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Title: The Bard And The Dreams
Author: George Borrow [
More Titles by Borrow]
O'er the sweet smelling meads with his lyre in his hand
The bard was straying;
In the twilight of evening, refreshing and bland,
His chords were playing.
He sang of the flowrets that slept in the tomb,
He sang of the flowrets that poured their perfume,
He sang of the flowrets that yet were to bloom.
And the rose departed,
A smile from its sepulchre darted;
And the rose yet living with blushes of red
Breathed sweets o'er his head.
And the rose which unborn concealed yet lies,
Seemed to open before his eyes.
By a fountain's side with verdure array'd
Himself he laid.
And the murmur and hum of the pure water fleeting,
And the strains, which the birds of the wood were repeating,
And the innocent heart, which so peaceful was beating,
Shed health-giving slumbers,
On lids which no sorrow cumbers.
In the visions of sleep there came to his side
A sire with locks snow-hoary;
And the songster sped with that sire for his guide
To an unknown territory.
On ruins majestic himself he found,
The mouldering bones of old heroes lay round;
Their ghosts awaking
Rose from their graves wild gestures making.
The youth was quaking--
But the old man smiled as his mind he led
To the kempion times long fled.
Then a lamp in the night's deep silence shone
Through the dingy mould,
And under the masses of fallen stone
There glittered gold.
To the harp then pointing the sage disappears,
And the youth shed tears.
"Yes, yes, the young bard thy countenance knows,"
So sang in wild passion the boy--
"Not in vain in my bosom a holy fire glows,
Not in vain thy bright lamp the grave's mystery shews,
The bard will obey thee with joy."
Again there appeared in the dreams of the stripling
A being who held him intent;
It came as in flood come the high billows rippling,
Like billows when ebbing it went.
Though the look of an aged and slow female wearing,
It ran like the breezes in spring time careering,
Full often it vanished with threatening bearing.
But suddenly caught he the fugitive wild,
And then by his breast a maiden smil'd.
"Thee often I've met on life's journey," he said,
"And when like a meteor thou past me hast sped,
I've seen thee look backward--and threaten.
"O! kiss me, sweet maiden, ere on thou dost stray,
I've seen thee with flowers strew the wanderer's way.
They lived in their brightness,
When thou in this lightness,
Had'st fled farthest off; and sometimes they became
A Bauta-stone over the worm-wasted frame.
"Vouchsafe me a smile," said the youth, "I entreat,
I know thy course lightning-fleet.
Thy light pinions ever
Thou pliest, sweet giver
Of palms, verdant palms, to the stripling so clever,
Who caught thee, though lightning fleet."
Again to his eye a fair vision was given,
A being angelical stood in the heaven.
In morn's fresh rose-hues drest
Stood the spirit blest.
As shines from above
The starlet of love
So kindled his glance toward earth's gentle child.
As the maid to her beckons the youth she loves dearly,
When vespers are chiming and Luna shines clearly,
So toward him beckoned the Angel, and smil'd.
With rapture the songster took thither his way,
Where the winged one of heaven stood beauteous and gay.
But, just as he hoped that the height was surmounted,
Far distant again they each other confronted.
And still the Angel beckoned there,
But--never, never near.
"My seraph! wilt ever avoid my embrace?"
--Said the songster with mortified mien--
"But though I'm unable to climb to thy place,
My eye thou hast blest from the mansions of grace,
And thy heaven, thou distant, I've seen."
His slumber departed, his visions they fled,
But oft when he harped they came into his head.
"Blest, trebly blest, may our life be regarded,
Far unto me hear threefold life is awarded.
"See the roselet departed,
A smile from its tomb has darted.
And the rose, which yet lives in blushes and bloom,
Breathes o'er me perfume.
Yes, from its concealment, the unborn rose
Before me seems to unclose."
[The end]
George Borrow's poem: The Bard And The Dreams
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