The God who stoopt to love her should arise
In all his unveil'd glory on her eyes.
O soul in the eager eyes and quivering lips!
O transport of the near Apocalypse !
'Is this the picture that thy soul did see?
Nay. Let it perish unbelov'd of thee !'
Well, I was stronger now; perhaps because
The great white Truth had kiss'd my brows, it was:
And, though there throbb'd through every nerve and sense
The agony of conscious impotence,
I, loving Truth beyond all hope, all fame,
Gave all my pictures to the heart o' the flame,
And-waited. A little while ago there came
A light I knew to be the morning star;
I felt its thrills of tremulous sweetness afar,
And rose with happy tears upon my cheek—
Then first I knew that I was old and weak-
And follow'd, faltering, toward the blessed light,
While one walkt with me, stately, tall, and bright,
Who smote upon a lyre, and keen and strong
Uprose the subtle sweetness of his song.
I think I must have swoon'd in my delight,
For, when I knew to speak and see, the white
Folds of his undefiled robe were gone,
And I was lying on the ground alone,
Fever and strife and weariness all ceast
In that fixt solemn gaze upon the East.
And I am well content; the mystery
Is open now, or my brain clear'd to see
How from my seeming failure's bitterness
I shall, in unborn ages, reap success :
Not in myself, a man of men, indeed,
But in THE MAN, one day to take his meed
As victor from the breast of Time, superb
In virile strength that needs nor spur nor curb.
O life! O art! I know that I am pure
From treason, having chosen to endure
Rather the most exceeding pain than show
Shadow for light; I joy that it was so.
Hush the ascending sun! mine eyeballs beat
To catch his ray: a thousand times more sweet
To perish blind for gazing thus, I know,
Than look unharm'd upon the dusk below.
-Cover my face."
And it was so : and thus
He past away who was Callimachus.
IN the Arcadia, Sidney's fair romance,
There is a fragment of a fairy tale,
Which clings about my heart and will not go.
'Twas Mopsa told it : rough and coarse was she,
Stampt vulgar to the core with the brand self
Unlovely and unlov'd; and, as she told,
The hearers were unfain to hear, and yet
She moon'd along, until one stay'd her tongue
With gentle prayer that she would keep her tale
For better audience and a better day.
She lik'd the tale, or lik'd to tell the tale,
And laid it in the silence, with the hope
To tell it one day at a festival.
Poor Mopsa! Here beginneth Mopsa's tale,
Told, nearly as may be, in Mopsa's words.
"In the time past," she said, "there was a king, The mightiest man in all his countryside,
Whose wife bare unto him a child that was
The fairest daughter ever tasted pap.
And the king kept a great and generous house
Where all might come and freely take their meat.
So one day, as the king's fair daughter sat
Within her window, playing on a harp—
As sweet as any rose was she: her hair
Held by a rich comb, set with precious stonesThere came a knight riding into the court
Upon a goodly horse, one hair of gold,
The other silver; and 'twas so that he,
Casting his eyes up to that window of hers,
Fell into such extremity of love,
That he did grow not worth the bread he ate :
Till, many a sorry day going o'er his head,
With daily diligence and griefly groans,
He won her heart and won her word to leave
Her father's court and go along with him.
And so in May when all true hearts rejoice,
They stole away together, staying not
To break their fast, but satisfied with love.
And now as they together went, and oft
Did fall to kissing one another's face,
He told his lady how the water-nymphs
Had brought him up, and had bewitcht him so,
If any one should ask him of his name,
He presently must vanish quite away.
And therefore charg'd her, on his blessing, ne'er To ask him what he was or whither he would.
So a great while she did his bidding keep,
Till, passing through a cruel wilderness,
As dark as pitch, her heart so burn'd in her,
She could not choose but ask the question.
Then he, making the grievousest complaints,
That would have melted hardest wood to hear,
There in the darkness vanisht quite away.
And she lay down casting forth pitiful cries.
But having lain so five days and five nights, Wet by the rain, burnt by the sun, she rose And went o'er many high hills and rivers deep Until she came to an aunt's house of hers, And stood and cried aloud to her for help. And she, for pity, gave a nut to her,
And bade her never open it, till she
Were come to the extremest misery
That ever tongue could speak of: and she went
And went, and never rested her at even
Where in the morn she went, until she came
Unto a second aunt, who gave to her
Another nut."-Here Mopsa's tale breaks off.
I read this o'er, and ponder'd, till I saw
Unto an end, albeit not Mopsa's end;
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