Classic Poem

. .A peak, that from the sea
Shoots upward like a spire, —
The clouds far down around it lie,
And ever as the sun climbs high,
Glow like a belt of fire.

And where, upon the sands below,
The waters come and fleet,
A youth lies stretched, so near the waves
They almost kiss his feet.

A boat stands beached upon the sand;
'Tis calm, and yet her sail
Is wet and torn, as if but now
In struggle with the gale.

He sleeps — and in his sleep he smiles,
But 'tis a troubled smile,
As if he dreamed of guilty things,
And joyed, yet feared the while.

Higher and higher climbs the sun; —
The clouds around the peak
Show softer hues, then fade to white,
Edged with a faint blue streak; —

Its beams upon the sleeper's eyes
Shot from a kindled cliff,
Dispel the dream in which he lives,
Stretched death-like, stark and stiff.

And is that gold, which in the boat
He marks with eyes that glow —
That yellow sand, bestowed to keep
An upright keel when mad waves leap,
And the winds that mad them blow?

He eyes the gold, and then the sun,
The mountain, and the sea; —
If 'twas a dream, he seems to say,
Then these a dream must be.

He sits and laughs, to hear afar
The mingled voice and bleat
Of men and flocks, and far away
Of a boat that toils at sea to-day,
The faintly flapping sheet.

And now he hath forgot the gold,
The sea, and mountain nigh;
And one may read, as in a book,
The musings of his eye.

Returning from his toil, at sea,
Ever as came the night
He lowered his sail and dragged his skiff
High on the tide-marked white.

But with sail all loose and wet,
Drenched to the top with brine,
Hath found it now these six days past
At early morning's shine.

And where his boat may go at night,
And wherefore, he would know;
And crept beneath, so bold his heart,
The short deck on her prow.

And there he waited long dark hours,
Till — when the stars were gone —
A sudden light, all-dazzling white,
Whiter than moonlight, shone.

And yet so blinding bright, it quenched
The watcher's falcon eyes, —
That long he nought could see, or know,
Save that the boat, like a bolt let go,
Cleaving the water flies.

And then he saw the boat's swift wake,
Her wake in sea and air;
In sea, 'twas flame, and in the air,
It was the flame's white glare.

A broad swift light — it shaped the gloom,
So steep on either side,
It cleft the solid darkness sheer,
And shone astern a river clear,
So far it burned and wide.

And o'er and aft the driving boat,
High as the eye could see,
Each side the light, the parted night
Towered upward threatningly.

A damsel sat upon the helm,
Loose was her robe and slight,
Thin as a vapor on the moon,
Through it her limbs shone white.

Another clung with one fair arm
A-top the bending mast,
Her other reared a torch, that shone
Pale as the wisp of a weird crone,
At her mumbled spells aghast.

Beneath it streamed her long black hair,
That, in its backward flight,
Flickered, and darted above, about,
Like tongues of gloom by night thrust out
To cleave the flying light.

A third was there, and death-like fair
That lady's neck and cheek;
Binding her hair, a serpent braid
A crown upon her forehead made,
Each serpent's head a peak.

Their tongues shot forth like ruby lemes,
Their eyes like jewels glowed,
Their bodies flecked with gold and red,
Brightened and paled, no monarch's head
Such crown hath ever showed.

A yellow robe flowed to her feet,
It was her golden hair;
She of the boat was mariner,
She guided, and they sang for her,
Those voices in the air.

First Voice.

Whither hast been? what thing of sin
Made seem a thing of beauty?

Second Voice.

A heart that had no love therein,
Ha! ha! in hope it heaven should win,
Gave alms through sense of duty.

Third Voice.

I with a priest, at a secret feast,
Sat, while the poor did fast;
When next in church he banned and blest,
He spoke with faint and fasting breast,
And his eyes were upward cast.

Fourth Voice.

I saw a man, who, under ban,
Dangled till life was sped;
The judge was calm; but had his hand
Touched its breast at the gallows stand,
The corse had stirred and bled.

Fifth Voice.

I saw an eagle gasping lie,
His flights for aye were done;
But still the bird of glory turned
His bright eye on the sun.

The peak which in his pride he sought,
A serpent thither clomb;
No wings had he, and save to hiss,
His poisoned mouth was dumb.

The eagle rose, and towered, and screamed,
The serpent hissed and clung,
He stooped to touch the peak — when lo!
The reptile beat the winged one low,
It struck him with its tongue.

First Voice.

I saw a sleeping maid at night,
The moon was in her wane,
I gazed, but ever when in a dream
To approach her slumbers fain,
Her limbs shot forth a sudden light
That drove me back in pain.

But I found another and —

Why
Our spirits still torment?
All night we wander like the wind,
All night we seek but never find, —
The watchful stars prevent.

On sped the boat; the strains did float,
Now low and then aloft,
Now loud and shrill, and then did fall,
Like sounds from those who songs recall
In whispered music soft.

On sped the boat; the torch-light paled,
Flitted, and died away;
Like thought they crossed the thin grey dawn,
And drove into the day.

