AGATHÈ.—A NECROMAUNT.

IN THREE CHIMERAS.

———

BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO.

———

CHIMERA II. (Continued.)

The ship! that self-same ship, that Julio knew

Had passed him, with her panic-stricken crew,

She gleams amid the storm, a shatter’d thing

Of pride and lordly beauty; her fair wing

Of sail is wounded—the proud pennon gone!

Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on

Through waters that are battling to and fro,

And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow

Over her deck.—Ahead, and there is seen

A black, strange line of breakers, down between

The awful surges, lifting up their manes

Like great sea-lions. Quick and high she strains

Her foaming keel—that solitary ship!

As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap

The cursed barrier: forward, fast and fast⁠—

Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mast

Split in a thousand shivers! A white spring

Of the exulting sea rose bantering

Over her ruin; and the mighty crew

That mann’d her deck, were seen, a straggling few,

Far scatter’d on the surges. Julio felt

The impulse of that hour, and low he knelt,

Within his own light bark—a pray’rful man!

And clasp’d his lifeless bride; and to her wan,

Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.⁠—

“Save thou a mariner!” he starteth now

To hear that dying cry; and there is one,

All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon,

Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea,

A fair-hair’d mariner! But suddenly

He saw the pale dead ladye by a flame

Of blue and livid lightning, and there came

Over his features blindness, and the power

Of his strong hands grew weak,—a giant shower

Of foam rose up, and swept him far along;

And Julio saw him buffetting the throng

Of the great eddying waters, till they went

Over him—a wind-shaken cerement!

Then terribly he laugh’d, and rose above

His soulless bride—the ladye of his love!

Lifting him up in all his wizard glee;

And he did wave, before the frantic sea,

His wasted arm.—“Adieu! adieu! adieu!

Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too,

Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrine

Of my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine.

And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foam

And music-murmurs to thy blessed home⁠—

Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that she

Sleeps in her holy beauty tranquilly:

And when the fair and floating vision breaks

From her pure brow, and Agathè awakes⁠—

Till then, we meet not; so, adieu, adieu!”

Still on before the sullen tempest flew,

Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark;

And Julio bent over to the dark,

The solitary sea, for close beside

Floated the stringed harp of one that died,

In that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home

With madness to his bosom; the white foam

Was o’er its strings; and on the streaming sail

He wiped them, running with his fingers pale,

Along the tuneless notes, that only gave

Seldom responses to his wandering stave!

O THE HARP.

Jewel! that lay before the heart

Of some romantic boy,

And startled music in her home,

Of mystery and joy!

The image of his love was there;

And, with her golden wings,

She swept their tone of sorrow from

Thy melancholy strings!

We drew thee, as an orphan one,

From waters that had cast

No music round thee, as they went

In their pale beauty past.

No music but the changeless sigh—

That murmur of their own,

That loves not blending in the thrill

Of thine aerial tone.

The girl that slumbers at our side

Will dream how they are bent,

That love her even as they love

Thy blessed instrument.

And music, like a flood, will break

Upon the fairy throne

Of her pure heart, all glowing, like

A morning star, alone!

Alone, but for the song of him

That waketh by her side,

And strikes thy chords of silver to

His fair and sea-borne bride.

Jewel! that hung before the heart

Of some romantic boy:

Like him, I sweep thee with a storm

Of music and of joy!

And Julio placed the trembling harp before

The ladye; till the minstrel winds came o’er

Its moisten’d strings, and tuned them with a sigh.

“I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by,

In music and in love. Oh, Agathè!

Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will say

That seek thee,—‘she is dead—she is no more!’

But thou art cold, and I will throw before

Thy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet.”

And he did lift it from her marble feet,

The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silently

Over her brow—the brow of Agathè!

But, as a passion from the mooded mind,

The storm had died, and wearily the wind

Fell fast asleep at evening, like one

That hath been toiling in the fiery sun.

And the white sail dropt downward, as the wing

Of wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuring

Unto the mast—it was a deathly calm,

And holy stillness, like a shadow, swam

All over the wide sea, and the boat stood,

Like her of Sodom, in the solitude,

A snowy pillow, looking on the waste.

And there was nothing but the azure breast

Of ocean and the sky—the sea and sky.

And the lone bark; no clouds were floating by

Where the sun set, but his great seraph light,

Went down alone, in majesty and might;

And the stars came again, a silver troop,

Until, in shame, the coward shadows droop

Before the radiance of these holy gems,

That bear the images of diadems!

And Julio fancied of a form that rose

Before him from the desolate repose

Of the deep waters—a huge ghastly form,

As of one lightning-stricken in a storm;

And leprosy cadaverous was hung

Before his brow, and awful terror flung

Around him like a pall—a solemn shroud!⁠—

A drapery of darkness and of cloud!

And agony was writhing on his lip,

Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep,

Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain,

And ague, and the palsy of the brain—

A weird and yellow spectre! and his eyes

Were orbless and unpupil’d, as the skies

Without the sun, or moon, or any star:

And he was like the wreck of what men are,⁠—

A wasted skeleton, that held the crest

Of time, and bore his motto on his breast!

There came a group before of maladies,

And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,⁠—

A double monster, with a gloating leer

Fix’d on his other half. They drew them near,

One after one, led onward by Despair,

That like the last of winter glimmer’d there,⁠—

A dismal prologue to his brother Death,

Which was behind; and, with the horrid breath

Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on.

And often as they saw the skeleton

Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies

Grew mad and howl’d; the fever of disease

Became wild frenzy—very terrible!

And, for a hell of agony—a hell

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 shell of pyramid

Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head

Shook o’er the wry ribs, where darkness lay

The image of a heart—she 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 deep, 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 Agathè—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 it 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,

When Julio is watching Agathè!

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 Agathè!

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 discolor’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 Agathè!

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 passion 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, lustreless, 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 sat 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 Agathè 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 shell,

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, Agathè! fair Agathè!⁠—

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 fair 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, Agathè!

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 rook 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 clustering between,

On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl,

And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl,

So Agathè!—but thou art sickly sad,

And tellest me, poor Julio is mad,⁠—

Ay, mad!—was he not madder when he swore

A vow to Heaven? Was there no madness then,

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 Agathè!⁠—

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 passing 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 shore,

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 clustering below.

Then Julio saw, and bent his head away

To the cold wasted corse of Agathè,

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 shore

Of purest silver shells, 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 Agathè is folded on his breast,

A faded flower! with all the vernal dews

From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues

Become as colorless as twilight air⁠—

I marvel much, that she was ever fair!

(End of the second Chimera.)