Prince Athanase

There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel,

Had grown quite weak and gray before his time;

Nor any could the restless griefs unravel

Which burned within him, withering up his prime

And goading him, like fiends, from land to land.

Not his the load of any secret crime,

For nought of ill his heart could understand,

But pity and wild sorrow for the same:—

Not his the thirst for glory or command,

Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame;

Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast,

And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame,

Had left within his soul their dark unrest:

Nor what religion fables of the grave

Feared he,—Philosophy's accepted guest.

For none than he a purer heart could have,

Or that loved good more for itself alone;

Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave.

Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast,

More fleet than storms— the wide world shrinks below,

When winter and despondency are past.

fragment v

Passed the white Alps—those eagle-baffling mountains

Slept in their shrouds of snow;—beside the ways

The waterfalls were voiceless—for their fountains

Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now,

Or by the curdling winds— like brazen wings

Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow—

Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung

And filled with frozen light the chasms below.

Vexed by the blast, the great pines groaned and swung

Under their load of [snow]— * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * *Such as the eagle sees, when he dives down

From the gray deserts of wide air, [beheld]

[Prince] Athanase; and o'er his mien (?) was thrown

The shadow of that scene, field after field,

Purple and dim and wide.....

fragment vi

We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,

Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall.

Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls

Thousands who thirst for thine ambrosial dew;—

Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls

Investeth it; and when the heavens are blue

Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair

The shadow of thy moving wings imbue

Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear

Beauty like some light robe;— thou ever soarest

Among the towers of men, and as soft air

In spring, which moves the unawakened forest,

Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak,

Thou floatest among men; and aye implorest