Fidelio and Lenore

Oh! Muse, inspirer of the old romance, Sweet songs of chivalry, rich fairy lore, Let thy deep influence through my spirit glance, For I would vision forth a tale of yore,— A legend of true love, that evermore May in bright fiction to the mind display The power of constant truth, to triumph o’er The ills of life in all their dire array, And how that virtue pure speeds conquering on its way.

But thus to sing my soul must be subdued To softest tenderness and gentle thought, And every feeling dissonant and rude To full and perfect harmony be brought; Whilst richest colours, from gay fancy caught, Must paint the whole, and with their light illume Well-chosen words, though seemingly unsought, That run in cheerful music, and assume Rich melodies of verse,—like breezes o’er spring’s bloom.

No Muses haunt Parnassus’ lofty mount, Nor wander on by Castalie’s pure stream; Whose waters welling from their crystal fount Blushed with the light of heaven’s entrancing beam. Mere glorious visions of a Grecian dream Those Muses were! on them I call in vain! And ye must all me most presumptious deem, That such high prize I struggle to attain As sing some wild romance, some sweet Spenserian strain.

The moonbeams shone upon the castle wall, That rearing proudly from its native rock, Gave back the accents of the torrent’s fall Which gushed below, as if to sternly mock The wild rage of the river, whose fierce shock Struck with the might of an eternal storm, But yet impressed not the immortal block Of massive adamant, that reared its form Embattled midst the skies with turrets multiform.

And far around vast forests stretched their boughs In one unpathed perplexity of shade; Upon whose skirts the purple mountains rose, As if they would the starry realms invade With their titanic summits. Midst each glade, And mossy valley, gently purling streams Gushed rippling on, and in their windings made Deep woodland haunts, unpierced by sunny beams, Sweet bowers for purest love,—fit nooks for poet’s dreams.

Here were rock-fragments clad with tangled moss And crowned with wildflowers’ gay and drooping bells; Here trees majestic shot wide boughs across To form vast arbours, or green leafy cells, Amidst whose verdure coolness ever dwells; And on the brook-sides’ grassy banks arose, Whose glossy richness in soft couches swells To woo the student calmly to repose, Or watch glad insects sport at days warm golden close.

O’er tower and turret, bastion, portal, keep, The bright moon glancing with serenest smile, Threw on their grandeur, mid the hours of sleep, A sacred light that glorified the pile And made it seem a vision. Calm awhile And lonely, and in stillness lay the scene Save tones of rushing waters, that beguile The thoughts to them a moment. Now is seen A knight’s athletic form in armour’s dazzling sheen.

Along the terrace, with majestic stride, He onward passed below the highest tower; And each step witnessed to the noble pride That fills a warrior’s heart—the sense of power, Of free-born might, and fame’s immortal dower. His shield he had not, but his keen sword hung Bright-jewelled by his side, and like a flower His gay plume nodded, whilst he swiftly strung A lute’s expressive chords, and thus in deep tones sung.