Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PICTURE OF ST. JOHN: BOOK 2. THE WOMAN, by BAYARD TAYLOR


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PICTURE OF ST. JOHN: BOOK 2. THE WOMAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Oh give not beauty to an artist's eye
Last Line: Might touch the lips of prayer and make them blest!
Alternate Author Name(s): Taylor, James Bayard
Subject(s): Beauty; Faith; Kisses; Love; Women; Belief; Creed


I.

OH give not Beauty to an artist's eye
And deem his heart, untroubled, can withstand
Her necromancy, changing earth and sky
To one wide net wherein her captives lie! --
Nor, since his mind the measure takes, his hand
Essays the semblance of each hue and line,
That cold his pulses beat, as if he scanned
Her marble death and not her life divine!

II.

How could I view the sombre-shining hair
Without the tingling, passionate wish to feel
Its silken smoothness? How the golden-pale
Pure cval of the face, the forehead fair,
The light of eyes whose dusky depths conceal
Love's yet unkindled torch, and wear the mail
Of cruel Art, that bade me mimic bliss
And only paint the mouth. burned to kiss?

III.

So near, the airy wave her voice set free
Smote warm against my cheek! So near, I heard
The folds that hid her bosom, as they stirred
Above the heart-beat measuring now, for me,
Life's only music! Ah, so near, and yet
Between us rose a wall I could not see,
To dash me back, -- before the wings that fret
For love's release, a crystal barrier set.

IV.

I kissed, in thought, each clear, delicious tint
That lured my mocking hand: my passion flung
Its lurking sweetness over every print
Of the soft brush that to her beauty clung,
And fondled while it toiled, -- and day by day
The canvas brightened with her brightening face:
The artist gloried in the picture's grace,
But, ah! the lover's chances lapsed away.

V.

And now, -- the last! The grapes already wore
Victorious purple, ere their trodden death,
The olives darkened through their branches hoar,
And from below the tuberose's breath
Died round the casement, from the spicy shore
Of ripened summer, passionate as the sigh
I stifled: and my heart said, -- "Speak or die!
The moment's fate stands fixed forever more."

VI.

The naked glare of breezeless afternoon
Dazzled without: the garden swooned in heat.
The old duenna drooped her head, and soon
Behind the curtain slumbered in her seat.
Within my breast the crowded, panting beat
Disturbed my hand: the pencil fell: I turned,
And with imploring eyes and tears that burned
Sank in despairing silence at her feet.

VII.

I did not dare look up, but knelt, as waits
A foiled tyrannicide the headsman's blow:
At first a frightened hush, -- the stealthy, slow,
Soft rustle of her dress, -- a step like Fate's
To crown or smite: but now descended, where
Her garland fell, her hand upon my hair,
And, light as floating leaf of orchard-snow
Loosed by the pulse of Spring, it trembled there.

VIII.

Then I looked up, -- Oh, grace of God! to feel
Her answering tears like dew upon my brow;
To touch and kiss her blessing hand; to seal
Without a word the one eternal vow
Of man and woman, when their lives unite
Thenceforth forever, soul and body shared,
Like those the Grecian goddess, pitying, paired
To form the young, divine Hermaphrodite.

IX.

I breathed "You do not love Colonna?" "No,"
She whispered, "aid me, I am yours to save!"
"I yours to help, your lover and your slave, --
My soul, my blood is yours," I murmured low.
The old duenna stirred: "when? where? one hour
For your commands!" As hurriedly she gave
Reply: "The garden, -- yonder darkest bower,
When midnight tolls from Santa Croce's tower!"

X.

Ere the immortal light had time to fade
In either's eyes, the old Marchese came.
I veiled, in toil, the flush that still betrayed,
And Clelia, strong to hide her maiden shame,
The motion of her father's hand obeyed
And left us. Gravely he my work surveyed:
"'T is done, I think, -- 't is she, indeed." he said:
"'T was time," he muttered, as he turned his head.

XI.

