Classic Poem

Now may I thee describe a Paradise,
That in the olden day I chanced to see,
And plainly in my inward mirror lies
The shape of that divine festivity;
So, brief may I interpret it to thee,
Return for graceful prose of such a measure
As in no rhyme will e'er pertain to me;
For I have not of life abounding leisure,
I live not in gay rhyme, though that would be my pleasure.

There was a plain beneath a summer sky,
Stretching away to mountains like blue air,
Whose points, though surely not to heaven nigh,
Did ever a most azure vestment wear,
On whose pure heights man's life became more rare;
So when we meet a soul of great design,
Its noble presence is a weight to bear,
Capped with pure snows, on which the few rays shine
Of this world's gratitude, now in a swift decline.

Scattered upon the plain were holy trees,
Those moving, yet immovable ideas;
They trembled for the little western breeze,
So full of thought, so subdued to bright fears,
While they o'erlast the number of our years.
Birds reared their young in them, fearing no harm,
For then upon the plain were shed no tears,
But all were swelling in the sunlight calm,
There was most perfect peace, that never felt alarm.

On a clear stream, o'er pebbles tinkling shrill, —
In the embraces of a varied mass
Of very sumptuous trees, whose mouths could fill
Its roof with music from the winds that pass,
Mixed with some whispers from the bright green grass,
A temple stood, — its roof enchased all
With artists' history. What tale it was
I cannot think; a solemn funeral
It may perchance have been, teaching from that gray wall.

This temple was a font of the best art,
A juvenescent shape of pleasant thought,
Such as would steal within thy inmost heart;
Oh, with what precious hands, its figures wrought,
By learning from a life of love, 't was brought:
The pillars rose with fine proportioned air,
To them the entire world was plainly nought,
They such complete self grace did always wear,
And in the radiant light their pious roof upbear.

And underneath this solemn, stately roof,
Two dwelt, save when they wandered near the plain,
Who from each other never kept aloof,
But sometimes from the beach would hear the main,
Or see the early stars, a mild, sweet train,
Come out to bury the diurnal sun.
There was such steadfast union in the twain
They both each day of life at once begun,
With them each day of life at the same time was done.

One's hair was brown and soft, and liked to play
Around a neck whose meaning was quite clear,
It fell about her face, — an early day,
So she did in a kind of mist appear;
Her eye was liquid with a gentle fear,
She felt a joy in her timidity:
The other did her imitate most near,
But not so mild nor eloquent was he,
And both at morn and eve he bent the willing knee.

I leave thee — the maid spoke to the true youth —
This is the day I promised to return;
But soon I come to you again, in truth
To tend the fire perpetual of our urn,
Of our delightful plain again to learn
Rich lessons: — The sun lay upon the line
Of the last height; the stars were soon to burn,
The youth his front in silence could decline,
In a most pure belief his every thought resign.

Long time had passed; the maid was drest in state,
Wild flared the odorous lamps, church music rung,
The hour was of the darkest midnight late,
As tolled the heavy bell with iron tongue;
Meantime in dewy woods brisk crickets sung,
And shrieked from nodding towers the sharp-toned owl,
Sitting upon his throne with ivy hung:
And miserable priest drew tight his cowl,
And in the city's depths the murderous deeds broke foul.

With the fair maid a youth of beauty stood,
Whose countenance was touched with withering scorn;
Of no content and reverential mood,
But a poor wanderer of the world forlorn,
In whom the bad array was ever born
Of discord, hate, and forms I will not name,
A sun uprising in a cloudy dawn, —
The maid was loving this enamored same,
For burned within her breast a most disastrous flame.

*****

Lying on fragrant leaves the youth was seen,
In the sweet temple on the plain so wide.
What perfect picture had his short life been!
His ways had joyous nature ne'er belied, —
But then, how was it he so soon had died?
For a few bones were in the temple fair,
The graceful pillars round it did abide;
Fanned them the softly entering, singing air,
The same mild aspect rose, was all devoid of care.

A meek old man was reading from a page,
Reclined not far from the sweet temple's door;
He must have been a man of longest age,
And promised now to last of years a store.
The sunlight painted him all freshly o'er;
With quiet face and soft entrancing eye
He sate, as silent as a rocky shore,
That listens to the ocean's lullaby,
Nor moves its placid front though waves roar frightfully.

Presently came along the unworn road
A troop of people, and their mules, whose bells
Merrily jingled o'er oppressive load.
They stopped to breathe at one of the clear wells
Of that old country, which forever swells
From a most curious, ancient, carved stone;
And musical a tale it always tells,
Ever a thinking song it sings alone,
Coming from middest earth, and of the blessed Unknown.

They quickly passed away; the sage sate still,
And twilight melted down on stream and vale;
Nor did he move from his repose until
The moon was gleaming like torn silver mail,
And through ethereal deeps went gently pale;
Then closing up his book, he silently
Removed, saying in thought, — Shall not avail
This summer rest, O lovely one! To thee,
Who ere thy real time put on that sanctity.

To thee should these few simple lines convey
A pleasurable sense of my own mind,
Which from my earliest youth, the frailest lay
Has to me shadowed out in no great kind, —
In that I shall a perfect pleasure find;
And in a future day may thee present
With thoughts as permanent as shifting wind.
Yet now believe that these are kindly meant,
Though with no real life is this small story blent.