Into the day, under the moon,
From mirk of night they shot,
Then shook the man, whose heart till then
Wondered, but trembled not.

A ghostly thing, by gloom or moon,
Whoso to view it dare
Sees but his thought before the sight, —
But what have things so wan and bright
To do in day's broad glare?

A moment, and 'twas dark again,
As through a black ravine
Glinted the sail, the keel just kissed
The roaring tide between.

When lo! a bay, and rocks that rise
Crag upon crag around,
Like smouldering fire their edges burned,
And glowing streams that cleft and turned,
Leaped down without a sound.

It was the sun, that o'er the chasm
Which opened to the sky,
Through jagged peaks and branching trees,
Looked with a moon-like eye.

Through limbs that branched and crossed looked down
That rayless sun o'er-head,
As in a wood he looks at eve,
Through leafless trees, blood-red.

The boat shot round an islet small,
And grated on the sand;
But ere it touched, those ladies wan
Had flitted to the land.

A flickering shade fell on the sail;
He looked, and on the trees
The branches waved, the leaves all stirred,
And shook without a breeze.

He looked; — the trunks did seem to live,
To breathe; — he saw the rings
Move up and down their barky skin,
And the branches twisting out and in,
They all were living things.

The leaves, like heads, did gently threat
And turn, in serpent-wise,
And from among them gleamed like gems
A thousand little eyes.

Amidst, — a serpent, glossy black,
Ascended fold in fold,
And, rising from its wreathed spire,
Bent down a neck of gold.

One shuddering thought of fear; and then
He only felt a sense
Of deep and mournful eyes, that bent
On him their influence.

Nearer they came; swift colors played,
Like those that come and go
On eye-balls pressed, then all was clear:
What then he saw of joy or fear,
Only his heart can know.

Nor well knows that, — but something knows
Of one so passing fair,
That to the bower in which she lay,
She seemed to flatter from its way
The gently winging air.

That turning caught her hair, and tossed
Her slight robe at its whim,
And in her heaving breast her sighs,
Unheard, he saw, — and in her eyes
Wild light and sparkles swim,
And wishes soft, that kindled these,
And still she gazed on him.

And something of a heap of gold,
An old blind wretch thereby,
Who still kept strained upon the heap
A bleared and sightless eye.

And by that old and sightless man,
All helpless and alone,
A deep dark pit, that tells no tales, —
What ear would hear his groan?

And something of a stately pile,
A palace, past the might
Of man to rear, or of his thought,
In sleep, or day-dream wonder-fraught,
To conjure to the sight.

And of an ebon throne, that blazed
With some strange, dazzling stone; —
Something of skulls, which flecked the steps
That mounted to the throne.

And something clearer of a maid,
The queenliest of three,
Who all were queenly in their look,
And beautiful to see.

The first wore sable plumes with white,
Her robe was crimson-dyed;
Who saw — need not her empire see
To know that she held sovereignty,
That lady haughty-eyed.

And bright her eyes with glancing light
Of thoughts that from the wing
Did never rest, but in the sight
Of things most sought, and deemed most bright,
Dreamed of a brighter thing.

The one least fair was clad in garb
That seemed with gems to live,
Some beaming as they eyes had been,
And some that seemed, from a pulse within,
A throbbing light to give.

The third was she he saw at first,
And still she breathed in sighs,
And all her robe — her flowing hair,
Her only gems her eyes.

The proud-looked maiden seemed to say
Who wins must dare and toil —
She, with the gems so richly dight,
Who wins — must cark and moil.

And I will win them both, he thought,
My heart shall teach me how;
But this soft maiden speaks as plain,
Who wins — must win me now.

Just at his thought she forward stept,
With motion loose and free;
Then turned to fly, then turned again,
And then, as less ashamed than fain,
Stept towards him suddenly.

With arms just raised, on tip-toe stepped,
As still half-bent to fly,
Then dropped her eyes, as if grown meek,
Through shame of coming nigh.

So low their lashes drooped, through shame
That would not let them rise,
The pencilled blushes on her cheek
Seemed painted by her eyes.

Again she stopped, — on trembling foot
Just poised, as if for flight;
But he, like thought, would seize her fast,
So quick he leaped upright.

So quick he leaped, — as quickly fell,
And she and all were fled,
And there before him, on the boat,
Rested the serpent's head.

Again he saw those large bright eyes
Bent mournfully on him;
But all that he had seen therein
Seemed like a vision dim.

And then the serpent seemed to know
Of all that he had seen;
And somehow in those eyes it seemed
His thoughts with hers had been.

And can'st thou give? he sighed; when lo!
No serpent's head is there,
They are the damsel's eyes that peer
Half-laughing through her hair.

His heart throbbed quick — his eyes suffused,
He stretched his arms and sighed;
She came and o'er him stooped, and shed
Her glossy hair about his head,
In ringlets falling wide.

He felt her breath, — he sought to clasp,
When, with a sudden pain,
The life rushed back in giddy whirl
Upon his heart and brain.

And after that he nothing knew,
Till waking on the strand,
In morning's broad and dreamless eye,
He saw the golden sand.