I bowed in silence, took his offered gold,
And down the marble stairs, through doors that cried,
On scornful hinges, of their owner's pride,
Passed on my way: my happy heart did fold
Pandolfo's treasure in its secret hold,
And every bell that chimed the feeble day
Down to its crimson burial, seemed to say:
"Not yet, not yet, for Love our tongues have tolled!"

XII.

More slowly rolled the silver disk above
The hiding hills, than ever moon came up:
The sky's begemmed and sapphire-tinted cup
Spilled o'er its dew, and Heaven in nuptial love
Stretched forth his mystic arms, and crouched beside
The yearning Earth, his dusky-featured bride:
The pulses of the Night began to move,
And Life's eternal secret ruled the tide.

XIII.

Along the shadow of the garden-walls
I crept: the streets were still, or only beat
To wavering echoes by unsteady feet
Of wine-flushed revellers from banquet halls.
They saw me not: the yielding door I gained,
And glided down a darksome alley, sweet
With slumbering roses, to the shy retreat
Of bashful bliss and yearning unprofaned.

XIV.

The amorous odors of the moveless air, --
Jasmine and tuberose and gillyflower,
Carnation, heliotrope, and purpling shower
Of Persian roses, -- kissed my senses there
To keenest passion, clad my limbs with power
Like some young god's, when at the banquet first
He drinks fresh deity with eager thirst, --
And midnight rang from Santa Croce's tower!

XV.

She came! a stealthy, startled, milk-white fawn,
Thridding the tangled bloom: a balmy wave
Foreran her coming, and the blushful dawn
Of Love its color to the moonlight gave,
And Night grew splendid. In a trance divine,
Hand locked in hand, with kissing pulse, we clung,
Then heart to heart; and all her being flung
Its sweetness to the lips, and mixed with mine.

XVI.

Immortal Hour, whose starry torch did guide
Eternal Love to his embalmed nest
In virgin bosoms, -- Hour, supremely blest
Beyond thy sisters, lift thy brow in pride,
And say to her whose muffled beams invest
The bed where Strength lies down at Beauty's side,
'Before my holier lamp thy forehead hide:
Give up thy crown: the joy I bring is best!"

XVII.

'O saved, not lost, -- Madonna, bless thy child!"
She murmured then; and I as fondly, "Death
Come now, and close my over-happy breath
On sacred lips, that shall not be defiled
By grosser kisses!" "Fail me not," she said,
And clung the closer, -- "God is overhead,
And hears you." "Yea," I whispered wild,
"And may His thunder strike the false one dead!"

XVIII.

No thought had she of lineage or of place:
Love washed the colors from her blazoned shield
To make a mirror for her lover's face,
Unto patrician ignorance revealed
The bliss to give, the ecstasy to yield,
And now, descended from her stately dream,
She trod the happy level of her race,
In perfect, sweet surrender, faith supreme.

XIX.

With cautious feet, in dewy sandals shod,
And sidelong look, the perfumed Hours went by;
Until the azure darkness of the sky
Withered aloft, and shameless Morning trod
Her clashing bells. Our paradise was past,
And yet to part was bitterer than to die.
We rose: we turned: we held each other fast,
Each kiss the fonder as it seemed the last.

XX.

O happy Earth! To Love's triumphant heart
Thou still art convoyed by the singing stars
That hailed thy birth: Heaven's beauteous counterpart,
No shadow dims thee, no convulsion mars
Thy fair green bosom: on thy forehead shine
The golden lilies of the bridegroom Day,
Thy hoary forests take the bloom of May,
Thy seas the sparkle of the autumn wine!

XXI.

Serenely beautiful, the brightening morn
Led on the march of mine enchanted round
Of days, wherein the world was freshly born,
And men with primal purity recrowned:
So deep my drunkenness of heart and brain,
That Art, o'ershadowed, sat as if forlorn
In Love's excess of glory, and in vain
Essayed my old allegiance to regain.

XXII.

She to the regions o'er our lives unfurled
Is turned: from that which never is, she draws
Her best achievements and her finest laws,
And more enriches than she owes, the world, --
Whence, leading Life, she rules; till Life, in turn,
Feels in its veins the warmer ether burn,
Asserts itself, and bids its service pause,
To be the beauty it was vowed to earn!

