PERDITA.
Far away under Hesper,
In seas never crossed,
Like a faint-uttered whisper,
Forgotten and lost;
Where no sail ever flies
O’er the face of the deep,
A lost island lies
Forgotten, asleep.
An island reposes,
Distant and dim,
Where a cloud-veil of roses
Never uncloses,
Dreams and reposes
On the horizon’s rim.
An island arrayed
In such magical grace,
It would seem to be made
For some happier race.
Each valley and bower
Has a charm of its own;
A perfume each flower,
Elsewhere unknown;
A charm of such power
That once known to the heart,
If but for an hour,
It can never depart.
E’en the surges of ocean,
Ceasing their roar,
Their rage and commotion,
Sigh in on the shore
With a melody saintly,
As vespers that seem
Chanted so quaintly,
By sisters so saintly,
Mingling so faintly
With the voice of a dream.
One summer time olden,
That standeth alone
With its memories golden,
That isle was my own.
O island enchanted!
Where now does she rove—
The bright nymph that haunted
Thy fountain and grove,
While still at her side,
Whereever she strayed,
By the mountain or tide,
My footsteps were stayed?
Do her pulses still beat
To the pulses of yore?
Say, now, do her feet
Tread some pitiless shore,
Still hoping to meet
One who cometh no more?
O that summer! its ray
In my heart lingers yet,
Long after the day-
Star it came from has set.
My star of the night
And of morning was she,
My song-bird, my white-
Wingèd bark on the sea;
My rainbow, illuming
With beauty and light;
My rose-garden, blooming,
Sweetly perfuming
The hours of the night.
But at last, in its fleetness,
It seemed that each day
From the charm and the sweetness
Took something away,
Till the flowers all faded
From summer’s bright crown,
The skies were o’ershadowed,
The forests were brown.
In the voices of morning
There crept a new tone,
A faint whispered warning
From regions unknown,
And over each heart
Stole a mystical fear
That our joy would depart
With the flight of the year.
A pale, cold, new-comer
Had entered our isle,
From a land beyond summer
And sunshine and smile,
Subduing us quite,
Though we saw not his face,
As winter gives blight
When it cometh apace.
Her glances and mine
Sought each other no more,
Each fearing some sign
Not seen there before.
Yet no word was revealing
Misgiving or chill;
Each sought for concealing
The deathly, congealing
Foreboding of ill.
But at last came a night
When our last song was sung,
And like children in fright
Together we clung.
No farewell was spoken,
Our voices were dumb,
But we knew without token
That parting was come.
In the darkness that bound us
A night-bird did sing,
And the black air around us
Was moved by his wing,
As in vulture waves sweeping
He sped from the shore,
And away from my keeping
My Day-star he tore.