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PART 1. Nec tantum prodere vati,Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unamCongeriem, miserumque premunt tot saecula pectus.LUCAN, Phars. v. 176.How wonderful is Death,Death and his brother Sleep!One pale as yonder wan and horned moon,With lips of lurid blue,The other glowing like the vital morn, 5When throned on ocean's waveIt breathes over the world:Yet both so passing strange and wonderful!Hath then the iron-sceptred Skeleton,Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres, 10To the hell dogs that couch beneath his throneCast that fair prey? Must that divinest form,Which love and admiration cannot viewWithout a beating heart, whose azure veinsSteal like dark streams along a field of snow, 15Whose outline is as fair as marble clothedIn light of some sublimest mind, decay?Nor putrefaction's breathLeave aught of this pure spectacleBut loathsomeness and ruin?— 20Spare aught but a dark theme,On which the lightest heart might moralize?Or is it but that downy-winged slumbersHave charmed their nurse coy Silence near her lidsTo watch their own repose? 25Will they, when morning's beamFlows through those wells of light,Seek far from noise and day some western cave,Where woods and streams with soft and pausing windsA lulling murmur weave?— 30Ianthe doth not sleepThe dreamless sleep of death:Nor in her moonlight chamber silentlyDoth Henry hear her regular pulses throb,Or mark her delicate cheek 35With interchange of hues mock the broad moon,Outwatching weary night,Without assured reward.Her dewy eyes are closed;On their translucent lids, whose texture fine 40Scarce hides the dark blue orbs that burn belowWith unapparent fire,The baby Sleep is pillowed:Her golden tresses shadeThe bosom's stainless pride, 45Twining like tendrils of the parasiteAround a marble column.Hark! whence that rushing sound?'Tis like a wondrous strain that sweepsAround a lonely ruin 50When west winds sigh and evening waves respondIn whispers from the shore:'Tis wilder than the unmeasured notesWhich from the unseen lyres of dells and grovesThe genii of the breezes sweep. 55Floating on waves of music and of light,The chariot of the Daemon of the WorldDescends in silent power:Its shape reposed within: slight as some cloudThat catches but the palest tinge of day 60When evening yields to night,Bright as that fibrous woof when stars indueIts transitory robe.Four shapeless shadows bright and beautifulDraw that strange car of glory, reins of light 65Check their unearthly speed; they stop and foldTheir wings of braided air:The Daemon leaning from the ethereal carGazed on the slumbering maid.Human eye hath ne'er beheld 70A shape so wild, so bright, so beautiful,As that which o'er the maiden's charmed sleepWaving a starry wand,Hung like a mist of light.Such sounds as breathed around like odorous winds 75Of wakening spring arose,Filling the chamber and the moonlight sky.Maiden, the world's supremest spiritBeneath the shadow of her wingsFolds all thy memory doth inherit 80From ruin of divinest things,Feelings that lure thee to betray,And light of thoughts that pass away....