The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore

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That night--thou haply may'st forget
Its loveliness--but 'twas a night
To make earth's meanest slave regret
Leaving a world so soft and bright.
On one side in the dark blue sky
Lonely and radiant was the eye
Of Jove himself, while on the other,
'Mong stars that came out one by one,
The young moon--like the Roman mother
Among her living jewels--shone.
"Oh that from yonder orbs," I thought,
"Pure and eternal as they are,
"There could to earth some power be brought,
"Some charm with their own essence fraught
"To make man deathless as a star,
"And open to his vast desires
"A course, as boundless and sublime
"As that which waits those comet-fires,
"That burn and roam throughout all time!"

While thoughts like these absorbed my mind,
That weariness which earthly bliss
However sweet still leaves behind,
As if to show how earthly 'tis,
Came lulling o'er me and I laid
My limbs at that fair statue's base--
That miracle, which Art hath made
Of all the choice of Nature's grace--
To which so oft I've knelt and sworn.
That could a living maid like her
Unto this wondering world be born,
I would myself turn worshipper.

Sleep came then o'er me--and I seemed
To be transported far away
To a bleak desert plain where gleamed
One single, melancholy ray.
Throughout that darkness dimly shed
From a small taper in the hand
Of one who pale as are the dead
Before me took his spectral stand,
And said while awfully a smile
Came o'er the wanness of his cheek--
"Go and beside the sacred Nile
"You'll find the Eternal Life you seek."

Soon as he spoke these words the hue
Of death o'er all his features grew
Like the pale morning when o'er night
She gains the victory full of light;
While the small torch he held became
A glory in his hand whose flame
Brightened the desert suddenly,
Even to the far horizon's line--
Along whose level I could see
Gardens and groves that seemed to shine
As if then o'er them freshly played
A vernal rainbow's rich cascade;
And music floated every where,
Circling, as 'twere itself the air,
And spirits on whose wings the hue
Of heaven still lingered round me flew,
Till from all sides such splendors broke,
That with the excess of light I woke!

Such was my dream;--and I confess
Tho' none of all our creedless school
E'er conned, believed, or reverenced less
The fables of the priest-led fool
Who tells us of a soul, a mind,
Separate and pure within us shrined,
Which is to live--ah, hope too bright!--
For ever in yon fields of light;
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes
Of Gods are on him--as if blest
And blooming in their own blue skies
The eternal Gods were not too wise
To let weak man disturb their rest!--
Tho' thinking of such creeds as thou
And all our Garden sages think,
Yet is there something, I allow,
In dreams like this--a sort of link
With worlds unseen which from the hour
I first could lisp my thoughts till now
Hath mastered me with spell-like power.

And who can tell, as we're combined
Of various atoms--some refined,
Like those that scintillate and play
In the fixt stars--some gross as they
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay--
Who can be sure but 'tis the best
And brightest atoms of our frame,
Those most akin to stellar flame,
That shine out thus, when we're at rest;--
Even as the stars themselves whose light
Comes out but in the silent night.
Or is it that there lurks indeed
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed
And that our Guardians from on high
Come in that pause from toil and sin
To put the senses' curtain by
And on the wakeful soul look in!

Vain thought!--but yet, howe'er it be,
Dreams more than once have proved to me
Oracles, truer far than Oak
Or Dove or Tripod ever spoke.
And 'twas the words--thou'lt hear and smile--
The words that phantom seemed to speak--
"Go and beside the sacred Nile
"You'll find the Eternal Life you seek"--
That haunting me by night, by day,
At length as with the unseen hand
Of Fate itself urged me away
From Athens to this Holy Land;
Where 'mong the secrets still untaught,
The mysteries that as yet nor sun
Nor eye hath reached--oh, blessed thought!--
May sleep this everlasting one.

Farewell--when to our Garden friends
Thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends
The gayest of their school thus far,
Wandering beneath Canopus' star,
Tell them that wander where he will
Or howsoe'er they now condemn
His vague and vain pursuit he still
Is worthy of the School and them;--
Still all their own--nor e'er forgets
Even while his heart and soul pursue
The Eternal Light which never sets,
The many meteor joys that _do_,
But seeks them, hails them with delight
Where'er they meet his longing sight.
And if his life _must_ wane away
Like other lives at least the day,
The hour it lasts shall like a fire
With incense fed in sweets expire.

LETTER II.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

_Memphis_.

