With trampling horses and refulgent cars, | That wakes the breeze, the sparkling Soon to be swallow'd by the briny surge; Doth hurry to the lawn; [lymph about VII. Back flows the willing current of my Song: But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite In fix'd resolves by Reason justified; Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can VI. But, if such homage thou disdain As doth with mellowing years agree, For thy contented Votary. 7 So Milton, in Il Penseroso, addressing the nightingale: "Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!" Coleridge, also, in his Nightingale, repudiates the epithet: "A melancholy bird! O, idle thought! In Nature there is nothing melancholy." With breakers roaring to the gales And Love, when worthiest of his name, [For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table;" for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the flull-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.] WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands, Of a bright Ship that seem'd to hang in air; And took from men her name, THE WATER-Lily. Soft was the wind that landward blew; And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant, To a full orb, this Pinnace bright Became, as nearer to the coast she drew, More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant. Upon this winged Shape so fair Sage Merlin gazed with admiration: Her lineaments, thought he, surpass Aught that was ever shown in magic glass; Was ever built with patient care; Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation. Now, though a Mechanist whose skill Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, Grave Merlin (and belike the more For practising occult and perilous lore) Was subject to a freakish will That sapp'd good thoughts, or scared them with defiance. Provoked to envious spleen, he cast An alter'd look upon th' advancing Stranger Whom he had hail'd with joy, and cried, And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 8 This poem rose out of a few words casually used in conversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the Water-Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it would never have been written.-Author's Notes. With thrilling word, and potent sign Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges; Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, cross'd By Fiends of aspect more malign; And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges. But worthy of the name she bore Of motion, whether in th' embrace Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er Behold, how wantonly she laves Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding; Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves But Ocean under magic heaves, And cannot spare the Thing he cherish'd: The storm has stripp'd her of her leaves; Grieve for her, she deserves no less; Though loved, she could not love again; Yet is there cause for gushing tears, A lovely One, who nothing hears Of wind or wave, -a meek and guileless Maiden. Into a cave had Merlin fled From mischief caused by spells himself had mutter'd; And while, repentant all too late, In moody posture there he sate, He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head, A Visitant by whom these words were utter'd: "On Christian service this frail Bark Sail'd (hear me, Merlin!) under high protection, Of joy immortal and of pure affection. Her course was for the British strand; Done to the Princess, and her Land, And to Caerleon's loftiest tower Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table And all will weep who there attend, Shame! should a Child of royal line Nina, the Lady of the Lake, A gentle Sorceress, and benign, Who ne'er embitter'd any good man's chalice. "What boots," continued she, "to mourn? To expiate thy sin endeavour: From the bleak isle where she is laid, My pearly Boat, a shining Light, Then, Merlin, for a rapid flight Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver. The very swiftest of thy cars Must, when my part is done, be ready; And, if that fail, consult the Stars To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady." This scarcely spoken, she again Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop. Soon did the gentle Nina reach But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach Sad relique, but how fair the while! No quest was hers of vague desire, Of tortured hope and purpose shaken; She spied the lonely Cast-away, Unmarr'd, unstripp'd of her attire, But with closed eyes,- of breath and bloom forsaken. Then Nina, stooping down, embraced, With tenderness and mild emotion, Sleep fell upon the air, and still'd the ocean. The turmoil hush'd, celestial springs Of music open'd, and there came a blending With gleams that owed not to the Sun their birth, Which Angels make, on works of love descending. And Nina heard a sweeter voice Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken; "Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none Less pure in spirit could have done; Go, in thy enterprise rejoice! Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken." |