XXIII.

And my transfigured heart no baby-love,
With dimpled face, had taken to its nest,
But that Titanic, pre-Olympian guest,
The elder god, who bears his slaves above
The fret of Time, the frowns of Circumstance;
And, twin with Will, engendered in my breast
A certain vision of a life in rest,
And love secured against the shocks of chance.

XXIV.

It was enough to feel his potent arm
Lift me aloft, like giant Christopher,
Above the flood. Could he the dragon charm
Whose fanged and gilded strength still guarded her?
The crumbling pride of twice three hundred years,
Trembling in dotage at the ghost of harm,
Could he subdue? Ah, wherefore summon fears
To vex the faith that never reappears!

XXV.

But she the more, whose swift-approaching fate
Shamed the exulting bliss that made me free,
And clouded hers, thereon did meditate.
When next she met me at the garden-gate,
Its chilling shadow fell upon me "See!"
She said, and dangled in the balmy dark
(The moon was down) a chain of jewelry,
That, snake-like, burned with many a diamond spark.

XXVI.

"His bridal gift!" she whispered: "he will come,
Erelong, to claim me. Speech, and tears, and prayer,
Are vain my father's will to overbear,
And better were it, had my lips been dumb.
Incredulous, he heard with wondering stare
My pleading: 'keep me, father, at your side!
I will not be that wanton prince's bride, --
Unwed, your lonely palace let me share!'

XXVII.

"Much more I said, not daring to reveal
Our secret; but, alas! I spoke in vain.
He coldly smiled and raised me: 'do not kneel, --
'T is useless: here's a pretty, childish rain
For nothing, but the sun will shine anon.
What ails the girl? the compact shall remain.
Pandolfo's name is not so newly won,
That we can smutch it, and not feel the stain.'

XXVIII.

"He spoke my doom; but death were sweeter now,
Since, O my best-beloved, life alone
Is where your eyes, your lips, can meet my own,
And Heaven commands, that registered your vow,
To save me, and fulfil it!" Then, around
My neck her white, imploring arms were thrown;
Her heart beat in mine ears with plaintive sound,
So close and piteously she held me bound.

XXIX.

Ah me! 't was needless further to rehearse
The old romance, that life has ne'er belied,
The old offence which love repeats to pride, --
The strife, the supplication, and the curse
Hung like a thunder-cloud above the dawn,
To threat the day: it better seemed, to fly
Beyond the circle of that sullen sky,
And storms let idly loose when we were gone.

XXX.

"Darling," I answered, staking all my fate
On the sole chance within my beggared hands, --
"Darling, the wealth of love is my estate,
Save one poor home, that in a valley stands,
Cool, dark, and lonesome, far beyond the line
Of wintry peaks that guard the summer lands;
But shelter safe, though paler suns may shine,
And Paradise, when once 't is yours and mine!

XXXI.

"See! I am all I give: I cannot ask
That you should leave the laurel and the rose,
And halls of yellowing marble, meant to bask
In endless sun, and airs of old repose
That fan the beauteous ages, elsewhere lost, --
To see the world put on its deathly mask
Of low, gray sky and ever-deepening snows,
And dip its bowers in darkness and in frost."

XXXII.

"Nay, let" (she cried) "his mellow marbles shine
In Roman noons, -- his fountains flap the airs,
And rank and splendor crowd his gilded stairs,
Wait in his halls, or drink his banquet-wine, --
So ne'er the hateful pomp I spurn be mine;
But take me, love! for ah, the father, too,
Who for his early claims my later cares,
Is leagued with him, -- and I am left to you!"

XXXIII.

"So, then, shall Summer cross the Alpine chain
And scare the autumn crocus from the meads;
And the wan naiads, 'mid their brittle reeds,
Feel the chill wave its languid pulse regain,
Wooing the azure brook-flowers into bloom
To greet your coming; and the golden rain
Of beechen forests shall your path illume,
Till the Year's bonfire burn away its gloom!"

XXXIV.

