After the fashion of the time, The fourscore windows all alight From twisted silvers look'd to shame In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd Of night new-risen, that marvellous time Then stole I up, and trancedly Well worthy of the golden prime Six columns, three on either side, Throne of the massive ore, from which With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. THE GOOD HAROUN ALRASCHID ! ODE TO MEMORY. 1. THOU who stealest fire, 2. Come not as thou camest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; but robed in soften'd light Of orient state. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, When she, as thou, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight The black earth with brilliance rare. 3. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast, (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Tho' deep not fathomless, Was cloven with the million stars which tremble Small thought was there of life's distress; Listening the lordly music flowing from O strengthen me, enlighten me! Thou dewy dawn of memory. 4. Come forth I charge thee, arise, Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes! Divinest Memory! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried: Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side, The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father's door, And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland. Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat |