Look how the lark soars upward and is gone, Turning a spirit as he nears the sky!

His voice is heard, but body there is none To fix the vague excursions of the eye.

So, poets' songs are with us, tho' they die Obscured, and hid by death's oblivious shroud, And Earth inherits the rich melody Like raining music from the morning cloud.

Yet, few there be who pipe so sweet and loud Their voices reach us through the lapse of space: The noisy day is deafen'd by a crowd Of undistinguished birds, a twittering race; But only lark and nightingale forlorn Fill up the silences of night and morn.

THE TWO SWANS.

A FAIRY TALE.

I.

Immortal Imogen, crown'd queen above The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear A fairy dream in honor of true love-- True above ills, and frailty, and all fear,-- Perchance a shadow of his own career Whose youth was darkly prison'd and long-twined By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near, And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.

II.

I saw a tower builded on a lake, Mock'd by its inverse shadow, dark and deep-- That seem'd a still intenser night to make, Wherein the quiet waters sank to sleep,-- And, whatso'er was prison'd in that keep, A monstrous Snake was warden:--round and round In sable ringlets I beheld him creep Blackest amid black shadows to the ground, Whilst his enormous head, the topmost turret crown'd.

III.

From whence he shot fierce light against the stars, Making the pale moon paler with affright; And with his ruby eye out-threaten'd Mars-- That blaz'd in the mid-heavens, hot and bright-- Nor slept, nor wink'd, but with a steadfast spite Watch'd their wan looks and tremblings in the skies; And that he might not slumber in the night, The curtain-lids were pluck'd from his large eyes, So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.

IV.

Prince or princess in dismal durance pent, Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate, Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent, Watching the lonely waters soon and late, And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate, Or company their grief with heavy tears:-- Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears They weep and pine away as if immortal years.

V.

No gentle bird with gold upon its wing Will perch upon the grate--the gentle bird Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring Freedom's sweet key-note and commission-word Learn'd of a fairy's lips, for pity stirr'd-- Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!

Watch'd by that cruel Snake and darkly heard, He leave a widow on her lonely nest, To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.

VI.

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark, Will seek the fruitful perils of the place, To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark That bear that serpent image on their face.

And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base, Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win His captive lady from the strict embrace Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within His sable folds--like Eve enthrall'd by the old Sin.

VII.

But there is none--no knight in panoply, Nor Love, intrench'd in his strong steely coat: No little speck--no sail--no helper nigh, No sign--no whispering--no plash of boat:-- The distant shores show dimly and remote, Made of a deeper mist,--serene and gray,-- And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float Over the gloomy wave, and pass away, Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.

VIII.

And bright and silvery the willows sleep Over the shady verge--no mad winds tease Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep Their sprinkling leaves--half fountains and half trees: Their lilies be--and fairer than all these, A solitary Swan her breast of snow Launches against the wave that seems to freeze Into a chaste reflection, still below Twin shadow of herself wherever she may go.

IX.

And forth she paddles in the very noon Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing, Charm'd into being by the argent moon-- Whose silver light for love of her fair wing Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping Her dainty plumage:--all around her grew A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring; And all behind, a tiny little clue Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.

X.

And sure she is no meaner than a fay, Redeem'd from sleepy death, for beauty's sake, By old ordainment:--silent as she lay, Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake, And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake The verdant prison of her lily peers, That slept amidst the stars upon the lake-- A breathing shape--restored to human fears, And new-born love and grief--self-conscious of her tears.

XI.

And now she clasps her wings around her heart, And near that lonely isle begins to glide, Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start Turns her impatient head from side to side In universal terrors--all too wide To watch; and often to that marble keep Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.

XII.

And well she may, to spy that fearful thing All down the dusky walls in circlets wound; Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ring Girding the marble casket round and round?

His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound, Terribly darkeneth the rocky base; But on the top his monstrous head is crown'd With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.

XIII.

Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall, No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite, So he may never see beneath the wall That timid little creature, all too bright, That stretches her fair neck, slender and white, Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night With song--but, hush--it perishes in sighs, And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!

XIV.

She droops--she sinks--she leans upon the lake, Fainting again into a lifeless flower; But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake Her spirit from its death, and with new power She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower Of tender song, timed to her falling tears-- That wins the shady summit of that tower, And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears, Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.

XV.

And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest, Subdued like Argus by the might of sound-- What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest To magic converse with the air, and bound The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown'd:-- So on the turret-top that watchful Snake Pillows his giant head, and lists profound, As if his wrathful spite would never wake, Charm'd into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!

XVI.

His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown, And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies, To drink that dainty flood of music down-- His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs-- And whilst his hollow ear entranced lies, His looks for envy of the charmed sense Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes, Stung into pain by their own impotence, Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.

XVII.