Thus, at her words, my sudden rapture threw
Its glory on the scene so bleak before,
As to the nightly mariner a shore
That out of hollow darkness slowly grew,
Seeming huge cliffs that menaced with the roar
Of hungry surf, when Morning lifts her torch
Flashes at once to gardens dim with dew,
And homes and temples fair with pillared porch.

XXXV.

"Away!" was Love's command, and we obeyed;
And Chance assisted, are three times the sun
Looked o'er the planet's verge, that swiftly spun
To bring the hour so perilously delayed
My fortune with Colonna's now was weighed;
But that brief time of love's last liberty --
Pandolfo called to Rome, ere aught betrayed
His daughter's secret -- turned the scale to me.

XXXVI.

My mules were waiting by the city gate,
With Gianni, quick to lead a lover's fate
Along the bridle-paths of Apennine, --
A gallant contadino, whom I knew
From crown to sole, each joint and clear-drawn line
Of plaited muscle, healthy, firm, and true;
And midnight struck, as from the garden came
She who forsook for me her home and name.

XXXVII.

With them she laid aside her silken shell
And jewel-sparks, and chains of moony pearl, --
Bright, babbling toys, that of her rank might tell, --
And wore, to cheat the drowsy sentinel,
The scarlet bodice of a peasant girl,
Her wealth the golden dagger in her hair:
The haughty vestures from her beauty fell,
Leaving her woman, simply pure and fair.

XXXVIII.

The gate was passed: before us, through the night,
We traced the dusky road, and far away,
Where ceased the stars, we knew the mountains lay.
There must we climb before their shoulders, white
With autumn rime, should redden to the day;
But now a line of faintly-scattered light
Plays o'er the dust, and the old olives calls
To ghostly life above the orchard-walls.

XXXIX.

A little chapel, built by pious hands,
That foot-sore pilgrims from the blistering soil
May turn, or laborers from summer toil
To rest that breathes of God, it open stands;
And there her shrine with daily flowers is drest,
Her lamp is nightly trimmed and fed with oil,
The Mater Dolorosa, in whose breast,
Bleeding, the seven swords of woe are pressed.

XL.

"Stay!" whispered Clelia, as the narrow vault
Yawned with its faded frescoes, and the lamp
Revealed, untouched by rust or blurred with damp,
The Virgin's face: it beckoned us to halt
And lay our love before her feet divine,
A priestless sacrament, -- so kneeling there
In self-bestowed espousal, Clelia's prayer
Spake to the Mother's heart her trust in mine.

XLI.

"O Sorrowing Mother! Heaven's exalted Queen!
Star of the Sea! Lily among the Thorns!
Clothed with the sun, while round Thy feet serene
The crescent planet curves her silver horns,
Be Thou my star to still this trembling sea
Within my bosom, -- let the love that mourns
One with the love that here rejoices, be,
Soothed in Thy peace, acceptable to Thee!

XLII

"Thou who dost hide the maiden's virgin fear
In thine enclosed garden, Fountain sealed
Of Woman's holiest secrets, bend Thine ear
To these weak words of one whose heart must yield
This temple of the body Thou didst wear
To love, -- and by Thy pity, oft revealed,
Pure Priestess, hearken to Thy daughter's prayer,
And bless the bond, of other blessing bare!

XLIII.

"Mother of Wisdom, in whose heart are thrust
The seven swords of Sorrow, in whose pain
Thy chaste Divinity draws near again
To maids and mothers, crying from the dust, --
Who ne'er forgettest any human woe,
Once doubly Thine, Thy grace and comfort show,
And perfect make, O Star above the Sea,
These nuptial pledges, only heard by Thee!"

XLIV.

Then Clelia's hand entrusted she to mine,
Who knelt beside her, and the vow she spake,
Weeping: "I take him, Mother, at Thy shrine.
Home, country, father, leave I for his sake,
Give my pure name, my maiden honor break
For him, my spouse!" And I: "I give my life,
Chaste, faithful to the end, to her, my wife,
Whom here, O Mother, at Thy hands I take!"

XLV.

