Voiceless our converse! Wondrous doth it seem
How in our silent, tender conversation
The time pass’d in that summer night’s fair dream,
When joy commingled was with consternation.
That which we spoke of then, ne’er seek to learn,
The glow-worm ask, why in the grass it gloweth,
The torrent, why it roareth in the burn,
The west wind, why it waileth as it bloweth.
Ask the carbuncle why it gleams so bright,
The rose and violet, why so sweetly scented;
But ask not what, beneath the moon’s soft light,
The martyr-flower talk’d with her love lamented!
I cannot tell how long it was that I
Enjoy’d, as in the marble tomb I slumber’d,
That beauteous, happy dream. It fleeted by,
Too soon the moments of my rest were number’d.
Death with thy gravelike silence! Thou alone
Canst give us pleasure in a lasting fashion;
Vain barbarous life, for joy is ever known
To give us restless bliss, convulsive passion.
Alas, alas! my happiness soon fled,
For suddenly arose a noise exciting,
It was a savage conflict, fierce and dread—
Ah, my poor flower was scared by all this fighting!
Yes! there arose outside, with hideous yell,
A quarrelling, a yelping, and a scolding;
Methought that many a voice I knew full well,—
It was the bas-reliefs my tomb enfolding!
Is the stone haunted by those visions wan?
And are those marble phantoms all disputing?
The fearful clamour of the wood-god Pan,
Moses’s fierce anathemas confuting.
Alas! this contest ne’er will ended be,
The True and Beautiful will wrangle ever!
Greeks and Barbarians in wild rivalry
The ranks of man are always doom’d to sever.
They cursed and raved. No end would there have been
To this long squabble, and their passion towering,
Had Balaam’s ass not come upon the scene,
The voices of the gods and saints o’erpowering.