English poem
Song
by Thomas Tod Stoddart (1810–1880)
A rosary of stars, love! we'll count them as we go Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below, And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea, In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee!
A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide, And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide! And we'll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen, With shells of silver sown in radiancy between.
A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be, Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea; Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go, Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below!
He lifted the dead girl, and is away To where a light boat, in its moorings lay, Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hush Of the nurse waters. With a frantic rush O'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped, And through the shoaling waves that fell and fled Upon the furrow'd beach.
The snowy sail Is hoisted to the gladly gushing gale, That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breast Of silver, looking lovely to the west; And at the helm there sits the wither'd one, Gazing and gazing on the sister nun, With her fair tresses floating on his knee-- The beautiful, death-stricken Agathè!
Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stood Out toward the great heaving solitude, That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breath Went through its lungs, of agony and death!
The sun is lost within the labyrinth Of clouds of purple and pale hyacinth, That are the frontlet of the sister Sky Kissing her brother Ocean; and they lie Bathing in blushes, till the rival queen Night, with her starry tiar, floateth in-- A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth draw Over the light of love a shade of awe Most strange, that parts our wonder not the less Between her mystery and loveliness!
And she is there, that is a pyramid Whereon the stars, the statues of the dead, Are imaged over the eternal hall, A group of radiances majestical! And Julio looks up, and there they be, And Agathè, and all the waste of Sea, That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroud Of night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proud Amid its azure pulses; and again He dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strain Of mirth upon the ladye:--Agathè! Sweet bride! be thou a queen, and I will lay A crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow; And I will twine these tresses, that are now Floating beside me, to a diadem; And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem, And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queen Of the unpeopled waters, sadly seen By star-light, till the yet unrisen moon Issue, unveiled, from her anderoon, To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say, "Hail--hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathè!"
The warrior world was lifting to the bent Of his eternal brow magnificent, The fiery moon, that in her blazonry Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea Felt fever on his azure arteries, That shadow'd them with crimson, while the breeze Fell faster on the solitary sail. But the red moon grew loftier and pale, And the great ocean, like the holy hall, Where slept a seraph host maritimal, Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond Fann'd over it, and millions beyond Of tiny waves were playing to and fro, All musical, with an incessant flow Of cadences, innumerably heard Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird, That held a solemn paean to the moon.
A few devotional fair clouds were soon Breathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven, And under the great galaxies were driven Of stars that group'd together, and they went Like voyagers along the firmament, And grew to silver in the blessed light Of the moon alchymist. It was not night, Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'er The eye-lid like a curse, but far before In splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom, In many a myriad gushes, that do come Direct from the eternal stars beyond, Like holy fountains pouring diamond!
A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail! And be not bending to thy trances pale. But he is gazing on the moonlit brow Of his dead Agathè, and fondly now, The light is silvering her bloodless face And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness As in a marble image, very bright! But stricken with a phantasy of light That is not given to the mortal hue, To life and breathing beauty: and she too Is more of the expressless lineament, Than of the golden thoughts that came and went Over her features like a living tide No while before.
A sail is on the wide And moving waters, and it draweth nigh Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly Before it, in their armories enthrall'd Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald; And many is the mariner that sees The lone boat in the melancholy breeze, Waving her snowy canvass, and anon Their stately vessel with a gallant run Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer Of men is pass'd into a sudden fear, And whisperings, and shakings of the head-- The moon was streaming on a virgin dead, And Julio sat over her insane, Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again, Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stood Far out into the murmuring solitude!
But Julio saw not; he only heard A rushing, like the passing of a bird, And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew Along the startled billows; and he knew Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell Beside him, on the coming of the swell.
They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride! And made obeisance at thy holy side. They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bring Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king, To utter music at thy pearly feet.-- Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet, To visit in thy temple of the sea; Thy sister moon is watching over thee! And she is spreading a fair mantle of Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!-- Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof, In solitude, below the starry roof; And on its dewy plume there is a light Of palest splendour, o'er the blessed night. Thy spirit, Agathè!--and yet, thou art Beside me, and my solitary heart Is throbbing near to thee: I must not feel The sweet notes of thy holy music steal Into my feverous and burning brain,-- So wake not! and I'll hush thee with a strain Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me, And I be loved as I have loved thee:--