Thus, in the lack of Earth's ordaining rite,
Did our own selves our union consecrate;
But God was listening from the hollow Night.
Beyond the stars we felt his smile create
Dawn in the doubtful twilight of our fate:
Peace touched our hearts and sacredest content:
The veil was lifted from our perfect light
Of nuptial love, pure-burning, reverent.

XLVI.

The Sorrowing Mother gazed. So pur the kiss
I gave, Her own divinest lips had ta'en
From mine no trace of sense-reflected stain;
But Gianni called us from the dream of bliss.
"Haste, Signor, haste!" he cried: "the Bear drops low:
Soon will the cocks in all the gardens crow
The morning watch: day comes, and night again,
But come to part, not mate, unless you go!"

XLVII.

Then silent, side by side, we forward fled
Through the chill airs of night: each falling hoof
Beat like a flail beneath the thresher's roof,
In quick, unvarying time: and rosy-red
Crept o'er the gray, as nimbly Gianni led
Our devious flight along the barren steeps,
Till, far beyond the sinking, misty deeps,
The sun forsook his Adriatic bed.

XLVIII.

There is a village perched, as you emerge
From the Santerno's long and winding vale
Towards Imola, upon the cliffy verge
Of the last northern prop of Apen nine, --
Old, yellow houses, hinting many a tale
Of ducal days and Este's tragic line,
And over all uplifted, orange pale
Against the blue, a belfry slim and fine

XLIX.

With weary climbing of the rocky stair
Thither we came, and in a hostel rude
Sat down, outworn, to breathe securer air,
Our guide dismissed, nor eyes that might intrude,
Among the simple inmates of the place
The brightest stars of heaven watched o'er us there
In sweet conjunction, every dread to chase,
To close the Past, and make the Future fair.

L.

Ah, had we dared to linger in that nest, --
To watch from under overhanging eaves,
The loaded vines, the poplars' twinkling leaves, --
Afar, the breadth of the Romagna's breast
And Massa's, Lugo's towers, -- the little stir
Of innocent life, caress and be caressed,
Rank, Art, and Fame among the things that were,
And all her bliss in me, as mine in her!

LI.

But Florence was too near: my purpose held
To bear and hide our happiness afar
In the dark mountains, lonely, greenest-delled;
And still, each night, the never-setting star
We followed took in heaven a loftier stand, --
Sparkled on other rivers, other towns,
Glinting from icy horns and snowy crowns
Until we trod the green Bavarian land!

LII.

And evermore, behind us on the road,
Pursuit, a phantom, drove. If we delayed,
Some coward pulse our meeting bosoms frayed;
Our tale the breezes blew, the sunshine-glowed;
The stars our secret ecstasies betrayed:
Drunk with our passion's vintage, we must fill
The cup too full, and tremble lest it spill, --
Obeying, thus, the law we would evade.

LIII.

Now, from that finer ether sinking down
Into the humble, universal air,
The images of many a human care
That, wren-like, build beneath the thatch of love,
Came round us. O'er the watery levels, brown
With autumn stubble, the departing dove
Cooed her farewell to summer: rainy cold
Through rocky gates the yellow Danube rolled.

LIV.

Grim were the mountains, with their dripping pines
Planted in sodden moss, and swiftly o'er
Their crests the clouds their flying fleeces tore:
The herd-boy, from his lair of furze and vines
Peered out, beside his dogs; and forms uncouth,
The axemen, from the steeps descending, wore
The strength of manhood, but its grace no more, --
The lust, without the loveliness, of youth!

LV.

The swollen streams careered beside us, hoarse
As warning prophets in an evil age,
And through the stormy fastnesses our course,
Blown, buffeted with elemental rage,
Fell, with the falling night, to that lone vale
I pictured, with its meads of crocus-bloom, --
Ah me, engulfed and lost in drowning gloom,
The helpless sport and shipwreck of the gale!

LVI.

Where now the bright autumnal bonfires? Where
The gold of beechen woods, the prodiga.
And dazzling waste of color in its fall?
The brook-flowers, bluer than the morning-air?
"My pomp of welcome mocked you, love!" I sighed:
"The sign was false, the flattering dream denied:
Unkind is Nature, yet all skies are fair
To trusting hearts, when once their truth is tried!"

