The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 180

EXTRACT III.

Geneva.

_Fancy and Truth--Hippomenes and Atalanta. Mont Blanc.--Clouds_.

Even here in this region of wonders I find That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind; Or at least like Hippomenes turns her astray By the golden illusions he flings in her way.

What a glory it seemed the first evening I gazed!

MONT BLANC like a vision then suddenly raised On the wreck of the sunset--and all his array Of high-towering Alps, touched still with a light Far holier, purer than that of the Day, As if nearness to Heaven had made them so bright!

Then the dying at last of these splendors away From peak after peak, till they left but a ray, One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly, O'er the Mighty of Mountains still glowingly hung, Like the last sunny step of ASTRAEA, when high, From the summit of earth to Elysium she sprung!

And those infinite Alps stretching out from the sight Till they mingled with Heaven, now shorn of their light, Stood lofty and lifeless and pale in the sky, Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation gone by!

That scene--I have viewed it this evening again, By the same brilliant light that hung over it then-- The valley, the lake in their tenderest charms-- MONT BLANC in his awfullest pomp--and the whole A bright picture of Beauty, reclined in the arms Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul!

But where are the mountains that round me at first One dazzling horizon of miracles burst?

Those Alps beyond Alps, without end swelling on Like the waves of eternity--where are _they_ gone?

Clouds--clouds--they were nothing but clouds, after all![1]

That chain of MONT BLANC'S, which my fancy flew o'er, With a wonder that naught on this earth can recall, Were but clouds of the evening and now are no more.

What a picture of Life's young illusions! Oh, Night, Drop thy curtain at once and hide _all_ from my sight.

[1] It is often very difficult to distinguish between clouds and Alps; and on the evening when I first saw this magnificent scene, the clouds were so disposed along the whole horizon, as to deceive me into an idea of the stupendous extent of these mountains, which my subsequent observation was very far, of course, from confirming.

EXTRACT IV.

Milan.

_The Picture Gallery.--Albano's Rape of Proserpine.--Reflections.-- Universal Salvation.--Abraham sending away Agar, by Guercino.--Genius_.

Went to the _Brera_--saw a Dance of Loves By smooth ALBANO! him whose pencil teems With Cupids numerous as in summer groves The leaflets are or motes in summer beams.

'Tis for the theft of Enna's flower from earth, These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath-- Those that are nearest linkt in order bright, Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath; And those more distant showing from beneath The others' wings their little eyes of light.

While see! among the clouds, their eldest brother But just flown up tells with a smile of bliss This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss!

Well might the Loves rejoice--and well did they Who wove these fables picture in their weaving That blessed truth, (which in a darker day ORIGEN lost his saints.h.i.+p for believing,[1])-- That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray Nor time nor death nor sin can overcast, Even to the depths of h.e.l.l will find his way, And soothe and heal and triumph there at last!

GUERCINO'S Agar--where the bondmaid hears From Abram's lips that he and she must part, And looks at him with eyes all full of tears That seem the very last drops from her heart.

Exquisite picture!--let me not be told Of minor faults, of coloring tame and cold-- If thus to conjure up a face so fair,[2]

So full of sorrow; with the story there Of all that woman suffers when the stay Her trusting heart hath leaned on falls away-- If thus to touch the bosom's tenderest spring, By calling into life such eyes as bring Back to our sad remembrance some of those We've smiled and wept with in their joys and woes, Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known, Till all the pictured grief becomes our own-- If _this_ be deemed the victory of Art-- If thus by pen or pencil to lay bare The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart Before all eyes be Genius--it is _there_!

[1] The extension of the Divine Love ultimately even to the regions of the d.a.m.ned.

[2] It is probable that this fine head is a portrait, as we find it repeated in a picture by Guercino, which is in the possession of Signor Carnuccini, the brother of the celebrated painter at Rome.

EXTRACT V.

Padua.

_Fancy and Reality.--Rain-drops and Lakes.--Plan of a Story.--Where to place the Scene of it.--In some unknown Region.--Psalmanazar's Imposture with respect to the Island of Formosa_.

The more I've viewed this world the more I've found, That, filled as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare.

Fancy commands within her own bright round A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.

Nor is it that her power can call up there A single charm, that's not from Nature won, No more than rainbows in their pride can wear A single hue unborrowed from the sun-- But 'tis the mental medium it s.h.i.+nes thro'

That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue; As the same light that o'er the level lake One dull monotony of l.u.s.tre flings, Will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make Colors as gay as those on Peris' wings!

And such, I deem, the difference between real, Existing Beauty and that form ideal Which she a.s.sumes when seen by poets' eyes, Like suns.h.i.+ne in the drop--with all those dyes Which Fancy's variegating prism supples.

I have a story of two lovers, filled With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, And the sad, doubtful bliss that ever thrilled Two young and longing hearts in that sweet madness.

But where to choose the region of my vision In this wide, vulgar world--what real spot Can be found out sufficiently Elysian For two such perfect lovers I know not.

Oh for some fair FORMOSA, such as he, The young Jew fabled of, in the Indian Sea, By nothing but its name of Beauty known, And which Queen Fancy might make all her own, Her fairy kingdom--take its people, lands, And tenements into her own bright hands, And make at least one earthly corner fit For Love to live in, pure and exquisite!

EXTRACT VI.

Venice.

_The Fall of Venice not to be lamented--Former Glory.--Expedition against Constantinople.--Giustinianis.--Republic.--Characteristics of the old Government.--Golden Book.--Brazen Mouths.--Spies.--Dungeons.--Present Desolation_.

Mourn not for VENICE--let her rest In ruin, 'mong those States unblest, Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, Where'er they trampled, Freedom died.

No--let us keep our tears for them, Where'er they pine, whose fall hath been Not from a blood-stained diadem, Like that which deckt this ocean-queen, But from high daring in the cause Of human Rights--the only good And blessed strife, in which man draws His mighty sword on land or flood.

Mourn not for VENICE; tho' her fall Be awful, as if Ocean's wave Swept o'er her, she deserves it all, And Justice triumphs o'er her grave.

Thus perish every King and State That run the guilty race she ran, Strong but in ill and only great By outrage against G.o.d and man!

True, her high spirit is at rest, And all those days of glory gone, When the world's waters, east and west, Beneath her white-winged commerce shone; When with her countless barks she went To meet the Orient Empire's might.[1]

And her Giustinianis sent Their hundred heroes to that fight.