English

1.

Oh, hast thou seen the mountain snow
Which south winds softly overblow,
How fast it wastes, how swiftly hastes
To feed the rock-rill's lonely flow,
And swell a sea of tears below?
So wastes, so weeps lone Etheline,
For she hath lost her Telmarine.
In evil hour, an awful power
Hath stol'n lord Konig's child;
And never since that dismal hour
Hath she, the maiden-mother, smil'd.
Seldom she sleeps,
But always weeps;
And when she sleeps, she dreams

BOOK IV.

Ellen! " the dead are safe, " I said;
Yet to the unreturning dead
I must again sad utterance give:
My pleasing task will then be done;
Soon, then, my mortal course be run;
And I, too, shall begin to live.
Who shall undo the past day's deed?
It labours for the coming hour;
And if I am but as a weed,
The weed, though dead, is still a power;
Ay, and of Goodness! of all powers
Greatest, the Life that cannot die,
The evergrowing Unity,

11.

Ceas'd the fang'd voice. The murderous eye,
The globe of crimson fire, were gone;
And from the sky — how silvery,
How cold o'er all, how suddenly —
Moonlight and starlight, silent, shone!
The Wanderer wept — he was alone.
Not so? From choral voice and gong,
And trumpet, blown deep shades among,
Arose a storm of sound and song:
" The sought is found! and summons thee
To doom and darkness, Heresy! "
Brief, sudden, loud,
As thunder from a rainless cloud,

9.

The Wanderer answer'd, " I to thee
Consign the Maid of Destiny,
This sin-born child; for 'tis my will,
That vice which blights, and crimes that kill,
And pain, of evil born, shall bring
Blessings to every living thing;
And that all wrong, by love withstood,
Shall turn all evil into good. "

10.

But woe-tried men have feelings fine;
And loth was Adwick to resign
The nursling, at his journey's end;
As loth was she to quit her friend.
Friend? Ay, she knew his troubled brow;

7.

" Mine is the shadow, mine the throne, "
The Wanderer cried; " I therefore dare
The shadow of the throne;
For I am He who sits thereon,
In spirit, everywhere;
God! I am God! the all-adored!
The many-nam'd! the only Lord!
Incarnate oft' in human form;
Permitting fear to worship love,
On altar-stone, in hallow'd grove,
And proud to bless the meanest worm,
Though thron'd o'er earth, and sea, and sky;
My chariot Light; my torch-stand Night;
My sceptre Life; my falchion Pain;

6.

Then, westward turn'd the sable four;
The stately whiteness westward turn'd;
Them following, he the nursling bore;
And, rais'd aloft, the torches burn'd.
How strangely, pillars vast
On each hand pass'd!
How grandly, overhead,
Domes, following domes, behind them fled,
All in deep silence! Silence deep
Lay on the fretted roof, like sleep;
And there the moonlight lay, like death
It could not pierce the gloom beneath,
Where a broad orb, beheld afar,

3.

The dread chaunt ceas'd, and over all,
Except the Wanderer and the child,
Strange awe, like death-bed fear, did fall,
Or sleep, that dreams of woe.
On came the Wanderer, unaffrighted;
And while the valiant child, delighted,
Listen'd, or clapp'd her hands and smil'd,
He stood before the Nun of Snow.

4.

" Fear not, thou Wanderer sad, " she said,
" To follow whither I must lead:
The pray'r is pray'd, the rede is read;
And ever best the boldest speed.

2.

Ev'n while she dream'd, in silence pass'd,
Moon-lighted gloomily,
A wanderer through the forest vast,
Unto the Throne of Mystery
Bearing a child,
That gaz'd around her in surprise,
Or innocently smil'd,
Looking on him, with Konig's eyes
Of deep, deep, darkest blue,
Almost to blackness deepen'd, yet
Blue as Carpathia's violet.
But soon in fear her arms she threw
Around his neck; for the dim light
Made darkness touchable to sight;

1.

While to the she-wolf from afar
Her prowling mate replied,
And muffled moon, and riddled star,
Glimps'd on the dusk lake's mirror wide;
Asleep, and dreaming, Etheline
Rock'd on her bosom Telmarine,
At lonest Waterside.
Spirit of all that lives to die!
Relate her dream of agony.
She thought, a shape of darkness bow'd
Heav'n's concave, crushing in her breath,
As with the weight of cloud on cloud
To rock-like substance press'd;
And two pale arms snatch'd from her breast

BOOK III.

O'er " Wharncliffe of the Demons " thou,
Dear Ellen, hast a wanderer been:
Thy second letter places now
Before my soul the beauteous scene.
But thou hast nam'd a name that brings
Back the deplor'd and hopeless past,
And o'er remember'd Wharncliffe flings
An angel's shadow, flitting fast.
Why did'st thou name that mournful name?
Beautiful in its worth and woe,
Over my sadden'd heart it came,
Like funeral music, wailing low;
Or like a deep cathedral toll,