LVII.

But Clelia shuddered, clinging to my heart
When the low roof received us, and the sound
Of threshing branches boomed and whistled round
Our cot, that stood a little way apart
Against the forest, from the village strayed,
Where cunning workmen in their prisons bound
The roaring Fiend of Fire, and forced his aid
To mould the crystal wonders of their trade.

LVIII.

Poor was our home, and when the rainy sky
Brought forth a child of Night, an Ethiop day,
And still the turbid torrents thundered by,
From the drear landscape she would turn away, --
Her thoughts, perchance, where gilded Florence lay, --
To hide a tear, or crush a rising sigh,
Then sing the sweet Italian songs, where run
Twin rills of words and music into one.

LIX.

I, too, beneath the low-hung rafters, saw
In dusk that filtered through the narrow panes,
My palette spread with colors dull and raw,
Once ripe and juicy-fresh as blossom-stains.
The dim, beclouded season never brought
The light that flatters; but its mists and rains
Like cating rust upon my canvas wrought,
And turned to substance cold the tinted thought.

LX.

Around me moved a rough and simple race
Whose natures, fresh and uncontaminate,
Gave truth to life, and smoothed their toilful fate
With honesty and love -- but lacked the grace
Of strength allied to beauty, or the free,
Unconscious charm of Southern symmetry,
And motions measured by a rhythm elate
And joyous as the cadence of the sea.

LXI.

For if, at times, among the slaves who fed
The ever-burning kilns, in fiercest glow
Some naked torso momently would show
Like Hell's strong angel, dipped in lurid red,
No model this for Saviour, seraph, saint,
Ensphered in golden ether: Labor's taint
Defaced the form, and here 't were vain, I said,
Some lovely hint to find, and finding, paint!

LXII.

Ah, Art and Love! Immortal brother-gods,
That will not dwell together, nor apart,
But make your temple in your servant's heart
A house of battle. One his forehead nods
In drowsy bliss, and will not be disturbed,
The other's eager forces work uncurbed,
Yet most in each the other lives; and each
Mounts by the other's help his crown to reach.

LXIII.

To Love my debt was greatest: I compelled
Back to their sleep the dreams that stung in vain,
And folded Clelia in a love which held
The heart all fire, although its flame was nursed
By embers borrowed from the smouldering brain.
For her had Art aspired; but now, reversed
The duty, Art for her must abnegate
Its restless, proud resolves, and idly wait.

LXIV.

The rains had whitened in the upper air,
And left their chill memorials glittering now
On Arber's shoulders, Ossa's horned brow;
The summer forest of its gold was bare;
Loud o'er the changeless pines November drove
His frosty steeds, through narrowing days that wear
No light; and Winter settled from above,
White, heavy, cold, around our nest of love.

LXV.

The sportive fantasies of wind and snow,
The corniced billows which they love to pile,
The ermined woods, with boughs depending low,
To buttress frozenly each darksome aisle,
The spectral hills which twilight veils in dun,
The season's hushing sounds, -- my Clelia won
From haunting memories, and stayed awhile
Her homesick pining for the Tuscan sun.

LXVI.

Only, when after briefest day, the moon
Poured down an icy light, and all around
Came from the iron woods a crackling sound,
As from the stealthy steps of Cold, and soon
The long-drawn howl of famished wolf was heard
Far in the mountains, like a shuddering bird
Beside my heart a nestling place she found,
And smiled to hear my fond, assuring word.

LXVII.

So drifted on, till Death's white shadow passed
From edged air and stony earth, our fate:
Then from the milder cloud and loosening blast
Unto his sunnier nooks returning late,
Came Life, and let his flowery footprint stand.
Softer than wing of dove, the winds at last
Kissed where they smote; the skies were blue and bland,
And in their lap reposed the ravished land.

LXVIII.

Then tears of gummy cry tal wept the pine,
And like a phantom plume, the sea-green larch
Was dropped along the mountain's lifted arch,
And morning on the meadows seemed to shine,
All day, in blossoms: cuckoo-songs were sweet,
And sweet the pastoral music of the kine
Chiming a thousand bells aloft, to meet
The herdsman's horn, the young lamb's wandering bleat!

