Full sudden at these words the princely youth
Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still
Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,
But numb'd to dulness by the fairy skill
Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill
For intense fear) that charm'd him as he lay-
Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,
Held some short throbs by natural dismay,
Then down, down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.
Now dimly seen-now toiling out of sight,
Eclipsed and cover'd by the envious wall;
Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,
And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall;
Now dark and shelter'd by a kindly pall
Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;
Slowly he winds adown-dimly and small,
Watch'd by the gentle Swan that sings below,
Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.
But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace
The marble walls about-which he must tread
Before his anxious foot may touch the base :
Long is the dreary path, and must be sped!
But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,
Braces his spirit, and with constant toil
He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,
Impatient plunges from the last long coil :
So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil.
The song is hush'd, the charm is all complete,
And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:
But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,
When fiercely drops adown that cruel snake-
His steely scales a fearful rustling make,
Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell
The sable storm ;-the plumy lovers quake-
And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,
Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.
His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,
His horrible pursuit-his red eyes glare
The waters into blood-his eager breath
Grows hot upon their plumes: now, minstrel fair!
She drops her ring into the waves, and there
It widens all around, a fairy ring
Wrought of the silver light—the fearful pair
Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling
The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.
Bending their course over the pale grey lake,
Against the pallid East, wherein light play'd
In tender flushes, still the baffled snake
Circled them round continually, and bay'd
Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade
The sanctuary ring-his sable mail
Roll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and made
A shining track over the waters pale,
Lash'd into boiling foam by his enormous tail.
And so they sail'd into the distance dim,
Into the very distance-small and white,
Like
snowy blossoms of the spring that swim
Over the brooklets-follow'd by the spite
Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright
Worried them on their course, and sore annoy
Till on the grassy marge I saw them light,
And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,
Lock'd in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!
Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers
Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes
Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers
The Oriental sun began to rise,
Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;
Wherewith that sable Serpent far away
Fled, like a part of night-delicious sighs
From waking blossoms purified the day,
And little birds were sweetly singing from each spray.
ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY 225
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY."
Ан me! those old familiar bounds!
That classic house, those classic grounds
My pensive thought recalls!
What tender urchins now confine,
What little captives now repine,
Within yon irksome walls!
Ay, that's the very house! I know
Its ugly windows, ten a-row!
Its chimneys in the rear:
And there's the iron rod so high,
That drew the thunder from the sky
And turn'd our table-beer!
There I was birch'd! there I was bred!
There like a little Adam fed
From Learning's woeful tree!
weary tasks I used to con!The hopeless leaves I wept upon !— Most fruitless leaves to me !
* No connexion with any other Ode.
The summon'd class!-the awful bow!
I wonder who is master now
And wholesome anguish sheds! How many ushers now employs, How many maids to see the boys Have nothing in their heads!
And Mrs. S***?-Doth she abet
(Like Pallas in the parlor) yet
Some favor'd two or three,-
The little Crichtons of the hour,
Her muffin-medals that devour,
And swill her prize-bohea?
Ay, there's the play-ground! there's the lime,
Beneath whose shade in summer's prime
So wildly I have read!—
Who sits there now, and skims the cream
Of young Romance, and weaves a dream
Of Love and Cottage-bread?
Who struts the Randall of the walk?
Who models tiny heads in chalk?
Who scoops the light canoe ?
What early genius buds apace?
Where's Poynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase? Hal Baylis ? blithe Carew?
Alack! they're gone-a thousand ways!
And some are serving in "the Greys,"
And some have perished young!—
Jack Harris weds his second wife;
Hal Baylis drives the wane of life :
And blithe Carew-is hung!
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