Into the mists of fabling Time
So far runs back the praise
Of Beauty, that disdains to climb
Along forbidden ways; 20
That scorns temptation; power defies
Where mutual love is not;
And to the tomb for rescue flies
When life would be a blot.
To this fair Votaress, a fate 25
More mild doth Heaven ordain
Upon her Island desolate;
And words, not breathed in vain,
Might tell what intercourse she found,
Her silence to endear; 30
What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground
Sent forth her peace to cheer.
To one mute Presence, above all,
Her soothed affections clung,
A picture on the cabin wall 35
By Russian usage hung—
The Mother-maid,[661] whose countenance bright
With love abridged the day;
And, communed with by taper light,
Chased spectral fears away. 40
And oft, as either Guardian came,
The joy in that retreat
Might any common friendship shame,
So high their hearts would beat;
And to the lone Recluse, whate'er 45
They brought, each visiting
Was like the crowding of the year
With a new burst of spring.
But, when she of her Parents thought,
The pang was hard to bear; 50
And, if with all things not enwrought,
That trouble still is near.
Before her flight she had not dared
Their constancy to prove,
Too much the heroic Daughter feared 55
The weakness of their love.
Dark is the past to them, and dark
The future still must be,
Till pitying Saints conduct her bark
Into a safer sea— 60
Or gentle Nature close her eyes,
And set her Spirit free
From the altar of this sacrifice,
In vestal purity.
Yet, when above the forest-glooms 65
The white swans southward passed,
High as the pitch of their swift plumes
Her fancy rode the blast;
And bore her toward the fields of France,
Her Father's native land, 70
To mingle in the rustic dance,
The happiest of the band!
Of those belovèd fields she oft
Had heard her Father tell
In phrase that now with echoes soft 75
Haunted her lonely cell;
She saw the hereditary bowers,
She heard the ancestral stream;
The Kremlin[662] and its haughty towers
Forgotten like a dream! 80
Part IV
The ever-changing Moon had traced
Twelve times her monthly round,
When through the unfrequented Waste
Was heard a startling sound;
A shout thrice sent from one who chased 5
At speed a wounded deer,
Bounding through branches interlaced,
And where the wood was clear.