LXIX.

Under the forest's sombre eaves there slept
No darkness, but a balsam-breathing shade,
Rained through with light: the hurrying waters made
Music amid the solitude, and swept
Their noise of liquid laughter from afar,
Through smells of sprouting leaf and trampled grass,
And thousand tints of flowery bell and star,
To sing the year's one idyl ere it pass!

LXX.

And down the happy valleys wandered we,
Released and glad, the children of the sun, --
I by adoption and by nature she, --
And still our love a riper color won
From the strong god in whom all colors burn.
The Earth regained her ancient alchemy
To cheat our souls with dreams of what might be,
And never is, -- yet, wherefore these unlearn?

LXXI.

For they reclothe us with a mantle, lent
From the bright wardrobe of the Gods: the powers,
The glories of the Possible are ours:
We breathe the pure, sustaining element
Above the dust of life, -- steal fresh content
From distant gleams of never-gathered flowers, --
Believing, rise: our very failures wear
Immortal grace from what we vainly dare!

LXXII.

From dreams like these is shaped the splendid act
In painters', poets' brains: we let them grow,
And as the season rolled in richer flow
To summer, from their waves a wondrous fact
Uprose, and shamed them with diviner glow, --
A tremulous secret, mystic, scarce-confessed,
That, star-like, throbs within the coarsest breast,
And sets God's joy beside His creature's woe.

LXXIII.

As one may see, along some April rill,
By richest mould and softest dew-fall fed,
The day break blossom of a daffodil
Send from its heart a tenderer blossom still,
Flower bearing flower, so fair a marvel shed
Its bliss on Clelia's being; and she smiled
With those prophetic raptures which fulfil
The mother's nature ere she clasps her child.

LXXIV.

Between our hearts, embracing both, there stole
A silent Presence, like to that which reigns
In Heaven, when God another world ordains.
Here, in its genesis, a formless soul
Waited the living garment it should wear
Of holiest flesh, though ours were dark with stains, --
Yet clouds that blot the blue, eternal air,
Upon their folds the rainbow's beauty bear!

LXXV.

And none of all the folk we moved among
In that lone valley, whether man or maid,
Or weary woman, prematurely wrung
To bear the lusty flock that round her played,
But spake to Clelia in a gentler tongue
And unto her their timid reverence paid,
As, in her life repeated, one might see
Madonna's pure maternal sanctity!

LXXVI.

All knew the lady, beautiful and tall, --
Dark, yet so pale in her strange loveliness,
Whom oft they saw with gliding footstep press
The meads, the forest's golden floor; and all
Knew the enchanted voice, whose alien song
Silenced the mountains, till the woodman lone
His axe let fall, and dreamed and listened long, --
The key-flower plucked, the fairy gold his own!

LXXVII.

Never, they said, did year its bounty shower
So plenteously upon their fields, as now.
The lady brought their fortune: many a vow
Would rise to help her in her woman's hour
Of pain and joy, and what their hands could do
(The will was boundless, though so mean the power)
Was hers, -- their queen, the fairest thing they knew
Within the circle of the mountains blue

LXXVIII.

And Autumn came, like him from Edom, him
With garments dyed, from Bozrah, glorious
In his apparel; yet his gold was dim,
His crimsons pale, beside the splendors warm
Wherewith the ripened time transfigured us.
The precious atoms drawn from heaven and earth,
And rocked by Love's own music into form,
Compacted lived: a soul awaited birth.

LXXIX.

A soul was born. The hazy-mantled sun
Looked in on Clelia, radiant as a saint
Who triumphs over torture, pale and faint
From parted life, -- and kissed the life begun
With tender light, as quick to recognize
His child, in exile: the unconscious one, --
Stray lamb of heaven, whom tears might best baptize, --
Closed on her happy breast his mother's eyes.

LXXX.

