ODES TO NEA: 2. A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY by THOMAS MOORE

I JUST had turn'd the classic page,
And traced that happy period over,
When love could warm the proudest sage,
And wisdom grace the tenderest lover!
Before I laid me down to sleep,
Upon the bank awhile I stood,
And saw the vestal planet weep
Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.

My heart was full of fancy's dream,
And, as I watch'd the playful stream,
Entangling in its net of smiles
So fair a group of elfin isles,
I felt as if the scenery there
Were lighted by a Grecian sky --
As if I breathed the blissful air
That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh!

And now, the downy hand of rest
Her signet on my eyes impress'd,
And still the bright and balmy spell,
Like star-dew, o'er my fancy fell!
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene, luxurious shade,
Where Epicurus taught the Loves
To polish virtue's native brightness,
Just as the beak of playful doves
Can give to pearls a smoother whiteness!

'Twas one of those delicious nights
So common in the climes of Greece,
When day withdraws but half its lights,
And all is moonshine, balm, and peace!
And thou wert there, my own beloved!
And dearly by thy side I roved
Through many a temple's reverend gloom,
And many a bower's seductive bloom,
Where beauty blush'd and wisdom taught,
Where lovers sigh'd and sages thought,
Where hearts might feel or heads discern,
And all was form'd to soothe or move,
To make the dullest love to learn,
To make the coldest learn to love!

And now the fairy pathway seem'd
To lead us through enchanted ground,
Where all that bard has ever dream'd
Of love or luxury bloom'd around!
Oh! 'twas a bright, bewildering scene --
Along the alley's deepening green
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers,
And scented and illumed the bowers,
Seem'd as to him who darkling roves
Amid the lone Hercynian groves
Appear the countless birds of light,
That sparkle in the leaves at night,
And from their wings diffuse a ray
Along the traveller's weary way!
'Twas light of that mysterious kind,
Through which the soul is doom'd to roam,
When it has left this world behind,
And gone to seek its heavenly home!
And, Nea, thou didst look and move,
Like any blooming soul of bliss,
That wanders to its home above
Through mild and shadowy light like this!

But now, methought, we stole along
Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever lived in Teian song,
Or wanton'd in Milesian story!
And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seem'd almost to exhale in sighs;
Whose every little ringlet thrill'd,
As if with soul and passion fill'd!
Some flew, with amber cups, around,
Shedding the flowery wines of Crete,
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound,
The onyx shone beneath their feet!
While others, waving arms of snow
Entwined by snakes of burnish'd gold,
And showing limbs, as loath to show,
Through many a thin Tarentian fold,
Glided along the festal ring,
With vases, all respiring spring,
Where roses lay, in languor breathing,
And the young bee-grape, round them wreathing,
Hung on their blushes warm and meek,
Like curls upon a rosy cheek!
O Nea! why did morning break
The spell that so divinely bound me?
Why did I wake? how @3could@1 I wake,
With thee my own and heaven around me!

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