Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 2 August 1848. Various

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      Round Phraërion, nearer drawn,

      One beauteous arm he flung: "First to my love!

      We'll see her safe; then to our task till dawn."

      Well pleased, Phraërion answered that embrace;

      All balmy he with thousand breathing sweets,

      From thousand dewy flowers. "But to what place,"

      He said, "will Zophièl go? who danger greets

      As if 'twere peace. The palace of the gnome,

      Tahathyam, for our purpose most were meet;

      But then, the wave, so cold and fierce, the gloom,

      The whirlpools, rocks, that guard that deep retreat!

      Yet there are fountains, which no sunny ray

      E'er danced upon, and drops come there at last,

      Which, for whole ages, filtering all the way,

      Through all the veins of earth, in winding maze have past.

      These take from mortal beauty every stain,

      And smooth the unseemly lines of age and pain,

      With every wondrous efficacy rife;

      Nay, once a spirit whispered of a draught,

      Of which a drop, by any mortal quaffed,

      Would save, for terms of years, his feeble, flickering life."

      The soft flower-spirit shuddered, looked on high,

      And from his bolder brother would have fled;

      But then the anger kindling in that eye

      He could not bear. So to fair Egla's bed

      Followed and looked; then shuddering all with dread,

      To wondrous realms, unknown to men, he led;

      Continuing long in sunset course his flight,

      Until for flowery Sicily he bent;

      Then, where Italia smiled upon the night,

      Between their nearest shores chose midway his descent.

      The sea was calm, and the reflected moon

      Still trembled on its surface; not a breath

      Curled the broad mirror. Night had passed her noon;

      How soft the air! how cold the depths beneath!

      The spirits hover o'er that surface smooth,

      Zophiël's white arm around Phraërion's twined,

      In fond caresses, his tender cares to soothe,

      While either's nearer wing the other's crossed behind.

      Well pleased, Phraërion half forgot his dread,

      And first, with foot as white as lotus leaf,

      The sleepy surface of the waves essayed;

      But then his smile of love gave place to drops of grief.

      How could he for that fluid, dense and chill,

      Change the sweet floods of air they floated on?

      E'en at the touch his shrinking fibres thrill;

      But ardent Zophiël, panting, hurries on,

      And (catching his mild brother's tears, with lip

      That whispered courage 'twixt each glowing kiss,)

      Persuades to plunge: limbs, wings, and locks they dip;

      Whate'er the other's pains, the lover felt but bliss.

      Quickly he draws Phraërion on, his toil

      Even lighter than he hoped: some power benign

      Seems to restrain the surges, while they boil

      'Mid crags and caverns, as of his design

      Respectful. That black, bitter element,

      As if obedient to his wish, gave way;

      So, comforting Phraërion, on he went,

      And a high, craggy arch they reach at dawn of day,

      Upon the upper world; and forced them through

      That arch, the thick, cold floods, with such a roar,

      That the bold sprite receded, and would view

      The cave before he ventured to explore.

      Then, fearful lest his frighted guide might part

      And not be missed amid such strife and din,

      He strained him closer to his burning heart,

      And, trusting to his strength, rushed fiercely in.

      On, on, for many a weary mile they fare;

      Till thinner grew the floods, long, dark and dense,

      From nearness to earth's core; and now, a glare

      Of grateful light relieved their piercing sense;

      As when, above, the sun his genial streams

      Of warmth and light darts mingling with the waves,

      Whole fathoms down; while, amorous of his beams,

      Each scaly, monstrous thing leaps from its slimy caves.

      And now, Phraërion, with a tender cry,

      Far sweeter than the land-bird's note, afar

      Heard through the azure arches of the sky,

      By the long-baffled, storm-worn mariner:

      "Hold, Zophiël! rest thee now – our task is done,

      Tahathyam's realms alone can give this light!

      O! though it is not the life-awakening sun,

      How sweet to see it break upon such fearful night!"

      Clear grew the wave, and thin; a substance white,

      The wide-expanding cavern floors and flanks;

      Could one have looked from high how fair the sight!

      Like these, the dolphin, on Bahaman banks,

      Cleaves the warm fluid, in his rainbow tints,

      While even his shadow on the sands below

      Is seen; as through the wave he glides, and glints,

      Where lies the polished shell, and branching corals grow.

      No massive gate impedes; the wave, in vain,

      Might strive against the air to break or fall;

      And, at the portal of that strange domain,

      A clear, bright curtain seemed, or crystal wall.

      The spirits pass its bounds, but would not far

      Tread its slant pavement, like unbidden guest;

      The while, on either side, a bower of spar

      Gave invitation for a moment's rest.

      And, deep in either bower, a little throne

      Looked so fantastic, it were hard to know

      If busy nature fashioned it alone,

      Or found some curious artist here below.

      Soon spoke СКАЧАТЬ