Her eyes they were: her fresh-born beauty took
Its seat in man, that woman's heart might bow
One day, before the magic of that look
Which conquered man and held him captive now.
The frail and precious mould which drew from me
Naught but its sex, her likeness did endow
With breathing grace and witching symmetry,
As once in baby demigod might be.

LXXXI.

So came from him -- as in Correggio's "Night"
The body of the Holy Child illuaees
The stable dark, the starry Syrian glooms,
The rapt, adoring faces, -- sudden light
For that dark season when the sun hung low;
And warmth, when earth again lay cold and white;
And peace, Love reconciled with Life to know;
And promise, kindling Art to rosier glow.

LXXXII.

Here dawned the inspiration, long delayed,
The light of loftier fancy. As she pressed,
Cradled against her balmy mother-breast,
The child -- a pink on sun-kissed lilies laid --
I saw the type of old achievement won
In them, the holy hint their forms con veyed:
And lovelier never God's Elected Maid
And Goddess-Mother dreamed Urbino's son!

LXXXIII.

But she -- when first mine eager hand would seize
Her perfect beauty -- troubled grew, and pale.
"Dear Egon, No!" she said: "my heart would fail,
Alarmed for love that wraps in sanctities
Its earthly form: for see! the babe may lie
With white, untainted soul, and in his eye
The light of Heaven, and pure as almond-flowers
His dimpling flesh, -- but, Egon, he is ours!

LXXXIV.

"If blessing may be forfeited, to set
A child, the loveliest, in the place divine
Of Infant God, it were more impious yet
To veil the Mother's countenance in mine:
Ah, how should I, to human love though fair,
Assume her grace and with her pity shine, --
Profane usurpress of her sacred shrine,
To cheat the vow and intercept the prayer!"

LXXXV.

A woman's causeless fancy! What I said
I scarce remember, -- that the face I stole
Had brought herself, and if the half so wrought,
A surer blessing now must bring the whole,
And laurel cast, not jasmine, on my head.
The profanation was a thing of thought,
Or touched the artist only: who could paint,
If saint alone dare model be for saint?

LXXXVI.

And so, by Art possessed, I would not see
Forebodings which in woman's finer sense
Arise, and draw their own fulfilment thence, --
Light clouds, yet hide the bolts of Destiny
And darken life, erelong. I gave, in joy,
To fleeting grace immortal permanence,
And dreamed of coming fame for all the three,
Myself, the fairest mother, and the boy!

LXXXVII.

She sat, in crimson robe and mantle blue,
Fondling the child in holy nakedness,
Resigned and calm, -- alas! I could not guess
The haunting fear that daily deeper grew
In the sweet face that would its fear subdue,
Nor make my hand's creative rapture less:
But cold her kisses to my own replied,
And when the work completed stood -- she sighed.

LXXXVIII.

And from that hour a shadow seemed to hang
Around her life: our idyl breathed no more
Its flute-like joy in every strain she sang:
Her step the measures of an anthem wore,
That hushes, soothes, yet makes not wholly sad;
And if, at times, my heart confessed a pang
To note the haunted gleam her features had,
I failed to read the prophecy it bore.

LXXXIX.

Again the summer beckoned from the hills,
And back from Daulis came the nightingale;
But when the willows shook by meadow-rills
Their sheeted silver, Clelia's cheek grew pale.
She spoke not; but I knew her fancy said
So shook the olives now in Arno's vale,
So flashed the brook along its pebbly bed,
Through bosky oleanders, roofed with red!

XC.

This cheer I gave: "Be sure my fame awaits
The work of love: this cloud will break, and we
Walk in the golden airs of Tuscany,
Guarded by that renown which consecrates
Our fault, if love be such; and fame shall be
My shield, to shame your father's heraldry,
And set you in your ancient halls. Take heart,
And as my love you trusted, trust my art!"

XCI.

She faintly smiled, -- if smile the lips could stir
Which more of yearning than of hope expressed;
A filmy mask to hide the warning guest
Of thought which evermore abode in her:
And then she kissed me, -- not, as once, with fire
And lingering sweetness drawn from love's desire,
But soft, as Heaven's angelic messenger
Might touch the lips of prayer and make them blest!





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