VII.
But there is none—no knight
in panoply,
Nor Love, intrench’d in his strong
steely coat:
No little speck—no sail—no
helper nigh,
No sign—no whispering—no
plash of boat:—
The distant shores show dimly and remote,
Made of a deeper mist,—serene
and gray,—
And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float
Over the gloomy wave, and pass away,
Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.
VIII.
And bright and silvery the willows sleep
Over the shady verge—no mad
winds tease
Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep
Their sprinkling leaves—half
fountains and half trees:
Their lilies be—and fairer
than all these,
A solitary Swan her breast of snow
Launches against the wave that seems to
freeze
Into a chaste reflection, still below
Twin shadow of herself wherever she may go.
IX.
And forth she paddles in the very noon
Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing,
Charm’d into being by the argent
moon—
Whose silver light for love of her fair
wing
Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping
Her dainty plumage:—all around
her grew
A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;
And all behind, a tiny little clue
Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.
X.
And sure she is no meaner than a fay,
Redeem’d from sleepy death, for
beauty’s sake,
By old ordainment:—silent as
she lay,
Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her
wake,
And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake
The verdant prison of her lily peers,
That slept amidst the stars upon the lake—
A breathing shape—restored
to human fears,
And new-born love and grief—self-conscious
of her tears.
XI.
And now she clasps her wings around her
heart,
And near that lonely isle begins to glide,
Pale as her fears, and oft-times with
a start
Turns her impatient head from side to
side
In universal terrors—all too
wide
To watch; and often to that marble keep
Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied
Some foe, and crouches in the shadows
steep
That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.
XII.
And well she may, to spy that fearful
thing
All down the dusky walls in circlets wound;
Alas! for what rare prize, with many a
ring
Girding the marble casket round and round?
His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,
Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;
But on the top his monstrous head is crown’d
With prickly spears, and on his doubtful
face
Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.