Poems 1817 | Page 4

startled
unaware,
Be jealous that the foot of other wight
Should madly
follow that bright path of light
Trac'd by thy lov'd Libertas; he will
speak,
And tell thee that my prayer is very meek;
That I will follow
with due reverence,
And start with awe at mine own strange pretence.

Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope
To see wide plains, fair
trees and lawny slope:
The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the
flowers:
Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.
CALIDORE.
A fragment.
Young Calidore is paddling o'er the lake;
His healthful spirit eager
and awake
To feel the beauty of a silent eve,
Which seem'd full
loath this happy world to leave;
The light dwelt o'er the scene so
lingeringly.
He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky,
And smiles
at the far clearness all around,
Until his heart is well nigh over wound,

And turns for calmness to the pleasant green
Of easy slopes, and
shadowy trees that lean
So elegantly o'er the waters' brim

And show
their blossoms trim.
Scarce can his clear and nimble eye-sight follow


The freaks, and dartings of the black-wing'd swallow,
Delighting
much, to see it half at rest,
Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast

'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon,
The widening circles
into nothing gone.
And now the sharp keel of his little boat
Comes up with ripple, and
with easy float,
And glides into a bed of water lillies:
Broad leav'd
are they and their white canopies
Are upward turn'd to catch the
heavens' dew.
Near to a little island's point they grew;
Whence
Calidore might have the goodliest view
Of this sweet spot of earth.
The bowery shore
Went off in gentle windings to the hoar
And light
blue mountains: but no breathing man
With a warm heart, and eye
prepared to scan
Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by

Objects that look'd out so invitingly
On either side. These, gentle
Calidore
Greeted, as he had known them long before.
The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
Which the glad setting sun,
in gold doth dress;
Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings,
And
scales upon the beauty of its wings.
The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn,
Stands venerably proud; too
proud to mourn
Its long lost grandeur: fir trees grow around,
Aye
dropping their hard fruit upon the ground.
The little chapel with the cross above
Upholding wreaths of ivy; the
white dove,
That on the windows spreads his feathers light,
And
seems from purple clouds to wing its flight.
Green tufted islands casting their soft shades
Across the lake;
sequester'd leafy glades,
That through the dimness of their twilight
show
Large dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow
Of the wild
cat's eyes, or the silvery stems
Of delicate birch trees, or long grass
which hems
A little brook. The youth had long been viewing
These
pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing
The mountain flowers,

when his glad senses caught
A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was
fraught
With many joys for him: the warder's ken
Had found white
coursers prancing in the glen:
Friends very dear to him he soon will
see;
So pushes off his boat most eagerly,
And soon upon the lake he
skims along,
Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song;
Nor minds
he the white swans that dream so sweetly:
His spirit flies before him
so completely.
And now he turns a jutting point of land,
Whence may be seen the
castle gloomy, and grand:
Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling
peaches,
Before the point of his light shallop reaches
Those marble
steps that through the water dip:
Now over them he goes with hasty
trip,
And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors:
Anon he leaps
along the oaken floors
Of halls and corridors.
Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things
That float about the
air on azure wings,
Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang
Of
clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang,
Just as two noble steeds,
and palfreys twain,
Were slanting out their necks with loosened rein;

While from beneath the threat'ning portcullis
They brought their
happy burthens. What a kiss,
What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's
hand!
How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann'd!
Into how
sweet a trance his soul was gone,
While whisperings of affection

Made him delay to let their tender feet
Come to the earth; with an
incline so sweet
From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent:

And whether there were tears of languishment,
Or that the evening
dew had pearl'd their tresses,
He feels a moisture on his cheek, and
blesses
With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye
All the soft
luxury
That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand,
Fair as some
wonder out of fairy land,

Hung from his shoulder like the drooping
flowers
Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers:
And this he
fondled with his happy cheek
As if for joy he would no further seek;

When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond
Came to his ear, like

something from beyond
His present being: so he gently drew
His
warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new,
From their sweet thrall,
and forward gently bending,
Thank'd heaven that his joy was never
ending;
While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd
A hand
heaven made to succour the distress'd;
A hand that from the world's