'Tis true, alas--the mysteries and the lore
I came to study on this, wondrous shore.
Are all forgotten in the new delights.
The strange, wild joys that fill my days and nights.
Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak
From subterranean temples, those _I_ seek
Come from the breathing shrines where Beauty lives,
And Love, her priest, the soft responses gives.
Instead of honoring Isis in those rites
At Coptos held, I hail her when she lights
Her first young crescent on the holy stream--
When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam
And number o'er the nights she hath to run,
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun.
While o'er some mystic leaf that dimly lends
A clew into past times the student bends,
And by its glimmering guidance learns to tread
Back thro' the shadowy knowledge of the dead--
The only skill, alas, _I_ yet can claim
Lies in deciphering some new loved-one's name--
Some gentle missive hinting time and place,
In language soft as Memphian reed can trace.

And where--oh where's the heart that could withstand
The unnumbered witcheries of this sun-born land,
Where first young Pleasure's banner was unfurled
And Love hath temples ancient as the world!
Where mystery like the veil by Beauty worn
Hides but to win and shades but to adorn;
Where that luxurious melancholy born
Of passion and of genius sheds a gloom
Making joy holy;--where the bower and tomb
Stand side by side and Pleasure learns from Death
The instant value of each moment's breath.
Couldst thou but see how like a poet's dream
This lovely land now looks!--the glorious stream
That late between its banks was seen to glide
'Mong shrines and marble cities on each side
Glittering like jewels strung along a chain
Hath now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain
And valley like a giant from his bed
Rising with outstretched limbs hath grandly spread.
While far as sight can reach beneath as clear
And blue a heaven as ever blest our sphere,
Gardens and pillared streets and porphyry domes
And high-built temples fit to be the homes
Of mighty Gods, and pyramids whose hour
Outlasts all time above the waters tower!

Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy that make
One theatre of this vast, peopled lake,
Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives
Of life and motion ever moves and lives.
Here, up the steps of temples from the wave
Ascending in procession slow and grave.
Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands
And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands;
While there, rich barks--fresh from those sunny tracts
Far off beyond the sounding cataracts--
Glide with their precious lading to the sea,
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory,
Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains
Of gold washed down by Abyssinian rains.
Here where the waters wind into a bay
Shadowy and cool some pilgrims on their way
To Sais or Bubastus among beds
Of lotus flowers that close above their heads
Push their light barks, and there as in a bower,
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour;
Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with heat,
That leaf from which its waters drink most sweet.--
While haply not far off beneath a bank
Of blossoming acacias many a prank
Is played in the cool current by a train
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,[1] whose chain
Around two conquerors of the world was cast,
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last.

For oh! believe not them who dare to brand
As poor in charms the women of this land.
Tho' darkened by that sun whose spirit flows
Thro' every vein and tinges as it goes,
'Tis but the embrowning of the fruit that tells
How rich within the soul of ripeness dwells--
The hue their own dark sanctuaries wear,
Announcing heaven in half-caught glimpses there.
And never yet did tell-tale looks set free
The secret of young hearts more tenderly.
Such eyes!--long, shadowy, with that languid fall
Of the fringed lids which may be seen in all
Who live beneath the sun's too ardent rays--
Lending such looks as on their marriage days
Young maids cast down before a bridegroom's gaze!
Then for their grace--mark but the nymph-like shapes
Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes
From green Anthylla or light urns of flowers--
Not our own Sculpture in her happiest hours
E'er imaged forth even at the touch of him[2]
Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb!
Then, canst thou wonder if mid scenes like these
I should forget all graver mysteries,
All lore but Love's, all secrets but that best
In heaven or earth, the art of being blest!
Yet are there times--tho' brief I own their stay,
Like summer-clouds that shine themselves away--
Moments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall
Upon my saddening heart and I recall
That garden dream--that promise of a power,
Oh, were there such!--to lengthen out life's hour,
On, on, as thro' a vista far away
Opening before us into endless day!
And chiefly o'er my spirit did this thought
Come on that evening--bright as ever brought
Light's golden farewell to the world--when first
The eternal pyramids of Memphis burst
Awfully on my sight-standing sublime
Twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of Time,
From whose lone summit when his reign hath past
From earth for ever he will look his last!

There hung a calm and solemn sunshine round
Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound
In the still air that circled them which stole
Like music of past times into my soul.
I thought what myriads of the wise and brave
And beautiful had sunk into the grave,
Since earth first saw these wonders--and I said
"Are things eternal only for the Dead?
"Hath Man no loftier hope than this which dooms
"His only lasting trophies to be tombs?
"But _'tis_ not so--earth, heaven, all nature shows
"He _may_ become immortal--_may_ unclose
"The wings within him wrapt, and proudly rise
"Redeemed from earth, a creature of the skies!

