me breast

The base insulters, and defy them so,

In this lone little skiff.—I am your foe!

Ye raving, lion-like, and ramping seas,

That open up your nostrils to the breeze,

And fain would swallow me! Do ye not fly,

Pale, sick, and gurgling, as I pass you by?

“Lift up! and let me see, that I may tell

Ye can be mad, and strange, and terrible;

That ye have power, and passion, and a sound,

As of the flying of an angel round

The mighty world: that ye are one with time,

And in the great primordium sublime

Were cursed together, as an infant-twain,⁠—

A glory and a wonder! I would fain

Hold truce, thou elder brother! for we are,

In feature, as the sun is to a star.

So are we like, and we are touch’d in tune

With lunacy as music; and the moon,

That setteth the tides sentinel before

Thy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore,

And measures their great footsteps to and fro,

Hath lifted up into my brain the flow

Of this mad tide of blood—ay? we are like

In foam and frenzy; the same winds do strike,

The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlement

Of fire! so, when I perish impotent

Before the might of death, they’ll say of me,

He died as mad and frantic as the sea!”

A cloud stood for the East, a cloud like night,

Like a huge vulture, and the blessed light

Of the great Sun grew shadow’d awfully;

It seemed to mount up from the mighty sea,

Shaking the showers from its solemn wings,

And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs

Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain.

There fell a terrible and wizard chain

Of lightning, from its black and heated forge,

And the dark waters took it to their gorge,

And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonder

With rival chorus to the peal of thunder,

That wheel’d in many a squadron terrible

The stern black clouds, and as they rose and fell

They oozed great showers; and Julio held up

His wasted hands, in likeness of a cup,

And drank the blessed waters, and they roll’d

Upon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold!⁠—

’Twas very strange to look on Agathè!

How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play,

Stream’d pale upon her features, and they were

Sickly, like tapers in a sepulchre!

(To be continued.)