As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-Our memories were treacherous and sere-For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber- (Though once we had journeyed down here)— Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said "She is warmer than Dian: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion, To point us the path to the skiesTo the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyesCome up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said—“ Sadly this star I mistrust-- Oh, hasten!-oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!-let us fly!--for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust-- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 66 I replied " This is nothing but dreaming : Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night See!-it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright, We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom- And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb- And I said "What is written, sweet sister, Then On the door of this legended tomb ?" As the leaves that were crisped and sere As the leaves that were withering and sere— And I cried-"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed-I journeyed down here- Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." THE BELLS. I. HEAR the sledges with the bells--- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. |