"And who can say, among the written spells
"From Hermes' hand that in these shrines and cells
"Have from the Flood lay hid there may not be
"Some secret clew to immortality,
"Some amulet whose spell can keep life's fire
"Awake within us never to expire!
"'Tis known that on the Emerald Table, hid
"For ages in yon loftiest pyramid,
"The Thrice-Great[3] did himself engrave of old
"The chymic mystery that gives endless gold.
"And why may not this mightier secret dwell
"Within the same dark chambers? who can tell
"But that those kings who by the written skill
"Of the Emerald Table called forth gold at will
"And quarries upon quarries heapt and hurled,
"To build them domes that might outstand the world--
"Who knows, but that the heavenlier art which shares
"The life of Gods with man was also theirs--
"That they themselves, triumphant o'er the power
"Of fate and death, are living at this hour;
"And these, the giant homes they still possess.
"Not tombs but everlasting palaces
"Within whose depths hid from the world above
"Even now they wander with the few they love,
"Thro' subterranean gardens, by a light
"Unknown on earth which hath nor dawn nor night!
"Else, why those deathless structures? why the grand
"And hidden halls that undermine this land?
"Why else hath none of earth e'er dared to go
"Thro' the dark windings of that realm below,
"Nor aught from heaven itself except the God
"Of Silence thro' those endless labyrinths trod?"
Thus did I dream--wild, wandering dreams, I own,
But such as haunt me ever, if alone,
Or in that pause 'twixt joy and joy I be,
Like a ship husht between two waves at sea.
Then do these spirit whisperings like the sound
Of the Dark Future come appalling round;
Nor can I break the trance that holds me then,
Till high o'er Pleasure's surge I mount again!

Even now for new adventure, new delight,
My heart is on the wing;--this very night,
The Temple on that island halfway o'er
From Memphis' gardens to the eastern shore
Sends up its annual rite[4] to her whose beams
Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams;
The nymph who dips her urn in silent lakes
And turns to silvery dew each drop it takes;--
Oh! not our Dian of the North who chains
In vestal ice the current of young veins,
But she who haunts the gay Bubastian[5] grove
And owns she sees from her bright heaven above,
Nothing on earth to match that heaven but Love.
Think then what bliss will be abroad to-night!--
Besides those sparkling nymphs who meet the sight
Day after day, familiar as the sun,
Coy buds of beauty yet unbreathed upon
And all the hidden loveliness that lies,--
Shut up as are the beams of sleeping eyes
Within these twilight shrines--tonight shall be
Let loose like birds for this festivity!
And mark, 'tis nigh; already the sun bids
His evening farewell to the Pyramids.
As he hath done age after age till they
Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray;
While their great shadows stretching from the light
Look like the first colossal steps of Night
Stretching across the valley to invade
The distant hills of porphyry with their shade.
Around, as signals of the setting beam,
Gay, gilded flags on every housetop gleam:
While, hark!--from all the temples a rich swell
Of music to the Moon--farewell--farewell.

[1] Cleopatra.

[2] Apellas.

[3] The Hermes Trismegistus.

[4] The great Festival of the Moon.

[5] Bubastis, or Isis, was the Diana of the Egyptian mythology.

LETTER III.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

_Memphis_.

There is some star--or may it be
That moon we saw so near last night--
Which comes athwart my destiny
For ever with misleading light.
If for a moment pure and wise
And calm I feel there quick doth fall
A spark from some disturbing eyes,
That thro' my heart, soul, being flies,
And makes a wildfire of it all.
I've seen--oh, Cleon, that this earth
Should e'er have given such beauty birth!--
That man--but, hold--hear all that past
Since yester-night from first to last.

The rising of the Moon, calm, slow,
And beautiful, as if she came
Fresh from the Elysian bowers below,
Was with a loud and sweet acclaim
Welcomed from every breezy height,
Where crowds stood waiting for her light.
And well might they who viewed the scene
Then lit up all around them, say
That never yet had Nature been
Caught sleeping in a lovelier ray
Or rivalled her own noontide face
With purer show of moonlight grace.

Memphis--still grand, tho' not the same
Unrivalled Memphis that could seize
From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame,
And wear it bright thro' centuries--
Now, in the moonshine, that came down
Like a last smile upon that crown.
Memphis, still grand among her lakes,
Her pyramids and shrines of fire,
Rose like a vision that half breaks
On one who dreaming still awakes
To music from some midnight choir:
While to the west--where gradual sinks
In the red sands from Libya rolled.
Some mighty column or fair sphynx,
That stood in kingly courts of old--
It seemed as, mid the pomps that shone
Thus gayly round him Time looked on,
Waiting till all now bright and blest,
Should sink beneath him like the rest.

No sooner had the setting sun
Proclaimed the festal rite begun,
And mid their idol's fullest beams
The Egyptian world was all afloat,
Than I who live upon these streams
Like a young Nile-bird turned my boat
To the fair island on whose shores
Thro' leafy palms and sycamores
Already shone the moving lights
Of pilgrims hastening to the rites.
While, far around like ruby sparks
Upon the water, lighted barks,
Of every form and kind--from those
That down Syene's cataract shoots,
To the grand, gilded barge that rows
To tambour's beat and breath of flutes,
And wears at night in words of flame
On the rich prow its master's name;--
All were alive and made this sea
Of cities busy as a hill
Of summer ants caught suddenly
In the overflowing of a rill.

Landed upon the isle, I soon
Thro' marble alleys and small groves
Of that mysterious palm she loves,
Reached the fair Temple of the Moon;
And there--as slowly thro' the last
Dim-lighted vestibule I past--
Between the porphyry pillars twined
With palm and ivy, I could see
A band of youthful maidens wind
In measured walk half dancingly,
Round a small shrine on which was placed
That bird[1] whose plumes of black and white
Wear in their hue by Nature traced
A type of the moon's shadowed light.

In drapery like woven snow
These nymphs were clad; and each below
The rounded bosom loosely wore
A dark blue zone or bandelet,
With little silver stars all o'er
As are the skies at midnight set.
While in their tresses, braided thro',
Sparkled that flower of Egypt's lakes,
The silvery lotus in whose hue
As much delight the young Moon takes
As doth the Day-God to behold
The lofty bean-flower's buds of gold.
And, as they gracefully went round
The worshipt bird, some to the beat
Of castanets, some to the sound
Of the shrill sistrum timed their feet;
While others at each step they took
A tinkling chain of silver shook.

They seemed all fair--but there was one
On whom the light had not yet shone,
Or shone but partly--so downcast
She held her brow, as slow she past.
And yet to me there seemed to dwell
A charm about that unseen face--
A something in the shade that fell
Over that brow's imagined grace
Which won me more than all the best
Outshining beauties of the rest.
And _her_ alone my eyes could see
Enchained by this sweet mystery;
And her alone I watched as round
She glided o'er that marble ground,
Stirring not more the unconscious air
Than if a Spirit were moving there.
Till suddenly, wide open flew
The Temple's folding gates and threw
A splendor from within, a flood
Of glory where these maidens stood.
While with that light--as if the same
Rich source gave birth to both--there came
A swell of harmony as grand
As e'er was born of voice and band,
Filling the gorgeous aisles around
With luxury of light and sound.

Then was it, by the flash that blazed
Full o'er her features--oh 'twas then,
As startingly her eyes she raised,
But quick let fall their lids again,
I saw--not Psyche's self when first
Upon the threshold of the skies
She paused, while heaven's glory burst
Newly upon her downcast eyes,
Could look more beautiful or blush
With holier shame than did this maid,
Whom now I saw in all that gush
Of splendor from the aisles, displayed.
Never--tho' well thou know'st how much
I've felt the sway of Beauty's star--
Never did her bright influence touch
My soul into its depths so far;
And had that vision lingered there
One minute more I should have flown,
Forgetful _who_ I was and where.
And at her feet in worship thrown
Proffered my soul thro' life her own.

But scarcely had that burst of light
And music broke on ear and sight,
Than up the aisle the bird took wing
As if on heavenly mission sent,
While after him with graceful spring
Like some unearthly creatures, meant
To live in that mixt element
Of light and song the young maids went;
And she who in my heart had thrown
A spark to burn for life was flown.

In vain I tried to follow;--bands
Of reverend chanters filled the aisle:
Where'er I sought to pass, their wands
Motioned me back, while many a file
Of sacred nymphs--but ah, not they
Whom my eyes looked for thronged the way.
Perplext, impatient, mid this crowd
Of faces, lights--the o'erwhelming cloud
Of incense round me, and my blood
Full of its new-born fire--I stood,
Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I caught
A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone,
Or wreath of lotus, which I thought
Like those she wore at distance shone.

But no, 'twas vain--hour after hour,
Till my heart's throbbing turned to pain,
And my strained eyesight lost its power,
I sought her thus, but all in vain.
At length, hot--wildered--in despair,
I rushed into the cool night-air,
And hurrying (tho' with many a look
Back to the busy Temple) took
My way along the moonlight shore,
And sprung into my boat once more.
There is a Lake that to the north
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth,
Upon whose silent shore the Dead
Have a proud city of their own,[2]
With shrines and pyramids o'erspread--
Where many an ancient kingly head
Slumbers, immortalized in stone;
And where thro' marble grots beneath
The lifeless, ranged like sacred things,
Nor wanting aught of life but breath,
Lie in their painted coverings,
And on each new successive race
That visit their dim haunts below
Look with the same unwithering face
They wore three thousand years ago.

There. Silence, thoughtful God, who loves
The neighborhood of death in groves
Of asphodel lies hid and weaves
His hushing spell among the leaves--
Nor ever noise disturbs the air
Save the low, humming, mournful sound
Of priests within their shrines at prayer
For the fresh Dead entombed around.

'Twas toward this place of death--in mood
Made up of thoughts, half bright, half dark--
I now across the shining flood
Unconscious turned my light-winged bark.
The form of that young maid in all
Its beauty was before me still;
And oft I thought, if thus to call
Her image to my mind at will,
If but the memory of that one
Bright look of hers for ever gone,
Was to my heart worth all the rest
Of woman-kind, beheld, possest--
What would it be if wholly mine,
Within these arms as in a shrine,
Hallowed by Love, I saw her shine--
An idol, worshipt by the light
Of her own beauties, day and night--
If 'twas a blessing but to see
And lose again, what would _this_ be?

In thoughts like these--but often crost
By darker threads--my mind was lost,
Till near that City of the Dead,
Waked from my trance, I saw o'erhead--
As if by some enchanter bid
Suddenly from the wave to rise--
Pyramid over pyramid
Tower in succession to the skies;
While one, aspiring, as if soon,
'Twould touch the heavens, rose over all;
And, on its summit, the white moon
Rested as on a pedestal!

The silence of the lonely tombs
And temples round where naught was heard
But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes,
Shaken at times by breeze or bird,
Formed a deep contrast to the scene
Of revel where I late had been;
To those gay sounds that still came o'er,
Faintly from many a distant shore,
And the unnumbered lights that shone
Far o'er the flood from Memphis on
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon.

My oars were lifted and my boat
Lay rocked upon the rippling stream;
While my vague thoughts alike afloat,
Drifted thro' many an idle dream.
With all of which, wild and unfixt
As was their aim, that vision mixt,
That bright nymph of the Temple--now,
With the same innocence of brow
She wore within the lighted fane--
Now kindling thro' each pulse and vein
With passion of such deep-felt fire
As Gods might glory to inspire;--
And now--oh Darkness of the tomb,
That must eclipse even light like hers!
Cold, dead, and blackening mid the gloom
Of those eternal sepulchres.

Scarce had I turned my eyes away
From that dark death-place, at the thought,
When by the sound of dashing spray
From a light oar my ear was caught,
While past me, thro' the moonlight, sailed.
A little gilded bark that bore
Two female figures closely veiled
And mantled towards that funeral shore.
They landed--and the boat again
Put off across the watery plain.

Shall I confess--to _thee_ I may--
That never yet hath come the chance
Of a new music, a new ray
From woman's voice, from woman's glance,
Which--let it find me how it might,
In joy or grief--I did not bless,
And wander after as a light
Leading to undreamt, happiness.
And chiefly now when hopes so vain
Were stirring in my heart and brain,
When Fancy had allured my soul
Into a chase as vague and far
As would be his who fixt his goal
In the horizon or some star--
_Any_ bewilderment that brought
More near to earth my high-flown thought--
The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure,
Less high and heavenly, but more sure,
Came welcome--and was then to me
What the first flowery isle must be
To vagrant birds blown out to sea.

Quick to the shore I urged my bark,
And by the bursts of moonlight shed
Between the lofty tombs could mark
Those figures as with hasty tread
They glided on--till in the shade
Of a small pyramid, which thro'
Some boughs of palm its peak displayed,
They vanisht instant from my view.

I hurried to the spot--no trace
Of life was in that lonely place;
And had the creed I hold by taught
Of other worlds I might have thought
Some mocking spirits had from thence
Come in this guise to cheat my sense.